#joe goldberg approved

[coophunts]

@serpentblccd / @leagueofdccm

the phantom of the opera, gaston leroux

[kkecreads]

For You and Only You by Caroline Kepnes

Published: April 25, 2023 Random House Genre: Psychological Thriller Pages: 435 KKECReads Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ I received a copy of this book for free, and I leave my review voluntarily. CAROLINE KEPNES is the New York Times bestselling author of YOU, HIDDEN BODIES, PROVIDENCE, YOU LOVE ME and FOR YOU AND ONLY YOU. The Netflix series You is an adaptation of her Joe Goldberg/You novels. Joe…

[mutual-monsters]

the show

Pairing: Joe Goldberg x gn!reader

TW: voyeurism, masturbation (m), not a lot else???

MINORS DNI !!! 🔞

Summary: reader comes home to find Joe jerking off, and decides to treat themselves to a show

Word count: 303

A/N: oops! somebody (not naming names, but def me) forgot to finish kinktober! guess it’s time to do it now! i’m really glad to be writing again! lmk what you guys think :)

tagging: @ouijaboardemo

You really hadn’t meant to walk in on him like this.

It’s just that, upon opening your shared apartment door, and hearing how fucking gorgeous he sounded, you couldn’t help but be drawn closer and closer to the bedroom until the doorknob was in turning in your hand, the trance of lust compelling you to turn it. 

And who would blame you for stopping to stare, with him laying there, slowly pumping his fist, a sheen of sweat glistening over his skin, and a string of whimpers cascading from his mouth?

His eyes, open slightly as he shifts position, and then all the way as he scrambles to sit up, becoming of your presence. 

“I–I can explain.” He starts. The fear on his face is palpable.

“No need.” You tell him, moving closer. “Keep going.”

“I’m– What?” His face is red, he doesn’t know if you’re kidding. He still feels like he’s done something wrong.

“You heard me. I want to watch. Can you do that for me?”

He nods, eager, and begins moving his hand again.

He’s silent for a while, before looking to you for approval. You tell him not to hold back, to pretend you aren’t there, that you want the authentic experience. He quickens his pace, and arches his back slightly, letting his mouth fall open. It isn’t long before the moans begin to escape from his lips. As he chants your name over and over, precum begins to leak from his tip. You watch as his cum spills over his hand, and you listen as his whines calm down. 

He looks to you, unsure of himself, but hopeful for praise. You smile, telling him you love him, and how beautiful he is, and finally, offering a bath for the both of you (something neither of you could deny).

[palestinegenocide]

Biden ‘quietly’ gives massive bombs to Israel — even as establishment voices say, Stop the genocide

The devastating news from Washington this week was that in spite of lip service against Israel’s war on the people of Gaza, the Biden administration “quietly” approved the transfer of more massive bombs to Israel.

Biden is sending along more than 2000 one-ton bombs and 500-pound bombs, the Washington Post reported (per Common Dreams).

“This is cowardly,” Yousef Munayyer wrote. “If you are going to be full backers of genocide, own it. We see you and history sees you as well.”

“This is obscene,” Bernie Sanders wrote. “We must end our complicity: No more bombs to Israel. The U.S. cannot beg Netanyahu to stop bombing civilians one day and the next send him thousands more 2,000 lb. bombs that can level entire city blocks.”

We can only imagine how horrifying such armaments are here in the West. Gazans don’t have to imagine. These instruments of annihilation have generated a neverending nightmare. Even the Washington Post says these bombs “are almost never used any more by Western militaries in densely populated locations due to the risk of civilian casualties.” But Israel has used them extensively.

Which is why more than 31,000 Palestinians have been killed, the vast majority women and children. Israel justifies the slaughter of civilians by arguing that a majority of Palestinians approve of Hamas’s attack of last October. So, collective punishment is policy.

At least Biden’s hypocrisy is being reported in the Washington Post. And we are seeing a broad movement in progressive circles to end Israel’s immunity to international law.

Harvard Law School’s student government voted for the university to divest from Israel. The global activist network Avaaz has got half a million signatures calling for a cutoff of U.S. aid to Israel.

America is Israel’s biggest arms dealer. You are giving American weapons to a government that is blocking life-saving aid and violating international law. This will only stop when you demand it stops.“

Public opinion is also horrified. A Gallup poll finds that 55 percent of Americans oppose Israel’s months-long military campaign (while 36 percent approve). “A mere 18% of Democratic voters approve of Israel’s effort.” And 75 percent disapprove.

Gallup poll published March 27 shows that American Democrats’ support for Israeli actions is plummeting over three months.

Biden is not only defying his base. The liberal political establishment has now turned against Israel’s war. The head of the Democratic party think tank, the Center for American Progress, called for a cutoff of aid.

The United States, by its own imposed standards, cannot heedlessly deliver offensive weapons as the Israeli government continues to bombard and starve innocents on a mass scale. These actions have nothing to do with self defense; they are clearly intended as collective punishment and are resulting in the complete devastation of Palestinians as a people.

The former top State Department human rights officer told NPR that it is time to apply the same rules to Israel as other countries. Charles Blaha:

[T]he State Department has said publicly that the same policy applies to Israel as apply to every other country. In practice, Israel gets special treatment…. You may recall the Biden administration suspended items that could be used in offensive air-to-ground operations for Saudi Arabia because they were causing civilian casualties. Those civilian casualties are nowhere near the civilian casualties that Israeli air-to-ground operations have caused so far. Yet unconditional transfers of air-to-ground munitions continue.

Joe Rogan called it “genocide” and a “holocaust” this week. German Chancellor Olaf Scholz said Israel was going too far. Atlantic Editor Jeffrey Goldberg, trying to run from his own past, ran a piece saying, “U.S. Support for Israel’s War Has Become Indefensible.”

And at the Stimson Center this week, when Barbara Slavin said it’s not genocide because it’s not equivalent to the Hutus and the Tutsis in Rwanda or the Nazis killing 6 million Jews, Lara Friedman of the Foundation for Middle East Peace shot down that defense.

The definition of genocide under international law does not require it to meet that bar… It does not have to rise to, Trying to kill every member of a race in the world [to be a genocide. The idea that] ‘it can’t be genocide if it doesn’t kill everybody.’ That isn’t what it means under international law.

So the genocide is having consequences, even in the cowardly seat of empire.

[mariacallous]

Tucker Carlson went to Moscow last week and had an absolute blast. He rode the subway and marveled at its clean cars, the fancy tilework in Kievskaya Station, and the lack of booze-drenched hobos. He went to a grocery store and was astonished by what ordinary people could apparently buy. He even managed to meet a local history buff and sit down for tea and conversation. Carlson, who had never previously visited Moscow, declared himself “radicalized” against America’s leaders by the experience. He didn’t want to live in Moscow, but he did want to know why we in America have to put up with street crime and crappy food when the supposedly bankrupt Russia provided such a nice life for its people, or at least those people not named Alexei Navalny.

My former Atlantic colleague Ralph Waldo Emerson called travel a “fool’s paradise,” but not all forms of foolishness are equal. Many commentators have guffawed at Carlson’s Russophilia and pointed out that Russia’s murder rate is roughly that of the United States, and that its citizens are dirt poor, about a fifth as wealthy per capita as the citizens of the United States overall. “I don’t care what some flagship supermarket in an imperial city looks like,” The Dispatch’s Jonah Goldberg tweeted. “Russia is far, far poorer than our poorest state, Mississippi.” Bloomberg’s Joe Weisenthal suggested that Carlson instead visit the grocery stores of the “10th or 50th” richest Russian cities, and see how they compare with America’s.

In 2019, I visited several large and small Russian cities, and I went grocery shopping at least once in each. Would you believe that Tucker Carlson is on to something? In Moscow (the largest) and St. Petersburg (No. 2), the flagship supermarkets are indeed spectacular. The Azbuka Vkusa branch next to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in Moscow is more luxurious than any grocery store within 100 miles of Washington, D.C. Other branches in Moscow vary in quality, and they are usually smaller than American supermarkets. But to some extent that’s just a matter of culture: The U.S. has fewer supermarkets, but each one is big enough to feed the 82nd Airborne Division for a month; in Europe, supermarkets are more numerous but tiny.

Makhachkala (22), the capital of Dagestan, followed a similar pattern to Moscow. One supermarket downtown was amazing, the equal of an upscale supermarket in Washington or Dallas. On the outskirts the quality varied, but not drastically. Local residents were not eating soups made from grass clippings. In Murmansk (71), the cramped bodega near my rented flat had a good wine selection and enough fresh staple foods to prepare a different meal your mom would approve of every day of the week. Only in Derbent (134) did I start to wonder whether the bad old days of the Soviet Union were still in effect. But even that would be an exaggeration. In Derbent, for $15, you could get champagne and caviar with blini and velvety sour cream. If you want to flash back to Cold War communism, go to Havana. There the grocery stores stock only dust and mildew.

With apologies to Emerson, travel can disabuse you of foolish notions just as often as it plants them in your head. An idea ripe for dispelling among Americans at this particular moment is that life in Russia must suck because the frigid depression of the Cold War never ended. In those days ordinary citizens were spied upon and tortured and killed, and the shops were empty, save for substandard goods at prices few could afford. Now Russia is different. The state repression is much more limited, though no less brutal toward those who attract its attention. Until the Ukraine war added a huge category of forbidden topics, the main ones that you could get locked up for discussing were war in the Caucasus and the personal life and finances of President Vladimir Putin and his inner circle. Most other topics were broachable, and you could whine all you liked about them.

Equally in need of updating are American expectations about Russian economic misery. Those whose visits to Russia stopped 20 years ago tend to have outdated views of the best the country has to offer. My visits started 24 years ago. Back then, I spent days at a time on the Trans-Siberian, crammed into railway cabins with little to do but talk with Russians and see how they lived. Life was not beautiful. The men busied themselves with crosswords and sullenly browsed pornography. When not in motion, I stayed with Russian friends in single-room flats that looked straight out of a New York tenement building 100 years ago. No one I met was starving, but women sometimes approached me in train stations hoping to rent out their homes or bodies, or to sell me family heirlooms. That type of desperation seems to have subsided, although I would be shocked if any of those people are able to buy the jamón ibérico at the Smolenskaya branch of Azbuka Vkusa yet. On the roads between the big cities, there are still villages so ramshackle that they look like sets from The Little Rascals. Evidence suggests that the Russian military’s frontline troops tend to come from these depressed and benighted lands, the places that really are stuck in the 20th century.

Certain aspects of life remain dismal even in the cities. My flat in Murmansk had surly drunks tottering outside its entrance, and its stairwell smelled like every cat, dog, and human resident had marked its territory there regularly since the Brezhnev era. But the playgrounds were decent, and you could get a delicious smoked-reindeer pizza at a cozy restaurant for $7. Remember, this is in a small, depressed Russian city—not somewhere stocked with goodies just in case an American wanders out of the lobby of the Radisson and needs to be impressed. The “useful idiots” of yesteryear were treated to fake Moscows, which evanesced as soon as the next Aeroflot flights took off. The luxuries of Moscow that Carlson sees, and that I saw, are not evanescent, and they are not (as they are in North Korea, say) a curated experience available only to those on controlled visits.

The stubborn belief that all good things in Russia must be illusory can in turn warp one’s analysis of the country, and in particular of Putin’s durability in power. After all, why would anyone remain loyal to an autocrat who delivered only hunger, penury, and the reek of cat piss? Putin rules by fear but not only by fear. Most Russians will tell you that Russia today is better than it was before Putin. They compare it not with the Soviet era but with the anarchy and decline of the 1990s. Life expectancy has risen, public parks are better maintained, and certain fruits of capitalism can be tasted by Russians of all classes. Who would risk these gains? Like every autocrat, Putin has ensured that his downfall just might destroy every good thing Russia has experienced in the past two decades. This risk is, from the perspective of regime continuity, a positive feature, because it keeps all but the most principled and brave opposition quiet, and content to shut up and enjoy their cheap caviar. Those like Navalny who object do not object for long.

Carlson’s videos never quite say what precisely he thinks Russia gets right. Moscow is in many ways superior to New York. But Paris has a good subway system too. Japan and Thailand have fine grocery stores, and I wonder, when I enter them, why entering my neighborhood Stop & Shop in America is such a depressing experience by comparison. Carlson’s stated preference for Putin’s leadership over Joe Biden’s suggests that the affection is not for fine food or working public transit but for firm autocratic rule—which, as French, Thais, and Japanese will attest, is not a precondition for high-quality goods and services. And in an authoritarian state, those goods and services can serve to prolong the regime.

I confess I still enjoy watching Carlson post videos of Moscow, wide-eyed and credulous as he slowly learns to love a country that I love too. I hope he posts more of them. One goes through stages of love for Russia, often starting with the literature and music, then moving to its dark humor and the personalities of its people, which are always cycling between thaw and frost. Inevitably one reflects on the irony that this civilization, whose achievement is almost without equal in some respects, is utterly cursed in others—consigned to literally centuries of misgovernment, incompetence, and tyranny. The final stage is realizing that the greatness of Russia is part of the curse, a heightening of the irony, as if no matter how much goes right, something is deeply wrong. Maybe when things go right, the more deeply wrong it is. Carlson seems to still be in one of the early stages of this journey.

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 16

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Summary: Twenty minutes before he would have met Guinevere Beck, Joe meets you instead. You intruige him, but it will soon become clear that there is something off about you.

Words: 1436

Masterlist

You told me you were insecure, but I didn't really believe you.

Girls - women - say they're insecure because they think being confident is the same as bragging. They see a woman walk confidently down the street, and they consider it being slutty.

Don't believe me, (Y/n)? Just think. When an insecure woman gets raped, she is a victim. Her life is ruined. But when a confident woman gets raped, she asked for it. She ruined the man's life. Women really think like this. It's all #girlpower and #badbitches until somebody gets hurt.

But you? You don't think like that.

And you really were insecure. I can tell because you're finally gaining some confidence, and it makes a world of difference. You give your opinion to your coworkers. You go outside without spending an hour staring at yourself in the mirror (you rarely wore make-up anyway, but you used to worry about your hair).

And you're writing. A lot.

You say you're not ready for me to read your stories, but you use Google Docs, which means everything is right there on your phone. You can't blame me for sneaking a peak when you go take a shower. Really, you want me to.

I don't know what you were talking about when you said you couldn't write. Your stories are amazing. You are wasting your talents, working in marketing.

The story you're writing right now is about a glass labyrinth. A girl has been walking through it for as long as she can remember. She can't find the exit. Then one day, she meets a boy on the other side of the wall. They try to walk the same route, hoping to eventually find a way to be together, but they never do. At least not where you're at, yet.

But I know they'll find each other eventually, (Y/n), because the story is really about us. All of your stories are about us. About being distant, and then coming together.

You're writing about us being from different countries, and then finding each other. You have to be. It's all one big metaphor.

I love your stories.

You're not fighting with your mom anymore, which is good because it means you are in an infinitely better mood lately. Even when you're grumpy, you don't shut me out anymore - you want me as close as possible, all the time. When I'm working and you're not, you even hang out at the bookstore.

You also want to see my apartment. You think it's weird that you haven't before. So one night, I clean up and I invite you over. I cook for you. It turns out bad, but you praise me because it's been forever since you ate anything homecooked.

You love my apartment. You love my old typewriters (you learn all their names in less than an hour) and you love that even though it's one room, it still feels like the living room, bedroom and kitchen are seperate rooms. You love that all my stuff is secondhand and old. You even love Paco, who comes over halfway through the dinner which I failed to cook.

His mom and Ron are fighting again, and you tell Paco that Ron sounds “like a dick”. But when Ron comes banging at my door, you smile sweetly and say you think Paco's just the nicest kid and get me out of a lecture because Ron thinks it's just fine for Paco to be here if there's a girl like you around, apparently.

I meet your grandparents. Not in person, of course. One day your grandma facetimes you while I'm over at yours, and you turn my phone and tell me to wave, and then your grandfather asks me a thousand questions. You don't have a dad, but your grandfather is like one. And I think he approves of me.

Basically, everything about our relationship is falling into place. But then:

“I'm going home for Christmas.”

My world shatters.

“Home?” I ask. Maybe, just maybe, you mean something other than what I think you mean.

“To The Netherlands,” you say. You pause. “My grandmother really wants me there.”

This is the worst. This is insane. You can't just go that far away from me. Anything could happen to you!

I say: “isn't Christmas three months away? Why are you telling me already?”

Like I don't care. Like I hadn't even thought about Christmas.

“Well, I don't want you to make plans for us, or anything.”

I already made plans. We were going to have dinner with Mr. Mooney. It would have been incredibly depressing, but you have to meet him at some point because he's the closest thing I have to family. Then, I was going to take you on a carriage ride, and we were going to watch Shakespeare in the park because you've read Macbeth, but you didn't get it and really, (Y/n), I love books but Shakespeare was a playwright and his words weren't meant to be read, they were meant to be experienced.

It's how you claim you don't like romantic comedies, but really you just don't like romance novels. I know if you watched Hannah and her sisters with me, you'd love it. You'd recognize that romantic comedies are art. But you are stubborn.

“When are you going?” I ask.

“December ninth.”

“How long are you going?”

“Until January third.”

I have to live without you for almost an entire month?!

“And you can just take that much time off?”

“I’m using all my days at once,” you say. “Plus some unpaid time. And I promised not to take any vacation during the summer next year. So.” You clear your throat. “I’m sorry.”

“No, you have to go be with your family,” I say. “I get it.”

And I do get it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not also the worst thing you could have done to me. Because you are not inviting me.

And I swear, sometimes it’s like you read my mind:

“Next time I go to The Netherlands, I’m inviting you, I promise.”

“Okay.”

“It’s just that if I invite you now, my grandparents are going to think it’s way too soon. They’ll think I’m just like my mother, and I’m supposed to be different, you know?”

You talk about your grandparents like they are your parents, and your mother like she is a sister who set the wrong tone within your family. Someone you have to outdo. I don’t understand the dynamic within your family and I don’t pretend to understand it. I just stare at you until you continue:

“She’s, like, a serial dater. She’s only with a guy until he loves her, and then she fucks him, and then she leaves him. When I was a kid there was a new man around basically every week. It’s more like every month now, but still.”

You are not like your mother, (Y/n). I know because I love you, and here you are. And also, we’re not having sex. It’s not because you say no, anymore. Now, I’m the one putting it off. I have a plan for us.

“That sounds like it was hard.”

“My grandparents tried to get custody of me,” you say. “It was a whole thing.” You take a deep breath. “But yeah. So I really thought about inviting you, but I don’t want them to get the wrong idea. They’ve seen you now. I want them to hear about you more. To think of you as a guy who’s sticking around. Before they meet you in person, I mean.”

And you know what? I love that. I understand why you’re not inviting me.

I still hate it, but it does make sense.

“Okay,” I say. “Well, I can’t say I’m not disappointed that we’re not spending Christmas together, but I get it.”

“Do you have plans for Thanksgiving?”

“Not really,” I say. Mr. Mooney doesn’t believe in Thanksgiving and you’re not American, so it’s not like I have anybody to celebrate with. And anyway, it’s a holiday meant to deify white people invading a country and killing most of the population through semi-accidental biological warfare. What’s there to celebrate.

“Let’s make Thanksgiving our Christmas this year,” you say.

“Okay.”

It won't be the same. There is no Shakespeare in the park on Thanksgiving, because everybody will be watching football. But I'll just have to come up with something else.

“I can't believe we're making plans for Thanksgiving two months in advance.”

“I'm Dutch,” you say. “Be glad we're not having the Christmas conversation in March.”

[rebelrayne]

what my husband thinks of the casa amor boys (plus toby as a bonus)

Under the cut

Andy

His earring looks like a little fucking handsaw. He has a handsaw on his ear. Who told him to stand like that? His 12 year old sister? Looks like one of those awkward guys that says “what do I do with my hands?” The way he holds his feet, he probably has a foot fetish. You could almost miss his nipples cause they’re not a natural color. He’s got a weird bump on his foot. And his left foot is way fatter than his right foot. What the fuck? He has a size 13 one foot and 9 on the other. What the fuck it looks like he’s wearing a ring on his left hand??? He’s a bottom. A sub bottom. Like a very submissive bottom. He looks like he has daddy issues. If you stan Andy, I will laugh at you and not take you seriously. Anything you say is not canon. Between him and Francis, they should be the most hated. I almost hate him as much as I hate Lewie. Probably has tea parties with stuffed animals. They call him “sir short stick”.

Francis

He looks like the fucking guy from ‘Forgetting Sarah Marshall’ like the one that Sarah Marshall goes to Hawaii with. Does he go to the hair stylist 3 times a week to get his color right? No, that’s not a real beard he drew it on. Did he steal his grandma’s coat and sandals??? AND BRACELET??? Oh my God, JESS! He’s got a small hand like the guy from scary movie- “grab my strong hand!!” Looks like he’s into paranormal shit like he’s a ghost chaser. The AI did a fucking terrible job, it tried to mix scary movie small hand guy, a grandma and Russell Brand. I can’t tell if he had a belly button. Is he an alien??? This guy creeps me out. And his posture- just the way he holds himself. He’s creepy. He’s a version of Joe Goldberg that stole his grandmas sweater that’s his undercover outfit. The sweater is literally his baseball cap. Is that enough? Or should I keep going about his grandmas sandals she got during 1 AD? Those sandals saw Jesus they were there on resurrection day. Practices celibacy as a religion. If he was born in Spartan times, they would throw him to the wolves or over a cliff. I kind of wanna spartan kick him myself. See a special meme made by Jessie’s husband below:

Hamish

That’s fucking Tom 2.0 mixed with Zac Efron. He looks like he came out of fucking Baywatch. Been staring at Pamela Anderson’s tits. Got a knock-off Rolex. Not much to make fun of- this guy seems mostly normal. He doesn’t have any qualities I can laugh at. Even his posture and how he holds his hands is manly. Looks like he’s ready to punch Lewie in his asshole lips. I brought up he has small feet and he defended him. He has an average size dick, probably like 5.5 inches. He’s the guy everyone should want to get (unless he is a closet asshole). But even then, there’s a binary code of how much of an asshole he can be. He looks like he has a Christian Grey mentality. Probably has a red room and it’s hidden. Fuck now there will be fanfics of him doing BDSM… his nickname would be “Lord Ladies Man”. JESSIE’S HUSBAND STAMP OF APPROVAL - first and only one this season.

Marshall

Starts laughing that he has a butterfly on his chest. Why did he get a tramp stamp on his chest?? These tattoos are almost as bad as Will’s. Captain Jack Sparrow if he was a hipster. Most definitely swings both ways. I want to cut off his manbun when he’s sleeping… like half these tattoos don’t make any sense. He probably has shorty tattooed on his dick and it probably still says shorty when it’s erect. At least his chin isn’t square like Ozzy’s. This guy is weird looking and his tattoos give me the heebie jeebies. He’s a fucking dumpster rat. He’d be the king’s jester and wear clown makeup. Tries to juggle three balls- can’t find them. He looks like he enjoys his venti Starbucks drinks: “Can you froth the milk please sir?” Looks homeless, searches the road for pennys or whatever British cheap change is. Probably has OnlyFans for his feet.

BONUS: Toby

He literally looks like the kind of guy that is used as the main character in the game— he looks like a default setting lol he’s a random fucking palette. Looks like Vin Diesel’s baby brother I’m going to call him baby diesel. Why are his arms so short? At least he didn’t skip leg day. If you chopped off his head, he’d look like the perfect speciman of a man. Head looks like it should be on a crackheads. It’s small. Looks like he should be on prison break. Surprised he has no tattoos - looks like he’s been to prison a few times. Kind of sad he’s the last one… I wish Francis was the last one instead. Toby’s skin tone is off… his color is different from his head to feet. The AI said “lol not my fucking problem.” It said “make perfect man body with generic ass head.” Bro is gonna be NPC for life. (“You sound like Elliot” “shut the fuck up”). He’s so bland they gave him white swim shorts.

A/N to my fans: I love you degenerates. I work very hard at this to entertain and give you guys a full insight to what these characters really are. I appreciate your constant gratitude and thank you for allowing me to be your roast king. All other attempts are failures and they can come find me if they have something to say. I hope you all read this and then go back to read it again because it makes you happy. That is all.

PS: the AI really helped with these roasts this season because the character designs sucked. They made it very easy for me. I’d also really like to thank my top supporter, @caitkaminski . She’s been a fan for a long time (Apparently I am not a supporter). Here’s to next season. I will miss doing these til then. In the wise words of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson, aka Maui: “You’re welcome.”

[multiversxwhore]

Shadows That Follow You Home: pt.1

⚠️warning: this story contains mentions of sexual assault, violence, humiliation, degradation, and sadist behaviour. Please do not read if any of these are triggers for you, you have been warned.

a/n: this is based off the Netflix series ‘You’, as much as I love Joe Goldberg(Penn Badgley) I’ve been having fun writing Jonathan Majors, so in this adaptation’ Jonathan is Joe(except I renamed the character here just fyi). Now that we’ve gotten that out the way… enjoy this dark ass, chaotic ass first chapter 😈⏰

Word count: 1k

(gif belongs to @earthgif )

“Please just let me go. Let me go you fucking crazy psycho!” Brian Carter, rich white college boy with the world in the palm of his hands. He stared at me wide eyed, shocked, and confused. He’s been down in my makeshift glass jail for about a week, I was being lenient though; I should have done this the first time I found out how much of a prick he was.

“I’ll give you another chance, why do you think I’ve taken you Brian? Use your brain this time, I assume you’re smart enough since you went to a fancy school and all.” I mocked him, he didn’t like that, because how dare I make light of such a prestigious institution.

“If you wanted money that’s all you had to say, okay look, I’ll give you my debit card, the PIN code. You can have it all I don’t give a fuck man, just let me go.” Brian begged, he began to sob, tears flowing from his cheeks, and his face turning a bright red. Well this is a shocker, the way he used to hound women, you’d think he would handle this in a more “manly” way. Guess I was wrong.

“What– no, this has nothing to do with money, if that’s what I wanted I would have taken it right out of your trust fund. No, what I want is to make you feel, like how you’ve made every woman you’ve encountered feel.” I walked closer to the large glass cell, my body felt hot as the images of all his victims I found in his phone passed my mind.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I swear.” He cried harder, his breathing hitched, his face wet with a mixture of tears, and sweat. If I were him, I’d be sweating too, I’d be nervous looking at me. I can only imagine the lifeless look in my eyes, the cold stare, my calm, and calculating demeanor.

“You’re a sleaze Brian! A pervert, pig.” I spat at him, each word making him cower into the corner even further.

“No, no, no.” He cried.

“You’re a predator. At least you thought you were, until you ran into me.” I put the clothes in the drawer on my side, and push them into the cell to his side. He hesitated to move at first, I nodded my head in approval, so he dug into the drawer to retrieve the items. He held up the dress infront of him, his eyes lids wide open, then he looked at me, and that’s when he realized what was going on.

“How does he know me?” He whispered to himself, I could see the wheels turning, but he wasn't connecting the dots fast enough. I was starting to feel impatient.

“Morgan Pentagrini, a pretty little woman, big hair, with big dreams of being a writer? I mean but all you say was more pussy you could slide up into huh?”

“I’m sorry, you’re doing all this over her! That bitch is so lame bro.” He dragged his hands down his face, he tried to slow down his panicked breaths, but that did nothing.

“Is that why you tried to raped her? You got bored too easily so you thought you could use her, and throw her out like trash?”

“That’s what she told you? She was loaded! Morgan was throwing herself all over me like some thot, and you know what else, she can act all innocent all she wants. Get a few beers in her, all of a sudden she’s got kinks.”

“Put the clothes on Brian.” I ordered him, though I’m sure my face is relaxed, my tone even, I felt rage rattling from the pits of my stomach. The longer I looked at him, the less likely I am to pace myself.

“You can’t make me do shit, fuck you.”

“Let me give you some motivation.” I pulled out a gun from my pocket, there were perfect circles cut into the glass to let air in for the books, but it was just big enough to fit the tip of the gun in.

Quickly he started to dress himself, frantically he pulled on the dress, and jacket. Suddenly his macho stance disintegrated, a look of shame, and embarrassment etched across his chiseled features. Good, that’s exactly how he should feel. “Now, when I give you the cue, I want you to dance like a stripper, and Brian, you better dance like your life depends on it…because it does.”

I pulled out his phone that I took from his jacket pocket, opened the camera, and began to record. “Ladies and Gentlemen, you are witnessing the deconstructing of Brian Carter. This man has harassed, drugged, and sexually assaulted multiple young women in the Lower Manhattan area. Out of respect for the victims, I won’t say their names, but they know who they are. To those young women, I apologize on behalf of…men, especially the wines like Brian Carter. This is one less stain in the world.” With my free hand I pointed the gun at him, he let out a yelp, but started to dance suggestively. His body trembled, tears in his eyes, he sobbed during the whole thing, but I still felt insatiable.

“I’m sorry, Morgan, Alicia, Jackie…god I’m sorry. I’ll be better I swear, I won’t do it again. Please let me go!” Brian whimpered, his face contorted into a pained expression, but this wasn’t even the worst of it. I set the phone down, pulled out a pair of gloves from my jacket pocket, and approached the glass cell. Brian is still on his knees apologizing I’m a hushed voice over, and over again. How pathetic.

“Any last words?” As I stand over him, I feel no remorse, no guilt, or no shame. I had to do this, because if not me, then who?

“You sick son of a bitch! They’ll come looking for me!” He shouted, it was a poor attempt at a plea deal, I guess he ran out of things to say now that the truth is out.

“Let them, they’ll be chasing after a ghost.” I dropped down on top of him, Brian is a fairly decent sized man, but his strength as a swimmer, versus my football build, is nothing when you compare the two. My hands slowly wrapped around his neck, now…I could easily end this in seven minutes, but I wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible. I could feel the blood excitedly pumping through my veins to my heart leaving my brain unattended, but the lack of oxygen gave me a sense of euphoria like no other. I inhaled deeply; the smell of old dusty books, mixed with the stench of musk only a man in the brink of death could give off filled my nostrils. He began to squirm in my grasp, his hands clasped around my wrist as he tried to pry my hands off him. As I continue to add more pressure onto his trachea, I stare Brian deeply in his panicked eyes, I can see your beautiful face looking back at me.

Why are you looking at me like that? Like this isn’t what you wanted, okay I get it, my methods are a bit extreme. But it’s too late now, you said the words ‘I just wished Brian died some mysterious death so that I wouldn’t have to ever see him again’ yea you said that. I heard you say it to your best friend, Cardíerre, when you two were having a sleepover at her house two weeks ago. You’ll be regretting that statement when the news breaks, but you know what they say…be careful what you wish for.

[kwop-kilawtley]

In midnight sun when Edward is (without Bella’s knowledge) alone in her room going through her books & commenting how messy she is etc is legitimately like the episode of “You” where Joe broke into Beck’s apartment. Joe went through Beck’s stuff trying to see the stuff she liked & he was justifying it by being like this is what they did back in the day to court a woman. Getting to know her & learning her. LMFAO. There are soooo many parallels to Midnight Sun & You it’s kind of disturbing. Y’all only thinks Joe is creepy cause he’s a human but see how it works on Beck?! He’s attractive & charming so it works. Same shit with Edwin but y’all let it go cause he’s a vampire which is somehow supposed to make shit better? at least Joe Goldberg went after people his own age unlike Edward. Being forever 17 is not a thing idfc. He refers to Bella’s friends (her age) as children. He only LOOOKS 17. He is not 17. But bella is & that’s literally a minor so…. Bye

Similarities between Edward Cullen & Joe Goldberg after a reread + rewatch of MS/Twilight & You:

- Watches girl he’s known for only a few weeks outside of her home without her knowing

- Saves girls life which makes girl interested in him. Girl is amazed & grateful of course

- Breaks into girls room without her knowledge & snoops through her things after mere weeks of knowing her

- Hates her friends who do not approve of their relationship & isolates her

- Is charming, smart, handsome to lure girl in which works

- Goes out of his way to follow & stalk girl by car when she is out of town. When confronted an excuse is made. Edwards: I followed you in case you needed my help. Joes (in the show not book): I followed you to surprise you & hope you’d find it to be thoughtful.

-Thinks girl is helpless & needs saving

-puts down women who are sexy or independent or horny. Also they have the same negative mindset on women who are “basic” like Jessica & Beck’s friends.

-is a literal murderer. Edwards murders were justified tho I’ll give him that. But he still almost killed Bella day 1. He planned on luring her away & killing her.

[f3mcelbambi]

need her in a way joe goldberg would approve of

[fantasywritten]

THE DARK, THRILLING PLOTS THAT I SECRETLY CRAVE

Trigger warning for kidnapping, torture, gore, murder, manipulation, trauma, a toxic relationship, the Saw franchise in general, etc. You have been warned!

Our muses getting put into a Saw trap. Maybe one muse has to kill the other to survive. Maybe only one of our muses can survive. Just give me a scenario where both of our muses are in a desperate and hopeless Saw trap situation lolol

THE AFTERMATH OF SURVIVING A SAW TRAP! Oh my godddd please give this to me! The trauma, the physical / mental pain that comes with recovery… give this to me pleeeease

Your muse getting recruited as a Jigsaw apprentice!

Your muse getting revenge on one of the Jigsaw killers (preferably Mark Hoffman or John Kramer) and putting THEM in a Saw trap! Watch them squirm lolol

Our characters being literal murderers / partners in crime. Bonus points if they’re also secretly lovers. Just two of our muses, casually murdering people and committing crimes while being hopelessly in love and trying to run from the cops.

Alternatively, our muses accidentally kill someone together, or one of them kills someone in front of the other. But they’re both involved, and they have to cover up the murder while trying not to get caught by the police. Think season 1 of The End of the F**king World.

Toxic relationship stuff! I want manipulation, I want jealousy… I want it all! Joe Goldberg would work great for this, of course, but anyone else would be great, too! I’m down to play the manipulator or the manipulated!

Or, alternatively, they’re both secretly manipulating each other 👀

Another toxic relationship idea — this one is based on Joe Goldberg in You, but it could really work with any toxic muse. The whole “i would kill for you” dynamic. Muse A would — and does — kill anyone and everyone that gets in Muse B’s way out of love. Muse B suddenly notices that people keep dying around them and somehow finds out that it’s Muse A’s doing. It’s up to you whether Muse B actually approves of this or not.

KIDNAPPING PLOTS! Maybe one of us plays the kidnapper and one of us plays the kidnapped — or we can just write out the angsty aftermath. Anything is good!

Blackmailing! Muse A did something bad or embarrassing in their past and is being blackmailed by Muse B. This is very vague, so take it as you will!

Anything hero vs. villain!

[writer59january13]

Au revoir oh perilous freedom...

Since pledging my troth to the missus July 25th, 1996

after the comma error punctuated mein kampf with disequilibrium.

Ever since the notions of life, liberty and pursuit of happiness coalesced within the mindscape attributed to one or more anonymous forebears way before the advent of civilization when written language preserved (homo sapiens communicated virtual primal groans and grunts),

nevertheless witnessing inchoate awakening visa vis dawning enlightenment bajillions of years after earth, wind and fire affected ideal environment for Beatle browed foo fighters Nirvana oriented proto humans among rival capital one group of beastie boys versus another. Each subsequent generation embodied propensity to acquire heavenly delight characterized courtesy

storied primeval human associations

to wrestle with promotion of mental, physical and spiritual autonomy. Once self-determination awoke animal hides did cloak daggers if antagonism occurred especially as high society coaxed fibers inviting village people to invent legislation to evoke amity particularly once firearms witnessed proliferation of gunsmoke (and the Western genre as film noir) after shoot-'em-ups erupted,

when scapegoat mustered courage

(after chomping powder milk biscuits)

bad to the bone bully underestimated chutzpah

courtesy said shy person, yours truly did invoke adulation and garnered within figurative keystroke generated winning vote cast strictly by menfolk if I vouchsafed would

NOT be pig in a poke

as happened countless millenniums later,

when forty fifth president of lands slated to become United States of America would try to revoke his successor mudslinging him,

(the latter, a common joe biden time), a veritable teetotaler,

who swore, he rarely took a toke.

Blame aforementioned blue collar Scranton boy yup blimey bloke woke up after leaving Oval Office early one Autumn morning bright eyed and bushy tailed after an eight year stint, whereby the electorate majority approved former occupant of “Executive Mansion”

(circa 2020 - 2028) admitting admirable administration donned hat of clown

earning a living wage and taking page from playbook of bozo, who brought good humor and laughter, where tragedy wrought woe

visited webbed wired wide world

(once trod upon by the noble savage

as described by Jean-Jacques Rousseau)

whipping out trademark Dobro,

(a contraction of "Dopyera brothers" and a word meaning "goodness" in their native Slovak,

who introduced said instrument in 1928)

kickass nimble octogenarian (accompanied by the band Tripping Up Stairs) performed outstanding show capering, dancing, gliding,

high jumping, et cetera across the stage

hither and yon, to and fro

contagiously gifting, letting riotous hoopla ring out across Land of Lake Wobegon spontaneously kickstarting audience of senior citizens

(including yours truly) to shuck off mantle of senescence (and clothes in the same process after gaining courage to join Barenaked Ladies) hooting and trumpeting nouveau playfulness summoning

rebirth of childlike spirit. How carefree and ideal to identify with mindset of Alfred E Neuman Mad Magazine what me worry unfortunately as a little boy yours truly beset with mental health issues Anorexia Nervosa the most serious potential to develop healthily

self starvation eradicated courtesy the expertise of psychiatrist

Ted Goldberg my parents did employ subsequently eating disorder

manifested as hair obsession with a vengeance, when maybe some dozen years later while completing a co-op linkedin to enrollment at Antioch College at facility I chose called

Chicago Ecology Resource Center in Illinois,

and who should make a small teleporting cameo appearance,

but none other than Leonard Nimoy,

albeit his likeness manufactured as plastic popular gewgaw enterprising toy.

Courtesy the most flimsy tenuous designs linkedin to above lines

availed and linkedin thru Unitarian Church affiliation while a youth, (now negligible participant,

who would never join any group

that would accept me as a member) an important connection throve with 1976 Norristown Area High School alum Frankie Augustine Junior a brain,

plus admirable ruler

of tribbles and klingons to boot.

As an otherworldly webbed wordsmith, I befriended said lad, who became best earthling chum,

whose birthday (January eleventh nineteen fifty nine) two days before mine, our camaraderie did rattle and hum

until he attended Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute (majoring in nuclear engineering) landing himself a plum job.

Our friendship since foundered unlike the enterprising television show, which captured the imaginations of countless young and older people alike. By 1986, 17 years after entering syndication,

Star Trek considered

the most popular syndicated series;

by 1987, Paramount made $1 million

from each episode;

and by 1994, the reruns

still aired in 94% of the United States.

[claraswritings]

Skin of the Night

Pairing: Peter Ballard x female reader

Warnings: erm,, Peter kills someone…, spoilers, language,Peter being instantly obsessed Joe Goldberg style. Ambiguous ending ie you can imagine it went the show way or not if you like.

Notes: I have never written anything like this before so this is me trying something different. This is not proof read so I will correct any spelling or grammar mistakes later.

Peter had never seen you here before, he was sure of it. He would have remembered you. You had to be new to town.

You were pretty, dressed in simple blue jeans and an oversized tee shirt and the strap of your bag hung loosely over your shoulder. You weren’t craving attention but you captured his anyway… it wasn’t your looks, no, although you were beautiful, it was how you held yourself.

Your expression was soft as you smiled at him like he was an old friend. You were different. Although there were not many, the visitors to Hawkins Lab were usually apprehensive, cautious even. They’d walk around on edge like the kids were dangerous animals and like the orderlies were the zoo keepers. Not you though. You’re kind, Peter could tell.

“Hi,” you spoke. You had a nice voice, Peter noticed.

“Hi,” he repeated your greeting, making sure to keep his tone calm and friendly. He wanted you to trust him.

You introduced yourself.

“I’m here to see my uncle Martin…sorry, Dr.Brenner,”

Peter blinked a little surprised by your statement. That was unexpected. Dr.Brenner was a ruthless man so when he’d heard the doctor mention his niece, he’d expected someone…well, he hadn’t been expecting you. You seemed kind, friendly and everything the doctor was not.

Did you know what went on at the laboratory? Did you know how cruel your uncle could be? How he treated the children, how he’d treated him.

No, Peter decided. You wouldn’t. You’d never approve. Brenner must be lying to you. Peter felt angry for you and the urge to tell him the truth boiled in his veins but he’d have to wait. He’d gain your trust, then he’d tell you everything.

“How lovely, I’ll let him know,” Peter covered his surprise well. “Please take a seat,”

***

Not wanting to leave the room, for fear he’d miss something about you. Peter had pretended to be organising paperwork whilst you spoke with your uncle. He was memorising everything he could about you, gathering information and collecting any and every detail he could, mentally noting it all so he could use it to win you over later.

Much to Brenner’s annoyance, you made attempts to include Peter in the conversation. You’d turn to him, smile tweaking at the corners and ask for his thoughts and Brenner would purse his lips tight and stare him down until he finished talking.

The thought of you knowing it was pissing off Brenner and doing it anyway thrilled Peter. He hoped desperately that was the case. You had to have caught the looks Brenner was giving Peter. Peter could have savoured it all afternoon, oh if only… but your next words brought that to a screeching halt.

“I gotta go, Uncle Martin, I’m meeting Harry,” you smiled at your uncle as you stood up and shrugged your small coat back on over your shoulders. “He’s taking me to see some new movie at the drive in”

Peter concealed the urge to instantly look your way and instead focused on the papers he’d been looking at so hard that the words started to blur and the pages started to crease under the tension. Harry? Who was he. There was no ring on your finger so that ruled out a husband. Brenner had only ever mentioned his niece, never a nephew so it chances of it being a brother were low. A boyfriend would complicate things.

“Okay sweetheart, come see your uncle again soon, won’t you?” Brenner smiled at you “Have fun with Harry,”

“Of course,” you smiled before turning “Bye, Peter, it was nice to meet you,” you waved at him and he couldn’t help but notice how geniune you sounded, like you actually meant it.

From other people, those words would be a simple sentiment, a token gesture said in the way most people would say hello to a co-worker or ask how someone’s day was… but you, you seemed like you actually had enjoyed meeting him. How he hoped he’d see you again soon.

“Bye,” he repeated your name as he relaxed his grip instantly . “Anything you need, I’ll be right here,” he gave you a friendly smile and returned your wave. On your next visit, he would not be caught off guard next time. He’d make sure of it.

**

The first thing Peter did was go to your home whilst you were out with whoever Harry was.

He had your address from the visitors form and given that visitors to Hawkins Lab were few and far between, it was easy to determine which was yours. Being allowed to leave the lab for short periods was the smallest of freedoms and he had to be make the most of it and be quick before Brenner realised where he was.

Of course he was still powerless with this ridiculous Soteria tracking device in his neck, he was left with the rather rudimentary method of unlocking your door with a lock pick.

How helpful it would be to see your fears so he could protect you from them, and your desires, so he could give them to you. Peter made a note to himself to step up his plan involving getting the girl he’d been making progress with, 011, to remove it. He had been planning on escaping by any means necessary once it was removed but now… now getting you was the top priority. Maybe you could escape with him and the girl, You could help them expose Brenners whole scheme. Once you knew the truth, you’d never see him the same way.

As the satisfying click signalled the door to your home had been opened, Peter slipped the lock pick back into his coat pocket, stepped in and shut the door behind him carefully and began surveying his surroundings.

He started with the lounge. It was neat and homely, cosy even. No sign of another man, which was good as it made one thing clear…that whoever Harry was to you, it was nothing serious. A record player sat on your coffee table, and a small television with a shelf filled with videos above it. He skimmed the titles and was intrigued to see nearly all of them were horrors, thrillers with dark and gloomy covers along with the occasional science fiction. Peter had little time for movies with work, but the morbidity of the name intrigued him and well, if you were interested in these…things, he’d make time.

There was a desk drawer, double locked, and despite much wiggling with the lock pick. It did not budge. Peter cursed Brenner and squeezed hard at the spot on his neck where the Soteria lay, willing it to come out, wishing for the day he had his powers back. Whatever was in there, you’d protected it more than your front door so it had to be important. With a few deep breaths, Peter attempted to calm the rage in his veins and reminded himself he would head back once his abilities were restored, or by then, maybe you’d tell him.

He moved into your bedroom next with a curious eye. Your bed was made with plenty of scatter pillows and a throw , the lamp on your bedside table accompanied with a candle and a well worn book. He thumbed through it, the name and the author now ingrained in his mind. Peter opened your large closet and went through some of your clothes, the variety standing out to him as he pictured his clothes next to yours. Given that he spent most of his days in the confines of the lab, he did not have a variety of outfits like you did. A few shirts and jeans and a old jacket was the extent that he had. Maybe you’d help him pick out more once he was truly free. The idea set his heart racing in a way he’d never felt before.

He could almost imagine you were there, if he closed his eyes, he could picture he was with you, lying on your couch, him resting back on you as you stroked his hair or in bed, kissing your soft lips, tracing your cheekbones and marking your neck or walking with you through Hawkins, hand in hand, you leaning in on his arm.

For Peter, it was pointless interacting with most other people. They were dull, routine, all the same but you, you were so… so special. You had to be, it was the only explanation Peter could think of as to why he was so drawn to you.

***

Peter left your place soon after and returned to his duties, making sure the children were fed and in their beds before he fixed the Rainbow Room and headed to one of the offices to monitor the cameras set up. The phone, as if on cue, rang only moments after he’d sat down.

“Hi Peter,” it was you. You’d remembered his name, he savoured the thought of taking up space in your brain. You sounded a little breathless and relived to hear him.

“Hello, how lovely to hear from you again, are you okay?” He had to conceal how happy he was that you were calling. It was almost too good to be true.

“Oh my god this is going to sound so stupid…,” you paused and Peter desperately wanted to press you to continue, to say what was unsaid, “look, erm, can I come back? I’ll bring you food? I promise, is there anything you want in particular?”

“Of course you can,” he reassured you “As I said, anything you need I’ll be right here, and I’ll trust your judgement on the food,”

As the phone hit the receiver with a click, he leant back. You. In his company. It was sooner than he could have hoped.

**

“Hi,” you said, as he opened the door, “Can I come in? I’m freezing and I don’t know anyone else here,” Your hair was a little damp and your small jacket was rain soaked. In one hand, your car keys and in the other, a bag of take out. Peter took it from you to allow you a free hand. You looked beautiful. All he wanted was to take care of you and keep you warm. The mascara you’d had on had run a little but your lipstick was still fresh. Had you reapplied it for him?

The thought of you, slightly rain soaked but still applying lipstick for his benefit caused a shiver of anticipation down his back.

“Of course,” he nodded “You look cold. Come with me, I’ll make you a hot drink, and we can have the food you brought,”

“That would be amazing. Thank you Peter,”

He lead you down the corridors until you reached his living quarters. Brenner was insistent on all staff remaining on site overnight so provided the facilities. It was basic, the lounge, the kitchen and the bedroom all one room, plain coloured magnolia walls, a beige carpet and stainless steel counters with a small bathroom off to the side.

He busied himself making you a drink and unpacking the food, whilst you took a seat. The image of you, in his quarters made his heart rate quicken. He wondered what you’d do if he told you he wanted you right then and there but no, he had to be smart, startling you would not work in his plan to win you over.

“You stay here?” You sounded surprised. Clearly your uncle didn’t tell you everything.

“Yes,” Peter stirred, hoping you would mistake his careful words for genuine concern “the children…he…looks after, they’re… they need support and technically I’m never off the clock,” He turned to you, placing the steaming mug beside you, his own in the other hand. “Not that I mind. Most of them just need a friend,”

“Yeah, I bet… I know that feeling,”

Peters head quirked at your words. Good, he thought to himself upon hearing your reply was a canid display of vulnerability. Were you suggesting he could be that friend? He’d show you he could be so much more.

“Don’t we all,” Peter tilted his head at you. “It can be lonely for people like us… them,” He let the deliberate ‘us’ slip before correcting himself “the kids are all very special,”

“I think it’s sweet how you look out for them,” you leant imagine to take a sip, sleeves pulled over your hands, your lips leaving a red lipstick mark on the plain white of his mug. “I’m sure they appreciate it, you doing as much as you can…it must be hard for them… being so sick…that plus the experimental treatments and being away from their family… they’re lucky to have you,”

Ah. So that was the line Brenner was feeding you. He was looking after the children, keeping them safe, curing them. Is that what he told himself? The chip in Peter’s neck seemed to burn deeper against his skin as he fought the urge to reach into the drawer for the dull butter knife and attempt to cut it out. It wouldn’t be successful of course, Peter knew. He’d tried.

He thought about if you’d scream, if you’d be sad at the image of him bloody and bruised, would you stay at his side, would you call for Brenner?

“Peter?” Your concerned tone brought him back to present you, looking at him, brow slightly furrowed. “Are you okay?”

Yes, Peter knew it. You were different, Peter had grown sick, exhausted even, of other people. The human race in general seemed so…boring and so pointless. And yet as his eyes met yours, he saw you were entirely focused on him and he felt his gaze soften. You were the one person in this world worth it all. His exception to his rule that humanity was completely pointless.

“Yes,” Peter placated you, before taking his spot opposite you against the counter and taking a drink from his own mug and sitting your plates down.

“I was just distracted… i was thinking about one of the children, she’s a good kid, so smart…I think she will be…the most successful…treatment of them all,” he stressed the word treatment, hoping you’d catch on to how the lab was doing anything but.

You beamed at him. “That’s amazing! Hopefully I can meet her one day when she’s better,”

“Oh I think she’d like that very much. We both would”

***

You spent the evening talking, eventually moving from the counter to sit at the pine coffee table. Peter couldn’t help but realise it was the first conversation he’d had with an adult wherein he didn’t feel under a microscope or waiting for him to perform like a circus freak.

“How was your…day with… Harry, was it?” Peter didn’t want to acknowledge the other man by name but he needed you to know he listened to you and remembered. This way he could gauge if Harry was a concern.

Peter watched your expression change. You itched the side of your neck in a manner that suggested you were not so pleased with Harry.

“Not very well, he wants to go out again in a few days…but I’m not sure…”

What a relief. He thought to himself. Peter had never met Harry but he didn’t need to. It was obvious you should be with him. You were funny, clever and witty and Harry was not right for you.

“Is…that not something you’d like,”

“We went to dinner which was nice then a movie, which…wasn’t really for me…but I picked dinner so he picked the movie, only fair. I don’t think we’re going to work out but I’ll probably see him once more to be sure,”

“That doesn’t seem fair to me,” Peter leant in “I’d let you…I mean…my date pick both,”. The flicker across your features did not go unnoticed. Where you thinking of him with you on a date, imagining it was him with you instead of Harry wishing you’d gone out with Peter instead.

“What would you’ve liked to see instead,” he asked you. He knew regardless of the answer, he’d pretend he knew of it, and sit through it. It would be easy to enjoy anything that got him closer to his goal of having you.

“Don’t laugh at me,” you were already smiling at him, your hand half concealing your mouth

“Don’t be silly, I would never,” Peter grinned widely at you, hoping it would encourage you into sharing. He wanted to reach across and squeeze your hand to reassure you that you were safe with him.

“I really like horrors…I wanted to see The Amityville Horror,”

Peter opted to play coy, he’d heard about it. Some of the other staff had been discussing it and given the story, it had piqued his interest.

“Is that the one about the family that move into the cursed house?” A smile tweaked at his lips.

“I heard good things about that one…I wanted to see the Texas Chainsaw Massacre,” Peter said. It was a small lie. He’d never bothered but he remembered it as one of the videos you had at home. “But I never got around to seeing it,”

“Oh!” Your eyes lit up and you suddenly sat up, a new lease of life behind your words “I LOVE that one,” the excitement in your voice was contagious. “It’s one of the best, I have it on video,“

“Is it scary?” Peter asked. “I heard it was,” he pressed further wanting to know if you scared easy.

“I mean yeah but like in a good way?” You enthused. “I’m a bit fascinated with creepy stuff like that,”

“Oh are you?” Peter’s tone dropped a little as his smile spread. He wondered if you knew about “the Creel murders” Maybe you did…maybe you liked the story sold to the masses about the house allegedly driving Victor Creel crazy and him killing his children and wife, maybe you did know about it. Maybe you liked the idea of it so much you’d buy into a horror with a similar story. There was something so alluring about that, Peter could help but hope that was the case.

“You’re laughing at me,” you protested and playfully pushed his arm as if you were old friends.

“No,” Peter tilted his head “I’m just surprised but I like that… that you’re into weird movies, maybe we can watch it together,”

“Yes! That would so good,” You suddenly you shifted and leant over closer to him, his words encouraging you “God you must think I’m so morbid, but truth be told, I can’t get enough of all that creepy stuff,” your voice dropped. “I used to tell the other kids stories at school and one of them cried, I felt a bit bad but it was kinda funny,”

A laugh came from your throat. This side of you was different, but he liked it. It made him want you even more.

***

Two weeks had passed since his first solo conversation with you and Peter had spent the time stepping up his efforts each and every time you visited. When you’d bid your uncle goodbye, you’d squeeze Peters arm on the way out. It had become a silent gesture to mean you’d met him at his quarters.

It had not gone unappreciated as it seemed each time you went to his quarters, you’d stay later and later. It wasn’t quite in the romantic way Peter had hoped but it was getting closer. Lingering touches, a longing glance here and there. You had to feel it too.

The last time you’d visited, he had a gift ready. He’d bought you a video. It was another horror that he’d purchased from a store in town, he’d told the sales assistant what you liked from what he remembered in your home and selected one he didn’t think you had.

As per your routine, you squeezed his arm, your touch once again sent the heat of your fingers through the fabric of his shirt, and he excused himself quickly to meet you down there.

“… I have something for you,” you’d barely turned into the corridor when he’d used this as an excuse to take your arm and lead you into the room. “Here, close your eyes now,” he spoke to you gently, clicking the latch on the door and his heart soared when you complied. If he had his powers, he could do anything right here with you completely off guard. He wouldn’t. Peter would never hurt you of course.

“The man in the store said it’s good. I don’t know if you’ve seen it,” he reached for your arms, held your hands out being careful to linger his fingers over yours as he pressed the gift into them.

Upon opening your eyes and looking over his choice for you, the smile you gave him was worth any risk. Peter would kill for that smile. Gladly.

“Thank you Peter, I haven’t seen this one,” you held on to it tightly “I wanted to but I never…I never got the chance, maybe we can watch it together,”

“I’d like that,” Peter reached down and brushed your hair back “One day we will.”

Your eyes met his and it was like you communicated to him in that moment that whatever this was…it was mutual. He knew it. You felt the same.

“Oh shit,” your eyes fell on the clock “I forgot I was meeting Harry,”

“You’re… you’re seeing him again?” Peter hesitated. “I thought things weren’t going well,”

You shrugged. “I mean, they’re not but…I figure I’ll give him one last chance,”

Peter once more reached for your hand “You’re too sweet,” he smiled. “I like that about you but be careful he doesn’t take you for granted,”

“Thank you for looking out for me, Peter,” you pressed up on your toes and kissed his cheek.

As Peter watched you go, this made one thing clear. Harry had to go.

**

The next day he’d managed to convince 011 to remove his tracker and he put the last step of his plan into action. He’d promised to he’d help her escape that evening but that he had something to take care of first.

As he stood outside of the other man’s house, he took a breath, in and out. Peter knew he couldn’t kill him the second he opened the door, however tempting that would be. He needed to do it inside.

“Harry, is it?” Peter asked the moment the door was opened. Harry, was about his height, light brown hair, broad shouldered and dressed in a black leather jacket “I’m Peter, we have a mutual friend, can I come in?”

“Sorry, man I’m just,”

Sensing Harry was about to block the door, Peter quickly put pressure on it, causing Harry to lose his grip and allowing Peter to slip in to the property. Harry turned to face him, closing the door. Good, closed meant no witnesses.

“[Name]. the girl you went out with. You’re not going to see her again,” Peter stalked further into the hallway taking care to keep his voice calm and in the same tone he used for the children. “I don’t think it’s good…you hanging around her,”

His eyes focused on a painting on the wall as he wondered if Harry had anyone to miss him.

“You’re not her boyfriend, man why do you care?” Harry was defensive “She can do whatever she likes,”

“I’m not her boyfriend, not yet but…she’s for me now,” Peter turned back to the other man.

Harry’s eyes narrowed at Peter. “What the fuck are you talking about, freak, get out of here, I have to get ready for work,”

Peter had hoped it would come to this. He smiled politely and made as if he was going to head for the door, but paused.

Harry had barely taken three steps up before he stopped, held in place unable to move further.

“What the fuck is happening… are you doing this,” There was a slight tinge of panic in Harry’s voice as he realised he was locked into place on the third stair, unable to progress further.

“Oh Harry, you should have listened,” Peter’s voice darkened and the sudden change caught Harry off guard. He rested one hand on the door knob “I gave you an easy out,”

“What are you tal-…” The other man wouldn’t be given the chance to end his sentence.

With merely a look over his shoulder, Peter cut him off, Harry had fallen to the floor with his leg bent up under his back into a heap at the bottom of the stairs.

“You should be careful, It’s icy outside,” Peter stated before tilting his head and exiting out into the cold. “You could slip,”

Harry let out a strained strangled scream before the sound of his last words were cut out by his head twisted uncomfortably backwards.

Peter could imagine the headlines now. He’d slipped and fallen.

***

Confident with his restored powers, he returned to the lab. As he moved from room to room, he set about incapacitating the other orderlies, snapping necks with a stare and an extended arm. Peter was careful, he couldn’t risk being caught not before he could get to Brenners office and take care of him once and for all.

He could hear Brenner in the office from down the hall, so he made his way carefully to the door and entered, however when he saw inside the office, he froze. It wasn’t Brenner. It was you. Arms rifling through files and paper work scattered around you. You dropped the documents you were holding

“What… are you doing,” Peter stated. He could see your eyes run over him and subconsciously he checked his nose for blood.

“Something is going on at this lab,” you stood up “He’s experimenting on the kids, they’re not sick, they’re, like, telekinetic,” you paused “I don’t…I don’t quite know how it all works but…,”

Peter bit his lip considering the confession you’d just given him “You…you know?”

“Well I’ve had my suspicions for a while…it’s why I came here, the girl you were telling me about… we can help her, we can help them,”

You leant up and pressed a kiss to his lips and in an instant his hands were on your hips, pulling you tightly against him. The kiss was everything he’d imagined and so much more. He almost never wanted it to end.

“You think I don’t know,” you smirked at him, arms linked around the back of his neck, before you moved a hand to where the Soteria had been. “It’s gone,” you smiled as Peter inhaled sharply as you traced the scar where his inhibitor once resided and only exhaled when you kissed him once more, and moved your hands into his hair.

“You said it yourself, you’re never really off the clock,” Peter felt his shoulders ease as you kissed him again “It’s okay, Peter,” you kissed him once more. “I’m with you, I’m on your side, they won’t hurt you again,”

You pulled away for a moment before.

Peter didn’t want to help all of them, just the girl. He’d find her, 011, then you’d leave. The other kids would be an unfortunate casualty, the three of you being the only survivors. Yes. It would be perfect.

“Okay, get out of the building through the staff exit, I’ll get the girl, have the car running,” he ran a hand through his hair. “We’ll have a fresh start,” he instructed.

You gave him another kiss before you headed to the door.

“Don’t be too long,” your voice lingered

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he gave you a smile, it was true, now that he had you, he had no intentions of ever letting you go.

[brokehorrorfan]

Heavy Metal will be released on 4K Ultra HD (with Blu-ray and Digital) in Steelbook packaging on April 19 via Sony. The sequel, Heavy Metal 2000, is also included on Blu-ray and Digital. It features cover art by Chris Achilleos.

Based on the magazine of the same name, Heavy Metal is a 1981 animated science fantasy anthology directed by Gerald Potterton and written by Daniel Goldberg & Len Blum (Stripes). It's produced by filmmaker Ivan Reitman (Ghostbusters) and Heavy Metal publisher Leonard Mogel.

Rodger Bumpass, Jackie Burroughs, John Candy, Joe Flaherty, Don Francks, Martin Lavut, Marilyn Lightstone, Eugene Levy, Alice Playten, Harold Ramis, Percy Rodriguez, Susan Roman, Richard Romanus, August Schellenberg, John Vernon, and Zal Yanovsky star.

Heavy Metal 2000 is a 2000 sequel directed by Michael Coldewey and Michel Lemire and written by Carl Macek and R. Payne Cabeen, based on the graphic novel The Melting Pot. Julie Strain, Michael Ironside, and Billy Idol star.

Heavy Metal has been newly restored in 4K, approved by Reitman, with new Dolby Atmos audio along with 5.1 and and original Dolby Stereo options. Heavy Metal 2000 has been newly restored in high definition with 5.1 sound.

Special features are listed below.

Disc 1: Heavy Metal 4K Ultra HD:

Heavy Metal: A Look Back – Retrospective with producer Ivan Reitman, famous fans Kevin Smith, Norman Reedus, and more! (new)

Disc 2: Heavy Metal Blu-ray: 

Original rough cut with optional audio commentary by Carl Macek

Imagining Heavy Metal - 1999 featurette

Deleted scene

Alternate framing story with audio commentary

Disc 3: Heavy Metal 2000 Blu-ray: 

Julie Strain: Super Goddess featurette

Voice Talent featurette

Animation tests

Animatic comparisons

Based on the sexy science fiction cult comic, Heavy Metal combines extraordinarily stunning visuals, new wave music and a series of mindbending stories in a unique motion picture experience. The anchor of the film is an eerie green ball that magically transports us into a series of adventures in the past, future, and into the world beyond. Included are stories of the space super heroine, Taarna; the hard.boiled exploits of Harry Canyon, cab driver of the future; and the adventures of "Den:' who the green ball changes from an introverted teen into a macho hero.

Heavy Metal 2000 is a high-octane science fiction adventure concerning a beautiful young woman named Julie who vows vengeance on a ruthless tyrant after he destroys her planet. As with the first film, the stunning visuals are backed by a stellar soundtrack.

Pre-order Heavy Metal Steelbook.

[cognitosclowns]

How do you think Brett would react when he realises that the person in the company he’s had his eye on,, doesn’t pay him as much attention as he’d like? Like he’s so desperate for peoples approval so when it comes to someone he’s pining for he probably will go above and beyond for them to even look in his direction— ngl I wouldn’t hold him going a little Joe Goldberg and trying to find as much as he can’t about them to impress them against him He’d have squeaky clean intentions though !! All for when they finally go “Brett right? Would you wanna get a coffee?” He probably shuts down from happiness on the spot - 🧽

NO BECAUSE YOURE,, SO CORRECT

This man would go Above And Beyond with,, The Purest Intentions?? You've Got It You've Broken Him Down To His Bare Essentials??

he just makes little mental notes about,, stuff that they like? His love language is Remembering Stuff About Ppl He likes <3

REMEMBERING THEIR COFFEE ORDER AND STUFF?? Keeping track of their allergies, so he can make them lunch/dinner every once and a while when they're working late?? OFFERING TO DRIVE THEM TO/FROM WORK?? JUST <33 little things.

HONESTLY he'd probably ask the team about,, if they ever mentioned him?? He really wants to make a good impression <3

EXCITEDLY SAYING GOOD MORNING,, only to get a fairly Calm, Seemingly Uninterested Response??

AND YOU'RE RIGHT - HE CAN'T STAND PPL NOT LIKING HIM. It stresses him stupid.

When he notices them not really,,, engaging w/ him? Like not being all that receptive, etc, he's definitely gonna Retreat a bit bc he assumes they aren't interested + maybe he's made them uncomfortable

THE WAY HIS EYES LIGHT UP <33 WHEN THEY ASK TO LIKE,, HAVE LUNCH?? Yea sure he completely stumbles over his words at first but,, HE'S SO HAPPY. AND RELIEVED. VERY RELIEVED.

SNDBS THERE WERE JUST SOME,, MISC IDEAS BC THIS WAS SUCH A SUPER CUTE IDEA. TYSM

[wesleyss]

          he’s  giggling,  the  alcohol  clearly  creeping  up  on  him  in  the  best  way  possible.  it  takes  a  lot  for  him  to  get  properly  drunk,  but  it  doesn’t  take  a  lot  for  him  to  start  acting  like  a  fool  (  it  actually  doesn’t  take  anything  at  all  ).  ❝right?  if  only  more  people  thought  like  us,  the  world  would  be  such  a  better  place.❞  definitely  not.  if  anything,  the  world  would  be  in  absolute  shambles  if  everyone  had  the  mentality  that  wesley  and  pepa  had.  in  wesley’s  defense  (  which  is  none,  honestly  ),  his  family  has  always  blamed  his  actions  and  impulsive  behaviors  on  his  adhd,  but  something  in  his  peanut  sized  brain  tells  him  that  might  not  be  entirely  it.  when  it  comes  to  pepa,  well…  go  figure.  the  french  male  scrunches  up  his  nose.  ❝okay…  don’t  be  yucky  now.❞  is  all  he  can  reply  in  regards  to  the  dick  matter.  wesley  is  conceited,  but  even  he  thinks  talking  about  his  dick  is  going  too  far.  to  each  their  own,  though.  the  more  the  other  keeps  talking,  the  more  wesley  can’t  help  but  furrow  his  eyebrows,  obviously  not  in  approval  with  what  he  had  to  say.  finally,  a  shameless  laugh  leaves  his  rosy  pink  lips,  as  if  pepa  was  talking  like  a  mad  man  or  something.  ❝how  the  hell  am  i  supposed  to  figure  out  what’s  been  going  on?❞  he  questions,  genuinely  wondering  how  in  the  world  pepa  thought  he  would  manage  to  get  information,  if  he  hadn’t.  ❝what,  am  i  just  supposed  to  follow  her  around?  pull  a  joe  goldberg  or  something?  you think she's just going to blindly trust me with all her hidden gossip because i'm gay and apparently, no one gossips like we do? be  so  for  real  right  now.❞

he lets another chuckle roll past his lips as he looks at the homme before him ❝ anyone who decides to say otherwise must be insane , don’t you think ? ❞ he adds on as he finishes what is left of the amber liquid in his glass . wesley and pepa were the most dangerous pair that there was , simply because both of them had no worries for consequences , anything that pepa did was fixed by money and power ( including his sister , who covered his tracks with everything and everyone ). hearing wesley’s prose causes a chuckle to escape past his brims ❝ but I do have a great dick , and it’s not douchey —— es la pura verdad. ❞ he says cockily as he taps the glass and the bartender begins to fill it ❝ a double . ❞ he adds on as he turns to the other listening to what he is saying and he is not lying , usually mafe is throughly open with him , she’s not secretive with him but he has to wonder why isn’t she sharing this with him ❝ how about you help me out , help a brother out and figure out what’s been going on ? you can pick your own reward just take me off the list . ❞