#joseph remnant

[smashedpages]

Happy birthday to Joseph Remnant!

Smash Pages Q&A: Joseph Remnant on ‘Cartoon Clouds’

Like most comics fans I first got to know Joseph Remnant’s work from The Pekar Project. The web project featured the late great Pekar working with a number of artists and Remnant went on to draw Cleveland, a very personal graphic novel written by Pekar that was published after his death.

Remnant was making short work in his comic series Blindspot, in addition to recording music and working on various other projects, but Fantagraphics just released his first solo graphic novel, Cartoon Clouds. The book is about a group of students who have just graduated from art school, and are trying to find their own way and understand their feelings about art. Remnant admits that working on the project over the course of many years has meant that his own feelings about the characters and some of the issues he raises in the book have changed over time, though his linework is masterful throughout.

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[myremnantarmy]

"𝘍𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘦𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯."

[hiddenremnant]

(core) showed our friend the joscarl bookmarks and she lost her mind lmao

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Hate Evil

Hate evil, love good; Establish justice in the gate. It may be that the LORD God of hosts Will be gracious to the remnant of Joseph. — Amos 5:15 | New King James Version (NKJV) The Holy Bible; New King James Version®. Copyright © 1982 by Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved. Cross References: Psalm 80:1; Psalm 97:10; Daniel 2:49; Joel 2:14; Amos 5:10; Amos 7:3; Romans 12:9

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Amos 5:15 in all English translations

[mindfulldsliving]

Remnant Theology and the Book of Mormon: Divine Promise and Modern Faith

The Book of Mormon is replete with prophecies and promises directed towards a faithful remnant, echoing similar themes found in biblical scripture.

Exploring Remnant Theology in the Book of Mormon Is the idea of a divinely chosen remnant piquing your curiosity, especially within the context of the Book of Mormon? This theological concept, deeply embedded in Latter-day Saint teachings, represents the belief that a faithful subset of Israel was preserved to fulfill God’s covenant. The Book of Mormon not only embraces this narrative but also…

[two-white-butterflies]

parallel lines | d. targaryen | part six

Description: An ordinary middle school teacher moves to a desolate town with her fiancee. After suffering episodes of vivid nightmares, she realizes that his uncle looks exactly like the man in her dreams.

Pairings: daemon targaryen/reader, aemond targaryen/reader

Trope: Reincarnation

series masterlist |

<<previous chapter

"To hold on, to the days when you were mine." - Peter, Taylor Swift.

These past few days, something has deeply changed in Daemon's psyche. He was always a neat freak, preferring to remain polished and clean on the outside while his mind was an overgrowth of plants that clouded his thoughts. He couldn't think straight then - but he kept a facade, pretending that he was sane. He wasn't.

Since seeing you in St. Joseph, he's lost all remnants of himself - the facade broke down and he was thrown into disarray. "Why is your shirt always untucked?" you chuckled, taking a step forward, as if it was second nature to fix his polo and tuck it into his pants.

"I was rushing," he found himself mumbling, confused at your sudden proximity to him. How long has it been since he's felt you? Had his fingers dance against your skin and body? You were always warm, and that was all he remembered about you.

Everything seemed to zone out in the background. He almost forgot that he was in a parking lot, and the sound of cars zoomed past him. All he could see was you, all that he could hear was you. He takes a deep breath, quickly composing himself.

"I'm sorry about what happened yesterday, Rhaenyra herself even admitted that it was wrong. We shouldn't have fought in front of a guest." he apologized, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "If I'm lucky, I won't be a guest for long." you teased, fixing the strap of the handbag on your shoulder. "Mhm." was all he could muster.

The thought of you being married to his nephew made him want to puke. It made him want to kill himself.

He senses the awkwardness, he decides to clear his throat and look at his watch. "I guess this is goodbye. I'm running late for a meeting." he lied, staring at the side. "Of course, nice talking to you." you answered, equally as awkward as his intonation.

"See you tomorrow?" he smiled, walking past you.

"See you tomorrow." you replied, but he was too far to hear.

(ISLAND NEAR THE GHISCARIS)

Your mother descended from a long line of voyagers. Her family remained in Lyss, and life led her to Westeros. The skill of voyaging was long lost. You couldn't command a ship, even if your life depended on it - luckily, you were able to meet a group of female pirates on their way to the liberated islands near the Ghiscari Empire.

It was untouched due the large wall-like fortress that surrounded the shores. "I am surprised by your aptitude, not a lot of people appreciate the oceans well." Serenei, the woman that promised to keep you safe, handed you a cup of tea, the liquid inside of the cup was moving back and forth due to the waves.

"It's much like riding a dragon, though you shouldn't compliment me that much - I emptied my stomach a few hours ago." you giggled, remembering the reddish hue that your face turned into. Oh, your ancestors were turning in their graves. "Don't worry, it'll only be a few more hours until we reach the shores of Pharmaka." she placed a hand on your shoulder.

There was silence between the both of you, in fear of the unknown. You stared at the small round window beside you.

Would Daemon love the ocean too? You remember the War of the Stepstones. A sigh escapes your mouth, the wars have marred him and he wouldn't have loved the smell of salt air as much as you. "It's an island filled with women, not a single man is allowed." Serenei continued with a smile, and for a moment you pondered if she went though the same things that you did.

You shake your head. You wish that she didn't.

"It must be heaven, then?" Alyssandra leaned on the doorframe, trying to keep herself steady due to the treacherous waves that pumped against the ship's bodice.

"It is - utopia is what they call themselves." Serenei continued telling the story, a smile ghosts your face. Your life had turned into a story indeed, finding true love with a Dragon Prince - losing him and being forced to live through the tragedy in Harrenhal, and now you were halfway across the world, riding a ship that is going to a place that calls themself utopia.

(ST. JOSEPH SCHOOL OF DRAGONSTONE)

The steam of your coffee littered your face with kisses, and a groan escapes your mouth. You couldn't believe that you feel asleep through your entire free period. Those dreams weren't stopping, but the scenarios were drastically changing.

At first, they were filled with love - of scenes with you and the 'Dragon Prince' then they changed into nightmares - of ones that you couldn't remember, only waking up in tears - but now, you were in a ship to some unknown island that made you feel hopeful.

Once the story ends, would you be free of those dreams? Would you be free to live your life without those headaches that forced your head open, telling you that there was something that you forgot?

AEMOND NEW SIM How are you? You haven't messaged me in a while :(

YOU sorry i fell asleep hehehahaha 😭

AEMOND NEW SIM Sleeping on duty? tskk

Daemon interrupts you from replying by sitting next to you. There was a pang in your heart, something deep inside your mind telling you to run towards him and offer him a warm embrace. Flashes from your dreams come to you. The small round window, the small of salt breeze and his lavender eyes that felt like a thousand sleepless nights cuddled by the fire.

"Congratulations." Daemon opened his mouth to speak. He stared deep into your eyes, almost peering inside your soul. There wasn't an expression in your face that he hasn't seen a million times. "For what?" you inquired with a slight smile.

"The students proficiency in math has improved since you started teaching them." he informed, and you quickly remember that he attended a meeting earlier today.

A nervous chuckle escapes your mouth.

"They're struggling with the basic stuff, things that they're supposed to know in the first and second grade. I try to go back to those topics before getting back into the complex stuff." you explained, and the smile returns to your face, happy to speak about your passion.

"Whatever you're doing, it seems to be working." he continued to compliment, liking that look in your eyes - the fire. Your body shifts unconsciously, your elbows much closer to his. Your coffee has long gotten rid of its heat, but there was still a million things you had to talk about with him.

"By the way, I thought that you were familiar even before I got to know you - then Harwin and the family talked about that trip to Italy that we both had at the same day. I know it sound a little weird, but I'm pretty sure that the picture you posted on your instagram was taken by me." you opened up the conversation, and he freezes like a deer caught in headlights.

August 23. He remembered vividly, right after you took that picture of him, he promptly collapsed on the curb and was brought to a hospital. That was also the day that he finished remembering his past life. His memories were revived by you?

"A funny coincidence," he managed to choke out.

The Gods were playing a cruel joke.

He stares at your face, seeing your squinting eyes - waiting for his reply. He decides that this might be the right time to talk about Tirano. "When you left, I actually collapsed." he chuckled, playing with the ring on his finger.

"What? Why?" your eyebrows merged into each other.

"I don't know if I'm the only one but - when I was younger I used to dream about weird things, dragons, kings, wars. At first, my parents thought that it was just the result of an overactive mind but the dreams persisted until I turned into an adult - actually I think I was in my late thirties or early fourties when they stopped. It stopped after that trip to Tirano." he monologued, now evading your gaze.

If you weren't able to make the connection, then he would've revealed himself for nothing. "I dream about those things too. Strange." you whispered, your voice suddenly decreasing in volume. "I'm not the only one then," he looked to the side.

"But you said that they stopped? How did they stop?" you asked, wanting to rid yourself of those nightmares. He smiled, remembering seeing your face before everything faded to black.

"I dreamed about myself dying, and after waking up in a hospital bed feeling like I slept a million years, I never dreamt about it again." he confirmed and your heart sinks to your chest. "Holy shit, this sounds so fanatically cultish." you cursed. "- you're telling me that I need to die in the dream to stop dreaming about it again?" you repeated.

He replies with a shrug.

"Well that's going to take a long time. I'm in like, Act Three of the whole novel." you decided to keep the conversation light, although the topic was serious and you weren't sure if you were there to believe him. "How many acts are there?" he raised an eyebrow. "How many acts are in Madame Butterfly?" you quizzed.

"Three...so you're near the end." he smiled. "I'm not sure, for all we know it might just be the end of the beginning." you answered.

He stands up, hearing the bells ring.

"Whatever it is, I'm sure that you'll find a cure of your own." he bid his goodbyes and disappeared from the teacher's lounge.

AEMOND NEW SIM Can you pls catch a ride with someone u work with? I'm a little busy here in mom's house She's moving a few things Yknow her trip to Turkey

YOU Okay, what time will u be home?

AEMOND NEW SIM Probably before dinner If I'm out past six have dinner before me

YOU Alright, take care

next part >>

[ed-recoverry]

List of free audiobooks on YouTube for anyone interested

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Pride & Prejudice by Jane Austen

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

Diary of a Wimpy Kid by Jeff Kinney

The Adventures of Tom Sawyer by Mark Twain

Alice in Wonderland

Animal Farm by George Orwell

The Shadow Over Innsmouth by H P Lovecraft

Frankenstein by Mary Shelley

Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

Hatchet by Gary Paulsen

Twelve Years a Slave by Solomon Northup

Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck

The Village by Caroline Mitchell

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone (fuck JKR)

Sense & Sensibility by Jane Austen

The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood

Twilight by Stephanie Meyer

Upside Down by Danielle Steel

The Fiancée by Kate White

The Silence of the Lambs by Thomas Harris

Percy Jackson & the Olympians: The Lightning Theif

Accidentally Married by Victoria E. Lieske

I’m Glad My Mom Died by Jennette McCurdy

The Collector (book one) by Nora Roberts

The Lies I Told by Mary Burton

Dead Man’s Mirror by Agatha Christie

The Hobbit

The Taken Ones by Jess Lourey

The Good Neighbour by R J Parker

The Island House by Elana Johnson

Desperation by Stephan King

The Healing Summer by Heather B. Moore

The Last Affair by Margot Hunt

To Be Claimed by Willow Winter

Romeo and Juliet by Shakespeare

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy

The Inn by James Patterson

Wonder by R J Palacio

Faking It With The Billionaire by Willow Fox

The Lost Years by Mary Higgins Clark

Forrest Gump by Winston Groom

The Janson Directive by Robert Ludlum

The Catcher in the Rye

The Lottery Winner by Mary Higgins Clark

Where Eagles Dare by Alistair MacLean

Death of a Nurse by M C Beaton

Yours Truly by Abby Jimenez

Treasure Island by Robert Louis Stevenson

The Sonnets by William Shakespeare

Frozen Betrayal by Clive Cussler

The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

Line of Fire by R J Patterson

Don’t Believe Everything You Think by Joseph Nguyen

The Remnant by Tim LaHaye

The Magic of Reality by Richard Dawkins

The Secret of Chimneys by Agatha Christie

Payment in Kind by J A Jance

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

The Way of the Superior Man by David Deida

The Game of Life and How to Play It by Florence Scovel Shinn

The Richest Man in Babylon by George S. Clason

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

A Marriage of Anything but Convenience by Victorine E. Lieske

The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain

A Christmas Carol by Charles Dickens

The Inheritance Game by Jennifer Lynn Barnes

Ikigai: The Japanese Secret to a Long and Happy Life

Thinking Fast and Slow by Daniel Kahneman

How to Win Friends and Influence People by Dale Carnegie

The Kama Sutra by Mallanaga Vatsyayana

The Wisdom of Father Brown by G K Chesterton

Robinson Crusoe by Daniel Defoe

Robin Hood by J Walker McSpadden

The Poor Traveller by Charles Dickens

Days on the Road: Crossing the Plains in 1865 by Sarah Raymond Herndon

Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

Atomic Habits by James Clear

I Have No Mouth, and I Must Scream

Trading in the Zone by Mark Douglas

The Art of War by Sun Tzu

The Secret Garden by Frances Hodgson Burnett

A Short History of Nearly Everything by Bill Bryson

The Return of Sherlock Holmes by Arthur Conan Doyle

The Epic of Gilgamesh

Lord of the Flies by William Golding

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

Man After Man

Five on a Treasure Island by Enid Blyton

The Red Badge of Courage by Stephen Crane

Charlotte’s Web

Midsummer Mysteries by Agatha Christie

Out of Silent Planet by C S Lewis

The Valley of Fear by Arthur Conan Doyle

Eaters of the Dead by Michael Crichton

The Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie

The Castle of Otranto by Horace Walpole

21 Lessons for the 21st Century by Yuval Noah Harai

Hamlet by Shakespeare

[knightjpg]

landslide | chapter 2

tags: ghost/reader, finding each other again after years have gone by, reader has a toxic boyfriend

prev | next

Ghost's hands are stained black with soil. Dirt caked under his nails. He breathes in the debris until it's part of him, burrowed into the pit of his lungs, his eyes, his stomach. He's not alone— 

(the corpse clings onto him on bad days) 

—a terrible comfort. 

His fingertips scrabble against wood. Darkness presses against him from all sides. The promise of lithification looms—unstoppable force, immovable object. Rock forever chained to its place in the natural order of things. It'd be so easy to give up, to accept he's always been nothing but a stain against the dirt— 

“You set me straight, yeah?” 

Simon grits his teeth. The jawbone comes loose in violent, painful tugs—forearm skin burns against the rough grain cage trapping him underground. Decaying flesh squelches between his fingers, muscle and sinew snapping, bending, come on— 

A way out. Teeth dig into his flesh when he grips it hard and fights— 

(c'mon, his dad's voice goads. show me you're a man, boy) 

—the desire to give in. He'll make his own way through. Dogteeth biting so deep he can't be dislodged, holding on even when he's the one bleeding. Never knew when to let go and he refuses to learn, because Ghost— 

Simon— 

Ghost— 

still has something to do. To get back to. 

When he bursts through the surface the low evening light is blinding. The sun sets over deserted sloping plains, catching a dark figure in its glare— 

A photo camera clicks and flashes. 

“You two look sweet together,” Beth says, smiling. She lowers her Nikon. No, not hers—borrowed. 

Simon looks. He and— 

The clock on his nightstand reads three in the A.M. Ghost is exhausted. 

Enough. 

He gets up, throws on a shirt, and opens his closet. Shoved deep in the back is a box— 

(a coffin) 

—with the remnants of another life. Tommy's lighter. Simon's first knife. Collectible football cards, scuffed at the edges. And— 

Sun-faded photographs with dates scribbled on the backs in slanted cursive. 

Ghost rarely looks at them. Makes his head hurt, his chest constrict so tight he can't breathe. He won't ever toss them; can bear the pain just enough to know that they exist, here, safe under lock and key. 

He takes the stack of photos and lets it rip him open. 

Tommy and Beth's wedding. Tommy dressed in handsome black, perpetual stupid grin on his face. Beth, beautiful and smiling, stomach showing the first signs of swelling if you know to look for it. 

Joseph, newborn, swaddled in blankets. A young Simon without tattoos holds him, looking stiff and unsure and utterly reverent. 

Ghost swallows. Skips ahead—birthdays, mum's funeral, Christmas— 

There. 

Tommy is smiling at the camera. He's wearing a chunky knit pullover, holding up a glass (“A toast!”). Beth is half-turned away, just reaching out to a little Joseph covered in sauce. Simon is there, too, just cut off on the right—so who took the photo? 

You two look sweet together. 

Ghost flips through the next few photographs slowly, and then his heart stops. Breath slows. Pupils dilate, fixated;  

“He's so little, isn't he?” 

You sit down next to Simon on the sofa, smiling at Joseph. 

“Yeah,” Simon says, shifting to make room for you. Joseph looks up at you with his big round eyes—then swats Simon on his chin again. 

You smother your laugh behind your hand. “Oh, sweetie, no. Your mumma said no hitting. Here—do you want your stuffie?” 

Joseph garbles when you hold it up to him and latches onto his little plush rabbit immediately.  

Click—flash. 

“You two look sweet together,” Beth says, smiling. She lowers the Nikon.  

Fuzzy edges sharpen, filling in the corroded pathways. Bokeh, reversed—the photo in Ghost's hands is grainy and dim, but the memory breaking through the surface is clear.  

Ghost quickly—greedily—flips through more photos, finds a pattern; a red thread. With a reference you're suddenly everywhere. Maid of honour, flowers in your hair. A party, can't remember what for, but you're dancing, smiling, wearing a short dress. Ghost's eyes linger on your legs a moment longer before shuffling to the next print. 

Joseph's first birthday—you baked the cake yourself, Ghost suddenly thinks. A missing memory clicking in place, tethered by context clues. 

...He would've turned twelve in a few months. Just started secondary school, life full of possibility. Pathways that were never traversed. These snapshots of happiness are just that; are a blip on the radar, there and gone again. 

Ghost grits through the pain and continues until he reaches the last snapshot in the stack. 

It's another wedding photo; of him, this time. Or rather, of the back of his head. Best man. He's holding a glass, and so are you. Your face is tilted up to him, open and sweet. Smiling. 

“Okay, I know what people say about the maid of honour and the best man, and I just wanted to tell you that you have my blessing.” 

Simon's brows rise on his forehead. The reception is in full swing; there's drinks and cake and finger food. People are dancing to a playlist blasting from speakers in the corners—Simon burned the CD himself per Tommy's request. 

Beth has joined him on the sides to watch their guests get shitfaced on cheap liqueur. Tommy is getting her a more comfortable pair of shoes because “these heels are killing me, Simon.” 

“Where's this comin’ from?” 

“From me,” Beth answers pointedly. “I'm tired of the shitty boyfriends.” She looks up at Simon and tilts her head, mouth curling up into a coy smile. “Also, I think you're a bit taken by her.” 

Simon chokes on his champagne. He looks away while he coughs and pounds his chest, hoping the heat crawling up his neck doesn't show on his face. 

“Baseless accusations,” he manages through a wheeze. Beth laughs. 

“Sure, honey. Whatever you say. Just make sure to dance with her at least, alright?” 

Ghost doesn't remember ever asking you for that dance. He remembers talking to you, making you laugh, and feeling like that should be enough. 

He regretted it all the way home. 

A heavy weight trickles down on him, from the crown of his head to the pit of his stomach. Wishes. Regrets. Could-have-beens in another lifetime. With a sudden snarl he shoves the photos back in the box, locks it, and throws it back into his closet. 

The closet door closes with a smack. 

This is why he never looks in here. There's nothing waiting for him but pain and disappointment, distractions from the here and now. What use is there in thinking about Beth's pretty friend? You don't even know he's alive. Have forgotten about him entirely by now, are probably married with kids— 

Another wave of nausea.  

Ghost just barely makes it to the bathroom to retch into the sink. 

----------

“How was work?” 

You transfer pasta onto dinner plates and garnish with a sprinkle of chives. You serve Dave first, then turn back to the kitchen to get water and candles. 

“Great,” Dave says around a mouthful of pasta. He's dug in immediately. You try to feel like it's a compliment to your cooking. He works hard. He's hungry. You like cooking for people, so that sinking little feeling in your chest must be from something else. 

“Our department's been doing really well. Making top sales for half a year now, so they did this raffle thing,” Dave continues, pausing to take a glass from your hands and down a few big gulps of water, “and guess what?”  

You open your mouth to ask “What?”, but Dave answers before you can.  

“I won!” 

You sit down, trying to muster enthusiasm. “That's great, baby. What was the raffle?” 

Dave leans forward. “One round trip to Bora-Bora, paid in full.” 

“Oh my gosh,” you say, and your smile doesn't feel so forced anymore. “That's amazing, congrats! That's such good timing.” 

Dave's vacation is coming up, and these things are usually plus-one. Right? Maybe that's what you've been needing. Some time away from it all, just the two of you spending time in sun and saltwater someplace beautiful and warm. 

“Sure is,” Dave says with a self-satisfied smile. His plate is half-empty; you're just taking your first bite. 

When he doesn't elaborate any further you hedge carefully, “So... Is it a solo trip? Or...” 

Dave furrows his brow apologetically. “Oh, babe. Yeah, it's a plus one, but it's for people from the company only. I'm sorry.” 

“Oh.” You bite the inside of your cheek and try not to look too disappointed. Guess that's on you for getting excited without knowing all the details. “So then who are you going with?” 

“Allison from Marketing.” 

Allison from who—? 

You pause mid-chew, looking at Dave with wide startled eyes. When he quirks an eyebrow you quickly swallow. “Do I—do I know this person?” 

“’Course you do, babe, c'mon. I've told you about her—she's like a work wife. Sales and Marketing are pretty much joint at the hip. When we go out for drinks it's always both teams together.” 

Your stomach curdles at work wife. “I don't remember ever hearing her name.” 

“Yeah you do, don't be silly. I talk about work friends all the time.” 

When he was out for drinks on your anniversary is that who he was with? Work friends? Allison from freaking Marketing? 

“Were you going to ask me if I was okay with that?” 

“What? Allison going on the trip?” Dave sounds incredulous. You're being crazy. You're being unreasonable. “Why, don't you trust me?” You're being demanding. Trust issues. Crazy bitch. 

“I do,” you say out of habit. “I do, but that's still—I would want you to ask me.” 

Dave sighs. Your stomach tenses. The pasta feels tacky in your mouth. 

“If it makes you happy, sure. You okay with me going on a trip with Allison?” 

Would you cancel if I said no? 

You can't bring yourself to say the words, but you also can't bring yourself to say of course, baby, you two have fun. 

“...Are you sure there's really no way I could go with you instead of—” 

Dave makes an impatient sound in the back of his throat, pushing his empty plate away from him. “Come on, don't be difficult. I already told you, it's work only.” 

“Right. Okay.” 

“So that's a yes, yeah? I don't want you to call me crying about this later.” 

“Yeah,” you say, looking down at your hands. “Yeah.” 

When Dave makes attempts to draw you into the bedroom after dinner you claim a headache. Tired. Long day. Looking forward to turning in early. 

Dave shrugs. “Sure, okay. Actually—mind if I just go home early then? There's a match I was wanting to see, could still make it in time...” 

You should feel disappointed. Offended, maybe, that if sex isn't on the table Dave's no longer interested in your company. 

But all you feel is relief. You don't want to be around Dave right now; you feel your skin crawl and your stomach turn when you think about him sitting under palm trees next to some stranger. Your body feels like one big strain, trying to walk and talk and smile like normal. 

Dave gives you a wet cheek kiss before heading out the door and leaves you with a sink full of dirty dishes and a pensive mood. 

Kettlebell breaks you out of it with a chirp. He's come out of his hiding spot, winding through your legs with a purr. Mim hides no matter who is visiting, but after Dave tried to pick Kettlebell up like a sack of flour on his first time here neither of your cats show themselves when you have him over.  

“Cats,” Dave sniffed derisively. “Guess it's true. They're all little assholes, eh?” He'd laughed and given you a playful nudge you did not return. 

You bend down and scritch Kettlebell behind the ears. “Hi little angel baby. You're such a good boy, aren't you? Hmm? Does this little kitty want a treat?” 

Kettlebell's meows skyrocket to opera volume at the word treat. Mim materialises next to him, making high-pitched little cries that make you fuss and coo and plant kisses on his little forehead before giving them both their promised snack. 

You find that now that Dave's gone you weren't even lying; you are tired. The last thing you're in the mood for now is sex you pretend is better than it really feels.  

You rub your temple and eye the dishes.  

Tomorrow. You'll do it tomorrow—tonight you're allowed to be upset and re-watch Pride & Prejudice for the nth time to drown out Dave's mouth shaping the words “work wife.” 

“I hate men. I hate them all,” you cry. Your nose burns from blowing it so much; the skin chafed raw to match your heart. 

Beth rubs your back, nodding. “They're bastards, the lot of them.” 

“You're not allowed to say that,” you sniffle. “Tommy is so—he's so sweet.” Your eyes well with new tears, and you bury your face in your hands again. “Why can't I meet a Tommy? Why am I so dumb and so bloody naïve—” 

“Okay, hold on—if I'm not allowed to say all men are shite you're not allowed to say mean things about yourself.” Beth hands you a new tissue, brows furrowed. “You know this isn't your fault, right? 

“I just feel so stupid.” You dab the tissue against your eyes. Every time it feels like you can't cry any more a new wave comes on, and you wish it'd stop. Your eyes feel swollen and puffy already, and you know you're going to look terrible in the morning. “Like I should have seen it coming. Should I have seen this coming?” 

You look up at Beth anxiously, lip trembling. When she opens her mouth you interrupt her. “Don't answer that. I don't want the answer to be yes.” 

“Aw, honey.” Beth pulls in for a side-hug, and you rest your head on her shoulder. She smells like the oatmeal cookies she made this morning. “Don't be so hard on yourself. I mean, he was a real cunt and he called you names, but no one would fault you for not immediately jumping to “he's going to cheat on me with your co-worker”.” 

You sigh. A stray tear trickles down your nose. “I just feel like it's my fault. There's always something, and I'm never satisfied, and you remember Cameron?” Beth nods yes. You continue, “When we broke up he said I wanted a fairytale, and t-that—” A sob breaks through, and you hiccup. “That I should—I should start living in reality.” 

Beth purses her lips like she's just bitten into a lemon. “Cameron also cheated on you with his cousin, so I think we're going to have to disregard his general judgment.” 

You give a begrudging shrug. Maybe, but what he said cut deep. It fed into the worry that the flaw was not in the eye of the beholder but the beholder herself, and that you're still just a silly little girl dreaming of starlight romance. 

It's quiet for a while. Rain ticks against the window panes outside. 

“I guess...” you start. Falter. Begin again. “I guess I wish I didn't want it so much. I want to be—to be the cool single girl who doesn't need anyone's approval, or love, or... I don't know.” 

“You are a cool single girl who doesn't need anyone's approval.” 

A sad little smile ghosts over your lips. “No I'm not. Because I always—I always want it. I want to find love. You know? And that makes me feel stupid.” 

Beth says gently, “Honey. You're not a bad person for wanting to be loved.” 

Your eyes peel open slowly. Netflix asks you are you still watching? on the screen. You blink, noting a warm weight on your feet; Kettlebell has made a little nest in the blankets. When you crane your neck you see the faint silhouette of Mim perched on the back of the sofa, dozing. 

What time is it...? 

You pat the cushions for your phone and groan. Six in the morning. Oh, your back is going to hurt. You really should know better than to fall asleep on the sofa by now... 

When you sink back into the cushions Kettlebell yawns and stretches, then hops onto your chest to press a wet insistent nose against your cheek. Breakfast time. 

“Okay, okay...” 

Might as well get up and shower. 

As you disentangle yourself from Kettlebell and fuzzy blankets bits and pieces of your dream come back to you. A memory distorted in sleep, but derived from lived reality nonetheless. 

The edges of it are hazy, but you know it was Beth. What'd she say...? It was something nice, to cheer you up after things ended badly with an ex-boyfriend.  

Again. 

Your shoulders sag. Maybe you don't want to be loved. If you did, you'd be happy now—because Dave loves you, and isn't that what you were always looking for?  

Someone you can be comfortable with, who knows you, who says I love you without you having to ask for it every time? 

You pull back the shower curtain and set the water to scorching. 

[soon-palestine]

not only is this a transparant attempt by the New York Times to shield Jeffrey "I don't do evidence, I do stories" Gettleman and her partner's nephew food blogger Adam Sella, they're also lying about it being about "a liked tweet" to defend the "mass rape" hoax they fabricated it was never just about "one liked tweet". That's a pathetic cover-up attempt. She expressed repeatedly, including with her nephew Adam Sella, that she set out to fabricate the "mass rape" hoax "because it is important for Israeli hasbara [propaganda]

then The Intercept went back and looked over her public detailed statements, and confirmed this. Anat Schwartz intentionally set out, together with her relative Adam Sella, to fabricate this hoax in coordination with the Israeli regime. That is the scandal

recently graduated comp lit student and food blogger with zero reporting experience Adam Sella worked daily with his uncle's wife Anat Schwartz to self-admittedly fabricate this hoax. And the NYT keeps letting him launder it as detailed in these threads:

just recently the New York Times finally buckled after months of depraved shielding of the original "mass rape" hoax fabricated by Gettleman, Sella and Schwartz, and admitted just one of the huge glaring holes in it, while still trying to cover for it

all the fabricated "mass rape" pieces produced by Jeffrey Gettleman, Adam Sella and his uncle's partner Anat Schwartz have been definitively debunked as genocidal atrocity propaganda hoaxes by Mondoweiss, Grayzone, Electronic Intifada, Intercept and myself

instead of acknowledging this, retracting them and firing Gettleman and Sella for journalistic malpractice not seen in NYT history since Judith Miller, they are still standing by them and scapegoating Anat Schwartz with the grotesque cover-up lie about "it's just one liked tweet"

here is the original thread where I exposed Anat Schwartz for the self-admitted genocidal atrocity propagandist hoaxer she is, and notice that I immediately included her nephew Adam Sella and Jeffrey Gettleman. The NYT desperately wants to scapegoat her

minimal journalistic integrity and morality demands that the New York Times immediately fire Jeffrey Gettleman and Adam Sella, retract all their "mass rape" hoax pieces, profusely apologize, then also fire executive editor Joseph Kahn who oversaw and defended all this for months

Joseph Kahn, Jeffrey Gettleman and Adam Sella worked together to commission, publish, and then defend long after its decisive debunking a genocidal atrocity propaganda hoax that played a key role in the Israeli regime's propaganda effort to launder and continue the Gaza genocide

it was intentional, it was deliberate, and the New York Times keeps standing by it. Every second it does it further erodes the last remnants of its credibility. Again, this is their biggest journalistic scandal since Judith Miller's WMD hoax. There has to be accountability for it

[softmangoes]

after all these years | sunny day jack

one day, joseph looks in the mirror and finds out that he's grown old. there are smile lines around his mouth, crow's feet crinkling the edges of his eyes from all the days he's spent doubled over laughing over some dumb joke he doesn't remember. his skin has become soft and leathery after all these years, the remnants of old scars now faded after so much time. he still keeps his hair long, the waves are just now streaked with silver like the stars arcing across the desert sky.

but after all these years, his eyes are still the same. they're the same eyes that protected him on those cold nights, shifting from side to side to detect any threats. the same eyes that folks still recognize at the grocery store, decades after the show ended, because those eyes had watched them grow and learn and become themselves. the same eyes that found you, staring right back.

you find him in the bathroom, his fingertips grazing his cheeks as he examines his face in the mirror.

"you okay there, handsome?" when joseph turns to meet you, his eyes are glistening.

"we're old," he says, as if he can't believe it. as if he can't be more grateful.

you pause. your joints have been creaking more lately and there are new freckles under your knuckles. the both of you were young once and by the grace of fate, you were given all this time.

"yeah," you answer, taking his face in your hands, stubble brushing against your palm as he leans into your touch. after all these years, he still looks at you in the same way he always has. "it's nice, isn't it?"

[leonardcohenofficial]

as is tradition here are my top nine new-to-me watches of the year—in no particular order (l-r, top row to bottom row):

the african desperate (martine syms, 2022) not a pretty picture (martha coolidge, 1975) anatomy of a fall (justine triet, 2023) the girls (mai zetterling, 1968) network (sidney lumet, 1976) the year of the cannibals (liliana cavani, 1970) all the beauty and the bloodshed (laura poitras, 2022) straight on till morning (peter collinson, 1972) microhabitat (jeon go-woon, 2017)

i hit 150 total films and my continual goal of half of the films by women and nonbinary filmmakers, and still definitely need to keep up with deliberately seeking out films by directors of color! feel free to tell me your faves if you’ve seen any of these 🖤👀🎬🍿🎥

i'll tag @privatejoker / @wanlittlehusk / @majorbaby / @edwardalbee / @draftdodgerag / @lesbiancolumbo / @frmulcahy / @nelson-riddle-me-this / @firewalkwithmedvd and anyone else who'd like to share their top watches of the year!

full list of films for the year is included below, favorites are bolded in red:

Farewell Amor (Ekwa Msangi, 2020)

Hell Camp: Teen Nightmare (Liza Williams, 2023)

Blacks Britannica (David Koff, 1978)

New Year, New You (Sophia Takal, 2023)

Family Band: The Cowsills Story (Louise Palanker and Bill Filipiak, 2011)

The Color Purple (Blitz Bazawule, 2023)

The Apology (Alison Star Locke, 2022)

Close (Lukas Dhont, 2022)

Unintended (Anja Murmann, 2018)

Other People’s Children (Liz Hinlein, 2015)

Omega Rising Women of Rastafari (D. Elmina Davis, 1988)

The Gypsy Moths (John Frankenheimer, 1969)

Be My Cat: A Film for Anne (Adrian Țofei, 2015)

Insomnia (Christopher Nolan, 2002)

Chowchilla (Paul Solet, 2023)

Intimate Relations (Philip Goodhew, 1996)

Monument (Jagoda Szelc, 2018)

After Sherman (Jon Sesrie Goff, 2022)

Remnants of the Watts Festival (Ulysses Jenkins, 1980)

Network (Sidney Lumet, 1976)

The Taking of Pelham One Two Three (Joseph Sargent, 1974)

Down Low (Rightor Doyle, 2023)

Our Father, the Devil (Ellie Foumbi, 2021)

The Zone of Interest (Jonathan Glazer, 2023)

Youngblood (Noel Nosseck, 1978)

Joy Division - Under Review (Christian Davies, 2006)

Being Frank: The Chris Sievey Story (Steve Sullivan, 2018)

Sun Ra: A Joyful Noise (Robert Mugge, 1980)

Fanny: The Right To Rock (Bobbi Jo Hart, 2021)

Depeche Mode: The Dark Progression (Alec Lindsell, 2009)

Kraftwerk And The Electronic Revolution (Thomas Arnold, 2008)

Blank City (Celine Danhier, 2010)

Oliver Sacks: His Own Life (Ric Burns, 2019)

Monster (Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2023)

Black Is Beltza (Fermín Muguruza, 2018)

Werewolf (Ashley McKenzie, 2016)

The Humans (Stephen Karam, 2021)

Relative (Tracey Arcabasso Smith, 2022)

The Believer (Henry Bean, 2001)

Lost Angel: The Genius of Judee Sill (Brian Lindstrom and Andy Brown, 2022) 

Animals (Collin Schiffli, 2014)

Scott Walker: 30 Century Man (Stephen Kijak, 2006)

Novitiate (Maggie Betts, 2017)

Hunger (Henning Carlsen, 1966)

Late Night With The Devil (Cameron Cairnes and Colin Cairnes, 2023)

The Stunt Man (Richard Rush, 1980)

New York Doll (Greg Whiteley, 2005)

The Iron Claw (Sean Durkin, 2023)

Your Fat Friend (Jeanie Finlay, 2023)

Scarred Justice: The Orangeburg Massacre 1968 (Bestor Cram and Judy Richardson, 2008)

Targets (Peter Bogdanovich, 1968)

Uptight (Jules Dassin, 1968)

Messiah of Evil (Gloria Katz and Willard Huyck, 1973)

Plastic Paradise (Brett O’Bourke, 2013)

You Hurt My Feelings (Nicole Holofcener, 2023)

Pretty Poison (Noel Black, 1968)

The Shout (Jerzy Skolimowski, 1978)

Shakedown (Leilah Weinraub, 2018)

Class of 1984 (Mark L. Lester, 1982)

Betty: They Say I’m Different (Philip Cox, 2017)

Beautiful Boy (Felix van Groeningen, 2018)

Anatomy of a Fall (Justine Triet, 2023)

Gimme Shelter (Albert Maysles, David Maysles, and Charlotte Zwerin, 1970)

The Beach Boys (Frank Marshall and Thom Zimny, 2024)

High and Low (Kevin Macdonald, 2023)

Brats (Andrew McCarthy, 2024)

I Saw The TV Glow (Jane Schoenbrun, 2023)

The Talented Mr. Ripley (Anthony Minghella, 1999)

Altered States (Ken Russell, 1980)

This Closeness (Kit Zauhar, 2023)

How To Have Sex (Molly Manning Walker, 2023)

American Commune (Rena Mundo Croshere and Nadine Mundo, 2013)

Look In Any Window (William Alland, 1961)

Private Property (Leslie Stevens, 1960)

We’re Still Here: Johnny Cash’s Bitter Tears Revisited (Antonino D’Ambrosio, 2015)

The Wobblies (Stewart Bird and Deborah Shaffer, 1979)

Last Summer Won’t Happen (Tom Hurwitz and Peter Gessner, 1968)

Goodbye Gemini (Alan Gibson, 1970)

Keyboard Fantasies: The Beverly Glenn-Copeland Story (Posy Dixon, 2019)

The Most Beautiful Boy in the World (Kristina Lindström and Kristian Petri, 2021)

The Passenger (Carter Smith, 2023)

The Boys Who Said No (Judith Ehrlich, 2020)

Synecdoche, New York (Charlie Kaufman, 2008)

Karen Carpenter: Starving for Perfection (Randy Martin, 2023)

...And Justice For All (Norm Jewison, 1978)

I Used To Be Funny (Ally Pankiw, 2023)

Badlands (Terrence Malick, 1973)

Straight On Till Morning (Peter Collinson, 1972)

The Same Difference: Gender Roles in the Black Lesbian Community (Nneka Onuorah, 2015)

Thanksgiving (Eli Roth, 2023)

Sorry/Not Sorry (Caroline Suh and Cara Mones, 2023)

Am I OK? (Tig Notaro and Stephanie Allynne, 2022)

Joan Baez: I Am a Noise (Maeve O’Boyle, Miri Navasky, and Karen O’Connor, 2023)

No Direction Home (Martin Scorsese, 2005)

Shutter Island (Martin Scorsese, 2010)

Water Lilies (Céline Sciamma, 2007)

The Strings (Ryan Glover, 2020)

The Crucible (Nicholas Hytner, 1996)

Woman of the Hour (Anna Kendrick, 2024)

The Platform (Galder Gaztelu-Urrutia, 2019)

Tabloid (Errol Mark Morris, 2010)

Will & Harper (Josh Greenbaum, 2024)

Miller’s Girl (Jade Halley Bartlett, 2024)

Give Me Pity! (Amanda Kramer, 2022)

Landlocked (Paul Owens, 2021)

Perfect Love (Catherine Breillat, 1996)

Not a Pretty Picture (Martha Coolidge, 1975)

Seeking Mavis Beacon (Jazmin Jones, 2024)

Renfield (Chris McKay, 2023)

Compulsion (Richard Fleischer, 1959)

An Angel At My Table (Jane Campion, 1990)

Longlegs (Oz Perkins, 2024)

Rare Beasts (Billie Piper, 2019)

Nightman (Mélanie Delloye-Betancourt, 2023)

The Changin’ Times of Ike White (Daniel Vernon, 2020)

The Substance (Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

The Year of the Cannibals (Liliana Cavani, 1970)

Fanatical: The Catfishing of Tegan and Sara (Erin Lee Carr, 2024)

The Loneliest Planet (Julia Loktev, 2011)

Marjoe (Howard Smith and Sarah Kernochan, 1972)

Witches (Elizabeth Sankey, 2024)

Angela (Rebecca Miller, 1995)

The Morning After (Richard T. Heffron, 1974)

Beach Rats (Eliza Hittman, 2017)

Last Summer (Catherine Breillat, 2023)

The Fits (Anna Rose Holmer, 2015)

Hold Your Breath (Karrie Crouse and Will Joines, 2024)

What Comes Around (Amy Redford, 2022)

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (Kurt Kuenne, 2008)

Priscilla (Sofia Coppola, 2023)

The Girls (Mai Zetterling, 1968)

Sweetie (Jane Campion, 1989)

Victim/Suspect (Nancy Schwartzman, 2023)

The African Desperate (Martine Syms, 2022)

Les Nôtres (Jeanne Leblanc, 2020)

A Sacrifice (Jordan Scott, 2024)

All the Beauty and the Bloodshed (Laura Poitras, 2022)

My Name is Not Ali (Viola Shafik, 2011)

Committed (Sheila McLaughlin and Lynne Tillman, 1984)

Chained (Jennifer Lynch, 2012)

The Hour of Liberation Has Arrived (Heiny Srour, 1974)

All Power To The People! (Lee Lew-Lee, 1997)

Night Moves (Kelly Reichardt, 2013)

Destroyer (Karyn Kusama, 2018)

Late Night (Nisha Ganatra, 2023)

The Year Between (Alex Heller, 2022)

Loved (Erin Dignam, 1997)

Girl In The Picture (Skye Borgman, 2022)

Microhabitat (Jeon Go-Woon, 2017)

Dear Ex (Mag Hsu and Chih-yen Hsu, 2018)

[myremnantarmy]

"𝘔𝘺 𝘥𝘢𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵𝘦𝘳, 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘦, 𝘶𝘴𝘦 𝘪𝘵."

[bethanythebogwitch]

The modern world is nice, but sometimes you just get the urge to go primitive. Because I'm a complete wimp who would die within a day of giving up the internet, I'm going to deal with that urge by talking about primitive animals. It's Wet Beast Wednesday and I'm talking about lancelets.

(image: a lancelet. Not much to look at, are they?)

Lancelets, or amphioxi, are highly basal (close to the ancestral form) chordates that are vaguely similar to fish, but are vastly more primitive. They have all the characteristics of chordates, the key one being a notochord, a flexible rodlike structure that goes down the body. The majority of chordates that are still alive are vertebrates, who have incorporated the notochord into the spinal column. The other groups of surviving chordates are the tunicates (who I'll get to eventually) and the lancelets. Because lancelets are so primitive, they are used at model organisms representing an early stage of vertebrate evolution. It was originally thought that lancelets are remnants of an early lineage that eventually evolved into vertebrates. Genetic studies later showed that tunicates are actually more closely related to modern vertebrates than lancelets. They are still used as a model organism as they are a fantastic representation of early chordates. The similarity of lancelets to the 530 million year old Pikaia gracilens, one of the earliest known chordates, is one of the reasons they are such a useful model organism.

(image: a diagram of lancelet anatomy by Wikipedia user Systematicist)

Lancelets can be found all over the world, living in temperate to tropical shallow seas. The only known exception is Asymmetron inferum, which has been found around whale falls at 225 m (738 ft) deep. They are small animals, reaching around 8 cm at their largest. An amphioxus looks pretty worm-like, with a simple mouth at one end and a pointed tail at the other. The name amphioxus means "both (ends) pointed" which is a pretty appropriate description. The mouth is lined with tentacle-like threads called oral cilli, which are used for feeding. Lancelets are filter-feeders that use the cirri to filter plankton, microbes, and organic detritus. Water and food pass into the pharynx (back of the mouth), which is line with gill slits. This is where it gets weird. The gill slits aren't used for respiration, but for feeding. Mucus gets pushed through the gill slits by cilia, trapping the food and moving it deeper into the digestive tract. Not only to lancelets not use their gill slits to respirate, they actually don't have a respiratory system at all. Instead, they just absorb dissolved oxygen through their thin and simple layer of skin. Their circulatory system doesn't move oxygen around either as there is no heart or hemoglobin present. For what it's worth, they don't have a proper live either. When you look at a lancelet's anatomy, you can see similarities to fish anatomy, just much more primitive and with some parts missing.

(image: the head of a lancelet, with mouth and cilli visible)

Lancelets have 4 different systems used for vision. Two, the Joseph cells and Hesse organs, are simple photoreceptors that are on the notochord and detect light along the back of the animal. Imagine having a bunch of very simple yes on your spinal cord that can see through your skin. There is also a simple photoreceptor called the lamellar body (which confusingly is also the name of a type of lipid) and a single simple eye on the head. Speaking of light, lancelets are florescent, producing green light when exposed to blue to ultraviolet light. In all species, the proteins responsible for this are found around the cilii and eye, but some species also have them in the gonads and tail. The purpose for this florescence isn't exactly known, but a common hypothesis is that it helps attract plankton toward their mouths.

(image: an extreme close-up of a lancelet's cilli fluorescing)

Lancelets have seasonal reproduction cycles that occur in summer. Females release their eggs first, followed my males releasing sperm to fertilize them. Depending on species, spawning can either occur at specific times, or gradually throughout breeding season. Development occurs in several stages. In the frist stage, they live in the substrate, but they will quickly move into the water column to become swimmers. These swimming larvae practice diel vertical migration, traveling to the surface at night and returning to the seafloor in the day. While larvae can swim, they are still subject to the current and can be carried long distances. Adults retain their ability to swim, which is done by wriggling like an eel and in some cases, spinning around in a spiral fashion while moving forward. Unlike the larvae, adults spend most of their time buried in the substrate with only their heads exposed. They typically only emerge when mating or if disturbed.

(image: a diagram of the lancelet life cycle. source)

Because of their use as model organisms, humans have developed methods to keep and breed lancelets in captivity. The majority of research has been done on Branchiostoma lanceolatum, but several other species have been studied. Multiple species are endangered due to pollution and global warming. Several species are edible and can either be eaten whole or used as a food additive. In spring, when their gonads begin to develop for breeding season, they develop a bad flavor.

Mom: "we have garden eels at home". Garden eels at home:

(image: three lancelets sticking their heads out of the sediment)

[acute-crashout-jeyuso]

Power: a Bloodline x Rhea Ripley fic.

Chapter 11: Joseph & Jonathan

Demi sat on the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands as quiet sobs shook her shoulders. Jonathan and Joseph stood nearby, watching her with a mix of concern and helplessness.

“I just don’t understand,” Demi choked out between sobs, her voice breaking. “What the fuck does he see in her?”

Jonathan moved first, kneeling in front of her and gently pulling her hands away from her face. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly, his tone uncharacteristically tender. “You’re letting her win if you let this eat you up. You know that, right?”

Joseph sat down beside her, his arm draping across her back. “Demi,” he said, his voice low and steady, “Joe’s choices don’t define your worth. You’re better than this, better than her. Don’t let it break you down.”

“But why her?” Demi whispered, her teary eyes darting between the two of them. “She’s everything I’m not, and I don’t get why he even—”

“Stop that,” Jonathan interrupted, his tone sharper now but still filled with care. “Don’t compare yourself to her. She’s not even in the same league as you.”

Joseph nodded in agreement, squeezing her shoulder. “You’re the one who has all of us wrapped around your finger. You’re the one who makes Joe feel something real. Rhea? She’s just… noise.”

Demi sniffled, trying to steady her breathing, but the pain still lingered. “It just hurts so much,” she admitted.

“We know,” Jonathan said, brushing a strand of hair out of her face. “But you’re not alone in this. We’ve got you, always.”

Joseph leaned closer, his presence solid and reassuring. “Let it out, Demi. Cry, scream, whatever you need. We’re not going anywhere.”

Demi looked between them, their unwavering support grounding her. For the first time since Rhea walked into the house, she felt like she could breathe again.

Demi’s eyes were still red from crying, but there was a glimmer of something else—longing, a need to feel whole again. “Will you please make me feel alive again?” she whispered, her voice fragile yet filled with quiet desperation.

Joseph leaned in first, pressing a gentle kiss to her shoulder, his hand trailing softly down her arm. “Anything for you,” he murmured, his voice a soothing balm.

Jonathan tilted her chin toward him, his lips brushing against the curve of her neck. “Always,” he whispered, his breath warm against her skin. His hands moved to cradle her face, his thumbs wiping away the remnants of her tears.

Demi closed her eyes, surrendering to the comfort of their touch, their presence grounding her as the pain in her chest began to ease.

Meanwhile, in the living room, Rhea stood by the patio doors, her gaze shifting between Joshua and Joe. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to cut with a knife.

“What the hell are you even doing here, Rhea?” Joshua finally broke the silence, his voice sharp and filled with anger he barely contained.

Rhea crossed her arms, leaning casually against the doorframe, though her demeanor carried an undercurrent of unease. “I needed to talk to Joe,” she said, her tone even but guarded. “It’s… important.”

Joe’s expression was unreadable, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared her down. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it now,” he said coldly, his voice devoid of the warmth he usually carried when speaking.

Rhea hesitated, glancing at Joshua, who looked like he was ready to pounce. “Not in front of him,” she said, her eyes flickering back to Joe. “It’s private.”

Joshua scoffed, stepping closer to Joe, his body tense. “You think you can just waltz in here like nothing’s wrong? After everything you’ve done?”

Joe raised a hand, signaling for Joshua to hold back. “Enough,” he said, his voice firm. His piercing gaze locked onto Rhea. “Go on, Rhea. Say what you came to say.”

Rhea’s eyes darted briefly toward the hallway, where Demi and the others had disappeared moments ago. “Not here,” she insisted, her voice softening. “Please, Joe.”

Joe studied her for a moment longer before sighing, the weight of the situation clearly pressing on him. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped. “But this better be worth it.”

Joshua watched as Joe motioned for Rhea to follow him outside, his jaw clenched tight. His fists curled at his sides, the sight of Rhea in their home making his blood boil.

As the patio doors slid shut behind them, Joshua muttered under his breath, “This better not blow up in his face.”

—

Demi had never felt so alive. Joseph’s lips on hers, tasting like the whiskey he had been sipping on all night, and Jonathan’s fingers tracing patterns on her thighs. She hadn’t known what she was missing, but now that she had a taste of it, she couldn’t get enough.

As Joseph kissed Demi and he felt her lean into him, a mix of emotions coursed through him. He was drawn to her fragility, to the way she let herself be vulnerable in front of him and Jonathan. It wasn't just physical-though that was undeniable-it was the way she trusted him, the way she sought comfort and safety in him.

Joseph’s hands roamed over Demi’s body, feeling every curve and dip as if committing them to memory. He trailed his fingers down her spine, causing her to arch into him with a whimper. Jonathan took this opportunity to slip his hand into Demi’s shorts and he began rubbing slow circles on her clit

I won't let her regret it. I'll make her feel alive again, no matter what it takes. Joseph's thoughts turned briefly to the chaos in the other room, to Rhea's sudden appearance. And then there's her. Always lingering, always stirring up trouble. He tightened his jaw. Whatever Rhea's here for, it won't undo what we have now. Demi needs us. She needs me. And I'll be damned if I let anyone take that away.

Demi’s breath hitched as Joseph’s mouth began exploring her mouth as Jonathan continued to tease her pussy. She could feel herself getting wetter with every rub, her hips moving in time with Jonathan’s fingers.

As Jonathan watched Demi between them, her tear-streaked face illuminated by the soft light, he felt something indescribable stir deep inside him. She was raw-beautiful in a way that went beyond her physical allure. There was something profoundly human about her in this moment, stripped of her defenses, laying herself bare before him and Joseph.

Jonathan pulled his fingers away from Demi and Joseph broke the kiss, which incited a whimper from Demi. Joseph pulled off her shirt and Jonathan pulled her shorts down. Both men quickly undressed as Demi braced herself for what was going to happen.

God, she is stunning, Jonathan thought, his gaze lingering on the curve of her cheek as one final tear slipped down. Not just because of her looks, though she was undeniably breathtaking. It was the way she let herself be seen, the way her vulnerability pulled at something primal in him.

“Tell us what you want us to do, Demi..” Jonathan said.

“Make me feel alive again..” She pleaded.

Joseph positioned Demi on top of him and Jonathan got behind Demi. Demi felt Joseph’s dick against her pussy, and she leaned forward to kiss him. Joseph entered her slowly, filling her pussy with his dick. Demi moaned as Joseph began to fuck her slowly, her body shaking with pleasure.

Jonathan could sense her pain even in this state, the cracks in her foundation that she tried so hard to hide from the world. Yet here she was, letting him and Joseph see all of it. She doesn't realize how strong she is. She doesn't see what we see. She's more than the chaos, more than the heartbreak. She's everything, she needs to feel me..

Jonathan reached around Demi and began to rub her clit as Joseph fucked her slowly. Demi felt Jonathan’s dick against her ass, and she leaned her head back to kiss him. Jonathan entered her slowly, completely stretching her out and filling her ass with his dick… so raw and free.

He glanced at Joseph, who was lost in his own world with her, and felt an unspoken understanding pass between them. This wasn't about rivalry or jealousy. This was about her-about giving her the strength she needed to rise again.

Jonathan pressed another kiss to her neck, his voice catching slightly as he whispered, “We've got you." He meant it. In this moment, there was nothing he wouldn't do to keep her safe, to make her feel whole again. She's so raw, so real, so hers. And I'm lucky just to be here, to see her like this.

Demi felt both men inside her, and she moaned as they began to fuck her slowly. It wasn’t about how quick they could get her to cum, it was about how powerful they both could get her to cum. Demi leaned her head back to Jonathan’s shoulder as he whispered to her, “Do you love this?”

“Ye… yes… don’t stop..” Demi moaned, feeling every inch of both men inside of her.

Her vulnerability was breathtaking-not weakness, but a raw strength that struck Joseph and Jonathan deeply. Watching her bare her soul like this wasn't something he took lightly. It made them both feel protective and honored, as though they had been entrusted with something sacred.

“Look at how your body is reacting to both of our cocks inside you baby.” Joseph said.

“Keep going!” Demi cried out. Joseph reached up the grasp her breasts as the speed picked up a bit, Demi was so tight, even thought both men knew she had been with Joe and Joshua the past nights, they couldn’t understand how she was still tight, it was almost like trying to put on a glove that was four sizes to small.

How can she look so beautiful even when she's broken? Her dried tear-streaked face wasn't something to pity-it was a reflection of everything she'd been through, everything she'd survived. Joseph couldn't stop staring at her lips, parting slightly but still set in determination to keep this twisted encounter going.

“Do you see how beautiful you are?” Jonathan said as he rested his chin on her shoulder. Demi opened her eyes as she saw her skin glistening with some lovemaking sweat, her chest was slightly red from the experience.

“Ye.. yes…” Demi moaned. Jonathan kissed her neck again and Demi didn’t understand the magnitude of the pleasure levels she was experiencing. Her arousal only grew as Jonathan whispered to her, “Do you love this?”

Demi moaned in response, “Yes.”

She's the glue holding us together, he thought, his fingers tracing absent patterns along her arm. Without her, none of this would make sense. None of us would make sense.

Joseph thought back to all the moments he'd watched her, observed how she moved, how she laughed, how she commanded attention without even trying. Demi wasn't just a part of this dynamic-she was the center of it. She carried them all in different ways, filling spaces none of them even realized were empty until she walked into their lives.

Jonathan sees her fire, her strength. Joshua sees her softness, her vulnerability. Joe sees her loyalty, her submission. And me? He smiled faintly, brushing a strand of hair from her face. / see all of it. Every piece of her. And it's all meant to be ours.

“You were meant to feel like this… you were meant to be ours..” Joseph said as he began to rub Demi’s clit more.

She needs all of us, just as much as we need her, he thought. Jonathan fuels her confidence. Joshua gives her peace. Joe gives her structure. And me... I give her balance. Together, we're everything she could ever need. Everything she deserves.

Demi couldn't help but moan at Joseph's words. She felt her orgasm reaching it’s, her body started tensing up.

She's ours, he thought with certainty. And we're hers. There's no going back now-not for her, not for us. This is how it's meant to be. The four of us, bound to her, bound to each other.

As Joseph watched her body melting into theirs like she belonged there, he felt it more deeply than ever: this wasn't just some fleeting connection. This was permanent. This was home.

"I can't hold it in anymore," Demi moaned.

"Cum for us," Jonathan said, his voice deep and commanding.

Demi let out a loud moan as she came for both men. Her body trembled as she felt her orgasm wash over her. Joseph and Jonathan both groaned as they came inside Demi, filling her up with their cum.

Demi collapsed on top of Joseph, panting heavily. Jonathan leaned down to kiss Demi's shoulder, his dick still inside her.

"That was amazing," Demi whispered, her body still trembling.

"Yes, it was," Joseph said, kissing Demi's forehead.

Jonathan chuckled, "I can't wait to do it again."

—

The waves crashed against the shore as Joe and Rhea stood on the beach, the moonlight casting silver reflections on the water. Rhea's voice was soft but tinged with a sharp edge as she spoke,

"You used to bring me here all the time."

Joe stopped walking, his expression tightening.

"Why are you here, Rhea?"

Rhea smirked faintly, tilting her head. "Are you still mad about me trying to take Joshua?"

Joe's laugh was low and humorless, his arms crossing over his chest. "Joshua's still here, isn't he? And from what I've seen, I think he's moved on to Demi."

Rhea shrugged, her tone turning smug. "Well, I hope Demi's much smarter than she lets on."

Joe's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing as he stepped closer. "She endured what you endured from Jonathan, and she's still here. She didn't try to convince his twin to run off with her."

Rhea's smirk faltered slightly, but she masked it with a bitter chuckle. "Quite frankly, it's funny how quickly you moved in."

Joe's lips curled into a faint smile, his gaze cold.

"Demi was already in the picture when you tried to come back, Rhea. You were too caught up in your own games to notice."

Joe’s voice was cold, cutting through the tense silence. He looked at Rhea, the frustration from the last few moments still thick in the air. “What do you want, Rhea?” His words were sharp, like a demand, but there was something deeper buried underneath — a mixture of confusion and irritation.

Rhea stood her ground, staring back at him with the same intensity. There was no hint of the carefree, confident woman he remembered — now, she looked almost uncertain, vulnerable in a way he had never seen before.

“I want what’s mine,” she said, her voice steady, though there was an undeniable edge of desperation beneath it.

Joe raised an eyebrow, his patience already wearing thin. “And what exactly is that?” he asked, his voice a mixture of disbelief and incredulity.

Rhea’s jaw tightened. She clearly wasn’t going to back down, and for a moment, Joe felt a flicker of something — pity, maybe. But he quickly shoved it aside.

“I want you to look at me the way you used to,” she said, her voice softer now, but still firm. “I want you to remember who I am, what we had. I want you to remember that I belonged to you. I want to know where I stand, Joe.” She paused, her expression slightly strained as she continued. “With you. With all of it.”

Joe felt a cold shiver run through him at her words, but his expression hardened. He had been down this road with her too many times before, and he wasn’t going to be pulled back in.

“Rhea,” he began, his voice low but powerful, “you don’t get to come in here and try to undo everything that’s happened. You made your choice — a long time ago. And it wasn’t me. It wasn’t us.”

She stepped closer, and Joe held his ground, his eyes not leaving hers. “You can’t just waltz back in here and expect me to drop everything for you. That’s not how this works.”

Rhea’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Then, with a sigh, she took another step forward, lowering her voice. “I’m not asking you to drop everything. I just… I need to know if you feel it too. If there’s something still there. I want to know if you can still see me, Joe.”

Joe shook his head, his resolve firming. “Rhea, I’m with Demi now. I’m not doing this with you. I’m not going to throw everything away again just because you can’t let go. You had your chance. You made your choice.”

The words cut deeper than Joe expected, but he stood his ground, unwilling to let her break him again.

There was a beat of silence before Rhea's demeanor shifted. Her confidence wavered, and she reached into her pocket, pulling out a small photograph. She held it out to Joe, her voice quieter now.

"Do you remember the last time we had sex?"

Joe's expression darkened, his patience thinning.

"Not fucking now, Rhea. I’m getting tired of repeating myself so please tell me more clearly this time why the fuck are you here?"

Rhea stepped closer, pushing the picture into his hand. Her voice broke slightly as she said, "It's a boy."

Joe's gaze dropped to the photo, his body stiffening as he processed her words. The sound of the waves faded into the background, replaced by the pounding of his heart.

Rhea stood there, her arms crossed as if bracing herself for his reaction. "Now you know why I'm here," she said softly.

Joe didn't look up, his eyes locked on the photo of the newborn baby as the weight of her revelation settled over him like a storm.

Rhea stood still for a moment, her gaze lingering on him. Then, with a frustrated exhale, she turned away, starting to walk back toward the house where a taxi was still waiting for her. But before she could leave, she paused and said, almost to herself, “I’m not the only one holding on, Joe. Don’t think you’re the only one who still feels the pull.”

Joe didn’t respond. He watched her walk away, her figure disappearing into the night, and for a moment, he felt an emptiness he hadn’t anticipated. But just as quickly, he shook it off. He was done.

[brainddeadd]

Falling in Love

The soft glow of fairy lights filled the cozy apartment, casting gentle shadows on the walls as you and Joseph sat on the couch, surrounded by a mix of snacks and the remnants of an unfinished movie. Laughter echoed in the air from a light-hearted scene, but your mind was elsewhere, caught up in the quiet moment you shared with him.

You glanced at Joseph, who was leaning back comfortably, his casual attire accentuating his relaxed demeanor. His dark hair fell into his eyes slightly, and he brushed it aside, a charming smile playing on his lips as he caught you staring.

“What’s that face for?” he asked, his voice playful yet curious.

You felt a flutter in your chest, suddenly aware of how close he was. His presence was intoxicating, and you could feel the warmth radiating off him. You opened your mouth to respond but hesitated, unsure of how to express the mix of feelings swirling inside you.

Before you could speak, Joseph leaned in closer, his lips barely ghosting over your ear. The sensation sent a thrill down your spine, and you held your breath, completely captivated by the moment. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he whispered, his voice low and sincere.

Your heart raced at his confession, disbelief mingling with joy. You pulled back slightly to look into his eyes, searching for any hint of a joke, but all you found was genuine affection reflected in his gaze.

“Joseph, are you serious?” you breathed, your pulse quickening.

“Absolutely,” he replied, his expression unwavering. “I’ve felt this way for a while, but I didn’t know how to tell you.”

A smile broke across your face, warmth spreading through your chest as you processed his words. “I think I might be falling for you too,” you admitted, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

Joseph’s grin widened, illuminating his features. “Really?” he asked, hope evident in his voice.

“Really,” you confirmed, unable to contain the happiness bubbling inside you.

He leaned in again, this time pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes dancing with delight. “So, what do you say we take this to the next level and go out for dinner? Just the two of us?”

“I’d love that,” you replied, your heart swelling at the thought of being with him, fully and completely.

In that moment, surrounded by the cozy ambiance of the apartment, you knew this was the beginning of something special—something you both had quietly hoped for.

[kohvan]

His promise

TW: domestic violence mentioned, abuse mentioned, death from a gunshot, PTSD (flashbacks).

"Come on, Joe," he urged, his voice breaking in the middle. Jacob got much bigger over the year. His constantly stern and angry face was now covered in random marks, a reminder of his blossoming puberty. "You just hold the gun like that, okay? Just in case-"

"I can't!" Joseph whimpered, panicking. Staring at the weapon in his scrawny childish hands. "I can't do it, Jake, I…" he gulped the air loudly.

"Shut up!" Jacob hissed angrily before his face relaxed slightly, exposing his own fear and worry. "You just… you just need to stand and hold it. Just to make this fucker scared. I'll do the rest, I promise."

"But Jacob… what if…" another choked whimper escaped his throat. It all got a little too vivid, a little too cartoony, like the reality itself became disgustingly unreal. His breathing grew heavier, and his brother's rasp somehow became distant.

"You don't need to shoot, okay? It's just… in case we're fucked up. If something happens, you need to protect John. You hear me? Joe!"

* * *

Jacob closed his eyes to open them slowly, trying to get rid of the haunting memory from his past. Flashbacks come and leave, that's why he's unbothered. He has a job to do, after all.

His hand, a heavy weight on the girl's shoulder, moved slightly, squeezing it. The girl was young enough to be his daughter. And broken enough to draw his attention. He stood by her side, watching her tremble, watching her hold the pistol tightly. Watching this pistol pointed at the man tied to a chair.

Her father. Another pathetic excuse for a man. Weak bastard who got joy from abusing his child. Jacob's jaw clenched as he shook the remnants of his flashback.

"Now, just hold the gun like that," he instructed, his voice calm and steady. His hand coming to fix her posture.

"I… I can't…" she mewled, a hiccuping breath escaping her mouth.

"Hush now. Aim and shoot. We must cull the herd. Must ensure the survival of the strongest ones."

She closed her eyes, swallowing her tears. She knew she had to shoot. She had to put an end to her nightmares. She had to prove that she's strong enough. She had to…

A shot pierced the air. So loud it made her go deaf for a few seconds. She opened her eyes widely, her heart stammering against her chest. Terrified, she watched her father's body going limp, a gush of blood spilling out of his body.

A sudden sob came out of her mouth before she looked at the gun in her hands. She never pulled the trigger.

Jacob put his Colt .45 in the holster. He gave the girl's shoulder a pat before pulling away. "Just as I promised, kid," he murmured, more to himself, as he walked out of the room.