#how do you fuck up the characters this bad

[lambkinstock]

confessions

the tale of one (fictional) woman's journey (through fiction). told to you by way of a (fictional) story, featuring (fictional) characters.

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If you’re reading this, you’re probably a pervert.

Yeah. You read that right. You’re a sad, lonely little pervert, and we’re all talking about you.

Really, we are. You keep us up at night. All you do is stare at your screen, scrolling and typing and clicking and posting. You’ve probably got a whole queue of posts dedicated to this shit, right? Weirdo. What’s wrong with you? Don’t you have any friends?

Of course you don’t. You’re here! And if you’re reading this, it’s probably because you went looking for it.

That’s where our problem begins.

Joel clicks his fingers in front of your face. “Hey. Are you even listening to me?”

“What?” you ask, looking up from your phone. You’ve been talking to your only friend again; a gray floating head with shades on. You’re not sure what it is about them, this faceless figure: they just get you.

“Unbelievable,” Joel says. He shakes his head and struts off.

“I was listening,” you call, chasing after him. “I heard you.”

“What’d I say?”

“You said something about immorality. And therapy. About me needing therapy. Right?”

His jaw clenches, releasing some sort of disapproving grunt. He gauges the distance between you, making sure it’s a respectable, appropriate five feet before he responds. “That’s about it, yeah.”

“Yeah…” You scratch your head. “And what do I need therapy for again?”

Well, that sets him off.

His eyes widen in shock. He gestures between your body and his, gaping. “How about you trying to dream up some world where you and I are in a sexual relationship? I mean, my God, Fellow Legal Adult, it’s like you’re attracted to me or something.”

Fellow Legal Adult. This is his new thing, the nickname he’s been using since baby girl is too inappropriate in today’s climate. He calls his fictional daughters baby girl, and you’re wrong and sick and twisted for enjoying the sound of it in his waxy Texan accent.

“I just thought it might be some fun to imagine it,” you admit. “I don’t actually want to do it, I just want to play pretend and maybe write a story about doing it.”

“No,” Joel says. “Writing a story about something is the exact same as doing it. Every work of fiction ever is actually the writer’s endorsement of that thing. Shakespeare has been cancelled for years over Macbeth, or did you miss that Twitter thread?”

You pull at the skirt of your sundress. Shit – my bad, you’re not wearing a sundress. That’s overdone. Also kinda slutty. You’re only wearing it for easy access, right? Come on, now. This isn’t one of those fics from 2023, with zero plot and just sex. We’re better than that. We’re literates.

That’s why we’re on Tumblr.

You pull at the skirt of your frock. It’s now ankle-length and much more self-respecting. “I’m confused,” you reply. “So you’re saying no?”

“Yes.”

“You’re saying yes?”

Joel sighs, taking another conservative step back. “No. We can’t. This would be wrong.”

“What’s so wrong with it?” you ask, impatient now. You’ve met all the required terms and conditions of pursuing a romantic relationship with a man who does not, never has, and never will exist outside of the confines of your imagination.

You’re not his best friend’s daughter, because – ew, right? Who the fuck wants to fantasize about a clandestine summer fling with a mature, intelligent man who only has eyes for you, against all odds and rules of society; a man who would put his closest friendship on the line because you are just that insatiable to him; a man who treats you with the respect, trust, and – my God, I’m about to say it – the love that no other boy ever has or ever could?

It’s not like you’re calling him daddy, either. What fucking twisted piece of shit would do that? Doesn’t Joel know about the decades of usage of that term, the sheer number of people who buy into such whimsy, the little fantasy one might like to indulge in while existing on this hellish lump of rock and partake in sex so immoral, so filthy, so – incestuous? And here you are, promising to refrain from such practice. Protecting him and yourself from the dreaded patriarchy, which solely oppresses fictional characters, as everybody knows.

Really, he should be grateful.

Jesus, what else? You dress in a frock and petticoat; your ankles are never on display. You don’t allow yourself the fun of pretty, girlish clothes which feed the patriarchy and may lure the untrained eye into thinking you are – oh, Christ, a child! In actual fact, you’re fifty-two – supremely middle-aged – just like Joel. Actually, you never were a teenager, nor a twenty-year-old, not a dreaded, unsightly, geriatric thirty-year-old at all. And if you ever were, you sure as shit wouldn’t write fiction about it, because it is uncouth, tasteless, and downright predatory to imagine yourself a day younger than you currently are.

No. You marched straight from your poor mother’s body, armed with a smartphone in one hand, X-formerly-Twitter pre-downloaded, with some hefty conservative views to punch into it as soon as you learned how to spell the four most important words: romanticize, fetishize, sexualize and normalize. You’ve spent your entire life hunched over the thing, foaming at the mouth and wiping thick globs of saliva with the back of your hand; screaming at people you don’t know, will never know, and reminding them what ugly, loathsome, untalented, worthless people they are.

What the fuck isn’t there to like about you?

Joel sighs. He shakes his head, then reaches around to his back pocket for his phone.

“I have to check what the people online would say about this,” he says. “You know, the ones with blogs dedicated to policing this kind of thing. They give their summers up for this, Fellow Legal Adult, they’re really brave and inspiring and I owe them a lot for keeping my reputation safe. With all the innocent survivors I’ve killed over the years – not to mention the entire hospital I shot up to save one little girl – I really don’t need a completely fictional relationship to turn me into some kind of bad guy.”

“But it’s just fantasy,” you say. “None of it is real. You’re not even real.”

His jaw drops. “Excuse me?”

You scrape together an explanation.

“I just meant: nothing we do actually means anything. We’re just words on this person’s screen. Look at them, reading about us right now. We’re figments of their imagination! I wonder if I have brown or blue or green eyes; I wonder if you have a full beard or you’re the other guy with the curly hair. It wouldn’t matter either way, because neither of us exist! Right?”

“Not the point.” Joel shakes his head, logging in to his account. “It romanticizes unhealthy sex practices.”

“Joel,” you whisper, with love and patience, holding his little brain like it’s a smooth lump of damp clay. “We’re not actually having sex. Same as you didn’t actually blitz a hospital. And anyway, if I consent and you consent, and nobody gets hurt, what’s unhealthy about sex?”

“It normalizes kink and taboo, that’s what.” He nods, dignified, proud of the argument. It took him a whole hour to come up with. His brain grew one wrinkle in the process. For a little extra punch, he adds, “It’s propaganda I’m not falling for.”

“Using normalize and taboo in the same sentence feels a little contradictory, Joel. You’re starting to sound like one of those freaks with a stan account dedicated to Ellie or Tommy.”

He rolls his eyes and shoves his phone back into his pocket. They’re debating the ethics of reblogging other writers’ work right now, and he hasn’t the time to get into it. “You wouldn’t understand,” he grunts. “You’re fetishizing me, you’re glorifying your own abuse and manipulation, and you’re forcing everybody else to be on board with it too. It’s disgusting, Fellow Legal Adult, I’m actually disgusted.”

“Nobody has to be on board with anything they don’t want to,” you say. “That’s a pretty basic rule of thumb in anything, but especially sex. Are you sure you’ve had enough sex to understand the basic concept of consent? Maybe if you spent less time yelling in your tags, someone might want to…”

He laughs. “You’re just a girl who doesn’t know the ideologies she’s playing into.”

“Which ideologies are those?”

He hesitates. “Patriarchy,” he spits out, the word wobbling across his tongue. It sounds like a big word and it victimizes women, so it must be right. It seemed to come up a lot when he asked ChatGPT for an argument which both liberates and subjugates women. He has no idea what it actually means or how it ties into this discussion.

“So, let me get this straight. You think you’re punching a hole in the patriarchy by talking down to women and comparing them to real-life criminals, all for writing some stories on a fandom website?”

He hesitates. Again. He’s not used to having human interaction without his keyboard to hide behind.

Also: he hesitates because he’s not real. I can’t stress that enough. I’m making this dude do whatever the fuck I say. Look, now he’s on a pogo stick. He’s bouncing all over the fucking joint. Joel would never pogo, I hear you say. Too bad! Now he’s going no hands. Damn, this guy’s good.

“Why would women want to fantasize about some of the shit you write?” Joel asks.

Fuck. That’s a great question. I better make him put the pogo stick down.

“Sexuality is a complicated thing,” you reply. “It always has been. We’ve never really understood human desire; that’s kind of why it’s such a heavily-covered topic in media. It’s not supposed to be interpreted literally. The crazy thing is literature is full of metaphors and symbolism, but people only have a hard time understanding that shit when it comes to erotica.”

He scoffs, twisting the pogo stick into the ground. “So you want me to believe you don’t actually want to fuck the people you’re writing about?”

You purse your lips. “I feel like it says more about your intelligence level that you can’t wrap your head around the concept of a metaphor, than it does mine. Maybe you wanna read more books and less anonymous messages?”

“No, thank you,” he says, waving his hand. “I don’t like to be made to feel uncomfortable. By anything. Ever. I live in my bubble of legality and morality. We’re all good people here. That’s why we have an obligation to bully the living shit out of anyone we disagree with, and threaten their personal safety in the process.”

“Right.” You back up, dragging the heels of your sneakers – sorry, your Victorian boots, no ankles. Suddenly, the thought of sleeping with someone so stupid and immature doesn’t feel as fun anymore.

“Where are you going?” he asks, pogoing after you. His voice shudders as the stick makes contact with the earth.

“I think I’m gonna close this doc,” you mumble, gathering your frock as you jog. “I’ll just open a new one and write a version of you who’s normal and doesn’t talk out of his ass as much.”

“Good luck with that,” he replies. “That’s totally out of character for me.”

In one click, he pauses, glitches, pogo stick springing – before he plummets into the recycle bin on your screen. The silence is bliss.

You look around the room. Outside, birds sing and cars soar by on the street. You remember that the real world exists; with real rules and real codes of conduct which help to protect real people. With real patriarchy: not fictional girls in sundresses who like summers of sex, but instead an insidious rot which runs so deep through society, it threatens to permeate the fantastical.

Here on your screen, a blank page and cursor blinking, just waiting for the stories and silliness you might spill into it – none of that shit has to matter. You are safe within the realm of fiction to be whoever you like, do whatever you want. Even shit that makes other people uncomfortable. Think of it like an intellectual jungle gym for adults.

You can paint yourself brave, beautiful, funny, smart, sexy. You can chase your wildest dreams, accomplish the impossible, fraternize with your favorite characters and exist in faraway universes. You can be desired by everybody you ever wanted, or nobody at all. You can explore things that make you feel good, things that make you feel scared, and no harm can ever come from it.

Hell, you might even learn a thing or two about yourself in the process.

That’s the fucking point of fantasy, you incel pieces of shit. Read a fucking book.

[borathae]

↳ Index [Chapter 02 - Coin, Kings & History]

Genre: Dark Fantasy, the first taste of enemies to lovers

Warnings: so much lore!, so much character growth, she gets really sick because of the sleeping potion & he needs to take care of her, vomiting, introduction of a complete queen of a character <3, Kook actually uses his brain for once and THINKS about what he did, they tell each other about their pasts, talk about child abandoment & abuse as well as death in childbirth, talk about violent sex crimes, the king is basically a sick fuck, hint at torture & assault of dragonborn, cursing, so much fighting between those two, yall this is what an enemies to lovers story should be, like those two HATE each other & they can't stand to be close and yet they have to, god i fucking love e2l :')

Wordcount: 8.6k

a/n: i just want to state that i am actually obsessed with the healer ahahhaha she is my icon fr. also, yall i really wanted the e2l to hit with this story so this is not just "you're annoying" this "if i could i would strangle you in your sleep" type of enemies shit and i'm eating it up cause there is so much tension FAHDSHF

The effects of the burning medicine faded the next morning. Jungkook wakes to your sounds of pain. 

He sits up and jumps out of bed, instinctively grabbing his sword to defend you from danger. He is still half asleep, seeing shadows and remnants of ghosts long gone. He blinks his eyes. The ghosts disappear, leaving behind the view of you curled up on the floor.

There is throw up on the wooden planks and you are sweating. 

“Why are you like this again?” he asks, hurrying to you in big steps. 

He puts his hand on your shoulder, shaking you gently but firmly.

“Does it hurt again?” 

You sob, nodding your head and clutching your stomach.

“This fucking healer. That’s why you shouldn’t trust backwater charlatans.” He stands up. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t you dare die while I’m gone.” 

There is no point in describing what you are doing in the time he is gone because you are quite frankly trying to survive. It hurts so much and it spread to your joints and head as well. Every angle and position you try to keep your arms and legs in, they ache. No matter how you lay your head, it feels like it is going to explode. It hurts so bad in fact that the nausea comes from the pain and not because your stomach feels upset. You really didn’t want to throw up on the floor, but didn’t know where else to go.

“Are you still with me?” Jungkook is back. 

He hurries to the table and sets down the kettle of hot water. He takes out the milk tears tea and mixes it into the water.

“Hey you, are you still with me?”

You croak weakly.

“Good. Stay with me. A healer is coming. You can’t bloody die like this, you’re worth a lot of coin.”

“Bowl. Please.”

“What?”

“Bowl.”

“A bowl? Why do you need a bowl?”

Too late. You throw up again, having to cry afterwards because you feel humiliated and disgusting.

“I’m sorry”, you get out, wanting to dissolve into thin air, “I’m so sorry.”

Jungkook bites his tongue. He feels so bloody conflicted. He has done so ever since you told him why you killed the man and it has been become unbearable ever since he saved you from getting assaulted. There is one side of him, the prideful stubborn and perhaps a little scared side that wants him to treat you for the apathetic monster that you are. And then there is the other side of him, the side which has fucking eyes and can see how similar you are to humans, that wants him to treat you like a fellow person in need. 

And for some inexplicable reason, this side wins this morning.

He walks to you and helps you sit up.

“Go over here”, he guides you a few steps to the right. “Lie down here”, he says and helps you get comfortable. He puts a clay bowl next to you then begins to wipe the dirtied floor wordlessly. 

He puts the dirtied bucket outside and washes his hands in the washing bowl. He checks the tea and realises that it is done, so he pours you a mug of it. 

He squats down, shaking you to consciousness by your shoulder.

“Don’t pass out on me. You hear me? I need you to get healthy again.” 

“Hurts”, you whimper.

“I know. Here, drink this.”

He helps you sit up and sets the mug against your lips. He tilts it, holding your head at the nape of your neck. He tries not to let the sensation of your scales get to him. This is the part most appealing to him. To feel the rough and textured scales spread down your neck and rub against his fingertips. It is like burning sandpaper to him. 

You finish the tea and he instantly pulls away, wiping his hand on his pants. The sensation remains, haunting him. 

“Thank you”, you get out weakly and drop down on the floor. 

“Don’t die”, he insists, stubbing you.

You groan softly, furrowing your brows. 

“Good. Stay alive. The healer is going to be here soon.”

He wasn’t wrong. The healer arrives with the beginning of a new hour. An elven woman with silver braids down to her hips and silver framed glasses perched atop her nose. Her face and body seem youthful, but a sense of old age and wisdom surrounds her. 

She instantly scrunches her nose at the pitiful view of you.

“You are going to give me a mighty good reason why she has to lie on the floor instead of the bed.”

“She is dragonborn.”

“You are a Hunter?”

“Yes.”

“Now let me tell you something, young Hunter. I have been on this plain long before the wars. I have seen dragons worshipped and their kin prayed to, as I have seen humans destroy everything. I do not care about what she is but what she suffers from. Now make yourself useful and put her on the bed, you narrow minded fool”, she scolds him like a disappointed mother would scold her son. 

Jungkook can’t disobey her, even if he tried. He helps you to your feet and to the bed, just as he helps you get comfortable. He tries to force you to lie on your back, but the healer stops him.

“If she wishes to lie on her side, let her be. Now step aside, you insolent fool.”

Jungkook scowls, stepping back with crossed arms. The healer takes his place and puts her hand on your temple gently.

“Hush now, everything will be alright”, she soothes you, healing your head with gentle pressure and a massage.

For the first time today, you take a breath of relief. 

“That’s it, breathe out the pain”, she whispers, then turns to Jungkook. “How did this happen?”

“I gave her this potion”, he says, showing it to her.

Her features darken.

“Why would you give her such a potion?”

“To keep her quiet.”

“And why do you need to keep her quiet?”

“Listen old lady, I am paying you a lot of coin to heal her not to ask questions. Can you help her or not?”

“Oh trust that I will help her”, she snarls, keeping a protecting hand on you at all times. “When did you give it to her?”

“I don’t know, whenever she woke again.”

Her features darken more and more.

“And for how long have you practiced this….technique?”

“For around three weeks.”

“You revolting bastard, you foolish child. You know nothing of this world!” she explodes and hits his arm with her open palm repeatedly. 

Jungkook could easily defend himself, hell, he could kill her if he really wanted to, but he is frozen in shock, taking the beating with widened eyes and an agape mouth.

“Such a potion is meant to put people to sleep before surgery or to put animals down before slaughter. You could have killed her if you continued.”

“How? I have kept dragons down this way before.”

“You are a fool. A narrow minded, uneducated fool. They are people like you and I.”

“Alright, alright I understand. Stop hitting me.”

She hits him especially hard and steps back. Jungkook scowls and pouts, rubbing his aching arm.

“Feel the pain. Maybe it will teach you something”, she spits and turns her attention back to you.

You have your eyes open, looking up at her as if she was a goddess brought alive. She gives you a reassuring, motherly smile and rubs your scales softly.

“Don’t you worry. I know exactly how to get rid of the pain and cure you of the ails.”

She goes to work. Jungkook watches from a safe distance, sulking.

She prepares a thick, dark coloured liquid.

“This is going to taste awful, but it will help you.”

You drink it without complaint, clutching the mug and her hands and closing your eyes for it. The taste doesn’t matter, you want this pain to stop. A deep warmth settles in your stomach and slowly spreads to the rest of your body. 

You sigh, sinking deep into the pillow. 

“Now try to sleep. It will be better when you wake”, she says and caresses your cheek gently. 

Tears escape your eyes. You have never felt motherly tenderness before. Or tenderness in general.

The last thing you actively take in is the healer talking to Jungkook about white tears tea and then you fall into a deep, relieved sleep.

“Yes, the last healer I went to told me to give her the tea once a day”, he says, frowning as he still sulks.

“Make it twice a day. Morrow and night. And with lots of clean water”, she orders, ignoring his childish display of distaste.

“Anything else?”

“Yes. Three light meals high in fiber and the healing liquid once a day right after waking up.” 

“Great. So I basically have to act like a caregiver.”

“You bet that you do. You will let her sleep in bed, you will allow her rest for at least a week and I will visit her each day.”

“What?”

“You heard me right. Tea, water, food, rest and me. You will have to learn to live with it because I am not going to leave her alone with you.”

Jungkook steps closer to try and intimidate her, but something about her is frightening. 

“Do not test my patience, young Hunter. I have handled bad men like you more than once in my many centuries.”

Bad man. There it is again. People seeing him as a bad man. It stings deep.

“Alright”, he gives up, avoiding eye contact, “does this mean that we have to reside here?”

“Naturally.”

Jungkook growls in distaste, “wonderful. Yet another bloody week on the road.”

“Nobody forced you to go on this hunt”, she throws back and turns her back to him to walk back to you. “You can leave. I will stay with her for now.” 

“Why? So you can help her escape?”

“Perhaps or perhaps you will have to trust that I care about her recovery for now and will pay her company.” 

“You are the most annoying woman I have ever met.”

“Thank you. I take this as a compliment coming from a bad man such as yourself.” 

Jungkook flees from the room with a broken ego.  

She walks back to the bed and sits down, coming eye to eye with you. Jungkook’s emotional exit woke you again.

“I am Xenia”, the elven woman says with warm eyes. They were the colour of prehnite, contrasting against her dark complexion. Kindness radiated off her.

“___”, you tell her.

“___. What a lovely name.” She brushes your cheek. “It is just you and I right now. Speak your truth”, she whispers.

“You need to help me, please. I’m his prisoner.”

“I have figured that much.”

“He, he said that he is going to sell me to King Foltest. I will be tortured and killed. Please help me.” 

Xenia’s eyes darken, “what heartless bastard”, she murmurs under her breath, then shifts her eyes to you. “Do not worry. You will not be sold to the king.”

“Really? Can you help me?” 

“As best as I can. I cannot help you escape because I cannot risk the wrath of the king. My family could be persecuted.”

“I understand.”

“However, I will not abandon you. You have to rest for a week, drink the medicine I brew you, sleep and regain your strength. And I will visit you each day. Please hold on until the seventh day, I will provide.” 

“Thank you”, you choke out, spilling tears, “you are the first person who sees me as equal.”

“Do not weep, sweet child. Behind our different skins and varied cultures, we are all just blood and bone. You are blood of my blood just like any person is.” 

“Thank you. I know we don’t know each other, but I trust you.” 

She smiles and brushes your cheek.

“Now sleep. No harm will come to you today.”

You fall asleep from exhaustion, from having to heal and from relief. You believe her.

Xenia keeps her promise and visits every day. She stands in front of the door with the first call of the rooster and returns for a second visit after dinner. 

Jungkook simply has to live with it and she truly makes him suffer. Not from torture or pain, but from stern and ruthless treatment. She sends him to the market for fresh herbs or food, constantly tells him that he is a fool and never compliments him. 

You would be lying if you said that it wasn’t satisfying to watch.

The fifth day comes way too quickly for your taste. It is a rainy and dreary day. It is very cold in the room, forcing you to shiver even under the blanket.

Jungkook, who previously visited the local bath house, returns to the room. His clothes are soaked. 

“Cursed storm. All the bathing I did was for nothing", he grumbles and stomps to the window to close it. 

He glances at you. 

“Why are you shivering? Don’t tell me that you’re hurting again.”

“No, just really cold.”

Jungkook scowls and stomps to the fireplace to put more wood into it. The flames swallow it quickly. Jungkook sticks the brass bed warmer into the flames letting it heat up. As it does, he takes off his shirt and pants. He knows that you can’t see him from this angle and so he changes into something dry. 

He prepares you a cup of the white tears tea which sits on the flame in a brass kettle.

“Here.” 

You sit up and accept the mug.

“Thank you.” 

He returns to the fire to get the bed warmer and sticks it under the blanket. 

“Careful not to burn your feet when you lay down again. Not that your kind can actually get burned.”

“It’s warm. Thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah. The only reason I am doing this is because Xenia is going to hit me again if I don’t.” 

“I like her.”

“Of course you do.” He sits down on the chair the wrong way, resting his arms on the edge of the backrest. He props his chin on his hands and watches the storm through the window. “I fucking hate the rain.”

“Me too.”

Time passes. You settle back in the sheets after finishing the tea. The bed warmer keeps the blanket so toasty. You feel so sleepy because of it, eyes running over his silhouette mindlessly. 

Jungkook hates waiting. He should already be in Wogrin – the capital – and receive his coin, but instead he has to pass time in this backwater village.

“I was born on such a day as today.” 

Jungkook doesn’t want to listen, but still does. Your voice carries a sense of delirium with it, as if you weren’t truly aware that you were talking. It is the kind of disconnect one gets right before sleep when the filters of the brain are shut off. 

“The nuns who raised me said that it meant that I will bring misfortune.” 

Jungkook silently agrees at first then you sniffle and sound so incredibly sad and he feels bad for agreeing.

“My mother died in childbirth. I never got to know her.”

He listens actively. 

“I stayed with the nuns who helped deliver me. They said that it was my fault because I am of dragon blood, that a human body wasn’t meant to deliver a dragonic baby. They told me that I am a demon and a monster. They hurt me almost every day.” 

He doesn’t know what to say because his instincts only come up with awful things to say and he doesn’t want to say them.

“And your father?” so he asks a question, back still turned to you and eyes focused outside yet attention fully on you. 

“They told me that he was a true dragon who one day delivered my heavily pregnant mother to the convent and then left. He never returned and my mother wept for him daily.”

“I see. Do you know his name?”

“No.”

“Do you know your mother’s name?”

“She had my name. She died before she could name me and so the nuns gave me hers.”

“I see. It is a name of honour then.” 

“It is all that I have of her. Sometimes when I lie awake at night, I imagine how life could have been if she survived.” 

Jungkook tenses up when he hears you begin to cry. 

“She suffered so much. I was born with her grief weaved into my soul. I can feel how my father broke her heart and how scared she felt when she realised that giving birth to me will kill her. I can feel it. Whenever it storms, I can feel her grief and her fear.” 

Your voice becomes more and more twisted, the stronger your emotions grip you. The sickness and Xenia’s medicine only strengthen the intensity of them.

“The nuns were right. I am a bringer of misfortune. If I was never born, my mother would have never had to die. She could have lived her life, become happy and find meaning. It is my fault.”

He stands up and walks to you. He kneels down and wipes your tears with the sleeve of his shirt.

You gasp sharply, eyes instantly fixed on him in shock. Sharp lightning illuminates him from behind, the fireplace casts shadows on his features. His eyes are clear to you, offering you compassion. 

He opens his mouth to talk, but closes it in the end. He doesn’t know what to say. He pulls his hand back and stands up, eyes meeting Xenia’s because she seems to have arrived. 

She has been lingering for long enough to witness Jungkook’s kindness.

“Xenia”, he greets her and stubs you, “your friend is here. I’m downstairs.” 

He flees, but Xenia still grips his arm. She is surprisingly strong and steadfast. He looks at her iron grip then her eyes. 

“Kindness, young Hunter, will bring meaning to your life way more than cruelty ever will. The warmth you feel in your heart right now? Embrace it, think about it, let it change you.”

He rips his arm free and steps closer to her, “I feel nothing”, he hisses and leaves. 

He will never admit it, but he will spend his time downstairs drinking and thinking about the warmth Xenia spoke of and he will be seething because he will know exactly what she was talking about.

The sixth day arrives after a sleepless night for Jungkook. You were already fast asleep and Xenia was gone when he returned from downstairs. 

He watched you for a while. The blanket was pulled all the way up to your ear and your mouth was slightly parted. Covered up like this, Jungkook couldn’t see the differences between you and him. 

He so dearly wanted to see them, but he couldn’t. You looked like a person. Not a monster or demon, but a person. You had history and feelings just like him. He was very drunk so he wondered if coin was truly important when it meant selling a person to the king. 

And Jungkook couldn’t understand his own doubts, lying down on the chaise lounge he has been using as his bed this week, and trying to force himself to sleep.

Jungkook gasps and sits up. His neck aches from the position he managed to fall asleep in. Instinctively, his eyes race over the room. The bed is empty. It is still storming.

“No”, he gasps and jumps to his feet to run to his swords. He stops. 

You are still here, sitting by the window and eating breakfast. Your eyes are currently fixed on him, you seem confused by his urgent awakening. His swords stand beside you untouched. 

“Good morrow”, you say.

“You, how- you were”, he points at the bed, “and now are”, he points at you. 

“Xenia was here already. She says that I am almost back to full health again. We let you sleep because you smelled intoxicated.” 

“My swords.”

“What about them?”

“Why did you not take them and kill me?”

“Why should I have done that?”

“Because I deserved it.” 

“Maybe. But I am not a killer. I do not kill humans.” 

“You killed the man.”

“Because he was going to hurt innocent people. I did it to help.” 

Frustration bubbles in Jungkook’s heart. He stomps to you in big steps, grabs a chair and sits down facing you. 

“But why? The woman you saved turned against you the second she saw your scales. Why would you help? Why do you help? Me, the woman, people. Why help who hates you?”

“Because I don’t actually want to hate humans. All I want is to be seen as a person. And to live. I have been helpless all my life, people act as if I don’t exist when I beg for help. I know how it feels to be helpless and I can’t stand idly by and do nothing when someone needs help. Even if I know that the person probably hates me.” 

“Then you are a fool. They don’t deserve your help.”

“The little girl did! She was innocent. She didn’t mind my scales or eyes, she saw me as a person. I do it for people like her. Who are weaker than most others and who can’t defend themselves.” 

You glare at him.

“I won’t kill you, but I regret helping you”, you murmur angrily.

“I wouldn’t have needed your help anyway. Crab spiders are easy to kill”, he says, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Didn’t look like it to me”, you say and munch on a grape. 

“I acted. You jumped in with your sorry attempt at fire breath, so obviously fucking dragonborn you fool, and then you stupidly told me your name. I acted weak to trick you.”

“And that’s why the little girl saw you for what you are. A bad man.”

“I’m not a bad man!”

“Yes, you are! You kill innocent people! You hunt us, torture us, sell us to sick fucks! You are a bad person!”

“I kill monsters too! True monsters, the kind which hurt anything they see.”

“Well, we aren’t monsters. We are people with feelings and families and history.”

He looks into your eyes. You look into his eyes, standing your ground.

“Have you ever thought of this? That you are catching people? Have you ever thought of what happens to those people?”

This is everything he has been thinking about the past week. And it has brought him to the brink of madness. 

“Asking questions isn’t what I get paid for.”

“Well, maybe you should ask questions next time. We get tortured-”

“I don’t want to hear it. I-”

“Too bad, you will listen to it. We get tortured and forced to breed, our body parts get taken out while we are still alive just so old kings can live longer. Do you really think that King Foltest will play tea party with me once you deliver me?”

He gnaws on his lower lip.

“Foltest is obsessed with youth. He will breed me and then force me to have an abortion just so he can feast on my foetus because he thinks that it will bring him youth. And it will happen to me again and again because he is old and disgusting and stubborn and he doesn’t want to admit that he is going to die no matter how hard he fights destiny.”

You fletch your teeth, voice quivering in hatred as you speak your next words.

“So let that sink in. You are a bad person who is stupid enough to believe the words of a sick king and as a result sends innocent people to their demise.”

Anger washes over Jungkook’s face.

“You have no idea why I do what I do. Do you think that I care about King Foltest? He could fucking kiss my boots for all I care”, he hisses.

“Then why do you do it?!” you yell.

“Because dragons took everything from me!” he screams back with such emotions in his voice that it cracks, hitting his fist on the table.

You stare in shock, unable to speak.

“Your kind is bad. You kill and pillage and, and rape innocent girls to death! You deserve everything bad!” he tears up as he speaks, his voice becoming shaky and full of grief. His hand trembles as he points it at you in accusation.

“What…happened to you?” you ask him hesitantly.

He exhales shakily, covering his eyes for just a second. 

“It doesn’t matter. You are still going to the king and I will get my coin.” 

“No, tell me. Why do you hate my kind so much?” 

“Because you are all murderers.” 

“No, we are not. Yes, there are bad ones but humans have those too. Why do you hate us? What did we do to you?”

“You killed my family”, he finally confesses, staring at you with such hatred that you feel yourself shiver.

“Tell me.” 

“What difference does it make?”

“A grand difference. For millennia our kinds have fought and killed each other without ever seeking conversation. So talk. Fucking tell me why you hate us so much and let me finally understand it.”

He wants to be understood. He wants to make sense of the conflicting emotions in his chest. He wants to understand you. So he talks.

“It was years ago. The war between humans and dragons was still happening. We were rice farmers and our village was far away from the battles. The dragonborn were stronger back then. They had armies and troops. One of your troops invaded our village one night, killed everyone and raped the women.” He pulls out the small rabbit toy of his sister, fumbling with it. “My mother was killed defending us. My sister was only thirteen. She had her first bloods a month prior, she was so proud to finally be a woman so she always said. They pinned me down while I had to watch her die slowly from, from…”

He clutches the toy and shakes his head.

“I can’t say it”, he whispers, voice barely wanting to come out. 

“You don’t have to. I am so sorry. This is terrible. This is so, so terrible.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, spilling tears.

“They laughed as they did it and when she was dead, they talked about doing it to me. I was fifteen. My father was already dead. I don’t know what happened but, but suddenly there was so much rage inside me. I wasn’t scared, I was just so angry. It blinded me and the next moment my vision cleared, the dragonborn were dead and I was holding a bloodied knife.”

“You awakened your Hunter side.” 

“I know that”, he hisses and meets your eyes, “it was your kind that killed my family, your kind that hurt my sister.”

“It was and I am sorry. I am sorry for what was done to you. These dragonborns deserved what they got, but we aren’t all like that.” 

“Yes, you are. The moment you get a chance, you resort to violence. I have seen it time and time again.”

“Do you speak of the ones you hunted and killed? The ones who knew that they were going to die and who tried to defend themselves from imminent doom? You mean them?” 

“Yes, no, I-”

“A gentle dog, pushed into a corner will also resort to biting to defend itself. Do not call a threatened dragonborn violent just because they wanted to live.” 

“No, you don’t-” 

“Didn’t your sister want to live too? Didn’t she fight with as much violence as she could muster?”

“Do not mention my sister!”

“She fought as well! Was violent! Will you call her a monster too because she fought?”

Jungkook jumps up and lifts you by the collar of your shirt. His once human eyes are as black as the abyss, the area around them is sunken and greyed. His black hunter tattoos glow brightly.

“Do not speak of my sister like that”, he growls, voice distorted in demonic anger. 

This must be it. The Hunter magic. It is something one cannot learn, but is born with. Nobody knows why it affects certain people and some live their entire life without ever triggering it. The people who trigger it, gain inhuman strength and abilities. They live longer and never get sick with human ails. And they spend their entire lives trying to still the desire for dragon blood in their hearts.

“I apologise”, you say and place your hands on his chest gently, “I am sorry for what my kind did to her. Please accept me as the spokesperson for my kind. We are sorry.”

Jungkook’s eyes return to normal. He exhales shakily and drops you. He stumbles back, falling on the chair. 

“Ah, my head”, he gets out, touching his own forehead. 

“Do you need water?”

“Stop trying to help”, he hisses and meets your eyes. He seems frustrated. “Stop apologising and being kind. Stop it.” 

“Why? Because it forces you to admit that you are sending a fellow person to their demise?”

“Yes.”

He admitted it. You didn’t think that he would. You don’t know what to say. Neither seems he.

A silence – heavy, gnawing, meaningful – lies itself over the situation.

So what now? You each said what you wanted to say. You each expected the other to stand their ground and stubbornly ignore the other’s points. And yet you somehow understood each other. You acknowledged each other. You talked.

What now?

Jungkook curses under his breath and stands up. You instinctively stand up as well in defence. He sends you a dark look and closes the distance. You stumble back, lifting your hands in defence. But he doesn’t hurt you. He presses himself past you, pumping shoulders with you.

Moments later, the room is empty. He locked the doors and the windows are too small, so escape isn’t possible. Escape isn’t truly what you think about right now. The after effects of the conversation leave you paralysed.

You sink down on the chair and rest your head in your hands. What now? You understand him. You understand why he thinks that your kind is bad. If you lost your family and had to watch your sister get raped by humans, you would have started hating them as well. You understand him and this is exactly what paralyses you. Understanding that deep down he is also just a person with motives and a traumatised heart who, despite that, was willing to actually hear you out.

What now?

You cannot stay with him. You get the feeling that he will still bring you to the king. You have to escape, but how? Yes, he keeps your feet free of ropes these days and doesn’t drug you anymore, but somehow it still feels a lot more difficult to escape. His guards are up ever since your attempt last week and you are a lot more scared to try again. What if he starts hurting you if you fail? What if today’s conversations meant that betraying him will hurt him and he will become violent because of it?

And where even did he go right now? According to the burning candle, he left half an hour ago and it doesn’t seem that he will return any time soon.

What if you checked the windows just once?

They are way too small for an adult and a metal lattice is stuck to the outside.

What if you checked the door just once?

It is locked. No matter how much you twist and turn the knob, it doesn’t budge.

Defeated, you walk back to the table. You fill a plate with food and decide that eating will be the best thing you can do. You need to regain your strength either way.

Delirious, dizzy and with a pounding head, Jungkook arrives at Xenia’s hut. It is located in the forest outside the village next to a babbling brook. He knows where it is because she sent him back and forth between it and the tavern multiple times a day. Till this day, he thinks that she did it on purpose. 

He knocks with his open palm. 

The elven healer opens after the fifth knock. 

“Young Hunter”, she greets him and secretly grips her dagger, “what brings you here?”

“I want you to tell me the truth.” 

She lets go of the dagger and steps out of the doorframe. 

“Come in. Sit by the fire to dry.” 

As if she expected him, she has tea and sweet cake waiting for him. She lets him sit by the fire, rubbing his hair dry while he is bundled in a blanket and sips tea.

“The world I grew up in was very different from the world today. We had magic, rich cultures and we walked among other peoples without hatred in our hearts”, she begins. 

Jungkook listens to her as the tea and fire warms him. He thinks that the cake tastes very good. 

“Dragons were considered as goddesses and gods. They walked among us, huge and beautiful, and the peoples prayed to them for protection and health. The dragons loved the humans. They celebrated and ate with them and they protected the weak against monsters.”

“So monsters have always been part of this world?”

“Oh yes, true monsters have always been part of this world and it was the dragons who kept us safe from them. In return we prayed to them, we loved them and we treated them as friends. Not foe, but friend.” 

Jungkook takes another slice of the cake, then he speaks.

“Until they realised that they were stronger than us and began hunting us. Isn’t that so?”

Xenia chuckles, “oh young Hunter”, she says and sighs deeply grieved by his naivety, “if only you knew the truth.”

“So what is the truth?”

“The truth, young Hunter, is that dragons have never been monsters. King Foltest’s great-great-grandfather King Feld desired a dragon woman of immense wisdom and strength. Her name was Vysannya. He wanted her to the point of obsession, but she did not want him. This did not break his heart, but it hurt his ego.”

She hangs the wet towel by the fire and walks to her working table to prepare more tea. 

“He sent his army to where Vysannya lived and burned the village she swore to protect while she was gone to hunt. He ordered his men to make it look as if she did it. Not but a week later, dragons were declared the kingdom’s enemies and not but another week later, Vysannya was the first dragon to fall in the gruesome war to follow.” 

She looks at Jungkook.

“She was like your ___. An innocent person who wanted to live and be understood, yet the cruelty of a man ruined her.”

He lowers his head. He fumbles with the mug. Xenia gives him time to let everything sink in. 

“The stories I was told were different”, he confesses, rubbing his aching forehead.

“Because the humans won the war and history written by the victors is very rarely the truth.”

He looks up at Xenia, helpless and teary eyed.

“So why do I exist?” he chokes out.

“You exist because King Feld hired practitioners of dark magic to curse his strongest warriors with inhuman strength and a thirst for dragon blood. You must have had warrior ancestors. The curse awoke after a great cruelty was done to you by dragons.”

“It was”, he whispers and looks at the mug. He pulls out the rabbit toy from his pants and traces the small face with his thumbs. His tears hit the dark oak wood and soak it. 

“I am sorry for what was done to you.”

He can hear that she was honest.

“Thank you.” He kisses the rabbit toy and rests his forehead against it. “It isn’t her fault.” 

“It never was.”

“I do not know what to believe anymore.”

“Yes you do, you are simply scared to accept it.”

“I’m….” he sinks into himself in defeat, “yes.” He whispers. “Yes, I am.”

“That is alright. Fear means that you have grown too big for the small confines you lived comfortably in. Embrace it, let it help you break free and it will teach you a lot.”

He thinks each word through.

“How do you know what to say?” he asks in the end.

“If I lived my eight hundred years without learning, what a fool would I be”, she says, making him laugh with it. 

She laughs with him.

“Ah fuck”, he curses under his breath, wiping his eyes.

She fills his cup with new tea and fills his plate with more cake. She rubs his head like a mother would to console her son. He chases the affection with a small tilt of his head. It has been too long since he felt a motherly touch.

“Do you”, he begins, heart hammering in his chest.

“Yes, young hunter?”

“Do you know if human women have to die to give birth to a dragon half-blood?” 

She smiles knowingly. 

“No. If a woman dies in childbirth it is because life is cruel, not because her baby is of dragon blood.” 

“I see.” He sips on the tea and sets the mug down on his thigh. “Is it possible to…” he stops talking as if something was holding him back.

“Yes, young Hunter?” 

He shakes his head, nervous and embarrassed. 

“Nevermind.” 

She nods her head. A sense of knowing surrounds her. 

“Very well. You know where to find me when you are ready to ask this question.” She retreats her touch and walks to the table to work on medicine. “___ will be well tomorrow.”

“We can continue.”

“And will you?” she asks, looking at him over her shoulder with great intensity.

He takes a deep breath, shifting his eyes to the fire. He watches the flames dance, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. Xenia waits for his answer, though she already knows it deep within her. 

“There is a bounty on her head. I cannot let her go. Others like me will hunt her.”

“I see.” 

“I have to..” he falters. He has to gasp and gulp as if the words he wants to speak ache like acid on his tongue. “I, I have to, to…” He bends over, holding his head, “I have to apologise to her”, he finally gets out and throws his hand over his mouth, gagging in pain. 

“That you do, kind Jungkook.”

He lifts his head, eyes widened in shock. She gives him a smile. A warm, proud smile. 

“You, you think that I am kind?”

She doesn’t answer him directly, instead she closes the distance in light steps and puts her hand on his cheek. He leans into it, feeling the desire to close his eyes. 

“You embraced the warmth in your heart and learned from it.” 

She wipes his tears and steps back. 

“You should go. The rain has stopped for now.”

“I should. Thank you for the cake and the tea”, he stands up and looks at her. Then he bows deeply, holding his hand on his heart, “and thank you for showing me the right path.” 

She bows at him with her hand on her heart.

“The path has always been yours, you simply chose to finally take it.”

Jungkook leaves Xenia’s hut with slices of cake bundled in a cloth. She told him to give them to you. 

He spends his walk to the village lost in thoughts. He never liked the royal family, hell, he doesn’t like royals in general and learning the true history of this world finally confirms his feelings.

The other half of his walk, Jungkook uses to practice what he is going to say to you. He wants the apology to be honest. It is what you deserve. 

Jungkook stops just a few steps away from the tavern. His stomach tightens, a sharp sting shoots through his heart.

You are crossing the corner into the side alleyway. You are running away. After everything he did for you, you betray him. 

Jungkook drops Xenia’s cake and runs. His chest is burning in anger. How dare you run. How dare you use his kindness. 

You are right there. Jungkook leaps into the air and drags you down with him as he lands again.

You scream in shock, trying to fight off your attacker. You get turned to your back and your wrists pinned to the wet soil. 

“I trusted you! How dare you run!” 

He keeps your hips down with his leg. His eyes are widened, spilling tears of betrayal and yet burning in a dark fire of anger.

“You. Shit. Fuck.”

“Yes. Fuck. Fuck you. And I foolishly felt guilty for what I did to you. You deserve every single thing I did to you, you traitorous dragon scum.”

You wiggle but Jungkook rolls you onto your stomach and drags your wrists back.

“I’m sorry. The innkeeper came in to clean and I saw my chance. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No. You shouldn’t have”, he hisses and tightens ropes around your wrists painfully.

“Ah. Ouch. This hurts.”

“Good. It’s what you deserve.”

“Please Jungkook, please just let me go.”

“Don’t put my name into your mouth or I’m gagging you.”

“I’m sorry. Please, you have to understand me. You are still going to deliver me to the king. I don’t want to die. Please, Jungkook.”

“I told you not to use my name”, he spits and rips his shirt at the hem just to use it as a makeshift gag.

“Mhm hm mgnhmh.”

Jungkook ignores your silenced begs and lifts you up like a sack of potatoes. He throws you over his shoulder, carrying you back to the tavern. 

Moments later, you are on the horse cart, leaving the village abruptly while you beg and sob for a chance to say goodbye to Xenia. 

Jungkook however is deaf to your noises, twisting the reins angrily and trying to ignore the ache in his heart.

The journey leads you to Hemdal. A bigger city along the river Pantor. Jungkook seems to know which of the many taverns was best. 

The tavern is impressive. Three stories high and with at least a dozen rooms, each accessorised with a balcony. A band of bards plays in front of the tavern and inside another band plays on stage. Laughter and talk is great and dance seems to be appreciated as well. 

Jungkook takes off your gag outside and ties your wrists in the front. He ignores the looks you send him just as he ignores your voice. 

“I wanted to say goodbye to Xenia. She is the first person who saw me as equal, who was kind to me and you took me away from her.” 

He finishes the knot and grabs the rope between your wrists. 

“Walk.”

This is the first word you get from him and he still sounds angry with you. 

Once inside, you can watch how Jungkook sends a few nods to some women, which you ignore because it grosses you out. You don’t understand the fascination with carnal activities. It seems very uncomfortable to you. 

“Lord Hunter, how long has it been?” the innkeeper greets him. 

“Three months.”

“Three months and you haven’t changed a bit.” She shifts her eyes to you. “Who’s the lady by your side?” 

“It’s best if you don’t know. I need a room for one night. The highest floor.”

“Luckily for you, we have a room free upstairs.” 

They exchange keys and coin then she offers him a drink which he declines, “later.”

He wraps his fingers around your ties and tugs.

“Walk.”

“You know, for someone who takes pride in his profession, you seem weirdly embarrassed about having me tied up again.”

“Shut up. I have my reasons.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I would almost believe that you feel guilty.”

Jungkook whips around quickly, speaking in such close proximity that you can feel his breath hit your face.

“I do not feel guilt. I am not embarrassed. Just be quiet and let me be.”

“I am simply saying. If you feel bad, you can just let me go.”

“In your dreams. You wasted it”, he grumbles and turns his back to you. “Walk”, he hisses and tugs you with him.

He opens the ties once you are in the room. You instantly take the chance, pressing yourself past him to run. 

He is by the door before you, slamming it close by pressing you against it.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Let me go, you bastard! Let me go!”

He pins your wrists above your head, face twisted in angry betrayal.

“Haven’t you learned? Do I have to hurt you?” 

“Go on, just do it. You have already done the worst thing you can do by taking Xenia from me!”

“What good would a conversation with her have done?” 

“She promised to help me! You are going to take me to the king! Despite everything we talked about, despite seeing that I sleep and eat and feel like you! Even after everything we have been through, you will still bring me to Foltest!”

“We haven’t been through anything.”

“Despite admitting that I’m a fellow person, you are still going to condemn me!”

“I wasn’t going to deliver you to him!”

“What?” you whisper, finally standing still.

“Not anymore. I wasn’t going to deliver you to him.”

“So why am I still your captive?!” you yell back at him, pushing yourself off the door as best as possible. 

Jungkook pins you down again, lacing his fingers with you to have a better grip. There is almost no distance between you and him. 

“There is a bounty on your head, you stupid fool!”

“What?”

“You heard me right.” He takes out a piece of paper from the inside of his coat and shows it to you. 

A drawing of your face and your name looks back at you. Two hundred coins to whoever brings you to the king alive. Jungkook is telling the truth. There is a bounty on your head. The amount is unbelievable to you. Two hundred coins. You could buy half a village with this amount of money. Greed will bring danger to your feet.

“Is this true?” 

“Yes. I have been ripping them off wherever we went.” 

“Is this how you found out about me?”

“No. The king asked for me. Seems that he’s grown impatient. Not many female dragonborn are left in these lands.”

“He pays you two hundred coins to send me to certain death?” 

“He pays me four hundred, but what do I care? Escape. Run and let’s see who captures you next and if they are going to be as kind to you as I am.” 

“Kind? You drugged me for weeks! You keep me in chains, force me to sleep on the floor, you call me names!” 

“And I’m sorry!”

Your heart stops for a second. His touch becomes so noticeable to your skin. 

“I am sorry for what I did.” He studies your face and furrows his brows, exhaling shakily. 

Suddenly he lets go of your hands and steps back. “But what does it matter? Run. What do I care if another catches you?” he says coldly. He turns his back to you.

You stand there frozen in shock as you stare at his back. He released you. The door is still unlocked. You could run. One look over your shoulder to your freedom, then one look at Jungkook.

“Are you serious?”

He turns, eyes cold.

“You’re free to go. Go march towards your death, I am not going to stop you.”

You hesitate. He seems serious. You could leave. You are free.

“Go!” he yells.

“I don’t know where to.” 

Jungkook sighs in annoyance and defeat. 

“Fine. I gave you a chance”, he says and grips you by your shoulders. He turns you and pushes you deeper into the room, “walk.”

“Where are we going?”

“Over there. You’re sleeping on the floor tonight.”

“So I’m still your captive?” 

“Naturally.”

“And you will fight off others who try to bring me in?” 

“If others are coming to get you, I won’t stop them. You betrayed me. I fucking hate traitors.”

You bite down on your tongue. Shit. You knew that escaping was a bad idea. He is cold to you again.

“I’m sorry.”

“Stick it. 

“We are so high up”, you say, studying the balcony.

“Guess you have to jump to your death if you want to escape. Now stay there and think about what you did”, he grumbles and opens the room door again.

“Where are you going?”

“Why? So you know how long you have to escape?”

“Naturally.”

Jungkook snarls and steps closer to intimate you. You lift your hands.

“Calm down. This room is way too high up to jump and you will lock the door. How would I escape? Despite, there is a bounty on my head. I was trying to lighten the mood.”

He grunts in annoyance, glaring.

“So where are you going?”

“You give me a headache, the mead’s good, I have needs and the women here are kind.”

“Disgusting, I regret asking.”

“Just because you’re unfuckable, doesn’t mean that you need to be bitter”, he hisses and stomps off angrily. 

“You know what? Fuck you too! I finally had someone who was kind to me and you took her from me!”

He slams the door closed and locks it. 

Naturally, you check out your means of escape. You are paranoid and if he is stupid enough to leave you unsupervised, you will take advantage of it. The door however doesn’t budge and the lock seems immune against getting picked. Escaping over the balcony is also impossible because there are no other balconies underneath you on which you could jump. Besides, there is a bloody bounty on your head and he seems to be the safest option for you right now. Defeated, you stay in the room and wait until Jungkook returns from his escapades.

It is a few hours later. The city and tavern quieted down. You are already slipping in and out of consciousness. You hear him come back, but decide to act asleep. You are curled up by the fire, back turned to the bed and body shivering slightly. It aches to sleep on the floor, but you are used to uncomfortable sleeping conditions. 

The door locks. His footsteps wander through the room. He does something by the table. Jewellery sings as he takes it off. A few moments later a defeated sigh follows and his footsteps come closer. 

You tense up, contemplating on “waking up” just so you weren’t so helpless.

And then he squats down and puts his hands on you. You try your very hardest not to tense up when he slides them down your back. Once his grip is good, he picks you up. You try so hard to keep your body floppy, resulting in your head to fall against his chest. He smells like a woman’s perfume and alcohol. 

What is happening? What is he doing? He is carrying you somewhere but why?

You feel a soft mattress under you and a warm blanket above you. He tugged you into bed, joining you under the covers a mere moment later. He blows out the candle and settles into the pillow with a deep sigh. Moments later, his snores fill your ears.

Why would he tug you into bed?

[7spaceace7]

THIS PERSON IS BASED AS FUCK OH MY GOD

HOLY FUCK I HAVE BEEN SAYING THIS FOR MONTHS

I will NEVER understand why I have had to JUSTIFY HATING JASON CARVER to REAL LIVE PEOPLE.

To add onto this in a fun way before I split my brains open, here are some of the fucking WILDEST things I have personally experienced other Stranger Things “fans” do or say:

—Argue that the Hawkins High basketball team never had bullies on it

—Moreover, Hawkins High apparently never had bullies at all according to this same guy

—“No Tigers bullied anyone until the exact moment they attacked Gareth for information about Eddie”

(WHAT SHOW HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING?!?)

—Called the books “silly headcanons”. Lol. Lmao even. Yeah, because one of the main writers for the show itself is just out here creating headcanons, as if she’s not the GOD DAMN WRITER- anyways

—Inferencing = headcanons and media literacy is only about taking the show’s quotes at face value. Apparently.

—Angela is somehow worse than Billy? What? Like dont get me wrong, fuck her, but WHAT.

—“Jason would have joined the main cast if he had known” WE LITERALLY SEE THE OPPOSITE HAPPEN but okay sure, sure

—Thinking that Robin was way better in s3 and that s4 ruined her

—On that note, generally just ableist and gross comments about Robin

—This one has happened to me irl on a few occasions and it’s weird: grown adult women at least 20 years older than me grabbing my Eddie vest to “look at it closer”, compliment me, and then speak in graphic detail about how sexually attractive Eddie Munson is. I do not know these people. I was even at work when this happened. Like BRO WHAT.

—People who genuinely believe Nancy should give up her dreams and character for the sake of “being with Steve”

—Some asshole replying to someone’s interpretation of Eddie’s “hanky code” (I like both the queer and metal references) saying that if that’s the case, they should have had him “die of AIDS” 😐

—“racism was gone by then, so Billy’s not racist, he just didn’t like Lucas” HUH WOW I WONDER FUCKING WHY THAT WOULD BE-

—Xtian weirdos (i unfortunately live in the South as of writing this) that have claimed to my face how much they “love eddie!!1!” And then turned around and sneered in disgust at me when they realized I was wearing a pentagram. This has happened more than once.

—Don’t even get me started on what happens on reddit when someone says they like two characters together. Even canon ones.

Like I know, I know genuinely that every fandom will have their bad actors. But this is something that surpasses that of normal fandom, honestly. This is the type of crowd that exists when something so loved and well made connects to so many people, but some connect simply on the grounds of it fitting their own hateful narrative.

It’s so amazing to walk into some general place and see at least one Stranger Things fan every day, but that’s not always a good thing. It’s so fucking weird.

They’ll never understand that they play the part of the antagonists in these kinds of stories, not the heroes.

saw a TikTok comment that I think deserves to be shared

[acowardinmordor]

You know the new trope we’re doing in fandom where someone sends a message to a famous person on Instagram and is shocked to get a reply, thinks they’re an assistant so keeps talking to them, yadda yadda fanfic magic, it really is the famous guy, something something, hook up with a rockstar. You know that one?

Let’s take Steddie and invert it.

Invert. Not reverse.

In a series of events neither could explain, Robin and Steve find themselves working in social media roles at a music label.

Robin is working for pop-Star Chrissy, and spends almost all her time on TikTok and Instagram liking posts Chrissy would like and blocking creeps, and finding things that Chrissy should do a video response to. Yes, this is boiling Robin’s brain because she ends up seeing a lot of really offensive messages, and she’s spiraling a bit because she has had similar thoughts. However. This is not about them right now.

Steve is working for a big name in Metal and Rock doing essentially the same job. Down Devastation is more popular than Steve would have expected, and he had a training session on how to impersonate a heavy metal guy. The front man is a guy named Eric, who he can admit is hot when he’s not in his stage makeup.

His job is to filter the bad ones, like some things, share things, and send stuff to Eric that the guy would want to reply to with more than a button tap.

At some point, Down Devastation gets tagged in a cover of one of their early songs, and it’s actually good and it wasn’t tagged by the group. It’s other users tagging it. They’re a band called Corroded Coffin, and Steve was told specifically that Eric likes to lift up baby-musicians. It gets sent to Eric. Eric stitches/edits/whatever and promotes their upcoming (teeny tiny) show. That should be the end of it.

Corroded posts some extra videos from their show - biggest crowd they’ve ever had (75 people! All conscious! There on purpose!) and Steve makes sure he likes them all, chooses one to share on the DD account.

A couple days later, while scrolling the thousands of notifications and messages, Steve spots one from a user he remembers was tagged in the Corroded Coffin stuff.

The guy, Eddie, sent a message from his personal instagram to say thanks.

It is legitimately part of Steve’s job to stalk people a little bit before replying, so he gets to see this guy who, if Steve is being honest, is fucking adorkable. The message isn’t raising any flags, the guys profile is clean without looking fake, and the guys band did get a callout. This is solidly in the list of things that are Steve’s job.

Steve sends a you’re welcome, uses some of the descriptions and phrases Eric had actually used, and figures that since the guy is normal, that’s the end of it. Eddie sends another message a few hours later, not like he’s trying to be that weird fan, not leading or forcing a conversation, but mentions something nerdy. It catches Steve’s eye the next time he’s clearing insta messages.

It accelerates pretty quickly into an actual conversation. Steve is used to being the character of Eric, but it slips a little when talking to Eddie. Not on purpose, but also not a big deal. Eddie has proven he’s pretty saavy, so the guy definitely knows that Grammy winners don’t answer their own DMs. Steve has almost jumped the conversation to his own account, but he’s paranoid that he’ll use the wrong one at some point, so never has.

it’s not until a few months later, when Eddie actually calls Steve ��Eric’ in a message, instead of the joking ‘King’, that Steve realizes; no. Oh god, no. Eddie doesn’t know that. Eddie thinks he’s been talking to a famous metal head.

Choose your own adventure on how much angst there is in the space between that realization and the happy ending.

[favoritesupernova]

staring contest!

⋆⭒˚.⋆ boyfriend!satoru x fem!reader

genre/tags/cw: non-sorcerer au, tooth rotting fluff, gojo being a cocky little shit, down bad reader, kissing, minor cussing, gojo needing to close his eyes or else you’ll turn to stone, digimon mention, brief nanami stray, sort of suggestive, gojo called reader babe and baby

there was a lot of things to love about gojo. his long limbs, his pristine smile, his fluffy hair. what do you love the most? his eyes.

seriously, what’s not to love about them? they’re a piercing, crystal blue, his white eyelashes fluttering every time he blinks. what you admire most about them is that you could tell exactly what he’s feeling by looking at his eyes. there was nothing he could hide from you.

satoru knows your infatuation with his eyes, only because you’ve told him a million times, maybe even more. he’s also seen you get lost in him, majority of the time when he’s talking about digimon characters.

so there you guys were. sitting on a plush sofa, talking about anything and everything. he was so easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, and most importantly, the easy to stare at.

getting adrift in the conversation, your eyes focus on his, but they’re not looking at you. instead, they’re looking at the television that is playing national geographic. what a multitasker! he’s talking about how nanami gave him a crap load of work, while he’s zoned into a whale giving birth.

you keep your gaze on him, hoping that he looks at you. moving closer, you set a hand on his upper thigh and that surely catches his attention.

now, he’s looking at you. his eyebrow cocked and his head tilted. satoru makes direct eye contact with you, “if you wanted some of this, all you had to do was ask, babe,” flashing a boyish grin.

he head lowers, his arm wrapping around your waist. just before his lips meet yours, a finger pokes at his chest. he looks down at hour finger wanting to chop it off. why would you deny him of your soft lips?

his eyes shift upwards, meeting yours. you don’t say anything, continuing to make deadly eye contact with him. “oh, so we’re doing this now?” he questions, “okay, bet. challenge accepted.”

satoru briefly looks away, closing his eyes. in a split second, he opens them, his eyes wide and relentless. fuck. you should have blinked while you had the chance.

now, it’s a battle between you two. it’s too late to back out now. he stares at you, you stare at him. it’s easy, right?

no, it not. you feel your eyes burning, while he continues to stare at you like it’s light work. the dryness is getting worse and it’s getting harder by the second. you feel your eyes starting to squint, but you try to keep them open.

all of a sudden, satoru blows a puff of air directly at your eyes. this causes you to blink. “you cheater!” you slap his arm and tackle his body making him at lay down on the couch.

you are now straddling him as he laughs ridiculously hard. he sees your pouty face and it makes him laugh even harder. “aw, come on. you know the game by now. you initiate the staring contest and i always win. i have no idea why you keep trying,” he brags.

you lay your hands roughly on his shoulders. “you blew are in my eyes!” you refuted and shook him gently, “i was going to win!” he smiles, “if you’re not cheating, you’re not trying.”

this ultimately pissed you off. trying to dismount off of him, he gently grabs your thigh, signaling you to stay. you roll your eyes at him and sit up while crossing your arms. “where’s my reward?” he asks, “you know the deal by know. the winner gets a kiss.”

is he being serious right now? “cheaters don’t get a kiss, sator-,” he pulls you down and lands a long, hard kiss on your lips. pulling off with a wet smack, he shines all of his pearly whites at you.

satoru sees that you’re visibly red. he loves you like this. he lets go of your thigh and you get off of his lap. a scowl decorated your face as you stood up.

“i’m sick of you. i’m sick of you winning and im also sick of your eyes!” you exclaim, fists bawled at your side.

turning away from him and start walking to the kitchen to get a glass of water after your boyfriend made you all hot and bothered.“oh, baby. we both know that you’ll never be sick of my eyes.”

your walking comes to a halt. turning around, blue eyes meeting yours, his smirk radiating from across the room. yeah, you’ll never be able to get over his eyes.

i was going to name this, ‘staring contest! let’s see who can stare the longest,’ but i fear that no one would get the actual reference 😔

as always, please like, comment, follow, and reblog for more!

divider by @uzmacchiato

[from-a-farther-room]

Queerness visibility debate aside, one of the things I'm finding frustrating about the sequel is that while there are some great character moments, there are also so many inconsistencies and weird omissions in the film that could mean something, or could just be bad writing/editing, that it's really hard to work out which - if any - of those actually mean something and what's just us putting more thought into it than anyone involved in the writing/editing decisions did.

Take the opening heist. On first watch, this was one of my favourite parts and I do still think it's a lot of fun with some good character details, but on reflection the concept doesn't really add up with what we saw in the original.

In the first film, Andy's so concerned about staying off the public radar that she goes out of her way to delete a holiday snap that she appeared in the background of off someone's phone, and they all seem to take the weight of killing people seriously. Here, they're apparently fine with doing an extremely unsubtle shoot-'em-up car chase through a populated area, not as an unavoidable escape tactic but as a planned strategy. Is this supposed to mean the characters now don't care about visibility or collateral damage to bystanders (sure, maybe Copley could scrub the CCTV later, but that wouldn't do much good if they'd hit a bus full of random people on that road), or did the writers just want a cool car chase and not bother to consider the implications? I assume it's the latter.

In the first film, Nile insists on going in to Merrick's alone rather than let mortal Copley come with her, and once they find out Andy's mortal, they're all shown to be shielding her as much as possible. Here, they're all - Nile included! - apparently fine with a plan that involves the two mortals going into a firefight alone, without kevlar or anything (sure, they snark about Copley undercounting the guards, but there's nothing to suggest that they weren't expecting anyone to be shooting back), while immortal Nile's seemingly just expected to be the get-away driver. Is this supposed to mean the characters have become overly cocky and/or simply stopped giving a fuck about protecting the mortals, or did the writers just want to do a cool fight scene and give Copley some action and not think about anything else? Again, I assume it's the latter.

Now this is pretty standard action movie stuff, but it's disappointing when the first one didn't go the standard action movie route on these things, and it wouldn't have been that hard to do the cool stuff in a way that made more sense - before I saw the film, I was expecting that both the car chase and Andy & Copley fighting in the mansion with no protective gear would be the result of things not going according to plan, rather than that being the plan. 

And it just keeps going from there. Are any of the many, many ways the whole 'last immortal' business doesn't make sense supposed to be a hint that some or all of what we've been told about it isn't actually true, or is it just bad writing? Is the fact that Tuah only tells Booker about the immortality transfer thing - not Andy, the only one of them he seemingly has any relationship with, not Nile, the person it's actually ABOUT - supposed to be a hint that he's secretly in league with Discord and/or has some other agenda of his own, or is it just bad writing? I genuinely have no idea.

When Booker re-joins the group, do we see nothing even resembling an apology or contrition from him because he's actively supposed to be even more of an asshole now, or did the writers just forget that he did actually somewhat recognize how badly he'd fucked up at the end of the first one? Is his whole generally weird vibe supposed to hint that he has something more going on that we don't know about yet, or is it just clunky writing? Again, no idea.

Discord tells Quynh "I pulled you from the ocean because I needed you by my side" - it's not "I saved you when Andy couldn't", it's "I saved you because I wanted something from you". And Quynh doesn't really react to that. Does she not notice the implication that Discord would've left her there if she didn't need her? Does she not care because she didn't expect anything from anyone other than Andy? Does she not care because she never really with Discord as such anyway, just using her resources while it was convenient? Or does she not react because it didn't occur to the writers that there was anything in that statement to react to? No idea.

We see Joe and Nicky still fighting when Andy comes in with Tuah, and then we don't see them interact again until the cliffs of Moher scene, which is a lovely scene in its own right, but doesn't really acknowledge the earlier fight. Are we supposed to assume they did make up to some extent at some point in between, but either it was cut or never written in the first place because it wasn't considered important? Or are we supposed to assume that they haven't properly made up, that moment was just sort of a time-out because they have bigger more immediate problems and they still need to figure things out between them later? Or that that was the extent of them making up, they weren't fine before that scene but it's all good after it? I'm assuming it's the first one because it's my preferred interpretation and I feel like it fits best with how Luca and Marwan played it, but who knows.

In the final sequence with Andy and Quynh, Andy doesn't have the necklace at first, and she doesn't have it at the very end either (Quynh is wearing a necklace with seemingly the same sort of cord at the very end but I can't tell for sure if it's the necklace). But there is a shot partway through (just before the blanket bit) of Andy sitting on the steps in a tank-top where she clearly is wearing the necklace (along with another longer pendant that she was also wearing in the port scene and when first meeting Tuah, but I think not again after that). Does this mean Quynh gave it back to her and they didn't bother to show that, despite it being such a focus earlier, and then they forgot at the end? Or Quynh gave it back to Andy and then Andy gave it back to Quynh all off-screen? Or is it just a continuity error, they forgot Andy wasn't supposed to have it at that point when filming that bit and either never noticed or didn't bother to fix it later? It's probably the last one, but again, who knows.

I'm all for some good speculation, but it's frustrating when it seems like the most likely answer to most if not all of the 'what does this mean' questions is just 'it means nothing and that's not a deliberate choice, they just didn't care'. It's not like the first one was perfect in this regard either (why did Andy say "it's been 200 years" like that was a lot when it seems to actually be the shortest interval between new immortals they've had apart from Joe & Nicky's two-for-one special; how was jumping off the train in the middle of nowhere going to help her get to Afghanistan; etc.) but I feel like more of the probably-careless 'wait what' stuff there was easier to write off because it didn't really matter to our understanding of the characters the way these things do.

[loseiso]

First Game: Sonic Classic Collection on the DS I believe

Favorite game: I need to replay most of them honestly from memory Adventure 2 or Unleashed from recent experiences Frontiers

Favorite character: Omega

Favorite TV show: X but I don't even like it muc

Favorite stage: speed highway but will need to replay. A lot of games. Lord save me

Favorite boss fight: fuck uhh probably any of the titan fights in frontiers? Especially the second one I didnt know how to counter so I just had to dodge the attacks and it was so much more fun honestly

Favorite stage theme: I'm basic ice cap....

Favorite vocal theme: His world (any version) and vandalize by one ok rock

Favorite overall soundtrack: hmm probably 06

Favorite spinoff: Sonic battle the story is so simple but sweet

Favorite handheld: fuck um. Sonic classic collection on the DS since it includes Sonic 2, 3, and 3&K

Least favorite game: Forces just because it led me to a few years of BAD internalized ableism

Spinoff I'll like to see: Sonic RPG

Classic, Adventure, or Boost: Adventure I like multiple playable characters but all are good

Dream sonic game: Sonic adventure but it's focus on Team Dark

Dream Sonic story/show: Omega actually killing Eggman (but not really since. Y'know.)

Favorite version of sonic: idc if it's boring Hyper sonic

Favorite team: Team Dark actually

Favorite antagonist: SAGE!!!

Overrated character: Eggman honestly but only slightly

Underrated character: Omega

Favorite human character: Eggman

Favorite rivalry: Sonic/Shadow BUT I wanna say that Tails/Omega could go hard as hell

Favorite ship: VECTOR/VANILLIA!!!

Favorite friendship/platonic relationship: Just all of them honestly

favorite Sonic voice actor: I'm boring it's Jason Griffer

Have any Sonic OC: !!! His name is Tooth the Shark very creative ik I was 8. He's an antagonist who goes into the aquatic aspect of the series and is meant to be a rival to Sonic he was Very edgy but I plan on fixing him up to be less edgy haha including a new name maybe I've grown attached to it

Hoe long have you been into sonic: since I think 2010 when I watched Super Mario Bros Z? But got out in I think 2018 for #ableism and got back in 2023? When I replayed unwiished

Favorite sonic related memory: roleplaying sonic on Roblox

Hottest sonic take: Omega is the hottest character holy FUCK do I wanna go down on him

Coldest sonic take: this fandom needs to calm the fuck DOWN

Sonic the Hedgehog Emoji Ask Game!

Send emoji(s) in the askbox c:

🎮 First Game?

❣️ Favorite Game?

💖 Favorite Character?

💙 Favorite IDW character?

🧡 Favorite Archie character?

💛 Favorite Sonic the Comic Character?

📺 Favorite TV show?

🏝️ Favorite stage/level?

💥 Favorite Boss Fight?

🎸 Favorite Stage Theme?

🎤 Favorite Vocal Track?

🎧 Favorite overall soundtrack?

🦊 Favorite spinoff game?

🏎️ Favorite racing game?

👾 Favorite handheld title?

🙈 Least favorite Sonic game?

💡 Spinoff you’d like to see?

🍡 Classic, Adventure, or Boost Gameplay?

✨ Dream Sonic Game?

💫 Dream Sonic Show/Story?

📚 Pitch for a third storybook game?

🕹️ Favorite Non-Sonic SEGA Franchise?

🦔 Favorite version of Sonic? (the character)

💎 Favorite Super form or Transformation?

👯 Favorite team?

🤖 Favorite robot?

🦹 Favorite antagonist/villain?

📈 Overrated character?

📉 Underrated character?

🍈 Favorite Chao?

👽 Favorite Wisp?

🧍Favorite Human Character?

😈 Favorite rivalry?

😘 Favorite ship?

☺️ Favorite friendship/platonic relationship?

🎙️ Favorite Sonic Voice Actor?

🧸 Favorite plush/piece of merch?

🎨 Favorite Sonic Artist?

✍️ Favorite fanfiction?

🌈 Have any Sonic OCs?

📆 How long have you been into Sonic?

🤩 Favorite Sonic-related memory?

🤔 Hydro-city or Hydrossity?

😳 Hottest Sonic Take?

🫡 Coldest Sonic Take?

[gothicfied]

hey... can you please make a part 2 to your squid game fic where the reader is a teen but.. like.. have her die? anyways your writing is so good!

Squid Game (S2/S3) characters with a teen (18) reader Part 2

(Read Part 1 here)

Pairing: Various characters x teen!fem!reader, !!platonic!!

Warings: Mentions of death, violence, choking, stabbing, implications of misogyny, canon character death, reader literally DIES, this is set in Season 3, the giving-birth situation, idk I'm very bad at writing violent scenes I'm sorry😞🥀, this is basically just angst, not proof read (English isn't my first language)

Tags: @katscloudy @applepie1000 @calijimenez @nightlark100 @okayiamkassandra

A/N: I'M SO SORRY THIS TOOK LONGER THAN I WANTED, but I was so busy with school and speaking exams and ahhhhh I was so stressed all week long. This is probably really, FOR REAL THIS TIME, the last Squid Game request I'll write for, because I can already feel my interest in it dwindle. So sorry, but I really enjoyed writing for it again! Stay tuned for the football fics I can now finally continue lololol

જ⁀➴ A revolution in this kind of setting, who were you kidding? You were stupid enough to believe in it, but maybe this proved that you actually were naive like everyone said. Young and naive, with not a clue how the real world actually works. Gi-hun immediately stopped you from taking a guards gun and said that you're way too young to be handling something like this. "The adults are going to handle it." You heard him say as a group of players advanced further into the building.

જ⁀➴ It all quickly came crashing down and mamy lost their lives. You were mostly just sitting in your bed uncomfortably, trying not to look at the gruesome sight of the dead pink guards. It was destined to fail, you kept telling yourself, there was no way you could make it out of there now. And for some reason, people still decided to vote 'O'.

જ⁀➴ Dae-ho wasn't talking to you (or anyone for that matter) anymore. Just a day ago he was so determined to free everyone here and get out alive, to give you your life back so you could actually enjoy your last teenage years, but now that people were starting to blame him for the failed revolution, he kind of shut down. You missed talking to him about your worries terribly, even though you've only known him for three days or so. You quickly lost track of time in this place.

જ⁀➴ Geum-ja was still the one that comforted you the most. She'd get it, right? She's a mother! And motherly she was to you. As you expressed your panic and fear, she was quick to calm you down with a tight hug. The overall mood was gloomy and silent. No one really dared to say a word and you resented everyone who kept putting money over people's lives.

જ⁀➴ The next game terrified you the most. Whoever was controlling this place already set the right mood by displaying a literal human chandelier of the dead rebels while everyone else walked to the next location. When you noticed Jung-bae you were sick to your stomach, quickly looking away to avoid any more trauma. Holy shit, what kind of monster would even do that? Yes, you were convinced, you're naive and dumb and too young to understand anything.

જ⁀➴ You didn't quite know what to make out of a game called 'Knives and Keys'. At first you were even to shy to up to the gumball machine that was standing in the middle of the room. All eyes seemed to be on you, like everytime. Before that, you took pride in being the youngest because you thought of yourself as strong and confident, but no you were not so sure anymore. The longer you hesitated the more comments you got thrown at your head:

"Come on kid, do something!"

"This is why you don't let a child participate..."

"How is she even still alive?"

જ⁀➴ The roles were pretty self explanatory. Red ones would chase the fuck out of the blue ones with knives like crazy people. The blue team had keys that could supposedly open the door to the exit. Bad thing is, the red team has to kill im order not to die themselves. The way your faced dropped at the sight of the blue sphere in your hand was no joke. "Don't worry about it," Hyun-ju said, who also was on team blue, "I'll help you with everything. You don't have to do this alone."

જ⁀➴ It was a frenzy of walking around, taking care of the very pregnant Jun-hee (who also sprained her ankle while tumbling down the stairs) and trying to unlock every door you saw. You were the quickest of all, which is why Hyun-ju told you to go ahead and see if any of the four keys you carried with you fit in any door. You had the scare of your life, quite literally, when you walkes into the hands of a red team member. His hands were trembling as he held out the knife to your throat, but he couldn't do it. "I can't kill a child!" He exclaimed and hurried away.

જ⁀➴ Secretly, you were also looking out for Dae-ho and Gi-hun, who became like father and brother to you and now just left, but to no avail. Everytime you heard someone scream, you were scared it was one of them. Hyun-ju showed you that it didn't mattwe if you were team blue or team red, she could kill anyone. If you get out of here, you swore to yourself you'd be more like her.

જ⁀➴ Timing couldn't have been better when Jun-hee's water broke as the four of you took a quick break in one of the rooms. What the fuck? That was probably the only thought that was existing in your head. You panicked at the sight of her giving birth because.. yeah, what the hell? Geum-ja quickly told you to guard the door outside and make sure to alert them if someone was approaching the door.

જ⁀➴ Oh, you wish you could've been strong enough. For them at least, if it wasn't for your own sake. Male players from the red team all seemed to hunt you down for one reason: You're young and vulnerable. When your back was turned, because you took a quick peek inside to see if Jun-hee was doing okay, it was foreseeable that someone would grab you from behind. The man choked you from behind, cursing you out at first because you voted 'X' and then because you're a woman. Your hands scratched violently at his wrists as you tried to wring yourself from his grip but the man, so you learned, will always be stronger.

જ⁀➴ When Hyun-ju ripped the door open, it was too late for you and too late to catch the guy who had stuck that stupid knife into your throat. You thought death would come gently for you, but in those last moments you finally understood what all the elders tried to tell you.

[etirabys]

Being a parent (who is having a great time with it) has made me more interested in "parental horror" as a literary genre.

I'm trying to write a weird mythopoeic short story with lot of this – I'm stuck on writing it so why don't I just tell you how the whole thing goes.

A minor character is the only adult survivor of a weird advanced civilization and had to raise ~10000 children in a time loop. They had to batch the kids in groups of ten and do that a thousand times. At the end of this, they are borderline insane. They live at the periphery of the civilization that arose from those 10000 people. They're called the Greatmother and they live at the source of a river of milk.

Every first gen kid raised by the Greatmother experiences their childhood as abusive and neglectful, but they wouldn't describe it in those terms because there's no other baseline. This sets the tone for their whole culture in ensuing generations.

The protagonist is a young woman whose family was cursed with infertility by a clan they're feuding with. (All the characters can be rounded off as Greek demigods, by the way.) She wants a baby.

The only authority powerful enough to override the curse is the Greatmother. The protagonist goes up the river of milk to find them – possibly meeting a series of increasingly powerful and dangerous mothers, each of whom says "I can't do it, but maybe my mother can, go upriver".

The Greatmother overrides the infertility curse, but one of the princes of the rival family catches wind of it and is like, you are NOT having a baby that you're happy with on our watch. I'm going to reincarnate myself as the baby and make you miserable.

The name of my text file is EVIL BABY.

Babies vary on a number of axes. The prince hits the worst-for-the-parent extreme on every single one of them. He won't sleep. He screams and will not be consoled. Or he pretends her latest attempt to make him stop crying worked, watches for when she thinks she's got it, and then starts up again. He bites during feeding, gets genuinely hungry, which makes him genuinely cranky, which makes being an evil baby even easier.

He's having a lot of fun with this.

After some time he's pretty sure he's got it. The woman is exhausted and depressed. Her family wants to boot the baby into the wilderness to be eaten by wolves. He's going to be abandoned now, he can change shape and go home to his old life.

She does not abandon him! She goes, this is insane, but I'm locked in now. This is my kid. If my family won't have us anymore, I'm going to leave home and make it work somehow.

The guy's like, oh shit. What's this feeling? Do I feel… bad? She has been awfully nice to me. It's kind of nice being sung to. Sometimes after a long hard day of being difficult, I do like to snuggle. I think... that this person... is my mom?? But not in the way my normal mom (who wasn't around much) is my mom? idk, all of this is weird.

But it's going to be Not Right to just swap myself out with a random baby. She likes this baby, the baby that I am. (Which is nuts.)

Also, being her baby is nicer than being home with my original family in a way I wasn't capable of imagining before… so… I'll wipe my memory and be a baby for real.

With the implication that the change he works on himself is not permanent – upon adulthood he'll regain his memories and titles. In this world, there is no permanent escape from himself or his clan.

After fifteen years or so, his family notices he's been gone for a while, but it's too late! He created an interfamilial bond deeper than adoption, maybe deeper than marriage. She gave birth to him! The feud ends. The more major gods preside over the reconciliation ritual.

Most people from the two families are confused and annoyed. They were sorta ready to catch Romeo and Juliet shenanigans but they weren't genre-savvy enough to nip whatever the fuck this was in the bud.

And uh, (embarrassed voice) love wins. Thanks for coming to my Pixar movie.

[pigeonwit]

mulder critics will be like 'mulder does misogynistic things that dont suit his character because he was written by men in the 90s and while we recognize that, we would still prefer a more consistent mulder who is less sexist and treats scully with like 5% more respect' and scully critics will be like 'scully did a bad thing in a uniquely stressful situation because she's inherently evil and cruel and that is what her character intentionally is and i think we should attack her with space rocks' and people act like these are on the same scale

[mabelmiller]

Hello, I'm here with an extremely long comment full of too many pictures and quotes, because what a fucking fic 🥵❤️

“Hey.” Joel tilts his head and squints. “That my record crate?”

“...yeah.” 

“So where are my records?”

“The floor, I guess,” you answer quietly.

I've said it before and I'll say it again, I fucking love pumpkin ❤️ I love her so much. I want to give her a big fat forehead kiss and make her a cup of hot chocolate.

There’s a strange feeling that comes with punching out the window’s screen. You’ve done it before and faced the consequences, god. That awful day in the forest, being hunted down by Joel with Tommy’s dog. Joel terrorized the living fucking daylights out of you that day, scared you from ever pulling that shit again. But here you are, climbing out the window, just as you did before. You remember the mistakes you made that led you to Joel finding you. You wouldn’t make them again. 

I love this so much, because all it took was one paragraph to immediately out me as both a complete marshmallow and a masochist lol. Because on one hand, I love the concept of dark daddy joel being dark and doing fucked up shit and reminding us why he's earned that title and I'm so intrigued by the idea of seeing him like that. On the other hand I also know I would be reading this thinking, "pumpkin is just a baby, and I'm just a baby, you can't be mean to a little baby 🥺" if he starts to get too mean, even though I was just mentally encouraging all that meanness. It's like I ask someone to slap me and then immediately curl up in a ball so they can't do it. It feels kind of silly and very contradictory, but I also love when I read something that can expose those feelings. That's when you know you're reading something really good.

“Lil’ deeper now, honey. All the way down. I know your daddy raised ya better’n that, huh?”

You pull off of Tommy, a string of saliva that connects him towards your lips breaking. “Daddy doesn’t make me take him all the way,” you tell Tommy.

Tommy shrugs, makes a face. “But you ain’t suckin’ your daddy’s cock right now, are ya, girlie?” He positions himself back at your mouth, then begins pushing in. “Uncle Tommy plays by different rules.” 

This is so fucking delicious and perfect and UGH

I need weekly play dates with uncle tommy ❤️

Joel ignores you and drags you by the arm into your bedroom, where he sits on your bed. He forces you over his knee and tugs your shorts and panties down your ass, ripping them a little in the process. That fragile, old fabric. 

See, this paragraph, on the other hand, this just outed me as a masochist full stop. Maybe it's because it's all about getting spanked and I'm a big ol slut for impact play, but this part really just had me like

Joel tilts his head, frowning, intrigued. “In there?” he asks, tapping gently where your heart beats and you nod, sniffling. “Oh, not at all, sweet girl. You’re not bad,” he says. He dabs some antibiotic ointment on one of the deeper scratches on your thighs, then covers it all with some gauze. “Not by a longshot. I think you’re trouble, Pumpkin, but you’re the furthest goddamn thing from bad. I love that heart of yours.” 

Ugh, HE'S SO SWEET. He's so mean but also so sweet in his own way and I love him so much 🥺 grumpy old man ❤️

I am a liiiiiiiiiittle worried about him potentially finding out pumpkin lied about how she got out, though. As sweet as he is here, I don't even wanna think about how pissed off he'll get if he finds out how she got out, and that lied she kept lying to him about it. I don't know if you've read/watched Misery, the Stephen King book, but that was where my mind immediately went lol, and I don't know if I can handle if daddy goes full Annie Wilkes lol 😭

(Also I hope this doesn't come across as me trying to tell you where to go with the story or what to do, or to not go as dark as you want to! This is just me being a baby and being overly concerned for your characters because I love them. But I will forever support you writing exactly what you wanna write!)

“Ahh, Snoopy. My bad.” Joel rests one hand behind his head, then scratches the kitten with the other. “Thing’s fuckin’ ugly,” Joel mumbles, using just one finger to tickle the creator. “Pretty screwed up lookin’ dog f’ya ask me, Punk’n.”

I fucking love Joel's grumpy dad comments about Snoopy ❤️ and I absolutely love that while he's grumbling about this adorable little kitten, Pumpkin is just unconcerned, asking him (or maybe telling him is more accurate) to build a cat tree for Snoopy (who 100% deserves a cat tree, he's probably the best kitter in the entire world)

All in all, I know I'm fangirling a lot and this is maybe way more rambling with silly pictures than anyone needs, but I just really want you to know how much I enjoy your writing, and how much joy these characters give me (even if I do also worry about pumpkin lying more than she should and joel being too mean.) It's such a treat to get to read your work, and I'm forever grateful that you share it with the world ❤️

Kitten Fur

Tommy takes a deep breath, groaning as his cock stirs in his denim. “S’just a big secret to keep,” he says. Tommy continues, “An’ I can keep quiet for ya, but I gotta know what’s in it for me, right? S’all I’m askin’.”

You can’t get anything past Joel, but that won’t stop you from trying.

Tags - one shot, smut, unprotected piv, creampies, uncle tommy blowjobs/facefucking, cum swallowing, cunnilingus, fingering, spanking/violence, Joel gets dark, then comforts you, cat scratches, wound care, coercion/manipulation/blackmail, dark/icky daddy themes, daddy kink, dark fluff, girthy legal age gap. 8.5k words. A/N - thanks for all the love and patience 🩷🫂 thank you L who edited, i love you sweet friend

The flowers are blooming nicely. 

In the spring, when the snow was all but melted, dirty and icy on the brown grass, you were depressed. It was still cold outside and there wasn’t much to do. Joel took you out to pick out some seeds, give you something to care for, to keep yourself busy. Touching soil - it’s good for a person, you know? 

You water Joel’s flowers first: roses, daisies, tulips, and his favorite, lilies. There are honey bees buzzing about, worms wiggling through the soil. You like your flowers better, your snapdragons and gardenias. You love how your honeysuckle smells, so sweet and sugary you could almost taste it. 

Joel joins you in your shared garden, wearing a gray t-shirt and some weathered jeans. His curls are combed back, and he looks handsome in the sunlight. He reaches up and pulls a birdfeeder off of the hook of a post that’s taller than you can reach and fills it with seed, then fills a hanging glass container with sugar water for the hummingbirds. 

Joel dampens a rag with some oil and runs it along the metal post, top to bottom, all the way up and down. 

“What’re you doing, Daddy?” 

“Tryin’ somethin’ out…” Joel puts the cap back on the bottle of oil. “Gonna see if this won’t keep away the goddamn squirrels.” 

“I like the squirrels.” 

“I know you do, Pumpkin, but they’re stealin’ all my birdseed.” 

You make a face. “Maybe I’ll put peanut butter out or something for them, then. So they don’t steal your birdseed.” 

“Oh, will ya?” Joel sounds less than impressed. The critters are giving you trouble too, snacking on your flowers you’ve worked so hard to grow. You don’t mind, though. It’s a joy to watch them frolic through the garden, chasing each other. You like seeing familiar faces, but your favorite part is seeing the babies. If you’re quiet, and if you’re lucky, you’ll catch glimpses of the sweet baby animals. 

Like you’re doing right now. Under the rocking swing you and Joel sway on is a little black kitten, hanging out all alone. It’s cleaning itself, pink tongue darting out to lick its paw before swiping it over its ears. “Joel - Daddy,” you hiss urgently, tugging on Joel’s shirt. 

“What is it, Punk’n?”

“Shh.” Joel makes a face in mock offense that disappears when you point to the kitten, and then he tilts his head. “Ahh. Kitty cat, huh?” 

“Mhm. Can we bring it inside?” 

Joel sighs. “No, sweetheart.” 

Ouch. He’s inspecting his work, considering if petroleum jelly might be a better move. Those fuckers are crafty. “Hon, do we still have some Vasel - oh, don’t you give me that look.”

You cross your arms and raise your eyebrows. “M’not giving you a look.” 

Joel knows better than to get into an argument with you about whether or not you’re giving him a “look”. He’s learned to pick and choose his battles with you, and he’ll gladly lose that one, but this one, absolutely not. 

“Honey, he’s probably got worms an’ fleas and whatnot. He can’t come inside, baby.” 

“But it’s hot out,” you argue. “And - he’s black.”

“Look at ‘im,” Joel says, pointing to the kitten, which is now laying in a shady patch of dirt. “He’s coolin’ off in the shade. He’s alright, sweet pea. Look - why don’t ya go an’ play with him, okay? Tell him ‘bout what a mean old man I am. I’m gonna go make us some lunch.” 

“I’m really not hungry.” 

“Ya really are,” Joel says, parroting your tone. He gives your shoulder two quick squeezes and heads inside to make you both some sandwiches, give you some time to spook the kitten and get your mind un-addled from this thing before you’re in too deep. He hopes that this stray will keep its distance from you, letting you know itself that it wants nothing to do with you. Tough love, Pumpkin.

You approach the kitten slowly, who looks defensive at first. Eyes all wide and alert, on edge. You sit down gently, careful not to make any sudden movements, and hold out your hand for the kitten to sniff. You wonder what it is. Joel kept calling it a he. 

The kitten sniffs you cautiously, tickling your skin with its quick little breaths. It seems to approve of you and rubs its cheek along your finger, tail curling left and right. “Hi, kitty,” you smile, using one digit to scratch the kitten right between its ears. You pluck a dandelion and wiggle it in front of the animal, giggling as it bats at the flower. “Shit,” you swear when it scratches you. 

The little kitten climbs into your lap and purrs happily at you, letting you scratch its little body all over. You lift it for a moment to raise its tail and take a peek, and yep, Joel was right. “You are definitely a dude,” you laugh. 

Joel pushes the curtain of the kitchen window to the side to look at you and the kitten. He clicks his tongue and shakes his head when he sees you smiling, as beautiful as that is, watching your little friend chase a white butterfly. He cuts your sandwich on the diagonal per your standing request, then slides open the window and calls your name. “Lunchtime,” he says. 

You come walking, and Joel opens the door for you, stopping you before you can make it inside. “Ah, ah. Put the damn cat back outside. Nice fuckin’ try, kiddo.” 

It was worth a shot. You set the kitten down, mumbling something Joel can’t hear, and you’d better thank your lucky stars for that. The fuckin’ mouth on you, Jesus…

“Wash up. Soap an’ water.” 

After washing, you sit at the table with Joel, eating your sandwich. He made an extra for himself, but you’re still working on your first half. You swallow a bite of food, sip your water. “I didn’t see any fleas on him but I’m gonna give him a bath,” you tell Joel casually.   

“Uh huh, good luck with that.” Joel takes another bite of his sandwich. “An’ then what?”

“Then…I think I’m gonna keep him.” 

“Yeah? That so?”

“Yep.”

You eat the rest of your first sandwich, feeling Joel’s eyes on you in the quiet room, the tension hovering like fog. You know your choice of words was bold. Gonna. A choice you made on your own. 

“Pumpkin.” 

You pull at a loose string on your shorts. 

“Look at me,” Joel says, “‘Fore you get any ideas,” and you look at him. “No. You are not gettin’ a cat.”

“Why?” you whine, dragging out the syllable. 

“Because,” he explains, “Y’eat me outta house an’ home already. I don’t need another mouth to feed.” 

“But I’ll take care of him!”

Joel scoffs, then sucks food off of his thumb. “Yeah, you’ll take care of him?” 

“I take care of my flowers,” you shoot back. “And yours.” 

Joel gives you a look, lips pulled in a frown and his eyebrows raised. You’re testing him, and by god you’ve got him, sharp fucking girl. “Uh huh. When’s the last time you did your chores, huh? Dishes? Remember those?” 

You cross your arms and push your plate away, upset with the direction of this conversation. 

“And you’re tellin’ me you’re gonna keep up with a cat? Scoop his shit out of a litter box? I don’t think so, darlin’.”

You look at Joel, then back at your plate. And back to Joel again, who’s still staring you down. He’s not budging, and you don’t think you’ll be able to get him to, either. Finally, you sigh in defeat. You lean forward and rest your head in your hands, frowning. 

“Oh, enough with the poutin’. He’s got a mama who’s gonna come lookin’ for him anyway, right?”

“Maybe,” you shrug. You don’t think so.

“Look, honey,” Joel says, “You can go out there an’ play with him as much as you want, but he’s stayin’ outside. That’s my compromise.” 

Compromise. Joel’s been trying to work on that, little by little. The give and take of it all. He’s got you tied on a short leash and he knows that, so he’s been trying to give you more freedoms and privileges here and there. 

As soon as Joel says it, you’re out the door with your other half of the sandwich. You find the kitten right where you left it and you tear off little bits of chicken and bread, watching as the kitten happily eats. All those little noises it makes, its little ears wiggling. Joel follows behind you, then stands with his arms crossed as the scene plays in front of him. 

“What?” 

Joel raises his eyebrows. 

“It’s my sandwich, Daddy. And I’m not even hungry.” Lie. 

“You know damn well what, sweetheart. He can fend for himself.”

You ignore Joel, and feed the kitten a little more food. 

“Fine. You can fend for yourself. Don’t come whinin’ at me when you’re hungry later.” Joel spins around and heads for the kitchen to rinse off the plates, keeping a watchful eye on you as you play with your little friend. 

Joel watches you spend the entire day with the little guy, and how gorgeous you look lying in the grass in your shorts and pink shirt, teasing the kitten with sticks and flowers. You lie on your back and cover your eyes with your forearm, and the kitten curls up on your chest, the both of you basking in the sun for an afternoon nap. Joel loves these sounds of your sweet giggle, your real giggle. But you, sweet fucking girl, are going to break your own damn heart.

When Joel calls you in for supper hours later, he has to stop you from sneaking the kitten into the house under your shirt. He tells you you’re walking funny, and you tell him your back hurts. When Joel calls bullshit, you tell him that he walks funny when his back hurts too, Daddy. 

You don’t make it far before Joel has you putting the kitten back outside. You and Joel eat in silence, and he notices you staring out the window, your eyes following the kitten the whole time. He also notices the food you hide in your cloth napkin. 

“I don’t see his mama,” you mumble. 

“She’s out there, honey.” 

You don’t like that you can’t see the kitten when the sun goes down. Anxiety nags at you as Joel reads to you while rocking in his chair. You’ve hardly paid attention to the story. 

Joel yawns loudly, stretching his back as he does so, then puts his heavy hand on top of your head. “Ohh, I’m beat, baby. Let’s go to bed,” he says, gently scratching your scalp. You melt under his touch for a moment before he’s patting your ass, urging you up. You slide off of his lap first, then spin around and offer him your hands. Joel groans as you try to pull him up, deliberately making you do the lion’s share of the effort. It makes you both laugh. C 

You follow Joel toward the stairs, but stop as he continues up. “Daddy?”

“What-y?”

“Can I have like, five more minutes?”

“Whatcha need to do?”

“Nothing,” you mutter, lying, and Joel knows it, too. 

“Uh huh. No funny business, Pumpkin.”

You head back for the living room and open Joel’s blanket chest to retrieve an afghan for the kitten. You take Joel’s vinyls out of the crate they sit in and place them neatly on the floor, careful not to break anything. It’s not like Joel will care, right? He doesn’t even use his turntable. 

Although…Uncle Tommy might. He likes to play music when he sneaks over and plays with you. 

Outside, you set up a little bed for the kitten, and you leave food scraps out for him, too. You call for him, making kissy noises and pss pss pssing into the dark. You’re relieved when he comes running and snacks on the meal you’ve made for him, and you take care to make sure he likes the blanket you’ve picked. It takes him some time to get comfortable. “I can get you a different blanket, bud–”

“Pumpkin!” Joel shouts with his mouth full of toothpaste through the screen window above. 

“Coming, Daddy!”

But you don’t. Joel can picture the scene as he spits out his toothpaste and wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, you tickling that flea-ridden cat. He goes downstairs in his pajamas and joins you outside, watching with his arms crossed as you care for your fuzzy little friend. 

“Hey.” Joel tilts his head and squints. “That my record crate?”

“...yeah.” 

“So where are my records?”

“The floor, I guess,” you answer quietly. Joel rolls his eyes, then snaps and points to the door. “Gonna throttle you, kid. Alright. You kiss your little buddy goodnight and get your ass upstairs. S’bedtime.” 

Joel watches you tenderly kiss the kitten, right on its forehead and between its ears that are a little too big for its head yet. He ushers you inside with a hand on your lower back, and he gets snapped at by you when he closes the door too loudly. When he kisses you on the forehead and whispers to you goodnight, he knows what’s running through that restless mind of yours. “Hey,” he murmurs. “He’s gonna be alright, okay?” 

You check on the kitten every morning and night, and you spend the majority of your days with him as long as he’s around. Joel watched you empty an ice tray into a bowl once, rolling his eyes as you filled it at the sink. “I’m just making sure he has water,” you said. 

“Uh huh. Does he really need ice water, Pumpkin?” 

“It’s his favorite, Daddy.” 

Because he likes to bat around the ice cubes. He paws at them and splashes around a little, then licks his paws. 

You gave him a name after about a week. Snoopy. It just fit the little guy. 

Joel says goodbye to you one morning, telling you that he’s stopping at the market to pick up some eggs real quick, but that he’ll let you stay outside while he’s gone. It’s only a few minutes anyway, and Joel knows you’re fixated on your little friend. You won’t be getting up to much trouble, so he gives you this inch. “Been goin’ through ‘em awful quick. You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would ya, Pumpkin?”

“Mm-mm,” you lie, holding a handful of scrambled eggs behind your back as Joel kisses you on the cheek. “Can you get feathers, though? From the chickens? I want to make him some toys.” 

Joel rolls his eyes and shakes his head, but he returns to you with feathers anyway. You’re a very crafty girl, fashioning some sort of teaser toy out of said feathers and a stick. Joel notices the kitten’s been getting bigger. 

You and Snoopy have a whole routine. Every morning when you greet him, you sing his name. “Snooopyyyy,” you call, and Snoopy emerges from his crate or a patch of flowers. “Big stretch,” you’ll smile, watching as the kitten leans back on his paws, then forward, wiry little tail flinching while he yawns. Snoopy sings back to you as he greets you, and he’s got the sweetest, chirpiest little meow. 

You’ll spend the afternoons playing with him, and when he tires, he naps on you while you read or doodle or something. Sometimes you’ll bring a blanket outside and nap in the grass with him, enjoying the smell of his sunlight-warmed kitten fur. His eyes are turning green now. They were blue when you first met him. 

If Joel’s not home, you’ll sit by the window and play with him through the screen. You wish he’d stop locking the fucking doors. There hasn’t been an incident in a long time, but Joel says that trust has to be earned. But he also says you’re getting there, though…he’s been saying that for a while, hasn’t he. 

Joel makes a deal with you. He stops arguing about you sneaking the kitten your dinner and instead prepares Snoopy-sized portions on a small dish so long as you eat well and take care of your chores without Joel asking you to. It seems to be working well. 

But Joel still won’t budge on letting Snoopy stay. No cats, he says. 

You kiss Snoopy goodnight each night, wishing so badly you could go to sleep with him safe in your arms instead. 

You haven’t seen such an ugly sky in so long. The clouds are green and purple like shades of bruised skin, a front rolling in quickly. You felt iffy all day when it was just gray and teasing a storm, but the storm’s here, now. 

It looks bad. There’s lightning and thunder, though it’s not yet begun to rain. Wind blowing through the screen knocks over papers in Joel’s house. Snoopy’s not by the window with you, and you can’t quite see him, but you can hear him. The kitten cries in anxiety, all alone as he hides from the storm. God, you fucking hate this. You call out to him and promise him that everything’s okay, but it probably does little to comfort the creature. 

Everything’s worse after the first few drops of rain pour from the sky. It begins pouring, then stops for a second. You mop up the mess inside with a towel. There’s a ping…ping…ping, ping against the gutters, hail then slamming against the side of the house as thunder roars. They’re large pieces of hail, too, and you worry Snoopy’ll get hurt, or worse as the storm escalates. Jackson saves its alarms for infected only, so there’s no way for you to know what’s ahead. 

You try opening a door. Then another, and another. Joel’s locked them all at multiple points.

There’s a strange feeling that comes with punching out the window’s screen. You’ve done it before and faced the consequences, god. That awful day in the forest, being hunted down by Joel with Tommy’s dog. Joel terrorized the living fucking daylights out of you that day, scared you from ever pulling that shit again. But here you are, climbing out the window, just as you did before. You remember the mistakes you made that led you to Joel finding you. You wouldn’t make them again. 

Thunder claps and snaps you out of your train of thought. Snoopy cries and you run to him, he’s hidden under his blanket in his crate. Rain soaks you as you run to him and quickly gather him, ignoring his frightened scratching as you hide him under your clothes. What compels you back inside is Snoopy’s safety more than your own, truth be told. 

You drip water onto Joel’s floors as you slam the glass window shut, then quickly bring Snoopy up to your room. The kitten is drenched, the same as you. He’s shivering and scared and you are too, but you dry him off before you dry yourself. You create a safe, warm space for him under your bed, which he seems to appreciate. He stays hidden as the storm rages on. 

With Snoopy safe, you head back downstairs to assess the damage. The screen has blown halfway across Joel’s yard, so you open the window and sprint after it to fetch it. You are so deeply fucked if Joel sees what you did to his window - the screen is broken and coming apart, and you couldn’t begin to figure out how to fit it back into the window. Especially not in this storm. 

“I’ll always come and getcha if you’re in a jam,” Uncle Tommy had told you once, like he was your guardian angel or something. He whispered it, actually, and tapped your nose with his long, thick finger. Wearing that crooked smirk of his, his eyes sparkling with something darker than mischievous. 

“No questions asked?” 

“Don’t know about that,” Tommy replied. “But if ya need me, sweetheart, I’m there. I know what it’s like to be your age, to find yourself in all sorts’a dicey fuckin’ situations.” 

“Did you get in trouble a lot?” 

“Sure did, honey.” 

“What’d you do?” 

Tommy chuckled and swiped at his nose, then shook his head. “Ohhh, darlin’. All kinds of shit a sweet girl like you don’t need to know a goddamn thing about.” 

You think now’s about as good a time as ever to get Uncle Tommy and help yourself out of this jam you’re in. You race to his house through the storm, exhilarated as it’s the first time you’ve been out like this since…you don’t even know when. It feels fucking good. 

You pound on Tommy’s door, praying to god he’s home and lucky for you, he is. You barely stutter out an explanation before you’re grabbing his hand and leading him back to Joel’s, then showing him the screen you need him to fix. “Jesus, girl. Your daddy’s gonna beat ya black and blue, you know that?”

“I know. I need your help,” you tell him. “Please, Uncle Tommy.” 

Tommy picks up the screen and opens the door, then gestures for you to move inside. “You up to no good?” he asks, only to be met with no answer. “I ain’t helpin’ ‘less you tell me what crime exactly it is that you’re makin’ me a goddamn accomplice of.” 

“Fine. I’ll show you.” 

“Show me, huh.” Uncle Tommy follows you up the stairs and into your room, where he takes in everything. The books you read, the clothes you wear, the locked window. The baby monitor Joel turns on at night. 

You lift your bedskirt and scratch the floor, and out comes Snoopy. Cautiously, as he’s still frightened by the storm. You scoop him up in your hands and bring him to Tommy, who scratches the kitten between its ears. “This is Snoopy,” you introduce, “He’s been my friend for a while but Joel - Daddy won’t let me have a pet.” 

“Mm,” Tommy hums, now scratching beneath the kitten’s chin. He can fill in the blanks himself - you broke out to rescue this kitten from the big bad storm, and now you need him to cover your tracks. “You sit tight and I’ll see what I can do, sweetheart.” 

Tommy leaves you to go clean your mess. It’s an easy enough fix - staple the screen back into its frame, then fit the entire thing into the window. He could do it in his sleep. 

He calls you downstairs to inspect his handiwork, make sure everything’s to your liking, and it’s as good as new. “Well, whaddaya say, kiddo?” 

You push on the screen, smiling in both relief and mischief. It thrills you to get away with this, to have this little secret of your own. That alone is an accomplishment when Joel keeps you under the microscope the way he does, isn’t it? You don’t have much that’s just…yours. Joel takes it all from you. 

“Thank you,” you grin, wrapping your arms around Tommy’s strong middle. You squeeze him so tightly and he hugs you back, kissing the top of your head while stroking your back.

“S’what I’m here for, darlin’. Always got your back,” he murmurs softly, then clicks his tongue. “Your daddy’s a fuckin’ hard ass, ain’t he?” 

“He–” you stop yourself from continuing. Tommy laughs at that. 

“You can say it, hon. Not gonna snitch on ya.” 

“He’s a hard ass, yeah,” you laugh, and it feels good to get it off your chest. It’s hard to talk about Joel in that way when he tells you that he’s always right, and when he punishes you for questioning him. Daddy knows what’s best for ya, Pumpkin. Ungrateful ass spoiled fuckin’ brat. He gave you life and he can take it away, you know. Keep fucking testing, watch what happens. And quit with the fuckin’ waterworks before he gives you somethin’ to really cry about. 

Tommy laughs too, swaying you from side to side in his warm embrace. It goes quiet, the only sound in the room being the rain splashing against the windows. It’s all but died completely. 

“Guessin’ you’re wantin’ Uncle Tommy to keep quiet about this too, then, huh?” he asks quietly, pointing to the window. “Yeah?”

“Please,” you answer. 

Tommy takes a deep breath, groaning as his cock stirs in his denim. “S’just a big secret to keep is all,” he says. Tommy continues, “An’ I can keep quiet for ya, but I gotta know what’s in it for me, right? S’all I’m askin’.”

You pull away, brows pinched in concern. Tommy shrugs and grins in a very matter-of-fact way, putting his hands in his front pockets. “C’mon. Fair’s fair, ain’t it? I do a lil’ somethin’ for you, you do a lil’ somethin’ for me?”

“What - what am I supposed to do for you?”

Tommy chuckles darkly. “What do you think, girlie?” He reaches for your hand and presses your palm against his bulge, sighing softly at the pressure. Even like this, you can feel just how big he is. “Got such a pretty mouth, sweet pea,” Tommy says, reaching for your face. He runs his thumb along your bottom lip and gives it a little pull, smirking in his wolfish way. “Why don’tcha get on your knees f’me?”

You kneel so pretty, Tommy thinks as he unbuckles his belt. He pushes some hair out of your face with one hand, then frees his cock using the other, resting his hefty balls on top of the elastic waistband of his boxers. His cock is too big and heavy to slap against his stomach, and bobs with the weight of itself. He holds it between his thumb and forefingers, guiding the tip toward your mouth. “Gimme a kiss, honey,” he says, pushing himself toward you. 

His cock is so warm against your lips as you kiss him, and he smells so musky, slightly bitter. His pubic hair is less gray than Joel’s is, but getting there. It’s about as overgrown, though. And he’s markedly thicker than Joel is, though maybe not as long. He’s a fucking choking hazard, is what he is. 

You’re happy to take Uncle Tommy’s cock in your mouth, truthfully, even if the whole act caught you off guard. It’s just another way to pull one over on Joel, after all. You’d probably be in big trouble if he knew what you were up to. Good thing he’ll never find out, huh?

You swirl your tongue around Tommy’s thick head, running your tongue over his wet slit, tasting that little bit of prejack that’s beaded there. Tommy holds your face with one of his large hands, stroking softly at your skin as you peer up at him. Uncle Tommy looks like nothing good for you, and you can’t help but feel absolutely intrigued by that. He’s the knife you do tricks with, the matches you play with. 

You run your tongue along the underside of his shaft, eliciting a deep groan from him. “Don’t you tease me, sweet pea. Ain’t nice.”

You part your lips and take his head into your mouth, then bob yourself on his length, about halfway or less. Tommy watches you, waiting to see if you’ll work your way down, nose buried into his thick patch of hair. “Ahem,” he clears his throat, “Lil’ deeper now, honey. All the way down. I know your daddy raised ya better’n that, huh?”” 

You pull off of Tommy, a string of saliva that connects him to your lips breaking. “Daddy doesn’t make me take him all the way,” you tell Tommy.

Tommy shrugs, makes a face. “But you ain’t suckin’ your daddy’s cock right now, are ya, girlie?” He positions himself back at your mouth, then begins pushing in. “Uncle Tommy plays by different rules.” 

Tommy takes the reins here. Hand on the back of your head, forcing his way deeper down your throat. He’s not a brute about it, of course. He’s gentle, but firm, pushing his cock inch by inch into your warm, wet, welcoming mouth. He hushes you when you gag, choking on his girth. “Slow down an’ catch your breath,” he says. “Through your nose. M’not goin’ nowhere.” 

His words soothe you. There’s a bit of panic that comes with him being so deep down your throat, but Tommy’s generous enough to give you the time to get used to him. Once you stop squirming, stop making those silly, cockdumb noises he loves so much, Tommy pulls out. And he pushes back in, and pulls out again. He repeats this until he’s steadily fucking your mouth, hand tangled in your hair. It’s less of something you do for him and more so something he does to you, reminding you of exactly who’s standing and who’s kneeling, here. 

“Open wide,” he tells you. “Quickly, darlin’.” Tommy pulls out of your mouth and jerks his cock furiously, sticking his tongue out at you to indicate what he wants you to do. You follow suit, and Tommy paints you in his load, all over your tongue and the back of your throat. “And swallow. That’s it, honey. Good girl.” 

You stand up, knees aching slightly. Tommy wipes a bit of his cum off your lip, then pushes it into your mouth. With a twinkle in his eye, he motions like he’s zipping his lips sealed; locks the key and tosses it over his shoulder and winks. “Pleasure doin’ business with ya, sweetheart, as always.” 

And he’s off. 

A week later, and you cannot fucking believe you got away with it. This kitten…god, what a clever, beautiful creature he is. Snoopy knows when to hide. He stays quiet, never arouses Joel’s suspicions. You’ve got a litter box filled with sand in an inconspicuous spot and you clean it daily, always when Joel’s not around. 

You have the most special connection with him. He sleeps in the pocket of your hoodie and plays with anything he can get his paws on. He still doesn’t like the rain, but he’s so soothed by your touch. And each night after Joel reads to you and kisses you, Snoopy appears like clockwork. It’s the gentlest little jump, the slightest shift of weight on your mattress. He tucks himself right under your chin and stays there until early in the morning, then watches the birds every morning, hiding behind your curtain. He does the cutest little ek ek ek’s that cats always do, probably saying nothing nice to any one of those birds. Little punk. 

Joel asked once about him. You told him that his mama probably found him, which isn’t entirely a lie. Joel says it’s better that way. 

The old man fucking bought it.

Snoopy’s curled up on your lap and purring happily as you brush him, collecting little tufts of black fur you’ll set outside tomorrow morning. The birds will have nice, warm, insulated nests for their babies, you think, smiling to yourself. 

Your nose tickles. You wipe it with your hand, putting more of his fur there. “Fuck,” you groan, scrunching your nose and wiggling your mouth. It’s in your eyes, too. It makes you sneeze, loudly, startling Snoopy. The claws come out immediately and dig into your bare thighs, and drag there as he launches himself off of you and darts under the bed. “FUCK! Snoopy, what the h–”

Blood is beading up on your thighs. Little kitten claws cut so deep, don’t they? Snoopy hasn’t quite figured out how to temper them, either, when to retract them. Blood is beading up on your thighs, dripping towards where gravity pulls it. Fuck, fuck, fuck. How will you explain this one to Joel, huh? He’s gonna come in here tonight to fuck you and he’ll see your bloodied and scratched thighs, what’ll you tell him? 

“Holy shit, okay. Ow,” you whine, hopping off the bed and hobbling toward the bathroom. The warm red dripping down your thighs makes you feel a little dizzy. It’s running toward your knees, now. “Ow, ow, ow, oh my god.” 

“Pumpkin?” Joel calls from his room. “You hurt yourself, baby?” 

Shit. Joel’s home? “No - I’m fine, Daddy.” 

“What’s ow?”

Silence. Joel knows you should have an answer for him. “Pumpkin…”

“I’m fine! Don’t–” 

Too late. Joel’s already out of his room and staring you down in the hallway, taking you in. Your bloodied thighs, the deer-in-the-headlights look. He counts the scratches on your thighs - four that are visible, all in irregular patterns. “What did you do?”

You purse your lips, squeezing your eyes shut as the cuts throb, and Joel knows you’re lying. You’re doing all your usual tells, hemming and hawing while looking to the side. “What did you do?”

Snoopy emerges from your room at that exact moment, and Joel pieces it all together. Fuming, he marches past you and down the stairs. Your stomach drops when you hear a drawer in the kitchen open, and then Joel’s stomping up the steps, wooden spoon in hand. “Again,” he spits. “Lyin’ t’me, a-fuckin’-gain.” 

“Daddy, no. Please d–”

Joel ignores you and drags you by the arm into your bedroom, where he sits on your bed. He forces you over his knee and tugs your shorts and panties down your ass, ripping them a little in the process. That fragile, old fabric. 

He hits you with the instrument, hard. He does it again, ignoring your cries of pain. Joel hits you until he can see the outline of the wood on your ass, “Tell me, Pumpkin. How’d ya pull this one off, huh?” 

Hit. You scream, then answer him. “I don’t know!” 

“You better fuckin’ speak up, girl.” 

Nothing from you, and another smack. It’s hard to think up another lie as Joel beats you raw, but you manage to. “You left the door unlocked,” you sob. “Daddy, please. I’m so sorry.” 

“When was this?”

“Like - like a week ago!” you cry. 

“Didja go anywhere?” he asks, raising the spoon to hit you again. That’s Joel’s main concern - you’ve been getting in and out? How long has this been going on? Who are you seeing, and what do you tell them? Joel’s blind and sick with rage and you, Pumpkin, you did this to him. And you did this to yourself. 

“I didn’t! Daddy, I did - listen to me, please. I’m telling you the truth. Daddy–” 

“You better spit it the fuck out, then. Go.” 

“It was storming, you left the door unlocked. I didn’t know it until I tried it. And I was scared for him, so I got him and brought him inside. And that’s all that happened, Daddy, you have to believe me.” 

“Yeah? Why should I, kid?” he pants, red in the face. “Fuckin’ lied before, haven’t ya?”

“Yes, but–”

“But what?”

But nothing. You break down and sob, waiting for more hits to come. Joel lets you cry it out for a moment, then drops the spoon. When he stands up, you’re afraid his belt is next. 

Joel walks away. He returns moments later, a basket of medical supplies in his hands. “Flip over,” he barks, still pissed off as ever. You do so immediately, and Joel sits on the edge of the bed. He spreads your thighs and inspects your scratches, then dabs some isopropyl alcohol onto a few cotton balls. 

“Don’t–”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says, wiping your injuries with the cotton ball. It hurts worse than the spankings did and makes you scream, but it distracts you from the pain of your raw, swollen, throbbing ass. “S’posed to hurt. It’s a punishment,” he says, moving onto the next one, and the one after that.

Joel fans air on your thighs, then unscrews the cap off some antibiotic ointment. He dabs a little on his fingertip, then runs the ointment over the scratches. “Don’t look at ‘em,” he warns, though you’ve already seen them. “I need ya to be honest with me.” Joel inhales deeply, then reaches for a roll of gauze and some medical tape, both half-used. “Is this whole kitten ordeal,” he asks, gesturing to wherever the hell Snoopy ran off to, “The only stunt you pulled?”

“Y–”

“Do not lie t’me again, so help me god.” 

“It’s the truth,” you answer, convincing yourself that it’s not a lie, and that you didn’t go and see Uncle Tommy, or suck his cock and swallow his cum on his brother’s kitchen floor. It’s not hard to do when your head feels as swollen as it does, sinuses all congested, cheeks puffy and raw from your tears. Anything to get through, you know…this.

Joel feels like he could fucking puke, knowing you escaped. He feels stupid for leaving a door unlocked. He feels stupid for trusting you, too. “Why don’tcha listen to me? Hm? Why d’ya have to buck me every goddamn step of the way? I put a roof over your head and give ya food and clothes an’ all I ask is that you just fucking listen.”

“I do listen,” you argue, searching for the words. “I’m trying - I really do try to, at least.” 

“Do you?” 

“Yes!” You’re defensive. Dishonest. You’re just like your daddy, aren’t you? Oh, you know the truth. You know you crave the fight and the challenge. The feeling that comes from winning against Joel…but that never seems to happen, does it? 

“Am I…bad, do you think?” 

Joel tilts his head, frowning, intrigued. “In there?” he asks, tapping gently where your heart beats and you nod, sniffling. “Oh, not at all, sweet girl. You’re not bad,” he says. He dabs some antibiotic ointment on one of the deeper scratches on your thighs, then covers it all with some gauze. “Not by a longshot. I think you’re trouble, Pumpkin, but you’re the furthest goddamn thing from bad. I love that heart of yours.” 

And Joel means that. You’re soft, tender, sensitive. Brave when you need to be. Stubborn as all get out. Joel’s special girl, always getting herself into messes he’s gotta clean up. It’s all part of parenthood. 

“You’re a good kid,” he says, “But you cannot keep doin’ shit like this to me, baby. My fuckin’ heart can’t take it.” 

Joel says it softly, in a pained way, knowing his words’ll eat at you, knowing that they already are. And they do - guilt is such an awful, nagging feeling, and it might just be the perfect motivator to get you to fucking obey. And sure, you like to hurt Joel, make him ache like he makes you ache. But causing him anxiety, deep upset…knowing what memory tugs in the back of his mind when you remind him that you can disappear if you really want to, as much as he tries to stop you. The little girl he told you about. 

Joel inhales deeply, then changes the subject. “M’gonna keep an eye on this. Cat scratches ain’t nothin’ to mess around with,” he murmurs. He lays you down on the soft mattress and brings his face close to your thigh, then gently kisses over the bandages he wrapped you in. 

Daddy’s always gonna do that, you know. He’ll always kiss your hurt all better, yes, even when he’s mad at you, yes, even when he’s disappointed in you. What else are daddies for, if not that very thing? 

Joel kisses over each of the covered scratches, coincidentally kissing his way toward your center, causing you to soak your lily-white sheets beneath your ass. You whine when he pulls away from where you need his kisses the very most. You always need him after your fights, to remind yourself that he loves you, and things can feel good with him. “Please, Daddy.” 

“No can do, Pumpkin. ‘F we screw up your bandages m’gonna have to do the whole thing all over again.” 

“Even the alcohol?”

“Reckon so,” Joel answers, laughing to himself when you pout at that. “Mmhmm, I know, sweetheart. We gotta make good decisions, don’t we?” he whispers, running his knuckle delicately along your cheekbone. “Daddy’s here to help ya make good choices. You know that?” 

“I know that,” you reply softly. 

Joel caresses your jaw softly, gently. “C’mere,” he says, but he brings himself to you. He kisses your forehead, both of your cheeks, your chin, and your nose…your lips. It’s something you don’t do enough, is kiss Joel. It’s a gentle peck at first, then deepens into something more than that. Joel’s tongue mingles with yours as he cages your body with his own. 

His hands on your neck, trailing down your breasts, pausing to gently squeeze at them. His hand goes lower and lower, fingers dipping into your heat to gauge just how badly you need this. If it’s worth the risk or not. 

And Christ, you’re soaked to the fucking bone, kid. You moan into Joel’s mouth, rutting your hips into his palm. “Ohh, fuck. Goddamn, honey,” Joel says. “I think we can do it, Pumpkin, but Daddy’s gonna go real slow and careful.” 

“Okay,” you nod, biting down on your grin. Joel will tease if he sees it. 

“Which means,” he adds, “You can’t get mad an’ throw a fit like usual when things don’t go your way. Right? Gotta be patient w’me.” 

“I’ll be patient, Daddy.” 

“Uh huh.” 

And that’s all Joel says before pulling away from you. He brings you with him momentarily, just to lift your shirt off and toss it elsewhere. Off comes his clothes next, one at a time. Joel’s in no rush. 

He lowers himself between your thighs, spreading them wide. He continues those kisses from earlier, working his way toward your center, and each one makes you throb. He kisses your lips, your mound, your belly. Joel inhales deeply, your gorgeous, warm, sugar-sweet scent. He can feel the heat radiating from your pussy on your skin, feel you thrumming with a need, a hunger only Joel - Daddy - can satiate. 

If it were a different day, if you weren’t already blemished by violence, he’d probably squeeze you hard enough to bruise. You’re soft like a peach, after all. But as promised, Joel’s gentle with you. Joel’s gentle with you as he licks a long stripe from the bottom of your pussy right to the very top, drawing a figure eight around your clit. “Guess the shape, Punk’n.”

You giggle, “Circle.” 

“Nope!” 

Joel does it again, and again, and again. “I don’t know, Daddy,” you breathe, “Figure eights?”

Joel laughs. “Attagirl,” he praises. He dips his tongue lower, nosing your clit while dipping his tongue in and out of you, tasting you. You make all the same sweet little noises you always make, quiet moans and soft whimpering. You soak his chin and the bedsheets beneath you, fingers tangling around Joel’s gorgeous, silvery curls. 

Joel savors you, like you’re syrup on his tongue. He inserts two fingers into your heat, rubbing against that special place inside you, steadily guiding you toward your release. 

Like when you lie, you have tells. Shaking, trembling thighs, a quiet voice. Joel licks and licks and licks, and there it is - cumming hard on Joel’s fingers, pulsing around them, gushing into the palm of his hand. 

Joel licks the mess, then pulls himself forward. He fits his hips between your thighs, cock bouncing between your bodies, red and swollen, beating in time with his heart. “Ready, kiddo?”

“Can I put it in?” you ask.

Joel guides his tip toward your slit, “Mm-mm. Daddy’s doin’ it this time, baby. Maybe another time, ‘kay?” 

“Can I help, then?”

Joel rolls his eyes and smiles. “Oh, yeah? You can help?”

“Mhm.”

 He’s only a man, after all. Only a daddy. Who’s he to deny his pretty girl of such a thing? “Hold me right here,” he says, wrapping your hand around his shaft. You hold him as he fits himself inside you, then let go when he swats your hand away. He enters you quicker than he used to, testing you. Seeing how you handle him. “Lookit how good ya take it, baby,” he coos, looking down to see himself fully sheathed in your warmth. He pulls out, and he’s coated in ribbons of your creamy arousal, then pushes back in. He finds a pace, then saws his hips into you. “Yeah, nice an’ easy,” he whispers, making good on his promise to fuck you gently. And like a good girl, you take it, and you don’t complain. Not for more, not for less. You moan for Joel, making all of his favorite sounds, whimpering his name in that special way nobody else gets to hear. 

Joel’s hands wander your body, squeezing whatever handfuls of your flesh he can. “Daddy!” you squeak, wincing when he grabs your thigh. 

“Shit, baby. My bad. Lemme look–” Joel pauses to give your bandages a quick peek, then continues fucking himself into your tight cunt. “Easy, sweetheart. Easy.” 

Joel fucks you gently, steadily, and you feel at home. It used to feel scary - and Joel made it scary - but there is something about it now that comforts you. Something about his body wrapped around yours, his nakedness, his weight and his warmth. Joel, finding himself closer to his orgasm, licks his fingers and massages your clit to coax your own along. 

Pleasure ripples through you, washing over you in non-rhythm. Your pulsating walls have Joel coming just behind you, pressure building deep in his gut in the same way it does yours. Balls tightening, brow pinched together, Joel grits his teeth and growls as he cums, drowning out your pleasured noises with his own. “Oh, fuck Goddamn, fuck,” he grunts, milking the last of himself before he begins to soften. 

Joel pulls out of you, then bends down and grabs his t-shirt, uses it to clean the mess he made of you. “Go potty, sweet pea,” he pants, catching his breath. 

“Daddy.” 

“Not arguin’. Go.” 

He flops in your bed, watching as you walk naked to the bathroom, watching you relieve yourself, feeling his cock stir at that, despite having just orgasmed. 

You flush the toilet and wash your hands, then join Joel in bed where he pats the space next to him. You snuggle him, inhaling his warm, sweaty skin, feeling at peace until…until you remember what’s coming after this. 

“So, uh…”

“Hm, baby?”

“About the cat.” 

“The rodent you’ve been feedin’ my eggs to, yeah, what about him?” Joel scoffs. 

“Just wondering.” 

“Uh huh. Heard ya named him, right?”

“Snoopy.”

Joel nods. “M’not mad at you for takin’ care a’ him, ya know. I’m mad about the lyin’, the disobeyin’.”

“Yeah. I know,” you whisper. Before it all feels heavy again, Snoopy jumps into bed with you and Joel, breaking the tension. He bravely walks over Joel like he’s not even there, then curls up into your side, settling right in that elegant curve between your hip and rib cage. 

“So this is Felix, huh?”

“No, his name is Snoopy. I just told you.” 

“Ahh, Snoopy. My bad.” Joel rests one hand behind his head, then scratches the kitten with the other. “Thing’s fuckin’ ugly,” Joel mumbles, using just one finger to tickle the creator. “Pretty screwed up lookin’ dog f’ya ask me, Punk’n.”

“Daddy,” you scold. Snoopy closes his eyes and purrs, tilting his head into Joel’s hand, leaning into his touch before betraying you by walking over to Joel. He lays on Joel’s chest, happily melting into those firm, warm strokes Joel gives him before settling against his neck. You hope Snoopy stays this snuggly forever. 

“Please let me keep him, Daddy.” 

“I dunno, kiddo. I’ll have to think on it.” Joel lifts Snoopy, ignoring his whines, then places him in your hands. He groans and lifts himself up and out of bed, then turns off the overhead light, leaving your lamp on. “You’re lucky I love ya,” he says, then kisses your forehead. “I mean it, honey. I do.” 

“I love you too,” you whisper, and Joel kisses you again. It’s not quite bedtime but it’s getting there, and Joel’s ready to lie in a bed that actually fits him, maybe read a book. Give you time with Felix…Snoopy…whatever the fuck his name is before he’s gone for good. Because no, Pumpkin, you cannot keep him. Rules are rules, and that cat is going outside where he belongs. 

Joel lies in his bed, reading glasses on as he flips through a book you’ve been asking to read, checking for pornography and other things of that nature, when a certain someone interrupts. Snoopy’s tugging on his comforter, clawing his way up the mattress to meet Joel, taking back his spot on Joel’s chest. “What are you doin’ here,” Joel mumbles, once again moving the kitten away. This time, Snoopy doesn’t just vocally protest, no. He swipes at Joel’s finger, nicking him right by the knuckle, then settles on his torso again. “Shit. Fuckin’ asshole.” Joel sucks his finger as he glares at the kitten. 

Snoopy stares back at him, then lowers his head and rests his chin on his little paws. “Guess you’re kinda cute,” he murmurs. “Aren’t ya.” As if on cue, the kitten flips over, exposing its belly to Joel. He laughs. 

“Bet your girl’s missin’ ya, knucklehead. Go bug somebody who actually likes ya. Scram, Felix.” 

Snoopy must’ve learned his defiance from you. He closes his eyes and opts for a nap on Joel’s warm body instead. 

There was never a definitive yes. Every time you asked about Snoopy, Joel would give you some half-hearted answer, followed by some snarky comment. 

“Can we keep him?”

“Sure, kiddo.” 

“Really?”

“Uh huh, gonna keep him and cook him up with onions an’ garlic for dinner. Since he likes to be on my fuckin’ counters so much, hm?” Joel gently pushes Snoopy off the countertop. 

“He likes to be tall,” you argue from the floor, petting a Snoopy that’s doubled in size since you brought him in from the storm. 

“Oh, give me a fuckin’ break. Likes to be tall.”

“I mean it,” you tell Joel, “I read that cats like to be up high. Maybe he’d stay off your counters if you made him a cat condo. Nice and tall.” 

“A cat condo, hm? So it’s not enough I’m sharin’ my home with this asshole, I gotta make him his own special little house, too?” 

“Well, yeah. You could make a scratching post and everything for him. That way he’ll stop scratching at your rocking chair.” 

Joel stops, then narrows his eyes at you and your little buddy. “He’s doin’ what t’my rockin’ chair?”

More dark daddy!joel here

Ty for your patience and ty for reading. Nice words keep me motivated to write. Everybody take care.

[chloeclu]

Thunderbolts music headcanons + Sam and Joaquin!

I'm a music nerd, and I love music just as much as I love these characters, and I have been thinking about this for a WHILE. I would love to hear your opinions, I'm still a little shaky on Ava and Alexi's, so if anyone has suggestions or their own take, please comment them! I would love to hear about new albums and artists, especially if they fit the character!

Enjoy :D

Jonathan F. Walker

You’re telling me John Walker isn’t John Denver and Johnny Cash’s biggest fan ever? Are you joking? I can see him singing “Thank God I’m A Country Boy” in his lil boots and hat when he was a kid. As far as music goes, John listens to the good country, dips into folk from time to time. I also heavily think Lemar Hoskins was Kendrick Lamar's biggest fan, and John listens to him when he's missing his best friend. His guilty pleasure is “brat” by charli XCX, I can see him mouthing the words “I’m so Julia” and making himself smirk.

@walkerification and I are starting the "john walker is an ethel cain enjoyer" propaganda NOW.

James "Bucky" Barnes

“Well, I like 40’s music, so…” JAZZ! Bucky Barnes, to me, seems like he’s fond of a good trumpet. Chet Baker, Louis Armstrong, Harry James (iykyk). He also seems like such a Billie Holiday lover, he likes how smooth and intimate her voice is. I think Buck would love the trans-Atlantic sound that Bob Crosby has as well as an older, grainy, sound which I think he listens to when he misses home (do not bring up Bing Crosby around this man, he HATES him). His guilty pleasure is “Trouble Man” by Marvin Gaye - he wasn’t lying, he did enjoy it, but Sam can’t know that. 

Robert "Bob" Reynolds

HAVE YOU MET HIM?! You’re telling me that isn’t the biggest Radiohead fan you’ve ever seen?! You see those 150+ million streams on “How To Disappear Completely”? THAT’S ALL HIM! But in all seriousness, Bob is a heavy grunge guy. I know he fucks heavy to Green Day and Nirvana, Weezer if he’s feeling crazy. He doesn’t enjoy silence, he’s peeling through albums while he’s reading or just fucking around in the tower. His guilty pleasure is “Harry Styles” by Harry Styles, and Harry’s music in general. He deeply enjoys it but he knows what his father would say if he ever found out Bob listened to someone like “that”.

Yelena Belova

I feel like Yelena gives off the vibe of mainly listening to female artists. I don’t think it’s always intentional, I think she just finds security in knowing there are other women in the world who have felt things similar to her, and heals parts of herself listening to them articulate feelings she can’t. She finds a little comfort in Billie’s exploration in fashion and sexuality, she loves the rawness Phoebe and Lizzy bring to their music, and lives for the talent Hayley has. Her guilty pleasure is “American Pie” by Don Mclean. When she’s missing Nat bad, or just wanting to daydream about her childhood and what could have been, she listens to this on repeat, smiling to herself. 

Ava Starr

My god, she’s a punk/alt girl to her CORE. I think twenty one pilots had a chokehold on her when she got out into the real world, and of course My Chemical Romance quickly followed. The older she got, the more intense she wanted her music, so Rage Against the Machine quickly became a staple for her rotation. I can see her happily bouncing her head to “Bulls on Parade” with a big smile on her face. Her guilty pleasure is “Please Please Me” by The Beatles, and any of their music. It’s not really her thing, but it was something Bill tried to get her to like when he was raising her, reminds her of him. 

Alexi Andreovitch Shostakov

I don’t think he really got into music until he repaired his relationship with Nat and Yelena. Didn’t have time for anything other than Don Mclean’s “American Pie”. I’d like to think he looked up “dad rock” and sort of went with it lol. Eventually, I think he became a big fan of Red Hot Chili Peppers, and he of course went on to refer to himself as Red Hot Guardian (Yelena hates this). I think he really embodies the “divorced dad core”, stuff like Nickelback and Linkin Park became apart of his rotation. His guilty pleasure, and I mean guilty as in he should feel guilty for enjoying it, is listening to the Soviet National Anthem, and probably flexing in his suit in the mirror, reliving his glory days. 

Joaquín Torres

Joaquín is Bad Bunny’s biggest fan, he could talk your ear off about his music and how much he loves it. He is a Swiftie to his BONES, he leans on her more recent stuff but he enjoys her earlier stuff as well. I know he listens to SZA when he’s feeling himself, taking his gym selfies with her blaring in his ears. Tyler, the Creator is someone he’s listened to for years, and he likes that he’s sort of grown with Tyler’s style as it changed. tbh, I don’t think he has guilty pleasures when it comes to music, but compared to the rest of what he listens to, Wallows is sort of a sore thumb. “Nothing Happens” makes him feel like the main character for a lil bit. 

Samuel Thomas Wilson

Sam Wilson by far has the best music taste of everyone on this list. He’ll enjoy just about anything, but what he loves most is hip hop. He can’t pick between Biggie and Tupac, he loves both equally. He’s a sucker for fantastic lyricism and life changing albums, Kendrick Lamar and Lauryn Hill have him in a chokehold. Of course, Marvin Gaye is his all time fave, I mean he tells everyone he meets about “Trouble Man”. His guilty pleasure is “Short N’ Sweet” by Sabrina Carpenter, he is a die hard Sabrina girl every day of his life. I know he spits these songs bar for bar, feeling himself when he drives, blaring “Busy Woman” and “15 Minutes”. 

[housemdork]

house md rewatch: 2x23, "who's your daddy"

guys, do you think house md is interested in fatherhood/paternity...

tw for talk of self-harm.

...because it's literally all they talk about these days lol. i'm not complaining! it's multilayered and consistently interesting and grievances house to no end - what more could you want? and in 2x23, i think it functions first and foremost as another confrontation with house as the Difficult Character Of All Time. does his pain (physical and emotional) justify the depths of his worst behavior?

no, not really, but we still feel bad for him. house md is a wonder of the world when it comes to manufacturing sympathy, i tell you.

in a very abrupt (and a little sloppy, imo) way, house md introduces house's propensity for morphine, which we haven't even seen referenced since the end of season 1 during his infarction. it's definitely not outside the realm of possibility for him to have morphine, and if the pain day is that bad, sure, he'd take some. but jumping from pill popping to taking a day off the shoot up? that's kinda wild. i do like the anxiety it sparks in viewers, though. maybe it's that jarring shot of his morphine collection that reinvigorates our sympathy, plus the painful lengths he has to take to get to it.

and because i love religious imagery in house md, i have to make the point that this is giving house at the altar of relief, reaching for salvation that is impure because it just repeats the cycle of pain. hell yeah.

obviously house's pain majorly affects how he treats the patient, leona; he's at his most cruel (but, again, if i'm dying, my doctor can break my finger if necessary lol). but there's 2 factors at play that lead to this weird mix of brutality and sympathy throughout 2x23: leona's lie about crandall being her father. i think this has less to do with house knowing crandall when they were younger, and more so with house seeing himself in leona both regarding her pain and her lies about her dad (more on crandall & house later!)

throughout the episode, the fellows are obsessed with leona's hallucinations (rightfully so), while house is obsessed with legitimizing her pain, whether or not it's related to/a product of her underlying illness. he and cameron dispute the root cause of the supposed hallucination during the differential, during which she asks: "why are you so bent on her not having a hallucination?", and house only relents with the suggestion that: "what if her hallucination was caused by pain...i'm proving that her hallucinations are a consistent response to pain."

this is house's way of enforcing that he is in pain, and that it's not simply psychosomatic. we've addressed this debate before, and it will only get more and more potent as the series progresses. this feels like he holds empathy for leona (he does), but his actions don't reflect as much, since he goes on to break her finger to force her into a hallucination:

imagine someone doing this to a victim of hurricane katrina who lost her whole family. what the fuck? we are certainly being asked to suspend our disbelief in 2x23.

this cruelty comes as a result of the other reason house sees himself within leona - her lies to crandall. wilson tries to pull on this thread, but house (and the episode itself) shuts it down. we only know thus far that house hates his dad, but i think 2x23 is an adept precursor to 5x04, where house learns that john house wasn't his biological father. lies surrounding fatherhood have a certain potency to house that he can't abide. i do think that some old kindness for crandall is at play here, especially for the whole former girlfriend thing, but it's not the leading cause of house's behavior here.

returning to the conversation house has with the fellows re: hallucinations, i have a Reach i'd like to share. when chase asks why house is walking back and forth down the hall during a differential, cameron says that "his leg hurts. walking takes his mind off it."

this makes sense given house's behavior at work - and this is why i like the episode intro so much. i don't think house is taking his mind off his leg at all; he's repeating a pattern that we know doesn't work, trying to work through his pain. he's fixating on it, and it's affecting his behavior.

i think this habit is self-harm adjacent because it's been proven that his leg won't heal (not by conventional methods). house knows this, and pushes himself into deeper pain that continues the cycle of drug abuse, motivating him to reach for morphine. the fellows wouldn't know this since they've only seen him in the workplace, apart from cameron, where house still tried to control those environments. it's another instance of audience/house solidarity, which i've come to enjoy so much.

this is not giving "distraction" for me:

who i think does understand/interpret at least some of the subtleties at play in 2x23 is wilson. he's a bit "i, too, am in this episode" here, but he also combines one of their shared plot devices - food - with drawing honesty from house. he plops the chicken mole (i just love how he delivers that line) in front of house to tempt him into being truthful, and that truth is also complemented by a visual slip - house clutches his leg in pain.

when he confides in wilson, literally about the fact that he cheated with crandall's former girlfriend and subliminally about why he's so nasty and invested in this case, he gets rewarded. this is so silly but so typical of them.

but this isn't the most exciting dose of vulnerability in 2x23 by a longshot. while the connection to the episode's larger topic, fatherhood, is quite on the nose, i don't care at all because this is ground zero for house and cuddy's physical intimacy via the fertility treatment shots. are we objectifying cuddy like there's no tomorrow? yes. is there actually a somewhat plot-relevant intent behind that objectification? somehow...yes. doesn't excuse it, but it's worth noting. yeah i be posting this:

house md is posing another audience challenge! seeing the sincerity and vulnerability between house and cuddy beneath their 2 relentless masks tailor made for one another - masks of Being Unbothered. if they can keep up the facade that this is strictly medical, if they can make jokes about how hot cuddy is and leave it at that, moments like these don't have to mean anything more...right...?

my notes read "house and cuddy begin their intimacy rituals, always a distance/one layer removed until s6." in 2x23, it's the donor files and the fertility treatments. if they have some kind of middle ground - OR, SOME MAY SAY, A MIDDLE MAN? WHO WILL GROW INCREASINGLY OBSESSED WITH THEIR SEX LIVES? BEACUSE HE'S A FREAK? - then they can maintain their status quo. i really like how, in a lot of ways so far, the house/wilson dynamic is reversed with house/cuddy; we meet the former as established best friends where nothing is off limits, while we get to watch that dynamic unfold between the latter.

also uh. be more heavy-handed here. you can't!

cuddy almost tries to cross the middle ground and confess to house (imo) that she would like to consider house as a donor, but when she's right at the finish line, she relents. she doesn't want to risk what is sacred between them, and only ends up thanking him for his help. it's crazy how tender this scene is with just a few words and a lot of confusion on house's part.

lastly, i want to highlight how 2x23 subtly breaks the "change = impossible" rule with house when we first meet him. it's quick, but it reminds us of the very crucial greg house timeline, that we've only known him post-infarction. as we learn about crandall and house's friendship, as well as the case at hand, crandall says to house: "you haven't changed;" a minute later, he says "i heard about your leg."

house following joke also speaks to his walking being less about a distraction, and more so a desperate attempt at alleviating the pain, which we know can't be remedied that way: "just gonna walk it off."

crandall's remark complicates our greg house timeline, as well as harkens back to wilson's remarks from way back when (1x11 "detox," i think). house has changed because of the leg pain, but that's not the only factor, nor was his personality completely upended by the infarction or his addiction. he's a muddy mess of all of the above, and there's no one that frustrates more than house himself.

overall i enjoyed this episode. i actually watched it somewhat recently with my dad sort of at random. i like how it gears us up for 2x24 by reminding us of the extent of house's chronic pain, since that is the climax that season 2 ends on, ultimately.

[doodler16]

https://www.tumblr.com/doodler16/788459816669659136/actually-im-interested-to-see-how-you-would?source=share

You guys are disgusting idk who you guys are but i just cannot accept this fucking slander. Vivziepop's perfect in every way imaginable just like her self insert loona and stolas who i hear was her fursonas. She works extremely hard on her stories pumping out the best shit in town and is the most triumphantly queer person imaginable ever Like do you know who your trying to go up against?? THE VIVZIEPOP??? you dont just talk shit about our queen and get away with it because we said so, did you pull this out of your ass and start typing this up and was like yeah ill send this out without watching the show again like I was told to lmao why the fuck can't you watch the show and give Vivziepop the praise she deserves????????? Hear me out, Vivziepop's vision and story is literally the greatest example of a rich, gay man's complex life where he has many obstacles to go through, for example, his Trump supporting Bigoted wife, who cant even show up to a pride parade or serve cunt, his god awful daughter who was written to convey the message that she cant just go and just accept her fucking loving gay father has moved on to the hottest man alive in his eyes. Blitzy my beloved ^^, was willing to put his life on the line and sacrifice himself for the man of his dreams and gave up royalty for blitzy and beat the shit out of andrealpus uggh the fucking list goes on with her writing. She sees herself through loona and the bigoted world around her where she's the poorest. Vivziepop was raised in a middle class family where she struggled a lot and loona and stolas reflect on Vivziepop's perspective. We love seeing complex writing from a queer woman who's oppressed in this world due to bigots, Vivziepop even stated she wrote trump coded characters in season 3 and expressed her hate and oppression like a strong woman. Stolas is the most complex man to walk hell and im glad there will be more stolitz. loona (despite the lack of development) is the greatest, gayest bitch in town because Vivziepop fucking said so bitches in her merch sales. She's not woke lol? Anyone saying that is bigoted like you and the asker above in the link. We love her stories and perhaps now I think I finally can be at peace with my response and go back to bluesky where skies are bluest.

You know things are bad when ragebait anon also thinks Stolas is Vivziepop’s self insert character along with admitting Loona’s lack of character development.

[no-one-even-exists]

...guys i think I took it a bit too far...

context: I was roleplaying w/my brother (I was aiger, using infinite Achilles and he was rp phi and using dread phoenix)

do you know where this is going?

anyways, this was our... 16th (? lost count) battle, and, being me, I obviously wanted to win. So I was like "I AM ACHILLES!!! WE WILL BE THE STRONGEST BEY, AND NO ONE CAN DEFEAT US!!!" and I tried out a new launch by putting the settings in-between the two modes of stamina and attack (I'm using requiem's driver btw) and we battled and "phi" (my brother) was like "I WILL DESTROY YOUUUU"

so, because of the angle I launched Achilles at and the way the driver was set incorrectly, the stamina part flew off, Achilles burst, and flew out of the arena.

i cannot lie, I literally just stared at achilles for a few seconds, picked him up, and yelled into the freaking sky. (like "AAAAUUUUGHHHH") I HAVE A VIDEO OF IT AND HOLY CRAP I COMPARED IT TO THE ACTUAL ANIME (after faking tears and running away from the arena dramatically) AND IT SOUNDS SO MUCH LIKE AIGERS???? WHAT THE FUCK????

AND THE WORST THING IS, I ACTUALLY FEEL BAD ABOUT IT. (duh, I broke my partner, and like,, the only bey I've ever used for the past 2 years) Like, yeah normally I would feel bad about breaking any bey, but this is ACHILLES, my PARTNER... HOW THE HECK DO I EXPLAIN THIS???? WHY DO I HAVE AN EMOTIONAL BOND WITH A SPINNING TOP??? The worst thing is, it kind of mirrors aiger's possession dark arc! (fun fact, at around the 12th battle with "phi" (my brother), he broke character and said, "wow, its kind of like your actually going dark resonance) BECAUSE WHY AM I SURPRISED IT BROKE? I BROKE HIS LIMITS BY PURPOSEFULLY BLADING WRONG (twisting the driver the wrong way between settings) IN HOPES OF WINNING, EVEN KNOWING THAT ACHILLES MIGHT BREAK.

THIS IS COMPLETELY MY FAULT AND I BROKE THE DRIVER AND I FAILED MY PARTNER AND ITS RUINED FOREVER AND THE DRIVER IS BROKEN AND ACHILLES IS GONE AND ILL NEVER BE ABLE TO BLADE AGAIN

AAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHH

[oimoitalaina]

Walker’s callouts in Thunderbolts feels like cheap lampshading

Watching characters call out or just generally give Walker shit for being a failed Captain America copy and war criminal initially feels vindicating. That’s certainly how I felt seeing it included in the trailers. But I would argue that the movie itself doesn’t do any actual work to address what John has done or have him actually develop in any way because of it. To me, that makes these comments feel less like actual character moments but rather more like lampshading. Lampshading is a technique where the narrative draws attention to a part of the story that doesn’t make much sense, as a way of letting the audience know that the author is aware of the issue but can’t actually do much about it. Basically, if you have an ugly piece of your set in a play, you might as well hang a silly lampshade over it if you don’t have the funds to fix it. Lampshading can be a useful tool, a way of letting the audience in on the sometimes ugly workings of storytelling while actively inviting them to play along with the story. That being said, lampshading also often suffers from diminishing returns - one can only draw attention to so many flaws or one flaw so many times without making the audience question why the author doesn’t just bother to actually fix them.

Now here’s where I think that the constant jabs at John feel like lampshading. In the same way that lampshading draws attention to a part of the story that won’t actually get properly worked through, so too does Thunderbolts draw attention to John’s terrible actions without properly dealing with them. Unlike the rest of the Thunderbolts, John was given every opportunity to actually be a hero. He was given the title and shield of one of the most recognized and respected superheroes in the world of the MCU. He was given government support, public approval, and the love of his best friend and wife. Yet he fucked it up so tremendously that, even years later, he is still actively remembered as a disgrace. Because he murdered a surrendering man in cold blood in broad daylight in public. And you’d think that this would set him up for some serious soul-searching in Thunderbolts. Since the movie was allegedly all about characters redeeming themselves. But instead, these catty quips about his genuinely unhinged behavior is all we get. It's just a lampshade.

And I think I have some idea of why that might be. Here’s a take that I’ve been holding onto for a bit. When people discuss John and whether or not he is truly a bad person (he is lmao), they usually just focus on the war crime itself. Which, to be fair, is plenty of evidence. But certain parties (namely weirdos) like to quibble about whether it was justified in ways that give me a good sense of their voting patterns. The thing is, to truly understand John’s morality (or lack thereof), I think it is arguably more important to focus more on the behavior that led up to the murder. Because John demonstrates that he is not a good person quite comprehensively regarding how he treats Sam. John is awful to Sam during the entirety of Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Contrary to the belief of weirdos, John does not start out genuinely trying to be nice to Sam, only to become “understandably” angry when Sam doesn’t want to play ball. The truth is, John has it out for Sam from the start.

And John has it out for Sam because he feels two simultaneous pressures at the same time throughout the show. First off, he is deeply insecure. He knows that Sam was the actual intended recipient of the shield, and that he is just a cheap imposter. He knows that Sam is infinitely more qualified to be Captain America than he ever could be, because Sam was Steve’s partner for years. He was a counselor for traumatised vets, he was not only a pararescueman but a pararescueman so exceptional that he was recruited for an experimental program to try out highly classified technology. Sam fought Thanos, Sam was an Avenger, Sam was the Falcon, and Sam was given the shield in the first place. By comparison, John is just some guy. 

Second off, John is a racist. And yes, he is a racist even when he went to an HBCU, married a Black woman, and had a Black best friend. Surrounding oneself with Black people is not a magical solution to white people unlearning racism. And that is clearly the case with John. Because while John knows that he is an impostor who is taking Sam’s rightful place, he also can’t stand that fact because he can’t stand the idea of being the lesser choice compared to a Black man. He subscribes to the white supremacist belief that, by sheer fact of his whiteness, he is inherently better, more moral, more suited to any job than a Black man. Now of course he doesn’t say this explicitly, but he says it loudly and clearly through his actions.

John constantly harasses Sam throughout the events of Falcon and the Winter Soldier. Even when he is initially *acting* friendly and helping Sam and Bucky he is mistreating Sam. He hacked Redwing’s information to follow them, taking advantage of Sam’s work so he could claim credit for helping take down the Flagsmashers. He talks down to Sam, referring to him as Steve’s sidekick when he was clearly an equal partner. John continues to follow Sam and Bucky, interfering with their work and disrupting their plans just so he can act like the big hero. During this time he also continues to insult Sam, getting his attention with a police siren (credit to Nicque Marina for pointing out this moment), belittling his contribution to the veterans he worked with, and threatening him with violence. John ruins Sam’s attempt to talk down Karli, which was going to work, because John didn’t like his solution. This obsession with proving himself as the rightful Captain America by taking Sam down a peg is what leads to Lemar’s death. John had been told multiple times to stay out of the way, but he just couldn’t listen to Sam. And Lemar’s death is of course what causes John to absolutely lose his shit and commit a war crime by murdering a surrendering man.

So, in my opinion, you can’t separate John’s complex around Sam and his role as Captain America from the act that ultimately got him publicly disgraced. So, much like how online discussions about John feel empty without mentioning his treatment of Sam, so to the comments in Thunderbolts feel empty. Like a simple lampshade. Because Thunderbolts refuses to mention Sam in any way, despite him being a crucial character to both John and Bucky’s stories. There was not going to be any actual work put into John’s character development and redemption without addressing his treatment of Sam. And what about John made it so that he would see Sam, a good man who was infinitely patient with some asshole, as a threat. As someone who he would feel the need to harass, threaten, assault, and attempt to murder Sam.

But of course that could only happen in a movie that cared about its characters. Cared about its place as a sequel to multiple projects and an opportunity to follow up and further develop the themes presented before. And, most importantly, that could only happen in a movie that actually believed that John did the wrong thing.

Oh man, it's time for some extremely cynical speculation! Now, the origins of the problems with Thunderbolts are beyond count, but I’m going to try and draw out what I think was one of them. I think that some time when they were developing one of the many iterations of the script, someone decided that John wasn’t actually a bad guy. Not a villain, but rather an anti-hero. Despite not having ever been a hero at all. And I think it's because someone saw the John Walker discourse online. Because, as anyone who is a fan of Sam knows, there are a shocking number of John Walker stans. And not just people who think he was a compelling antagonist, that would be reasonable. No, these are the people who got the phrase “John Walker did nothing wrong” into cursed circulation. People who actually quite liked to see John harass, demean, threaten, and assault Sam. People who are actually fine with war crimes, as long as the victim was someone they didn’t like. People who are racist. Racists.

And maybe one of the writers or some other producer saw these takes online and were too stupid to realize that it was motivated by racism. Or they noticed and just didn’t care. But they saw that these discussions about John drew comments and clicks and views and that’s ultimately what mattered. Because Thunderbolts, being an ensemble movie with a bunch of side characters and Bucky in a bad wig, was going to be a tough sell. So why not use the free press involving John? So the trailer brought up the debate around John’s actions once again. And that generated plenty of easy, free attention. And as for the movie itself, well, now it couldn’t actually involve actually confronting what John did. Because that would alienate all those John apologists who were guaranteed to watch this movie. So, instead, John’s lack of any actual redemption arc was covered with a lampshade. They could point to that lampshade and say “Look! Yelena and Ava called him out on it! We addressed it!” when of course the movie didn’t actually do anything with that information. 

So that’s how we got what we got with John. Stuck in narrative limbo, somehow both redeemed and not redeemed. A new fan favorite and also a character who could have been replaced with a lamp. A simple prop to keep a vocal group of online racists happy. A fucking asshole who I hope dies horribly in Doomsday.