#so if anyone out there in the void sees this and has any recs for good patch paint

[cornsarts]

SKANK TIL YOUR DEAD!

Trying my hand at linocut (I've done it before but only for a couple high school art class assignments). I'm Really happy with how it turned out, I just need to find the right groove with making the prints @_@

[pedgito]

𝐁𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 | Joel Miller x reader x Tommy Miller

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summary | a moment of desperation and a kind gesture leads you down an inescapable path alongside two brothers and a town with a nasty secret

author's note | so. its been three months and a much needed break from this place, but i started this back in august with a fully fleshed out idea and then my motivation fell flat. i had a good chunk of this done and i love it too much to not post, even if just for myself. this will be two parts, this one and one coming in the near future. its so self-indulgent and not everyone's cup of tea. but an extra special thank you to the special and lovely people i talked about this with and that took a look at for me, i love you endlessly.

content warning | 18+ smut, dubious consent (relating to cannibalism), cannibalism, gore, mentions of violence, blood, demeaning language, joel is a hardass, high tension and angst, joel has weird kink relating to...you guessed it, this story is heavily joel leaning but tommy is a decent part of it, smut (oral), night swims, food/feeding tw, joel is a bit of creep here. please heed the warnings and pass if it's not your thing.

word count —14k

Long, desolate roads led you here. No telling how long you had until you would find the city skyline again, car running on fumes for the last ten miles, the sign at the end of the road pulling your attention up, eyes peering through the windshield as your car veered to the right and to a full stop.

Miller’s Farm, next right

Helped wanted, no experience needed

Hourly pay and lodging included

You had fifty bucks left in cash and half of that would go toward gas if you could find a gas station, your arms crossed over the steering wheel and blocked the blow to your forehead as you rested it against your forearms in frustration.The car’s AC was shotty at best, requiring you to hit it every half hour to keep it alive and even then it was a weak sputtering and a barely there chill that did nothing to quell the layer of sweat on your skin.

It takes several long, frustrating minutes before you decide that you don’t have any other option.

You were stranded, this was it.

Maybe hospitality extended this far out into the country, that even this far from the city there were still a few good, decent people around. With a deep, heavy sigh you exit the car and shove your key into the door, locking it and pocketing the keys into the pack slung over your shoulder.

It’s been weeks on the road, leaving pieces and pieces of you behind as you traveled. The lesser the weight, the lesser the burden. Were you running? You weren’t sure. But, staying in one place for too long made you antsy. Town to town, taking odd jobs where they were offered, living off the kindness of others in hopes of making it somewhere seaside.

Start a new life, forget about your past.

Austin wasn’t supposed to be your final stop, or even a detour, but the steps you took down the side of the road and toward the farm in the distance would be another place of temporary sanctuary. Hopefully.

Eventually the asphalt turns to dirt, kicking up gravel under your feet as you walk and covering your skin in a thin layer of fresh grime and sweat under the high noon sun. The barn, once a far-off dot, was now large and vibrant, that distinct red popping out amongst the rest of the dilapidated property, void of most color outside of dull brown. There was a house to the left, cluttered with a melody of things. Tools, furniture, plants, and things you couldn’t even recognize. 

You squint, hand over your brow like a makeshift visor as you look around and hope to see someone, anyone—this couldn’t be the wrong place?

A truck under the hastily built carport and a trailer attached to the hitch—someone was home. You look around carefully, peering over your shoulder and finding nothing. There was no wind, no noise, and your breath caught in your throat. 

Maybe this was the time to turn back and attempt your chances elsewhere.

The front door opening with a creak has your head whipping back over your shoulder to set sights on the person in front of you—a man, tanned skin and tall. He was stocky but lean, black hair tucked behind his ears and trimmed just above his shoulders. He looked clean, which was more than you could say for yourself. All clean-cut man, jeans and a casual shirt, boots tucked under his jeans as his hand curled around the front door of the house and half of his figure leaned out.

“Can I help you, darlin’?” The twang flows out of his mouth naturally, taking a few steps out of the house before he’s closing the door behind him and following the small path of the front yard masked with clutter until he’s near you, a few feet away. “You lost?”

“I—I saw the sign?” You implore, jutting your thumb over your shoulder in the direction of the road, “My car ran out of gas, I’m out of money and it’s hot. I was just hoping for some work to help get me back on my feet and out of your hair as quickly as possible.”

The man nods, readying to open his mouth before you continue.

“I don’t mind the work, I’m not picky. I don’t have a resume or anything, but I promise—”

“Woah, slow down,” You can hear the amusement, a smirk pulling at his face and you chew at your bottom lip nervously, fingers twisting around the straps of your backpack, “We’re not lookin’ for some hoity toity types with degrees—you comfortable gettin’ dirty?”

You glance down at your clothes, a few days without a shower and driving down sideroads with your windows down has made you look worse for wear, “Absolutely. I just need the money and a bed, couch even—you won’t even know I’m here if that’s an issue for you. I can keep busy.”

You glazed over the we in his response, looking around curiously again.

He extends his hand unexpectedly, “I’m Tommy,” He introduces and you take his hand softly, feeling him squeeze firmly at your grip and the smirk in his face soften into a smile, “listen—we don’t do the whole hirin’ process. I gotta run it by my brother Joel and there’s a few cautionary steps we gotta take due to the work, but we can give it a test run? See how you feel?”

You felt inclined to ask what the work was, but you decided not to be picky.

And like a dinner bell had been rung, the other man appears out of the barn.

Joel, a stark difference to his brother in stature and cleanliness but the resemblance was uncanny in the way they carried themselves. A similar stride that felt intimidating, broad shoulders stretched out over taught muscle and a matching resting scowl on his face.

Something told you his expression was more permanent, though. His brow pulls together, eyes squinting as he looks you over. He was wiping at his dirtied hands with a rag, a sheen of maroon drying to brown that you could only assume was blood. 

It was a farm. Animals. That meant slaughter. 

The thought of it didn’t make you vomit initially, so you considered that a good thing.

It takes one look and he’s giving a disparaging shake of his head, turning his head toward his brother to offer his opinion, “Ain’t worth the trouble.”

You instantly grimace, offering a less than subtle look of distaste at that man.

Stubbornness is what he notices immediately, but then your eyes are flicking back toward his brother who looks more confused now than when you had first approached the farm.

“You said you were outta gas, right? Just needin’ some extra money?” He confirms and you answer with a simple nod of your head. He looks over at Joel, arms crossing over his chest, “Said she doesn’t mind gettin’ dirty—willing to help out wherever. I’m sure we can find her some work, right?”

Joel looks you over slowly, a predatory gaze that makes you feel infinitely smaller. He was staring through you, seeing the deepest and darkest parts of your soul. His eyes were darker, nearly black and ringed with deep set under eyes from an obvious lack of sleep—whereas Tommy, he was chipper and well-rested, eyes a warm amber and much more inviting.

“You slaughter cattle before?” Joel asks, “Cleaned up shit? Worked on a farm? Anything like that?”

You shake your head but quickly respond before he has a chance to speak, “I don’t care what the work is—I’ll do it. If I need to be taught, I’m willing to learn. I’m a quick learner too.”

Devotion is what he senses at a slower rate, the slow blink of your eyes as they flick between the two brothers—he could give Tommy an ultimatum and turn you away, but something in his gut twists. 

She’s useful, she’s good. Good supply if it came down to that. Given you passed the tests. 

But, there was something lingering in your gaze, yet to be discovered. Joel was curious.

“Send her to the doc, give her the guest room,” Joel tells Tommy after a moment of thought, sounding slightly irritated but it forces out the breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, “You’ll start work when we know you’re cleared.”

You nod dutifully and Tommy returns a relaxed smile, “It’s a liability thing,” He promises, “and it’s heavy work, better to know if your body can handle it alright before we put you through the ringer.”

“Whatever I need to do,” You return the grin, tracking Joel’s departing figure as he re-entered the barn and disappears, “is he always that angry?”

“Usually,” Tommy replies, rusting around in his back pocket for a set of keys, “I’ll give you a ride to the clinic and we can tow your car here tonight—to keep away anyone tryin’ to scalp it for parts. Sounds good?”

“Sounds perfect,” You agree, wiping at the sweat on your brow with the back of your hand, “but—do you think I could take a quick shower first? It’s just walking in the heat and it’s been a few days...”

“Oh, yeah. Yeah,” Tommy stumbles over his words, but nods for you to follow him inside.

With trepidation, you take your first steps and follow. 

And what you’re expecting is not what is revealed to you. It made sense that the disorganization would spill into the house, but it was nearly spotless. Pristine countertops and polished wooden furniture, a wall of file cabinets and a tucked away nook with a computer set up. It was like entering another dimension, your eyes tracking along the full expanse of the house before they land on Tommy, who’s looking on with that same amusement as earlier.

“It’s a lot of work but I try to keep it clean here,” Tommy admits, “The outside is…all Joel, mostly.”

You shake your head with indifference, holding your hands up in defense.

You weren’t judging, it wasn’t your place.

“The shower is down that hall,” Tommy points toward the central hall, rooms lining each side, “first door on the right—did you—do you have clothes?”

“Only one clean pair left,” You confess, “but I’ll make do.”

“We’ve got clothes, if you need them. Don’t be afraid to ask.”

There’s a responsiveness to Tommy that intrigues you—approachable, kind, a hard disjunction from his counterpart that was like a breath of fresh air. You don’t allow yourself to linger either, making your way to the bathroom with quick footsteps and remaining blind to the rest of the house, hearing a sharp scuffle of a chair that you can only assume is Tommy as he sits and waits.

It was the easiest predicament you've dealt with in the last few months. But you weren’t, not even for a moment, going to question it.

-

It’s a small building near the edge of the town, only a half hour drive from the farm and sat in some silence, you find out a slow trickling of information that Tommy shares, his elbow propped against the open window and the other gripping tight around the steering wheel, his hair a wind-blown mess.

“It’s been in our family for years,” he tells you, traveling down the quiet road and the low hum of the radio mingling with his voice, “s’why it's a mess—can’t be bothered to part with some of that junk.”

“I’m not judging.”

Tommy offers a look of skepticism, laced with a smile.

“It is a lot of stuff,” you grin in response, a subtle quirk at the corner of your mouth.

“Joel is a little sentimental,” Tommy adds, “he’s always been like that—harder for him to let shit go.”

You respond with a gentle nod as Tommy pulls into the parking lot of the clinic, exiting the truck with a swiftness before he’s at the passenger side and opening your own door, “Oh—that is really not necessary—”

“My momma would be rollin’ in her grave otherwise,” Tommy gripes playfully as his fingers curl around the open door, “so, just let me, alright?”

You don’t argue, chivalry be damned.

There isn’t much to be confused about as you step inside the clinic with Tommy in tow. He takes a seat near the door and the doctor, an old man with a limp and someone who refers to Tommy as son—he earns a casual nod in return and then you’re led beyond the door to the hall of other rooms.

It was a very typical line of questions, a general physical, and a blood draw that he promised would be pushed through quickly for the benefit of allowing you to work as soon as possible.

You try desperately to ignore the particular aura about the old man, thin-wired glasses perched on his sharp nose, age spots littering his face and bald head—but the most glaring is the missing pinky fingers on both hands. It was so clean cut and well-healed that you assume it could be something he was born with, but the moment he spots you noticing, he seems to switch gears.

“You’re all good here,” he tells you, “If anything comes up I’ll give the Miller’s a call—you’re lodging there, right?”

Your left eyebrow raises slightly, nodding hesitantly in response.

“Gotten a few like you before,” he comments oddly, “I’m not passing any judgment, it’s just a question.”

“Yeah—yeah I am. Staying there.” 

Increasingly creeped out as the seconds pass you breathe a sigh of relief as he allows you to leave, meeting Tommy at the front door with a less than comfortable expression. His eyes press a silent question but you shrug it off, hearing him bid a polite goodbye over your shoulder as you walk toward the truck.

Eventually, settled into the truck as Tommy turned over the ignition, he responds with comfort, “He ain’t the most approachable guy,” he admits, “but he’s been helpin’ us for years.”

That was one way of putting it.

“Hopefully I pass with flying colors then.”

Tommy shrugs, backing out of the parking lot with his arm thrown over the passenger seat, feeling the slight touch of his fingertips against the back of your neck through the headrest, “We can figure somethin’ out anyways, seeing as you’re more than eager,” Tommy grins, teeth peeking through, “I like that.

–

Tommy gives you a proper tour when you arrive back, nothing extensive but he does walk you around the property. He shows you the animal pens; pigs, goats, a few cows wandering around the pasture. And the barn, but he doesn’t enter. You note the lock hanging from the doors, clunky and rusted but securing the doors closed.

The inside of the house is less of a mystery, following Tommy as he lead you into the kitchen and showed off the expensive counter space and deep set sink—if they didn’t put a lot of effort into cooking then you didn’t understand the reasoning for the size, but as the thought floods your mind, Tommy plucks it out and answers it.

“Joel is a better cook than me,” he admits, “another bonus, home-cooked meals, a lot of our meats are ethically-sourced—” The look you shoot his way is quizzical.

“Grass-fed and they’re free to roam and forage for the most part, we’re not stuffin’ them full of grain feed to fatten ‘em up. We try to keep things humane. Joel deals with most of the dirty work and I stick to numbers and talkin’,” he explains, “he ain't’ much for socializing.”

Joel enters at the mention of himself, grunting as he steps beyond the threshold. His coveralls hung around his waist, tied at the hips and the dirty undershirt stretched tight over his broad chest. He peeled off his boots at the door and Tommy leaned against the counter lazily, one foot crossed over the other as he folded his arms and looked over at you, eyes slowly dragging to his brother. 

“She cleared?” He asks briskly, “Or we sendin’ her on her merry way?”

“Joel,” Tommy chastises and Joel smirks, taking a quick glance over at you, “doc said he’d call in the morning and let us know, we can spare a meal and a bed for a night.”

Almost as if you two weren’t even there, he strips off his dirtied shirt and works at the tie around his hips with the hand free of the balled up cloth, “Hope you like mess, girl.”

“I’m not picky,” You shrug, resting your hands loosely against your hips as he walks toward the same hallway you had traveled down earlier, “A little mud and grime won’t kill me.”

Joel chuckles softly at that, fully disparaging, “Blood make you squeamish?”

You shake your head, noting the caked bits of dried blood tucked in the crook of his arms and the creases of his neck, a faint pink tint from his chin down, “As long as it isn’t mine.” 

Tommy seems to tense at your wording, his arms flexing tight as he eyed his brother under a downturned gaze, staying quiet under the domineering energy his brother exuded.

“She might just survive ‘round here,” he directs at his brother, a smarmy remark although more boastful than he had been since the first time he spoke, but the distaste for you still lingered, oozed right out of the disingenuous smirk crossing his face.

He ain’t much for socializing.

It would only take a few weeks, you think. A few weeks and a couple cash payments and you could move onto the next place on your never-ending roadmap. You feel yourself breathing out a sigh of relief as Joel disappears, not realizing how long you had been holding it in.

“S’much as I’d like to have nice home-cooked meal, I think it’d be better if I grab some dinner from the dinner down the road,” Tommy offers, keys clutched in his grip as he rocks on his heels, “I’m gonna pick up your car on the way back, like I promised.”

And then he smiles, again. But, there’s a moment when it finally reaches his eyes and you can’t help but return the gesture, “I…think I’ll hide out in the guest room until you come back,” you admit, pointing toward the hallway, “no offense to your brother, but—”

“Don’t take it personally,” Tommy assures, “don’t let ‘em intimidate you, either.”

Fight fire with fire. 

It wasn’t your forte, but you were hellbent on survival and you would adapt if you had to.

-

You’ve spent the last half hour sorting through a puzzle on your haphazardly made bed, chin tucked into your palm, eyes tracking over the pieces until you could find a suitable match and slotting it into place before repeating the process. The deft shift and click of a door being shut pulls your attention upright, assuming it was Tommy, you clamber out of bed.

What you aren’t expecting is the solid chest that slams into your side, senses overwhelmed with the strong smell of aftershave and clean body wash—it wasn’t a particular scent, just…clean.

You look over, find Joel with a perturbed look on his face, a dinner plate hovering above your head and his expression turning more and more grim as time passes. “Sorry,” you mumble, “thought you were Tommy.”

“I look like Tommy to you?”

You tilt your head, expression pinching together in annoyance. 

Intimidation, just like Tommy had mentioned.

“Yeah,” you respond coarsely, “but at least he’s not acting like someone shit in his food—do you treat everyone like this who comes through here? Is that why you can’t keep people around here?”

His arms drop then, strutting past you with heavy footsteps as he makes his way to the sink, dropping the dirty dishes and pressing his hands into the edge of the center island that sat opposite the line of cabinets and countertops.

“You runnin’?” Joel asks curiously, ignoring your initial question. “Cops gonna come lookin’ for you?”

You balk, offended by his asinine line of questioning. 

“That’s none of your business,” you respond to the first question before spitting out a venomous, “No—what? Scared of a couple cops? Are you hiding something, Joel?”

That seems to strike a nerve decently enough that he rises, creeping around the edge of the island until he’s striding toward you, a hair's breadth away as you swallow hard.

You couldn’t help it—he was large, intense, intimidating without trying. He didn’t have to speak, the image of him did the work itself. Even as he looked more approachable, clean clothes and a freshly shaven face down to a thin layer of stubble, almost normal in appearance. But, there’s rage behind his eyes. It simmers slowly, a creeping boil that would come back to bite you if you allowed it.

“No,” he responds truthfully—at least, it seemed that way. His voice never wavered or faltered, he was strong and believable with his words, “but two things you ‘oughta know—one, don’t go snooping around where your nose doesn’t belong. Two, keep to yourself in this town.”

“And if I don’t?”

“You don’t wanna find out,” he responds without hesitation, both of you snapping out of the intensity of the conversation as the front door slides open, a very focused Tommy stepping through the door with hands full of styrofoam containers full of greasy burgers and fries.

“Nice,” Tommy notes humorously, “you two didn’t kill each other.”

Yet.

“Got us burgers for dinner,” he explains, holding up the bags, “that alright?”

Joel clears his throat, hand wiping over his tired expression, “Already ate,” he responds short, clipped. Tommy doesn’t question it, but his eyes immediately catch on you, wondering what he had interrupted as he sees your body relax when Joel steps away. But, he shakes it off, offering a lazy grumble of a noise in response to his brother as he drops the food on the nearby dining table.

The dichotomy in the pairing is strange and you can’t comprehend how they’ve managed to co-exist as roommates, let alone siblings. But, they were also strangers. You had nothing but assumptions racking your brain, so you pushed it away.

Eat, sleep, and face the next day with a different attitude. A fresh start.

–

The morning was met with a rustling of two other occupants as they moved about beyond the barrier of your room, voices muffled but constant as they carried on amidst your dreary haze, rubbing at your eyes tiredly. It had been weeks since you’ve slept in a decent bed, not the backseat of your car or a mattress that felt like sleeping on a wall of bricks. You didn’t have a reason to complain and given the circumstances—a roof over your head, a space to yourself.

You’d be stupid to argue otherwise.

There’s a quick whistle behind the closed door to your room, followed by a gentle knock.

“Come in,” you say groggily, muffling out the end with a yawn as you stretch your tight limbs and watch as Tommy peaks his head through the open door, already showered and primed up for the day, his gaze lingers on you for a while and watches quietly. It should make you feel uncomfortable, but it does quite the opposite as you offer a shy smile, “—is this the part where you tell me I have to leave? 

Your hands slap the comforter as he widens the door, letting it thud silently against the wall as he leans against the doorframe, hip cocked into his right hand.

“No, you’re all clear,” he tells you, nodding over his shoulder, “we’ve got a few things for you to do this morning but I wanted to keep it light and let you get adjusted.”

You nod lazily and push yourself out of bed, rubbing at the goosebump chill that spreads over your arms as you feel the kick of cooled air spread through the room, “Enjoy it,” Tommy remarks, “ain’t gonna feel that good outside.”

Tommy departs with his trademark grin, albeit more subdued by his tired eyes as he knocks his fist against the doorframe. But, as you’re heading for the bathroom across the hall, Joel finds you again. 

He’s dressed for what you can only assume is a long day of work, thick pants paired with an even thicker shirt, skin covered from his neck to his feet and far too stuffy for the sticky humidity outside—his job couldn’t be easy and you weren’t faulting him for it, but the scowl on his face is getting under your skin and allowing its claws to find purchase within it.

He takes a sharp bite out of an apple you don’t realize he’s holding until it is pressed against his lips, teeth digging into the skin, juices squirting out with the force of it.

“There’s a full dresser of clothes for you in the corner,” He haphazardly points to the mahogany dresser tucked away in the corner, “different sizes and shit, you’ll have to find something. Since you don’t have nothin’.”

You eye him skeptical but don’t argue, walking toward the dresser and pulling at the top drawer. It was a mix of new socks and underwear, all pressed and fresh in their packages. The next drawer, a mixture of different shirts varying in shades, sizes, designs. Your head turns on a swivel, watching as Joel takes another bite out of the apple, speaking around the food in his mouth.

“People come and go,” he explains vaguely, “always leavin’ stuff behind, so—”

Again, he waves vaguely in your direction. 

“Got it,” you answer curtly, turning your attention away from him.

You shake away the looming cloud of discomfort that Joel leaves in his departure and sift through the clothes—at least they were being hospitable. That was more than enough to allow you to push the uneasiness aside for the time being.

-

Tommy heaves the bucket of dirtied blades and utensils, cutting boards, and a collection of other tools that you weren’t sure you’ve ever seen in your life, all coated with dried, oxidized blood of varying animals, you assume. You didn’t think to ask, didn’t want to know. 

Not yet, anyways.

Tommy rested his elbow against the edge of the bucket, having led you to the back of the house—it was similar to a sunroom, an entire wall of windows that gave you a beautiful view to the fields behind the house. Miles and miles of land, undistributed by the hum of city traffic and noise. The other wall, a dead-on view of the barn that Joel barricaded himself in. Tommy looks over briefly as Joel makes his trek to the locked doors, a metal jug of water in hand, a meat cleaver in the other.

“Well, he’s a ball of sunshine,” you joke before picking through the bucket of items carefully, keeping your fingers clear of the sharp blades, “is this it?”

“Most of it,” Tommy admits, “for now.”

You nod dutifully and watch as he explains things out in a few steps, rules to follow, a method of attack.

“So, just rinse at first with some soap, disinfect with the alcohol, then repeat and lay it out to dry. Pretty simple, but they need to be clean,” he stresses, his teeth peeking out beyond his lips as he stresses the syllable on his tongue, “and always use gloves.” 

He grabs the rubber pair and offers it over before he’s speaking again, this time his words coming a little more hesitantly, “Also—I grabbed your car last night. I was gonna tell you over dinner, but I figured you needed a decent night of sleep.”

“As long as you found it in one piece,” You joke, fitting your hands into the gloves, and the silence has your heart dropping into your gut, “you did, right?”

“Yeah,” his voice wavers with hesitation, eyes squinting slightly in a tell that he wasn’t offering the full truth and you tilt your head, mouth turning down in frustration, “but—it was pretty mangled.” 

“You’re kidding me—”

“Tires were slashed,” Tommy holds his hands up, palm out as he attempts to calm you, “there’s some rowdy kids ‘round here always causing trouble. We’ll figure it out for you, alright?”

Your jaw tenses, teeth clenched behind a tight smile and you nod jerkily. A hard swallow and harsh breath later you’re looking at him with softer, kinder eyes. 

“Thank you, Tommy,” you tell him, “I feel like I’m already causing too much trouble for the both of you, doesn’t help that Joel would rather see me as roadkill than—”

Tommy rubs a finger under your chin to pull your gaze to his, a fleeting touch that has you freezing in place but looking up aptly, eagerly. He scrunches his nose slightly and shakes his head, “Darlin’, we’ve dealt with plenty of trouble. You don’t even come close.”

You laugh slightly, a grin pulling at the corner of your mouth.

Tommy claps his hands together gently before shoving them into his front pockets, looking over his shoulder briefly before his eyes are back on you, “I’m going to start on some paperwork,” he explains, “come find me when you’re done?” 

You nod dutifully, turning to your task as Tommy leaves.

It isn’t hard by any means. It’s like washing dishes if you ignore the prudent smell and extra scrubbing to get the tools completely spotless before you’re running them through the steps that Tommy had listed off, attempting to ignore how weary your arms felt by the end of it.

Your eyes kept flickering toward the barn throughout, wondering if Joel would surface—two hours passed and there wasn’t any sight of him. It was like he lived in there, a nocturnal animal that needed the seclusion and no direct sunlight. It couldn’t be that enjoyable to be held up inside the barn all day.

When you’re finished you carry the bucket into the kitchen and place it on a nearby chair, tracking the back of Tommy’s head. He’s tucked away in the corner at the desk he’d shown you the other day, typing away and sorting through a small stack of papers.

Curiosity kills, so you wander over. 

Peeking over his shoulder, nothing really makes sense.

It’s mostly numbers and an odd mixture of letters, a system that he must have come up with to track the intake of supplies and animals, some of them sorted by what looks like initials. 

Tommy has a pen between his teeth and a calculator at his fingertips, typing away some numbers that add up to an amount that has your eyes bulging out, quickly realizing that this is none of your business.

He acknowledges your presence then, pulling the pen out of his mouth and looking over his shoulder with a curious expression, “Finished already?” 

“Yeah,” you tell him, “I—sorry…if I was supposed to go slow.”

“Oh no, you’re alright,” Tommy turns in his chair, computer screen fading to black behind him, “I still have some stuff to finish up—why don’t you go check and see if Joel needs anything?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

Tommy smirks but not in a way to tease or patronize, he understands the presence his brother gives off, all intimidating and mostly unwelcoming.

“Just give a knock on the door,” Tommy instructs, “don’t go inside, he’s really testy about that. If he needs something he’ll answer.”

You compare it to something akin of facing the wrath of some beastly devil, gearing to attack. 

Tommy offers an encouraging nod that you accept on less than enthusiastic legs, turning and heading out the front door with the surety that Joel would either ignore you or stir up some storm like he had the night prior.

He wasn’t nice or cordial, not that he needed to be—but it wasn’t a wonder why they seemed to go through help around the farm, running people off with his hard stares and less than appropriate comments. If making you uncomfortable was his plan, he was succeeding.

-

It’s quiet outside, morning slowly dissolving into afternoon. It’s still hot, feeling the rush of hot air hit your face as you make your way toward the barn, noticing the unlatched lock but remembering Tommy’s words.

Don’t go inside.

You knock, once with no answer. Again, notably drowned out by the rev of a chainsaw and then silence, a loud bang and rustling of dirt as footsteps come closer, instinctively you begin to step back, scampering away slightly as the door swings open just enough the Joel can fit his body between them, blocking you from peering inside over his large frame.

“You need somethin?” Joel asks, his tone tight and his eyebrow arched slightly in question, his finger wrapped tight around the rusted handle of the barn door.

“Tommy said to check if you needed help,” Joel seems to spot your curious eyes as you attempt to peek around his shoulder, his arm raising to curl around the side of the opposite, unopened door and pulling the open space tighter, his eyes peering down at you, “I finished—inside.”

“Already?” His voice is clipped but subtle with surprise, “You're the first one in weeks that ain’t emptied their stomach over that shit.”

It seemed extreme, but you knew that some people couldn’t handle things like blood or guts or even the thought of slaughtering animals. But, to you, it wasn’t that big of a deal. Sure, it was gross, but it wasn’t going to kill you.

“I’ve got a strong stomach,” you argue, shrugging your shoulders nonchalantly as your gaze refocuses on him, “besides, I told you blood doesn’t make me squeamish. Did you think I was lying?” 

“Don’t know you,” He shrugs simply, “don’t trust you. Is that what you wanna hear?”

You sigh softly, trying to keep the fraying edges of your temper under control, “Is there anything I can do?”

Joel pauses for a moment, seconds dwindling into a territory that brought you silent discomfort as he looked you over thoughtfully before peering over his shoulder.

“Actually, I got some scraps for the pigs. Think you can handle that?”

You hear the disregard in his tone and take the opportunity while he isn’t staring you down to roll your eyes, just in time as he turns his head to look at you.

“Do you?”

Joel laughs at that. A genuine laugh, though quiet and short, you hear it. It was proof that he had a legitimate emotion outside of the one built around pure disgruntlement.

He disappears for a moment, barn door slamming shut in your face and before you even have time to breathe, he’s back. It's a heavy metal bin full of minced meat and a faint coppery smell that has you turning your head and huffing under the weight as Joel trades the bin off.

He points around the corner, toward the corralled pigs snorting near the entrance to their pin, sending the impending meal you were holding.

“Just throw it in there,” He gestures vaguely at the trough inside the pin, “they’ll eat it right up. Oh, clean up the pin while you’re at it, the tools are in the shed out back.”

You nod slowly, digesting the information and feeling the liquid from the bin seep into the front of your shirt, the sensation making you curl inward, gasping at the coldness of it.

“Shit,” Joel curses, “shoulda gave you the apron, that’s always a messy task.”

He sounds honest, but you stare daggers back in return.

“Next time,” He offers with a half smile that makes you sick, “don’t take too long—if you want dinner.”

“If you’re cooking, I’ll pass.”

Again, Joel chuckles. Twice in the span of five minutes.

God, maybe you were winning him over. 

“I’m a good cook,” he says confidently, though the snideness in his tone lingers but barely, “you’ll regret sayin’ that.”

You snort softly as you shake your head, turning on your heels and toward the pigs, hearing the soft thud of the barn door.

It takes you a half hour to finish the task, grimacing slightly as the pigs frenzy toward their food, leaving you mostly undisturbed as you clean up the pen, catching Joel with his overalls tied around his waist, sweat dripping down his neck and his hair matted to dirty skin. 

He seemed normal like this, natural. Dirtied and grimy, a permanent grimace on his face as he traded places with his brother, who was headed toward their truck.

You catch his eye, a waved offer in return for your smile.

Another moment alone with Joel sounded dreadful and maybe sticking out in the remainder of the hot summer day didn’t sound too horrible now.

But, the poignant smell of the pig pen was enough to turn anyone’s stomach, so you choose dread.

-

You and Joel trade off showers silently, working around each other in a less than comfortable silence, mostly trying your best to avoid him entirely, but you can only bear the avoidance for so long.

Freshly showered and in a clean set of tattered lounge clothes, you round the corner into the kitchen and catch Joel’s back, a white shirt stretched over tight muscle as his back tenses when he reaches for the burner, adjusting the heat on the stove.

His keen hearing clues him in, turning briefly over his shoulder to spot you. His expression is softer, but still mostly guarded. With Tommy not around, he was a wildcard.

“Where’s Tommy?” 

Joel stirs away at the pot full of food on the stove, answering with a casual tone, “Finishin’ up some business in town—you sure you ain’t hungry?”

As if he knows, your stomach growls.

You had managed a decent breakfast and light snacking throughout the day, but the rich aroma of spices makes the food hard to ignore.

You approach curiously, noting the emptied but bloodied casing for the meat he was cooking, cutting board with a few stray vegetable ends and Joel’s gaze flickers to you once, then twice.

“You want a taste?” Joel asks, lifting a spoonful from the pot, his hand hovering under the utensil, spotting your weariness immediately. 

As a show of trust, or just plain good faith, he takes a sip of the broth before shoving the spoonful into his mouth, a clear indication that it was safe to eat.

Not that you thought he would attempt to taint the food, but it did ease your worries and you were hungry despite your feelings toward him, so you nod.

Joel smirks slightly and dips a wooden spoon into the pot again, bringing the food to your lips and watching as you blow, the steam bellowing up in front of your face and you sip gingerly, invaded with a burst of flavorful notes.

It was an instant indication that maybe you had judged Joel too hard on his cooking skills, impressed by how savory the food was, stronger than you’re used to, but it was still pleasant. 

Joel’s eyes are stuck on you, gauging your reaction and his lips twitching as your eyes light up, a gentle nod of approval in response. He plucks a piece of meat from the spoon and raises his eyebrows in question.

You find yourself nodding instinctively and Joel drops the spoon into the pot, guiding the chunk of meat to your lips and you open your mouth willingly, feel the soft press of the food against your tongue and the tenderness of it, like butter as your teeth grind into the meat, feeling the swipe of Joel’s finger as he cleans up dripping line of sauce that slides down your chin.

And it tastes…fine. You wouldn’t dare give Joel the immediate satisfaction that you thought it was good, because it was. It was a perfect, home-cooked meal. Your stomach was craving it, mouth watering even more as you swallowed that first bite.

Joel brings his sauce covered finger to his own lips, pressing the digit inside of his mouth and sucking. He wasn’t wasteful, clearly—savoring every last drop.

“So,” Joel grins wider than he ever has, still sated but it was new, welcoming even, “change your mind?” 

You shrug indifferently, but Joel senses your intrigue.

“I’ll give it a try.”

That’s all Joel needs to hear.

-

Somewhere between your first bite and your last, minimal conversation as you sit and devour the bowl of stew without a single qualm, you fall asleep.

It was a mix of exhaustion and a full belly, slumped against the table and your eyes falling shut despite yourself. Joel cleans quietly, dishes clashing softly as he washes the dirtied ones and wipes them clean, stowing away the leftover stew as peeks over his shoulder.

You’re still sound asleep, plush lips pulling together in a tight line as you sigh, breathing out through your nose. 

Joel rubs his hands over the front of his jeans, ignoring the half-hard jut of his cock against the denim, knowing the moment your lips slipped around that spoon he was a goner. 

He’s never gone that far, he’s never tried. He and Tommy have always kept to themselves and while Tommy didn’t stick to a strict diet of Joel’s preferred meat, he did dabble on occasion.

Joel preferred it, and like his brother, was raised on it.

But, like many of the people that have come and gone, always through the process of ending up as stock for the Miller farm, Joel has never forcibly tried to push their beliefs on anyone.

Unfortunately, Joel had never met someone as intriguing as you. Not nearly as squeamish as the others, even fully grown men shying away from the task of cleaning pig shit out of a pen—you were strong, but stubborn. Joel admired it, but he liked the challenge of breaking it out of you too.

He’d wake you eventually, but for now he watches. Arms pressed against the central counter, keeping him hidden in the darkness as the soft glow of the overhead lamp above the dining table illuminated you.

Joel’s come to recognize things—good bone structure, volume of meat and muscle, all the things that make certain humans the perfect piece of product.

And you were just that. 

A pretty penny.

—

Sometime in the middle of your bleary haze you’d made it to bed, whether with assistance or not you find yourself waking with a turn of your stomach and rolling out of bed in hurried attempt, feeling the force of bile as it made its way up your throat, fumbling loudly with the doorknob until you managed to pry it open.

You make it to the bathroom across the hall just in time to spill the contents of that evening's dinner into the toilet, attempting desperately to keep your wits, arms clenched around your stomach as you heaved relentlessly.

The cold hands come a moment later, icing the back of your neck as they push the hair from your face and offer a soft reassurance.

“Hey, it’s alright,” Tommy’s voice cooed, his cold palm pressing against your forehead as your head lifted to look at him, tears streaming down your face now, “you with me?”

You nod weakly, hearing Joel’s heavy footsteps before you spot him, his stocky frame filling out the doorway.

“Musta been dinner,” Joel supplies to his younger brother, “she’s probably ain’t used to the stuff ‘round here. Less processed, harsher on the stomach when you ain’t had it before.”

Tommy’s gaze lowers, focusing on his brother harshly. It was a look of words unspoken, threatening intention and one that had you holding your breath, wondering if you’d done something wrong. His hand slips down your back, rubbing at the base of your spine. 

In any other circumstance you might find yourself shying away, but you lean into it. He glances over, touching your skin once more. Left cheek, right cheek. You were clammy, mouth suddenly dry and begging for anything to quench the thirst or rid yourself of the sour taste in your mouth.

“Get her some water,” Tommy instructs his brother harshly, “and somethin’ cold, she’s sweating through her clothes.”

Joel doesn’t argue, half-expecting him to put up a fight. He retreats, knowing his wrong-doing but not finding the guilt inside him to care. You’d assimilate eventually, they all do. Him, Tommy, nearly all the townsfolk have learned to adjust to this lifestyle. Unspoken and secret amongst the outliers, it was the way of life around here.

He returns with a glass of water and cold rag, passing them off to his brother, “Don’t run off,” Tommy bites, “we need to talk.”

Joel grinds his teeth at the order, watching as you close your eyes to the glorious press of the cold, wet rag as Tommy squeezed it against your face, your neck, before bringing the glass of water to your lips. A few seconds and one generous gulp later you find yourself cracking a joke amongst the tension, pulling a soft laugh out of the younger brother.

“If you wanted an excuse to feel me up, you could’ve just asked.”

“Oh, pardon me, sweetheart,” Tommy remarks playfully, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

Joel sniffles awkwardly, tongue pressing into his cheek as Tommy passes off the items and rises to his feet, nodding toward the hall and motioning for his brother to follow. 

“You need somethin’ you shout, alright?” 

You nod obediently, flushing the toilet weakly before resting your head in your hands, attempting slow breaths to calm your racing heart, waiting for the second wave of sickness to hit you but hoping it never came.

There's a muffled argument on the other side of the wall, the tell-tale sign of Joel's gruff voice, tone clipped and decisive—it was the same way he had spoken to you during your first argument.

-

“What’s our one fucking rule, Joel?” 

Tommy’s voice bites, hushed enough that you wouldn’t be able to hear him, nor Joel as they slowly moved toward the front of the house.

“You're gonna tell me not to do it?” Joel retorts, “I already did. There ain’t nothing to argue.”

There was one thing they both knew for sure.

You weren’t like the others.

“She’s gonna find out,” Tommy assures him, “She’ll find out and then you’ll be the one that’s gotta do the dirty work, not me.”

“Afraid of me choppin’ up your girlfriend into tiny little pieces for Robert and Stan down the road?” Joel asks, a vicious and cutthroat way to take a shot as his brother, who he knew better than anyone.

He’s grown attached too quickly. Joel had suspected, assumed by the immediate likeness to you, but the moment of care shared in the bathroom moments prior had confirmed that if Tommy wanted you, he could have you. The smile you offered in return for his kind efforts was enough for Joel to know.

So, yeah— feeding unknowing people human meat was the number one rule. But, growing attached was the unspoken one that the Miller brothers had always followed, without fail.

 Until now.

“She’s smart—could use that, ya know?” Joel suggests, which is a surprise to Tommy.

His brother, who only ever thought about himself—he was suggesting you stay, that you could help.

“When are you gonna tell her?” Tommy asks, eyebrows raised in question as his hands settle on his hips, pajama pants hanging low. “Tomorrow?”

“I ain’t,” Joel responds without hesitation, “Like I said—she’s smart, she’ll figure it out.”

“Joel, if you don’t tell her I will—”

“No, you won’t,” Joel bites at his brother, stepping closer in an attempt to intimidate, “you tell her and she’ll run for the damn hills—let her figure it out and she’ll confront you. Then we’ll see how good you are at coverin’ our asses.”

It was Tommy’s job, the forefront of their business. He made the sales, talked to distributors in town. He was the face—a pretty face, more approachable. Joel was always sharper around the edges, harder to read.

Regardless, it didn’t matter. Joel had dug the hole for both of them and there was no way out.

–

You wake with an ache in your muscles and the instant need for a shower, covered in a layer of sweat that makes you want to strip your clothes instantly. You remember Tommy helping you to bed the night prior, the faint memories of you hunched over the toilet as you discarded your stomach contents and Joel watching over, observing, but the rest was a blur.

Not trying to waste anymore time, you quickly shower and dress, meeting the two boys in the kitchen as they readied themselves for the day, picking over breakfast. You settle for a couple of slices of bread, toasting them to a near crisp and snagging a ripe fruit from the basket on the counter, watching curiously as Joel makes a cup of coffee. It was the most normal course of action you’ve seen him take—he even took it with sugar, but obviously no cream.

Tommy already tore through breakfast and was sipping on his own cup of coffee, looking up at you occasionally over the newspaper he was reading, knowing that you were attempting to eat light after the night prior.

“Feelin’ better?” Tommy asks.

Your nod is noncommittal but Tommy doesn’t press.

Without prompting, Joel speaks, “It takes some gettin’ used to,” He explains, “it ain’t like the shit you get in the city.”

It would explain why he was unaffected, that maybe your stomach was just too weak.

“Same business today,” Tommy cuts in, ignoring the long stare you and Joel were holding, chewing slowly at the now soggy toast in your mouth, “we might have some stuff comin’ in tonight though and we’ll all have to offer a hand in unloading it, can you handle yourself?”

You approach him casually, stripping the peel off your banana as you take a bite.

“I can handle myself just fine,” you assure him, eyes pulling up briefly to regard Joel who was already departing for the front door without a word, “—you sure he isn’t trying to poison me?”

Tommy snorts softly, watching as you chewed thoughtfully on the banana and your gaze followed Joel through the windows, tracking his movements until he hit the barn. You feel Tommy’s hand graze your bicep, pulling your attention back toward him.

“He’s not,” If it was a lie, you couldn’t tell, “it all takes some adjusting, he isn’t lying.”

His hand still hadn’t moved and you looked down, his thumb rubbing over the exposed skin of your arm, “You know, I did say all you had to do was ask.” Tommy’s eyes crinkle with laughter, not expecting you to remember your words from last night, “Or, that’s inappropriate because…you’re technically my boss—”

“There isn’t rules out here, honey,” His voice is warm, inviting—but he’s still trying to keep himself at a distance, not too fast or too hard all at once. He’d set out the bait and wait for you to bite it, “we’re just here to help out and mind our business.”

“Okay,” Your response is soft, a gentle lilt to your voice that makes Tommy smile, “and...thank you for last night. I know it isn’t the most pleasant thing to wake up to in the middle of the night.”

His hand drops slowly, fingers trailing until they find your wrist and offering a gentle squeeze before his fingers depart you entirely, “I lived on this farm my entire life. There isn’t much that I haven’t seen or dealt with before. I think I can handle a little throw up.”

Tommy offers up the remainder of his coffee, still warm as you bring it to your lips and savor the rich taste—it was much more your style, full of cream and sugar to the point where it might rot your teeth out.

And the day proceeds without problem, moving through the motions of the tasks Tommy had assigned you yesterday, along with feeding some of the other animals littered around the farm. Horses, cows, goats—it was a wonder how they kept up with it by themselves. They were capable, but it seemed like too much for just two people. Regardless, it was impressive.

By evening, Tommy was pulling in with a truck full of secured and banded boxes on the trailer and Joel resurfaces from the barn by then, reeking something awful. You turn your nose away and scatter to Tommy’s side, earning a chuckle from the younger brother.

“You get used to it,” Tommy tells you, “like everything else.”

You eye Joel wearily, who seems less than amused. He offers a low grunt of acknowledgement as he stacks the boxes two high and heaves them up and into his arms, ignoring any attempt at small talk with either of you.

You couldn’t be bothered to care, knowing that Joel’s behavior was nothing if not peculiar.

“What’s in the boxes?” You ask when both of the men are reaching for boxes, sliding a smaller one into your own grip. They share a look, uncertainty. Who speaks first? Lie? Truth?

Joel huffs quietly—fine, half-truth.

“It’s stuff for cleanin’ up the barn. All the mess and shit. Interesting enough for you?”

Your nose crinkles at his tone, turning on your heels and heading toward the barn with the men in tow, “You’re snippy today,” you remark at Joel and Tommy hollers out a laugh from behind you, full-bellied and genuine, “when are you gonna give me a tour of it?”

“The what? The barn?” Joel asks for clarification before immediately shutting you down, “Never.”

Tommy shakes his head as he places the box down amongst the others, watching as you two bicker with shared looks and a soft giggle coming from you when you realize just how frustrated Joel had become, “I’m gonna head inside—try not to kill each other, alright?”

When Tommy is finally inside, you place the final box down. Joel was rearranging them silently, occupied with the task as you step backwards slowly, turning your head over your shoulder as you reach for the barn door. 

The curiosity was likely to kill you—just a peek, that was it.

The creak pulls Joel’s attention up and he’s on you within seconds, door slamming by your head as his hand pressing against the flat of your chest, fingers itching to squeeze around your throat. You gasp, a guttural noise forced out of you as he pressed you into the hard surface of wood, feeling the splinters dig into your skin.

“What did I fuckin’ say?” He asks. No response. It sets his eyes ablaze, “Answer me, goddammit.”

“Mind—” You gasp again, sharp as his hand presses into your throat now, forcing you to answer, “mind my business.”

“Doesn’t seem like you’re doing much of that right now,” Joel points out, “seems like you’re enjoying pressing that nose into places it doesn’t belong.”

It was a barn, for christ sake. What the hell was he hiding?

“Hey,” you croak, weakly, “don’t kill me, remember? Your brother won’t be too happy about it.”

“That’s only because he wants to fuck you, girl.” He assures you, “You ain’t the first and you won’t be the last.”

Your gaze softens, fingers clawing at his forearm. The disappointment in your eyes was obvious, but a sting to Joel’s ego. Tommy was always the more favored one of the pair, there wasn’t much he could do about it. But, it didn’t soften the blow.

His hold lessens slightly.

“Did you think you were the only little lady that’s come through here that my brother hasn’t tried to sink his teeth into?” Joel grins in amusement, tapping his fingers gently against the side of your cheek. It was patronizing and foolish, but he couldn’t resist teasing you for the dejected look on your face. “I like my privacy, alright? Don’t appreciate it when people invade it.”

You nod quietly, lips opening to offer a weak apology.

“Don’t say sorry,” he tells you, “not when you don’t mean it.”

Instantly, your mouth snaps shut. Joel smirks, satisfied that he was right about that.

You weren’t sorry. You didn’t care. But, you were scared. Eyes still wide as saucers and boring into his own, all blacked out with rage but quickly fading back into their usual warm brown.

“You hungry?” He quickly adverts the topic, pulling at the fabric of your shirt to adjust it back into place like nothing happened, “I’m fixin’ to cook up dinner.”

Two could play at that game.

“Is it gonna make me sick again?” 

Joel shrugs, “Might. Might not. You willin’ to take that risk?”

–

You luck out, for the most part. Aside from the dinner being nothing short of delicious, it makes you slightly queasy but it was easily qualmed by a glass of champagne, a nightcap to the work day as Joel has already wandered off to bed after cleaning up, leaving you and Tommy to perch on the stairs out front, a cigarette stuffed between his middle and pointer finger as he flicks off the ash, sipping from his own can of beer. 

“I forgot to ask about pay, you know,” You laugh softly, “just…slipped my mind.”

“Weekly,” Tommy answers simply, “every Friday. So, tomorrow?”

You do the mental work in your head, feeling like the days have blurred together. Realistically, it had only been a few but you hadn’t expected how overwhelming those days would be, finally feeling the exhaustion settling in your bones as you rested beside Tommy on the front steps of the Miller home.

“You feelin’ okay?” Tommy asks curiously, beer tipped to his lips as he takes a sip and awaits your response.

“A little queasy?” You’re unsure what to consider it, that unsettling feeling in your gut. You weren’t even sure if it was the food making you feel that way, almost certain that even a single look from Joel would give you the same feeling.

“You’re thinkin’ about it too much,” Tommy points out, “it’ll make it worse.”

You gulp down the rest of the cheap champagne and press the flat stand of glass into the stair besides your bare feet before leaning back on your elbows. Tommy mirrored you, crunching the aluminum can in his hand and tossed it aside.

“Okay, so—distract me,” you responded pointedly, a kind smile sent his way.

Tommy takes a deep puff before you’re plucking the nearly finished cigarette from his fingers and bringing it to your own lips, feeling the nicotine burn your throat. Tommy doesn’t seem fazed at all, used to it. 

Maybe Joel wasn’t lying about all those women. 

This was a normal routine for Tommy. You were another passerby willing to take the bait.

“You wanna go for a swim?”

Your brow raises curiously, amused.

Tommy looks on, awaiting your response. 

“Oh, you’re serious?” You ask, stuttering at the unexpected proposition, “Uh, yeah—sure. I mean…where?”

“It’s a walk, but there’s a lake behind those trees,” Tommy points off to the west, a long and dense line of trees surrounding the edge of the Miller farm, “feelin’ up to it?”

Your mouth waters unpleasantly as you continue to sit with your thoughts, yearning for distraction. You nod.

Tommy grins wide and takes your hand into his own.

-

He wasn’t lying. Under the moonlight, it was a huge lake with eerily undisturbed water. Pitch black and despite the hot and sticky heat, the water was cool to the touch as you dipped your feet into the shallow edge. Tommy is already wrestling with his belt, shucking his jeans down hastily and it forces you to move, stripping your own clothes off in time with him.

Down to your underwear you edge toward the deeper waters, hissing as more of your skin becomes engulfed in the ice cold plunge, feeling Tommy hover around you as he dipped under the water for a moment of time before emerging in front of you, pushing his damp hair from his face.

The cold water has you frozen, paralyzed.

“Come on,” he jests, “dunk yourself, it’ll help.”

You shake your head hesitantly, managing the inch by inch efforts as you move forward slowly.

“I’ll do it with you.” Tommy suggests, his fingers wrapping around your wrists as he wades the water—you feel yourself rising on your tiptoes to give yourself a few lingering moments before you have to force yourself under.

Tommy doesn’t force you, only waits for your reassuring nod after a long moment of indecisiveness before he’s doing a slow countdown and you’re both slipping under the water.

Moments later, you emerge with a gasp but it is full of elation. Tommy had pulled you out deeper, forcing you to swim until neither of you could touch and you clung to him instinctively, feeling the words that fall from his lips brush the back of your neck, “Distracted enough?”

It had, truthfully. You nod in response, feeling deft fingers at your hips as they turn you, your legs kicking in a melodic synchronicity. His touch lingers for a moment before he’s pushing away, using his arms to gain momentum and swim away, looking over his shoulder with a silent challenge.

Chase him. 

You giggle to yourself before following, moving gracefully through the calm waters. It continues like that for a while, minutes passing away effortlessly. The monotone buzz of insects hovering over the lake water and the insistent chirp of the crickets hiding in the grass kept your mind busy. It was peaceful out here, like the rest of the farm.

“So, you grew up here?” 

“All my life,” Tommy answers easily, “it isn’t exactly tourist worthy sights out here, but it has perks. Where are you from?”

“Here, there—” you answer noncommittally and shrug, earning a dismissive laugh from Tommy, “everywhere, honestly. I don’t stick around places for very long.”

“Which reminds me,” Tommy interjects, “your car should be fixed up soon—but, if you wanted to stick around—”

“I don’t think Joel would appreciate that,” you respond, feeling the heat of his gaze on you despite the farmhouse being miles away, “besides—I’m just another mouth to feed.”

“Most people who pass through here don’t last more than a day,” Tommy admits, “it may not seem like it, but he’s warmin’ up to you.”

You reminisce on the heat of his palm against your throat.

If looks could kill….

Joel would have maimed you at that moment.

“He’s a dick, but he ain’t immune to pretty girls,” Tommy teases and it makes your gut twist, “we don’t get many women through here anyways—I think he’s just forgotten how to talk to ‘em.”

You think back on Joel’s words again and decide to poke the bear. 

Swimming toward the shore you turn your head over your shoulder and speak, “You know, he said this is a bit of a routine of yours,” you begin, “seducing helpless women who come asking for help.”

Tommy rolls his eyes lightheartedly, chuckling at the absurdity of your words.

“Joel told you that?” Tommy inquires, swimming toward you. You turn on your hands, slowly scooting your way upshore with your palms until your ass is pressed against a bed of rocks buried in the dirty, shallow water lapping at your shins. “Honey, it’s been nearly a year since any type of lady came across our farm—and the last one? It was some old lady needin’ a jump on her car.” 

Tommy is edging closer now, on his hands and knees as he works his way forward.

“People see the farm and they drive in the other direction,” Tommy admits, “but, not you.”

You lean back slightly as he hovers over you. Your heart pounds in your chest, a salacious grin spreading across his face. 

“Helpless, remember?”

Tommy shakes his head slowly, “Ain’t nothin’ helpless about you.”

You bite first, silencing him with a heated press of your lips against his own, your hand curling around the back of his neck and your blunt fingernails pinching at his skin. His hiss turns into a warm chuckle. He spreads his palm out over the inside of your thigh and beckons your legs apart until he can fit between them comfortably before it curls around the side and pulls you back in, your knees barricading his hips. 

He coaxes you back, taking the balled up shirt on the shore and sandwiching it between the dirt and your head as he pulls back with a low sigh, eyes half-lidded and switching between your lips and your steady gaze, catching the way your tongue licks at your bottom lip.

“Need a little more distraction?” Tommy asks softly, the fingers on his free hand toying with the waistband of your panties, awaiting the nod of confirmation. It comes without thinking and he’s peeling the fabric off gently, watching as it stuck and rolled against your skin, sopping wet from the lake water as they fall to the ground with a soft squelch.

His fingers curl around the back of your neck, pushing forward in a way that beckons your chin up, meeting his lips in another hot and messy exchange of tongue and sweet, soft sighs breathed into each other’s mouths, feeling the tingly pulse at your core as his fingers drag through the center of your pussy. There was no mistaking the slick that had gathered there amongst your heated exchange, a low hum rumbling in his throat as he leaves you, sinking further and further down your body, eyes locked on your own.

“Open up for me,” he commands gently, his hands curling around your thighs as he settles on his stomach, “fuck—that, just like that. Goddamn girl, she’s glistenin’ for me.”

He chuckles at your meek response, looking away with a subtle smile that made you want to crawl away from him, but he held you firm.

“Nothin’ to be shy about,” he reassures you.

You exhale slowly, a calming breath that quickly melts away as he licks a broad line up your cunt with his tongue, through your folds and slurping up with sweet, sticky slick. You gasp, hands curling into fist helplessly, moaning out into the silent night. There was the softest wisp of a breeze that blew over your skin, prickling your skin. But, it’s beat out by the heat of Tommy’s touch as he pulls your hand to his scalp, silenting guiding you toward his long locks and hoping you get the idea. You curl your fingers into his hair and tug, pulling his motions up toward your clit and he sucks, sucks so hard you think you start to see white before he smooths the intensity out with the gentler licks of his tongue. 

It doesn’t take long before you’re coming with a loud moan, nearly uprooting yourself from the ground as he holds you still, the insistent wiggling of your hips from the overstimulation of his tongue enough to make you beg, plead even.

“Tommy, please—stop, s’too much. Too much.” You breath out in a hurry and eventually, a few greedy seconds later, he relents.

He rises with a sated smile sometimes later, watching as you desperately try to catch your breath. Whatever uneasiness you were feeling in your stomach earlier was long, but it didn’t snuff out the mental feeling of it. Fear, worry—like you were being watched.

-

The weeks beyond that pass with ease, falling into a steady routine.

Your car still sat untouched, but you couldn’t find it in you to be a pest about it—things were going well, a steady paycheck and roof over your head. You could bother them about it eventually, but not now. Not while things were good.

By October, the air is cooler and the work is easier to handle. Sometimes you help Tommy on the administrative end, filing away paperwork with information that doesn’t make much sense to you, as much as you try to piece it together. But, you do know they’re bringing in money. And lots of it. Absurd amount, actually. You don’t press Tommy on it either, worried that it would pop the pristine bubble around you both.

He was smitten, kind—sometimes he would sneak into your room at night instead of the latter for you, tiptoeing around Joel in the chances he might have something, anything to say. He’d lied to you about Tommy for his own benefit—but why? You tried not to dwell on it.

But, eventually you find yourself around Joel more often than not. Or, attending to him. 

He still barricades himself in the barn most days, only popping his head out as he calls for things—but there’s one particular evening where things, usually calm, fly off the rails. 

Mentally, at least.

And it isn’t the most auspicious way to let you in on their secret, but Joel can’t seem to rid himself of you. You’re always there, lingering, and even if you weren’t certain of things, suspicion had been raised long ago.

You weren’t even sure what you were trying to confirm, or if Joel’s unsettling nature was just a ploy to scare you into behaving, but you could feel it. Something was up.

He’s tasked you with feeding the pigs a number of times—it’s always gross and messy and not a favorable task by any means, fortunately you’re used to it. But, a large, stray rock buried in the dirt robs you of normality and the bin of bloodied scraps spills out as you land on your hands and knees, the skin scraping off your shins against the rough ground and a loud hiss slips beyond clenched teeth as you scramble to get back on your feet, looking around in desperation and hoping that neither of the brothers had witnessed your misstep.

Your nose scrunches up in disgust as you hold back a gag, scooping the discarded scraps back into the bin, the meat like mush beneath your fingertips and you reach for a bigger chunk, immediately startled by the more solid texture of it. 

Joel usually grinded up the meat, making it easier for the pigs to consume. But this, it was a whole and solid chunk. You push the bin away gently and swipe away the chunks of congealed blood and fat and rub your thumb over the texture of it. Thick, solid. The color was dull and pale but there was no mistaking it. It was skin, but more notably amongst that was the tattoo. It clearly wasn’t the full piece, a couple letters surrounded by an intricate design where it was precisely sliced.

You’ve heard of people using pig skin for tattooing, wondering if Joel was taking up a side hobby amongst the already interesting career path he had taken, but something doesn’t sit well. 

Five pigs, that was how many you’d seen since you arrived. You push the bin weakly toward the pin on your hands and knees until you can find the strength to dump it into the trough, allowing the metal to clatter to the ground carelessly as the pigs flood to their food. One, two, three…and two stragglers trotting over leisurely. Five pigs, not a single one missing.

The creak from the barn has you peering quickly over your shoulder, eyes landing on Joel as he leaned around the door, a perturbed look on his face. You thought it was worry for a split second and as he came closer—curious and cautious over the loud noises he had heard when his saw cut dead—it was. 

He spots the blood on the ground first, a mess you had made. His eyes follow the trail of blood to the pin before they travel over you, covered in the rest of what didn’t make it inside the trough and then your legs—you don’t feel the sting until he kneels, his fingers running over your knees, tiny bits of dirt and gravel buried in the wound as his fingers continue down your shin. His eyes scan the expanse of the property before they’re locked back on you.

“Get inside,” It was a cold demand, detached and emotionless but you can’t move, frozen with a fear that didn’t hit you until Joel’s fingers touched your skin, “go on—you can walk, can’t you?”

Vehemently, you swallow down the lump in your throat. Human skin, not pig skin. You weren’t feeding the pigs scraps of other animals—it was humans. Weeks of clueless wandering, the itching feeling of uneasiness was confirmed for you in seconds. The bile in your stomach was threatening to escape as you walked on wobbly legs to the house, falling down into a chair tucked under the dining table, flexing shaky fingers into fists over and over, slowly in an effort to calm yourself alongside your practiced breaths.

Tommy wasn’t here. He would’ve come running otherwise—you vaguely remember the truck missing as you made your way inside, wondering how distracted you had to be to not realize he left. You hear Joel clearing his throat as he approaches the door, swinging it open harshly as it nearly pops off its hinges.

You make the effort to move, but Joel is quick to snap at you.

“Stay put,” He commands, eyes washing over your stoic expression.

You must’ve been a sight, wide-eyed and disturbed, following Joel’s every move. You were covered in a mix of your own blood and someone else’s—maybe not even one, it could be multiple. Joel seems to sense your stomach turning and lunges toward the trash bin in the kitchen and quickly shoves it in front of you, barely catching the vomit that spills from your throat as you retch your breakfast up forcefully.

Joel moves quietly amongst your sickened state, grabbing a few supplies that he slides onto the table beside you and waits, kneeled down at near eye level as you peer up, wiping the string of spit from your mouth and he looks enthralled, wondering what had caused such a chaotic string of events to unfold.

“You’re upset,” He notes, ripping open a package of cotton balls and pouring a handful onto the table, popping open the cap of isopropyl alcohol, dosing the cotton before he was pressing it into your leg without warning, earning a sharp whine of pain from you.

Was he expecting a different reaction?

“Fuck!” You shout, shoving the trash can aside as your fingers dig tightly into Joel’s shoulder, earning a fiery look from the man—but if he wasn’t willing to give you sympathy, you weren’t going to return the favor, “—you are too, are we pointing out the obvious?”

His fingers drag along the back of your calf, position your heel against his hips as allows no relief, haphazardly pouring a small amount of alcohol against the wound and you grip the wood of the chair so hard you swear you hear it crack.

“Jesus, ease up,” you snap at him, “I fell, I fucked up. I’m sorry, is that what you wanted to hear?”

“What’re you apologizin’ for?”

There’s a distinct rip of tape as you watch Joel smooth the gauze over your shin, securing the bandage over the wound before he works carefully at your knee, cleaning the cut before leaving it alone and moving to the opposite leg.

“Are you not mad at me?”

Joel chuckles dismissively, eyes flicking up toward you briefly, “Not everything is about you, girl.”

Fed up and simmering with your pain, you don’t think and the words slip from your lips before you can stop them, “Is it about Tommy then?”

Joel’s hands still, stopping the slow dragging lotion down your wound as he tilts his head up at you curiously, “You think I’m jealous of that little thing you got going on with my brother?” Joel shakes his head in amusement, his teeth peeking out beyond his grin, “I don’t get jealous. If I want somethin’, I’ll take it.”

The words pierce your chest, knowing there was deeper meaning beyond those words but you look away carelessly, feeling his less than gentle press into your skin as he continues. 

“Business is slow, I don’t like it.” Joel admits, hearing the hesitancy in his voice as he admits it, but it seems harmless. In his mind, you have no clue of the nefarious nature behind their work.

Except, you do. Or at least you think you do. 

“Is there any way to fix that?”

Joel shrugs, “Tommy’s workin’ the people around town, doing all the talking. We’ll see if it works.”

You have two choices.

Admit what you found or bide your time, poke around and see what you can find—you know that won’t go over well with Joel, or Tommy, even. So, you call his bluff.

Because something—be it Joel or that sinking feeling in your chest, tells you that whichever path you take would lead down the same road. You weren’t leaving here without a fight.

“Does the body reject it the first few times?”

You ignore the way your voice shakes, the recognition sitting with you, knowing that they had fed you the meat without your consent. Tommy, too. He’d sat there at the dinner table and tore into the meals all the same, less intrigued as his counterpart, but he was still an accomplice. 

Joel’s expression changes, like switch flips. Bandaging up the opposite leg he rises, answering with a clipped, “Yeah.”

Silence amongst the clattering of items as Joel piled them into his arms and stored them away, another question slips past your lips.

“Was it on purpose?”

Joel’s brow raises, but he doesn’t answer. 

“The tattoo,” You explain, “did you want me to find it? Or did you fuck up?”

At those words, he lunges. His hands grip the table behind you, pinning you against the chair as you lean back and look up, feeling the deep rumble in his chest.

“I don’t fuck up,” Joel retorts and your eyes stray from his hardened gaze, “No—look at me. Now.”

Your teeth dig into your bottom lip harshly, but you listen.

“You knew,” Joel challenges, “long before that, I’m sure. You could’ve ran if you wanted, granted you’ve got that busted car out front, but you could’ve ran. Hell, you could have while you were outside just now—but you listened to me.”

You know what angle he’s pushing, backing you into a corner and you feel it, that tingling feeling of guilt in your gut. He was right, you could have.

“What are you hidin’ in there?” He presses, eyes narrowing as his pointer finger taps gently at the center of your forehead, “I’m telling you we’re murderers, cannibals, and you haven’t screamed or shed a tear. You aren’t scared of me, are you?”

You shake your head and Joel speaks again, “Scared of dying though, right? What’s stoppin’ me from killing you? Tommy ain’t here.”

The finger on your forehead follows down the center of your face until Joel can reach your chin, tilting it upwards.

“You like it here, don’t you?”

There was no nod, but the subtle twitch in your cheek as you bite down hard on the inside of it was enough of an answer for Joel. Don’t give him those words, don’t give him the satisfaction.

“You killed before?”

Another question that goes unanswered, but your actions give you away.

You twist away, desperate to flee his touch. Joel isn’t done with you yet, one hand pressed against his knee as he leans down to your level and the other grabbing for your face, forcing you to look at him.

Admittedly, they weren’t all bad men. Some of them had tried to attack you on the road and ended up at the wrong end of a blade, but others—the few with bad timing and things you needed…it was collateral, in your eyes. Seven of them that you can remember, all unsuspecting men with an eye for the meek and defenseless. 

You snarl slightly, fighting against his hold but Joel is stronger, much stronger. 

“Knew you’d be useful,” Joel admits, “s’why I let you stick around. You got that…look about you.”

Your brow furrows in a mix of disgust and confusion and you catch the way Joel spaces out for a moment, admiring your expression and you twist, shoving him hard with both hands in an attempt to send him stumbling back. It only forces him off-balance and your attempt to flee is stopped by his large, bear-like grip on your forearm as he throws you against the wall, knocking the air from your lungs.

“Nuh uh,” Joel mocks, “can’t letcha go that easy, sugar.”

Joel's grip on your wrist is deadlocked, crossing your arms over your chest tight, pressing himself against you. Under this light, this closeness, you notice the small scars, years of healing left it fading into the skin and Joel notices you admiring for a brief moment—incredibly brief as your teeth clamp down around the side of his hand. Hard. It breaks through the skin and forces blood to spill from his hand and pool into your mouth before he pulls the wounded hand back and balls it into a fist, freezing as you spit his blood back into his face, an instant chuckle ripping from his throat.

“There you are, ya little killer,” He goaded, his eyes ticking up at the sound of a car door slamming outside and a wide grin spreading across his face, “well, isn’t that some fine timing.”

The door swings open a second later and Joel has already pushed away from you, nursing his flesh wound with a dry, clean kitchen towel, leaving Tommy to examine you both with a less than auspicious gaze, blood ringing your mouth and a smug expression on his brother's face.

You approach Tommy hesitantly, reaching for the door with a worried gaze but his hand comes up too, slamming against the flimsy frame and preventing you from roaming further.

“Can’t let you out, honey,” he apologizes, his voice more sincere than you’ve ever heard it to be before his head turns up toward his brother, waving around a white envelope addressed out to the both of them, “we gotta figure somethin’ out.”

He tosses the letter on the dining table and slides his hand down your forearm, a softer grip than his counterpart but it didn’t leave room for argument, jostling you around until he could get the front door locked, dead-bolted, and secured.

“This is home now, baby.” Tommy soothes.

Because really, where else did you have to go?

[some-stars]

also im halfway thru another rec post and it’s going great 😊 theme is poolverine hidden gems (or in some cases fics that do have a lot of comments but i never see anyone TALKING about them) and let me tell you there are some GEMS in there

also i find it very fun and adorable that this fandom is 16 weeks old and there’s already a literary canon. like we have the Big Three (Void, Where Soul Meets Body, Come Hell or High Water) that just, EVERYONE has read and loves and recs. as they should bc all those stories are extremely fucking good! but the group consensus is a cool emergent phenomenon and i wish i had the brain and energy to Analyze it.

anyway rec list that does not include any of those three incoming soon, probably! after this one the next theme is gonna be either cablepool or the best honda odyssey fics, bc the first 2 weeks after the movie came out there were SO many shockingly good ones that are now buried at the bottom of the tag.

[randomdragonfires]

do you have any modern aemond fic recs? time can’t stop me quite like you did got me feeling some type of way and now i’m in desperate need of reading something else to fill the void while we wait for the next update ��

HELLO ANON!

Good news is, I am writing a bit of Chapter 3 tonight. Nothing huge, just a scene or so. Work is a bitch but my dinner and chores are done with and it's not even 10pm hehe

So I can study for a bit and then write a little! And I HAVE SUCH A NICE SCENE PLANNED for tonight I'M GIDDY

Okay. As for fic recs, here are some off the top of my head. I'm definitely forgetting some, so if anyone sees this, feel free to add on!

@humanpurposes and @sapphire-writes have some of the best modern AU fics this hellsite has ever seen. They are immersive and so well written.

@inthedayswhenlandswerefew has a few gems you NEED to check out. Comet Donati and Napoleonville are FANTASTIC🤌😩

@huramuna has an angsty aemond oneshot THAT I WOULD GO TO WAR FOR - its called growing on you.

@targaryenrealnessdarling has some AMAZING modern AU fics to check out. Figure skater Aemond? Musician Aemond? SIGN ME THE FUCK UP.

@lauraneedstochill writes some of the best Aemond fics I know, and she has a modern college AU fic that I absolutely adore.

@theoneeyedprince A REFINED TASTE. Enough said.

[thatgirlonstage]

I’m slowly working my way through Le Guin’s Earthsea series, which I’m mostly like, eh, it’s fine but it’s hardly seizing me by the skull and turning my brain inside out like her adult sci-fi stuff has so far. I don’t know if I’m too old for it and would have appreciated it more as a kid/teen, or it’s just not my thing in general (I see this series recc’ed a lot as an alternative for That Other Series Where Wizards Go To School and while I think that’s fine as a, here’s a book to buy your 8yo nephew instead of the other one, I really don’t think it’s a good rec for someone who used to love that series and is looking to fill that void, because the vibe is EXTREMELY different imo, especially after the first book)

I am however sitting and clutching my head about Farthest Shore and the incredibly casual gay teacher crush that Arren has on Ged.

It never goes anywhere, it is always suffused with the “teenager talking about the hot teacher” kind of feeling, and it evens out significantly over the course of the book into more platonic respect and companionship, but at the beginning it is absolutely a crush in the romantic/sexual sense and it is not subtle

And it just. This book was published in 1972. It is over two decades older than me. I could have read this book as a kid. I could have had this. I have no idea if it would have changed anything or gotten through to me earlier but… but I wish I’d had it.

I don’t know. There’s a lot of queer media stuff out now that I’m really happy kids have and in some abstract sense I might wish that I’d had that world growing up, but at the same time, I can’t… Steven universe or the owl house couldn’t have existed in 2001. The world would have to have been a fundamentally different place. And I don’t know the me who would have grown up in that world. I don’t know what they or she or he or xe would be like. That’s a different person who is not me.

But this—this has been here the whole time. I could have read this at any time. And I’ve never even heard of it. I feel like I maybe saw A Wizard of Earthsea on bookstore shelves sometimes? But I never touched it and I don’t know anyone who read it and I certainly had no fucking idea this kind of relationship was in the series until I read it with my own two eyes. Even as an adult I’ve only heard people talk about Wizard and a little bit about Tombs of Atuan. I knew absolutely nothing about Farthest Shore until I picked it up for myself.

I don’t have a neat conclusion here. I don’t even know if I have a point. I’m just. Missed opportunities.

[wutheringmights]

hi! i’ve read in the dream house and speak bc of your reviews and Loved them. i find your analyses to be really insightful, i trust that when you recommend something theres Something of value i’ll get out of reading it. are there any books you’ve loved that you haven’t posted abt here yet? and how do you find new books to read? thanks for being so thoughtful abt your own writing and the books you read that it inspires me to study and improve my own work 🫡💞

Aw thank you! I always feel like I am yelling into the void whenever I make posts about the things I'm reading, so I'm glad you enjoy reading my thoughts <3

For books I haven't posted about yet... I just finished Juniper & Thorn by Ava Reid (and will make a post about it soon). It's not a perfect read, but if you like horror and fairytale tropes, you'll get something about this.

Besides that, I recommend The Bell Jar by Slyvia Plath, and the works of Robert Cormier (I Am the Cheese and The Chocolate Wars are two of my favorites). If you like war stories, All Quiet On the Western Front by Erich Maria Remarque is required reading.

I really enjoy the works of Octavia Butler. Kindred is my absolute favorite, but Parable of the Sower is very relevant to the current political moment. Future Home of the Living God by Louise Erdrich also scarred the fuck out of me, but is a great work on reproductive rights.

I did an entire seminar on Virginia Woolf. Besides Mrs. Dalloway, I think Into the Lighthouse and Orlando are very good.

For the classics, I love Mary Shelley's Frankenstein. One of the first classics I ever fell in love with was Charles Dickens' A Tale of Two Cities, though Great Expectations is also exceptional.

One of my favorite books of all time that I never discuss with anyone anywhere is Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, for obvious reasons. Read this book for two reasons. One, it will fuck you up. Nabokov's work with perspective and unreliable narrators is fucking insane. Second, Nabokov does something with the English language that I have never seen before and will probably never see again. If anyone has a command of the English language, it's him.

How do I find books to read? Some of the books I read before they are recommended to me by friends or by someone online. As long as you avoid romance/romantasy, BookTok/BookTube/Bookblr is a great place to get recs. I watch a lot of CariCanRead on Youtube because she reads a massive amount of books I have never heard of and is generally really honest about what books she liked/hated and why. I also windowshop at bookstores and libraries and just check out what is available on the shelves.

Honestly, the best advice I can give you is to let go of the idea of every book being impeccable art. You do not have to always be reading the Great American Novel. You can read books that are silly and outright trash. Once you shed the idea that books are some higher form of art, you remember that they are made to be entertainment. Like movies, there are going to be days where you want to watch post-modern French films or Oscar-winning movies about the turn of the century. There are also going to be days where you want to watch a silly comedy, or a trashy reality TV show, or you just go to the movies for something to do.

It's healthier for you if not every book is life changing. I have read some really bad books (some on purpose), and I have read some books that were just aggressively mediocre. Even if they didn't transform me into a better writer/reader/person, they were still worth reading. And when you give yourself permission to read books you might not necessarily like, it gets easier to try new genres and take risks on unfamiliar works. That's where you get new experiences. That's where a book sneaks up on you and smacks you on the back of the head with something that will absolutely make you change the way you see the world.

If anything, just try reading things you normally wouldn't read, be it sci-fi, memoir, historical epic, classic romance, etc.

[littlelasagne]

Hi! Just wanted to say that I binged BMO 3 weeks ago and I’m STILL having withdrawals. Every new levihan fic I start just pales in comparison, your writing has ruined me. Like absolutely nothing can fill this void. It’s become my favorite fanfic of all time, and it’s made me feel emotions I’d never thought I’d feel. Your take on certain tropes is just so, so refreshing. The pacing is perfect and satisfying and it’s everything I could ever want from a story. And the way you depict levi and hange is SO FAITHFUL. Their internal monologues, their banter, their personalities, everything is just so perfect and hilarious and I wanna thank you for giving me the best time ever. I just wanted to ask how you’re doing/how life has been! Also if there are any books/shows/fanfics that you’ve loved and wanna recommend :)

Hi hi hi, I don't think I've seen you before!! 👋🏼

Thank you so much for the message 🥲🥺 I don't know what to say but that I'm both stunned and happy you feel this way. Makes me feel gooey on the inside. I just can't believe that my own writing can resonate so strongly with others, but I'm so grateful that all the toil and heart I poured into it has paid off. 💚💜

The Levihan fandom is small and cosy, but we're so lucky that it's full of quality fics, all kinds of AUs, and the most talented writers and artists. I haven't read many new lh fics in the last year or so but some of my all time faves are:

City Comma State is my fave lh fic that I've been following since it started 😭 waiting for that update. 🥲

Onto Something by @someonestolemyshoes is my fave, plus everything else she writes is 👌🏼🌟🤩 beautiful top tier

Just_quintessentially_me also has some of my fave AU fics!

Encore by @autumndory made my laugh out loud and @dontatmethanks gifted me the sweetest florist/tattoo AU, Budding. 🌼

I think there's a massive levihan fic rec list floating around somewhere on tumblr with the fandom's favourites, if anyone sees it, please share!

Some of my fave books of the past few years are:

Tomorrow, Tomorrow and Tomorrow by Gabrielle Zevin (I read this after publishing Paint and Progress and omg I wish I had read it first because this book is goals and inspired me in a million levihanny ways),

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir,

A Little Life by Hanya Yanigihara (I met her this year omg I was starstruck),

and Brandon Sanderson's Stormlight Archive series.

I have loads more but don't want to make this a whole book rec essay 😅 My life changed dramatically a few months ago because I got a new job and moved away, so I'm exhausted and making a new life for myself, but I'm enjoying every moment even if it means I have tons of overtime work and zero energy for fanfic writing. I'm excited for the next stage in my editorial career 😊 Thanks so much for asking, I hope life's treating you well. 💜💚

[ye-olde-sodor]

Hurt (A DC au fic) (Tw warning)

Hey all! Ths fic is a bit darker than what I usually post, so please read with caution! It isn't over the top dark and it has a happy ending so I included the ttte tags. Tw warning for depression and death mention! Angst but with a happy ending!

______________________________________________________________

Gordon sighed as he backed into the old shed at Vicarstown. He bid his crew farewell, and he let his weight sink into the old rails below. The shed was old and dilapidated, completely void of any comfort, but he didn't feel like running all the way back to Tidmouth. It was a miracle that he was even moving at all.

It had been years since Scott had sailed to America. After a change in politics left his tour unfunded and bankrupt, everyone had feared for the worst. Sure enough, to his utter horror, one of Scotts trailing wheels was delivered to Doncaster from America, and the nation fell into mourning.

The United States had repeatedly denied sending the wheel and scrapping Scott, but all of the evidence was pointing to the painfully obvious. Out of everything, it was the blatant denial of any wrongdoing that truly got under his metal plating. He fumed just by the thought of it.

Worst yet, the family had begun to finally tear away from it's surviving members. For whatever reason, Scott had made the young, inexperienced Mallard the family matriarch over him or even Spencer...and gave the majority of the money to him.

Did he feel betrayed? Of course he did, anyone in his wheels would feel hurt and bitter by that. Did he feel jealous? Name me a time where Gordon wasn't jealous. But above all else...he was in agony.

The sounds of his screams upon hearing the news still haunt the inhabitants of Sodor...several months after the wheel was first brough to Doncaster. Outrage and a need for vengeance fueled him in a mighty burst of pure fire. In a matter of moments, he became a raging inferno accompanied by the shrilled shrieks of the phoenix, only for the cold and bitter misery to arrive and smother that once mighty flame just as quickly.

That same fury nearly took hold of him again when Mallard swiftly left the funeral service to attend to Scott's will. How dare he abandon his only family to "deal with the necessities"?! Would it have killed him to pay his respects to the engine he claimed to view as a mentor? His predecessor, a father dare one say?! Like with the last burst of fury, however, it was quickly drenched in a water known as despair. As Gordon thundered down the line back home, he felt nothing but the numbness of depression.

Now here he was, sitting in a cold abandoned shed near Kildane, barely living but so far from death. His eyes felt sunken, and his smokebox door felt heavy. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought that his own face would come clean off its hinges, landing onto the ground with a sickening thud and disintegrate into dust.

His entire frame felt weak and brittle, but it still stood firm and strong under his weight. He had lost all of his energy and his sense of importance and high regard. He stopped taking the express since the day the wheel arrived and has been pulling filthy goods trains ever since.

His once proud and royal blue paint had become covered in soot, grime, and various other stains. His eyes were red from countless tears and sleepless nights, hindering his performance even more. Dark circles under his eyes accompanied the redness, further showing his deterioration and lack of self care.

To list every agony that Gordon is suffering through would take years. Gordon had become a fallen star, a star of which that was rapidly falling apart as we speak.

As he sulked in the crumbling shed, the low bellowing of a diesel had become audible. It's proud motor seemed to echo across invisible valleys as it approached. He shifted his eyes to look in the direction of the noise to see who would dare approach such a dilapidated structure. To his surprise, he recognized the large Warship.

"10? What are you doing here?" Gordon spoke weakly.

"I was just gonna ask you the same thing." he replied in an equally stunned voice. "This is usually my shed."

Gordon's weight shifted under the rails again. "Oh. I'm sorry...I can leave if-"

"No no, it's fine." 10 interrupted. "I'm just surprised is all. You can stay here, I'll just park beside you."

He did as he promised, and carefully backed into the shed, sitting on top of the rails to Gordon's left. Gordon heard a door open and quickly closed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could spy the mechanical arm of 10's driver speed away after bidding his engine farewell. Apparently he knew that the two were about to have an intimate conversation.

"How are you holding up?" The large engine asked cautiously.

At first, Gordon was hesitant to answer. Truth be told he wasn't well at all...but at the same time he didn't want to hinder anyone else and have them worry more about him more then their work. Fortunately, 10 already knew the answer, and spoke Gordon's mind on his behalf.

"About as well as you can?" he spoke gently, as not to come off as condescending.

"You and I both now how much it hurts," Gordon began. "To lose a sibling...but to lose someone who was guaranteed survival."

Gordon trailed off, tears already beginning to form in his eyes. For the first time in years, he felt weak. His eyes began to soften as he let himself show such a powerful emotion in front of what is supposed to be his replacement, his rival even. He had already let his emotions erupt before, so it would've been hypocritical to hide them anymore.

"There is no greater pain then that." he finished through tears.

10 remained silent, and respectfully allowed the other engine to sob. His tears streamed down his face and began to pool onto his buffers and the ground below. The rails slightly sunk into the now wet soil, a result of the ground underneath it being disturbed.

10 had never seen such a thing before. An engine sobbing in front of another was unheard of on the Mainland, so to see such raw emotion from someone so uptight...why he couldn't explain the feeling even if he could.

"And the worst part of it?" Gordon went on shakily. "It isn't even over yet."

"What do you mean?"

Gordon thought for a moment and decided that he could no longer bare the weight of his dilemma any longer. As soon as he composed himself as best as he could, he looked at the warship.

"Promise me you won't speak of this. To anyone. What I'm about to tell you must stay between us."

"I promise." he spoke carefully, surprised at how trusting the engine was being to him. Then again, anyone in Gordon's position would've been grasping for any sort of comfort. Even if his better judgement wouldn't allow it.

"It's Scott's will," Gordon explained weakly. "Ryan is convinced someone tampered with it in Mallard's favor. Everyone on Spencer's side of the family is convinced that there isn't any evidence for such a claim. Now Ryan and his siblings are up in arms against his."

10 was suddenly intrigued by what he was being told. He'd heard of stories about forgeries, especially during his time as a bounty hunter. He suddenly found a source of hope, that his past might finally prove useful.

"Why would he think that?" he asked respectfully.

"Mallard got a majority of Scott's finances and properties. The rest of it went to Spencer and his half of the family, myself and Ryan."

"That does sound weird...What's Mallard doing now?"

"I'm not sure, I haven't spoken to him since the funeral." he said. "Or anyone for that matter...you're the only person I've talked to about this."

Diesel 10 was stunned. Astonished even, more so then he was before. It was already bizarre enough to have someone like Gordon vent to him of all engines, but to have him be the only person to vent about his feelings to? Why, he didn't know what to feel! Honored? Prideful? Destressed? Concerned?

Gordon's eyes had finally dried, with the last tear falling into the puddle below him. He looked at the diesel with red, burned eyes. "I just don't know what to do anymore. I'm completely lost."

"Y'know you really shouldn't be taking all of this on your own," 10 spoke abruptly. "Why don't you talk to the other steamies? Or even Hatt? Can't you get advice from him?"

Gordon nearly had a stroke at the suggestion. "You can't just...ask your controller for legal advice! It's improper!"

"Y'know what else is improper? Not talking to the people who can help you." He said sternly but gently. "Believe me, you don't ever want to make that mistake. It's how you end up making mistakes that you can't fix."

Gordon suddenly understood what the Warship was referring to. He had known about the Warship's past, as did most of the island, but he was the only one who truly understood his upbringing. To be robbed of your original purpose only to be thrown into a new one, and to have it end up for the better or for the worst of you. It doesn't take a genius to know who ended up where.

Gordon respected him, in a turn of events. Was 10 at one point resentful of Gordon's own privileges? He would've been a fool to deny that. Did he eventually overcome this prejudice and turned into one of the islands most reliable engines? Yes, but it's hard to believe that an airport of all things could've been the catalyst for such a change in demeanor.

Either way, Gordon couldn't help but see himself in the Warships position. Gordon was sent to Sodor after being an excellent engine at Doncaster...and he felt betrayed by the decision. He liked where he was, his family was there, why did they take it away from him? Was he not good enough? Over time, he grew to love his new home and job, but it took many years for him to heal from the sudden changes and hurt feelings.

10, meanwhile, had the misfortune of being sent for scrap with the rest of his siblings, only to be salvaged by some lunatic who gutted his cab and installed a massive hydraulic claw into it. He spent years hunting down the engines that had fled their railways...but would return with a broken husk of an engine trailing behind him.

Almost all runaway engines are stored in sheds until their crews can find a proper sanctuary, but without proper maintenance and a lack of movement after so much time...The warship became less of a bounty hunter and more of a corpse collector.

The more he thought about it, the more Gordon realized just how much they understand each other. The two were so similar yet so very different. It practically scared Gordon.

Looking at the mighty Warship now, it's virtually impossible to tell that he went through so much. He cares for those around him, and he's been a gentle giant for years now. He's went through years of pain and torment and yet here is smiling and working hard as if it had never happened!

As Gordon thought more and more about 10, and how he managed to pull through in the end gave him a newfound sense of hope. While not nearly enough to overpower his grief yet, it gave him a head start.

"I...I'll see if I can get the chance to talk to him." Gordon spoke, having found his strength. "He is a rather busy man after all."

"If he really cares about you steamers like his kids," 10 replied, "Then I bet he'll make time."

Gordon was taken aback by the phrase. "You don't really believe in that little rumor, do you?"

It was a lighthearted joke on the island's part, but 10 believed it to be fact. After all, this was the Hatt family we're talking about. The very same family that would gladly break the law just to keep a steam engine from being scrapped.

10 chuckled lightly, "That was a rumor?"

"Depends on who you ask." he replied cheekily. While his mood was lifted, he knew it would be a long time before he truly felt better. This wasn't, however, meant to discourage the smaller steps…as he could already see a flicker of hope at the end if a ling tunnel.

"Hey, there we go!" 10 smiled. If he had arms, he would've placed one of them around his friend for comfort and encouragement. Alas, he was stuck with only his words. In any other case, he would've used his claw, but that would've damaged the already weakened shed.

Suddenly, the Warship had an idea.

"Say, I think we can squeeze the two of us in my shed back at home base."

Gordon cocked an eyebrow at the suggestion. "Oh? what about-"

"It's only a short drive, maybe 15 minutes tops. If we leave now we can-"

"10, what about our drivers?" Gordon interrupted with a slight laugh.

The Warship blushed as the realization had dawned on him. While it was quite the blunder, if he acts quickly, he can fix it.

"I mean we could always leave a note!"

…or not.

Gordon let out a long needed laugh, and it wasn’t long before the warship joined in as well!

The two allies would’ve laughed the night away if weariness didn’t overcome them. As the two settled their weight ontop of the old rails, Gordon felt a small warmth build in his firebox, and he allowed a smile to form as he drifted effortlessly to sleep.

[eruscreaminginthedistance]

Book recs based on stuff I read in 2023

Nonfiction

Under the Banner of Heaven by John Krakauer (2003) - it's outdated by about 20 years which leads to one hell of a jumpscare at the end, but I'd recommend it to anyone who's interested at all in Mormonism, high control groups, FLDS, and the history of abuse against women and girls in the LDS; it covers everything you need to know about the ways the LDS church has cultivated a paedophile/domestic abuse culture and it's fucking haunting and it's the most upset a book has ever made me

Black Tudors: The Untold Story by Miranda Kaufman (2017) - a really fun read; it's a collection of case studies of the real life Africans living or working in England during the Renaissance, with each chapter focusing on a different individual and what we know about them from parish records, legal documents etc. It's also a great primer on England's relationship with the slave trade and African nations from the 16th to 17th centuries. Also I listened to this on audiobook and the lady's voice is super soothing

Problematic gay rep

Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin (1956) - yeah okay turns out Baldwin is the GOAT of queer lit for a reason. I don't even like 20th century stuff but Baldwin can WRITE man I was sucked in! And David is the BLUEPRINT of problematic gay rep! I loved watching his awful decisions I hope he suffers eternally! It's a short and easy read and a classic for a reason do give it a chance

Exquisite Corpse by Poppy Z Brite/William Martin (1996) - I'm not sure if I'm deadnaming Martin here because I bought the book earlier this year and it was still being attributed to Poppy Z Brite so I guess it's being treated like an author pseudonym now? I think? Anyway, don't read this book unless you're a disgusting freak like me who enjoys torture porn. This book comes with every content warning under the sun and I had an AMAZING couple of afternoons reading this book. American Psycho, Jeffrey Dahmer and NBC Hannibal had a baby and Martin delivered it; it's a raw, twisted and angry scream into the void about AIDS, homeless queer youth, homophobia and cultural stigma, wrapped up in a bow made of intestines. I went into this book hoping to see people get tortured and came out of it quite melancholic with a lot to think about, and I accidentally got attached to the victim oops!

The Charioteer by Mary Renault (1953) - I was gonna make a non-problematic section just for this book but then I remembered all the rampant femmephobia xD and Ralph and Laurie would 100% be bootlicking gays against pride. This book personally isn't for me - it's a lot of love triangle nonsense - but I think the tumblr demographic is particularly primed for gay World War II love triangle stories, and it's a softer, happier love story than my other recs. Would recommend if you can get past the main characters being pick mes.

Manga

No Longer Human by Junji Ito (2019) - this is a story about being a bad person and ruining everyone's lives especially your own lol; I loved the original prose version, but Ito's spin of the story makes everything so much worse and if I hadn't literally read a book about irl paedophilia the month before I think this book would have put me in the angriest and most violent place I've been all year. Love gorgeous art? Love mental illness? Love despicable spineless main characters? Get on this

Other fiction

The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco (1980) - it took me a month to read this entire book. It's so self-indulgent and long winded and contrived and the big twist is laughable and I wouldn't have it any other way! It's just some old guy playing in his sand box with his little monk action figures and it's charming af. Plus the concept of a monastic murder mystery involving several orders of monks will never not be fun, and I'm biased towards the book cos my guess at the very start as to whodunnit was right >:) would recommend if you like Sherlock Holmes and long long diatribes about medieval Catholic geopolitics

Garth Marenghi's Terrortome by Garth Marenghi (2022) - this one's just a bit of a laff. The horror comedy ramblings of a man going stir crazy during COVID lockdowns. You don't need to have seen Garth Marenghi's Darkplace to understand the book but it is recommended if you can access it. Content warning for explicit man x typewriter

We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson (1962) - it's a modern day (relatively) witch story! Jackson was writing about and for all the weird autistic little girls out there with this one. It's a gothic murder mystery about two co-dependent sisters who are outcasts in their village. It was a great introduction to Jackson's work

[joons]

Do you have any favorite Elvis book recs?

I am very choosy about Elvis books and tend to do a lot of pre-reading on them before I choose to delve into them. I've read excerpts from many of them and have a general sense of what books I'm interested in and which ones I want to skip, but books just aren't my go-to source for information, so I don't feel qualified to give you any firm recommendations. Probably the best source I can suggest is elvis.com.au, which has a ton of interviews and snapshots of various times in his life that will help you get a sense of a huge cast of characters and what stood out to them about Elvis! If you like what anyone has to say there, you can look up more interviews they've done or books they have written.

Here is the main thing I would impart: The closer someone was to Elvis, the less I trust them. That seems crazy! But the reason is because that was the same philosophy that drove how Elvis engaged with his friends. Elvis withdrew inwardly during his lifetime because the people he trusted most tended to sell him out, time and time again--by getting their feelings hurt when he did not give them the exact amount of gifts they thought they deserved, by selling off warped stories about him that filled tabloids with falsehoods, and by sharing his entrusted secrets because they thought it would hurt him. That dynamic has not changed much since his death. It's very difficult to sort out the people who want to make a quick buck off selling a caricature of him to the public vs. the people who genuinely want to preserve his memory and the complicated, incredible person he was (and even the best-intentioned writers think they know more than they do and believe they can speak for Elvis). He is not here to tell his own story, which saddens me, and what fills the void is a lot of inner politicking between the different factions of his friend group that makes me so tired. It is hard to find any book of Elvis memories that doesn't turn inevitably to why the author was his only true friend and never did anything wrong.

I'm not even saying that books written by his associates are all full of lies or anything (well, not all of them, lol); I am saying that they all have a way of spinning things to their own benefit and are often laboring under the mistaken assumption that they know more about the man than anyone else. (The film's way of foregrounding this by allowing the Colonel, the most universally despised of the bunch, to tell his story is a stroke of genius.) Even if the authors believe they have special knowledge, we know Elvis was very hesitant of confiding in anyone, and sometimes he would confide things that weren't true for the sole purpose of seeing what leaked (several people claimed he had bone cancer before he died; several other people said they know for a fact he didn't and that he just wanted to see if the secret "got out"). Can you imagine living that way? To be so trusting of other people and still have to watch your back around everyone? To have to forgive them, not just because you think it's the right thing to do, but because if you don't, you don't think you can ever find someone who just selflessly likes you for who you are? To let yourself get hurt over and over again because you think it's better than being alone?

According to one story, when someone stole a huge amount of money from him, Elvis punched him and then wept, asking why he hadn't just told him what he wanted so that Elvis could have helped him. There is something about being that tenderhearted but not being able to fully give yourself to anyone because it's too dangerous. Man, I-- :(

I think this is why the relationship between Elvis and his fans was (and still is) so reciprocal and so pure. It had the elements of what Elvis wanted after losing his mother: a pure outlet for his love that would not hurt him to give. It's an easy-to-understand, almost transactional relationship, and it was all-consuming in a safe way, which is exactly how he felt about his mother and how she felt about him. I think he enjoyed being able to pour that love out without worrying that there was some hidden part of the deal he wasn't living up to, and he wasn't giving them any piece of himself that would let them take away his dignity if they chose. If you asked for something, he would give it to you--and more. And too many people around him just forgot to ask. Instead, they took it from him. And even the kindest of them are still trying to figure out what he owed them. That's their business, but I don't have to buy their book to help them figure that out. So just be mindful that any memory book you read is going to be half of a slice of the truth and that, sometimes, the people who loved and knew Elvis best are the ones whose names you don't know. Finding those stories is what I love.

So! I most like reading stories from people who worked with him professionally or people who knew him for a slice of time that they can speak very specifically about without diving into grievances or greed or guesswork. People like Steve Binder, who put together the Comeback Special, or some of his co-stars (Ann-Margret has never divulged details about their romance, which makes me respect her SO MUCH), or the Sweet Inspirations. They have less reason to exaggerate or edit, and you can just see his soul shine through in how much energy he put into his work and in how much he cared about each of them as people. It's a great starting point to start with people who did not try to live off him or bring hurt feelings into it. And then you can explore from there. :)

[xiubaek-13]

Hope you had a Merry Christmas! It's nice to see you be more active here. What have you been reading recently? What are your favorite songs this year?

Thank you, it was a small but lovely Christmas. Much better than the last few years Christmases.

Oh I have been binge reading fics like a madwoman. The Seventeen rot is very real and the Yoongi rot is always real. I'm struggling to find new Baek fics though so I'll happily take recs if anyone has any they'd like to share.

Most recently I've read or re-read:

Hotel California by @mint-yooxgi

And the universe said by @thepixelelf

Push it down (sooner or later it all comes out) by @dontflailmenow

My heart has gone to you by @rubyreduji

Mixtape by @haliiimede

All that holly jolly sh*t by @daechwitatamic

Play along by @xddaengx

Make it make sense by @jihoonsrubylips

Deflowered by @bobohu4eva

Challenge me by @seokgyuu

Horanghae by @horanghaejamjam

Void by @btssavedmylifeblr

There's heaps more but you can check my fic rec blog @xiubaek13ficrecs - I've been reblogging pretty much everything I read there (there are definitely 70 things in my queue so that I don't randomly spam everyone again)

As for favourite songs this year... I've honestly listened to pretty much nothing but Seventeen for the past 8 months but I'll try to mix it up for you.

Off the top of my head: Seventeen - March (to be hyped up) and Circles (to cry) Woozi - Ruby Key - Bound Ateez - Cyberpunk Psy feat Suga - That That Zico feat the Homies - New Things Xiumin - Brand New Kep1er - Wa Da Da Changmin - Devil Stray Kids - Maniac Kihyun - Voyager NCT 127 - Faster Ten - Birthday Oneus - Bring it on, Same Scent

my playlist is endless lol

[slaasherslut]

Fic authors self-rec! ✨ When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers

My Wifey is so talented and I'm excited to see what she recs

Oh my god my wife called me talented even though shes the uber talented one here.

Also i got sent this from @the-pinstriped-hood too! Thank you so much Pin!!

1. Pig to the Slaughter (OC x Black Christmas)

I was really worried this one wouldnt turn out at good as I was hoping, having a bunch of my friends OCs together in one fic. But Im quite proud of it! I think I wrote everyones OCs decently well.

2. Dance With Me, Tommy (Thomas Hewitt x reader fluff)

This has to be my favorite fluff piece I've written and posted. I've always thought my fluff wasn't the greatest compared to my smut, but i really like this one. I go back and reread it every once in a while. Tommy always makes me feel all soft.

3. Softness Like You (Clayton Spencer OC x reader smut)

This smut that I wrote for Clay is one of my all-time favorite pieces of writing I've ever done. It's a lovely balance of fluff and smut. I also absolutely adore Clay. I can't exactly place it, but i just feel so close to him. I love writing for him even though he isn't mine.

4. Void and Cold (Milo Vess OC) This was my first fic for Milo and I think I handled the emotion and the imagery pretty well. I feel like Milo is my deepest OC with the most story to tell and I just love him. Hes my sweet little graveyard man.

5. Pose for me (Ellie Mason OC x Vincent Sinclair)

This was my first go at writing an OC that wasn't mine and im so incredibly proud of this one. I absolutely adore Ellie and Vincent as a couple so getting too stretch out and write them in a different setting was really fun! After the conversation we had about the college AU I had to write it. Plus it was a gift for my bestie <3

These were all in no particular order, I had a really hard time picking fics my own fics. If anyone hasnt read any of them I would love for you to give them a look.

Thank you so much T33thy! luh you

[thelordofgifs]

Part 3 - time for some rare fanon theories! Each of these is mostly based around a single fic/tumblr post.

Gil-galad is Elladan, time-travelling from the Fourth Age. This is courtesy of the absolutely stunning The Long Road by @kazaera. Hands-down the actual best Gil-galad origin story. It's so good. Not only the best Gil-galad story, but one of the best time-travel fics I've ever read. Please let Elladan see his brother again. 10/10.

The Noldor did Weird Science, and Gil-galad is simultaneously Maedhros', Fingon's and Finrod's baby. Will I ever stop reccing fics by @arrivisting? No I will not! This is the scion verse, in which the Eldest Cousins decide to produce an incontrovertible heir to the throne with the aid of a wineglass and a friendly river spirit. I need to put a serious health warning on this series. You will be lured in. You will read my description and the first (short) fic and you will say, "This is funny, cracky and beautifully written. I am going to click Next Work." This is the devil talking. Before you know it you're reading an additional 12k about Fingon post-reembodiment still struggling to reckon with what Maedhros became after the Nirnaeth, and how he still loves him, and how he's still waiting for him, and then you will sob for days. Was recently updated so that this line could be seen by the world: “I hate Maedhros Fëanorion afresh,” Turgon said, very precisely, “every day, for what he’s doing to you even now. I hate him because you won’t come home until he does. And he never will.” god I'm so upset again. Cannot recommend this highly enough. So much 10/10.

Someone (Celebrimbor) got bored and made Gil-galad out of scrap metal. I SWEAR I saw a tumblr post about this long ago when I was lurking without an account. Will actually gift a fic to anyone who can find it for me (if that's something you want). It is very funny, but unfortunately doesn't stand up too well to my Celebrimbor-related objections from Part 1. Also actually has fairly serious metaphysical issues, the Flame Imperishable, etc, etc. It's funny though. 6/10.

The Gil-galad persona is a front for several people. The idea here is that Ereinion, Finellach and Rodnor are all different people with different lineages, who cobble together a High King of the Noldor between them. I've seen a couple of great tumblr posts with this theory that I now can't find! Here's an excellent fic: by any other name by Dorkangel (no known tumblr). Thanks to @notreallystars for bringing this to my attention in the tags! The theory overall is fantastic, a perfectly weird solution to a weird mystery. 9/10.

Gil-galad is Fëanor, reincarnated. Full credit goes to this post by @first-son-of-finwe! This is another very funny crack theory. My objection is mainly metaphysical; elves don't reincarnate. Presuming Fëanor was reborn without his memories, I have literally no other issues with this. 7/10.

Gil-galad is the product of a threesome between Celebrimbor, Orodreth and Orodreth's wife, who happens to be Fingon's daughter. cf this excellent post from @cuarthol. I... I have no words. Honestly astounding. That is SO insane. 9/10 for now but I can't wait to read the fic!

Maeglin galad. As I understand it, the idea here is that Maeglin somehow survived the Fall of Gondolin and then became the High King. This wasn't on my list until @jaz-the-bard mentioned it in the tags, so I haven't read any fic for it, but I'm very intrigued. Maeglin definitely has a solid reason to lie about his identity! Also he's clearly a competent administrator and an excellent soldier, both of which Gil-galad also were. Objections: why on earth did Idril and Tuor go along with this? Also, this voids Eöl's prophecy about Maeglin dying the same way he does, and I do quite like that detail. 6/10, but I’m open to changing my mind.

Gil-galad son of Sauron. I keep seeing this mentioned and I really don’t know what’s going on. Someone please explain to me why you came up with that. No fic recs. 2/10 and I’m not open to changing my mind.

And finally - a couple of theories I came up with myself! Disclaimer: it’s possible I read these somewhere, absorbed them and then completely forgot I hadn’t thought of them myself. If any of these is actually your theory, please please let me know so that I can credit you!

Orc bank. Okay, so this requires you to have first read the amazing elves, once by @ceescedasticity (go and read it right now if you haven’t. Seriously, I’m not joking. The post will still be here when you get back). An excellent premise of the excellent orc bank theory is that it’s technically possible, for two orcs who sincerely want to have a child together, to birth a new elven fëa, rather than a recycled one from the Crucible of Souls (cf Khitwê and Risyind my beloveds - I think about you every day ❤️). Technically, this is only possible when the Shadow is in retreat, so I’m not sure it could be done in First Age Beleriand, but. I would like to present to you Gil-galad child of orcs (but very much an elf himself)! He has a very solid reason to lie about who he is, after all! Idk there are probably issues in this that need straightening out BUT I LIKE IT OK. Giving myself a solid 9/10.

Gil-galad is somehow related to Gildor Inglorion of the House of Finrod (maybe his son?). This is in my notes, but I’m not really sure what to do with it - I was just rereading lotr and wondering anew who on earth Gildor is meant to be. This isn’t really a theory at all, just a vague acknowledgment of another plothole. Not very exciting. 2/10.

Gil-galad is actually Argon Nolofinwion, who faked his death and disappeared. This is in my notes so I have to put it down now, but I genuinely hate it. It’s so random? Why would you go for this over the objectively superior Fin-galad theory, if someone has to fake their death? Nobody cares about Argon anyway? Why did he fake his death and disappear for 500 years? Why didn’t Idril recognise him? Honestly not sure what was going through my head here. 1/10.

Gil-galad SON of Argon. Hypothesised in the shower while I was once again hating on theory 3. But now I actually like it! Consider: Argon fell in love during the crossing of the Helcaraxë, let’s call her Mirildis bc that’s a random name on my list of Quenya names. Towards the end of the journey, they secretly get married. Argon dies before anyone can notice in his eyes/voice that he got married. Soon after, Mirildis realises that she’s pregnant. I haven’t actually read LaCE (it sounds deeply weird) so I’m not sure it’s possible for a child to be born after its father is dead, or if that’s too great a strain on the mother or something, but whatever. Mirildis doesn’t want to tell Argon’s family about the secret marriage bc she thinks it might make them sad? Who knows. She leaves the Noldor host and lives with the Northern Sindar from then on. Nobody notices she’s gone until it’s too late, because they're distracted by the general disaster that is Mithrim politics shortly after the rising of the Sun. Later, Gil-galad. One of my favourite things about this is that it means every single Nolofinwion had a tragic romance of some sort. Poor Fingolfin. This is a bit random to be honest, but I don’t think it has many logistical issues, at least. I kind of want to write fic for this but I’m not really invested enough - anyone else who wants to, please do and send me a link! Giving it like 5/10.

Gil-galad didn't exist. A theory born of spite, from someone who has spent far too long reading about Gil-galad theories. Important to distinguish this from the excellent "Gil-galad was multiple people" mentioned above - I mean Gil-galad was literally zero (0) people. He was invented by a malicious scribe or a confused hobbit custodian of the Thain's Book, take your pick. Say it with me, Boromir-voice: THE NOLDOR HAVE NO KING. THE NOLDOR NEED NO KING. "But Gil-galad tried to come to Elwing's aid-" That was Círdan. "Gil-galad led the Noldor of Beleriand in the WoW-" actually, the exiled Noldor followed Maedhros and Maglor during the war, but they were all too ashamed to admit to that after the final theft of the Silmarils. "Gil-galad mistrusted Annatar and sent him away from Lindon-" shut up. That was Elrond. "Gil-galad personally fought Sauron and defeated him-" OH MY GOD. fucking elves once again inserting their historical OC into a story about the heroism of men! SO typical of them to diminish Elendil's courage and sacrifice like that. this is why the two kindreds became estranged in the third age. I'm personally attached to this one now. 9/10.

and we're done. wow. I have created a monster. I never need to type the name Gil-galad again.

A Completely Objective Rating of Gil-galad Origin Theories

So! My Research(tm) has informed me that Tolkien conceived of at least four potential parentages for Gil-galad, last High King of the Noldor, at various points. This plothole/controversy/mystery is deeply, deeply funny to me, so I decided to make a post arbitrarily rating various Gil-galad theories and providing examples of fics where they appear.

Some disclaimers:

I am very very new to the silm fandom and also tumblr and don't actually know anything! so there is a very high chance something will go wrong here

in compiling this I was very much indebted to this post by @sweetteaanddragons and this one by @tanoraqui

your headcanons, of course, are extremely valid! no shade at all to anyone who likes one of the theories I’ve rated a bit lower, and thank you for doing your bit to deepen the controversy. the more Gil-galad theories the better

Unsurprisingly, this turned out LONG. I split the parentages into four sections: Part 1 covers supposedly canon/canon-adjacent Gil-galad theories; Part 2, popular fanon theories that I've seen in a variety of places; Part 3 will cover rare fanon theories that I've only seen basically once, and ideas I literally just made up myself.

Baseline assumptions I'm using:

The "historical record", in-universe, is primarily the Quenta Silmarillion which states that Ereinion Gil-galad was the son of Fingon; and other documents variously suggesting that he was the son of Orodreth or Finrod, or a descendant of Fëanor. Sources give him the additional names Finellach and Artanáro/Rodnor.

It's fairly widely agreed-upon that Gil-galad was an adult and the High King by the time of the Third Kinslaying, when he was based on Balar and came too late to Elwing's aid.

(This means I won't further consider some rather fun, cracky theories that are based on the argument that Gil-galad only became the High King after the War of Wrath. That seems like a slightly excessive amount of historical revisionism for my taste, when he's named as the High King well before the WoW.)

So, with those established, what makes for a good Gil-galad parentage theory?

It has to make the confusion in the historical record, in-universe, make some sort of sense. Would someone with this parentage have a claim to the crown? If not, do they have a solid motivation to lie about it? Providing a neat explanation for other aspects of Gil-galad's characterisation and the way he rules would also be a bonus.

A storytelling concept I call weird questions must have weird answers. Neat origin theories that "make sense" tend to score low on this metric. The Gil-galad controversy is funny and needs to be kept that way.

How narratively satisfying is the theory? Does it ruin anyone else's arc, or fanon I personally like? Then it's scoring low.

This is already so long-

Time for looking at the four canon-ish Gil-galad parentages!

Gil-galad son of Fingon and, presumably, some unnamed wife. This is rubbish. Makes no sense. Not a fan. No. Primarily, it is boring, the death knell to any Gil-galad theory. Also, Fingon is never actually mentioned to have a wife because he's married to Maedhros and, while textual ghosts are obviously common in the Silm, I find it slightly harder to believe that a High Queen of the Noldor managed to escape being named anywhere. You could, I suppose, argue that she died before Fingon became King, but I don't want to. The confusion in the historical record also seems unnecessary here, because Fingon's son would presumably have a pretty ironclad claim to the crown after his death and certainly after Turgon's. No fic recs here, I don't like this theory. 2/10.

Gil-galad son of Orodreth and brother of Finduilas. Even more boring, and also makes less sense. Was Gil-galad in Nargothrond during Leithian and up to its fall? In that case, why wasn't he mentioned at any point, and if he survived the fall of Nargothrond and escaped, why didn't he go after Finduilas? If he wasn't in Nargothrond by the time of Turin, we can at least forgive his failure to rescue his sister, but why was he sent away from Nargothrond when, prior to the building of the bridge, everyone believed it was safe - and why wasn't Finduilas sent away with him? Again, there's no particular reason for obfuscating this parentage, so it fails on that metric too. At least Artanáro/Rodnor is a good Finarfinion name. Fics which use this theory: What is Wrought Between Us by @nikosheba, which voids all these objections of mine quite nicely - Gil-galad son of Orodreth, adopted by Fingon and Maedhros! Also it's one of the most heart-breaking, beautiful, canon-compliant Russingon series around, go and read it. That excellent example aside, 3/10.

Gil-galad son of Finrod and (iirc) a wife called Meril. An earlier version of the legendarium discarded when Finrod was made childless. This is potentially my least favourite of the four canon-esque theories, because Finrod's childlessness is imo a fairly important part of his arc, and Meril was replaced by Amarië, to whom Finrod was very much not married at the time of his death. Pretty much the only positive is that, again, Artanáro/Rodnor suits well as a name for Finrod's son. I don't think many people like this theory - we need not consider it further here. No fic recs. 2/10.

Gil-galad descendant of Fëanor. By far the most intriguing and also most implausible canon-esque theory, and as I understand only from one early draft of the legendarium. But there is so much to play with here. If Gil-galad's father is one of the sons of Fëanor, he has a rock-solid reason to lie about his parentage. His claim to the throne is also dubious, because Maedhros abdicated on behalf of the entire house. This gives excellent con-artist Gil-galad flavours to play with. On the narrative/emotional arc metric, this one falls a little short, though. We don't need another descendant of Fëanor in the Second Age struggling with the dark and messy legacy of their family - we have Celebrimbor! And Celebrimbor's status as the last scion of his house, and how his eventual tragedy owes so much to his heritage, is very important to me. Besides, the house of Fëanor going from 7 sons in the first generation to literally just one grandchild is so haunting. On a more practical level, I also don't think Gil-galad reads as particularly close to Celebrimbor? They seem more "distant relations" than first cousins. On the other hand, if Gil-galad simply doesn't know who his parents are, a lot of these problems disappear. We can also double up a few textual ghosts by making his mother one of the unnamed wives - preferably Maglor's or Caranthir's, because Gil-galad son of Curufin feels. doubtful. Fics which use this theory: A Gift from Father to Son by @amethysttribble explores every single potential Fëanorian parentage which is very fun, for a value of "fun" involving "sobbing on the floor about how terrible all these people are". Check it out! Theory as a whole gets 5/10.

[rayshippouuchiha]

Fic recs!!! Here are some of my fave bnha fics (obligatory pls check the tags/trigger warnings):

Shattered and swept under the rug (I refuse to disappear, I am here)

You have dadmic (which isn’t as common as dadzawa but should be), u have reformed villian izuku, u have shinkamideku (one of my fave rare pairs) what more could u want? Also big brother izuku to eri which I’m always a sucker for

Baby spice

Listen. Listen. I don’t ship shigadeku ok? I don’t. But this fic has done it for me. Sugar baby izu to sugar daddy shigaraki - they communicate?!? Honestly surprising amount of fluff but it’s great

Once burned, twice shy

Dadzawa strikes again! But this time with trans izuku who gets support from an online forum who also deal with quirk discrimination who are familiar 👀. Plus the angst. (Also dadzawa happens like 20 chapters in but it’s so worth the read) also apparently will have shinkamideku soooo

Ran tea house

There’s something so comforting about this fic? It’s like the perfect balance of fluff and angst. Like that book u wanna read while it’s raining outside while drinking hot chocolate. A comforting sadness of that makes sense? Also shindeku plus parental erasermic

Maudlin murmurs

Currently being rewritten but god it’s a good fic. Ghostzuku being a bamf we love to see it (please mind the trigger warnings tho!!)

Null and void

A hero class civil warfare au! Except izu is in gen ad and wants to stay there while doing his vigilante thing on the side. Shindekuuuu

Safe with me

I’m really hoping this updates soon. We need more top!izu (any recs anyone? Please-) and shindeku!

Izuku x Hitoshi piercing au

Can u see the theme? I have a theme and it’s shindeku, my weakness. But! This series is fluff and smut in equal measure and I love it

Can’t see the forest for the trees

Another one I’m hoping is just in extended hiatus and not abandoned. Tododeku (switching it up go me!) with fem! Izu who is a vigilante looking after her daughter eri

Net neutrality

One of the first bnha fics/series I read and I’m obsessed. I reread it so often. Todoshindeku with parental erasermic and izuku adopting eri! (On that note any fics with izu adopting eri send them my way please)

With confidence

Also an old fave. Izuku gets hit by a quirk, scares the shit out of everyone, keeps that confidence and uses it to haul ass to ua while satanic his bamf quirkless self. Slightly a crack fic but it’s great

Before you fall, learn to soar

Big brother hawks fic! Another oldie but a goodie. I also love that u can see the writing improve as u read on and it’s truly a comfort fic. Also, shindeku!!

excellent recs!

[relaxxattack]

hi! it's me :) fic rec anon. things have been hard lately so i have some more stuff to recommend bc it makes me feel better. uh, this one's mostly a like, grab bag of stuff? miscellany yknow. let's get into it (also if i have any repeats of stuff you've rec'd here before then Whoops)

pilot light, pale rapture is a post-game fic about jade and her Issues. jade/davepeta. has some excellent jane work in there and is meant to imply june pre-transition. i'd also like to recommend this author's other work, including the collected works of the originators, and the fanventure kittyquest which you can find on mspfa. both the collected works and kittyquest are about a richly detailed take on earth C, with accompanying myths; kitty quest is about jade and davepeta's daughter kitty harley-leider. very very good.

estrogamer girl is about trans girl roxy! very sweet. gen.

METHODOLOGY AND INTERPRETIVE "RECORD" OF SOULBOT WRECK AA109.23J2 – [DRAFT] is about a post-game grad student accessing the wreckage of one of aradia's soulbots postcanon, and experiencing the feelings of a doomed timeline's aradia. ararezi, outsider pov.

who could ask you to be unbroken or brave again is a fic about rose and vriska talking about trauma and child abuse post-canon. gen.

Metronome of a Night Queen's Heart and Other Unused Romance Novel Names is a fic in which kanaya asks dave to be her bloodbag after becoming a vampire, causing rosemary and davekat misunderstandings. rosemary and davekat.

Jade: Endure is about what it would have been like for jade to grow up with her corpse in her own house. short and very good. gen.

grant me wings that i might fly is about jade english raising jake english up to her eventual death. very good. gen.

DIRK TAKES A PISS is , okay listen i know from that title oyou might be like, fic rec anon, What are you recommending to me BUT LSITEN ITS ABOUT DIRK ACCIDENTALLY DROPPING HIS PACKER ON THE FLOOR OF A BATHROOM AND GETTING MEET CUTE'D. it's good. okay. dirkjake.

one more night (your ex-lover remains dead) is a junejasprose fic about trauma and what it means to be a rose left behind. if you're going to read ANY jasprose fic you have to read this one it's literally iconic to me and changed the way i see her forever. junejasprose.

Light Without Effulgence is a jake & rose friendship manifesto and it is HILARIOUS. "rose, you gather, is like dirk if he were a woman and capable of being happy" like that's hilarious to me. gen.

Bitter is a fancomic about jade and rose and i'm not going to spoil the surprise of what it's about but it's DELICIOUS. jaderose.

CHARGING THE VOID is a space opera roserezi au with hints of vrisrezi left behind and also both rose and terezi are trans and also it's DELICIOUS like i can't even say anything about it. if anyone has read baru cormorant and is familiar with it it's like that. roserezi, unlike pretty much anything else i've recced here it DOES have a sex scene so if you're uncomfortable with that it's not for you.

think about staying alive is a kidswap au! about rose strider my favorite kidswap <3 gen.

Postscript is about rosefef, rebellion au, being the last two left alive carrying out a rebellion against the condesce. rosefef.

Transperience is about calliope and the trans experience! fancomic, gen. very good.

goddess is about june egbert coming out! can you tell i'm a june egbert Believer gsdlkjfsakldj it's gotten to the point it's hard to read fic where she's called john lmao

I'm Hoping One Day Acting Cool Will Make Me Feel More Self Assured is about kanaya maryam and the burdens of being assigned mom friend. rosemary. also she and rose have a long furby.

we are the reckless is a space opera au in which vriska's a pirate captain and aradia's a helmsman. i love the blackrom in this. aravris.

i think this is enough for rn. have fun!

AND WHEN THE WORLD NEEDED THEM MOST…

THEY RETURNED!!!

thank you so much!!!!! these all look very fun and it’s definitely appreciated TwT and kind of you!!! 💞💞💞

[inkyquince]

I found my old Whit preg drabble if you wanna read 👉👈

Your phone vibrates next to you at 2am, and squinting through the harsh glare you see a simple text from someone you thought left you for good.

  "come outside, hurry"

  Your belly is incredibly swollen at this point, faint bruises from the baby's kicks all over your tummy. You have difficulty sitting up to actually get out of bed, putting a hand on your curve to help move the weight. Robin normally has to help you up in the mornings now.

  Finally you manage to throw on your pregnancy robe and waddle through the orphanage, being extra careful to not wake anyone up. You see other orphans sitting in the rec rooms, smoking or whispering to each other, some are quietly crying while their friend comforts them. Others are eating midnight snacks, starting vacantly into space while chewing. The few who notice you give soft smiles or even a wave.

  You finally make it outside and are genuinely surprised to see Whitney there with his beat up truck, parked under a flickering street light. A part of you was convinced it was a fever dream, that you missed him so much your mind was imagining text messages, anything to help fill the void he left you and your baby in. He leans against the cold metal door of his truck with a cigarette between his teeth, hands in his varsity jacket pockets. You're worried for a moment that this is a trick, that any moment his friends will come out and surround you, beat you and your unborn baby for daring to exist when Whitney didn't want them to.

  You breathe deep through your nose and calm your heart.

  No.

  Whitney may do many things, but he'd never do that. You hope.

  Whitney himself is trying to keep his cool. He thought he'd be prepared for when he saw you again, but he isn't. He knows he never would be.

  He watches you waddle down the front stairway, hand on the bottom curve of your belly as you carefully put one foot in front of the other. Your hair is a tangled mess, eyes bleary with sleep as you meet him under moonlight. 

  You're the most beautiful thing he's ever fucking seen.

  The only reason he doesn't rush to grab your hand and help you down the stairs is because he doesn't trust his self control. So many months working at the docks, at the farms on the edge of town, everywhere he could get work, and not seeing you the entire time. His hands have more calluses and scars now, gained from hard work instead of fighting. 

  And all he wants to do is use them to rip off your clothes and fuck you senseless on the street.

  "W-Whitney? What's going on? I um...I didn't expect to see you again..."

  Your arms wrap around yourself, pushing your already massive, milk filled breasts closer together, and he has to bite his tongue to remember what he was going to say. 

  Of course you didn't expect to see him again, he thinks bitterly. He's an asshole, he knows this and you know it. Why would he stay? It's not like he actually ever told you how much he loves your smile. Or your voice, how cute it is that you can talk and fill his silence with the most boring things, but when you talk about them he's fascinated. How much he adores your soft kisses and pleasured mewls as he fucks you wherever and whenever he wants; knowing, trusting, that he'd be mindful of your limits. 

  He refuses to remember how little he cared for your comfort at the start of your…"relationship". 

  "Yeah, I've been busy, stupid." He sees you flinch at the name, and grunts in frustration. Normally you don't care what he calls you, but too late he realizes that you probably think he hates you now. 

  "What's the occasion?" You ask, looking off to the side.

  "We're gonna get your shit and pile it in the trunk with my stuff." He pulls his hand out of his pocket and slaps his truck with a dull 'thunk'.

  "We're leaving this shithole town tonight. I've already got a place rented out up north. You said you liked the snow right?"

  You stare at him with a blank expression, and he feels sweat gather on his palms. He may call you stupid all the time, but he knows you’re probably one of the most powerful people in this town. He's seen your test scores, how easy it is for you to manipulate people, the gangs and underground hustlers that recognize you and ask when you'll be back to "give them a show". 

  It would be so easy for you to beat his ass, even while pregnant, and break his heart right now. 

  He still doesn't understand why you didn't that first day he shoved you in the school hallway. He's seen you get cornered by a pack of wolf boys and get out unscathed. He hopes that...maybe the reason why is because...you see something in him? Something that he doesn't even see?

  And you’re a slut, that he knows for sure.

  "You...you came to take me away?"

  He doesn't like the disbelief in your voice. He hates that it's an open window that shows all the shit you've gone through. How many times have you been harassed or raped? How many times were your needs and wants  ignored by selfish assholes like him?

  Not anymore, he thinks. 

  "Yeah. You're my slut right? Whitney's Property." Your hand moves to the tattoo hidden under your robe, resting right above your heart. 

  "You're carrying my kid, and I ain't letting them grow up in a shithole like this." He scuffs his sneaker on the dusty sidewalk. "And when their brothers and sisters come, I want them to have a nice place to grow up in."

  He can't look you in the eye any longer, his soul feels exposed. 

  You waddle closer to him and the adorable image almost makes him smile. Your soft hand, so tiny compared to his, cups his cheek. 

  "Thank you." You whisper. 

  He closes his eyes as you kiss him, so delicate and sweet. It almost makes him want to cry, for the first time since he was a kid. 

  As soon as you pull away he feels the air shift, and you're smiling at him like it hasn't been literal months since you've last seen each other.

  "I'm so excited to see our new home! Can I invite Robin and Kylar? Oh! And Great Hawk, Eden, and Black Wolf! They're gonna wanna see it! And I'm sure they'd miss me if I just left without saying anything...Oh! On the way there can we get some cinnamon rolls!? I really want a cinnamon roll!"

  You waddle back to the orphanage while still idly chatting, dragging him behind you by his hand. 

  Whitney is genuinely amazed, and a bit terrified. You're already acting like the airhead he thought you were for so long and knowing that it's not your default, but an act you put on, is a sobering experience.

If you like acting that way, fine by him. But if you don't...maybe he can give you the kind of security you need to realize you don't have to be anything other than yourself with him.