#he was also abused all his life! coming of age story should have happened for him!

[javier-pena]

quicksand

Pairing: Pedro's unnamed character in Materialists x f!reader

Word Count: 8.2k

Rating: Explicit

Summary: You meet a stranger at a party.

Warnings: smoking | drinking | creepy men | reader gets her butt slapped by a stranger | infidelity | cheating | age gap (reader is in her early to mid 20s, her boyfriend is in his 50s, I’m putting Pedro’s character in Materialists in his late 40s) | emotional neglect (boarding on emotional abuse) | reader has long-ish hair that can get wet without it being an issue | a little bit of self-loathing | possessiveness (the good kind and the bad kind | hands hands hands hands hands | oral (f receiving) | a little bit of praise kink | voyeurism | mirror sex | (unprotected) p in v sex | rough sex | multiple orgasms | overstimulation | a tiny tiny bit of degradation | oral fixation (🫣) | choking | dirty talk | creampie | cum eating

Notes: Last week I saw these behind the scenes shots of Pedro in Materialists and somehow I had to write 8,000 words about that? I'm also not quite sure what happened, it was supposed to be like 3k max. There was also this ask Han @swiftispunk received that I couldn't get out of my head. The title is inspired by Ms Swift's song Treacherous (And I'll do anything you say / If you say it with your hands / And I'd be smart to walk away / But you're quicksand), the rest is inspired by going completely feral whenever new pictures dropped. Tremendous thanks to Dani @alexturner who just beta'd a long-ass fic last week and then this fic this week - you're being way too good to me with indulging all thoughts I have that I have to turn into short stories 🫣 My dear, sweet anon who kept sending me encouraging asks, this is for you!!

***

There’s laughter coming from downstairs, deep, rumbling laughter impossible to ignore. Your whole body seems to shake with it, your heart stutters in your chest angrily, and you press your hands over your ears. But the loud voices are still there, mocking you with their indifference to your pain. You bury your face in your cool satin pillow and sob into it, ruining the expensive fabric. You don’t fucking care.

All your friends warned you this would happen and you hate how they were right. “You’re nothing but a toy to him.” Shut up, Marissa, you’re just jealous. “Maybe you should look for a boyfriend who’s closer to you in age.” Maybe you should look for a boyfriend, period. “You’re only a fuckmaid to him, do you realize that?” That was the point you stopped listening to them and, at the same time, it was the point you should have started listening.

You are nothing but a toy to him. You should have looked for someone closer to you in age. You are … no, you can’t bring yourself to even think the word, because the truth hurts too much. The truth and your blindness and your stupidity and the fact that you’re throwing your life away for a man who breaks every promise he makes and who treats you like a pet. A beautiful, expensive pet that can be ignored whenever it’s convenient.

“Come with me to the Keys,” he whispered into your ear, his breath hotter than his steadily cooling release sticking to your thighs.

“What?” you asked, heart clenching painfully. When was the last time he cared enough to make you come? Months ago?

“Come with me to the Keys,” he repeated. “The change of scenery will be good for us. I’ll show you around. We can go deep sea fishing. I’ll buy you some dresses and bathing suits. Just take my card tomorrow.”

He brushed your hair away from your neck, kissed the skin there, cupped one of your breasts, squeezed it hard. “Piers,” you warned, tried to get away from him. But there was nowhere to go.

The truth is you had been looking forward to his trip. Had been looking forward to having the apartment to yourself for a while. It’s not like you would’ve done anything in particular except just breathe for once.

“Don’t be like that,” he mumbled against your neck, squeezed your breast again. “Don’t you want to sip on a nice cocktail? Wear a risqué outfit for me?”

No, you didn’t want that. But if you didn’t say yes soon, he’d get angry. “Okay,” you gave in. “But you have to promise me that you’ll spend one day with me. No business.”

What’s easily promised is easily broken.

Today is supposed to be your day. And for once in your life, you thought it would be. Piers took you out for breakfast, right by the water. You watched the sunshine dance across the waves. Then he showed you around town, took you to his favorite spots in Key West, even held your hand. And you thought, This is it. I’m finally worthy of him. Then came the call, followed by those emails, and suddenly Piers was like, “Sorry, babe, I have to meet them, they’re important business partners. Why don’t you go to the beach club, buy yourself a nice massage? Here’s my card.”

Here's my card. You’ve never hated three words more.

What you didn’t expect was to come home to a party. At least twenty men were milling around the house Piers liked to refer to as his “Key West Residence”, a late 19th century villa. Twenty loud men, rich like Piers, most of them his age, leering at you as you stepped through the front door, mistaking you for tonight’s entertainment.

“Babe!” Piers boomed, spilling half his drink while opening his arms as if he meant to hug you. The glances didn’t stop. “Go upstairs, freshen up, put on something nice, and then let me show you off.”

You managed to complete the first step before breaking down on your bed. You’ve been sobbing ever since.

Something breaks downstairs and some of the men roar. You bury your face deeper against the pillow, terrified to go back downstairs, terrified to stay up here. Whatever you do, it will be the wrong thing. You close your eyes and think about what it would be like if the men downstairs vanished. If you had the house to yourself, sharing it with a person you loved and who loved you in return. You could be having dinner on the patio now. Before that, you might go for a swim in the pool, knowing the only eyes on you were your partner’s, the only glances you received were welcome.

You sit up straight. You might hate it when Piers’ business partners look at you like you’re a piece of meat, but Piers hates it too if they don’t do it without being invited. Twenty men imagining all the vile ways in which they could fuck you is the last thing you want right now, but it’s also the last thing Piers wants.

You stumble into the bathroom and wash your face with ice cold water, willing the puffiness of your eyes to recede. You put on your most expensive makeup, the kind that only comes off with intensive scrubbing, then you pick your most revealing bikini and put it on. If those men stared at you like that in a long sundress, their heads will probably explode if they see you like this.

Chin held high, beach towel thrown over your shoulder, you make your way downstairs on high heels the same shade of black as your bikini. You feel utterly stupid, like you’re giving them exactly what they want, but the flush that spreads across Piers’ cheeks when he sees you is worth it. There are some whistles, a few crude comments, one man slaps your ass, but you make it to the pool. None of them are brave enough to follow you outside.

The water is cool against your skin, doing its best to extinguish the fire that burns within you. The flames don’t die down completely but they’re certainly soothed. You start to swim, one length, then three, and soon the party resumes and the men pick up their conversations again. This almost feels normal; this almost feels like a life you could enjoy. Except that you’re alone. And not in a way you crave.

You stop swimming and start drifting on your back, watching the sky above turn from a gentle blue into a soft pink, a bright orange, a deep purple. Soon, the sun will go down and the party will pick up speed. You should go, put on a dress, let Piers show you off, vanish before they’ve had too much alcohol.

You climb out of the pool, squeeze water out of your hair, wrap the towel around yourself. No one is paying attention to you now, so you pick up your heels to carry them back upstairs. There’s no way you’ll make it back to your room without one or two unwanted glances, without the odd rude comment, but you can live with that. You step onto the patio, eyes firmly fixed on your destination, then start walking through the gathering, careful not to look at anyone, careful not to be seen.

Someone sees you though. It’s not Piers, and it also isn’t one of the men who look at you and lick their lips. It’s someone watching you from the shadows, someone on one of the chairs in the parlor. Keep your eyes on the stairs, you tell yourself. Nothing good can come from this. While you were in the pool, Piers must have turned on the music, old jazz songs he always plays when he wants to appear sophisticated. The tinny sounds of saxophones make your ears ring, irritating you more than the heavy smell of cigar smoke that seems to be seeping into every corner of the house. You feel horrible between all those men dressed in their suits, even with the towel covering most of your skin. And you wish that one man would stop watching you because it makes you feel hunted, makes your body beg to run and hide.

At the foot of the stairs you pause, your heart in your throat. A man brushes past you, pretending like there is only so little room he has to press his palm against the small of your back. You turn around looking for Piers, ready to pretend you have a horrific migraine and won’t be joining him after all, when your eyes land on the man who is making the hair at the back of your neck stand with his unrelenting gaze.

You can’t see him properly because he’s half hidden behind the door to the parlor, a room that’s devoid of proper lighting and full of cigar smoke. But you see his dark eyes on you, feel them look right through you, see you for who you are, while he laughs at something the man next to him is saying. You crane your neck to get a better look at him but two other men walk past, obscuring your view. When they spot you and start to make their way toward you, you bolt up the stairs. At least no one will dare to follow you up here.

*******

“There she is!” Piers announces later, opening his arms wide again. He doesn’t spill his drink this time. You step into his embrace and let him kiss your cheek. “Took you long enough, doll.” You hate it when he calls you that, but you keep on smiling. Then he leans closer and whispers, “If you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll make sure you’ll regret it. Letting another man touch you! What’s wrong with you?”

So it did bother him after all. It should make you feel proud, but it only makes you feel empty. “I’m sorry,” you whisper back and kiss him. Someone at the back of the room whistles.

“Just try to behave for the rest of the night,” he says coldly, then smiles at you and asks in his loud business voice, “Isn’t she lovely?”

Some of the men nod but none dare to look at you directly. Not when Piers has his arm slung around your shoulder anyway.

“How about a drink?” he asks you and when you nod, he takes your hand and leads you toward the bar at the back of the parlor. You follow him, shivering slightly from the evening breeze blowing in through the open French doors. The smoke in the room makes your eyes sting.

With practiced ease, Piers fills a sparkling glass with vodka and soda, adding a bit of lime juice. You try to ignore the man who is standing a little bit too close to you, whose eyes hang a little bit too low.

“Here you are.” Piers hands you the glass. “I have something to discuss with those gentlemen over there,” he nods at two men standing by the door to his study, “but I shouldn’t be too long. Try not to cause too much of a scene while I’m gone.”

You close your fingers around the glass and nod. All you want to do is run.

As soon as he’s gone, they start to close in on you. It’s what Piers wants. He wants others to desire what belongs to him – his apartment, his car, his life. You’re part of all of that. He wants these men to desire you, to think they can have you. You should have listened to your friends, to Marissa and Annie and all the others. If you had, you might hate yourself less.

You know they all want to talk to you and they won’t take no for an answer, so you start to make your way toward the open French doors to escape into the garden. If you stand right at the edge, you can hear the waves whisper and feel the ocean breeze on your face. And if you keep still long enough, they might forget about you.

You don’t even make it out the door before your eyes start to wander from the lush green bushes and trees outside and land on a man sitting in a leather armchair close to the open doors. You don’t know if it’s the same one whose gaze you felt on you earlier, but there’s something about him that makes it hard for you to look away. He’s in the middle of a conversation, one leg comfortably slung across the other, ankle resting against thigh. One of his hands is spread on his knee, his fingers stroking and tapping the expensive fabric of his back dress pants in a nervous tick. His other hand is wrapped around a glass full of amber liquid that he takes a swig from right as you walk past, pretending not to notice how the muscles in his neck work as he swallows, pretending not to notice the gold ring on his little finger that clinks against the glass as he lowers it again.

Your own drink untouched, you stand on the patio, off to the side where you hope no one will notice you but where you can look at that stranger from time to time. You don’t think you’ve seen him before, but you don’t usually pay a lot of attention to Piers’ associates. None of the men here this evening look familiar. Still, there is something about the way this man runs his fingers through his dark curls from time to time, the way he tries to smooth the wrinkles in his white shirt, the way he takes a drag from a big, dark brown cigar once in a while that makes it impossible for you to look away. Until another man demands your attention.

“Hi there,” he says, his laugh showing off perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. “I’m Hutton.”

You think about saying, “And I’m not interested,” but to Piers that would probably count as causing a scene. And Hutton looks like he’s one of the younger men here, probably in his late 30s. There are worse guys to talk to. “Hi,” you reply with a sweet smile.

“Lovely evening, isn’t it?” He steps closer to you, encouraged by your smile.

“Yes,” you reply. “So how do you know Piers?”

If he’s annoyed by you bringing up your boyfriend right away, he doesn’t let it show. “We work together,” he answers, which could mean anything in Piers’s world.

“And what brings you to Key West?”

“The scenery,” Hutton answers, not even trying to hide his hungry gaze that glides over your naked shoulders and cleavage.

“I thought it was business,” you say, your smile faltering slightly. “Seeing you’re here.”

“I try not to mix business with pleasure.” Hutton leans against the small sliver of wall between the French doors and the corner of the house. “It’s neither good for business nor pleasure.”

You hum, trying to take a step back. You’re already at the edge of the patio though, and you almost stumble off it, losing your footing.

Hutton grabs your arm and pulls you toward him. “Careful there, pretty girl.”

You try to pull your arm back but he won’t let go. “Thank you,” you say at the same time as he says, “Have you ever thought about exchanging Piers for a younger model?”

It didn’t take him more than a few words exchanged to get to the point.

You yank your arm free but he grabs it again. “Stop it,” you command in your strictest voice but he only grins at you.

“Don’t be like this. I’m only fooling around.”

“Then let go of me.” He doesn’t.

You’re about to throw your drink in his face, even if it means Piers will be angry with you again, when someone steps out onto the patio.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

He’s standing right there, one hand in the pocket of his dark pants, the other holding his cigar. Shame washes over you and your palms grow sweaty. You really don’t need this right now. But Hutton immediately lets go of you and turns to face the newcomer.

“We’re good here, thanks,” he says, his jaw clenched.

The stranger takes his time to take a drag on his cigar, lets out the smoke while looking up at the now deep purple evening sky. “It’s a lovely evening, isn’t it?” he asks and Hutton lets out a sigh.

“Are you just going to keep standing there?” he asks.

The stranger shrugs.

You glance into the parlor, at all the men milling about, wondering if you could make your escape without anyone noticing. But there is something in the way the stranger holds himself that makes you want to stay and find out how this ends. Piers, by now, would have rushed past Hutton, a snarl on his lips, his anger directed at you. The stranger just stands there, his shoulders relaxed, acting as if he doesn’t even particularly care that you and Hutton are out here on the patio as well. It’s a different kind of threat … a different kind of protectiveness.

Hutton turns to you. “Are you coming?”

You shake your head and with a roll of his eyes and an annoyed, “Whatever,” he vanishes into the house, leaving you alone with him.

The silence unbearable, you say, “Thank you.”

He takes another drag on his cigar, then comes closer to you. You ignore how your heart flutters at his approach. He reaches for your hand and for a wild moment you think he’s going to grab your arm too, but he only takes the drink from your hand, sniffs the contents of the glass, then dumps it over the edge of the patio. “Let’s get you a proper drink,” he says.

You’re too stunned to do much more than follow him back into the house and toward the bar. Around you, the volume has risen since you stepped out onto the patio, but you don’t care as much as you did before. It’s hard to care about anything when your stomach is in a tight knot and when you feel like the world around you has gone completely quiet.

The man steps behind the bar, gently places his cigar in an ashtray, then regards the collection of bottles before him with his hands on his hips. “You don’t look like a vodka girl to me,” he mumbles, and you feel your face grow hot. You don’t know why. “Here.” He pulls out a bottle of whiskey and a bottle of vermouth. You only now notice how big his hands are, and your mind immediately starts to replay the evening. His hand on his knee, his hand around his glass, his hand … You shake your head, but the shiny gold ring on his little finger glitters enticingly as he unscrews the bottle of vermouth to smell the alcohol within. It’s like you’re a magpie, enchanted by everything that glitters.

“Sweet enough,” he concludes, pouring a little vermouth and a lot of whiskey into a martini glass. Then he goes through all the bottles once more until he finds one of lavender bitter and adds it to the mix.

“What is that?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “I’m not done yet.” There’s a small jar of cocktail cherries he unscrews. With skilled movements, he skewers two of them onto a silver cocktail stick before handing you the glass. The mix inside is orange on top, a reddish purple deeper below. It looks like the sunset you watched earlier.

“What is it?” you ask again.

“Taste it,” he tells you, an eager glint in his eyes.

You take a careful sip and widen your eyes in surprise at the strong yet sweet taste. “Oh, this is really good!”

“It’s sweet, like you,” he says, then seems to change his mind, adopting a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “It’s a Manhattan. That’s where you belong, not in this tourist trash kind of town.”

That makes you laugh. “Hey, I like it here.”

The bar is still between you but he leans on it to get closer to you. “I bet you would also like Manhattan if I showed you around.”

“I’m from Manhattan,” you tell him. “I live there, actually.”

“I do too,” he responds. “Funny how we should run into each other here, of all places.”

You inhale shakily. You don’t know why. “If you hate it here so much, what are you doing here?”

He smiles at you, and you’re sure your heart stops. “I heard you talk to that other guy. I’m not here to have a conversation like that with you.”

You take another sip from your cocktail even though it makes your head spin. “What are you here for then?”

“That’s just another way of asking me what I’m doing here, angel eyes,” he points out. He does it so smoothly you almost don’t notice the diminutive.

You straighten your back, only now realizing you were leaning on the bar close to him. He mirrors you, then walks around the wood between you so he can stand directly next to you. “You tell me what you want to talk about then. After all, you approached me, you made me a drink, you wanted to whisk me off to Manhattan.”

“That was before I realized how worldly you are,” he says and his smile turns sly.

“Oh?” you make. You swallow. “Am I too difficult for you then?”

“I like a challenge.”

This is where you should stop. This is where you should thank him again for rescuing you, and for the drink, and where you should walk away to find your boyfriend, who surely has to be done with his meeting by now. But how can you step away when he’s still smiling at you as if he’s having the time of his life, when you felt drawn to him all evening, when having his eyes on you makes you feel truly seen? Yes, he isn’t exactly subtle in the way he flirts with you, but there is a kindness in his gaze you’ve never seen on another man before. And then he touches you, straightening the strap of your short, tight dress, and your whole body comes alive.

“You know smoking is bad for you, right?” is the only thing you can come up with, willing your voice to remain steady.

“I like things that are bad for me,” he replies.

It’s such a cheesy line, it makes you want to bury your face in your hands. But, god, does talking to him make you feel good.

“Ha!” He points at you. “That’s the first genuine smile I’ve seen all evening.

“Call me ‘sweet’ again and you might see some more,” you retort. All you want to do is to tell him you don’t mind his harmless flirting, that whatever this is between you is fun, but it comes out heavy with implications. Implications you can’t take back because you don’t want to.

He brushes your hair behind your ear and you think you might die. “You’re very brave.” It’s a statement. “I saw you walk to the pool earlier in –”

“I know,” you interrupt him. “I saw you watching me.”

He brushes his thumb over your bottom lip. “It made me want to kiss you.”

You freeze. There is nothing you can say that won’t end badly for you. “So you made me a drink instead?”

He plucks the cocktail stick out of your glass and holds it up to your mouth. You close your lips around the first cocktail cherry and pull it off slowly, your eyes fixed to his. It might just be the low lighting but you think his pupils dilate. He drops the stick back into the glass and takes a big swig of your drink, his eyes momentarily leaving yours. You do your best not to watch his throat as he swallows.

“You really are something,” he concludes, putting down the glass on the bar.

You feel lightheaded, as if you’d just made out with him for half an hour. “I’m also in a relationship.” The words are out before you can stop yourself. You didn’t mean to say them.

“I don’t give a damn.”

You giggle, actually giggle, like a schoolgirl with a crush. “You sound like the hero in one of those ancient black-and-white movies.”

“Or maybe I’m the villain.”

This time you do bury your face in your hands. “Oh, stop it.”

“No,” he simply says, and you get it. You want to kiss him too.

Instead, you glance at the small gold wrist watch on your arm. “It’s late. I should –”

He interrupts you. “Don’t –,” but you don’t let him finish.

“Thank you for the drink. And thank you for making me laugh. You made this whole thing bearable.”

You don’t know if you should shake his hand or kiss his cheek so you don’t do any of it. You pat his arm, once, trying not to notice how it feels against your palm, then walk toward the stairs, your heart breaking with each step. If you were single, you wouldn’t have hesitated to sleep with this man. If you weren’t Piers’ girlfriend, he would never have looked your way. It’s better to end it here.

The quietness of your room engulfs you, just like the soothing coolness of the pool earlier. As soon as you close the door behind you and lean against it, you can breathe. Yes, you can still hear the sounds of the party, but they’re muffled. You can finally hear yourself think again and you exhale shakily. You almost made the biggest mistake of your life. The adrenaline rush you got from it makes you snicker.

Piers isn’t entirely faithful. He attends parties with strippers, he looks at other women, you know all that. But it doesn’t mean anything because at the end of the day he comes home to you. What you just did … it goes beyond everything Piers has ever done, and you wouldn’t have been able to look at yourself in the mirror if you had spent one more minute in the presence of that handsome stranger. Even if your flirting made you happier than Piers has in months.

There’s a knock at your door and you jump. Expecting Piers, you open it without a second thought. “I’ll be right …,” you start but forget every word in the English language when you come face to face with the stranger.

“Hello,” he says, and that handsome smile is back on his face, even if he keeps a careful distance. “You vanished so quickly it made me wonder … did I do something wrong?”

“What?” you ask because it’s the only word you can remember.

“I’ll go back downstairs if you don’t want me here,” he goes on, “just say the word.”

They never come up the stairs. Never. Who does he think he is? “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m just tired.” You try to close the door in his face, but he steps closer, bracing a hand against the wooden doorframe. “Excuse me,” you say insistently.

“Can I come in?”

Into your room? “Oh, I don’t think that would be a good idea,” you reject him. You laugh, but it sounds insincere. “You should go back downstairs.”

“Alright,” he agrees, “but you have to say it like you mean it.”

“Listen here,” you start in your best no-nonsense voice. He tightens his grip on the wood and you hear it creak, despite the noise downstairs. “I want you to …”

It’s no use. You don’t know who he is, you don’t even know his name, but you also know that if you don’t let yourself have this, you’ll regret it for the rest of your life.

“You need to say the words, sweet –”

“I want you to kiss me.”

You both freeze. His mouth hangs open, still in the middle of forming the next word he wanted to say. You tense, well aware that you said something you can not take back.

The few seconds that pass feel like an eternity. Then he pushes himself past the doorframe into your room, into your personal space. You smell the heavy scent of cigar smoke on him, you smell leather and lavender and citrus. You see his smile that turns into something more determined the closer he gets to you. You notice the stubble on his cheek, the glint in his eyes, the small dark spot on the collar of his white shirt. You feel … you feel his body pressing against yours, his hand pressing against the small of your back, his breath on your face, and then everything is reduced to his lips on yours, your breaths mingling, his … his tongue coaxing you open, not gently but insistent, and you not hesitating to open yourself up for him.

It's as if you’re watching it all from above, you pushing him backward, him closing the door with a hard slam, the both of you pulling at each other while kissing and kissing and …

“Careful,” he chuckles when you bite down on his bottom lip. “You said kiss, not –”

“I don’t give a fuck what I said,” you interrupt him, pulling his shirt out of his pants.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says and grabs your wrist.

You groan. “Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts.”

He pulls you in for another kiss. “I’m not. You’re just … We’re doing this on my terms or not at all.”

Something throbs deep within your core.

He tightens his hold on you. “I’ve had all evening to think about this. To picture all the things I want to do to you.”

“It’s not going to be just kissing then?” you ask, relishing the chuckle you draw out of him.

“I knew I wouldn’t leave here tonight without feeling your pretty little cunt clench around me.”

It sounds like a line straight out of a porn movie. You should laugh, tell him to take you seriously. But all you can do is whimper at the thought of him sitting in his chair downstairs, talking to one of Piers’ associates or even Piers himself while thinking about being buried deep inside of you. Every other man would send you fleeing. Not him though.

“Who are you?” you whisper.

“Does it matter? Once I’m done with you, you’ll have forgotten your own name.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. “Those are some big words,” you point out.

He lets go of your wrist, then bunches the fabric of your dress up in his hand until he can reach below the hem, his broad, warm hand landing on your naked skin, his ring digging into your soft flesh. You gasp.

“Do you really think I’d disappoint you?”

“No,” you say too quickly, too rashly.

He grabs your dress again. “How about you take this off for me?”

“No,” you repeat, biting the inside of your cheek so you don’t laugh at the look of shock on his face. Then you turn around. “I can’t really open the zipper without some assistance.”

He runs both his hands over your naked shoulders and down to the middle of your back. You expect him to take his time, but he yanks the zipper down so quickly you think you hear fabric tear. You almost don’t have enough time to slip out of the thin shoulder straps before he falls to his knees behind you, pulling the dress with him. His hands are on your butt cheeks now, massaging, grabbing you as if he’s set on memorizing every detail. He slips his thumb under the hem of your panties, dips the tip into the wetness there.

You gasp at the same time as he whispers, “Knew it.”

You pull him away from you and turn around, well aware you’re completely naked except for your panties. “Well, it’s hardly surprising,” you start, your voice airy, but then it dies down completely at the sight of him kneeling in front of you looking up at you with so much heat in his gaze you’re getting burned. How did you get here?

You want him to tease you back, but he only pulls you close, his hands clasping your hips insistently, and kisses your belly, right above the hem of your panties. Then he kisses your thighs and your sides, and your belly button, and then he pulls down your panties and buries his face in your wetness with a relieved sigh. Your hands shoot forward and grab his curls, dig into them, desperate for purchase, as your head swims from the overstimulation. You would like to focus on the feeling of his hair between your fingers. You would like to focus on his tongue swirling around your clit. You would like to focus on the growl he makes when you run your nails over his scalp.

You think you’re laughing. You think you say, “Does that still count as kissing?”

“Yes,” he mumbles against the soft skin of your thighs. His curls are already a mess, his face is flushed, but when he glances up at you, his eyes are bright with determination.

“I think you have to show me that definition of kissing someday,” you go on, glancing up at the ceiling. You can’t look at him directly, it feels too intimate.

“That’s enough talking,” he decides and licks a broad stripe across your drenched folds.

You tighten your grip on his curls in response because your legs start to quiver. You hope he doesn’t notice, but his fingers dig into your thighs to steady you. The edges of his ring are cutting into you almost painfully – you want more of it. His hair wrapped around your fingers you pull him closer into you and he moans against you … actually moans. You push away those thoughts that make you compare him to Piers, how Piers would never moan if he was between your legs, how Piers never eats you out. This isn’t about him – it’s about you.

There’s something in the way that stranger rolls and flicks his tongue that tells you he won’t make you wait for an orgasm. You want to hold on longer because you can’t bear the thought of this being over already, but there is something in the way he devours you that pushes you toward the edge at a rapid speed. You don’t even hear the sounds of the party anymore, the laughter, the music; it’s just him and his deep sighs and moans.

You’re almost embarrassed by how fast you come. One second you’re appreciating the way his tongue flicks your clit, the next you can barely stay upright when your whole body releases months and months of built-up tension. You quiver in his grip and he holds you close, licking and licking until you can’t take it anymore. You think you mumble, “Fuckfuckfuck,” but there is no way to be sure. All you know is that you just had one of the best orgasms of your life.

You laugh as if the weight of the world has been lifted off your shoulders. What else is there to do? “So this is doing things on your terms?” you ask.

He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. You think you might explode at that sight. “No, that was for your benefit. The rest is going to be for mine.”

Your breath catches in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at your bed that’s rumpled from you crying on it earlier. If he can make you feel like that with just his tongue, what will he be –

“No, sugar, not like that,” he tells you, immediately pulling your attention back to him.

Your throat is dry when you ask, “What then?”

He stands and cups your cheek, his hand pleasantly warm. You lean into the touch immediately. “Don’t be so impatient. Enjoy the moment for a while.”

“What moment …?” you start but you don’t get far. He claims your mouth in a searing kiss that makes you wish you had been paying more attention to what he was doing when he was eating you out. You kiss him back, slinging your arms around his neck, the soft fabric of his white shirt rubbing against your naked chest. He licks across your bottom lip until you open your mouth for him, and then he claims you like no one has before. You fear that if you start thinking about how you can taste yourself on him, you’ll go insane.

“You’re so easy to kiss,” he mumbles against your lips. You’re not quite sure how he means it, but your chest still expands at the compliment.

“And you’re very handsome,” you retort lamely.

“Is that what you’ve been thinking about telling me all evening?”

“No,” you reply too slowly this time.

He kisses your temple, then brings his mouth right next to your ear. “I’ve been thinking about watching myself fuck you.”

He doesn’t give you time to process, takes you over to the vanity that stands opposite your bed, its mirror dull in the dim light of the room. Even when he places your hands on the table top, telling you to hold on, you still don’t think he’s serious. You look at yourself in the mirror, at the makeup smudges below your eyes, the birth mark on your throat that you hate, how your mouth hangs open in a way that looks so very unsexy. Behind you, that stranger you invited into your room, this man you know nothing about, is unbuttoning his expensive dress pants, his white shirt obscuring the view. What does he see in you that makes him want you like this?

“Do you know what you’re doing to me?” he groans, his eyes fluttering shut.

He’s holding himself now, but you can’t see his hand moving without turning around. And he didn’t tell you you’re allowed to look. Your palms begin to sweat against the wooden surface of the vanity, at the thought of him telling you what you are and aren’t allowed to do, at him praising you for doing well and punishing you if you don’t. You don’t recognize that side of yourself.

His eyes are open again and he searches for yours in the mirror. “I asked you a question.”

You swallow hard. “No, I don’t,” you say, fighting down a giggle. It’s nerves.

“I’d better show you then,” he concludes, and he pushes inside of you with one hard stroke, filling you faster than you can spread your legs.

You both take a moment to breathe. He adjusts himself, you try to get used to the angle, the feeling of fullness. You haven’t seen his hard cock, but you know he’s more than Piers, so much more the stretch is almost uncomfortable. The wood beneath your fingers starts to swim when your vision blurs and –

“No, none of that.” He grips your chin and lifts your head, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror. “I’ve also been thinking about you watching me fuck you.”

His hand looks so big holding your face like that, and when you swallow again, he can feel it against his fingers.

His own face is right there next to yours, his eyes firmly fixed to yours through the glass. “You’re a big girl. I’m sure you can take it.”

Before you can think of anything to say, he pulls out of you and thrusts back in in a tentative motion that is enough for your eyes to flutter shut in pleasure.

“No, no, no,” he whispers into your ear. “Keep them open.”

You do as you’re told and he rewards you with a sharp bite to the spot where your neck meets your shoulders. Your hips thrust back of their own accord, meeting his in a quick snap.

“You make such pretty sounds,” he mumbles against your skin.

You hadn’t even realized you were making any, too transfixed by watching him move behind you. Whenever your gaze wavers and flutters to your own face, embarrassment sends adrenaline shooting through your body. But he … watching his shoulders and arms tense and relax beneath his shirt that looks all too tight now, watching him meet your gaze, eyes full of lust … you don’t know why you would fuck anyone any other way than this.

He straightens his back, changing the angle slightly, and now you do hear yourself groan. He grabs your chin tighter and pushes two fingers into your mouth. “You know,” he says, and his hips snap with more force, faster, making the vanity rattle beneath your hands, “if you were mine, I’d let no man touch you. I would’ve broken his arm.”

It takes you a few seconds to figure out what he means; you’re too busy relishing the taste of his skin on your tongue. There must have been a man who touched you … when you were coming down the stairs … You can see it all clearly now. He would grab that man’s arm, calm and collected, twist it, make him shout in surprise … you can almost hear the bones snap.

“Oh, look at that,” he groans, and you do. You look at yourself in the mirror, unashamed, eyes wide. You watch how you eagerly suck and lick his fingers, watch it as if another person was doing it. You’re trembling in his grip … or is he making everything shake with his thrusts that are coming faster and faster now as he fucks you, taking what he needs? “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You almost don’t hear him, too transfixed by how depraved he’s making you feel. “You’d get off on that, a good man protecting you. Shame I’m not good, really.”

You don’t care. You’re done with those men who act politely, who treat you with care when they know Piers is around, but who talk about you taking it up the ass when your back is turned. You’d much rather have this, a man who isn’t scared to say these things to your face. Even if he thinks he isn’t all good, he still protected you.

He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and you whimper at the loss, watching how a thread of spit connecting his digits to your lips breaks. With his other hand, he suddenly grabs one of your breasts, squeezing your hard nipple with practiced ease, and you arch your back with a moan, exposing your throat to him. His fingers close around it, hard, restricting the airflow, his ring pressing against one of the most vulnerable spots of your body in a way that doesn’t leave any room for doubt – you’re doing this on his terms.

He tightens his grip on your throat until you start seeing stars, the loosens it. “I’m going to make you come now. I want you to watch yourself. I want you to see what you look like coming around my cock.”

If you could, you would nod, but he isn’t looking for your consent. He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger one last time, then lowers his hand to find your clit. When he touches you, you make a sound like never before, one that’s feral and animalistic and can’t possibly be coming from you.

He shushes you, his breath tickling your neck. “You don’t want anyone to hear us.”

You don’t? You have no idea. You can’t form a single coherent thought as he pounds into you, making sure you’ll be able to feel him long after he’s done with you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Your voice is breathless after that scream, hoarse and raw. Your gaze flickers to his fingers curled tightly around your neck.

“Keep your eyes on yourself, baby girl,” he orders.

Baby girl.

That’s what does it. You watch your eyes widen and your mouth fall open as your body shakes first from his thrusts and then from wave after wave of pleasure. He was right. You love this. You love watching yourself come while he forces you to watch yourself, love to watch your orgasm play out across your face. He’s watching you too, licking his lips hungrily, never faltering. But you can see it in his eyes, the way he’s memorizing every detail of your orgasm.

“Well done,” he says once you’re done and moves your chin so he can kiss your lips.

Then he suddenly pushes you down so your chest connects with the table top. You grunt in surprise, then in pain when he rolls your head to the side so you can still somewhat glimpse his reflection above you.

“My turn,” he growls.

His teeth are digging into his bottom lip, his eyes are firmly fixed on his own reflection, and he holds you down with such a strong grip you can’t move, but also in a way that’s so casual it makes you feel like he’s using you. Your heart stutters with longing so intense at that thought that the feeling spreads to the rest of your body and becomes so intense he feels it in his own. At least you think that is what’s going on when he smiles down on you.

The position you’re in and the tenderness between your legs steadily turns from pleasurable to uncomfortable to simply too much. But he doesn’t finish. He keeps going and going, not as fast as before, seemingly transfixed by what you’re doing. You reach back for him and he grabs your wrist and pins it to the small of your back.

“Please,” you whimper, and it makes his intense gaze falter for just one second.

“Almost there, baby girl,” he replies, “you’re doing so well. Just keep taking it a little while longer.” You think you could bear anything if he just kept talking to you like that.

Then suddenly it’s over. There is one last thrust that pushes you onto the tips of your toes and then he stills. The only movement comes from his hips that are twitching as he empties himself inside of you. You don’t even dare to breathe, watching as his reflection slowly relaxes and he closes his eyes for a few seconds, trying to catch his breath.

Finally, he pulls out of you and you try to stand, but he pushes you back down again. “Stay. We’re not done yet.”

Your legs tremble in anticipation, but your mind is blank, unable to imagine what else he could have in store for you. You don’t feel anything at first, you just hear him moan, and then you realize he’s kneeling behind you, cleaning you up with his tongue, eagerly licking his own release off your skin. It makes you feel so lewd you forget about everything, even Piers. Especially when he doesn’t stop at your thighs but moves further and further up your legs until his tongue and nose are buried in your folds once more and he’s spreading you open with his big hands.

You can’t help it.

“Fuck, fu- I- I’m gonna –”

There’s no time for you to finish the warning before you’re coming a third time, your hips desperately twitching against the vanity. He licks you through it, catching every last drop you’re giving him on his tongue. You can’t tell for sure but you think he’s chuckling and for some reason the shame you feel turns you on even more.

When it’s all over, he peels you off the vanity and pulls you into his arms, brushing your hair out of your face that is sticky with sweat. “You sure are a greedy little thing,” he says before he kisses you tenderly.

You swallow a sob and give him a sigh instead.

“Half the people downstairs probably heard us.” There’s a big grin on his face at that thought.

“I don’t give a fuck,” you repeat your earlier sentiment, surprised to discover that it’s true.

“Someone wants to get caught,” he teases and kisses you again.

“What I want is for you to fuck me like that again.”

“Oh, baby girl.” You almost hate how he’s already figured out what hearing him call you that does to you. “There are a million more things I want to do with you. This was just a taste.”

You’re not sure if you can believe him, but you decide to indulge that fantasy. You put on your sweetest smile. “Can’t wait.”

He lets go of you and walks toward your door. “Why don’t you give me a call once you’re back in Manhattan.”

A red warning light switches on somewhere in your brain. “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Something tells me you’ll find out.” And with that, he’s gone.

[selfloverrrrrr]

Sinners~

Warnings : smut , heavy smut, unprotected sex, Noncon, Kidnapping, physical and emotional abuse, biting, size difference, Yandere Geto, vampire Geto, Fake priest Geto, Yandere Gojo, vampire Gojo, Fake priest Gojo, vampire hunter reader, stalking, protective, jealous, obsessive, manipulative....

( All characters are aged up/18+)

Minors Do Not Interact

Read the warnings carefully....if you don't like my stories block me not report

Y/n's POV

I'm a vampire hunter. It was my job/hobby to kill vampires. Those demonic creatures. They just kill humans to feed on them. What else should I call them other than demonic? I've killed so many vampires in my life. I have many weapons to kill them.

Vampires are creatures who can only be killed by a wood stick. They sucks blood from humans. Sometimes they become monsters for blood. My family was killed by some vampires when I was a kid. I wasn't at home that day that's why I'm still alive.

After I grew up I became a vampire hunter. And started killing vampires. After a year of vampire hunting I killed my parents'killer vampires. But my vampire hunting didn't stop there.... killing those monsters became a habit.

So there's a case... Here's a jungle beside our village. There's a church in the middle of the forest. There was a famous priest in the church. So many people went to visit there. But something strange started happening from the last month. Who ever goes to the church doesn't come back...

Strange!... never happened before there. I started an investigation. I had a gut feeling that it was some vampire's work. And yeah... I was right.... there's a strong vampire in the church who killed the priest and pretends to be the priest and when people go to the church thinking that he's the priest he killed them and drank their blood....

As my habit.... I decided to kill him. I got ready and went to the middle of the jungle where the church is. It was a stormy night. I've got to know that the vampire who is trying to pretend that he's the priest is a young guy. We can't tell his age tho... cause vampires don't age.

I wore a sleeveless white long deep neck dress. I know that he's a strong vampire so I can't kill him normally...so my plan is to go to him and tell him that I forgot my way home.... then ask for a shelter.... then seduce him and then.... kill him.

I finally reached the church. So many crows flew away as I reached there. "Hmmm.... I can already feel a strong energy..." I said. I've seen a strong energy last year...that was also a strong vampire.... but this feels way more stronger than that... how strong is this vampire?

I went to the door. "Excuse me?" I knocked on the door. "Is anybody here???" I asked. No answer came. I called again. "Yes yes... I'm coming" a sound came from inside. A few minutes later the door opened.

A man came out. Tall, White hair, white eyebrows, white eyelashes, bright blue eyes shining.... To be honest....he WAS good looking. "Yes?... how can I help you?" He asked. " Actually I've lost my way to home.... And it's storming so much... I saw this church so came here for help.... can you please let me stay here tonight, please?" I asked pleadingly.

"oh... yeah... yeah I mean sure....we do have some rooms here" he replied. "Thank you so much" I said. "Please come inside" he replied. I noticed his eyes trailing down my body when I went inside. I kept myself from rolling my eyes.

He took me to a room. "You can stay here tonight" he said. "Thank you, priest..." I said knowing well he's not even the priest. He smiled at me. "It's my work to help people you know" he said. "Don't just stay... please take a seat" he said. We both took a seat on the couch.

"it's thundering outside... You're lucky you came here" he said. "Yes yes" I replied. "What's your name?" I asked. "Gojo.... Gojo Satoru" he said with a bright smile. "You look too young... I mean I've never seen a priest this young" I said. "Yeah... I am... what's your age anyways?" He asked.

"I'm 20...you?" I asked. "I'm 28" he replied. We were talking. And I know he was trying to get closer. His eyes fixed on my cleavage. I stood up and walked towards him and sat beside him. "Don't you feel lonely here alone...?" I asked. I could feel his breath hitched when I sat beside him.

"I do..." He spoke. "But what can I do?... there's noone to take away my loneliness" he said putting a strand of my hair behind my ear. "I am..." I replied. He paused for a second. Then he smirked. "You are?" He asked. "Yes... I am " I replied. He pulled me on his lap. "And what will you do?" He asked still smirking. His lips inches away from mine.

I leaned closer towards him "I'll...." I said "...kill you" I completed my sentence. His expression turned into a confused one. Before he could say anything I took out the wood stick from my bag and stabbed it in his chest. His eyes widened and gagged out of pain.

He fell on the floor and sat on him still pressing the wooden stick deeper. He was trying to stop me but he was becoming weak. His hands were shaking. "W-who...nghhh.... w-who are y-you?" He managed to ask. "A vampire hunter" I replied.

He looked at me. His face was becoming red because he couldn't breathe properly. "How dare you killed the priest and pretend to be him then kill innocent people!" I said leaning towards me. His hands were now turning blue. "P-Please" all he said. I pressed the stick deeper. He screamed loudly.

"Rest in pea-" before I could complete my sentence someone put a cloth on my mouth from behind. Something was in the cloth which made me go unconscious. I fell on the floor beside Gojo. "Come on...are you that much stupid... Satoru?" A guy asked.

Gojo's POV

I saw y/n fell on the floor. "Pull it out" I said and Suguru pulled out the stick in one swift motion. I groaned. "Did I just see the strongest vampire begging for his life ?" Suguru teased. "Shut up!" I said. "Whatever... first thing first " Suguru said and took y/n's body run to the bed and tied her there.

"you should've looked at your face" Suguru said. "Shut up I felt like I was dying...." I said. I looked at my chest and it was healing. "She didn't put any iron stick in the middle of the wood stick.... you know we can't die like those normal vampires." Suguru said. "Maybe she didn't because she loves me" I said smirking at Suguru.

Suguru rolled his eyes. "She didn't because she didn't know" Suguru said. "How do you know?" I asked. "Because she was the one that day too" Suguru replied. My eyes widened "are you kidding me?!" I said. Suguru smirked. "Looks like she seduced you too" he said.

"and what if she loves me?" I asked with a smirk. "My dear Satoru if she did....she won't have came here to kill you" Suguru replied. "I know I know" I said rolling my eyes. "You don't need to be jealous of me" Suguru said. I was about to reply him when we heard a groaning sound and both of our attention went towards y/n.

Y/n's POV

I slowly woke up. I slowly opened my eyes. Then I remembered where I was. I quickly sat up but then fell back again. I realised I was tired with chains. "Awww.... can escape?" A voice said. I looked in front of me it was Gojo. He didn't die?! "No I didn't die " he said with a smirk as if he read my mind.

"you're a bitch..." I said. "Ouch .....that hurts.... don't you love me?" He asked leaning on the bed. "I'd rather die" I replied. "Told you Satoru..." Another voice said. I looked towards it. And I was shocked. My eyes were wide open. "What happened? Shocked?" Geto asked with a smirk. "How the hell are you still alive?!" I asked.

Flashback

Almost one year ago... I went on a mission to kill a strong vampire. The hunting please was the river side. It was a tough mission. I got ready for the mission and went to the place. I knew he was there somewhere. I acted like I came there just to take some water.

I was pouring some water in a jar. It was evening time....the sun is almost down. I heard some footsteps from behind me. So the vampire is here already.... I turned around my head to see but nobody was there... I turned around my head again towards the river and suddenly saw someone standing beside me.

I gasped and looked at him. It was a tall man with black long hair and purple eyes. "I'm sorry....did I scare you?" He asked. "No no it's okay.... I didn't notice you." I replied. "What are you doing here.... alone?" He asked. "Uh... actually.... I'm lost here" I made up a story.

His eyes shined as he heard that I was lost. "Oh my lord.... then I should help you as a gentleman" he said. 'yeah I know' I thought. "You will?" I asked and stood up. "Of course" I'll" he replied. "That's so sweet of you " I said. "Come with me " he said and we started walking in the woods.

I was walking and could continuously feel his state. "Where do you leave?" I asked. "Here...in the woods" he replied. "You leave in the woods?" I asked. "I do" he replied. I sat on the ground. "Ughhhh I'm tired I can't walk anymore" I cried. "I can carry you....if it's okay with you " he said.

He carried me in bridal style and started walking again. His face was so close to my neck. "How long you haven't done it?" I asked. He stopped walking. "Haven't done what?" He asked. I looked at his lips then again at his face. He smirked. "Drink blood " I whispered. His smirk suddenly dropped.

"there's no fucking way!" He said seriously. Oh so he already understood I'm a vampire hunter? Huh.... He's a clever one I guess. "Oh but there IS a fucking way" I said and took out a wood stick which I tied with my leg. He immediately grabbed my hand. I quickly took out another stick from my another leg and stabbed his right hand.

He screamed. We both fell on the ground. I stabbed his hand with the ground. "Uh uh...too late" I said and stabbed his another hand the same way. Now I took the last stick I had. "P-Please" he begged. "Do you let those innocent people go when they beg you like this?" I asked siting over him. I finally stabbed his heart.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA....IT H-HURTTTTTSSSSS" He screamed. I pushed the stick deeper. He bursted out of screaming. I grabbed his face. Nails digging into his cheeks. "You know what... you have a pretty face.... I wish I had another stick to stab right accross your face" I said looking at his tear streaming face. "I'm just kidding.... anyways you gonna die now...so I should go" I said and left that place.

Flashback ends

"shocked?" Geto asked with a smirk. "How?!" I asked with shock. I'm alive because you don't know how to kill strong vampires.... We can't be killed just with a wood stick..... that's why me and Satoru both are alive" Geto replied. "Shit my chest still hurts a bit...." Gojo said rubbing his chest where I stabbed him some time ago.

I clenched my jaw. Then looked at both of them. "So what now? Gonna kill me by sucking all my blood? Do it ..... I. DON'T. CARE." I said. They both raised their eyebrows at him. "Go on....if you want to kill me by drinking all my blood...do it" I said. The both laughed. "Suguru, she really thinks we're gonna kill her" Gojo said.

"oh dear y/n.... does it looks like we're gonna kill you? May it does....but we won't. Afterall we got what was showing in front of our faces then snatched away every time....why would we let it go after getting it so long time...?" Geto said. I looked at him confusedly. Gojo grabbed my ankle and pulled me towards him.

I gasped. "Little hunter looks confused... lemme explain it" Gojo said and came over me and caged me underneath him. He grabbed my face and forced me to look at his eyes. "Now you're gonna whatever we're gonna tell you to do" he said. Then realisation hit me that he just compelled me. He laughed at my realisation.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?! You can never make me your servant. I said-" before I could complete my sentence Gojo spoke "listen to Suguru" he said and I had to listen even if I didn't want to. Geto smirked at me. "You know you talk too much for a pretty face" he said grabbing my chin.

"we should start it since Satoru's too eager" Geto said. "Hell yeah I am" Gojo replied. I was thinking what he was talking about when Geto spoke again "I'm gonna take her mouth you can take whatever you want" he told Gojo. My eyes widened. Realisation hit me. I tried to move but those chains kept me in bed.

"let me go!!!!" I screamed. "Awwwwwww.... Little hunter is begging now?" Gojo said mockingly. "Don't worry I know how to keep shut this PRETTY FACE" Geto said. Let me g-" my scream got muffled by Geto's kiss. Gojo came behind me and untied the back of my dress. "You were edging me like a slut there ..... shouldn't keep my dick waiting anymore" Gojo said and pulled down my long gown dress.

Gojo's hand reached to tear off my bra while Geto's hand reached to take off my pantie. I struggled between them. I tried my best to go away from them but the chains kept me in place. "Stop struggling" Gojo said. And as I'm already compelled by Gojo my body automatically stopped struggling..... I tried to move it but my own body wasn't listening to me.

All of a sudden Geto put two fingers inside me. My eyes widened. "Take it out" I said. "Are you in a position to command me?" Geto asked leaning towards me and he started moving his fingers. My back arched. My back pressed against Gojo's chest. "what happened, little hunter? Feels good?" Gojo asked with a smirk.

"S-stop this...mmhhmm... S-stop" I said between moans. Geto keep thrusting his fingers. Gojo reached his hand and grabbed my breast. He squeezed it and played with the nipples between his fingers. I squirmed between them.... they were enjoying that too much. Geto started rubbing my clit and I came with a few thrusts.

"oh....miss hunter came" Geto said with a smirk. "Looks like little hunter wants moreee" Gojo said and turned me on my back on the bed. "No no... stop this shits .....let me go!!!" I cried out. Geto grabbed my hair and turned me on my stomach. "You know.... you have a pretty face.... you would look greattttt with my cum all over it" he said.

Suddenly I a sound of throwing clothes. I looked back at Gojo. He already took off his upper clothes. His body was flexing. Then I saw he took off his pants too. His dick was out. It was huge, rock hard with glossy red tip. My mouth hung open seeing the size. "Like what you see.... little hunter?" Gojo asked with a smirk.

Before I could say anything Geto turned around my head by pulling my hair. My eyes widened again. He was fully naked too now. His dick was as hard as Gojo's. His dick was thicker and Gojo's one was longer. "Oh you like our dicks? Don't worry you'll be stuffed with both of it" Geto said and pushed his dick inside my mouth.

I almost chocked on it.I screamed on his dick when I felt Gojo pushing inside my pussy. "Be a good girl and let us fuck you" Gojo whispered in my ear. Geto started thrusting his dick in my mouth and Gojo in my pussy from back. It hurts too much.... their sizes are too big. My mouth was wide open. Geto's dick inside my mouth taking the whole length in slowly. It was too big. Geto's breath hitched. He threw his head back mouth wide open. He pulled my hair telling me to suck hard. I slowly sucked his dick and his legs shook.

He bobbed my head up and down. His tip was poking the back of my throat. He grabbed my hair and started bobbing my head up and down faster. "Oh god...her mouth feels so good don't stop!!!!" Geto moaned out loudly. "Her pussy does too" Gojo said while thrusting. Geto was bobbing my head up and down faster and faster. He suddenly felt that Geto was close. In a few minutes he came inside my mouth. "Swallow it y/n" Gojo ordered. Even though I don't want to, my body did listen to him like a puppet.

On the other hand Gojo was thrusting too roughly. He was slamming his whole dick inside me. I was curling my toes with pain. His thrust became harder and harder. I clenched around him tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh....so f-fucking tight, Suguru this pussy might be the death of me!!!" he started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I squeezed the bedsheet to control myself. With a few more thrust I came. He was still thrusting roughly. I felt his cock pulsing inside me. " Little hunter should fucking take what I'm giving her." He whimpered. Within a minute he came inside me I could feel his seed inside me. He pulled out.

I fell on the bed and was breathing too heavily. Geto pulled me and made me sit on his lap. My back pressed against his chest. He touched my right boob with his hand and pinched the nipple. I whimpered. "She can take both of us together Suguru" Gojo said. "Can she?" Geto asked with a smirk. "Of course she can, she'll do anything I tell her to do" Gojo smirked back at Geto. "No no no....not again... please please please... not again" I cried out. This is the first time some vampires made me cry. "Oh look.... you're begging now?do you remember how much I begged for my life?" He asked looking at me seriously. "And do you remember how much you hurted me and I was begging still you didn't stop?" Geto whispered in my ear. I looked at Gojo full with tears in my eyes "please.... P-Please" I begged again. Gojo's smirk widened and he crashed his mouth on my boob sucking harshly. I moaned loudly.

They both lined up with me. Fear grabbed me by my neck. " Gojo no no no... P-please no...Geto please s-stop" I begged but they didn't even listen to me and slammed their whole dick inside me in one slide. I scremed. They didn't even give me time to adjust his size and started thursting in and out roughly. It was too much...they both were big and thick....it was giving too much pain. I was throughig my legs with pain and begging them to stop. And they were liking it so much. Their thurst became harder and harder. I clenched around them tightly and he moaned loudly " ughhhhhh....ahhh s-so...ahhhh.... f-fuck...it's so tight " Geto moaned. "Told you " Gojo said between moans and started rubbing my clit with his thumb and I bite his shoulder scratched his back to control myself. With a few more thurst I came. They were still thursting roughly. I felt their cock pulsing inside me. I tried to push him away with all of my strength. They both moaned loudly. Within a minute they came inside me I could feel their seed inside me. My vision blurred out.

They both pulled out. "What now, Satoru?" Geto asked. "What now what?" Gojo asked back. "I'm asking about her" Geto replied. "Do you think I'm gonna let go a pretty thing like her?" Gojo asked with a smirk. Geto smirked back. "I don't want to let her go either " Geto said. "She'll stay with us....... FOREVER" Gojo said.

Give me your requests guys....

I love when you give me your requests 💕

[maychorian]

Dungeon Meshi has fully consumed me, especially a certain tiny union man, and I want to ramble about Chilchuck's traumatic backstory for a bit. Mild manga spoilers under the cut.

The first time I read the manga I missed this bit, since I was reading an online version that didn't have all the extras included. Since I've come across this litte omake, though, I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. It just explains so much about why Chilchuck is the way he is.

First, at a surface level, it's interesting that this backstory only comes out in the framework of talking about a monster. Chilchuck is offering basically an anecdote about succubi, adding to the conversation he and his party are having about a monster species. It's all very casual and offhand. No one even remarks on what that experience would have meant to Chilchuck on a personal level, and he doesn't dwell on it, either. You have to wonder if Chilchuck would have ever mentioned it at all if they weren't specifically talking about succubi.

But holy heck, just think about this for a moment. On one of Chilchuck's first outings as an adventurer, possibly the first time he joined a party, his fellow adventurers were planning to feed him to a monster. He's only alive now because he had the instinct that something was wrong and had the speed, wisdom, and stealth to run away. He could have died. He could have been murdered. And it's implied that this happens to half-foots frequently in this world.

How traumatizing would that have been for a young adventurer? The people he should have been able to trust to have his back were literally planning his death, all for monetary gain. He was treated as disposable, a resource to be exploited, not a person. Not only is there the trauma of narrowly escaping death here, there's also the trauma of being mistreated and abused by other thinking, intelligent beings.

No freaking wonder he has trust issues. He's been working with Laios and his party for three years at this point and he's never shared a single solitary personal detail about his life, not even his age. He can't bear to allow any vulnerability to show, because he can't allow himself to be taken advantage of again. No wonder he's so prickly and wary. No wonder he's so sensitive to being viewed as anything other than a capable, skilled, fully realized and autonomous adult. No wonder he shies away from affection and any hint of closeness, especially in the early chapters of the manga.

I'm amazed that Chilchuck had the strength and fortitude to stay in the business at all. He considered his options and took steps to keep himself safe, including only accepting pay in advance and starting a union to protect himself and other half-foots. (Another tidbit you don't get at first in the story--Chilchuck is not just a member of a union or the leader, he started the whole dang thing to begin with.)

But what's so lovely, and wonderful, what makes this story take over my brain so completely and utterly, is that Chilchuck doesn't stay this way. Over the course of the manga, he opens up more and more. He allows himself to be emotionally vulnerable; he shares more and more details of his life. He treats Marcille and Izutsumi like daughters, Laios and Senshi like brothers. He loves them and allows himself to be loved in return.

And that's one of many reasons that Dungeon Meshi is one of the best found-family stories I've come across in a long, long time.

[jordanrosenburg]

After watching the “Quiet On Set” documentary, I can’t help but feel like there are literally no good people in the entertainment industry. Even the “good” ones aren’t good. It solidifies that we don’t actually know anything about them. We only know who they present as to the media. 

I think like most people around my age, we grew up watching Nickelodeon during its golden age. I always looked forward to watching “All That” not only because it was funny, but because it was something I could watch with my older siblings. It was something the four of us could laugh together about. My sister and I still laugh over the bit from “Keenan and Kel” where Kel admits to dropping the screw in the tuna. So many iconic characters and television shows were created at the hands of Dan Schneider. 

What else was created at the hands of Dan Schneider were countless acts of abuse, harassment, manipulation, and much more. His sets were homes to child sexual abusers. Adults who are around children each and every day, taking advantage of their trust and innocence, grooming them and harming them physically and mentally. 

It’s not easy for victims of abuse to speak up. Many aren’t believed. Reliving trauma is a horrific experience, so I commend each and every person who shared their story for this docuseries. There were previous cast members who aren’t as well known who got to share their truths, there were crew members sharing stories about Dan’s harassment and sexism on set. There were many crew members that felt uncomfortable about the scenes they were shooting, but no one spoke up. Dan had so much power at Nickelodeon because he kept churning out hit after hit after hit. The parents weren’t much better, but I’ll come back to that. 

The docuseries revealed three adult men who were caught for child pornography, and for sexually abusing children. One man’s name is Brian Peck. He groomed Drake Bell for years. Joe Bell, Drake’s father, did everything he could to keep Brian away from Drake because he knew something just wasn’t right with how Brian acted around his son. Brian eventually convinced Drake to fire his father as his manager, and let his mother take over. This gave Brian the room to drive Drake to and from auditions, take him to Disneyland with him and his friends, and more. Drake Bell revealed in the documentary that Brian Peck sexually assaulted and abused him for years. Since Drake was a minor when it started, his identity was kept secret.

During the trial, many people wrote letters for Brian Peck, attesting to his character: James Marden, Taran Killam, Alan Thicke, Thomas DeSano, Ron Melendez, Rider Strong, and Will Friedle. Some of these names are extremely surprising, and others aren't at all.

Joanna Kerns saying, "there must have been some extreme situation or temptation exerted on him to influence is actions" at the time, and is now saying "I have now learned that my letter of support was based on complete misinformation.

Knowing what I know now, I never would have written the letter". For me, it's not even about her writing the letter, it's about her blaming Drake Bell, the victim, and child in the situation, as if Brian Peck wasn't a grown man who should have known better.

Kimmy Robertson also wrote victim blaming language in her letter of support for Brian Peck.

Rich Correll wrote, "it would be my pleasure to work with him again". And then he did! Brian was allowed to work on The Suite Life! Correll later said, they had no input or involvement in the casting". He also went on to say that, "Mr. Peck simply replied that 'the problem had been solved'".

The series went on from there, explaining how Dan’s behaviors just got worse and worse, and he “flew too close to the sun”. The inappropriate sexual innuendo bits on his shows happened more and more frequently. This included constant closeups on actors’ feet, many of the young female actresses being forced to be squirted in the face with various liquids to represent “money shots”. Ariana Grande probably had it the worst in that she had to film videos that went directly to YouTube, many of which included her biting her own toenails, squeezing a potato until juice squirted out of it, etc. Just absolutely disgusting things that do not make sense for a CHILDREN’S television show. These weren’t jokes for kids. This was Dan Schneider abusing his power, and seeing how much he could get away with. 

It wasn’t until Jeanette McCurdy’s mother died that Nickelodeon finally launched an investigation into Dan Schneider. Jeanette talks about this in her book, “I’m Glad My Mom Died”, which was a heart wrenching read, but well worth it. Jeanette returned to work a WEEK after her mother died from a long battle with cancer. Because of the backlash she got for that, Nickelodeon realized that it was the culture Dan created that probably made Jeanette feel like she had to come back, that she couldn’t take more time off. 

All Nickelodeon did was remove Dan from his sets, and made it so he could only watch from his office and give notes from there. Even though he wasn’t physically on set, the toxic and hostile environment was still alive and well because he was still watching everyone’s every move. 

Thanks to #MeToo, more and more women started speaking up about their experiences on set with Dan Schneider. And then in 2018 Nickelodeon finally kicked Dan Schneider to the curb after launching another investigation based off the new claims. The investigation didn't reveal proof of sexual abuse, but it revealed more cases of harassment of his actors and his crews.

Child stars are often made fun of and exploited by the media as they transition into adulthood. We watch their mental health decline until they’re caught having a breakdown. People point and laugh, and say it’s just another child star who couldn’t handle life as a grown up. But what I think a lot of people don’t understand is that many child stars are forced into the entertainment business. Parents put their financial burdens on their children, tell them they need to work to support the family. That’s a lot of pressure to put on a child. So, if something bad is happening on a set, a kid is going to be too afraid to speak up because they could be fired, and if they’re fired, then they’re not making money for their families. The parents are supposed to be on set and with the kids at all times. But so many turn the other cheek and don’t speak up because they don’t want to risk their kids getting fired. 

It just feels like no adults, not even the ones you’re meant to trust, are safe to be around. In some way, shape, or form these kids get abused. Whether it’s sexual abuse, racism, inflicted eating disorders, or other types of mental abuse, they’re not safe. No one is looking out for them. Everyone is more concerned with making money. 

The entertainment industry squeezes the youth dry and tosses them aside when they can’t legally control them anymore. And we wonder why so many of them have a tough time later on in life. The lucky ones are helped through therapy, and the not so lucky ones either turn up dead, broke, abused, or end up abusing others as they were abused. 

I am feeling very sad and heartbroken. And I’m not sure where to go from here. So many of these shows have brought me comfort and laughs over the years. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to enjoy them again. Is it okay to sit and watch reruns or should we be boycotting everything? I want to help in the ways that I can, but I also know that the world will stop caring about this in a week or so when the next big truth bomb about something else is dropped. 

People who have no moral conscious, people who are okay letting children be hurt for the sake of their own wallets shouldn’t have any power. And I hope everyone involved in hurting these kids, past and present, is forced to answer for what they did. I hope they’re shamed and cancelled and doxxed and everything else bad that can happen to people like them. I hope they go broke and become ruined. And at this point, I hope Nickelodeon just crashes and burns. They don’t deserve any salvation. 

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

next | ending

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer: 

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot. 

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right. 

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him. 

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her. 

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her. 

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this. 

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate. 

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

[therainscene]

Stranger Things is fundamentally a story about being an outcast: coming of age while using the healing power of love to deal with abuse and pressure to conform.

And these are all very queer themes. Stranger Things isn’t necessarily about queerness, per se, but its themes do happen to encapsulate the queer experience perfectly -- so it’s no coincidence that the boy who got the story rolling and whose coming of age will be a focus in S5 also happens to be gay. A satisfying ending for him will be a satisfying ending for the whole show.

So let’s examine Will’s arc without our shipping goggles on and ask ourselves:

What sort of outcome for Will would best fit the themes of Stranger Things?

If he dies, then all those times he was saved by the power of love will have gone to waste.

Perhaps you could argue that he’ll sacrifice himself in an act of love and gratitude for those friends who saved him in the past... but he's already done that, multiple times, and it never permanently solved the problems plaguing him or Hawkins. Will needs to try something new if he wants it to stick this time.

If he becomes a villain, then he’s giving in to the cycle of abuse.

That’s too out of character. Will is Henry’s narrative foil -- they have a lot in common, but their roles in this story fundamentally contrast one another. So even if Will allies with Vecna -- perhaps out of some well-meaning effort to sacrifice himself again -- that’s not going to be the end of his story.

If his defeated acceptance that queers like him never Get The Boy in the end is proven correct, then the narrative will be rewarding his conformity to homophobic ideals.

Yes, nobody is entitled to Get The Boy in real life... but nobody gets eaten by Demogorgons in real life either. This is a story, and its job is to explore ideas through metaphor, not to be a perfect mirror.

And yes, Stranger Things is set in the terrifyingly homophobic 80s and chooses to take a realistic approach in depicting queerness... but it’s still a modern story intended for a 2020s audience.

So why should we learn the lesson that the best ending a gay boy can hope for is bittersweet at best? That queer self-actualization is rooted in waiting to be accepted by straight people instead of forging your own queerness for yourself? How is any of this consistent with the theme of resisting forced conformity?

But if:

Will overcomes his internalized homophobia and openly admits his love for Mike, and Mike likewise shakes off the shackles of compulsory heterosexuality and admits he feels the same way...

...The joy of actually getting the romantic love he thought he never would inspires Will and gives him strength...

...To finally face Vecna, symbolically addressing the abuse and societal homophobia that almost prevented him from getting that romance in the first place?

We satisfyingly resolve all three themes in one tidy, self-contained swoop.

[dreamonminecraft]

Ok so u support dreamnap? Me as well but what are your thoughts bc ur extremely educated and well spoken

Okay first of all careful with the "well educated and well spoken" part. I'm 16 and trying my very best not to lose my mind. After four years in this fandom, I'm very well aware of how words can become violently misconstrued and everything is taken as the end of the world. I get it, parsing through information like this is difficult and trying to figure out where you stand is even harder- but don't take my words as final. Don't take anyone's. Consider your own thoughts and feelings against the evidence we all have and make up your own mind. That's part of the reason we're in this mess. That being said:

I think the largest factor here is that George and Caiti lived two very different experiences that night. I don't believe that George was attempting to get with her in any way- I don't think that any of the girls were invited to Dream's hotel room for any sexual reasons. I think from the first night they hung out Caiti was uncomfortable with the age gap and thought of George as weird, potentially flirty, and maybe untrustworthy. Neither Caiti or her friends liked Dream to begin with.

When they decided to go up to Dream's hotel room that night, Dream did not know how old Caiti was. Caiti says that George did. I don't know what their instagram dms were. However they interacted, they were all drunk and Caiti perceived George's actions to be sexual.

I think, based on how we know George to act when he's drunk (Sapnap's stories, Dream's stories, and the drunk banter episode) that he likely was touchy with whoever was around them that night. That doesn't invalidate what Caiti felt. She hasn't been around George much prior to this, certainly not while drunk, and she already felt like he was flirting with her. Whatever touching happened wasn't called out or even noticed by anyone in the room. Nobody remembers it happening except Caiti (and potentially George, but it's unlikely)

When she went to leave, she was already uncomfortable and then he followed her to the elevator. Benefit of the doubt, he was probably just going to walk her back to her hotel room, but she was very drunk and very uncomfortable, which he failed to recognize. The minute she told him no, he backed off and left her alone.

He likely did not interpret any of her signals that night, as she said they were all non-verbal until the elevator. He probably doesn't even remember it. We know that when George is drunk, he'll often sit on the laps of his friends (Sapnap) or hang on them (Karl) or even kiss them (Dream) but that's not okay to do with strangers.

This isn't a story about an abuse of power or age, but likely recognizing that some people just can't handle getting drunk. George is not good at reading people when he's sober, and can't be trusted not to trample on people's boundaries when he's drunk. Alcohol is not for everyone.

This is likely, hopefully, a one-off event. I believe that George's tweet yesterday was reactionary, as our first time seeing the allegations was likely also his first time hearing them. I doubt that he remembers the details of the night.

None of this is to abstract his fault. If Caiti was uncomfortable with any of his actions, he should have been able to recognize that and step away. The fact that he couldn't proves that he was too drunk and needs to reflect on his own problems with alcohol.

That being said, if what I think happened and what actually happened are the story that George explains when and if he goes live, and on the condition that Caiti believes him and accepts his apology, I will continue to support George.

I think there is a lot of growth that needs to happen in his own life. I think he's emotionally stunted, I think he uses alcohol in an unhealthy way, and I think he needs to come to terms with the fact that he hurt someone even if it was unintentional.

Lying will not get him out of this.

With all that said, I will continue to support dream and sapnap regardless of their reaction to this. Sapnap wasn't there. He has no part in this other than being George's friend. Dream didn't notice it when it happened and was never aware of any of it. He's been caught up unfairly in the allegations and I don't feel it's right to drop him over this, at least personally.

I don't think Dream or Sapnap will stop being friends with George. I think dream and George are more than friends and have completely built their lives around each other. I think sapnap's content is already mostly stand alone but dream has been his best friend for over a decade and George is such an integral part of that. I think it is naive to think George will be kicked out, and that doesn't mean that either of them are supporting a bad person, it just means they're being good friends.

Sometimes you have to be a good friend because somebody needs it. I don't know when George will go live and I don't know what he'll say, but I don't regret my time here regardless of what it is.

[harryshomebaby]

it's hard to find the right words to say and i truly never thought i'd ever be writing something like this. and i apologize if this doesn't all come out the way i want it to.

i hate that i have to preface this by saying that i was not a fan or a supporter of Liam in recent years and do not condone anything that he did. the victims of his actions still deserve to be heard and find closure that they'll now sadly never see...

but if you were anything like me, Liam Payne was a significant part of who you were growing up. 1 of 5 individuals that we looked up to as role models, and that created some of the online communities we're still a part of today. that built friendships we probably still have to this day.

a mature but loveable boy that we all fell in love with in the very early days of One Direction, or even later. with video diaries, music videos, and behind the scenes clips that shared a glimpse of his personality with us, and tweets that some of us will never forget (it's a snake habitat, turn around!!), we watched him grow up alongside the boys while we were growing up ourselves.

we even had the privelege of seeing a small part of where he grew up and the people who raised him in This is Us and the "Story of my Life" video. we got to know a little bit about his life before One Direction, with small stories and anecdotes from his mother, Karen, and his father, Geoff. we got to see how loved he was by his family, by the band, and by all of the fans that adored him just as much as we did.

i still remember when i first learned about One Direction in 2012 and couldn't tell Liam or Harry apart because their hairstyles were so similar. and the shock the fandom had when he buzzed his head.

we got to see the good in him... even if it was only for a brief moment. five years of a band that carried so many of us through dark periods in our lives and that connected all of us to one another in a way that many of us had never experienced before.

we watched him grow up, live through the prime of his career, and saw the subsequent downfall of who he used to be. after One Direction split up, he opened up about his struggles with addiction during their tours and it was clear that despite what we all saw, it was never as pretty as their management had made the band out to be.

it's completely devastating that he was still struggling with substance abuse in the end. that he was never able to get the help he needed. and i am deeply sorry to all of the people who became victims at his hand. to maya henry who only recently opened up about her relationship to Liam and who is going to receive even more hate than she already has because of this tragedy.

i am sad that he wasn't able to get better. to get sober and attempt to rewrite some of his wrongs. that his addiction caused so much harm to him, but also to so many others. i am sad that he was so deeply troubled in his youth that he turned towards drugs and alcohol, and was never able to truly get his life back. i am sad at what fame did to him at such a young age. and i am sad for every single person that he hurt.

the entire fandom is on my mind today. all of those victims are on my mind today. his family is on my mind today. his 7-year old son is on my mind today. Niall, Zayn, Harry, and Louis are on my mind today.

this is heavy. and it's hard. and if you're struggling with the news, you are not alone.

my 15-year old self is in mourning today at news that i never thought i'd hear only a decade after One Direction's time. i may have never been a true fan of Liam in his solo endeavours, but he was still a big part of my childhood and the band that partially shaped who i am today.

this isn't how his story should have ended. and i'm sorry that it did. we'll never know the true intent of what happened today, but i do hope that he is in a better place and can find peace, and i sincerely hope that everyone he hurt is able to heal.

rest in peace, Liam Payne.

we'll all remember the good times we once shared every time we hear a One Direction song.

-

if you're struggling with your mental health, addiction, substance abuse, or thoughts of suicide, please consider reaching out to someone. everyone deserves a chance to get better. ♥

Suicide Hotlines & Support Below ↓

USA:

Suicide & Crisis Hotline - 988 Crisis Textline - text HOME to 741741 Youth Helpline - (877) 968-8491 or text 839863 

Canada:

Suicide & Crisis Hotline - 988

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Australia:

Suicide Lifeline - 131 1141 Suicide Callback Hotline - 135 247 Beyond Blue Counselling & Helpline - 1300 22 4636

Argentine:

Centro de Asistencia Suicida - 11 5275 1135 , 800 345 1435 Servicio Gratuito de Atención Médica y Urgencias - 11 5050 0147

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Suicide Hotline - +4408457909090 Samaritans - 116123

United Kingdom:

National Suicide Hotline - 0800 689 5652 Mental Health Crisis Support - 01708 765200 Hopeline247 - 0800 068 41 41 UK Supportline - 0 (170) 8 765200

For a full list of hotlines & support in your country:

Or find a Helpline Here:

[alessiamalfoyzabini]

Dark Moon | Chapter Seven

Pairing | yandere!Jimin x Reader

Word Count | 2,8k

Warnings | +18, torture, beating, violence and threats, slight mention of past abuse, Jimin has much suppressed anger

This fanfiction is yandere, if you don't like the genre, don't read and if you are not of age, don't read.

I don't want to hear any complaints in the comments, thank you.

This does not reflect my way of thinking or living at all, it is just a work of fiction, it is like watching a horror movie, many of us love horror movies, but we would never dream of what we see in those movies happening in reality as well.

Simply put, this story was written for entertainment purposes, it should not be seen as a reflection of my values, opinions or morals. I absolutely do not condone such acts.

⤷ Summary | She just wanted to escape her past, take charge of her life and break out of her steel cage, praying in God for a miracle that could change her life for good.

And her prayers were heard, but it was not the Divine that answered her.

That was certainly the devil in the guise of an angel, she thought as those corrupted and empty eyes searched her soul with extreme voracity.

He turned a sweet, false smile on her, before pushing her into the abyss.

➢ Author's Note | Dark Moon is a story destined to get darker and darker, be careful ❤️

Taglist: @katherine-kookie, @dragons-flare, @m00njinnie, @seokjins-luigi, @pjmsneverland, @jimincrystal, @ajkwww, @ungodlyjoon, @hecateslittlewitchling, @namjoonsbuspass, @darkuni63, @xicanacorpse

Taglist is open!

Chapter List - Previous - Next

She had gotten out of the Dark Moon business, at night she no longer heard shady footsteps of clients coming and going from the rooms of her former colleagues, nor any alcohol-induced shuffling murmurs from the hallway, the thing still seemed impossible for her to believe.

Over the course of those three days Jimin had not approached her in the slightest, in fact she had not even seen him, there were only the objects he used to testify to his presence in the house. Perhaps she also had to "blame" her time spent in her bedroom, her new refuge.

She hid under the covers wearing the softest and most delicate clothes she had ever had, even as a child she had never been able to afford such things, her childhood consisted of hunger and nightmares.

She knew that Jimin had not given her everything for free, and that soon he would present her with a hefty bill.

But what she did not know was that Jimin had avoided any contact with her to keep his beast at bay.

The idea of having her in his house, the house he had recently bought for her, drove him crazy with desire. He wanted to bang her at every angle of the house, make her his, sadistically thinking that it would be like a baptism for the new home.

Just before he made the decision to accept Seokjin's offer, Jimin was living in a smaller apartment, suitable for a man who lived alone but, more importantly, spent most of his time outside.

He wanted to give her all the amenities necessary and suitable for a young woman like her: a nice, airy room, expensive clothes, a private bathroom, and even jewelry.

Things that Y/N had barely touched except out of strict necessity, but it didn't matter, the only thing that mattered was that she was there with him, ready to fulfill his every order when he decided the time was right.

"Earth to Park Jimin, hey... Hyung... Yah, Jimin-ssi!" he roused himself from his thoughts by bringing his gaze to Jungkook; the young man was staring at him with large, doubtful eyes.

It was not only Jungkook who squared him strangely, the others also had one question stamped on their foreheads, ‘What the hell is wrong with you?’

Jimin sighed, "Sorry, go ahead-were we talking about the Just Bloods?" he rubbed his hands over his face, he hadn't slept a wink that night.

"They took out four of our people, in return we are holding one of theirs hostage," Hoseok said, Jimin raised an eyebrow.

"Only one? At the very least I would have expected carnage from you, Hoseok" Hoseok glowered at him.

"While you were having fun picking out the furnishings of your new apartment, I was attacked without warning, lost men, and it's already so much that I only captured one of them," darted the redhead, causing Jimin's amusement.

"Don't feel bad, hyung, you did a great job capturing the strategist," said Taehyung trying to improve Hoseok's tension.

"The strategist?"

"Choi Kyungi," replied Jungkook, "He is the right-hand man of the Just Blood leader, I'm sure they will be furious now."

"Furious and vengeful, what do we do Seokjin?" Namjoon turned to their leader for an answer; Jin did not even think about it.

"I want him to confess what his gang's plans are exactly, if they attacked us it's because they plan to take control of our territory, but I want to hear it from his putrid mouth," he hissed, "Torture him if it seems appropriate, I want him to confess by hook or crook, these bastards have already dared to do too much."

It did not take a genius to understand that Seokjin was livid with anger. The men they had lost had received a strict military education to be the perfect killers, Jin had invested in them and hated losing money, Jin just hated losing.

The man's grim look was sublime, his feline eyes showed no mercy, much less did the eyes of the remaining Bangtans.

Jimin, Namjoon, and Jungkook saw each other again in the afternoon at one of their establishments, Choi Kyungi stood there, tied with chains to a wooden chair, the room mostly empty except for some "work" tools they usually used when they had to gouge information out of someone's mouth.

"Hoseok?" asked Jungkook.

"Jin doesn't want him here, he's afraid it might kill him," said Namjoon as he looked sideways at the man with the sack over his head; they had sedated him to keep him quiet for a while and now it was their turn to wake him up.

"I wouldn't even blame him," spat Jimin, tossing aside the black sack covering their captive's face, the bruised face showed a boy who could not have been more than twenty-six years old, Jimin growled in anger before unleashing a punch on the man's well-delineated jaw, knuckles collided painfully on the already abused face, and instantly Kyungi opened his spirited eyes, gasping breathlessly, "Lice striking from behind would piss off anyone."

Namjoon approached the boy, lowering himself to his height, "Choi Kyungi, may we know what the fuck you're planning to do?" he asked trying to be reasonable in tone, he wanted to save himself the trouble of another beating at least that day, but in response the prisoner spat a stream of vermilion blood into his face.

"Fuck you, Bangtan boy," laughed Kyungi with contempt.

For a few moments frost fell in the room, no one daring to move in the face of that deliberate disrespect, Namjoon wiped his face with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, which he later observed disgruntled.

"That was my favorite," he hissed, the kick that shot straight to Kyungi's stomach was swift and powerful, the man coughed up more blood as Namjoon adjusted the collar of the sweatshirt in question, his tense gaze betraying his apparent calm. That dog had unnerved him, "I wanted to be charitable and save you a lot of beating, but you leave us no choice," he made a sign toward Jungkook, who nodded with a grin, his dark eyes glittered with sadism, and walking confidently and cadencedly on on his amphibians, black as his soul, he went to pick up an interesting object.

It was a spiked bat, which he clutched in the palm of one hand with confidence, his swollen muscles flexing from beneath the light mesh, foretasting the little job that would soon set them in motion.

"You're not going to walk out of here on your own legs, Choi," he laughed softly, showing the bat to Kyungi, who swallowed slightly without blurting out a single word, "You're such a jerk, like those little friends of yours who tried to play with us, not knowing that for Bangtans there is no such thing as forgiveness," he pulled back his mighty arm with speed, bringing the bat down against one of the unfortunate man's legs, who held back no longer and screamed breathlessly, his eyes out of their sockets testifying to the lacerating pain that the bat equipped with dangerous ferrous spines had been able to inflict on him.

He trembled agonizingly with his bruised jaw clenched; he would not speak.

Jimin studied the whole scene over and over again, he had lost count of how many times Jungkook had hit him; with the bat, with his own kicks and punches, nothing, Kyungi was barely breathing. He was only capable of spitting his own blood, soiling even more of the already long gone floor; he was a tough cookie and this Jimin had to admit.

"Stop, Jungkook," Jimin put an end to that torture, Jungkook gasped with his forehead and upper lip drenched in sweat, his dark, brooding eyes seemed unwilling to lose sight of their prey, with his chest swollen with irritation he threw his weapon to the floor, backing away.

Namjoon stepped forward to take his place, but Jimin shook his head.

He had something far more useful than torture or a beating; he could be said to have let Jungkook continue just for the sake of revenge.

He approached the now unrecognizable man, put a hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out a postcard.

Kyungi widened his good eye, a choked breath caught in his throat.

Jimin smiled serpentinely.

"She's very pretty, Choi," he said softly, "Those chubby little cheeks make my heart melt, I have to admit," he chuckled, waving the postcard, which turned out to be a picture of a baby girl just nine months old.

"How...how" Kyungi stammered without being able to finish the sentence; he didn't have the strength.

"How did I get this picture? Bangtans have their own connections, Choi...as a result I know about your little girl that you left with her grandparents so they would take care of her, you went off to keep her safe and that's admirable, believe me," he said sympathetically, "But I probably wouldn't do the same in your place, who knows how many wolves might kidnap and eat the hunter's family when he leaves the hut to look for more food."

"WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME, PARK?!" he suddenly ranted, throwing himself at Jimin just enough that the chains could allow him, the idea that his little girl might end up in the hands of those bastards drove him crazy, and Park Jimin looked like the biggest bastard there.

"That should be me asking you, what the fuck do you want from us?" he asked in a low, quiet voice, "You'd better tell us if you don't want anything to happen to Mada."

Kyungi remained silent, frozen. He even knew his daughter's name, how far had he gone?

"Namjoon, take this picture, tonight we are going on a visit to Daegu province, Yoongi and Taehyung know where to go," the boy stretched out the picture of the little girl to his friend, followed by their prisoner's shout.

"I will talk! Fuck!" he whined, "Don't touch my daughter, I'll talk!"

"You'd better start doing that now, because I really don't know what might happen to her if you don't cooperate: our boss might sell her to a rich family that can't have children, as well as he might raise her in our brothel, making her a respectable Bangtan whore in the future," joked Namjoon, "Or he might just kill her, what do you say Jungkook? One way or another, you will never see her grow up."

"He could indeed, once a decision is made Kim Seokjin doesn't give up, not for anything in the world," shrugged the younger man, holding up the game to his friend.

Now in tears Kyungi spilled the beans, "The Just Bloods would never attack the Bangtans for no reason! Shit..." he exclaimed.

"Bangtan never had any contact with Just Blood, what the fuck are you talking about," chafed Namjoon, already fed up with that play.

"Not with us... but with Choi Minho yes," he said, sending a shiver down Jimin's spine, "He provides us with drugs and prevents the cops from giving us unwanted attention, in return we fulfill his favors," he swallowed, "And..." he cast a glance at Jimin, "He asked us to eliminate one person, a Bangtan."

Jimin snickered openly; it was obvious who Kyungi was referring to.

Minho must have really tied his finger the night he had spent at the Dark Moon under Jimin's threats, and he wanted to retaliate with in other ways so as not to get his hands dirty, the idea pissed Jimin off, it was as if Minho was openly declaring that Jimin wasn’t even worth it to be eliminated with his own hands.

That cowardly behavior was intolerable.

"Listen to me carefully, Kyungi," he leaned slightly toward him, "I want to know every thing you have said to each other, the plan you have devised, and most importantly the place where you are meeting," at those words the man tried to shake his head, but Jimin grabbed him hard by the hair, nailing him with one lethal glance, "Maybe we have not understood each other, you will do it or I will personally visit your daughter and feed her to the worms, screwing anything else, understood?!" he blurted lethally, Kyungi trembled from head to toe bowing his head, he had no choice.

Namjoon and Jungkook accompanied Jimin to his apartment first, they had just discussed about giving a bodyguard to the direct concerned.

"No way, I am Kim Seokjin's bodyguard, and a bodyguard with a bodyguard is even ridiculous to imagine," he growled.

"Hyung, a bodyguard is not embarrassing if your life is involved," the younger man tried to reason with him, failing.

"It's embarrassing if I've been trained to defend and stand up for myself, okay? I don't want someone to protect me," he made adamant, causing the other two to snort.

He got out of the car stymied, but Namjoon called him back, turned listlessly, "What?"

"Would you really have hurt that child, Jimin?" he asked, there was no accusation in his tone, just curiosity. In their world they had seen anything and everything, but they had never gone that far.

Jimin remained impassive, before shaking off an uncomfortable feeling.

"It's just the way we live, hyung, no hard feelings," he said in a colorless voice, before turning and leaving.

When he returned to his new apartment waiting for him was a small figure, she held a plate in her hands and on it lay a soft slice of chocolate cake, the girl's eyes widened.

They had not seen each other for days and she did not expect to see him at just such a time, she cast a glance at the wall clock that read two o'clock in the morning. She believed he would not be back by that evening....

She made to set her plate down on the low coffee table, but Jimin beat her to it, slipping away into his own bedroom.

She was petrified, was this the same intimidating man she had come to know?

She asked no more questions, grabbed her cake and ran to her room, to her shelter, before the boy changed his mind and came back to her with the intention of tormenting her.

But Jimin would not return to her that night, he was struggling with the blood that soaked his skin, after Kyungi's confession had made sure the man fully understood his situation, Jimin rubbed his skin under the shower water, bruised with rage.

Minho was not going to get away with this, the son of a bitch had finally moved, now not even Jin would find excuses to stop him from carrying out his revenge.

He thought back with disgust to his captive days spent in the dungeon of the Choi mansion.

His nerves tensed and he narrowly restrained himself from hitting the pale tiles of his bathroom with his fist.

That and more would be reserved for Minho.

He stepped out of the shower with a small towel tied around his hips, his shiny, flawless skin showcasing the man's beautifully fit figure.

He went to bed that way, not bothering to get boxers to sleep in.

He was tired and mentally exhausted, the last thing he wanted was to take one more step.

He closed his thin, magnetic eyes, trying to fall asleep, but in vain. Chaos reigned in his head, a woman's shadow stretched across his memories, and hours passed, hours where he tried to escape her hands, turned over and tossed and turned in bed in a sweat slick. The woman's laughter scratched his ears, while the Choi forefather's smile never stopped taunting him.

He jerked his eyes open staring at the ceiling in the dark, he breathed heavily for air, frustration made him kick between the clean sheets, he lifted himself up holding his head in his hands, a sickening rage that was hard to let go took over his body.

His beast.

He had to let it out.

He abandoned his bed in search of his vice, grabbed the pack of cigarettes and pulled one out, placed it between his fleshy lips inhaling its bitter substance once lit, after three or four puffs he realized it would do no good.

Frustrated and with damp hair in front of his eyes he pressed it down on the ashtray, putting it out in an unnerved manner.

He had developed an addiction to smoking to escape from his problems, but a bad feeling made him sense that even that habit would no longer be of any use, his crisis was not passing and he was going crazy after it.

With one last glimmer of lucidity he remembered her. Y/N.

He widened his eyes, pupils dilated. With his body trembling, invaded by negative emotions too painful to keep to himself, he prepared to reach out to the only life form in the house besides himself.

[bara-izu]

Would Halion be sad as well hearing astarion's backstory?

Cause I definitely did 😭😭😭

*Story Spoiler warning / me rambling about my Tav*

Yeah he was pretty devastated... He understood the small parts Astarion told him early on, he knew cazador was a bad person and it fueled a desire to help this random guy claim back his freedom. The vampire part was of course a surprise, Halion can be a little naive so it gave him whiplash lol

But as their journey continued he started to pick up on Astarion's reactions, realising just how much abuse he had endured...

Being a teifling, Halion was able to read the inscription on Astarion's back and help translate it, he of course didn't quite understand it fully, since it was only a fragment of a larger manuscript, but just the fact someone could do that made him angry...

Another case being the drow in moonrise who looked at Halion like he was Astarion's handler, the whole interaction made him mad. He basically told the drow to fuck off.

This followed the interaction with the hug scene

Then jump forward to after killing the orthon, being sarcastic with the "repeat after me: thank you for helping me, it was very kind" - Halion is up for banter, but the way Astarion replied in such a monotone, obedient way made him instantly regret it...

Arriving in Baldur's Gate, paying a visit to the Tabernacle, when astarion says he is not religious because "beleive me, I tried praying to them all, but none of them listened" struck a chord with his devoted Lathander ass...

- Fast forward again to the Szarr palace -

Halion decked Godey. Goodbye skellyman. Fuck you. The palace was not a fun place, and he recognised it brought up some not great memories, reading Cazador's journal also filled up his anger meter... But also admittedly Halion was taken back by the interactions with the spawn in the dungeon. He knew through Astarion's admittance that he himself was just a means of "protection" when they first met, that it was instinctive for him to seduce people as a means to an end. But hearing Astarion agree that Halion could have been one of the victims lured to the palace was a bit of an awakening. Astarion was also very defensive for a lot of the things that he did, flipently pushing the blame. There was a weird mix of emotions, on one hand Halion knew it wasnt Astarion's fault since he had to follow orders, but on the other hand, he felt understandably upset/frustrated.

During the confrontation with Cazador, he stayed silent as he felt it wasn't his place to say anything, instead, got ready to blind him with the sun >:)

The final thing, finding out how old Astarion was before he turned, (possibly a mistraslation so don't come after me) but believed to be about 39 when he died, wrecked him. Firstly, that is a similar age to what Halion is now, secondly in high elf culture, elves are seen as mature 'adults' around 100 years, so not only had astarion spent more time as a slave, then not, but also he was so young when it happened... Halion wants to take the opportunity now to show him the kind of life he should be living at that age.

But in general didn't want to pity Astarion. He is a survivor, he is strong, he is stronger than the person Cazador thought he 'made' him, and he was incredibly proud of his actions in the dungeon. (Stopping the ritual, setting the spawn free)

So yeah, he was very sad, but also incredibly angry on Astarion's behalf, he wants to show he is there as a supportive figure, that it's okay to be vulnerable around him, but also not smother him because he recognises he finally has that independence back :') Bonus for getting this far: (enjoy some cute/silly screenshots)

[saltygilmores]

(Gilmore Girls) talking points I can and will discuss for hours at any time (mostly Jess stuff though)

Saw someone do this on Instagram and thought I'd do it too.

Dean is An Abomination and his own parents tried to abandon him on the side of the road (he made his way back somehow, crafty son of a bitch) Lorelai is a terrible horrible no good immature person, a gignatic hypocrite, a bad mother, and she dismisses and often encourages Dean’s abuse towards Rory How Lorelai married into Jess' family and now there SHOULD BE a cloud of shame hanging over her head that she treated her nephew like shit for no reason for years and now she has to look him in the eye at every holiday and family gathering for the rest of time, but she has no shame. Aunt Lorelai remember when I was 17 you said I should die in a fire and you'd rather save your shoes? Anyway, Pass the turkey. How much does Rory tell Jess about what Lorelai says about him behind his back Lorelai and Dean's affair (The DALA)

Justice for Lindsay Lister Nearly any Pre and Post Stars Hollow Jess Headcanon (That Usually Do Not Involve Rory) (his entire childhood, his entire adulthood, his ho life, his success as a popular author, Jess as a brother to Doula, life in Philadelphia, stories with his Truncheon buddies, Jess as a mediocre drug dealer in NYC #heytawd), Jess traveling cross country (love that one so much I made an absolutely massive Spotify playlist to accompany it), did he ever go to college? Among the carousel of rotating Mom's Boyfriends and Stepfathers did he ever have a few good ones in the mix? Liz likely didn't have a car and would never care to teach him, so who taught him how to drive?

If Jess had such a terrible childhood did Luke ever try to intervene? How much did he know? How much did he see Jess as a kid? Was Jess ever in foster care? Liz Danes...just Liz Danes. Could probably discuss this trainwreck and the people in her orbit until i was blue in the face. I have thoughts. Headcanon: Jess has had sex with any other similarly-aged existing character on the show besides Rory at some point (this would be in the future, during his Ho Years.. I don't really find any joy in the thought of him cheating on Rory) Where do Rory and Jess go on the dates that are (infrequently) implied they have Why does Luke always bring up how severely he underpays Jess for working a the diner? How often does Jess wait on Rory and Lorelai's table? Do they actually tip him, ever? Shane, Shane’s murder The date of Jess' birthday (it's late August or early September, babes. I'm unflinching on this but willing to hear all sides)

The origin of Jess’ unusual name How do Jess and Rory celebrate birthday and holidays together (within the OG series timeline)? If they actually do? Does Jess actually want to celebrate his birthday or Christmas? What gifts do they buy each other? The prom that never was Rory loses her virginity to a stupid butthead but doesn't put out for Jess for like 8 months and frequently teases him while the poor thing doesn’t even have the privacy to jack it once in a while to a Maxim magazine (but also, did they or did they not come fairly close off screen at some point, when and where?) gurl you interrupted a steamy makeout session so you could run home and talk to your mom! You talk to your mom every second of every day! And before that, you run away after your first real make out sesh so you could go talk to Dean! You are beyond help. What is up with that "We haven't seen each other in four years" comment between Jess and Rory in AYITL? What the hell happened in 2012? What is the day to day life in Stars Hollow High like between Jess, Dean, Lane, Lindsay without Rory around? Do Dean and Jess have any classes together? Where do they sit in the cafeteria? How come Lane and Dean never told Rory that Jess was skipping school? Especially when Dean has an incentive to spill the tea (getting Jess in trouble) and Lane is a hopeless gossip and there's no effing way she could keep something like that from Rory for that long

What is The Subsect actually about

What would it be like if Jess went to Chilton with Rory? How would he even get in (I really have to stretch the limits of my imagination but I have a few weak theories)

Madelyn and Louise (they’re awesome)

The friendships that could have been between Jess and Paris or Jess and Lane

How Rory is too dopey to see that Paris is in love with her

How disaster follows every female character who loses their virginity (even when in the confines of marriage)

The child bride epidemic on this show

Dave Ryglaski is mediocre. Alex is under rated and it’s a shame the Male Gilmore Girls Character California Wormhole probably sucked him in like Dave was, never to be seen again.

I don’t even care about her storyline: April as a character is so incredibly annoying I can’t watch any scene she is in.

Jason DiggerStjmes is so uninteresting and his chemistry with Lorelai is so weak and the insurance storylines are so fucking insipid I have to skip all of those scenes too.

The only characters who emerged from season 6 with any sort of diginity intact were Jess and Paul Anka.

[linkspooky]

Hi! Thanks for your tremendous work, it's always a pleasure to read your blog! I just wanted to ask your opinion on Hidden Inventory / Premature Death Arc. I know this one is important to make parallels on different characters' stories, but I for me this arc is a surprise. I mean why would Gege suddenly make us involve in the future? 🥲 I just don't understand how he could come to telling us the stories from the past. Do you find it fitting?

Jujutsu Kaisen is a story primarily about cycles: the previous generation giving way to the newer one, spring turning into summer. In particular it's about the passing of the torches between generations. The elders in Jujutsu Society resist what is natural, they are such hardline traditionalists they often sacrifice the young because they refused to give way and let the new generation replace them.

Gojo Satoru's ideals which are in opposition to the elders state that not only should children be allowed to live out their youths, they should surpass their elders. Gojo is staunchly opposed to say, the elitist Zen'in who believe themselves the strongest, or even Sukuna the greater sorcerer of all time, in the fact he wants the kids he's raising to grow stronger than him.

On the flip side, Jujutsu Kaisen is also about negative cycles, like the curses which can never truly die so are exorcised only to be reformed. It's also about the cycle of abuse, such as Toji being abused by the Zen'in, only to abandon his own son in turn. The flashback arc is necessary, because the problems the current generation are facing started with the previous one. These problems persist because the cycle is unbroken.

Tengen in their explanation states that the distortion that caused Kenjaku's plans to succeed in the modern day happened eleven years ago, and he lists two reasons why, first Zen'in Toji who was not affected by cursed energy, and second Geto who could control curses.

Toji is hailed as the destroyer of destinies because he's free form cursed energy, but as for a more meta-textual reason why Toji gets as much focus in story as he does, is because much like Maki he's a product of the worst abuses of sorcerer society.

There's a reason for this line here when Toji appears before the collected members of the Zen'in Clan, Naobito the head, Maki the Toji of her generation, and Megumi who was almost sold to them and is Toji's son who he abandoned therefore another link in the chain of abuse.

All of these characters are effected by the cycle of abuse in the Zen'in Clan, yes, even Naobito and later on Naoya who appear to be at the top. It's that whole "Toxic Masculinity harms men" thing too. Naobito was not born a drunken, abusive jerk and he was likely not a good father in any capacity considering the way Naoya acts.

They're all trapped in the cycle known as the Zen'in Clan, and they all stare on in envy to the one they think is free, Toji, who escaped and became the sorcerer killer. Toji who, the whole clan was secretly fearful of because they believed he had the capability of killing them / also according to Naoya's take looked down on him because he was an otherworldly strength they did not recognize and tried to suppress him to make themselves feel superior.

Either way, Toji is someone who they have put down their entire life because he wasn't born to meet their standards, because he's something new and different from tradition and the big three houses are the worst traditionalists of Jujustu Society. The Toji they all fear however, is a monster created by the Zen'in Clan themselves. Despite being abused by toxic masculinity, Toji is also toxic masculinity incarnate. He drinks, gambles all of his money away, he's an absentee father, and his greatest onscreen time is shooting a girl who's about Mai's age in cold blood. If Mai was the ultimate victim of the Zen'in Clan's toxic masculinity, then Riko is also the ultimate victim of Toji's masuclinity which didn't just target sorcerers but reached out and targeted innocent girls (Riko) and children (Megumi).

The explanation of who Toji was in the past, how he both killed Riko and drove the wedge between Geto and Gojo's friendship creating the first dsiruption in the cycle is important because in the modern day the Zen'in Clan has not broken the cycle. The abuse of the Zen'in Clan is so bad, that one generation later they've already manufactured another Toji.

While Maki's rise to power is glorified a little bit too much, in story the fact that the cycle has repeated itself is not a good thing. Maki's lost her chance of happiness and reconciliation with Mai, she's won against the Zen'in but it's a pyrrhic victory, she's now strong at the cost of everything else. As I said before Mai is also a clear parallel to Riko, someone who just wanted to live a normal life cut down in the prime of her youth by a member of the Zen'in, who's death then sparks another person to spiral.

They're just girls who longed for an ordinary life and be together with their loved ones, and Maki and Geto are both haunted by the fact that they were unable to save them in the aftermath. Geto's actions are spurred by the way the world carelessly killed Riko, and Maki gives up on reforming the Zen'in Clan and chooses destruction after they swallow up Mai.

The flashback chapters do more than just give parallels between say Gojo and Geto's friendship and the current friendship between Megumi and Yuji, or even give us Gojo's backstory and insight to his character they also go to great lengths to show us how much things have not changed in the modern day Jujutsu World.

While the distortion that drove Toji to do what he did began in the Zen'in Clan, Geto is basically driven by the faults of Jujutsu Society as a whole. The death of Riko is his eye opening moment where he learns the truth of their society, the young are sacrificed for the old. It's not just the fact Riko died, but afterwards he witnessed crows of people appluading for it, and Toji acting like that death was nothing. There's also the fact her death / sacrifice was ordered by Jujutsu Society in the first place, but Geto thought he could overcome that cycle with strength alone until he couldn't. Geto's monologue that leads to his slow breakdown even refers to being a sorcerer as "an endless cycle."

The three years of Geto and Gojo's youth is referred to their spring, whereas Premature Death takes place in summer. Not coincidentally, in story Summer is referred to as the worst possible season for curses because curses accumulate during that time.

Jujusu Kaisen is about cycles, and the inability to escape them. Geto and Gojo's springtime of youth turns to summer, Geto begins to have doubts because of his inability to protect Riko, and his witnessing of sorcerers dying around him.

It's not just Geto's superiority complex, or his increasing antipathy for the weak normal people who demand sorcerers exorcise curses for them because they can't defend themselves. Geto also bears witness to the continued death of children around him. It's not just a hazard of the job, sorcerer society continually sacrifices young people to uphold the strict traditions of the elders.

Geto is moved by the mistreatment of the young in a way Gojo is, Riko's death is what opens his eyes, a few days Geto goes to the village he witnesses the brutal death of Haibara and Nanami's own feelings of helplessnes to stop it, and then his breaking point is when he sees two twin girls who are sorcerers ganged up on and imprisoned by an entire town, the same way that the indifferent crowds cheered for Riko's death and the same way sorcerer society considered Riko an expendable sacrifice to maintain Tengen.

Sorcerer Society's callous indifference to both the deaths of their sorcerers, but especially the young is what drives Geto to his breaking point. This is also the source of Gojo's ideals, because he realizes something went wrong with Geto and he doesn't want that mistake to repeat.

“For people like us, we naturally know how to get rid of the poisons within their heart. But for youths who hold onto a lot of sentimental feelings, it’s another matter altogether. Their heart might collapse just from getting struck by poison once.” “Isn’t it an adult’s duties to rid poison from a child’s heart? As a teacher, you should know this better than me, right?” [Light novel 1: Ressurection Puppet]

In Gojo's case he is actively trying at least, to raise kids in a way that they won't break like Geto did. It's the loss of Geto which inspires his current ideals. However, to dwell on this briefly Gojo is also still a very flawed mentor because he's a product of the system who raised him.

Kenjaku comes back in the form of Geto's body to defeat Gojo. Then Sukuna ends up taking Megumi's body away from him. There's a pattern here, two people who Gojo has a strong connection too have their bodies taken away from him. In Megumi's case this is where Gojo has failed to break the cycle because of his stated intetions, because Gojo didn't adopt Megumi to help him after his father died, Gojo swooped in to take Megumi because he was a potential weapon he could use against the elders.

The flashback arc ends with Gojo making his slightly predatory deal with Megumi, by threatening his sister's happiness unless he complies and lets Gojo train him instead of the Zen'in. Megumi is shown to be a child that's continually having trouble growing up throughout the story, because of his broken home situation.

The ending of Hidden Inventory could have been Gojo learning his lesson and breaking the cycle in regards to Megumi, but he deliberately did not, and so once again the problems the main characters are facing now is created by the failures of the past.

Gojo Mr. "I can totally beat up on Megumi, it's fine."

In this case though, Hidden Inventory is also about how the problems of the past are plagueing Megumi's life, because the primary villain of it is his father, and the ending of the whole arc is us seeing his first encounter with Gojo. Megumi is in this case the latest youth swallowed up by the old, because Sukuna is quite literally a member of the previous generation physically stealing his body away from him to prolong his life long after he died.

Tsumiki's death is also a repeat of the death of Mai Zen'in, and Riko Amanai. It's once again the death of an innocent being swallowed up by the toxic masculinity of Jujutsu Society, all while the person who wanted to protect them is completely helpless to stop it. Gojo also took responsibility for Megumi, and Tsumiki both and later on couldn't live up tot hat responsibility, Tsumiki is dead and Megumi is possessed.

The Hidden Inventory flashback arc is there to establish what is basically the beginning of the cycle in the story, so we can see later on how this cycle is repeating itself again and again without being broken even this late (200 chapters) into the story. With the eventual hope that if the adults like Gojo can't fully break the cycle, then the kids he raised will be able to do so in his place.

[nimbusalba]

Neil Gaiman, my thoughts and my love for good omens

I already said something about all this deal with Neil Gaiman yesterday in another blog. But I still have Things To Say, so here it comes (with links to all the info):

Here is the article (thank you @procrastiel)

Here is a link to the podcasts for free (thank you @queermarzipan)

Here is the Xitter post with the accusations podcast thingy (thank you @embracing-the-ineffable)

Here is the transcript of the first podcast episode.

The Main Thing I Have To Say:

We need to separate the author from his work (and with this I’m not speaking only about Neil Gaiman). While we might not agree with some things about the author's life or thoughts, that doesn't mean we can not keep enjoying their work, as long as that work is not morally unacceptable, obviously. Let’s take the example of one of my favorite tv shows of all time (other than good omens): Buffy The Vampire Slayer (and with this I’m showing my age here, ahem). Buffy is a magnificent show, a wonderful exponent of feminism (strong female protagonist and secondary characters), diversity (one of the main characters is a lesbian), critical thinking, death, love, inner strength, battling your own demons… As we all know, accusations of harassment against Joss Wheddon appeared in 2020 and a lot of his work was left behind. I agree that knowing that the creator of something you love is an abuser breaks your heart. But that doesn’t mean that you have to stop loving that show, that it stops being a great work of art or that you should feel bad for still liking it. Buffy the vampire slayer is still one of my favorite shows and I still rewatch it from time to time (not on loop as I do with good omens, but that’s another problem). And why? Simply because in that show a lot of very talented people worked very hard to make it great, not just Joss Wheddon. And I appreciate it even more now knowing that the actresses and actors (and rest of the crew)  in the series didn’t have as good a time filming it as they should have. 

My take on this story:

I’ve already said that my first impulse is always to side with the victims in these cases, because they rarely lie and the accusations tend to be proven true in the end. In this particular case, for the time being, I’m waiting for developments, as the information that has transpired is fishy, to say the least. I’m not defending Neil Gaiman either, mind you. Maybe tomorrow we will find another 20 people accusing him of abuse. I don’t know him nor pretend to know what he’s done in his life. For the time being, as I said yesterday, this looks to me like consensual sex between consenting adults. That shouldn’t be news to anyone, even if the practices in themselves are not your kind of kink. It’s not on to have sex with someone who is working for you, of course, but still in this particular case that’s not exactly what’s happened. The woman in question (Scarlett) was a friend of the family, not strictly a worker. They already had a friendship relationship before turning it into a sexual relationship and a working relationship on top of that. With this I’m only trying to say that it doesn’t look like she felt forced to have sex with him in order to keep her job and she has said that the sex was consensual. The other victim has also said that even if she didn’t particularly enjoy the sex it was also consensual. 

It looks like both victims were pretty young when the relationships took place. It's true that younger people can have problems when it comes to place boundaries, and an older or more experienced partner could take advantage of that. It is also true that later in life, when that person is more experienced or has had time to think about things, they can think about what they did and feel uncomfortable with it, even though it didn’t feel wrong in the heat of the moment and they said nothing then. But, as far as I know, that's not sexual assault.

This looks to me as something that’s been designed to hurt Neil Gaiman’s public image. Maybe he’ll come out of it without any criminal charges, as he has already offered his help to the New Zealand police and they have refused to interrogate him for the time being, apparently because of lack of proof yet. But his public image has been tainted, not only because of the accusations, but because anyone who has their sexual life exposed and discussed publicly suffers a great deal of humiliation, even more so if their sexual practices are not exactly mainstream. With this I’m not implying that BDSM or any other kink is wrong, as long as it is being played by consenting adults. No judgment here, everyone has their own kink, and I don’t care as long as they don’t harm anyone (or if they want to be lightly harmed).

Keep also in mind that one is innocent until proven guilty and in this case there is not a lot of proof yet and the place the news is coming from is suspicious, to say the least. Wait for developments (and see).

Conclusion

So keep loving good omens, I know I still do, keep enjoying it, writing fanfic, drawing amazing art, writing metas and discussing about it. Because this show is still a brilliant show, in which a lot of very talented people worked very hard to make it the wonderful work of art that it still is and we shouldn’t dismiss all that work because someone wants to hurt one of the authors. 

(Edited because of wording)

[redfish-blu]

I haven’t watched that much of Supernatural but something that was WAYY more effed up to me than the ghouls and demons is how Sam’s life got purposefully and inattentively ripped away from him. Not his first one, his second one, where he was studying at Stanford and trying to recover from his inordinately horrific childhood while also still being quite young himself.

Had there been no ghosts, the pilot episode would have read as Sam’s estranged, compliant older brother who he’d gone no contact with (not particularly by choice) before he even turned 18, showing up on his campus with no warning, breaking into his dorm and fist fighting him, and demanding that Sam has an obligation to go on a wild goose chase across the contiguous United States to follow their abusive father’s trail of breadcrumbs, (who, by the way, disowned Sam to which Dean did jack and shit about far past the age he should have known better). A demand that Sam DID unequivocally refuse and had every right to do so.

Like, yes, because there just so happen to be ghosts, we get to learn that there’s a…maybe not a good reason but a reason for Dean being Like That and Sam comes around on him ever so slowly due to forced proximity and the fact that he was in such a vulnerable position that Dean could get him to comply out of the base need to preserve his own life, so we can add Possibly Kidnapping to the list. But in the absence of any otherworldly beings, Sam would have rightfully said FUCK OFF LAYMEN and slammed the door on Dean’s face and gone about his deserved second chance at life and no viewer in their right mind would have even blinked at it.

I haven’t interacted much with spn circles but rarely do I ever see it acknowledged that THAT whole situation—the first freaking episode— could be a horror story without the supernatural deus ex machina coming in to null the (still very much going on) greif Dean and John were shouldering Sam with for quite literally his entire fucking life up to that point. People have been put under the jail for less than what those two did. Like do not get me wrong, I am glad Dean’s character got explored and explained and it’s all fictional but JESUS. If we were watching Natural instead of Supernatural it would’ve been curtains for Dean.

[sea-owl]

Now let me preference this by saying I HATE when a characters parents or loved ones are turned into abusers just because. This, for me, includes Kizashi and Mebuki Haruno, Sakura's parents. I have said on here before that I have a preference how I wish they were brought into the story more as actual stable adult figures for team 7.

But I do think there is a potential story to be told in Naruto about assumptions vs. reality and how someone can be in pain even if it doesn't look like your's using Sakura and her parents. In general, we know very little about Sakura's parents, Kishimoto said he could never figure out how to include them, and official designs weren't released until the Road to Ninja movie. In the movie they kinda lightly touched on this idea but then people lost their shit because God forbid Sakura vents to a close friend about being doubted just because the people doubting her are her parents and Naruto, despite being one of the most empathetic characters in the series, just so happens not to have those so she should automatically being walking on eggshells around the topic. But back to the idea.

Now I probably wouldn't make her parents physically abusive but more along the lines that they are extremely nelgectful of her. Or take on the idea that Tiny_Dncr had in the fanfic Her Experience where something happened and Sakura HAD to become the adult too young but due to her young biological age , it's not reconized as that.

I would probably set this, or at least start around the genin era. Specifically after Sasuke yells at her about how she has no idea about loneliness because in his, and probably Naruto's eyes too, among all those orphans on team 7 Sakura has the perfect life. Then I would pull it back into Sakura's pov for us to slowly discover that hey, something isn't quite right with her home situation. Her basic physical needs are being met, but no one is ever home, Sakura's parents ignore her or never talk to her to critique her. Sakura could come and go as she pleased, and her parents would never notice unless she did something wrong in their eyes.

Sakura also sees this behavior as normal because it's all she's ever known. Or if she starts to feel bad about her situation, she talks herself out of it because, hey, at least she has parents it could be worse.

Kakashi once in a while catches some hints Sakura's home life is not ok but he's so preoccupied by Sasuke and Naruto, who are more similar to him and their signs he can easily more recognize, kinda brushes it off. The longer team 7 is a team, the more cracks that start to show.

Then let's say Sakura got hospitalized from a mission for a few days. Word was sent to her parents that hey, your daughter is in the hospital, but neither of them show up. Team 7 has been to visit and they notice that besides them she's been alone. Naruto and Sasuke think hey this is weird. Kakashi is on high alert now.

During one of team 7's visits, Sakura's neglect comes out when a doctor asks her point blank where her parents are because to discharge her, they need to release her into the care of an adult. This is when Sakura reveals that her parents had left for a business trip that morning. There is no adult coming. Several minds come to the realization that she's been in the hospital for days and her parents never cared enough to even make sure she was still breathing. The worst part about it is that she said it so nonchalantly, like it was just a fact of life.

This causes a double take because Sakura that isn't right, but again this is all Sakura's ever known so she thought it was normal.

Would probably go on with Sakura, eventually coming to the realization that what her parents did was not ok and her feeling hurt over it is valid. Would also have team 7 bonding and learning from one another.

[best-underrated-anime]

Best Underrated Anime Group A Round 4: To Your Eternity vs Shadows House

#A7: To Your Eternity (Fumetsu no Anata e)

Immortal being learns what it’s like to be human

#A5: Shadows House

Two girls unravel mysteries surrounding an isolated manor

Details and poll under the cut!

#A7: To Your Eternity (Fumetsu no Anata e)

Summary:

An Orb, known only as It, is cast to Earth to be observed from afar. Capable of changing forms from beings whose reflections It captures, It first becomes a rock and then, due to the rising temperature, moss.

It does not move until one snowy day, a wolf at death’s door barely crosses by. When It takes the animal’s form, It attains awareness of its consciousness and starts to wander with an unclear destination in mind. Soon, It comes across the wolf’s master—a young boy waiting for his tribe to return from a paradise abundant with fish and fruit in the south. Although the boy is lonely, he still hopes those whom he holds dear in his memories have not forgotten him and that he will reunite with them one day.

The boy wants to explore new surroundings and decides to abandon his home with It to find the paradise using the traces his tribe left behind. However, with a heavily injured body and no sight of his elder comrades, what will become of the boy?

Propaganda:

I don’t think I’ve ever watched an anime that has meant so much. It’s/Fushi’s journey from being born as nothing and without emotions, to becoming a genuine, real person who loves and cries is so special to me. The constant war he’s in between being too human and being not human at all is written so well—for him to love so much it hurts, leading him to isolate himself for years on end, for him to want to make friends, to love, but too afraid of them leaving and eventually dying to meet anyone new. For him to get so detached from life and death and the cycle it perpetuates that he loses understanding of why human life is so special—why should he save people, if they will die anyway? Why should he save them, if he can just bring them back to life, if he can just become them? The constant cycle of him learning to love again, and learning to treasure life again, only to lose it once he’s experienced death in a new and agonizing way. It’s about love, and it’s about humanity. Always.

Trigger Warnings: Animal Cruelty/Death, Child Abuse, Graphic Depictions of Cruelty/Violence/Gore, Racism, Rape/Non-Con, Self-Harm, Suicide

All TW’s apply to the protagonists, except child abuse and the racism. The world itself has hints of racism/discrimination throughout the anime, and not directly towards the protagonist. As for the rape, an antagonist attempts to rape the protagonist. There is a ton of self harm (protagonist and side characters) and blood as there is a lot of wars also happening in the anime

#A5: Shadows House

Summary:

The Shadows, characterized by their pitch-black appearance and tendency to emit soot when agitated, are a family of nobles who reside in a colossal manor deep within the mountains far from other humans. When a Shadow child is nearly of-age, they are assigned a Living Doll who acts not only as their attendant but also as their second half—the faces they could have had if not for their complexion.

Emilico is a cheerful, newly created Doll who serves a rather soft-spoken master named Kate. Despite their difference in personalities, Emilico does what she can to carry out the needs of her master. As she learns more about her role and duty, Emilico begins to meet her fellow Dolls and their respective masters and comes to know more about the purpose of her existence.

"Do not fret over trivial matters," says one of the rules by which all Dolls must abide. But how could the ever-curious Emilico do so in the face of the deep secrets that the Shadows House holds?

Propaganda:

The atmosphere of the manor is probably the most effective aspects of the story, creating a feeling of isolation and worry as Kate and Emilico try to survive in the mansion. The show starts off pretty subtle, but as it progresses it becomes more and more strange and off-putting. This series is an incredibly interesting, layered mystery, and the horror elements are excellently done.

Trigger Warnings: Child Abuse, Emotional Abuse

When reblogging and adding your own propaganda, please tag me @best-underrated-anime so that I’ll be sure to see it.

If you want to criticize one of the shows above to give the one you’re rooting for an advantage, then do so constructively. I do not tolerate groundless hate or slander on this blog. If I catch you doing such a thing in the notes, be it in the tags or reblogs, I will block you.

Know one of the shows above and not satisfied with how it’s presented in this tournament? Just fill up this form with your revisions, and I’ll consider adapting those changes.

New: Starting round 5, screenshots will be included in the poll post. You can submit screenshots through the form linked above, or through here, via ask or dm.

Guidelines in submitting screenshots:

No NSFW or spoilery images.

Pick some good images please. Don’t send any blurry or pixelated ones.

You may send up to 9 screenshots, but not all may be used.