#it's only a 1:40 so it's not even long

[janetbrown711]

Tonight at Eight

Both Pigsy and Tang have blind dates tonight at eight, and there surely isn't anything suspicious about that at all

Ao3 Link

Pigsy dried off a chili-sauce stained bowl with a well worn washcloth and an eye heavy on the clock. It was barely 3:00 pm, but all Pigsy could think about was how he was closing up shop around 6:30 for a very, very important… date.

Heavens, it felt so embarrassing to admit to himself. Here he was, ill-tempered Pigsy, owner of the well-loved business Pigsy’s Noodles, father of a five-year-old, someone fully convinced his life had ended ten years ago, going on a date.

It felt childish, and it didn’t help that he’d basically dropped the idea of romance and love since Sandy–

No, he wasn’t going to think about that. He had something good to look forward to for once, and he wasn’t going to let the past ruin it… yet. Maybe. Who knows?

Pigsy sighed, adding the bowl to the clean pile and scolding himself for acting like such a teenager. He had work to do.

“You alright, Pigsy?” Tang asked innocently from his place at the bar.

Pigsy went to answer, but instead his grandmother laughed from the booth where she and Xiaotian were sitting.

“Jiejie is planning on closing early today for a ‘special event’.” She grinned at her grandson, who felt like he could just die at this point, but decided scrubbing the grill would be more productive.

“What? Psh, that’s impossible! Everyone knows Pigsy would rather die than close before ten,” Tang teased with a cheeky grin that made the chef roll his eyes.

“Bullying is reserved for family or paying customers, Tang,” Pigsy retorted.

“I’ll pay his tab then, Jiejie. Goodness knows that boy needs some meat on his bones.” His grandmother snorted and Tang turned pink, all while Xiaotian giggled.

“So– um–” Tang cleared his throat to ease off the embarrassment, “What’s this ‘special event’?”

His grandmother scoffed again and joined Tang by the bar, which Xiaotian was quick to follow with his crayons and coloring book in tow. “Good luck getting an answer out of him. He won’t even tell me.”

Pigsy rolled his eyes. “Can’t a man have privacy anymore?”

“Ahhhh, but if you don’t tell me, what will I talk about with the ladies at mahjong?” His grandmother shook her head, which made Xiaotian giggle more.

“Oh, does that mean it's something embarrassing?” Tang fully hopped onto the teasing bandwagon.

“No, it just means it’s personal, is all,” Pigsy huffed, eyeing a customer as they walked in, and made his way to the register.

Tang laughed before his eyes went to his book. “Well, if it helps, I’m going to do something totally stupid and embarrassing tonight too.”

At that, Pigsy’s grandmother’s eyes lit up, and she took Tang’s hands into hers. “Like what? Dancing? One of those American rodeos? What?”

“Ah, well–”

“Sir? I’m ready to order,” said the woman across the cashier, and Pigsy shook his head to focus.

“Right, right– what can I get for you?” he forced a customer-friendly smile.

The woman ordered some beef chow fun, and by the time Pigsy started cooking again, Tang was on the brink of a confession.

“Come on, after all the meals I’ve bought for you? To support that big brain of yours? It’s bad enough little Jiejie is acting like his father right now.” She shot a dramatic glare at the chef, before turning back to Tang. “Must you add to my pile of old-womanly misery?”

“Alright, alright, fine. I’m… Heavens, this really is stupid, Miss Xiahui.” Tang covered his face with his hands before taking a breath. “I’m… going on a blind date with someone I’ve never met, and I don’t know what they look like, or what their name is, or literally anything else. I’m going to get murdered, aren’t I?” Tang blurted out, making the chef’s grandmother laugh.

“I’m very excited for you, dear! You know, I’ve been trying to get Jiejie to sign up for one of those ever since he dumped Wujing, but does he take my advice? No!” She gave an exasperated sigh.

“Not true. I opened up this place because of you,” Pigsy retorted from where he stood by the stove.

“Oh, sure, but when it comes to clothes or photos or vacations or even a park I think Xiaotian would like it’s all ‘oh that’s too far,’ or, ‘I’m dressed fine’ or even, ‘this makes me look ancient’,” she snipped right back.

“I know you never left the forties, Lǎolao, but the rest of the world has.” Pigsy rolled his eyes.

His grandmother sighed again. “You see what I put up with Tang? No respect! And I actually deserve it, unlike some people.”

“R-right! Well– at least no matter what, we know that my night’s plans are definitely more embarrassing than Pigsy’s, so…” Tang fiddled with his sleeves like he always did when he was nervous.

“A night of romance is nothing to be embarrassed about. Why, my late husband used to take me out dancing at this old French-style café– I think it was destroyed by the Red Guard though, which is a real shame, you know, it was the romantic spot in the city.” She sighed dreamily.

“That sounds wonderful, Miss Xiahui. My date and I are just meeting at this one restaurant by the park” Tang smiled and got back to his noodles.

“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’re ruining your appetite,” Pigsy’s grandmother chuckled.

“Can’t let him know I’m a complete mess, right?” Tang laughed pathetically.

Pigsy rolled his eyes and teased, “Don’t be so hard on yourself. I think it’s fascinating you can eat so much and manage to keep that whole ‘starving Victorian orphan’ look.”

Tang snorted. “Thanks.”

Pigsy winked and laughed before going back to check on how the noodles were doing.

“Oh, don’t mind Jiejie, he’s just jealous because he hasn’t had a date in six years.” The elderly woman patted Tang’s knee.

“For your information, I actually do have a date, and it's tonight, so you can cut out that whole teasing routine,” Pigsy quipped without thinking, and he could practically hear his Lǎolao’s jaw drop and eyes sparkle.

“You have a date tonight too?! Oh, this is just wonderful! Who’s the lucky person? Are they rich? Do they know you have your own business? Have you gone out with them before? Were they cute? Why wouldn’t you tell me about them! Jiejie, how could you not tell me you’ve been dating someone–! Are they actually ugly, and you were embarrassed to tell me? Look, it’s okay, Jiejie, sometimes it really is what’s on the inside that–”

“Lǎolǎo, please.” Pigsy turned and pleaded with her, pouring the customer’s noodles into a bowl and adding the vegetables.

“Oh, Jiejie, I’m just so happy for you, is all! My sweet little sunzi out in the world again! Maybe you can even find little Xiaotian a mother or another father! Oh, wouldn’t that just be lovely.” His grandmother hugged the coloring child, who looked around in confusion.

“Lǎolao, you’re going to crush the kid.” Pigsy’s face was dark red as he rang the counter’s bell and called out the order.

“Come on, I need some answers here. You know how boring my life has gotten since retirement,” his grandmother pleaded.

“Not much to say. It’s the first date, and I haven’t met them, either. Also, I thought you said you understood that I’m not Xiaotian’s–... you know,” Pigsy looked away as the customer took their food.

“Oh? A double blind date! Isn’t that lovely.” Lǎolao clapped her hands, completely ignoring his comment about Xiaotian. “Where to?”

“Some place they recommended.” Pigsy shrugged. “I don’t know much about it, but I don’t get out much.”

“Oh, this is so exciting! I almost wish I could tag along with both of you, but I have to take care of this little monkey man.” His grandmother smiled at Xiaotian and began to tickle him, filling the restaurant with loud squeals of delight.

Pigsy rolled his eyes with a chuckle, going to wash some dishes in the sink when he noticed Tang looking at him, tilting his head curiously. “What’s up?”

“Oh–! Nothing! I just– a date, huh? That’s huge, congrats.” The scholar smiled softly.

“Ah, it’s no big deal, really. I just… I don’t know. Heck, I don’t even know why I agreed to do this whole ‘blind date’ thing. It’s so strange not even knowing the person’s name,” Pigsy confessed.

“Hear you there. But in a way, I think that makes it easier to get to know them, you know? No images, fake names, it’s… comforting, in a way. Especially with the whole ‘background check’ feature so you know it’s less likely for anyone to be a serial killer, haha,” Tang rambled.

“Yeah, I guess that’s part of the reason I signed up too. I mean– that, and because I seriously never go out. Not that I necessarily want to go out more, but you know what I mean.” Pigsy snorted.

Tang laughed. “I do.”

Pigsy smiled before shaking his head and getting to those dishes.

“So… what’s your mystery person like?” Tang asked after a minute of dishwashing.

“Oh– well, you know… they seem real smart and stuff,” Pigsy hesitated to admit, glad to stay facing the sink, so Tang couldn’t see how red his face was becoming. “They’re kinda poetic too, but not in a traditional sense. I don’t even know if they know just how smart they are, it seems kinda natural to them. I dunno.”

“Oh, interesting.” He heard Tang laugh nervously. “I hope you have fun.”

After his face stopped feeling so hot, Pigsy finally asked, “What about you? What���s your mystery man like?”

“He’s really super sweet and considerate, you know? Not very technological, but– heavens, he always knows what to say. He’s also super funny and snarky, and he makes me feel all smart and important, which is crazy because like– it’s just me.” Tang blushed and looked down at his bowl. “He has no idea I’m practically broke. I’m kind of scared to bring it up, you know? Like– ‘hey, let’s go to dinner! Oh, and by the way I can’t afford anything so it’s all on you!’” Tang sighed. “I should probably just cancel…”

“What?! You can’t do that,” Pigsy immediately protested, getting his grandmother’s attention once more.

“What are you two talking about now?” She looked back and forth between the two of them.

“I was– ummm… considering canceling my… date?” Tang gave a sheepish smile, and Pigsy’s grandmother smacked him upside the head.

“Shǎchā! You are not doing that!” She scolded the scholar.

“Wha–?! Why not? I’m flat broke. I can’t even buy a garden salad,” Tang huffed, resting his elbows on the bar.

“So?” Pigsy snorted. “The payment is being lucky enough to enjoy your company, nothing more and nothing less. If he doesn’t accept, run out of the restaurant. Take his wallet if you can. Make him pay.”

Tang laughed. “That’s easy for you to say, anyone would be lucky to date a five-star chef.”

Pigsy rolled his eyes. “I am not a five-star chef–”

His grandmother interrupted him with a scoff. “My recipes are much better than anything that can be found in those froufrou places with the marble floors and glass ceilings– especially with your additions, Jiejie.”

“Gotta agree with your grandmother, Pigsy. Your recipes are one of a kind and anyone would be lucky to go out with a chef as amazing and talented as you.” Tang smiled with so much earnestness it made Pigsy’s cheeks flush again.

“Well, I think anyone’d be lucky to go out with anyone half as smart as you,” Pigsy countered, making Tang hide in his scarf a bit.

His grandmother had something of a smug look on her face when Pigsy glanced at her, but she quickly cleared her throat and started talking to Xiaotian about his drawing. The chef sighed, shaking his head and vowing to one day fully understand that woman.

“So… what time are you closing?” Tang ventured to ask.

“Around 6:30 to try and get some of that dinner rush money before kickin’ everyone out,” Pigsy glanced at the clock yet again.

“Smart. I’ll have to leave around 6 anyway to get ready and all too.” Tang fidgeted with his scarf.

“You going to want another bowl before then?” Pigsy couldn’t help but smirk a little.

“Har-har,” Tang rolled his eyes. “... but yeah, maybe.”

Pigsy laughed. “Don’t stress yourself, it’s a big day for us both.”

“Right, yeah.” The scholar smiled before going back to his current bowl.

Again, Pigsy’s grandmother looked amused at this, but when Pigsy looked, she acted like nothing was wrong and started complimenting Xiaotian’s drawing again.

Pigsy sighed, focusing back on his work as customers began to pour in once more. The chef managed to hold a steady pace that kept him fairly busy, though not busy enough to forget to make Tang another bowl of lo mein he teased him about. Tang ate, Xiaotian colored (even showed a handful to Pigsy when he could), his grandmother gossiped about some of the mahjong ladies, and overall it was a pretty solid work day. He wished Tang the best of luck on his way out, and wished some of that for himself when he closed the restaurant.

“So, you really are going on a date, aren’t you?” His grandmother teased as Pigsy locked the iron security shield.

Pigsy rolled his eyes. “I appreciate your trust in my honesty.”

“I’m just making sure before I get my hopes up. Heaven knows this only happens once in a blue moon,” she teased, making Xiaotian giggle.

“What’re you laughing at, mister?” Pigsy put his hands on his hips dramatically, making the kid laugh more.

“He’s laughing at the fact that you haven’t been on a date since before he was born, isn’t that right, my little dumpling?” Lǎolao pinched his cheeks, which made him whine and go behind Pigsy.

“Lǎolao–”

“I know, I know. It’s not my fault he’s as cute as a button, you know,” She defended herself before Pigsy rolled his eyes again and picked the kid up.

“Miss Xiahui is a lot like my mother, you know? No respect for boundaries. I’m so sorry you have to spend all night with her,” Pigsy apologized dramatically.

“S’okay! She lets me have cookies.” Xiaotian grinned wide, making the chef immediately give his grandmother a look.

“I’ve already told you it’s not my fault he’s so cute.” His grandmother raised her hands in defeat, making the chef roll his eyes yet again.

“If he gets cavities, you’re paying the dentist bill,” Pigsy huffed and started walking home.

“He’s not going to get cavities, Jiejie. Xiaotian knows how to brush his teeth very well, don’t you, dear?” Lǎolao patted the boy’s head as he nodded.

“Right,” Pigsy said. “Let’s just get home.”

“Yes, yes! We have to get you good and ready for your date! Oh, I’m so excited.” Lǎolao had dropped the teasing for genuine elation. “You know, I think if I looked I could find one of your grandfather’s old suits. Oh, you’d look just so handsome in it.”

“Oh, wow, Lǎolao, that’s really not–”

“Necessary? Of course it is! Tonight is a momentous occasion and I want my grandson to look his absolute best.” She ignored his protest and practically marched the rest of the way to their apartment.

Pigsy gave a nice, long sigh. “You’re gonna have a long night, kid.”

“No bedtime?” Xiaotian’s face lit up.

“Who knows.” Pigsy snorted and picked up the pace to follow his grandmother (who, for someone in their 80s, was rather spritely).

When they got home, his grandmother quickly pulled out old boxes and had him try on three suits before finally finding a Western Style from the 40s. His grandmother also gave him gold square cufflinks, as well as a blue and pink floral tie. He managed to at the very least convince her to let him wear his own socks and shoes, and after she spritzed him down with peach perfume, the look was finished.

“Lǎolao, you don’t have to do this, my suit is plenty good,” Pigsy pointed out as his grandmother straightened out his suit coat, looking like she was going to cry.

“No, no. You look absolutely perfect.” She smiled, finally stepping back to admire her work. “Your date will absolutely love you.”

“Lǎolao.” Pigsy’s face turned tomato red.

His grandmother chuckled. “I suppose we could use a third opinion.” She tapped her chin, before calling Xiaotian in from the living room, and in a moment, the five-year-old pattered over. “Xiaotian, do you think Pigsy looks nice?”

Xiaotian gave two thumbs up and a toothy grin. “Fancy!”

“See? You look perfect.” His grandmother smiled and patted Xiaotian’s head.

“I never said I looked bad, I’m just saying it’s– it’s a lot, and I really don’t know if I need Waigong’s suit–”

“Nonsense, Bajie. He’d want you to have it.” His grandmother cupped Pigsy’s cheek.

“It’s… a blind date from an anonymous chat site, Lǎolao. I really don’t think–”

“You never know, Jiejie. You could be meeting the love of your life,” She hummed.

“Right… sure,” Pigsy agreed to drop his protests for the sake of not dampening his grandmother’s spirits.

The elder pig demon smiled again, patting Pigsy’s cheek twice. “Now, let me find my camera; I want to capture how handsome you look.” She winked and left the room.

“Lǎolao, I really don’t have time for– never mind.” Pigsy shook his head when he realized she was just going to insist. He sighed, giving himself another once over in the mirror and adjusting his tie.

“You really think this isn’t too much, kid?” Pigsy asked Xiaotian.

The boy shook his head. “You look like a detective!”

Pigsy laughed, realizing Xiaotian was 100% correct. “All I’m missing is the hat, darn.” He snapped his fingers playfully.

“And a gun,” the boy giggled.

“Ahhhhh, that might be a bit much kiddo,” Pigsy chuckled, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You gonna be okay with just Lǎolao tonight?”

Xiaotian nodded. “We’re gonna watch Monkey Empire.”

“Again? Didn’t we just finish that?” Pigsy raised a playful eyebrow.

“Yeah, but I wannaaaaaa,” Xiaotian explained eloquently.

“Fair enough. Just don’t let Lǎolao spoil you too much, alright? And make sure you brush your teeth extra good, and put all your toys away for her. I’ll check on you as soon as I get back,” Pigsy said, fixing the kid’s hair since he just messed it up.

“Okie dokie, Piggy.” The boy grinned again.

“Found it!” Pigsy’s grandmother finally called from the other room, and she was back in a flash.

“Oh, you just look so handsome, I could eat you right up, you know that? Your date is a very, very lucky man,” the woman chuckled as she took a photo, not even waiting for him to pose or smile.

“‘Man’? I don’t know their gender,” Pigsy pointed out, but she just waved her hand and snapped another photo.

“Xiaotian, go join Bajie, I want to get my two favorite, most handsome boys together,” she instructed and Xiaotian ran to Pigsy. The chef scooped him up and they both smiled for the camera.

After a few photos were taken, Pigsy glanced at the clock and said, “Alright, are we done? I’m gonna be late soon.”

“Yes, yes, you can go,” His grandmother sighed dramatically– though snapped another photo anyway.

Pigsy rolled his eyes, setting Xiaotian back down before kneeling to his level.

“You promise to be good for Lǎolao?” He asked the five-year-old, who nodded seriously. “Good. I’ll see you later tonight, kiddo.” The chef smiled and stood before Xiaotian grabbed his pant leg.

“I’ll miss you,” Xiaotian whispered, and Pigsy… wasn’t quite sure how to respond to that.

“I’ll… be back soon, kid. Don’t stress yourself,” he finally said, patting the kid on the head again.

“Besides,” Lǎolao said, getting the kid to look at her, “you have a very fun night planned with your Lǎolao, and we’re going to have lots of fun, aren’t we, Xiaotian?”

“Yeah! We’ll watch Monkey King!” The kid grinned once more, making the elder pig demon chuckle.

“We most certainly will. And we’ll eat lots of cookies and candy and break lots of Bajie’s silly rules,” his grandmother enabled the kid’s natural desire for rebellion.

“You’re killing me, you know that?” Pigsy half-joked, arms crossed.

“It’s what keeps me young,” Lǎolao teased right back.

“Right.” Pigsy rolled his eyes. “Well, I gotta get going so–”

“WAIT!” Xiaotian suddenly shouted, running out of the room, while Pigsy and his grandmother just looked at each other in confusion. They didn’t have to wait long, though, as Xiaotian was back in the matter of seconds with a drawing in his hand.

“For luck!” He explained, handing it over.

Pigsy accepted the offering, laughing when he saw it was a very crude drawing of Xiaotian, Pigsy’s grandmother, Tang, and himself all eating noodles at the restaurant with even cruder hearts everywhere.

“I love it, kid. I’ll put it right here for safe keeping,” Pigsy complimented, folding the drawing so it fit right by his pocket square, which made Xiaotian so happy that, before Pigsy could prepare himself, the kid hugged him.

“Have fun!” Xiaotian grinned nice and big before stepping back and waving.

“I will.” Pigsy waved a little and headed to the door.

“Yes, have lots of fun! I expect to hear about tonight in great detail tomorrow!” His grandmother waved as well, to which Pigsy laughed and shook his head before exiting the apartment door and heading out into the night.

.o0o.

Pigsy arrived at the restaurant at exactly 7:57, three minutes early and before his date. The place was classy, but clearly small and not quite known in the public sphere yet. There was no need for a wait or reservation, so Pigsy was taken to an outside table for two by the fountain.

He could see why this mystery person would pick a place like this. It was nice, but hidden away, and not too expensive. His person was sensible and romantic, and this choice was a reflection of that.

Pigsy opened up the website on his phone, telling his date he’d arrived and got a table, before he settled himself down to wait and think (his favorite activity!).

Pigsy was totally going to fuck this night up.

He hadn’t been on a date in years, and even then, the ones he’d had with Wujing were full of personal mistakes he wasn’t keen on repeating. He knew for a fact he was going to sound incredibly stupid, especially in comparison to his eloquent partner, but that was hardly the least of his worries. Maybe he’d get too angry at something, and it would totally freak them out, or he’d bring up Xiaotian, and they’d hate that he had a kid (even though he wasn’t his kid technically, he was just his guardian, but that would also probably scare them away, creating a perfect lose-lose situation). And heavens, that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that there was a good chance Pigsy forgot to even tell them he was a demon– he was so unbelievably stupid like that.

At exactly eight o'clock, the waiter stopped by and dropped off two glasses of water before disappearing. Pigsy tried his best not to chug it immediately, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t get thirsty when he was nervous. To try and force himself not to, he kept tracing the rim of his glass again and again and again, while keeping an eye on the door.

A part of the chef wondered if his date stood him up. There were a handful of people already here; maybe his date had arrived, saw Pigsy, realized their date was a hideous pig demon, and simply slipped away. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time…

No, no. Pigsy had to wait and be rational. He needed to remember the little drawing in his suit pocket reminding him it was all going to be fine, even if it wasn’t fine, and he’d be okay. So instead of completely losing his mind and worrying to death, Pigsy placed a hand against the pocket that held the drawing and took nice, long breaths before taking a casual and normal drink of water.

However, just then, the restaurant’s door flung open, and Pigsy’s heart practically leapt into his throat as he saw–

Tang…???

No… no, yeah, that was Tang all right, panting with his back against a wall before he looked around the space. When he saw Pigsy, the scholar seemed to share the exact same confusion, head tilting, but he eventually approached the lone pig demon.

“Hey, Pigsy… What’re you doing here?” Tang asked, still catching his breath.

“Same as you, I guess,” Pigsy looked at the fountain, face turning red.

“Right, yeah! Man, that’s one hell of a coincidence, isn’t it?” Tang laughed.

Pigsy laughed as well. “Guess there aren’t many romantic spots left in the city.”

“Guess not.” Tang fidgeted with his scarf, looking around the restaurant.

“Your date not here yet?” Pigsy guessed.

Tang shrugged. “They said they were, but I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Maybe they just lied and said they were here when they’re really just on their way, I used to do that all the time.” Pigsy snorted.

“Yeah, maybe,” Tang laughed. “You– uh– don’t mind if I sit here for right now, do you?”

“Be my guest. You could use the water anyway,” Pigsy teased, and Tang graciously accepted the seat and water.

“I just– I don’t know, me and them agreed to meet here at eight, and I planned to be here at eight o’clock sharp, so I just– I don’t know. Maybe they stood me up– god, that would be so embarrassing,” Tang whispered that last bit to himself.

“Hey. Relax. You’re only five minutes late, and they aren’t even here yet. Besides, they’d have to be a complete moron to stand you up, of all people,” Pigsy pointed out.

Tang rolled his eyes with a little smile. “Yeah, yeah, thanks. Where’s your date?”

“Late, probably. Or maybe we’ve both been stood up, wouldn’t that be something?” Pigsy mused.

“Misery does love company,” Tang laughed sadly.

“He’ll show, I’m sure of it.” Pigsy tried his best to sound comforting.

“Thanks. I’m sure yours will too.” Tang did his best too.

Pigsy nodded, pulling out his phone again and checking to see if they’d messaged him yet, but he was greeted with the exact same screen as minutes before.

He sighed.

“So, you said your date picked this place?” Tang asked out of the blue.

“Uh– yeah. I’ve never been.” Pigsy shrugged.

“I’ve only been here once or twice, but their mango pudding is to die for; though, it’s not as good as yours or your grandmother’s,” Tang stated like it was obvious.

“Funny, my date recommended the mango pudding too. Must be really popular,” Pigsy recalled.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if it was, it’s amazing.” Tang fidgeted with his scarf again before pulling out his phone. “Though, I gotta ask– why would you agree to a restaurant? You always hate eating out?”

“It was a very persuasive review.” Pigsy snorted. “Besides, I didn’t wanna sound like a hard ass or anything, and it's not like I had any better ideas.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” the scholar assured, typing something.

Pigsy sighed, looking around the restaurant at other couples drinking wine and being all couple-y, when his phone suddenly buzzed in his pocket.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Sorry I’m late! Where are you? Just got here.”

Pigsy looked around, and not seeing anyone by the door, he frowned, quickly replying:

FineCuisine81: “Check the outside section.”

“You messaging your date too?” Tang laughed.

“Yeah, they said they’re here, so…” Pigsy trailed off.

“Oh! So’s mine, so I should probably– like– go, haha,” Tang said, already standing.

Pigsy just smiled somewhat sadly as the scholar shuffled away, not giving the pig demon a glance.

Whatever, he was sure it wasn’t personal (or– he hoped, anyway) and so pulled out his phone to find another message.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Where are you sitting?”

Pigsy looked around only briefly before sending:

FineCuisine81: “By the fountain in the middle section.”

Pigsy tapped his fingers anxiously against the table, staring at his screen intently as three dots bounced around.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “There's a lot of people here. I guess I should also ask what you’re wearing too, haha”

“More like lots of humans,” Pigsy muttered to himself.

No– Pigsy couldn’t be bitter, he was supposed to have fun. It didn’t matter if his date was looking around and clearly expecting a human, it was–

Pigsy placed his hand on his breast pocket and took deep breaths, reminding himself he was fine and loved, and he’d be okay.

FineCuisine81: “Old blue western suit and a floral tie.”

He waited with bated breath, barely even daring to glance around to see if his date was actually looking for him or not. He did catch another glance at Tang, which the scholar returned with a funny shrug that Pigsy returned, before they both just went back to their phones.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “I still don’t see you. You aren’t lying about being there, are you?”

Pigsy knitted his eyebrows, almost offended if he didn’t understand how bad first date jitters could be.

FineCuisine81: “I promise I’m not.”

Pigsy wasn’t even sure he was breathing anymore with how nervous he was watching the screen. At one point, the waiter stopped by to try and ask him if he was ready to order, but he pushed them away immediately.

A minute passed, then two.

Then–

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Are you sure you’re at the right restaurant? The Huayuan Restaurant? The one on Lianren Road?” FineCuisine81: “I promise.”

Pigsy bit his cheek. He knew it wouldn’t be enough– maybe he needed to do something.

FineCuisine81: “What are you wearing? Maybe I can find you.”

Pigsy barely had to wait a second for a reply.

ShiningAnthropod_Admirer: “Red and gold tang suit with embroidery along the sleeves and sides. Also glasses lol.”

Pigsy paused, because that–... No… No, it– it couldn’t be, Pigsy would know if it was Tang. There– there would be signs. He’d know. Pigsy wasn’t that stupid.

He saw Tang circling around the fountain again, and this time when he locked eyes with Pigsy the scholar sighed and sat across from him once more.

Tang suit. Gold embroidery. Glasses.

“I’m pretty sure my date is just lying about being here at this point. I mean– I’ve circled the entire place like– ten times, but I just– I’m a little glad your table is still empty too.” Tang laughed like he was going to cry.

Holy fucking shit…

“I-I– Tang, I’m–” Pigsy was utterly dumbfounded because the man sitting in front of him was his mystery man– the fiercely intelligent and kind soul he had spent months chatting with, being too scared of what he’d think if he saw his appearance. Iit was him. It was Tang.

“A-are you okay? You look a little shaken,” Tang laughed again, this time picking up a napkin to wipe his eyes.

Pigsy didn’t think, just grabbed Tang’s hands and stroked them with his thumbs.

“Wha–? Pigsy? Are you alright?” The scholar was clearly startled, but didn’t break the grasp.

“Tang, I-I– It’s– I’m–” Pigsy growled in frustration, words alluding him.

“Yes…?” Tang asked softly, his eyes sparkling like diamonds against the night sky and glasses.

Pigsy took another breath, feeling warmth radiating from Xiaotian’s drawing as he did, and said, “1940’s western suit. Floral tie.”

Tang pulled back a little, opening his mouth to speak, before he looked Pigsy up and down. It only took seconds before his eyes widened with recognition.

“No… no, no– you–? Me? No, you– you wouldn’t, I–” Tang shook his head. “I appreciate you trying to save my night, but–”

“Tang. My username was ‘FineCuisine81’ because I’m a chef and was born in 1981. I didn’t bring up the restaurant or Xiaotian or my grandmother or– much of my past really because you know I’m pretty hesitant about most of it,” Pigsy pleaded for him to understand.

“I-I– you– you wouldn’t–”

“C’mon, Tang. You know me– you know my snark by now, don’t you?” Pigsy tried to joke, but Tang snagged his hands away to cover his face.

“Pigsy, I-I– did you look me up? Is this some kind of– sick joke? Getting payback for all those stupid bowls of noodles?” The scholar was crying by now.

“Tang! I would never– I didn’t know it was you, but now that I do, I– I couldn’t be happier, I swear.” Pigsy smiled despite his overwhelming worry.

Tang shook his head. “No– I’m– I’m not good enough for you– I’m such a mess a-and I’m broke a-and scrawny a-and anxious a-and–”

“Tang, you’re plenty good enough– you’re so much better than me, anyways,” Pigsy laughed and sniffled. “You’re so smart and kind and likable and–”

“B-but you’re really nice too! A-and you have a real job that pays well and a loving grandmother a-and you’re a guardian– and me? I’m just some loser with a nose in a book,” Tang interrupted.

“We– There’s a reason we wanted to meet our ‘mystery person’, Tang. We both saw… something in them– something that made us want more” Pigsy smiled as he wiped away one of the scholar’s tears. “I… I really don’t want to throw that away because I’m scared.”

Tang finally opened his eyes enough to get another good look at Pigsy. It was terrifying to be inspected by him, but Pigsy managed to hold strong and met his gaze with a soft, tearful smile that eventually got Tang to laugh and shake his head.

“We are so stupid, aren’t we?” He asked, and Pigsy removed his hands.

“Oh, absolutely,” Pigsy couldn’t help but agree. “But hey– I’m sure Lǎolao’ll love to hear it took us a whole fifteen minutes to realize we were here for each other.”

“Oh, heavens, she’s never going to let that go, is she?” Tang copied the pig, the redness in his face starting to leave.

“I’m pretty sure she’ll hold it above us until the day she dies,” Pigsy chuckled. “On the bright side, though, at least we’re both idiots.”

“Fair enough.” Tang smiled and looked at the fountain. “I just– I really picked out a restaurant– I am so sorry, this food is going to be trash compared to yours.”

“Bah, I’m sure that’s not true if you like it.” Pigsy winked.

Tang’s face went red again. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure; I like instant ramen.”

“Only because it’s so cheap.” The chef snorted.

“You don’t know the depths of my depravity,” Tang refuted.

“Well, I’d certainly like to. That’s why we’re still here, isn’t it?” Pigsy wiped his own face.

“Y-yeah! It– it is.” Tang smiled shyly. “I just– wow, I’m so embarrassed. I mean, the suit, the tie–”

“Hey, how’s about we just forget about fifteen minutes ago, and start over, okay? No guilt, no anxiety, nothing. Just us having a nice evening out,” Pigsy proposed.

Tang thought about it for a moment before nodding. “I’d like that a lot, Pigsy.”

“Then, it’s settled. We drove here together and the waiter sat us together, and we’re now deciding which wine to order together. That good?” Pigsy asked.

Tang nodded. “Sounds perfect, Pigsy.”

“I couldn’t agree with you more.”

[al-luviec]

compiled whatever this is (and I run out of tag space)

meh HoT gifs (3/?)

[orcelito]

Salty bitch in me sooooo satisfied by the fact that I probably make more money than the person who made my life hell last year lmfaooooo

[thepoetrytheorist]

If you love Disney, its parks, its media, and its merch, listen up.

So I work for Disneyland, and we are talking about striking very soon. So soon, in fact, that we've been hosting rallies just outside of the parks. Yesterday was the 69th birthday of Disneyland Anaheim... it was also a monumental rally.

I haven't seen anyone on tumblr talking about the impending strikes against Disney. Not even going through the Disney tags or searching tumblr for "Disneyland Strike."

Let's talk about why we're striking:

Cost of living in the immediate SoCal region is nearly 2x as much as we are getting paid.

Cast members that have worked for the company for long periods of time are still paid as mucha s new hires.

Disney has showed up to union negotiations with insulting offers, including at 25 cent raise. Most cast members make $19.90

Disney rarely schedules you. In some areas and departments, you are fighting with your fellow cast members for hours. I have heard of cast members who are only scheduled for 1 4-hour shift per week. Many of those cast members have upwards of an hour commute to and from work.

Disney Admin has told attractions castmembers [so: rides, rollercoasters, and anything fun you get to do and see at the parks] that we are losing them money, which is why they refuse to schedule us and pay us. In the words of my partner, who also works at the parks, Disney without attractions is an over glorified mall and a food court. Disney needs us, and they know it, but they do not respect us.

Disney has an unfair attendance policy. It can be very difficult to get a needed day off, even when it has been requested weeks or months in advance. When you do take a day off [with-out accrued sick or vacation time] it counts against you. You can have 3 a month, 6 in 90 days, 9 in 180 days, or 12 in a year. How do you accrue sick/vacation? Hours worked, which can be impossible with the scheduling practices mentioned above. (Most cast members trade shifts among themselves to get around this.)

Cast members feel unsafe and unsupported in the parks. Many cast members have felt threatened by entitled guests upset that they are following policy. Disney Leads and Managers have to say yes to these guests and make things happen, though. [Which only makes this behavior worse and more dangerous for cast members who are only doing their job.]

Cast members also report feeling threatened, or even being literally threatened, by management in the parks. Especially cast members who have a second job. Especially cast members who know their rights.

Further, cast members work in hazardous conditions with pay that does not reflect that. Many cast members report losses of hearing, sore throats, and severe back and shoulder pain. Cast members are also exposed to infectious diseases at a much higher rate.

https://www.sfgate.com/disneyland/article/union-button-contract-dispute-19515296.php?fbclid=IwZXh0bgNhZW0CMTEAAR2u5o_mvU3i6jpIyHxBUZpEzD2GRSKFf5Pem4uRXqa6vKWDgZuffvINd1g_aem_AA1L0fI1phugJIluYMcDSw

[waywardsalt]

.

[getvalentined]

An open letter to @staff

I already submitted this to Support under "Feedback," but I'm sharing it here too as I don't expect it to get a response, and I feel like putting in out in public may be more effective than sending it off into the void.

The recent post on the Staff blog about changing tumblr to an algorithmic feed features a large amount of misinformation that I feel staff needs to address, openly and honestly, with information on where this data was sourced at the very least.

Claim 1: Algorithms help small creators.

This is false, as algorithms are designed to push content that gets engagement in order to get it more engagement, thereby assuring that the popular remain popular and the small remain small except in instances of extreme luck.

This can already be seen on the tumblr radar, which is a combination of staff picks (usually the same half-dozen fandoms or niche special interests like Lego photography) which already have a ton of engagement, or posts that are getting enough engagement to hit the radar organically. Tumblr has an algorithm that runs like every other socmed algorithm on the planet, and it will decimate the reach of small creators just like every other platform before it.

Claim 2: Only a small portion of users utilize the chronological feed.

You can find a poll by user @darkwood-sleddog here that at the time of writing this, sits at over 40 THOUSAND responses showing that over 96 percent of them use the chronological feed*. Claiming otherwise isn't just a misstatement, it's a lie. You are lying to your core userbase and expecting them to accept it as fact. It's not just unethical, it's insulting to people who have been supporting your platform for over a decade.

Claim 3: Tumblr is not easy to use.

This is also 100% false and you ABSOLUTELY know it. Tumblr is EXTREMELY easy to use, the issue is that the documentation, the explanations of features, and often even the stability of the service is subpar. All of this would be very easy for staff to fix, if they would invest in the creation of walkthroughs and clear explanations of how various site features work, as well as finally fixing the search function. Your inability to explain how your service works should not result in completely ignoring the needs and wants of your core long-term userbase. The fact that you're more willing to invest in the very systems that have made every other form of social media so horrifically toxic than in trying to make it easier for people to use the service AS IT WORKS NOW and fixing the parts that don't work as well speaks volumes toward what tumblr staff actually cares about.

You will not get a paycheck if your platform becomes defunct, and the thing that makes it special right now is that it is the ONLY large-scale socmed platform on THE ENTIRE INTERNET with a true chronological feed and no aggressive algorithmic content serving. The recent post from staff indicates that you are going to kill that, and are insisting that it's what we want. It is not. I'd hazard to guess that most of the dev team knows it isn't what we want, but I assume the money people don't care. The user base isn't relevant, just how much money they can bring in.

The CEO stated he wanted this to remain as sort of the last bastion of the Old Internet, and yet here we are, watching you declare you intend to burn it to the ground.

You can do so much better than this.

Response to the Update

Under the cut for readability, because everything said above still applies.

I already said this in a reblog on the post itself, but I'm adding it to this one for easy access: people read it that way because that's what you said.

Staff considers the main feed as it exists to be "outdated," to the point that you literally used that word to describe it, and the main goals expressed in this announcement is to figure out what makes "high-quality content" and serve that to users moving forward.

People read it that way because that is what you said.

*The final results of the poll, after 24 hours:

136,635 votes breaks down thusly:

An algorithm based feed where I get "the best of tumblr." @ 1.3% (roughly 1,776 votes)

Chronological feed that only features blogs I follow. @ 95.2% (roughly 130,077 votes)

This doesn't affect me personally. @ 3.5% (roughly 4,782 votes)

[dravidious]

You're more amazing than fingers

Been playing the new pokemon rom hack "Too Many Types" and I want to discover the type matchups naturally so I'm writing my own type chart.

NORMAL x2 SUS x1 FLUFFY x1 SILLY x1 SPACE 1/2 ANGY 1/2 STINKY

FAIRY x2 ANGY x1 SPACE

FLYING x1 SILLY

GRASS x1 SPACE 1/2 ANGY

PSYCHIC x2 ANGY x2 SPACE x2 VIBE x1 CRAB x1 DEEZ NUTZ x1 FLUFFY x1 LEFT x1 LIQUID x1 MONKE x1 SILLY

WATER x2 FLUFFY x2 MONKE x2 SPACE x2 STINKY x1 ANGY x1 SILLY x1 SHARP/ANCIENT x1 BUG/SONG 1/2 CRAB

ANGY x2 DARK/GAMER x2 BUG/CRAB x1 DEEZ NUTZ x1 FLUFFY x1 GRASS x1 MONKE x1 POISON x1 WATER/VIBE x1 ANCIENT/PSYCHIC x1 LITTLE/DRAGON 1/2 BEAN 1/2 LIQUID 1/2 WATER/SILLY 1/2 SPACE/FAIRY

MONKE x1 SPACE/FAIRY x1 WATER/SILLY

SHARP x2 SILLY x1 ANGY 1/2 SPACE/FAIRY

SONG x2 STINKY x2 VIBE x2 VIBE x1 ANGY x1 DEEZ NUTZ x1 GRASS x1 WATER x1 FLUFFY/NORMAL x1 SILLY/PSYCHIC x1 BUG/SONG x1 ICE/LEFT

SUS 1/2 ANGY

BABY Weak against everything(?)

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Daily fish fact #6 444 205

Fish!

The fish like to have a little drink :) Sadly as they drink the water around them they also drink their own pee, and that is the curse that they will have to live with for the rest of their life

#fish #fishfact #fish facts #fishblr #biology #zoology

( 2 notes )

🪼 clovergonads follow

Tasseled wobbegong women >>>>>>>>>>>

🐸 i-eat-skin follow

bitch those are goosefish

( 27,196 notes )

🐚 seashell-on-the-seashore follow

Say what you want about fishblr updates, but I think this format for reblubs is a wonderful improvement over the previous one. One of the only times staff did good.

🐚 seashell-on-the-seashore

@featherstar53 If reblub chains got too long, new reblubs would start appearing as darker and darker until you couldnt see the text anymore. It mimicked how light disappears as you go deeper in the ocean but the sunken code this webbedsite runs on never set a cap for how dark it gets, so eventually you would have to copy ad paste the text on the reblubs onto somewhere to read them.

🐍 swamplamprey follow

It sounds fake but it's true! You can still find some older fishblr post screenshots with this effect:

This even went for full abyssal mode users! In their case, the text would slowly turn from white to dark blue, effectively making it impossible to read against the black background.

🦞 fastest-claw-in-the-west follow

I think it would be super funny if they brought this back but for individual posts. Like the reblubs stay the same colour but the posts themselves get gradually and gradually darker until you can't see them anymore lol. It would be disastrous but also funny and it might finally stop some of you frys from being so addicted to this webbedsite

#im all for a bit of chaos lol #treasure trove: talking tag

( 730 notes )

🌿 invertlike-behaviour follow

Okay for the record. My eyes are Red because I'm a COMMON ROACH! RUTILUS RUTILUS! It's not because I smoke seaweed!

🌿 invertlike-behaviour

Okay Yes I smoke seaweed all day. But the specific reason my eyes are red is Not That

( 104 notes )

🦈 spiritually-placoderm follow

🫧 surgeonsturgeon follow

OP you forgot brackish water and the option for inhabiting both

🦈 spiritually-placoderm

Shut your inferior ass mouth up

🫧 surgeonsturgeon

#(i couldnt find the actual gif i wanted to use but this weird tiger shark will have to do) #(not sure why his fins look like that)

( 1,020 notes )

☀️ slenderfish follow

"ocean sunfish have over 40 parasite species" factoid actualy just statistical error. average ocean sunfish is infected with only one or two parasites. Parasites Georg, the mola who suffers from every ailment known to fish and has over 1 000 000 000 parasite species infesting his flesh and organs, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

( 193,239 notes)

🪷 trout-about-you follow

Selfieeeee :3 (ignore the two sea lampreys attached to my flesh)

🪲 toebiter follow

how did you take the picture you aren't holding your phone

🪷 trout-about-you

The sea lamprey on the left took it for me

( 58 notes )

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

FISH USED TO MIGRATE THOUSANDS OF MILES TO BREED. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!!!!

IN MY DAY PUSSFISH LIKE THIS WOULD GET EATEN ALIVE BY REAL RIVER MONSTERS FOR BREAKFAST.

🐟 darting-action follow

these are Siamese fighting fish bruh.... They don't have migration as part of their life cycle lmao

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

OF COURSE THE YOUTH CAN'T PUNCTUATE THEIR SENTENCES PROPERLY. I SHOULDN'T EXPECT SO MUCH FROM THE SOFT FRY THEY ARE. ALWAYS GETTING RILED UP!

🔲 skip-hopper-deactivated

Ignore this guy, @darting-action. He's well known for saying offensive nonsense like this, I think he's bait and trying to get someone to bite.

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

YOU MUST BE ONE OF THOSE INBRED DOMESTIC SCUM OR HATCHED YESTERDAY SINCE YOU ENTIRELY LACK THICK SCALES. I SPEAK THE TRUTH AND ONLY THE TRUTH. IF YOU GET TRIGGERED THEN THAT'S NATURAL SELECTION, SON. YOU SHOULD FIGHT ME IN REAL LIFE.

🔲 walrus-tits-in-my-mouth-deactivated

You really dont know a thing about natural selection, do you? Bettas have flashy fins because they have to seem threatening to possible competitors. They don't migrate so they aren't built for that. They're built for living in ponds and marshes, low oxygen environments, and by cod, they are built for fighting territorial battles! You shouldn't underestimate a fish literally called fighting fish. They're very tough and hardy fish and can even send larger fish fleeing!

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

SIAMESE FLAILING PUSSFISH HAVE LADY FINS BECAUSE THEY'RE WEAK AND SOFT AND HAD HUMANS DECIDE WHO THEY BREED WITH FOR THEM. THEIR QUOTE UNQUOTE "FIGHTING PROWESS" SURE DIDN'T SAVE THEM FROM BEING PRISSY LITTLE PRINCESS FISHIES FOR LITTLE KIDS DID IT? THE INDUBIDABLE FACT IS THAT THEY'RE MUSKIE FOOD.

🔲 iknowthecrabbypattysecretformula-deactivated

Wait a minute... I recongize that picture on the right! That's from @betta-than-this 's OnlyFins! How did you get that picutre hmmm? Salmonidae? How on Ocean did you gain access huh?

🐠 betta-than-this follow

"Indubidable" is a pretty specific word to use. This you @salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated?

🔲 iknowthecrabbypattysecretformula-deactivated

LMAOOOOOO GOTTEMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🔲 aquarium-life-deactivated

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

🐟 darting-action

woag i never saw this entire chain before until it hit me on my dashboard. Why does this have so many notes

Thanks fishblr user walrus tits in my mouth for biology info i didn't know

🫖 burgle-the-turts follow

Woah woah woah we're just gonna ignore this guy using p*ssfish as an insult!!???? THE CATFISH SLUR????????? No one is going to bring this up!!!!!???????

🔲 tilapia11128-deactivated

does anyone in this thread smoke seaweed

🌊 herringageposts follow

date of origin: 28th of august, 2017

( 392,229 notes )

🟧 sponsored

Suffering all alone, handsome?

No need to anymore.

👄 pollywannacracker follow

Reblub with your favorite snack in the tags! I’ll go first: coral polyps! :}

🚬 shark-noir follow

@ninjalantern-999

#as for me #my fave is definitely my lower set of teeth when they shed #crumchy :D

( 295 notes )

🩸 must-lunge follow

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STUPID HUMAN DROPPED ITS ELECTRONIC CAMERA IN THE LAKE!!!!!!!! NEVER GETTING THAT BACK BUB!!!!!! I'M TELLING ALL MY ISOPOD AND MUSSEL FRIENDS AND THEY'RE GONNA LIVE INSIDE IT!!!!!

🧑 official-human-posts follow

ofishal human post

#ofishal human post #this post contains humans

( 891 notes )

🦦 hellofromtheotterslide follow

Wait, how come this site is called fishblr and not something like oceanblr or aquablr? Wouldn't that be more inclusive?

👑 goldielocks follow

I believe the name "fishblr" pays homage to the meaning of the word where just about everything in the water was considered a fish. It's why we have words like "shellfish", "whalefish", "jellyfish", "starfish".

Personally aquablr would work really well, too. There's a sizeable amphibious userbase on here.

🦐 worldwideshrimp follow

You forgot whale shark! Those arent fish either but are called fish

👑 goldielocks

....Whale sharks are fish. They are sharks. It's in the name.

🦎 eye-of-newt follow

But I thought it was a whale named after sharks? WHALE shark! Why else would they put whale up first?

👑 goldielocks

A whale named after a shark would be called a shark whale. You can take one look at a whale shark and see that, with its gills and fish tail, it is a shark.

⚪️ number1-seacucumber-ass-enjoyer-77 follow

Wait, then what about baby whales? Are those whales named after babies?

👑 goldielocks

If you're talking about the actual whale babies, then yeah. If you mean the mormyrids, small aquatic animals that can sense electricity, then no, those are fish. Sometimes names are inaccurate to what the animal really is.

🌌 themanta1234 follow

If you think about it, fishblr is also inclusive to aquatic tetrapods since they are lobe-fins, and therefore fish :D It's a term that can include everyone on here, the perfect catchall!

🦑 abyssal-gigantism follow

Ewwww fuck that definition. If mammals hear about them being fish on some sort of """"technicality"""" then this webbedsite is gonna get flooded with those self-important idiots! "OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOOOOO LoOk At MeEeEeEeEEE i'M a MaMmAL!!11!!! I TAKE CARE of mah BAAABIEEEES!1111 I'm SUCH a good MAMAAA!!! All those OTHER STUPID HEARTLESS ANIMALS could NEVER do as I DO!!! I LOVE sweating into my BAABIEEEES' MOUTH1!1!1!111!!! I'm FLUFFY and AWSUM and ERRYBODDY LUUUVSSSSS MEE!!!!!!!!!!111!!!!!!! You should all LUV me TOO!!!!"

Is THAT how you want every fishblr post to look!!!!??????

🦛 drippohippo follow

😨

🪄 magicmanatee45 follow

DD:

🎼 humpbacked-musician-offishal follow

:'''((((

🐋 blainvilles-bitch follow

🕶️ egg-laying-mammal-of-action follow

:///////////

🐢 greenXD follow

i think jellyfish shouldn't be classified as fish because they're clearly living spaghetti

🌜 foolish-idol follow

Great fucking post everyone. Hit the air bubblers

( 60,376 notes )

🟩 ultrahyva-heihoi follow

Guys what the fuck kind of sponsors does fishblr have I just saw an ad for having parasites housed in me who are they advertising to 😭💀💀

#i swear the quality of this site keeps going down and down #if you see ads for parasites then report the shit out of em #fuck em my friend got early onset cataracts due to parasites

( 4 notes )

😃 doweopenandcloseourmouthtoday follow

Yes! :) :O :) :O :) :O :) :O

[darkstaria]

Yandere Batfam - Soulmate Soul Animal Au.

Chapter 5:

Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. Chapter 4. Chapter 6.

Sorry for the long weight everyone! I had to binge allll of Stranger Things for a friend's future birthday event and ohhh wow I thought the episodes were gonna be 20 minutes not 40-1hr

Also I suffered a bit of writers block, it happens

But regardless, I hope you all enjoy! ^ ^

(also the taglist has migrated to the bottom of the fic because it's a bit too long now)

----

The office was large, sprawling walls contained by an even bigger ceiling. The faint humming of Tim’s computer provided no reassurance, nor did the soft leather of your seat. It felt as if you could sink right into it, and try to fade away. There was a faint aroma of coffee that lingered around the office, but it gave you no solace. It just reminded you of the mistakes you made, to end up here. The elephant in the room.

Tim’s smile was bright, a warm sun. You were burning.

“It’s.. nice to see you again.” You attempted, words stumbling about on your tongue. You couldn't help it, the mere presence of your soulmate sending anxiety skyrocketing down your spine. Why couldn't he just get to the point?

“I didn't really expect my company and Wayne Enterprises to be working together.” You continued, a fake smile plastered onto your face. “What a nice coincidence!”

“I hope for us to have a successful collaboration.” Tim replies, still smiling. “But enough about the companies, it's been so long since I've seen you, and I didn't have your number to text.”

You laugh in response, a pale imitation of a real laugh. You had hoped to focus on discussing the work you both had to do first, and then escape before any catch up talks were attempted. Unfortunately, it appears that Tim won't let you do any actual work before engaging with him.

Your nails dug into your knees, an attempt to stay calm. Your reply was measured.

“Oh are you sure? Surely it would be better to get work on the collaboration done first, then we’ll have all the time left to chat freely.”

“I wouldn't worry about that, really. We’ve got plenty of time together, and I wouldn't be able to work without knowing how you're doing lately. Since you didn't have the time to text, I presume you've been busy?”

“Ah, right! Yes! Yes I have been, busy that is, you know how it is with work. Endless and all that.” You were frustrated at being pushed into a lie already. Tim was in charge here and he knew it.

“Why don't you give me your number then?” His smile was perfect, as flawless as his manipulation. “That way, when you're too busy to remember to message, I can remind you.”

You frowned. Like he didn't know your number already.

Quickly remembering you had to smile, you gave him your number, watching as he slowly typed it in, then texted. Only when you showed you received his text did he relent.

The ‘meeting’ continued on from there, Tim asking about all your hobbies and passions. Time ticked on, daylight turning to evening. Any attempt from you to redirect the conversation to either himself or work was swiftly dismissed. A small part of you admired his skill, he was playing you like a doll. You knew it, but you had no option but to play along. It was like an older sibling playing pretend with the young sibling. You hated the comparison.

The attention was unnerving. Your only solace was that neither of you had soul animals present currently, which was an absolute miracle.

Actually… what if that isn't a coincidence at all? Could this too have been engineered? Was that even possible?

“So then what’s your opinion on..” The sound of Tim’s voice slammed you back to reality. You quickly focused back in, fearing losing any advantage due to a lack of attention.

Abruptly, an alarm sounded, the noise blazing a path through your eardrums. You jolted in surprise. Tim however, was barely rattled. A frown appeared on his face as he glanced at his phone.

“That was the Arkham Asylum breakout alarm. It's no longer safe to go outside.” With these words Tim got up, walking over to the door and opening it.

“What…?” You mumbled, horrified.

“Stay here.” He commanded, a firm tone in his voice. This was Red Robin. “I’m going to check on the building, don't leave, it isn't safe.”

“Wait! But.. the collaboration.. we didn't..” The words rushed out of your mouth, leaving you feeling like a fool as Tim paused for a moment, to look at you.

“Don't worry.” He smiled, the weight of it bearing down upon you. You felt small. “You can just come in tomorrow, I'm sure your company won't mind.” With the final word said, Tim closed the door, presumably rushing off to become Red Robin. The click of the door felt like a dismissal, a scolding. A reminder to stay in your place.

Once again, you were trapped.

You clenched your fists. He wanted you to stay here, in his territory. You didn't doubt that Wayne Enterprises had amazing security, probably some of the best considering the identities of the owners. This was likely the third most safe place in Gotham, with the first and second places going to Batman’s base and Wayne Manor.

But… you haven't learned anything yet. All that time spent with him and somehow he hadn't brought up that singular, obvious fact. There was no way he didn't know, not with the way he was acting. And yet, he hadn't brought it up. Why?

What was he getting out of this?

Was he hoping that if you assumed he didn't know then you could easily be monitored? Was he just gathering information before acting? Where was the rest of the vigilantes in this?

Your head was spinning, going in circles. You couldn't understand him, you couldn't understand any of them. Why choose to be vigilantes, knowing the costs that life endures? Why were you tied to them, when you were so against a fundamental part of their existence?

You couldn't understand this at all. How could this be the basis of a soulmate bond?

You were… opposites.

You felt the telltale beat of an oncoming headache. For your own sanity, you decided to fold the incoming soulmate crisis into a small cavity of your brain to panic about later.

Fact One: There was an ongoing Arkham Asylum breakout, everyone is either being attacked, hiding away or escaping the city.

Fact Two: Batman and all his partners are going to be occupied for at least several hours if not a day.

Fact Three: You were going to take advantage of this.

It was the perfect time. All your soulmates were occupied, so none of them would be able to pay any attention to you. Red Robin might know your identity, and so the other vigilantes may know as well.

That didn't need to matter. They may have the information, but information itself is useless, if they are unable to act.

Right now, any Gothamite that isn't involved with rogues is either hiding or escaping. You could join the escapes, and get out of Gotham in the rush.

You didn't have to stay here, to play the role of a caged bird. You could escape, before they even got a chance.

You had to try.

You suppressed a shaky sigh, getting up and walking to the door. You tried the door handle.

Locked.

Uh oh. You tried it again, and then a few more times after that, shaking the door eventually in your desperation. Oh come on! You desperately thought to yourself. The one time you finally got the perfect chance and it's being ruined by a locked door.

Wait. You glanced at the small window in the door, the beginnings of an idea sprouting in your head. You glance over at Tim’s desk, noticing a small paper weight. You smile.

Lifting the paperweight, you judge the weight to be enough. Holding it up, you get into position to throw.

Wait.. the door has a keyhole, not a sliding chain, you realize, almost too late.

Ah.

Well that would have been embarrassing.

Sadly, you place the paperweight back down. There goes that idea.

But that wasn't the only door in the office, there was another one, the one that the shouting voice left out of. You approach the door, trying the doorknob.

Click!

It opens! Giving a small laugh, you advance through the door and out into the halls of Wayne Enterprises, a jubilant smile on your face. Whoever was shouting at Tim earlier, you almost wanted to thank them.

You avoid the elevators, instead picking stairs, as you presumed they may also be in lockdown. It didn't take you too long to get down to the ground floor, since the main walking areas were now barren of people.

The ground floor had some unfortunate news to offer you though. The once wildly open doors had now been locked down and barred, an iron wall between you and freedom.

Although, maybe there was some other way, you thought, eyeing the anxious security guards patrolling the front entrance.

Pulling out of your hiding spot, you approach the guards, making to time your steps, making noise to not scare them. You really didn't want to get shot before you had even left the safety of the building.

“P-please help me!” You stuttered, trembling with tears in your eyes. The guards jolted in surprise, turning to face you. They were expecting threats from the outside, not the inside.

“I need to get home, I can't stay here.” You sobbed, the guards pausing in confusion. They didn't know what to do with you.

“What’s wrong?” A sympathetic guard asked, patting you gently on the back. You almost felt bad.

“I need to go home!” You repeated, tone frantic.

A disgruntled guard stepped up to you. “Look, no one can leave right now. Company policy. It isn't safe, there's been an Arkham breakout. Just sit tight, and whatever’s waiting for you at home will be there when you get back.”

“N-no…” You mumbled. “You don't understand.. I have.. I have a cat, waiting for me.” You glance up, watching the expressions on their faces. They seem unmoved. “A-and my child!” You cry out, realizing you needed a better lie.

“A child?” The disgruntled guard repeated, sounding a little more sympathetic, but clearly not convinced. He eyed you up and down, evidentially thinking you looked a little too young.

“They're so little, but my cat likes to take care of them and I needed the money so, so I left them at home alone today. But recently they're been figuring out how to open doors and if anything happened to them I don't know what I’d d-” Your frantic lie is cut off, the disgruntled guard laying a hand on your shoulder.

“Alright listen. None of us can escort you, we're here on the job.”

You nodded, feeling exuberation rush through you.

“But if anything happened, run right back here, alright?”

You nodded again, fighting a smile on your face. The guards unlocked the doors, watching you dash out with frowns on their tired faces.

They were obvious to the beaming smirk on yours.

Nights in Gotham are by nature a little terrifying, but they're nothing compared to an Arkham breakout night. Shadows crawled up alleyways, the smell of booze and smoke lingering in a way it never could on normal nights. The terror was so pungent in the air, you could almost taste it. It was on the tip of your tongue.

Every so often you'd hear a scream, and you'd walk a little faster. Ideally you would have committed to the stealth route, but you had wasted enough time already.

Your house was on the way to the bus station, so you could easily pop in, grab essentials, and get out. You wouldn't lie, you were nervous. Every so often you’d feel your knees lose strength, and you'd have to fight with your body to regain the strength to stand.

But at this point it was either the horror of whatever your soulmates had in store for you, or the horrors of Arkham night. You'd already picked your poison, now it was time to swallow.

You took a breath in, then out, and continued walking. You were almost there.

The streets of Gotham stretched on endlessly, a cacophony of fear.

Just a bit longer.

A gunshot sounded nearby, the noise blasting through your eardrum.

Almost there.

The hum of a van's engine rushed through the night, haunting laughter echoing through the road.

You could see your house!

You beamed, a smile lighting up your face, as you practically skipped up to the entrance. You reached into your bag to withdraw your keys.

You had just retrieved them when a crowbar smashed into your head.

----

Wow umh, please pray for reader guys, this is NOT going well for them. Who do you think that was?

Me writing shenanigans for this chapter:

I just really feel like reader should smash open this window, let's do it. Wait. They wouldn't have doors that work like that. so reader sadly puts the heavy object down :(

Also me: yeah so reader lies here and it's an absolute mess

Also also me: rip reader that's a lotta head trauma omg

Sorry for the lack of soul animals this chapter :(( there's a reason I swear

The next chapter is definitely gonna be a bit insane, for sure! The soul animals return then anddd in droves!

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If I missed anyone out im super sorry! I generally check the replies for the current chapter and messages for people that want to be tagged, so it's possible for people to slip by

Just remind me again and I'll be sure to add you! (This also goes for if I misspell you accidentally, which also happens cuz I type them all manually)

For some reason I couldnt tag anymore people until I put a random space in-between the tags, so that's apparently a thing. If anyone has any ideas why, I'm listening

[undoing-daughters-blog]

I'm going to explain the theory that Jinx is not actually dead

(I know this is long, I promise it's worth it)

This starts in chapter 8 of season two.

We see Jinx in the prision, she's devastated, lost, defeated, and wants things to end. And we see the first interaction she has with the voice of Silco. In this interaction Silco tells Jinx that "killing is a cycle" and that it would continue. But Jinx says she's "done running in circles", meaning: she wants to stop this cycle. To which Silco says:

And later, when Vi goes to visit Jinx, and Jinx tricks Vi and escapes the prison. Vi then asks her what she will do, Jinx answers:

And now Jinx knows the way to break the cycle, is by leaving.

Next time we see Jinx is in episode 9. She is still in the same mood as before, and now she cuts most of her hair off and burns The Last Drop

Burning down The Last Drop and letting go of her hair shows this closure. Later, she tries to kill herself, which is her way of "walking away" to "break the cycle".

But then Ekko shows up, saves her, and they go to save Vi and the others together.

At this point, Jinx wants to stop the killing and wants to leave, but she will always want to save Vi ("I'm always with you. Even when we are worlds apart").

But she still wants to break the cycle. She still needs to let go.

So, as she saves Vi from Warwick with the monkey bomb explosion, she escapes and leaves Piltover.

And we get a hint of that in the final scenes of the show when Caitlyn is going through her mother's database. She finds a blueprint of the hexgate tower and finds secret air ducts in the place where the explosion happened.

We also see her holding a part of Jinx's bomb.

And after seeing the blueprint she has this look. Like she's thinking "is it possible she survived?"

And in the very last scene we see one of these things that is flying away from Piltover.

Which reminds me of Season 1 Episode 1:

She has always wanted to ride one of them.

Maybe, this is her new way of walking away, instead of dying.

And the two frames are almost exactly the same, it couldn't not be a reference to that s1 moment.

And I know this theory may sound dumb but, why would they show us Caitlyn looking at those blueprints then? Every scene, every frame in Arcane is carefully designed. The team is very good, they wouldn't just show it for no reason. It wouldn't make sense. Especially because they have only 9 episodes of 40 minutes each (except 9 which has 50) to develop everything that happens in season two. And there are A LOT of things going on, they don't have time to spare. If they chose to show us that, it had a very important meaning.

Also I think it's kinda bad If Jinx just dies, I wouldn't like that ending, at least not like this.

[sweetbuckybarnes]

Who is This?: Chapter 1

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: Bucky had a wife during the 40s, she was left heartbroken after the telegram arrived (missing, presumed dead). It's surprising when 80 years later, she was working behind a bar in Madripoor of all places!

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Bucky followed Sam and Zemo into a loud bar, he immediately wanted to turn around and go home, why had Zemo demanded he go back to being the Winter Soldier (even if it was one night)?

The sound of heavy drums and guitars also deafened his hearing, a song he had come to learn was The Wild Boy by a band called Duran Duran. A few bartenders and waitresses were walking around, there was only one who stuck out to him - a dark-haired young woman who reminded him too much of his departed wife.

His heart breaks even more, thinking of the woman he had left behind, his girl. The love of his life. Bucky doesn't think he will ever 'get over' her.

The way the young woman walked, carrying a tray of empty glasses (before being tossed an empty bottle by a patron), was so similar to the way his girl walked in the hole-in-the-wall diner she worked in.

She wasn't quick enough to duck under the bar before they got to the door leading upstairs (which was coincidentally next to the bar), Zemo was talking to the bouncer. "Excuse me, gentlemen," the young woman said, squeezing between the back of Zemo and the front of Bucky. Which is when he got a good look at her face.

There she was.

His girl. His wife.

He couldn't even say anything to her, as he was taken upstairs and away from his girl. He could only hope he would be allowed back in at the end of the night to see her.

Y/N Barnes made her way behind the bar, glancing up at the TV where the Kansas City Chiefs were currently playing the Buffalo Bills at Arrowhead Stadium, then down at her phone which showed the live score of the Dodgers game against the San Francisco Giants.

She had been a long-time Dodgers girl, even after she found out they had moved from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.

"Did you see the way he was looking at you?" Yasmine asked, pushing a dry Martini in front of a 26-year-old woman.

Y/N looked up from the glasses she was putting in the dishwasher. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

"One of the men who went upstairs. The way he was looking at you," Yasmine fans her hand for dramatic effect. "I would drop my panties for him in a millisecond."

"Like you don't do that every night."

Yasmine rolled her eyes and served the next half-drunk who had come to the bar.

"Don't listen to her," Anastasia told her, rolling her eyes as Yasmine flirted with her current flavour of the week.

"It's not often I do, darling," Y/N replied, fiddling with Anastasia's curls for a second, before spotting a patron. "What can I get for you, darling?"

He hung off the bar, obviously far too drunk to understand what was going on. "Another beer and your phone number," he slurred.

She shook her head, reaching over and grabbing him another beer. As far as the boss of the bar (whoever that was) was concerned unless they were unconscious- why should you stop serving them? Y/N thought it wasn't right, but no matter how often she voiced this - she was shut down.

She set the beer in front of him and then went to the register to add it to his bill (good thing she currently has his credit card behind the bar).

"Oi, sweet cheeks!" He calls, but Y/N doesn't pay attention looking over at Yasmine and Anastasia with a raised eyebrow. "Sweet cheeks! I asked for your number."

Y/N replied by simply raising her hand proudly displaying her engagement and wedding rings to the drunk. It was only a small diamond (given Bucky worked on the docks before he was deployed), and the plain band she inherited from her great-grandmother.

"What's the matter with that 'un?" He hiccups. "He got you costume jewellery or somethin'?"

Y/N shook her head. "I'm going into the back for a moment," she tells Aidan.

Little did the drunk patron know, all those years ago, this was the date she was handed the telegraph - putting in such blunt words. Her James was missing, they presumed him to be dead. It breaks her heart that they never got to have a proper funeral.

"You alright, honey?" Elizabeth (another one of the waitresses) asked, she had been outside on her break. Elizabeth was the only one who knew her true age and about her James.

"It's the day I found out James was missing," Y/N said, before bursting into more tears.

Elizabeth wrapped Y/N up in a hug, everyone oblivious to the fact that Y/N's presumed dead husband was now running through the bar, flocked by Sam and Zemo, and into the alley behind the bar.

When Bucky was sure Zemo, Sam and Sharon were asleep, he slipped out of the safe house and into the night - determined to find out if the woman he saw in the bar was that of his (presumably? should be?) dead wife.

He eventually made his way to the front door of the bar, the bouncers had long since gone home. He could see lights on in the building and just about make out words being spoken thanks to the Super Soldier serum running through his veins.

He grasped the handle and gave it a push, the door hadn't been locked, as it gave beneath the slight push.

He could see three young women sitting on the bar, a man who was counting the money from the register and another man who was dancing.

The young woman sitting closest to the bar, had golden curls hanging around her head. "Mark, you didn't lock the door!"

The man dancing, Mark, looked over at Bucky, eyes widening when he saw the size of Bucky. "I say we just serve him, then lock the door behind him."

As the bartenders and waitress argued amongst themselves, Bucky's eyes never left the woman in the middle. It looked as if she had been crying. "Babydoll?"

The woman stopped giggling, tipping her head back to normal and looked at him, before dropping her glass as tears welled up in her eyes. "James?"

The curly-haired woman gasped, setting her glass down and giving Y/N a push off the bar.

Bucky held his arms out to catch her as her feet landed on the floor. He couldn't stop looking at her big eyes, he'd always loved her big expressive eyes. He always knew how she was feeling by just a look in her eyes.

"James? Is that you?" Her hand came out slowly, and shakily, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing in front of her.

"Hi, babydoll," Bucky smiled, tears starting to fall down his cheeks, a heavy sob held tightly in his chest at the moment in time. As soon as her fingers met his skin, Bucky let out a heavy sigh of relief, reaching over and pulling her into his arms. Y/N's arms dug themselves away from his chest and up around his neck before her hand soon started fiddling with his hair.

The couple stood there for a moment, finally finding their slice of peace. Some came barging into the bar, and the dark-haired woman who had been sitting on the other side of Y/N practically demanded Mark lock the door before the Hounds of Baskerville came in.

Y/N was so happy to finally have her James back in her arms, but there was a whirling sound she couldn't let go. "What's that noise?"

Bucky looked from his wife to his arm and back to his bride. "I'll explain everything to you later, but... I lost my arm, and I now have a prosthetic one," he tells her, letting go of her for a moment so he could take his glove off and show her the black and gold Vibranium one he had made.

"Ok, James. It's a good thing you gave me this," she reached beneath her top and pulled a ring out from beneath, hanging from a chain. "Before you were deployed."

Bucky smiled, cupping her face so he could kiss her. Bucky pulled away chuckling a little. "Babydoll, will you please put my ring back on?"

She reached behind her to unclasp the chain, and slid Bucky's band off, "if it doesn't fit we'll get it resized."

"I don't care what size it is, as long as you put my ring back where it belongs," Bucky almost growled, a piece of him falling back into place with the ring back on his finger.

The next morning - Sam, Zemo and Sharon came into the living room, seeing Bucky sleeping on the sofa (Sam was expecting this, after being told by Steve), however, there was a lump lying next to Bucky they didn't recognise.

Sam slowly makes his way over, gently easing down the thick blanket lying over Bucky and the lump.

Lying there, practically on top of the 'bionic staring machine' was a young woman.

"Did he somehow pick up a girl?" Sam whispered. Sam and Sharon were trying to be quiet - however, Zemo (who didn't care) started clattering around the kitchen, causing Bucky to wake up in a start, which then caused the young woman to look up with tired owl-like eyes.

"What the hell is going on?" Bucky nearly demanded, keeping his arms wrapped around his companion.

Sam raised his eyebrow. "I could ask you the same question, Barnes?" Sam looked at the young woman in Bucky's arms. "Who is this?"

Bucky looked down at her, Sam watched as a smile grew on his face. "This is Y/N. Y/N Barnes. My wife."

[rosyblooom]

losing ur interest | op81 smau

PAIRING: oscar piastri x fem best friend!reader WARNING(S): kinda angsty SUMMARY: oscar spent the better half of his teens and early twenties pining after his best friend, y/n, with no luck. however, by the time y/n finally sees him in a romantic light, his love is long gone.

Instagram

yourusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, and 91,740 others

yourusername did i jump in the water fully clothed for my bestie only to get one nice shot?? yes yes i did that and u would do it too for a free dinner! 😌

view all 1,225 comments

username she was an employee! and she was gonna get employee of the month period y/n !!!

yourusername yessir🫡 username 🤣🤣

username so... where is this picture you speak of🧍‍♀️

oscarpiastri 40 cad of food for 1 pic...😐

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username prettyyyy

landonorris the camera guy always gets the short end of the stick smh guess who paid for my food🤨

yourusername uhm... so anyway the weather was soo nice😋 landonorris woow

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption: This picture alone is NOT worth a fully paid meal! 2/10 ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

oscarpiastri

liked by logansargeant, yourfriend, landonorris and 265,880 others

tagged: yourusername

oscarpiastri Two best friends in a room, they might...

view all 3,002 comments

username KISS OMG THEY MIGHT FUCKING KISS YESS PLS😭

oscarpiastri 👀👀👀 yourusername ahahahahahaha😂 username ouch...my heart hurts for osc🥹💔 username alright y/n it ain't that funny😐

username AHHJKSH they're so cute omfg

username slowly realising best friends to lovers ain't ever gonna happen with these two😩

landonorris finally give photo credits???🤨

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f1gossipofficial

liked by username, username, username and 11,840 others

f1gossipofficial Y/N L/N, Oscar Piastri's long-time childhood best friend, was spotted entering the paddock today! Despite being a fan favourite, she hasn't attended many races and tends to keep to herself.

Nevertheless, fans are thrilled to see Y/N supporting Piastri at this year's Australian Grand Prix!

Best of luck to all drivers today!

view all 531 comments

username y/n on insta: 🤪😆🗣️ y/n at a gp: 🤐😊🙈

username LMAOO ...why is this me tho🥲 username she's so real for that lololol username ntm on my girl now, she's just shy🤣🫶

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username imagine if oscar wins today👀👀

username she looks so prettyyyyy <3

username ew she's just there for the money and fame🤢

username "long-term childhood best friend" what's not clicking??? yall just be saying anything smh

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: alright boys, time to get on ur zoom 🏎️ ]

[ tagged: oscarpiastri, landonorris ]

Twitter

Instagram

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption 1: When your best friend buys you pizza to make you feel better after a crash 😊 ] [ caption 2: Nevermind she dropped it 🤦‍♂️ Actually feeling worse now! ]

[ tagged: yourusername ]

A few months later...

Instagram

yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: the best type of mattress 😌 ]

[ tagged: oscarpiastri ]

ynfanpage

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tagged: yourusername, oscarpiastri

ynfanpage guys have you noticed how giddy and touchy y/n's become around oscar ever since his crash at the aus gp??? these are some pics she's posted since then👀👀👀

view all 227 comments

username OMG YES IVE BEEN DYING TO TALK ABOUT IT

username what do you wanna bet she realised she was in love with osc that day??🥺

username IMAGINE. that would actually make so much sense!!! best friend to lovers at last omfg 😍🫶 username my nonna always said "sometimes u have to almost lose someone to realise how much they really mean to u"🥹

username Y/N IS IN THE FUCKING LIKES WTF‼️

username probably by accident🥲 username BUT WHAT IF IT'S NOT AN ACCIDENT??? maybe we'll get a hard launch soon omgg

username they're sooo dating lol

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, lilyzneimer, logansargeant and 201,888 others

tagged: yourusername, lilyzneimer + more

oscarpiastri Made some new friends at the beach today :)

view all 1,962 comments

username the vibes in these are immaculate🤩

yourusername same time, same place? :)❤️

landonorris where was my invite???

oscarpiastri Non-existent 😊 username lmaoo why are they like this🤣🤣

username is that y/n and osc in the third pic??🧐

username idk but lmk when u figure it out babes

lilyzneimer super fun! nice meeting you guys 💛

oscarpiastri You too 😆

username idk oscar responding to everybody but y/n's comment rubs me the wrong way...🤨

Instagram

lilyzneimer posted to her story!

[ caption: 🍝💛💛 ]

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yourusername

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yourusername beach x (ty lovely waiter for taking my pic for me)

view all 1,528 comments

lilymhe prettiest! 💕

yourusername youuu <33

username where's oscarrrr

username she's so fake😒 how is she super shy at the gp and then so outgoing here smh??

username lmao maybe bc this is her own insta?? like duh she feels comfortable on her own page wtf

landonorris alone?🤨 where's your shadow

yourusername u're so...😭 username LMAOO referring to oscar as her shadow is crazy??💀💀 username i'm cryin🤣🤣

oscarpiastri posted to his story!

[ caption: 😊❤️ ]

[ tagged: lilyzneimer ]

Twitter

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yourusername posted to her story!

[ caption: girls night in? yes, yes pls :) ]

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0:02 ㅇ──────────── 3:17

no part 2!

[mermaidgirl30]

✨Saving What Was Lost Part 1: You’re Safe With Me✨

Pre-Outbreak! Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist

A/N: The first chapter is finally here, and I’m so excited to bring this to all the healing girlies that need a protective, soft Joel in their life 🥺 Thank you to @alltheirdamn and @mountainsandmayhem for screaming about them with me. This is raw, heavy, and very emotional. I hope you love it as much as I do 🥹 Screaming because I need a hug from this man 😭

Chapter Summary: The night of the auction, the night you’ll have to face your fate of being bought. But an unexpected man dips his money in and fights for you. His eyes are soft, kind, unlike all the other men. And maybe he’ll just be your saving grace.

Rating: Explicit 18+ only MDNI

Word Count: 13.9k

Chapter Tags: Mentions of being trafficked, flashbacks of being abused, non-consensual touching, a lot of angst, soft and protective Joel, emotional reader, trust issues, PTSD, no use y/n, age gap (reader is late 20’s, Joel is late 40’s), pre-outbreak au, switching POVs

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

  Red. That’s all you see, all you know. The dark crimson lipstick that stains your tainted lips, the cardinal curtains that drape across the buyer’s room, your bloodshot eyes that reflect in mirrors that you can barely stand to look into. It’s all just… red.

   You hate your reflection, hate the mascara that runs down your eyes night after night like the blood that covers your once white sheets, hate the way your voice is silenced even when you so desperately want to scream your lungs out. But it doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters because you’re about to be sold to the highest bidder who deems you worthy enough to claim. 

   You scoff, biting your tongue until you taste copper run down the back of your throat, the tears pooling to the surface against your lash line. 

   “Stop fucking crying and suck it up,” Angela spits out sharply. “You’re going to make me a lot of money today, sunshine. So put on a big smile for me and stop smudging your makeup. You want to go back with the girls who didn’t get chosen to go on to the next rounds?”

   “No,” you mewl, your eyes wide and rounded, your heart lodged in your throat. You know what their poor fates will be, and you’ve had enough abuse and horror to last more than a lifetime. 

   “Then get out there and stop fucking around. You’re driving my patience, girl. The men are waiting.” She narrows her beady blue eyes and curls her thin red lips into a scowl, pushing you forward and nearly making you trip over your strappy high heels, your ankles barely able to hold your fatigued legs up any longer. 

   Your heart thunders loudly in your chest, blood rushing through your ears, anxiety threatening to take you down at any minute. Angela would be at your back, digging her spiky heels into your spine, barking at you to move, but what does it matter anymore? You’re already dead. What’s one more scratch to your fragile body that has been violated in ways you’d never speak about aloud. 

   You’re just a vacant body that’s hollow and worn inside. A mere ghost that’s left this earth long ago, imprisoned to this life to bring pleasure to men who only inflict pain and torture on innocent souls. But there’s nothing you can do. Not a damn thing. You’re stuck like glue unless you find a way to just end everything. Then they’d never be able to touch you again because you’d be buried six feet under the dirt. But at least then you’d be at peace.

   You’ll never know peace again. Not in this lifetime. Not ever. 

   As you turn the sharp corner, the vibrant red curtains separate into a stage-like theater room. Draped material clings to the velvety walls, the color reminding you of death and destruction. You can almost see the imprinted blood stains of the girls who got dragged away by the strands of their fragile hair, leaving claw marks in the walls. 

   You can still hear the blood curdling screams from some of them left behind, a plea for anyone who was listening, begging for just one person to help. But no one did. Their desperate calls weren’t enough to even stir up a care in the world from any of the men, including your awful handler, Angela. They were just a number, a dollar sign to every single one of these insufferable men, and the only thing they cared about was power, control, and sex.

   You weren’t any different in this scenario. And tonight, your soul would be auctioned off. And then you’d be enslaved till your master either killed you, or you found a gun and pulled the trigger yourself to just silence it all.

   Your high heels click audibly against the polished stage, your feet dragging as you keep your eyes peeled to the floor like a good submissive. “Keep your head down, don’t ever look them in the eyes. Be the good slut they want you to be and maybe they won’t punish you as much.” That’s what Angela always said for all those unbearable months you lived under her roof, and it was engraved like stone in your mind, imprinted words that might as well be tattooed on your wrist. 

   You were taken at twenty-six, now a twenty-seven-year-old fucked up girl who doesn’t even know what state she’s in. It’s been a year, maybe two. You don’t fucking know anymore. All you know is that you want to die. 

   You learned to be submissive, small-minded, belittled, pliant. And the worst part, she taught you to say thank you to your abusers after they were finished having their filthy ways with you night after night…

   You were nothing but a collared bitch who forgot how to say the word no. You were their prized possession now, and your body wasn’t your own anymore.

   “Ahhh. There she is. There’s my favorite slut of them all.” The word slut cuts you like a sharp knife penetrating deep through your skin, sinking down to stab you right where it hurts worst. “Why don’t you give us a spin, princess? Show these gentlemen what you’ve got to offer. Give them a show.” Garrett’s cackled voice booms through the large room, sending goosebumps down the base of your spine. You never liked him, especially when he cornered you in the bathroom, pushing you against the tile until he forced you down on your knees and told you to suck or he’d wring your neck.

   Your eyes press closed at the traumatic memory, teardrops threatening to spill at any moment. You just do what you're told and keep your quivering lips together, your long nails brushing against your bare thighs. The midnight blue dress barely covers your ass, the diamond earrings and pearl necklace weighing you down like a heavy anchor, tethering you to the ocean floor. Your cleavage spills out from the low-cut v shape of the top, breasts almost on full display because Angela said the men would just love it. You hate it, hate her but there’s not a damn thing you can do about any of it. You’re a slave and nothing more than a fuck toy and a quick money maker for the sex traffickers. 

   You wish you felt more human, but you’re just… not. Most days you can’t even remember your full name, nevertheless your favorite time of year. Being holed up in a horror house for over a year will do that to a girl. Make them forget their entire identity. And that’s exactly what happened to you. 

   Now you’re just… dust. 

   “Alright, boys. Shall we start this off with let’s say, ten thousand dollars?” Garrett’s sharp voice zaps like lightning through your nerves, and your whole body is visibly shaking now. His cold emerald eyes look like a viper about to strike its prey, and his smug smirk makes you want to curl in on yourself, hide yourself so he’ll never be able to torture you again. 

   You hear sounds of squeaking chairs, men cursing under their breath, whistles being thrown around like they’re catcalling you. They are catcalling you. But instead of harmless whistles, they’re poisonous fangs reaching for your skin, trying to seep their venom deep in your veins, claim you as their own. You fucking hate it.

   Taking a deep breath, you focus on the plush of the black carpet around the stage, try to pretend it’s lush green grass instead, like you’re running through the woods, escaping far far away from these bad men.

   “Come on, love. Don’t be shy. Show me those pretty eyes, so I can see just how gorgeous you’ll be down on your knees, pleasuring me with that pretty mouth of yours.” A man vulgarly shouts at you, the other men’s loud laughter echoing around the room, making you want to curl into a ball and die right on the spot so none of these men can lay a finger on you.

   Breathe. Focus. Don’t lose hope. Keep fighting. The words echo through your mind, but you’re so lost that it’s hard to keep going. You’re going to die under one of their hands anyway, so what does it matter? 

   “Did you hear him, princess? Chin up and look at him.” Garrett’s tone is stern and demanding, and you don’t flinch a second because you know what will happen if you do.

   When your eyes snap up, you come face to face with an older man who has cold blue eyes, spiky bleached blonde hair, and a jawline that could cut a man’s body in half. He has an evil glint in his eye, and it’s so revolting that it makes you want to puke. “Ten thousand you say? I’ll take her.” A devilish smirk marks his mouth, and fear strikes through your insides as fast as a lightning bolt. 

   No. Not him. Anyone but him. He looks like he’s murdered people, and you have no doubt that he’s killed women he’s bought before. 

   Fear slices through you, but you can’t run, can’t even move. Your feet are nailed to the wooden floor of the stage, and you know he sees how scared you are in your swirling irises filled with fright.

   “And shall we go up to fifteen thousand? Any takers?” Garrett looks around the room and two hands go up, but you’re too tired to look to see who they are.

   The bets continue, slowly climbing all the way to forty-five thousand dollars. An amount that is insane for a broken body who doesn’t even want to be breathing anymore. 

   Men scream and fight, shouting different prices, trying to win you over, making Garrett slam his fist down and sell you to the highest bidder. You don’t want to listen, don’t want to hear their rambling nonsense anymore. You just want to go to sleep and never wake up again. Maybe then you won’t feel any pain anymore. Maybe then you’ll find peace.

   More chants and vulgar noises come from the men’s mouths, their hungry eyes glued to you, their lips smacking and fingers digging into the velvet of their seats. Some men adjust themselves in their fancy suits, tongues darting out, wetting their salivating lips. And it’s so disgusting that it makes you nearly vomit on the floor, but Angela would have your head for that. So you just stand there helplessly and wait because that’s all you can do. 

   You’re their ragdoll, and they can do whatever the fuck they want with you. You have no say and trying to fight would just make everything that much worse. 

   Minutes go by, ridiculous numbers flying around the room, the air stifling and sticky, your body fizzing with anxiety, a panic attack creeping up against the surface, threatening to take you down in mere seconds.

   Don’t freak out, don’t freak out, don’t freak…

   “Sixty thousand dollars.” Your eyes dart up, panic flashing across your irises. You find a man you hadn’t seen in the very back, and you have to squint to make him out in the shadows of the corner of the room.

   Your mouth nearly drops open at the amount he just said but apparently, these men are dripping with copious amounts of money. 

   You take a few seconds to assess him, your eyes glued to his large form against the velvet recliner he sits in, palms pressed firmly into the sunken arms of the chair. His body is broad, tensed, thick veins spidering down his tanned forearms, a black Rolex watch clasped to his left wrist. He’s clad in a white button-up shirt, black dress pants pressed against sculpted thighs. He’s dressed like all the other filthy rich men, but this one stands out amongst the rest. There’s just something about him that’s different. 

   He drags a heavy hand down his patchy scruff, greying threads shining under the dim light. His tousled sandy hair is slicked back, silver streaks giving away his older age. He looks to be in maybe his late forties, if that. A thick mustache hangs over his plush mouth, but what draws you in the most isn’t anything about his physical appearance but the way he’s looking at you. Soft, gentle brown eyes that have no violence swirling in them like the rest of the men. While the others look at you like a raw piece of meat, he doesn’t follow their lead. In fact, his gaze never hovers, never draws down your body. They just stay locked entirely on your eyes.

   His eyes are soft, dark brown pools with honey flecks glittering in the darkness that surrounds you. They aren’t cold, unfeeling like the rest of the men’s are. They’re… soft. And that alone almost brings you to your knees in relief.

   “Sixty-one thousand,” the spiky blonde hair challenges, piercing his icy blue eyes on you, making you want to hurl at the thought of that one winning you over. 

   “Sixty-two,” the mysterious man in the corner barters. Your eyes snap up to his until you hear Angela’s venomous words spew in your mind. Eyes on the ground unless you’re getting spoken to. Your gaze involuntarily falls to the polished wood, and you hear her click her tongue behind the fancy curtains. You’re nothing but a disappointment to her most days. Never perfect, always pathetic. 

   You bite your lower lip in panic, digging your heel as far into the floor as it’ll go, your nails biting into the palms of your hand, almost to the point of blood being drawn. 

   “Sixty-three!” The blonde pushes out of his chair angrily, his fists balled at his sides, getting frustrated with the man that challenges him. 

   Please, please, please. Don’t let him take me. 

   Praying was something you gave up on long ago but at this moment, you really have nothing left to hold on to. You can only silently beg for the man with brown eyes to win the bid. 

   “Sixty-five,” the brown-eyed man growls, his voice clipped and harsh, letting the blonde know he isn’t going to lose this fight. The blonde glares at him, anger fuming in his icy eyes, a deep snarl embedded in his mouth. You’re almost positive that’s how he’d look night after night hovering over your bed if he were the one to win, but you can’t think about that now. All you can do is wait. 

   “Do I hear sixty-six?” Garrett smiles, his eyes flicking between the two men who look like they’re about to duel in an old western shootout. You already know the brown-eyed man would win. 

   The blonde’s jaw ticks, and he holds back violence in his flexed fingers. After a few unbearable seconds of waiting, he slowly shakes his head and sits back down in defeat. “No. Guess he gets to take home and fuck the whore however he likes.”

   Anger flashes over the broad man’s brown irises, and a murderous stare penetrates his gaze. He clenches a fist tightly, and a part of you thinks he may jump out of his seat and beat him to a bloody pulp, but he doesn’t. And for some reason, your breath is completely knocked from your lungs.

   The deep boom of Garrett’s tone makes you jump from surprise, stirring you from your deep thoughts. “And sold, to the man at the back of the house! Congratulations. You got our rarest gem tonight. Aren’t you so lucky.” 

   The brown-eyed man’s jaw clenches for just a second, but he relaxes it instantly. Walking up to the front of the room, he throws on his pressed black jacket, straightening it as he walks past the deranged men, following Garrett as he leads him to the side where he’ll transfer the money and make it official. You’re his now, and there’s nothing you can do about it. 

   Angela grabs your elbow harshly, pinching skin and drags you off the stage. She should be happy you just got sold, but she’s still acting like you belong to her. “Look at you getting fought over. You just earned me a shiny paycheck. But don’t forget your place, brat. You’re just a body to these men, and you’re here to please them. Sex is what they want, and your new master will surely punish you even more than all the other men at the house did to you.”

   A sick feeling twists up your stomach, threatening to empty your lunch remains from yesterday on the floor, right on top of her shiny stilettos, but you wouldn’t dare. She’d probably kill you herself before your new buyer even got you in the car.

   Suddenly, you realize you won’t have to deal with her backhanded remarks or abusive commands anymore. No more late nights of being held down on the ground and no more non consensual touching from strangers. 

   A feeling like freedom washes over your senses, relieving you of some tension, but you won't be truly free. Not really because you just got sold, and you know nothing about this man. Even if his eyes were kind doesn’t mean that’s who he really is. Men pretend with you all the time.

   When she pushes you up the stairs that lead to the back of the room, the blonde stands and blocks your way, an angry leer in his eyes while he skims his gaze down your exposed body. Something like panic and sickness stir inside you, an unwelcome hand brushing over your bare thigh, his hand sliding higher under your short skirt. Angela just stands back and lets him take advantage, and you have nowhere to run.

   “Well, looks like I won’t be taking you home after all, but I’m sure your new master won’t mind sharing you before you leave, right?” A sly smirk curls against his thin lips, his eyes smoldering with ice and mischief, making you feel extremely small in the moment.

   “I don’t think..”

   “Shut up, whore,” he silences you, wrapping a tight arm around your waist, snaking his hand higher and higher, brushing his fingertips over the thin material of your lacy thong. Anxiety floods your senses, panic taking over. You try to pull away, but he just presses you tighter against his body.

   Where the fuck is he? Where is your master? You’re not supposed to be touched after being bought, at least not by another man. Unless it’s agreed upon by him explicitly. 

   He skims across the outer edge of your lace, his slimy fingers feeling like hot lava boiling you alive. You want to run, hide, scream into his twisted face, but you have no more fight in you. You’re paralyzed by fright and right now,  Angela doesn’t give a single fuck if one of these sick freaks pins you against the floor and takes advantage of you.

   Right when you feel a warm teardrop leak from your eyes and a long finger pull against the thin fabric, a loud smack echoes around the room, and his body is thrown to the ground, blonde hair flitting across your peripheral vision. Your eyes blow wide when you realize what just happened. Your new master just punched the blonde man’s nose and tackled him to the floor, and you can’t stop staring in complete shock.

   “What the fuck man! What was that for?” The blonde tenses up and pinches his broken nose where blood is spewing on the floor in a thick pool, staining the black cuffs of his suit.

   “Mine,” he growls protectively, shoving him once more for good measure. He pulls himself up from the floor and straightens his button-up, ticking his jaw and scowling at the coward lying in pain on the floor. 

   Your jaw goes slack, and your heart thunders impossibly fast in your chest at what just happened. He saved you from getting taken advantage of. Why would he do that? You should thank him, but you’re stunned in silence. 

   He gives you a once over to make sure you’re unharmed and when he’s content, he tips his head toward the open door, signaling for you to follow. “C’mon.” It’s all he says, but you follow nonetheless, desperate to get out of this cesspool. 

   You take one more glance back at the carnage of the room, collecting the memory of the blood red curtains and taking the fancy velvet seats to your grave. The reflective mirrors make you gag, and the wooden stage makes your legs shake at the implication of what it means to be up on that high platform. It makes you sick to your stomach.

   You were just auctioned off and hopefully, you’d never have to step foot into this room ever again. 

   Trailing after him, you stay close. Close enough to inhale the woodsy cologne that drips off his body. You don’t know why, but there’s an odd comfort in the scent. Like fresh pines and a brisk fall day. Something you haven’t got to experience since… you can’t even remember now.

   The guards at the front let you pass, and it’s almost like it’s a trick. Just one more step and they’d be dragging you back by the crown of your head, not even sorry for ripping strands from your skull. You tense up and wait, but nothing happens. They just let you go. And suddenly, tears are pooling in your vision. 

   You wipe away the evidence, afraid your new master will scold you for shedding a tear. Maybe he wouldn’t, but you have so much trauma embedded in you that it’s like it’s an automatic response. 

   Back at the house, Angela would smack you across the cheek if she caught you crying for any reason. She always said tears were a weakness, and she wouldn’t have one of her girls going into a man’s room looking like a train wreck. So even crying brings out the trauma responses. You fucking hate that you can’t show emotion without getting a whiplash of her snide demands.

   You’re broken, and you don’t think you’ll ever be repairable.

   The air is chilly, a full moon hanging high in the night sky, bright stars blinking every couple of seconds behind grey clouds. The trees are mixed with a swirl of colors: yellows, oranges, deep reds that remind you of the shed blood back at the house.

   You shake your head out of the fog and focus on the smell of fresh air and a hint of spice. It has to be the end of September or October. Maybe November? God, you don’t even know what month it is or where the hell you are. This isn’t home. Not anywhere close at all. You know because there’s no deep green mountains or endless forests in sight. Home is nowhere to be found…

   The tall man walks you to a dark black Chevy, unlocking the passenger door and opening it wide for you. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even offer you a hand. He just stares at you with a slight tick to his jaw, tilting his head to signal you forward. Your body responds in an instant. 

   You climb in, feeling the cool leather on your exposed skin, pulling on the bottom of your dress to cover yourself more, but it barely even moves an inch. It’s no use trying. He’ll probably have your dress ripped off in less than an hour. You’re surprised you even made it this far without him pinning you down to your hands and knees. 

   Shaking the sick images from your mind, you let the invading thoughts float far away as he closes the passenger door. He wouldn’t do that to you. He’s not like those other men. He couldn’t be. He attacked a man for you, but maybe it’s just because he doesn’t like other men touching his property. 

   That’s what you are. Property. That’s all you’ll ever be.

   It doesn’t take him long to appear in the driver’s seat, clicking his seatbelt into place and turning the key in the ignition, letting the rumble of the engine rev to life. You sit back in the passenger seat and try to breathe, letting air pool into your tight lungs. 

   The inside of the truck may be warm, but your body is freezing just thinking of what that blue-eyed demon was going to do to you back there. Panic consumes your insides, making you violently shake in your seat. Your eyes gloss over and then you feel as if you drown in a frozen lake, frostbite making its way across your flushed skin.

   “Whoa, easy there. S’alright now. You’re alright,” he coos, quickly throwing off his jacket and wrapping you in the warmth, draping your arms through the long sleeves and bundling up inside the blanket-like material. 

   Warm. It’s so warm and for the moment, your body relaxes just enough to relieve yourself of the onslaught panic attack. Your erratic breathing shortens, and then you can finally think clearly again, breaking away from the thick fog.

   Your eyes flick over to his, and there’s nothing but pure concern laced in his golden-brown irises. “You alright?” The question confuses you, and you stare blankly his way. There’s nothing hostile or violent in his eyes. They’re just… soft. Like they were back in the auction room. The first time you stared into anything remotely warm since you were taken.

   He lifts an eyebrow in question, and you finally register that he wants you to answer. “Mhm,” is all you can muster out, your words lodged deep in the back of your throat. Men don’t ask you how you’re feeling, so why is he?

   He looks at you for another beat, nodding his head once before you drop your gaze back to your lap like the submissive you should be. Don’t make eye contact. That’s showing control, and you’re not in control. Angela’s taunting words will follow you to the grave, you just know it. 

   He looks like he wants to say something else, but he holds his tongue and lets the truck roll to the long gravel road ahead.

   A sudden realization hits you like a car crash. No more Angela, no more Garrett, no more assaulters crowding your broken body. You’re free. Of them, at least. But your new master? Not so much. 

   The ride is silent apart from the soft rumble of the truck, tires spinning along the quiet road, moonlight shining through the tinted window, reflecting shiny stars in the side mirrors. You haven’t been outside in months, and the sight of a clear night sky makes you want to burst into tears. 

   “What’s your name, sweetheart?” His deep, soothing voice lilts into your ears, and you gulp at the sweet nickname he uses.

   Sweetheart. The men back at the house only called you crude, filthy names. Slut, whore, and bitch were their favorites. But no one ever called you sweetheart. Not ever.

   You take a deep breath in before you speak, afraid your vocal cords will shred apart the moment you tell him what it is. But when he looks over at you all soft again, you break. You tell him your name quietly and avert your gaze back down to your pale thighs. 

   Your name rolls off his tongue like honey, and you can’t help but fight the tug of a smile curling over your lips. He said your name and for once in your life, a little part of you clicked back together. 

   Bravery seeps into your body, and you cautiously peek up and ask something you’ve wondered since you saw his dark brown eyes in the corner of the room. “And your name?”

   His gaze flicks over to you, and for a moment you think his hand might fly out and smack you across the face. You flinch, remembering the sting of every hit your abusers marked you with. Your palm mechanically brushes over your cheek, and you swear you can feel the bright red welts they’d leave on your tainted skin.

   The muscles in his jaw tick as he watches you, assessing your shaky movements. It’s like he can see the pain deep down in your soul, and you don’t understand why he’d care about that. 

   He clears his throat and answers, his eyes attentive to the dark road ahead. “Joel Miller.” 

   You don’t know what to answer to that, so you stay quiet and lean against the window, looking out into the thick fog of darkness. 

   After he sees you trying to decipher your surroundings, his thick Southern drawl fills the quiet. “Do you know what month it is?”

   “No,” you answer solemnly, eyes still focused on the blurring background as the truck drives on.

   “Do you know what state you’re in?”

   “No,” you shake your head, eyes closing for less than two seconds. 

   He sighs, and you see him drag a hand slowly through his scruff. “It’s the middle of October. You’re in Texas. Jus’ a little north of Austin. That’s where we’re headed now. Jus’ about forty minutes away.”

   Texas? Well, that’s a very very long way from home. But you don’t have a home anymore, so what does it matter?

   “Oh.” 

   “Home,” he says hesitantly. “Is it anywhere close to here for you?” 

   You swallow back a lump in your throat and shake your head no, curling in on the warm jacket that envelopes your tired body.

   When you don’t speak again, Joel flicks his eyes slowly to you, his thumb tapping quietly against the leather steering wheel. “Where’s home at, sweetheart?”

   You flinch at the endearing name. It sounds like a knife dragging down a dirty chalkboard if you’re being honest with yourself. You’re nothing but a dirty slut. And that’s exactly what he should be calling you. Not sweetheart, not baby, just… slut.

   When the truck comes to a halt at a dimly lit stop sign, he looks over once more at you, his eyes a dark shade of chocolate. “Washington,” is all you can muster up, thinking you owe him an answer. You can’t even say Seattle without the word getting stuck in your throat. 

   His eyes widen and something like softness resides deep in his warm irises. “You’re an awfully long way from home, aint ya?”

   Quiet. His voice is too quiet, too… sad. And you don’t know what to take that as.

   Tears swim up to the surface, pooling in the corners of your eyes, but you hold them back. Don’t show him you’re weak. “I don't have a home anymore…” 

   His mouth turns down in a tight-lipped frown, and he looks so defeated that you can’t quite understand why he would be. He doesn’t care about you. He never will. He’ll bleed you dry until you have nothing left. That’s what Angela said. And it’s ingrained like a sickness that won’t leave your body. Permanent damage that’ll leave scars like the ones that etch the back of your raised skin. 

   You’re nothing but a vacant body to use. 

   “What about your family? They must be lookin’ for you.”

   Your fingers dig into the silk of your dress, and you almost let them tear right through. “I don’t have a family,” you whisper quietly.

   You feel his careful stare waver over you, but you don’t have the energy to look up. “No? Surely someone’s lookin’ for you. They have to be. A girl like you—”

   “A girl like me what?” you snap, quick to pull back your reins. The last thing you want to do is get backhanded from talking too loudly.

   “Take it easy now,” he presses, his voice gentle and soothing. Almost enough to consume some of your sadness. “ All I’m sayin’ is someone has got to be searchin’ for you. Your parents?”

   You bite your bottom lip hard, chewing the glossy skin that’s marked with invisible bruises. “My parents are dead.”

   Silence carves through the inside of the moving vehicle, but you hear the faint whisk of shock leave his mouth. “Oh. I’m… fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t know…”

   “How could you have? You don’t know me,” you shrug, leaning closer against the smooth interior of the door, your head resting against the cool window that’s doused in fog and sorrow.

   “Well, I’m tryin’, sweetheart. I really am. Do you have anyone else? Maybe an uncle or cousin or—”

   “No,” you interrupt. “They’re all gone… I have nothing.”

   His hands clench tight over the steering wheel, his knuckles turning ghost white, and his jaw ticks like something just deeply upset him. Your eyes fall back to your thighs, but you can feel the weight of his body tightening up against the back of the seat. 

   He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t ask you any more questions. There’s just a thick silence that encompasses the cool air. And the only thing that keeps you warm now is the comfortable jacket that envelops you like a tight hug. A hug you desperately need. But you don’t want to be touched. 

   Not now, not ever again… 

   You’re almost fading off to sleep, the minutes ticking down painfully slow, but the rustle of gravel stirs you enough to where your eyes snap open in surprise. You gulp at the view in front of you. A large, lavish house with floor to ceiling windows and expensive wood panelling.         

   Your eyes peel to the thick brush of trees that expand into darkness behind the giant house. And for just a second, you feel like running far far away into the expanse of darkness. Maybe it’d swallow you whole till you were nothing but a ghost beneath the ground.

   The truck finally comes to a halt and then the engine cuts off. Your body hums with electricity. The kind that threatens to strike you dead. Joel unlocks the truck with a click, and he tilts his head toward the house. “C’mon. Follow me.”

   Your body hesitates, but the anxiety of lagging behind and getting punished sends you nearly jumping from your seat and out the door of the truck. Your feet hit gravel and you follow silently behind him, eyes fixed to the grass as your high heels click after him. 

   You feel like a puppet he’s strung behind him, your limbs moving without your permission. But he hasn’t done anything to you, so why are you panicking? And then your shoulders hunch with knowing. It’s the trauma that’s engraved like permanent ink from a tattoo deep inside your skin.

   You’ll never be able to escape it. Not even when you’re dead and gone.

   When you get to the front double doors, he slips a key in and turns, pushing it open with the flick of his wrist. Your eyes blow wide when you enter the massive house. A sparkling chandelier hangs high above the entryway. A marble staircase sits to the right side of what looks to be the living room. Polished wood covers every inch of the flooring. Exposed beams fill the ceiling, and the white painted walls don’t seem to have a speck of dirt on any of the surfaces. 

   It’s only a two story house, but it seems much bigger than that. Well over three thousand square feet. But the earthy textures and wooden trimmings of the house make it seem less like a prison and more like a, dare you say, home. 

   Home. This is your home now. And whether you’re happy about it or not, there’s not much you can do. Your body tells you to run, but there’s a tiny slither of a voice inside you that says you’re safe. 

   Safe. A word that means nothing anymore. You haven’t been safe in over a year, and a part of you thinks you’ll never be again…

   “C’mon. I’ll show you where your room is.”

   You stop in the middle of the entryway, your brow furrowed at his sentence. “My room?” 

   He nods. “Yes, your room.” He reiterates the word your, saying it like it’s spelled out in capital letters. You think he does it for your sake, to let you know again that this is a safe place.

   “You mean I don’t have to sleep in your room…” Your voice betrays you. Fear and panic flooding your eyes at the thought of having to be forced into another man’s bed. You quickly shake the awful memories from your thoughts, afraid to slip into another panic attack.

   His jaw clenches up, but his eyes soften into warm pools of brown when he sees the distress in your wide eyes. “No, darlin’. Not gonna make you do that.”

   “Oh,” is all you can muster out. That’s… new.

   He nods his head to the staircase, and you take that as your cue to follow. He doesn’t touch you, doesn’t put his hand on the small of your back, doesn’t make you go first so he can stare up your dress. And you can’t decipher why he bought you in the first place. 

   Maybe he’s waiting till later to snatch you away into his room, maybe drag you to the floor and climb on top of you. The flashbacks make you sick to your stomach, and you’re having a hell of a time keeping it all inside. 

   You distract yourself with the rustic art that hangs on the pristine walls, reflecting off the marble staircase you climb. Pictures of deer, horses, shiny lakes, deep green forests, like the ones in Washington, scatter around the walls in various shapes. And it calms the anxiety that’s rolling like a violent storm through your mind. 

   A long, dimly lit hallway stands at the top of the steps, another sits on the opposite side of the long archway that overlooks a grand living room, leather couches, and a grand piano sitting in the left corner, right next to a picturesque window that overlooks a sea of trees. It’s just as lavish as other men’s homes, the ones where they’d throw parties for all their friends to indulge in the trafficked girls, but this one doesn’t feel like that at all, strangely. 

   His low timbre pulls you out of the fog, and you find him standing by an open door, the first one on the left. “This is where you’ll be stayin’ at.”

   You follow him into the room and gasp at what lies ahead of you. A queen-sized bed with clean white sheets and a light purple comforter sits in the middle of the room, some new clothes folded neatly on the edge of the bed. A walk-in closet sits to the left side of the room, and it looks to be fully stocked with a colorful array of shoes and clothes that still have their tags connected to the material. To the right is a large bathroom that smells like fresh roses and fragrant perfume, but you’re too stunned to walk in and see. The walls are painted in soft muted colors, and the lilac curtains drape loosely over the expansive back window. You almost cry when you see a sea of dark trees in the distance. They remind you of home. 

   You miss Washington, you miss when you had a home, you miss having a family…

   “I bought you some clothes. Hopefully they fit alright. If not then I can get you more, but I’m hopin’ you feel comfortable in them.”

   Your fingertips trace over the soft material of the various shades of t-shirts, hoodies, sweatpants, and shorts, your brain muted and fuzzy because there’s not a gown or short dress in sight anywhere in the room. That’s all you wore back at the house, all you know how to wear. And the sight of comfortable, unrevealing clothes makes your eyes glossy with tears. 

   You feel his weight shift behind you, but yet he still stands more than a foot back, not daring to touch you. You should thank him, get down on your knees and show him just how much you appreciate this, but you can’t. Because the thought of that makes you want to throw yourself over the lavish wood railing of the staircase. Angela would be so disappointed in you.

   When you say nothing, he clears his throat and then you turn to face him. “You must be starvin’. Let me go fix you something. You like chicken?”

   Your jaw drops, and you’re stunned silent from the ask. He’s asking if you like chicken? 

   He gives you a minute to respond, but all you can squeak out is, “What?”

   “Do you like chicken?” His voice comes out softer, more tender. Why isn’t he raising his voice? Why isn’t he smacking you across the cheek for taking too long to answer him? 

   “I—I… yes,” you finally whisper out, your eyes glued to the shine of his polished boots. 

   “Okay then. It’s settled. I’ll get something fixed up real quick. You can come down when you’re ready. Jus’ please, feel free to wear what you want. Find something comfortable, whatever it may be. All these clothes are yours now. I imagine you wanna get out of that dress you’re in.” His eyes flick down to your midnight blue dress for just a second, but he doesn’t lock his eyes on your body. No. There’s a flash of something like hurt in his deep brown eyes. 

   You tug his fancy black jacket further around you, letting its warmth wrap you tight to keep away the flashbacks of grabbing hands and torn shreds of material on the floor while your body was torn apart…

   “Hey.” His mellow voice breaks you away from the nightmarish thoughts. “You okay?” A deep wrinkle furrows against his tanned forehead, and something like concern washes down his soft brown eyes.

   “Mhm,” you hum, suddenly realizing you’re still wearing his jacket. You quickly shed it and try to hand it off to him, afraid he’d rip it from your body if you kept it on for too long.

   He presses a palm out to stop you and just shakes his head, a tousled curl escaping the gel in his slicked back sandy hair. “Keep it.” 

   Your outstretched arm falls to the side and so does the jacket to the floor. He pays no mind to it falling to the ground, not even flinching when it hits the plush carpet. Why didn’t he scold you for dirtying up his things?

   “I’ll be downstairs. Let me know if you need anything. I’ll let you have some space. And please, take your time.” He turns and walks out the door, letting it shut softly. And then you’re all alone, in a strange place that’s now yours. 

   Your eyes don’t lift till he’s gone, a bad habit that’s been ingrained into your very core. You’re not supposed to look them in the eye, not unless they say. But Joel? He doesn’t tell you to keep your eyes on the ground. 

   Slowly casting your eyes away from the cream carpet, you find yourself at the edge of the bed again, your fingertips hovering over a pair of grey sweats and a navy t-shirt. Turning around to make sure the door is still closed, you quickly peel off the midnight blue dress that’s tainted from dirty hands and prying eyes. You let it fall to the floor in a messy heap and throw on the large t-shirt and comfy sweatpants. 

   Looking at your bare arms, you decide it’s not enough, so you find a dark grey jacket deep in the closet and zip it up to the very top, so no exposed skin or scars are left to be seen by his dark eyes. You still feel completely bare, even with a pair of long pants and a long sleeved jacket. But that’s because in the last year, even if you did have actual clothes on, they were just torn away and ripped apart, and you have the scars to prove it.

   Carefully bending down and picking up the wadded up dress, you smooth it out and run your fingers over the sheer material, almost tempted to put it back on because that’s what you should be wearing. Not some oversized t-shirt and sweatpants. You don’t look presentable, not in these clothes. You should always dress to entertain the men, always have your hair perfect and your makeup just right, always have a smile on your face and say thank you for every single thing they do to you…

   Your body starts to shake violently as you look up to find yourself standing in the reflection of the closest mirror, the mini dress held up to your body, fingers curling over the muddled memories of dinner parties that ended with you and other innocent girls face down on the table with your legs spread.

   Your bottom lip trembles as you look at the twenty-seven-year-old girl staring back in the mirror. You don’t recognize her anymore. Stained blood red lips and long wavy curls, your eyeliner smudging, and the dark creases beneath your eyes telling you just how exhausted and battered your body is. You’re wrecked. Completely and utterly shattered, torn to shreds. And you just don’t know how you’ll ever find yourself again. Because the girl you knew before is long gone. And now? Now you just feel… lost. 

   The tears that pool in your eyes fall like raindrops that pelt the outside window, your body humming with anxious thoughts and a blur of emotions. And the dress burns like fire beneath your palms; every second you hold it brands another forgotten memory into your brain, and then you just crack like shattered glass.

   You tear the dress to shreds, taking out all your anger and resentment on the sheer material, pulling it apart till it’s only unrecognizable scraps on the floor. And you let your tears soak them, stain them just like every single one of those men did to your body. Even Angela. 

   You hate them, you hate yourself, you hate the way they made you feel. Useless and disgusting, a piece of meat they could chew on whenever they pleased. 

   You spend the next half hour crying over what you did, regretting ruining the dress, the one thing you could’ve kept with you, a fragile memory that you should’ve held on to. But that wouldn’t be healing to you. But at this rate, you don’t think you ever will heal.

   You forget about dinner, forget where you even are. Joel had to come get you and lead you down to the kitchen. And yet, he still didn’t touch you. Not even once. And you just don’t understand why he won’t touch you. Not that you want to be touched. You don’t. You just expect it now. 

   When you finally make it to the kitchen, you decide on a black barstool and take your place there at the sleek kitchen island that’s swirled in shiny white quartz. And when he sets a warm plate of chicken Alfredo noodles and a glass of cold water in front of you, you just stare with wide-eyes at the hot meal before you. 

   The savory Alfredo dinner taunts you as it sits right in front of you, screaming at you to just take one bite. Your stomach churns and rumbles with the scent of a put together homemade meal. When was the last time you had one of those? Maybe two years ago. 

   You keep your eyes peeled to the polished wooden floor, your fingers twisted tight against the sweatpants that hang loosely around your thighs. Your body is yelling at you to eat, but you can’t make yourself move, can’t do anything. You were never allowed carbs back at the house, wasn’t even allowed to eat until the men were done. Angela once pulled your hair and pushed your face into the floor when you dared to take a bite before they were finished. And now you can’t even get yourself to chance that again. Even if Joel never would, you feel as if Angela will come charging around the corner just waiting for you to make one wrong move. 

   You’re so very broken…

   “What’s wrong? Do you not like it? I can make you something else.” Joel’s voice is etched in concern, but you only have the strength to shake your head. 

   “No. It’s fine. It’s—it’s great. It’s just…” Your breath is shaky, just like your hands. And you can’t seem to look up from the floor. 

   Don’t ever look them in the eyes. You’re not in control. You have no power. You flinch at Angela’s spiteful words. You wish you could just drown them out, forget everything she ever taught you. 

   “You haven’t even touched your food, sweetheart.” A tear licks at the corner of your eye, but you don’t dare let it fall. 

   “I—uhh. I…” You’re pathetic. You can’t even look him in the eye at the table. Not even when he’s standing across from you, staring at you with those soft brown eyes you know are boring into yours. 

   “Can you look up for me, sweetheart?” The pain in his deep timbre cracks something inside you, and your eyes snap up to meet his. “There ya go. Attagirl.” You wince at the word because it sounds like praise, and you don’t deserve that at all. You deserve to be scolded. 

   “Wanna tell me why you’re not eating?” You choke on your voice when you see those soft brown honey eyes. You’ve never been looked at quite like that. Not with kindness or concern or anything genuine before. And it makes you want to cry.

   You take a deep, steady breath and pray you can muddle some coherent words out because you’re about to spill something very personal that you’re not quite ready to share. “Back at the house… they wouldn’t let us eat until the men were done. We—we’d get punished if we disobeyed.” You flinch at the painful memories but press on. “We weren’t allowed to eat carbs. And some days they’d just starve us to teach us a lesson. I can’t even remember the last time I had a decent meal…”

   Joel’s fingers flex against the sink, his nails digging into the metal, his jaw clenched and something like pain and understanding lit up in his honey-colored eyes. He looks like he actually feels your pain, and you can’t comprehend how he’d possibly know what that pain is like. 

   He nods his head and darts his tongue along his bottom lip in response. “I uhh—Jesus. I’m sorry, sweetheart. That’s fuckin’ awful. I can’t imagine how that must’ve been. But please, eat. You’re allowed to eat anything you want now. You want sweets, sugar, greasy pizza? Then it’s yours. You’re allowed to eat in peace here. There’s no rules in this house. I want you to be able to eat. So please, don’t ever wait for me. You jus’ go on and enjoy.” 

   It takes you a couple of minutes to find enough courage to pick up the silver fork, but you do it. And that right there is a step in the right direction. 

   The first bite slides down your throat slowly and when you swallow, it’s like a slice of heaven to your insides. You quickly take another, devouring the delicious noodles, letting the savory taste melt against your tastebuds, groaning silently at what a real meal should taste like. It’s not cold soup or oatmeal or dry lettuce. It’s actual food. 

   You somehow forget Joel is watching, and it takes you two whole seconds until your cheeks are burning with embarrassment. He’s looking straight at you, watching you enjoy from a safe distance, and you swear you see a small smile curled against his lips. He hasn’t even touched his food. All he seems to care about is that you’re eating. And that makes you feel extremely guilty.

   You take a paper napkin and wipe the Alfredo sauce from your lips, letting the red lipstick smear across the napkin, suddenly fully aware you just ruined your makeup. 

   Flashbacks of getting slapped across the face course through your body, making you sick to your stomach. Don’t smear your makeup, filthy little slut. Go back to your room and make yourself presentable before our guests arrive. Another sharp smack stings your cheek, and you find yourself cradling your cheek like it just now happened to you.

   Panic blindly traces every inch of your body, anxiety creeping in as your heart palpitates at an alarming pace. You ate without Joel, you didn’t wait, you ruined your makeup. Oh God, you’re in so much trouble. Safe. You’re not safe. You need to run, you need to…

   “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Joel’s concerned voice whips through your mind, and that’s enough for you to drop your fork in alarm on the floor, your eyes wild with fright. 

   You’re not safe, you’re not safe, you’re not safe. He’ll hurt you. Run.

  You pull back the barstool and stand, your back tense and fingernails digging into the kitchen island. “W—Why are you being nice to me? Why did you cook for me? Why aren’t you starving me?!”

   His body tenses, just like yours, and his eyes swim with concern. “Sweetheart, it’s okay. It’s all gonna be jus’—”

   “Why aren’t you using me? Use me! Tell me to spread my legs, tell me to get on my knees, tell me I’m worthless!” You scream, letting your voice echo around the clean kitchen, feeling as if your panic attack might take you out this time around. 

   “No.” His voice is careful, quiet, not at all stern.

   “No?” you mewl, feeling the tears prick the back of your eyes.

   “No,” he repeats, softer than before.

   Your hands shake, and you need to find something to hold to soothe your whirring anxiety. So you grab the glass that’s half full of water. “Use me! Tell me I’m nothing! Tell me I don’t matter!”    

   He shakes his head slowly, his eyebrows knit together in rapt attention, eyes crinkling. “You do matter. Don’t for a second think that you’re—”

   “Just fucking use me!” You slam the glass to the floor, letting it shatter into tiny pieces just like your heart looks like. Broken and fractured. You fall to the floor, crying out when a piece slices through your palm, letting the pain serenade your insides, reminding you of all the times you saw red back at the house. 

   The tears splash against your cheeks, falling to the floor like droplets from a waterfall. But you can’t find the strength to let them stop. You’ve held them in for so long; there’s no more room to keep them tucked away inside.  

   Your eyes widen when you realize the mess you made. You broke his belonging, completely shattered it in pieces. He should have your fucking neck for this, and you cower just thinking of the beating he might give you. “Oh my God. The glass. Fuck, the glass. I’m so… s—sorry. I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…” You frantically try to pick the pieces up, but all you do is tear another cut open in the same palm. And now blood stains the dark wood. Fuck. 

   Joel’s at your side in a second, kneeling beside you, trying to calm you down the best he can without alarming you. “Shhh. S’alright. It’s fine. I don’t care about the broken glass.”

   “But I made a mess. I broke your belongings. And I should be punished. I should…” Your voice fades off as the tears blur your vision, completely breaking you just like the scattered shards of glass that surround you. 

   He shakes his head slowly and places his palm flat on the ground, so close but yet so far from brushing against you. “No. Don’t think for one minute you deserve that, sweet girl. Don’t for one fuckin’ minute believe any of that. S’not true. None of it is.”

   “But—but I… No, I—I can fix this. I can clean this up, I can…” Your words come out jumbled and muddled, and the panic still writhes high throughout your body, making you want to crawl out of your scarred skin.

   “Sweetheart, shhh. S’alright. I promise I’m not here to harm you. Jus’ let me clean you up. Your hand. Jus’—let me help you. Please.” His voice is calm, collected, and you have a hard time looking up because you know those deep brown eyes will only make you cry harder.

   You feel his fingertips brush against your wrist, and you jolt back in panic, eyes wide with retaliation. “Don’t—don’t touch me,” you choke, whining as another piece of glass digs into your hand like a knife carving its way deep into your bones. It fucking hurts, but you’ve taken worse. You can manage the pain. 

   He lifts his arms in the air like he’s surrendering, showing you he means no harm. But your body doesn’t know the difference anymore. All you’ll ever know is how to continue to take the pain. 

   “Please. I promise I ain’t gonna hurt you. Let me take care of your hand. Let me help you.” He draws out the last word, the syllables dragging like sweet honey across his tongue. And he sounds genuine like he really does want to help you.

   You have no more fight left in you, no energy to give. So all you do is nod your head and whisper out a defeated, “Okay.”

   “C’mere, sweetheart. Let’s get you up off the floor.” He scoops you up in his arms, cradling your head in the palm of his hand. He doesn’t even care that you’re staining his white button-up red. If he does, he doesn’t say anything about it.

   Your body revolts against his touch, but he’s so warm that you don’t fight it. He smells like firewood and scented pine trees, and that’s enough to keep you calm in his arms. You just nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck and let your tears stain the dark stubble of his patchy beard. 

   “There ya go. Easy now. You’re alright,” he coos gently, lulling you into a calm state.

   You’re freezing cold, even underneath the layers of clothes that wrap like thick vines around your body. But somehow, the warmest thing right now is being in his arms... 

   You’re completely and utterly vulnerable but just for a second, you relax into his strong arms and breathe in the mahogany scent of him. The man that got you out before you completely shattered. For just this moment, you give in to what you really need. Warmth and safety. 

   He feels safe.

   And for the next couple of minutes that it takes for him to get you across the house and up the stairs, you fade into his warmth, blocking out every single panicked and anxious thought. For just those few seconds, you breathe, letting the unruly voices in your mind die out. 

   For just that minute, you’re safe. 

   You come back to yourself the moment he sets you down on a white step stool, warily telling you to hold still, your palm open over the bathtub, blood running down the porcelain material, staining the walls with the crimson of your stupid mistakes. 

   You did this. Your fault, all your fault. You should have never broken the glass, should’ve never lashed out, but you did. And you guess this is how you’ll always be now. A hollow body that just doesn’t know how to live a normal life anymore. 

   You wince as Joel drags the washcloth slowly over your open wound, tears swimming in your eyes the more he tries to assess it, searching for any pieces of glass that may be stuck deep in your hand. And you don’t know why he’s doing this after you had a meltdown because he wouldn’t make you pleasure him. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this how your brain just operates now? After being stuck in that god awful house, this is what it does to you? 

   You don’t want to be used anymore. You don’t even want to be fucking touched by a man ever again. So why did it hit a nerve after he refused to tell you that you were nothing? 

   “Ouch,” you whine, tensing as he washes the open wound with soap and water, apologizing each time he goes over the sore area. 

   “M’sorry. Jus’ hold on, I’m almost done. Good news is I don’t see any glass in your cut. S’good. Means I can jus’ clean you up and wrap it for tonight. Might be sore for a couple days, but you’ll be fine,” he assures you, working meticulously to fix you up. 

   You flinch each time his calloused fingers brush against your hand, struggling to not push him away. You don’t want to be touched by anyone, especially not by a man. But you can’t shake how warm he felt when he was carrying you to your room. He wasn’t mean, wasn’t rough, wasn’t even hostile. He was just… gentle. Just like he’s being now with each careful graze of his fingertips to your fragile skin. 

   And even though ninety percent of you can’t stand the thought of him being this close to you, you don’t seem to hate him. Not even a little bit. Because whether you want to admit it or not, he saved you. 

   You don’t trust him, you don’t trust anyone. He could turn on you in a second, show you his true colors. But again, he would’ve already done that. Wouldn’t he?

   “How old are you, sweetheart?” he asks, carefully drying your cut with a clean towel.

   “Twenty-seven,” you whisper out, wincing once more from the pressure on your palm.

   “And your birthday? When’s that?”

   You watch his brown eyes flick up to yours, and your gaze drops immediately back to your lap. “January 22nd.”

   He takes a minute before the next question comes, diligently wrapping your hand in a gauze padding. “How long you been gone now? Do you know?”

   You chew on your bottom lip and hold back a tear, trying your best not to fall apart all over again. “A little over a year and a half…” you respond in a muffled tone. “I wouldn’t have even known my birthday passed. But they—they were sure to remind me. Because I was—I was…” you can’t even finish your sentence without a tear slipping down your cheek, holding on for that sliver of sanity you have buried deep inside you.

   His brown eyes gloss over into a deeper shade of brown, and his eyebrows furrow in concern as he stops what he’s doing so he can put his full attention on you. You decide to finish your sentence, needing to get it out of your system. Hoping it’d be a way to forget as soon as the words left your tongue. “They—they had me bent over a table the entire day while a vanilla cake with the numbers twenty-seven taunted me while they ate it in front of me. And then they—-they…” a sob chokes you up, and tears trail like rain down your face, landing on top of Joel’s hand that sits atop his knee.

   “Hey, hey, hey. S’alright, sweetheart. You don’t have to talk ‘bout it if you don’t want to. I’m—fuck. I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I jus’ can’t imagine what sick fuck would do that to you or any girl at that. I’m so sorry.” His deep voice is full of pity and heartache, and his chocolate eyes make you want to cry even more.

   You dip your head in anguish and sigh. “Yeah, me either. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I…”

   He interrupts you, hovering his hand over yours like he wants to comfort you, but you flinch away at the notion. “Shh. No, sweetheart. You never ever deserved any of that. Not in the least bit.”

   You scuff your bare feet against the tile floor, reaching for anything that might keep you from tipping past the breaking point, but you’re way over the edge. You’re all the way at rock bottom. 

   The searing question bubbles up again in your stomach. The one question you’ve been dying to know ever since he called out that number. And you can’t go another minute without knowing. “Why did you do it?”

   “Do what?” he asks, an eyebrow arched in question.

   “Why did you buy me? You could’ve left me with the blonde. You could’ve walked out empty handed.” Your voice is raised, but you keep your composure from sliding again, not wanting another broken glass incident.

   “I wasn’t gonna do that,” he presses, his lips in a tight line, jaw ticking with a dark look in his eyes.

   “You paid thousands of dollars for me. Why would you do that? Why didn’t you just—”

   He stops you right there, a sad look blanketing his face. “‘Cause. My daughter, Sarah. She… she went through the same thing you did. And I couldn’t fuckin’ stand by and watch the same thing happen to you.”

   Your lips part wide, and a gasp leaves your throat. His daughter was taken? “Oh.” That’s all you can say for the moment. You’re stunned in silence.

   Holy shit.

   You try to find one sliver of pretense, a glimmer in his eye that could prove he’s lying. But the way his face falls and his eyes drop to the floor in agony, like he’s in physical pain, you find no lie. He’s telling the truth.

   “Is she still…”

   “Yes,” he nods, eyes in a far off place. “She’s alive.”

   “When did she…”

   He takes a deep breath and flexes his hand over the side of the tub, holding on to something solid while he gets into the thick of what happened to his daughter. “She was taken young. She was only fifteen, taken right under my nose at the mall. She was just walkin’ to the bathroom. It took less than five minutes. And I—fuck. If I would’ve jus’ watched her walk in and stood outside the door. She would’ve never been taken in the first place…”

   He drops his head in defeat, and you feel your eyes widen in shock. You don’t know what rushes over you, but the way his soft brown eyes tear up make yours do the same thing. “Joel?” you choke out, tears stinging against your lash line. “I’m—really sorry that happened. And as much as you might blame yourself, it wasn’t your fault.”

   He looks up with teary eyes and a deep frown, nodding. “Wish I could come to terms with that. But… she made it out. I found her and got her out. And that’s what matters.”

   “How old is she?” you ask quietly, your left hand brushing over your fresh bandage, careful not to tear the material. 

   “She’s twenty now. Livin’ down in Houston, startin’ her sophomore year of college, and workin’ as a part time vet tech at a clinic specializin’ in horses. She absolutely loves it,” he smiles, his eyes turning into a lighter brown the more he talks about how much she’s grown over the years, leaving behind her trauma.

   “That’s incredible. More than incredible. Just—wow,” you breathe out, your eyes casted down to the floor, wishing you could heal like that. But at this rate, you don’t think you’ll ever get over the immense trauma that occurred to your body and mind.

   He licks his bottom lip in thought, his eyes burning into yours. And you see it even out of the corner of your eye. He’s concerned for you. “It took her a long time to adjust back to a normal life. We had a rocky time there for ‘bout a year, but she got the help she needed. She was only gone a couple months, but that was more than enough time to give her PTSD and mentally scar her. But she’s shining now, finally at a place where normal life isn’t as scary as it used to be.”

   Another tear slips free and splashes to the floor, creating a tiny puddle of your shattered heart that’s made of tears. “I’m so happy for her. Sarah sounds amazing.”

   “Mmm, that she is. I’m gonna give you her number. Think it’d be good for you to connect with someone who’s been through something as traumatic as this.”

   Your mouth gapes open, and you tilt your chin up until you come face to face with him. And he looks… kind. He is kind. “But I don’t have a phone anymore…”

   “I’ve already got one ordered and on the way for you.”

   “What?” you ask with wide eyes. He gives you a small smile that curls against his lips. And you nearly sob from the gentle way he’s looking at you. “You didn’t have to do that.”

   “Yes, I did. And I have a therapist on speed dial. Her name’s Tess. She’s the best of the best. If there’s one therapist I trusted with Sarah then it’s her. Trust me, Sarah went through a lot of them, and Tess was the most helpful. And she’s helped so many other girls, too. Not just Sarah.”

   Other girls? Did he help get other girls out? You have so many questions. “Why are you doing all this for me?”

   “‘Cause I wanna help you,” he states simply, his thumb tapping against the side of the tub, eyes focused right on you.

   “But why? I’m… nothing,” you whisper, bottom lip quivering, afraid you’ll break down in tears once again. And you most likely will. You feel it deep in your bones.

   He shakes his head in response. “Sweetheart, no. Don’t say that ‘bout yourself. You’re not nothing. You’re somebody, and you matter. Whether you believe it or not, you matter.” His words are definitive, final, but his voice is as soft as cotton candy.

   “I… matter?” you ask, voice shaky from the kaleidoscope of emotions that pummels through you.

   He nods, eyes alight and glittering under the bright bathroom lights, a soft smile curled on his lips. “Do you know what I saw when you were standin’ in the middle of that room tonight? I saw a young woman that was worth saving. I saw a light deep inside those pretty eyes of yours that was jus’ screamin’ for someone to hear you. I heard you. And I wasn’t gonna jus’ leave you there to be preyed on by those starvin’ wolves. So I got you out.”

   You’re breathless, lips parted in awe. “But—but I…”

   “Look. You may not be fine tomorrow or next week, but someday—someday you will be. And I’ll try my damn near hardest to make sure you are. And if you’ll let me, I’ll see that you’re kept safe. Whether you choose to leave next week or next month or in a year. I promise I’ll do what I can to make sure you feel safe and that you can learn to thrive in life again. Trust me when I say you will get there. Jus’ gotta take it one step at a time. That’s all you can do. One day at a time.”

   Tears pool in your eyes, soaking them up like the promise of his words. I’ll keep you safe. He wants you to stay, to heal, to thrive. He’s trying to help you, and you just don’t know what you did to deserve his help, but you’re eternally grateful. And even though you’re scared, maybe you don’t have to be scared of him.

   After he puts away the gauze and the bathroom supplies he used to clean your hand with, he lets you get settled into bed. But before he walks out, he raps his knuckles on the doorway and clears his throat. “My room is jus’ across the hall if you need anything. I’ll be up, so don’t hesitate if you need something.”

   You nod your head, pulling the fluffy comforter up to your chin, too tired to give him a smile.

   He tilts his head and starts heading out the door, but before he can turn the doorknob all the way, you call out. “Joel?”

   “Hmm?” he hums, turning his head, directing his full attention your way.

   “Thank you,” you whisper, your eyes telling him everything that your words can’t.

   He curls his lips into a half smile and nods. “Don’t mention it, sweetheart.” And when he walks out and closes the door, you hear him say, “Sleep tight.”

   You want to know more about how he found Sarah, what he meant when he said he’s helped other girls before, how he found you in the first place. But you’re tired. You’re so fucking drained. Maybe tomorrow you’ll find the strength to pull yourself together and ask but not tonight. Tonight you just want a full night’s sleep. Something you haven’t had since you were taken. So you close your eyes, focus on the soft patter of rain on the window, put all your anxious thoughts to the side and drift into the dark depths of a sea of blackness. 

   And then you sleep.

   Hot pain shoots through your wrists like a jagged knife splitting you open, painting you scarlet. Dirty fingernails shred your skin, clawing you until you taste blood in the back of your throat. You can’t speak, can only silently scream. A muted cry for help that no one else can hear but you. Chains fasten to your ankles, pulling your legs apart, grimy men surrounding you, suffocating you until you seep into the the blackest pit of despair. 

   Trapped. You’re held captive against your will, your body on full display, eyes wide with fright every time they snake their filthy hands around your throat, hot breath fanning against your core until you scream bloody murder over and over again. 

   But no one comes; no one saves you from this pit of hell. 

   Dead. You feel dead, and they just keep bringing you back from the grave with every touch they steal. 

   You thrash against the sheets, screaming for help, tears staining the brand new comforter, but you’re still trapped in the horrific nightmare with the demons of your past torturing you way beyond the point of pain.

   “No, no, no! Get off!” you cry as you feel a body dip into the side of the bed, drastically trying to escape what’s to come. “Stop, stop!”

   A voice. Deep, intense, wrecked sounds in your fuzzy mind, trying to grasp you out of your nightmare.

   “Wake up. Wake up.” It’s muddled, almost unrecognizable. But it’s insistent, a loud gong that spirals into your racing mind.

   “No, no, let go!” you mewl, twisting violently in the sheets when you feel the mattress dip down further, spiraling your thoughts further.

   “Sweetheart, wake up. Please. You have to wake up!” He shouts, stirring you from your nightmare, but the men reach for you, dragging you back under the thrashing waves, but you extend your arm, fighting the tossing sea, battling the teeth that gnash at you. 

   “Stop, let go!” Your flesh stings as they continue to tear you apart, dragging you down down down until that sweet Southern drawl that sounds like honey resonates throughout your mind, and the fog starts to clear just a little. 

   “It’s me, I’m right here. Open your eyes, please!” Deep. That thick baritone voice crashes through your mind, pulling you away from all the insufferable noises.

   Your eyes snap open, realizing you’re pounding your fists into his broad chest, barely making a dent because he’s that strong. And then your anxiety races, building horrific hallucinations in your mind. And you just keep throwing everything you have at Joel, tears spilling down your cheeks, your t-shirt drenched in a cold sweat. 

   “The men… They—they…” You choke out a sob, continuously throwing your arms against his chest, taking everything you have bottled up inside you and spilling it all over Joel, showing just how bloodied and bruised you are from the traumatic events. 

   The stage, the men, Angela, the blood, the torture, the misery, the deaths, the excruciating pain of it all. It’s too fucking much, and you just want to die. Maybe then you’ll be at peace, away from the weight of everything you’ve kept resting on your shoulders. Like a rock weighing down on your chest, crushing you till you’re nothing but dust. You feel like dust. Faded, dirty, and useless.

   “S’alright, sweetheart. It was jus’ a nightmare. You’re safe,” he soothes, his calming voice bubbling up and taking some of the anxiety off your weighted chest. 

   “But it was real…” you choke out, your vision blurring with the salty water that forms in your eyes. 

   A tear slips free, crashing down to his hand, smothering it in cold, icy liquid. But he doesn’t flinch, doesn’t even back away. He just stays sitting next to you, careful not to touch you or reach for you. He’s just… there. And somehow there’s comfort in that. 

   He stares at you like a lost puppy, chocolate eyes melting, tears filling his own concerned eyes. And you keep hitting him, your hands growing tired from the balled up fists punching against his chest. And he just sits there and takes it, like it doesn’t bother him one bit.

   “Let it out. Give me your pain. I can take it, sweetheart. You jus’ take it out on me. As long as you need. You want a punchin’ bag then let me be that for you. Whatever helps, you jus’ go on and let go,” he says softly, brows threaded together, big doe eyes consumed in pain. It’s like he’s as wrecked as you are, and that makes you cry even harder. 

   “Joel…” you break, dropping your tired arms to the bed, curling your fingers into the soft comforter, trying to lose yourself in the soft rain that pelts the back of the window. 

   You’re so tired and drained and ruined. They ruined you, and you hate every single one of them for taking away everything. Your dignity, your pride, your body, your life, your mind. They took everything.

   “I know, sweet girl. I know. Shhh. S’alright. I’m right here. No one’s gonna hurt you anymore. Not while I’m here,” he whispers, his woodsy scent grounding you back to earth, calming you down just enough to focus on how soft his eyes are.

   Soft. Just like velvet. He’s so soft.

   He just sits there patiently, waiting for your cries to die down, waiting to know you’re okay. But you’re not okay; you never will be okay. You’re just a tree in a sea of thousands, but your branches are withered, leaves falling, and maybe you’ll never bloom again. 

   You focus on his soft brown eyes, the light tap of raindrops, your erratic breathing slowing to a normal pace. You’re so tired. Tired of fighting the panic attacks, the flashbacks, the pain.

   You’re just… tired.

   “You gonna be alright, sweetheart? Think you can get back to sleep?” he asks thoughtfully, his voice warm like a fresh cup of coffee, his scent permeating around the room, keeping you from spiraling again. 

   You take a deep breath and nod, pulling the comforter under your chin, trying to control the chill that runs down your spine. “I think so,” you say slowly, your voice still a little shaky.

   He tilts his head and scratches the back of his neck, a tight-lipped smile forming over his lips. “Alright, I’ll let you get back to sleep then. You come knock on my door if you need me.”

   When he pushes off your bed and pads over to the open door, he calls out and says, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

   Panic consumes your mind just thinking of being alone again with your nightmares, your body trembling underneath the warm sheets. And before you know what you’re thinking, you stop Joel in his tracks. “Joel?”

   And just like before, he turns and arches a brow, questions reeling in his calm brown eyes. “Hmm?”

   “Can you… would you mind staying with me? I just… I really don’t want to be alone.” Your voice is shaky and nerves pull through your body, but for some reason his presence just gives off that impression of safety. 

   You don’t trust him yet, not really. But he’s got the softest aura swirling around him, and you just know he won’t hurt you. He’s already proved that.  

   You’re safe…

   He smiles, running a hand through his thick curls, his bicep flexing under the weight of the white t-shirt, grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips. You might’ve thought he was handsome under different circumstances, if your brain wasn’t ruined from trauma, but the only thing that seems to capture your attention is his soft brown eyes. The only kind ones that were in that auction room tonight. 

   “‘Course I will, sweetheart. Whatever makes you feel safe,” he says, walking over and sinking down into the champagne colored saucer chair by the open door, eyes locked on you. 

   You mold yourself to the cool mattress, the sheets wrapping loosely around your legs. You stare at him for a couple of minutes, using his woody scent to calm you down. He reminds you of Washington, of your favorite pine trees. He smells like home, when you had one. Tears line your lids, but you close your eyes and get lost in the rain, until your breathing is shallow and slow. And then you’re out like a light.

   He keeps his eyes fixed on you, watching for any signs that you may be in distress. Every whimper and strangle against the sheets makes him jump up, ready to take you from your vicious nightmares, but they don’t come. Not like the one that had you screaming bloody murder, tears staining your pretty eyes. 

   Scared. You’re so very scared, fragile. Just like the glass that ripped you open, staining his white button-up crimson. He hates that that’s how they made you feel. Afraid of men, to be broken again. They took it all from you and he fucking hates them for it. 

   They hurt you, ruined you. It makes him sick to his stomach, makes him want to hunt down every single man who put their filthy hands on your sacred body. He’d chop their hands off so they could never touch you again, take a gun and end their pathetic lives. That’s what he did with Sarah’s kidnappers, when he found out who took his precious daughter. And he’d do it for you too. In fact, he’d search the whole goddamn map to wring the necks of any man who even thought of putting their filthy paws on you.

   He’s not against violence, not when he spends half his time working to take down auctioneers and human traffickers. And the blonde man that tried to violate you tonight would be the first to go. That one he’ll take down himself. 

   He stays up the entire night, never letting his eyes close, afraid you’d start drowning again. But he won’t let you slip beneath the rocky waves; he’ll keep your head above water, pull you out, do his very best to make you feel safe.

   Safe. You’re safe here with him. And even if you don’t trust him yet, you will. He’ll make sure of it. He saw the absolute terror in your eyes on that stage, and he just couldn’t leave you with the venomous snakes in that house. You have a long road ahead of healing, but he’ll be there to help you through it. 

   A beautiful girl like you deserves a second chance at life, and he’ll give it to you. Pretty flowers don’t deserve to wilt. They deserve to thrive. 

   And you will. 

Tagging those who seemed interested 🩷 @joelsgreys @amyispxnk @whxtedreams @clawdee @jellybeanxc

@lotusbxtch @thebeldroramscal @laurrrra @sawymredfox @sanarsi

@christinamadsen @missannwinchester @aurorawritestoescape @evolnoomym @littlevenicebitch69

@milla-frenchy @magpiepills @604to647

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

There is an idea that Stephanie Brown was crime fighting as The Spoiler for fun, that she saw it all as a game. This reading isn't out of nowhere, it's supported by the things she and other characters say, especially in War Games (2005). However this understanding of Stephanie Brown's actions doesn't account for the large majority of her time as Spoiler, and oftentimes directly contradicts things she says or does.

This is important because how we understand why Stephanie keeps acting as The Spoiler informs what is true about the character. If she's doing it solely for kicks, it's not exactly unfair to call her a reckless idiot who should have listened when Batman and Robin told her to go home and stop wearing her costume.

So, should she just have listened when she was told to go home over and over again? Did she never take crime fighting seriously? Or was she battling against her father's sins to prove herself worthy? Or is there something else entirely going on? It seems like even Stephanie doesn't know at times:

Robin #40 (1993)

There are points where she makes light of her involvement, likening it to something she's doing for "the fun":

Robin #5, Robin #25 (1993)

And times where she rejects that same premise utterly:

Spoiler/Huntress: Blunt Trauma (1998)

It's very tempting to see this as character progression, she starts her first appearance in a Robin comic calling being Spoiler a "goof" but by the time Cataclysm rolls around, she says she isn't doing it for "the fun of it". However, this idea doesn't align with her first appearance and attitude at all.

I'd like to propose a reading which can account for the multiple reasons stated that she returns time and time again to being the Spoiler: the Spoiler represents Stephanie's agency and serves as a way for her to empower herself.

If we're determining why Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, we have to start where she starts, analyzing the her first appearance, and her motivations for creating the Spoiler mantle.

Stephanie's anger at her father + feelings of helplessness and lack of agency + desire to protect others = The Original Spoiler

I’ll stick to only evidence and panels which refer to or depict her time before becoming the Spoiler, or during her very first Spoiler "mission".

Let’s break it down

1.Stephanie Brown's Anger at her Father

This one's pretty self explanatory. I'll get into how her hatred of her dad has to do with Stephanie's feelings of helplessness and self loathing later. But for now, Stephanie's anger at her dad is pretty clearly one of the main things motivating her very first Spoiler appearance.

Detective #648

2. Stephanie Brown's Lack of Agency

Her father is an abusive piece of shit to Stephanie and her mother. He never stays in jail for long, and now that he's been cured of his clue-leaving psychosis, he might not go back at all.

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

Her mom is, as Steph sees it, hopelessly addicted to her pills and drinking, Steph is unable to help, as she states: “talking to her didn’t do any good”

Detective #467 / 80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

Creating this costume and persona is not only a way to get back at her dad, it’s about her seizing power, it’s a decision to have agency, to no longer be helpless. She is no longer a passive observer in her dad's crimes, she is the force actively 'spoiling' it.

In her first story as Spoiler, we see that culminate to a dark point: she’s so desperate to have some control of her life and by extension, her father who has been robbing her of it for years, that she nearly kills him.

Detective #649

When Stephanie became the Spoiler for the first time, it was about her anger at her dad, and finally having control over his influence over her life.

But most crucially, her first appearance as Spoiler is also largely about her desire to help others.

3. Stephanie’s desire to protect other people

This is established solidly in her first appearance as the Spoiler. She states that she was stalking her father “trying to make sure nobody got hurt”

Detective #468

And later in the same introductory arc, she only jumps into the fight when Batman’s life appears to be in danger:

Detective #469

This applies to her mother too, who she sees herself as responsible for protecting.

Stephanie identifies her father as a trigger for her moms struggle with addiction, and the same shot which shows Stephanie sewing together her first Spoiler costume also features her mother, sleeping next to an empty glass and pill bottles.

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

The 80 Page Giant furthers this idea by recontextualizing the scene where she jumps into the fight with her dad in Detective #649 by adding her internal monologue in that moment: clearly reframing her actions through the lens of this protective instinct towards her mother

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998)

I'm sticking to her first appearance backstory stuff primarily, because for now I'm just making a case for her original reason for putting on the costume, but I think it's worth it to mention something Steph says about "one of the first" missions she gave herself as Spoiler.

Steph says she made it one of the very first missions she wanted to achieve as Spoiler to track down the man who nearly sexually assaulted her as a child. Despite the fact that she was severely traumatized by this (unable to stand being alone with men for years afterwards) she didn’t try to do so out of revenge, but specifically because she knew he would go after more young girls.

Robin #111 (1993)

She first becomes the Spoiler in order to stop her dad from hurting her mom, herself, and other people any more than he already had. But why does she keep going? Especially, why does she keep fighting crime after her dad is locked away in prison?

And if she's Spoiler because of her genuine desire to help people, and her anger towards her dad, and her feelings of helplessness, where does the idea that she does it for "fun" come from?

Contextualizing "The Spoiler" as a way for Stephanie to give herself agency is the strongest reading which answers both of those questions.

Much of what we see Spoiler do, is directly paralleled to what Stephanie cannot.

The most obvious example is her stopping The Cluemaster.

Stephanie Brown might be stuck with an abusive, criminal dad who never stays in jail for long, but The Spoiler can make sure he doesn’t hurt anyone else.

80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998) / Robin #111 (1993)

But there are more covert examples of this as well.

Stephanie Brown might not be able to make her mom get clean, only able to watch as she seems to succumb to her addiction over and over again, but the Spoiler can confront and potentially stop her gymnastics coach from dealing drugs after one of her classmates overdoses, in a way which is shown in conjunction with Steph's relationship with her mom.

Showcase '95 #5 (1995)

Her rage at being misled by her gymnastic coach, her anger at him for betraying the kids who "looked up to you", mirrors her anger at her mom in this same comic for how her struggle with addiction has affected their relationship. Spoiler attempts to do what Steph wishes she could: fight and defeat addiction, as a proxy for her desire to help her mom, and her frustration that she can't.

Stephanie Brown might be in a relationship with a selfish asshole, but as The Spoiler, she gets the attention of a smart, honest, good guy:

Spoiler/Huntress: Blunt Trauma (1998)/ Robin #80 (1993)

Robin (debatably) is the one who instigates this idea. (Kissing a girl on the mouth, even if i was out of relief for her saving your life, sort of sends mixed signals as to whether or not she has a shot.)

Robin #5 (1993)

Tim himself juggles with the fact that he both feels a responsibility to discourage Stephanie from acting as Spoiler, but doesn't, because he doesn't have an excuse to hang out with Steph, but he can spend time with her when she's Spoiler.

Robin #41 (1993)

Stephanie Brown doesn't get loved, doesn't get understood. Not by Dean, not by her mom, and certainly not by her dad. But Spoiler? Spoiler seems has a real shot.

Steph doesn't really feel like her mom cares, and she knows her dad doesn't. She wants to feel powerful, she wants to feel useful, she wants to protect people, and she really really wants to be loved.

She sees Spoiler as a way to achieve all these things, and that’s how she uses the identity.

Therefore, the Spoiler feels empowering, specifically in contrast to Stephanie Brown and her garbage home life and her helplessness and feelings of inadequacy.

This ties into something I haven't really explored yet, Stephanie Brown's canonical self loathing. This seems to linger in the periphery of her earlier time as Spoiler, but picks up significantly during and after her pregnancy arc.

She's dealt with blaming and hating herself in her past, we get a mention of how she had to overcome believing she was a bad person in the wake of her nearly being sexually assaulted:

Robin #111 (1993)

And she deals with feeling of inadequacy and self hatred again and again in her time as the Spoiler as well.

Steph refers to her boyfriend, who is unable to tell her his real name, share the majority of the stuff going on in his life with her, and who always has to wear a mask around her, as potentially "too good" for her. I don't care how cool and nice you think Tim Drake is, I think this is definitely indicative of at least some self esteem issues.

Robin #57 (1993)

Her self esteem issues become more clear during her teen pregnancy arc. She tells Tim straight up that she would understand it if he had cheated on her/left her.

Robin #59 (1993) / Robin #62 (1993)

This ties into why she acts as the Spoiler as well.

Stephanie blames herself in part for her dad's crimes.

She obviously didn't make Arthur Brown commit his crimes. This is just another instance of Stephanie's self loathing informing how she acts, in this case, being part of her rationale as to why she is Spoiler.

Robin 80 Page Giant (2000)

As Stephanie, she was helpless to stop Cluemaster from abusing her mom, unable to stop how his presence pushes Crystal Brown further into her addiction, unable to stop him from hurting other people and herself with his crime. This lack of agency explored earlier combined with her self blame leads her to believe it's her job as the Spoiler to "make up for" the bad she wasn't able to stop before, a responsibility which is obviously not on her. We see this also in the 80 Page Giant: Secret Origins (1998), where she briefly refers to 'spoiling' his plans as "her job", in a way that indicates a degree of responsibility.

It's no wonder that Stephanie becomes so attached to the Spoiler mantle. As Stephanie Brown, she is helpless and unable to control her environment, and she deals with thinly veiled self hatred and blames herself for this helplessness. But Spoiler gives her the opportunity to take control. That's why she returns to it time and time again, against the wishes of pretty much everyone.

This reading also aligns with the instances we get where Stephanie is portrayed as doing crime fighting for "fun". While I think its clear enough by now Stephanie clearly isn't out there for "the thrill", it's absolutely no surprise to me that Stephanie refers to it as a "rush".

It's, quite frankly, a little bit of a power trip. Of course it feels fucking fantastic to finally have a say, to no longer feel useless and helpless and guilty, to finally get to do something about all the shit that used to crush her. To finally stop feeling helpless and worthless, to have a chance at being loved. It probably feels fucking fantastic!

Why in god's name would she ever want to give that up? For her, I think its a very easy choice, the potential danger of acting as Spoiler brings upon herself doesn't factor in all that much at all.

The Spoiler as a symbol of Stephanie's Agency theory accounts for the multiple different and somewhat contradicting explanations we are given for why Stephanie acts as Spoiler.

I want to emphasize that this is not a bad thing, and also not entirely selfish. Agency means the freedom to go after the guy who she was powerless to meaningfully stop as an 11 year old (telling her asshat of a dad about it only got her yelled at and dismissed), but who might still be out there preying on other young girls. Spoiler means having the agency to protect her mom from her dad. Spoiler means having the agency to protect her neighbors.

But Spoiler also means this 15 year old girl gets to feel strong and loveable and worth something for the first time in a long time.

[joelmillermylove]

The familiar stranger Pt.1

dbf!Joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Joel Miller your dads best friend can’t control himself around you anymore, he makes a move and things heat up. Warning: Smutty themes, age gap (reader in her mid 20s, Joel in his late 40s). Forbidden love, sexual tension. Word count: 2,915 A/N: I’m so proud of this one🥹 Hope everyone loves it as much as I do!

→ Part Two

The summer heat was relentless, pressing down on you with an almost physical weight as you sat on the front porch of your father’s house, the squeak of the rocking chair the only sound in the heavy air. The air conditioner hummed softly inside, but out here, it was still and quiet, save for the occasional call of a bird in the distance.

You lifted the bottle of cold beer to your lips, savoring the brief relief from the heat as the cool glass pressed against your skin. It was a Saturday afternoon like any other, lazy and unhurried, until the sound of tires crunching on the gravel drive pulled your attention. A familiar beat-up truck came into view, dust kicking up as it rolled to a stop.

Joel.

He stepped out of the truck with a heavy grunt, his broad shoulders tensed as if already bracing for whatever task your father had roped him into this time. His plaid shirt clung to him in the heat, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing the strong forearms you couldn’t help but notice. It was impossible not to. Joel Miller wasn’t the kind of man who blended into the background—he took up space, his presence commanding without even trying.

For as long as you could remember, Joel had been a constant in your life. He was your father’s best friend, the one who helped out around the house when your dad needed an extra hand, the one who was there for every barbecue, every fishing trip, every birthday. He had always been there—solid, reliable, a fixture in your world.

And yet, lately, something had shifted.

It wasn’t him, not exactly. Joel was the same as ever—gruff, quiet, protective in that silent way of his. But you had changed. You weren’t the little girl he used to tease about your pigtails and scraped knees. You weren’t the teenager who had asked him to teach you how to change a tire just so you could feel like you knew something about the world.

You were an adult now, and the way you looked at Joel had shifted into something you didn’t fully understand. Something you weren’t entirely comfortable with.

He looked up, his eyes catching yours as he slammed the truck door shut. There was a moment, a beat too long where neither of you looked away, and you felt your heart stutter in your chest. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze, something that made your skin prickle with an awareness you hadn’t asked for.

“Hey,” he called out, his voice that familiar low rumble that always seemed to settle somewhere deep in your chest. “Your dad home?”

You shook your head, clearing your throat to push past the tightness. ��Ran into town for a few things. Should be back in a bit.”

Joel nodded, glancing around before stepping onto the porch. He moved with the kind of ease that came with years of knowing exactly where everything was—your father’s house was as much his as it was your family’s, it seemed. He dropped into the chair beside yours with a groan, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand.

Silence settled between you, comfortable but heavy in a way it hadn’t been before. You tried to focus on anything else—the way the sun filtered through the trees, the faint rustle of the breeze—but your eyes kept drifting back to Joel. To the lines at the corners of his eyes, the way his hand rested on his thigh, strong and steady.

“How’s work?” you asked, if only to break the silence that felt like it might swallow you whole.

He shrugged, taking a swig of his own beer. “Busy. Always busy.”

You nodded, not really sure what else to say. Joel wasn’t one for small talk, and in truth, you weren’t either. But something in the air felt thick, weighted, like there was something unsaid hovering just beneath the surface. Something that had been building for weeks now, maybe longer.

“You been alright?” he asked suddenly, his voice softer, more careful than you were used to hearing from him.

You blinked, taken off guard by the question. “Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”

He turned his head, looking at you fully now, and there was that same intensity in his gaze that made your pulse quicken. “Dunno. You just seem…different lately.”

You swallowed, unsure how to respond to that. Because you were different, weren’t you? You couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, the lines had started to blur. The way you looked at Joel wasn’t the way a daughter looked at her father’s best friend anymore. And that scared you, more than you wanted to admit.

“I’m fine,” you repeated, but even to your ears, it sounded weak.

Joel’s eyes lingered on you for a moment longer before he looked away, setting his beer down on the porch railing. “Good,” he muttered, almost as if to himself. “That’s good.”

The silence stretched out again, and this time it was unbearable. You stood, needing to move, to get away from the sudden weight of the moment.

“I should go inside, see if Dad needs help when he gets back,” you said, more of an excuse than anything else.

Joel’s hand reached out, fingers brushing lightly against your wrist, stopping you in your tracks. The touch was fleeting, barely there, but it sent a shock through you all the same. You froze, looking down at his hand, then back up at his face.

“Wait,” he said softly, his voice a low murmur that thrummed through the air between you.

You didn’t move. You couldn’t. The world seemed to narrow to just this—just the space between you, the heat of his touch, the way his eyes searched yours as if looking for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to find.

Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved. But in that stillness, in that silence, something shifted. Something irrevocable.

Joel’s fingers lingered on your wrist just a second too long before he pulled away. It was subtle, but it was enough to leave you reeling, the warmth of his touch burning into your skin as if it had branded you. You stood there, frozen, caught between a hundred different feelings that made no sense, each one pulling you in a different direction.

You wanted to ask him what that meant—what that touch meant. But you didn’t trust yourself to say the right thing. You didn’t trust your voice not to tremble. So instead, you muttered something about needing to grab a glass of water and hurried into the house, the screen door slamming shut behind you.

Inside, the cool air did little to calm the storm raging in your chest. You leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to catch your breath. The beat of your heart was loud, too loud, and your thoughts were a mess—Joel’s touch, the way he had looked at you, the weight of the moment that had passed between you like a live wire.

What the hell was that?

You didn’t want to think about it. But how could you not? There had always been something about Joel—something you couldn’t quite put into words. He wasn’t just your father’s best friend anymore, not to you. He hadn’t been for a long time.

You ran the tap and splashed cold water on your face, hoping it might snap you out of the thoughts swirling in your head. The water dripped down your neck, cool but not nearly enough to shake the feeling that had settled deep inside you.

Joel was still outside. You could see him through the window, his elbows resting on his knees as he sat on the porch, his head bent forward. From here, he looked tired—more tired than you were used to seeing him. He always had that quiet strength, that sense of reliability, but today, it felt like there was a heaviness in him you hadn’t noticed before.

You sighed and turned away from the window, trying to distance yourself from the pull you felt toward him. But it was impossible to ignore.

Just as you were about to retreat to your room, you heard the front door creak open behind you. You didn’t turn around right away, didn’t want to face him, not after what had just happened. But his voice reached you before anything else did, low and soft.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

You nodded quickly, pretending to busy yourself with drying your hands. “Yeah, just needed a minute.”

A long pause filled the space between you before Joel’s footsteps sounded softly against the kitchen floor. You felt him before you saw him, the presence of him behind you like a magnetic force you couldn’t escape. He didn’t say anything right away, and that only made the tension thicker.

When you finally turned to face him, you found him watching you with an intensity that made your throat go dry. His hands were in his pockets, but his body was tense, as if he was holding himself back.

“You seem… off,” he said quietly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Did I—”

“No.” You cut him off too quickly, shaking your head. “No, you didn’t do anything.”

His brow furrowed slightly, unconvinced. “You sure?”

“I’m sure,” you lied, though you weren’t sure of anything anymore. The lie tasted bitter on your tongue because you knew that both of you were aware of what was left unsaid.

Joel’s voice was barely above a whisper when he spoke again. “You know, if something’s bothering you, you can tell me.”

Your breath hitched at the closeness of him, the gentleness of his tone. The Joel you knew wasn’t this soft, wasn’t this careful. And it was that softness, that care, that made your heart ache in a way you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I—” You swallowed hard, trying to find the right words. “It’s nothing, Joel. Really.”

But he didn’t back off. His eyes searched yours, his brow still furrowed in concern, but there was something else there, something that made your stomach twist in a way that both terrified and thrilled you. You’d never seen him look at you like that before. And it made it impossible to breathe.

The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until Joel exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Damn it, kid,” he muttered, and for the first time, there was something raw in his voice—something that made your chest tighten.

“I’m not a kid anymore,” you blurted, the words coming out sharper than you intended. “I’m not.”

Joel’s eyes snapped to yours, and the tension in the room shifted again. This time, it was darker, more dangerous. He didn’t move, but the way he looked at you now wasn’t the way a man looked at someone he thought of as a kid. It was the way a man looked at something he knew he shouldn’t want.

But the worst part was that you wanted him to look at you that way. You’d wanted it for longer than you cared to admit, and now that it was happening, you didn’t know how to handle it.

“I know that,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Trust me, I know.”

He stepped closer and your pulse quickened. He wasn’t touching you yet, but the space between you was chargerd, like a live wire about to spark. You could feel his eyes on you, lingering in a way that sent heat coursing through your body, pooling low in your belly.

“This isn’t….” His voice was rough, as if the words were difficult to push out. “This isn’t a good idea”.

But he didn’t stop moving towards you and you didn’t back away, You should have. You knew you should have.

This was Joel, your dads best friend. There were lines you weren’t supposed to cross. But the way he was looking at you, the way his breath hitched when he got closer, it made it impossible to think clearly.

“I know” you whispered, but your body betrayed you, leaning toward him, drawn in like you were powerless to stop it. 

His hand came up, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed your arm, trailing a path of heat as he slid them up towards your shoulder. The touch was light, barley there, but it was enough to make you shiver, your breath catching in your throat.

“Damn it” he muttered and before you could react he closed the distance between you his body pressing against yours, pinning you against the counter. His hand gripped your was it, firm and possessive, like he had been holding back for too long and couldn’t anymore.

The sudden closeness stole the air from your lungs and for a moment neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, his breath hot and ragged as it ghosted over your lips. Your heart pounding so loud you were sure he could hear it, feel it, the way your chest rose and fell with every shallow breath.

“You’re so beautiful” he murmured, his grip on you tightened, his hand sliding around to the small of your back, pulling you even closer.

All you could do was stand there, caught in the heat of the moment, in the way his body felt pressed against yours, in the way your body ached for more.

Slowly you lifted your hands to his chest, feeling the hard planes of muscle beneath his shirt, smelling his intoxicating cologne. His breath hitched at your touch and that small sound, that tiny moment of weakness made your pulse race. You wanted more, needed more.

“Joel…” you whispered again, but this time it wasn’t a warning. it was a plea. 

His eyes darkened, is jaw clenched tight as he stared down at you, like he was on the verge of something dangerous, something he couldn’t take back. His thumb brushed your cheek, his touch gentle despite the storm of emotions raging between you.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into darlin” he said voice hoarse, almost broken. But his eyes flicked to your lips and you could feel the tension rising, the air between you crackling with need.

“I know what exactly what im doing Joel” you breathed, your fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him closer.

That was all it took.

With a loud growl, Joels mouth crashed against yours and it was like a dam breaking. This kiss was hungry, desperate, as if both of you had been holding back for too long and couldn’t bear it anymore. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, as if he needed to feel every inch of you beneath his touch.

You gasped into his mouth, your hands sliding up to wrap around his neck, pulling him even closer, deeper. His tongue parted your lips, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as he kissed you like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough,

Every touch, every kiss sent a jolt of electricity through you and you arched against him, your body instinctively seeking more, craving the heat and weight of him. His hands slid under your shirt, calloused fingers grazing your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

“You feel so damn good sweetheart” he groaned against your lips, his voice rough and desperate as he kissed his way down your jaw, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you gasp.

Your head tilted back, giving him more access as he moved lower, his mouth hot against the sensitive skin of your neck. Every brush of his lips, every scrape of his teeth made you dizzy, made you ache for more.

But just as quickly as it had started, Joel pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with wild, dark eyes.

“Wait…” his voice strained, his forehead resting against yours again as he struggled to catch his breath. “We shouldn’t do this” 

You were both breathless, your bodies still pressed together, the heat between you palpable, overwhelming.

“I don’t care” you whispered, your hands still clutching his shirt, unwilling to let him go.

“Fuck” he says under his breath, his fingers digging into your waist was like he was fighting a battle with himself, torn between what he knew was right and what his body wanted.

For a moment, it seemed like he was going to give in. His lips hovered dangerously close to yours again, his breath hot against your skin. But then, with groan of frustration, he pulled away, stepping back as if putting distance between you was the only way to keep himself from losing control completely.

“I can’t” he said, voice tight, like it hurt to say the words. “Not like this”

You stood there, chest heaving, heart racing, the taste of him still on your lips, your body aching from the sudden loss of contact.

And then, without another word, Joel turned and walked out, leaving you alone in the kitchen, the weight of what had just happened hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break.

You leaned against the counter, your head spinning, your body still humming with the memory of his touch. 

Things had gone too far. There was no going back now and that was okay with you.

[insomniac-needs-a-fucking-nap]

This has-been consuming me for over a day so I'm foisting it upon you. Suffer as I do.

Anyway the au idea!

Tim is stuck in a life loop.

What is a life loop? What it says on the tin! Ok better explination: it's basically a time loop but the end point of the loop is finicky which means everytime the looper dies they returns to the age they start(think baby or little little kid age).

Back to the au idea-

Tim is stuck in a life loop due to one reason or another Gotham taking pitty or some cursed relic his parents brought home whatever. Bottom line Tim is stuck in a life loop, and he resets to 6-8 (basically, sometime before he started stalking the batfa, which fannon puts at like 9, I think?)

Anyway some changes that happen in this au!

1) while Tim is still smart he's not as genius as fannon and maybe canon puts him as. Instead his smarts all come from having lived the same timeline like 80 different times.

2) he mostly doesn't abuse this power (sometimes he will memorize the stock prices of lexcorp and then steal it from lex and gifts it to kon in a "Please date me" gesture. It only works some of the time.... look after so long he forgets if he's made a bond with kon this "run" so sometimes kon just gets lexcorp gift packaged to him from a stranger. Now if he still gives the stranger a chance and end up actually dating him....that's not your buisness.)

Anyway sometimes he joins the batfam, sometimes he doesn't, sometimes he forgets to and hacks into the system then forgets he's not a part of them yet so the fam just has to deal with this random vigilante that they can't get off their comms, or out of their system...

When Tim sounds like a sarcastic cynical old man it's because he basically is. By "run" like 40 he's also pretty sure he's older than Ra's. Still calls him a geriatric fuck but hey who really blames him.

He's still a disaster bby no matter how many runs he goes through. Constantly forgets the "life changing" events... aka jason's petty Titans Tower attack, Bruce's timeline adventures, his parents' deaths, Damian's existence like 90% of the time, etc. So he does still get blindsighted sometimes

It's also super important to me in this that no one else is in a life loop. Yes Constantine, or raven, or Dr fate could all get him out of it but mehhhhh it's fine, he wants to die if old age at least once before he even starts contemplating that. Also whenever the batfam discovers his a "timetraveler" or stuck in a time loop, to avoid the Conversation™️ He just offs himself and starts a new run full on fuck that shit I'm out style

@brucewaynehater101 , here's that au!

:D