#so imagine doing that for a decade's worth of characters

[quantomeno]

this is quite a funny little observation

perhaps it was just an easy way to get names which were legally ok and fitted in with previous names

Bionicle naming is quite interesting as you can see all the sorts of trends that happened:

'01-'03: real-world names/names derived from languages. We start to get more original names with things like the Bohrok and the Rahkshi, but otherwise I think the vast majority of names are just foreign words. There was also the Tohunga/Matoran change (and other similar changes) where you get more made-up names.

'04-'05: excluding carried over names (the great disk matoran, the Toa Metru), these names are pretty much entirely new. The Metru arc really loves its Ks (Bordakh, Tahtorak, Lhikan, Krekka, Nidhiki, Vahki, Sidorak, Keetongu, Norik, Roodaka, Visorak, Kikanalo etc) and that's likely why the 'Kra-' prefix became a favoured way to make new names. Stick a 'kra' on the front of an old name and bam, you have a name that matches this era's style while also fitting in with the old stuff and it takes less effort than an entirely new name. K had always been a common letter though (Kakama, Vakama, Nokama, Pakari, Kaukau, Akaku, Takua, Rahkshi, Bohrok, Gukko, Muaka, Kofu-Jaga, Ahkmou etc), so you could say they chose it just to continue the previous trend. It also remained a common letter, so at least there's consistency.

'06-08: this era more or less continues this trend, though I am not 100% sure which names were decided when. The Piraka have a theme of short, punchy names (again, lots of Ks). But you also have Umbra, Axonn and Brutaka who are all puns in some way, and the same goes for the Barraki (Eehlek, Kalamar), the Av-Matoran (Photok, Solek) and a lot of the Makuta (Chirox, Vamprah, Mutran) so the names are more overt references. The Metru names had meaning derived from sound only (except perhaps Dume, who sounds like 'doom') e.g. Sidorak: the S sounds sneaky, the 'dor' sounds a bit proud, the ak sounds evil. The Voyatorans seem to just be random mixes of sounds, but the Mahritoran are sometimes puns (Gar and Idris being the most obvious). Hydraxon and Hydruka seem to be plays on 'hydro'. We also get a lot of names for big characters around this time (Karzahni, Teridax, Artakha, Tren Krom) and they tend to be just 'sound' names. And we can't forget the Order of Mata Nui names that are largely plays on the names of Bionicle artists etc (Jerbraz, Tobduk etc).

'09-'10: now, while we do have naming trends similar to those of MU characters (Strakk, Skrall, Tarduk), a lot of the Agori/Glatorian/vehicle names sound distinctly pseudo-Roman or are just directly Latin words (Vastus (vast in Latin), Metus (fear in Latin), Stronius, Certavus, Kaxium, Thornatus, Vulcanus (Roman god of fire), Malum (Latin for bad/evil), Perditus (Latin for ruined/lost), Telluris (the genitive case of Tellus, meaning Earth). Even Spherus/Aqua/Bota/Bara Magna are based on Latin words. I expect this was to play into the whole 'gladiator' theme going on. Thus, we seem to have come a full circle and returned to just using foreign words to make names.

It's interesting how it goes real words/names -> totally new names -> some puns and foreign words -> even more foreign words. I suppose after so many names you start to run out of ideas (or get tired of it) and given the whole kra- thing that started this discussion, it seems that happened pretty fast.

Kra

Anyone have any idea what was up with all the "Kra" names in 2004? Like seriously, all the Toa Mata's names get remixed with Kra at the beginning, is that supposed to mean something?

Like seriously

Tahu > Kraahu

Gali > Kralhi

Pohatu > Kraatu

Kopaka > Krahka

Lewa > Kraawa

Onua > Kranua

What is happening here. Both Toa Metru combiners, both Vahki combiners, a dinky little polybag set I'm not sure was actually released, and the 6-Toa combiner model Rahi all share this bizarre pattern. Is this supposed to mean something? It feels important, but it's not like anything comes of this, as far as I know. And like okay, some of these are kind of a stretch, but it's weird this pattern can be made at all, right? And even without it, that's still a lot of Kra names! But why?

And it doesn't even stop there, because look what happened in 2005!

Takua > Krakua

(Honestly I'm mostly just confused about why I didn't notice this earlier)

[sarahjacobs]

thinking about jack kelly and developing forms of surveillance. there's long been a preoccupation with rendering the criminal into a legible subject, one that has often taken on racist under/overtones, ie depictions of chinatown and its residents as shadowy and mysterious. and this has led to the creation of new technologies and the routinization of procedure following arrest. such as the modern mugshot and the bertillon system of identification, in which people's measurements were taken to better identify repeat offenders.

(it's worth noting how new these procedures were in 1899; they'd only been around for two decades. nypd didn't use fingerprinting on a wide scale until 1905.)

from the new york city department of records and information services

think of how violating all of this is! people are paranoid about going back to jail/prison even after they're lawfully released, i can't imagine being jack post escape and constantly having the threat of being found out hanging over his head... knowing that changing his name isn't enough, that the police have his photograph and his measurements. they know that there's a birthmark on his neck and the length and width of his foot, down to the half inch. they know him in a way that's so intimate but so scientific and cold. it's just procedure.

i wonder how far he went to reinvent himself — he changed his name, of course, but did he change the way he did his hair? his way of dress? the way he walked and carried himself, self conscious of the fact that snyder and the other officers manning the refuge had been in close quarters with him for months? sometimes jack wishes he could be someone else, anyone else. at the very least, he wishes he could just rip his face off and start anew.

additionally, newspapers would publish the full names, address, occupation, circumstances of arrest, and/or the sentencing received — even for petty crimes.

the evening world, january 6 1894

this one's pretty short, but it wasn't uncommon for accounts to be much longer (one, two, three). jack wouldn't have had access to the papers after his arrest, for obvious reasons, but it's hard for him to just. exist sometimes. prickling with a strange kind of humiliation where he knows he wasn't in the wrong, but there are entire systems and swathes of people who think he was. that kind of feeling of being split apart and having your insides shown to an audience, from undergoing the bertillon system to having his story twisted to fit into the narrative of the police, whether it's in the courtroom or in the papers.

and jack knows that there are hundreds of people who read about his arrest story, which was incomplete; it said he stole food, but it didn't say he was so hungry, he couldn't sleep; it said he ran from the officers, but it didn't say that once the officers caught up, they tackled him to the ground and put him in cuffs so tight, they bruised. there are hundreds of people who either skimmed the section like it was detailing the weather forecast or formed a judgement on jack's character, thinking he deserved all that and worse. or maybe they had a more "humanitarian" take on it, believing that his sentence to the refuge was an act of compassion, a necessary intervention to send him on the right path and reform him into a good laborer who understood that stealing is wrong.

sometimes when jack sells, he eyes the people buying for a little too long, wondering — do they know? (of course they don't, they never published his photograph, even after his escape.) but do they know? did they read the papers the next day? do they think he deserved it?

[valeriehalla]

I am so utterly fascinated by “Saki”, the 18-year-running mahjong manga in which you, the reader, become gradually, frog-boilingly aware (over the course of nearly two decades’ worth of mahjong tournaments) that none of these girls are wearing underwear and most of their boobs are slowly expanding.

I need you to understand that I have, like, an anthropological level fascination with this comic. From the perspective of someone who is also a comic artist and writer, two things delight me about it:

the fact that I understand completely how an artist gets from “the fans can have a little hint of skirted asscheek” to “the pussy is completely out on center page” over the course of 18 years; and

the way in which the pussy being out is treated by the characters and diegesis as being utterly unremarkable.

Okay. Point 1. The frog-boiling.

Let me put this in perspective for you. There was already a meme about how the characters in “Saki” don’t wear underwear when I was in middle school. I am thirty now. Okay? And it’s still going.

In the time since, this has stopped being a joke. It is now indisputable canon. This is not because anyone outright says it at any point. It’s because the underwear ran out of places to hide. I’m obsessed with this thought: somewhere in the over 20 volumes of “Saki”, there is a panel in which underwear was objectively deconfirmed. And it would be so hard to figure out where that panel actually is. Maybe the artist didn’t even realize it when she drew it! The frog? Boiling!!

And of course there is also the breast expansion. I don’t know how to put a spin on this. They are just expanding. Like, this happens a lot with artists: you define a character as being, in your mind, “the one with the big boobs”, and over the years you emphasize that trait further and further so that the signal doesn’t get lost in the noise. It’s just that normally—in like a wildly popular manga series about mahjong published by literally Square Enix, for example—normally there would be a point at which the boobs stopped getting bigger. Like, an editor would step in or something. Or you would get to the point where you cannot draw the character in the same panel as her mahjong tiles without her breasts spilling over the tiles, and you’d go, “Well, this is now untenable.”

That did not happen. There is no ceiling. The frog is soup.

Point 2. The complete and utter mundanity of all of this.

It’s like this, okay: there’s no shortage of trashy ecchi manga out there. There’s a million other comics doing wildly bawdier things with wildly more improbable bishoujos.

The vibe with “Saki” is different.

It’s hard to explain this, but it feels like the world of the comic is fundamentally uninterested in the fanservice happening on the page. I cannot describe it as “leering”, because I cannot conceive of a person in the story from whose point of view one would leer. I think the artist is probably into it—I can’t imagine anyone is making her do this—but “Saki” the comic has no opinion on the matter.

There are essentially no male characters in “Saki”. Like, there was one guy? Kind of? At the very beginning? But he is gone now. They put him back in the toybox. He does not exist. It appears to be some level of canonical that in the world of “Saki”, almost all humans are women. Those women are sometimes romantically into each other. According to comments the artist has made on Twitter (which I cannot source), they have lesbian baby technology, so it’s no problem. It’s so much not a problem that the story is about mahjong, instead of any of that.

So, like, the fiction here appears to be this: this is the, like, meta-narrative of the fanservice of “Saki”, right: it’s just normal that they don’t wear underwear and their boobs are arbitrarily big. It’s been normal. It was normal before the story of the manga began. It’s just how things are. Nobody bats an eye about it, and if they do, it’s in sort of a lesbian kind of way so like what’s the problem, we love lesbians here. This is literally normal for girls.

The fanservice simply diffuses into this all-encompassing aura of disembodied, ambient sluttiness. The framing of the panels demands you acknowledge it, and the story demands you already be over it, because it’s mahjong time now, and we’re playing mahjong.

Do you get??? why I’m so fascinated??? Are you not a little enraptured???

Anyway, I have no idea how to end this weird post. I guess the conclusion is that women stay winning????

[gaywineauntsstuff]

Sometimes I feel like us as the bat family fandom forget how starry eyed people get about Nightwing canonically.

Because with the exception of early era Tim most of the Batkids are like. lol that’s my loser older brother or some variation of yeah…he’s some guy I guess? He helps me with homework?

And Nightwing is the canonically a center of multiversal light.

When Heroes meet Nightwing they do the vigorous handshake and the “it’s an honor to meet you sir, I have heard so much about you oh my god”

There are so many character where they are literally shown giggling and kicking their feet whenever Nightwing talks to them.

Even the people who don’t have the celebrity level worship of him respect the hell out of him and call him as soon as they need help.

From raven to Starfire to Superman to Superboy to all or the flashes there is so much respect and awe given to this one dude.

And it is deserved

But imagine you are Damian Wayne and you’ve been working with what 90% of the people you’ve met (all bats) have been calling an embarrassment to your father’s legacy.

Your mother hates him and your Grandfather doesn’t feel that strongly about him.

The red hood calls him an embarrassment and a coward and he couldn’t even keep Red Robin from running away.

Your father tells him that he never should have been Batman

And you’ve worked with him and you know what you think everyone is full of shit about him and you and him the new Batman and Robin are the best no matter what anyone says.

And fuck it the fact he keeps going in a suit that everyone tells him he’s not good enough for is scratching something in your brain that you’re refusing to acknowledge because why would you feel that way? You are the circus freak have nothing in common (shut up)

And then you meet the justice league and all the extended teams.

And people are falling over themselves to listen to a word out of your brothers, your Batman’s mouth. They wait for a nod or headshake and dictate decades worth of planning on it.

Both Drake and Todd’s hero teams ask him for advice with or without their designated bats presence.

The man of steel asks for child rearing advice and wonder woman cracks a joke about a spar

Newer heroes whisper about him in the halls

He’s literally your favorite hero’s favorite hero

And it’s breaking Damian’s Brain

Because well��� he kinda gets slapped around in Gotham. He’s the butt of half the jokes the other Batkids make and Dick just smiles and takes it.

The rogues have a bounty on nightwings ass and he gets leered at by goons, rogues, civilians and anti-hero’s alike and he doesn’t say anything.

He lets oracle crack jokes about a pretty face and having to do everything herself

Let’s Jason run the alley despite the fact that apparently he knows how to take it back

Apparently he’s had 12 people tailing Drake since Paris and despite being the man Ra’s Al Ghul calls detective has yet to notice. (Because you can’t tell me Dick was just magically at the right place to catch Tim falling to his death on coincidence)

And necessary to peace talks because he’s the best they have at deescalation

Like imagine you are a child who was raised to believe power is this obvious, all consuming thing. That the ones who control the board are visibly larger than life figures who fought their way to the top and cling to power by even the thinnest hangnail if they had to.

People who ignore simpler morals or an overall greater goal or good

And then you’re taken in by the man who whispers the correct answers into the larger than life figures ear.

Like I feel like that would have such an impact because Dick didn’t take power from anyone to reach his goals, it’s why his siblings don’t really defer to him unless in crisis.

Dick didn’t take power, no people just looked at him and decided he was the best option to give it to.

Everyone basically looked at this kid and went, yeah you’re the future of all heroism.

And if that dude can’t even get Bruce Wayne’s respect what chance does Damian Wayne have

[joicecubes]

this started as a twitter post but it got way too long

i feel. INSANE. ABOUT FIDDLESTAN YOU GUYS. i’ll admit i didn’t get it at first, like the original concept seems kinda bonkers, they never interact! what a silly rarepair! BUT NO. I SAW A SINGLE PIECE OF FANART AND IT WAS OVER FOR ME. IM HOOKED. im sorry i need to talk about them

my favorite set-up for fiddlestan, and the one i see most people going with, is the idea that fiddleford comes back to ford’s house after ford’s already been sucked through the portal, so he finds stan instead. and thats like such perfect/devastating (depending on how you look at it) timing because their wounds from ford are both so raw.

i feel like this is gonna get long so. gay rambling under the cut

on the one hand, they get from each other what they never got from ford. or at least, what they lost from ford. fiddleford wants love, he wants his unwavering devotion to ford to be reciprocated. and stan, being such a deeply lonely person, can give him that! what he wants is companionship. he wants a friend, like what he had in his brother. he wants forgiveness. and god, fiddleford is one of the kindest, most forgiving characters in the show. if anyone will see where stan is coming from, if anyone can extend forgiveness and understanding where ford fell flat, it’s fiddleford.

and while this exemplifies just how deeply they would need each other in this scenario, when you think about how tightly they both clung to ford, there presents a very real possibility that one or both of them would feel like ford’s replacement.

stan is ford’s twin. people have played with the idea that fiddleford would see a lot ford in stan, even though they may not be very similar in demeanor. they look the same. and deep down, they do have similarities. alex hirsch said in a dvd commentary that there is more of ford in stan than he even realizes, and fiddleford would probably see that. not to mention just how deeply he would miss him.

and when stan has always felt like a worse version of ford, you can imagine he might feel like a stand-in, especially as him and fiddleford get closer. fiddleford, whether he means to or not, would definitely see his best friend in stan. he has his face for god’s sake!! and would stan just accept it? would he be upset to be seen in this light, to act as a replacement, or would he accept that he’ll always be second to ford? either way is just. DEVASTATING. for fiddleford to unintentionally confirm all of stan’s deepest fears and insecurities…

and then there’s what fiddleford is to stan. while i don’t think fiddleford would feel as deeply a replacement as stan does, he IS a big fucking nerd. and stan probably begged him for help getting ford back when he found out that fiddleford is not only a scientist, but worked on the portal in the first place. and he of course wants ford back too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if fiddleford ends up feeling like stan only keeps him around for that purpose and that purpose alone. to learn more about ford, to live vicariously through him as ford’s best friend. because stan is desperate to know more about him, to satiate this need, this wound of missing his brother for over a decade.

god and all the little things too… fiddleford being riddled with anxiety and stan being able to ground him, to knock some much-needed sense into him the next time he wants to pick up that memory gun. stan struggling to take care of himself, to see his own self worth, and fiddleford being there to make sure he eats enough food, reminds him to shower, helps wash or cut his unkempt hair. falling asleep holding each other, because they need that comfort, that warmth, that heartbeat, to feel okay enough to rest.

ugh you could do sooo much with these bitches it drives me up the wall. i feel so unwell just thinking about them. i could yap even more but i’ll keep that for another post

[themushroomofdeath]

law x female character | pre-time skip and debut hurt/comfort - angst-ish | anxiety, loss trauma, pre-relationship, panic attack

Trafalgar Law didn’t do love.

It was just who he was, he had already locked the part of himself that craved for those feeble, fragile feelings of affection a long time ago, it had died with his family, was buried together with Cora-san - the last spark of hope, an arm to hold, a father figure, a loved one. Now there was only a shell of a once carefree child, a cold man who kept everyone at an arm-length, one who despised the idea of attachment, of giving himself to something that could very easily be taken away.

No, he liked having control over himself, over his crew, his environment, but mostly, over his heart. Fancied himself a genius of a kind, always one step ahead of everyone else, not making a decision that would affect the decades worth of planning he did for his future self. A life made only for vengeance, for his family, for Cora, for the people he once knew and the child he once was.

So it really came as a surprise to him, that first irregular beat of his heart.

She was someone he never imagined to find in his life, a light of hope when he thought all was lost¹, an intellectual partner to his discuss his interests - and a diversity of others she kept picking along the way to share, an unexpected colleague of profession and abilities, someone not afraid to speak freely about what was on her brilliant mind, but never one to make others feel inferior compared to her. Her kindness seemed unlimited, as she confided one day about her dreams. “I want to be able to help the unfortunate, never have someone lose a loved one out of helplessness again.” As if she could read his concealed past, making him wish to have met someone like her, all those ten years ago, when he needed the most. 

“You can’t help everyone, that’s absurd.” Was what he answered instead. Like her warmth hasn't touched him enough to hope, to wish to be able help her achieve exactly that - be the beacon for those lost in the middle of a storm.

He should’ve stopped there, when the warmth reached him the first time. Should’ve stopped reaching for it. But like a man lost to an addiction, he would see himself looking for her around the Tang, just to talk - he would justify, she was the only one who understood all those medic jargons, she never laughed when she accidentally found his comics collection, she was interested in learning about it. He would even hear her opinion with his plans, her ability to look from a different perspective useful for him - no, not him, for their crew. In a year, she became a trusted crewmate and an indispensable partner.

And that was increasingly frustrating. 

Trusted enough to share his space, his usual alone time after a long time of work and research, he would invite her to stay around - as she was never too pushy of a friend, but always accepting of his company. They would sit alongside - a plate of rice balls, made exactly to his liking, two cups of warm tea brewed by the woman, and countless paper sheets scattered on his table. He was happy to share his studies with her, hear what she had heard and seen about the topic, an usual pleasant smile masking his features, but doing nothing to hide the fondness in his eyes. If he could’ve seen himself, he would’ve stopped right there.

In the moment, she was explaining how her powers worked, the ability of looking under a man’s skin and muscles with only her mind, how with the years of training in animals in her backyard, she’d come with the idea of reaching further and analyzing a being on a cellular level, forcing the seamless magical healing of most illness with her childhood wonder and endless hours of study of the human body. 

In awe as he was, he didn’t catch on how close she was, used from all her hand gestures when she was enthusiastic with a subject, it took him a moment to register how her soft and warm hand had landed on the skin of forearm, right above his tattoo. She was in the middle of explaining how he could use his powers in a similar way if he wanted to, when he realized the touch, the way his heart picked with interest and his entire body burned with longing for more. 

It was like being touched by the sun. One that should be always unreachable - to someone made of darkness like him, those burning hands were able to leave irreparable marks behind. As he would never be able to pretend it wasn’t happening with him, to ignore those pesky feelings ever again.

And as soon as he felt it, he abruptly took his distance from it. Pulling his arm from her reach, expression changing from passive to guarded, looking away from her surprised and hurt eyes, before cleaning his throat and deciding it was best for them to turn in for the night. Away from each other. 

The damage was done.

It has been a month since he started avoiding her, everyone in the ship can tell. Till that fatidical day, they were like two celestial bodies who constantly orbited each other’s space, now it was as if the mere presence of the doctor around a room were enough to repel the man back to his private quarter - in which he was taking refuge from inquiring eyes. Only the oldest crew was ever allowed to enter for reports and emergency matters, and even then they would always leave with a heavy frown and no answers to their captain’s strange behavior.

It was taking a toll on the crew as well, whenever someone walked by him with a smile and a polite face, only to be met with his flaring temper and moodiness, in which no one could ever understand why. Many tried to question the woman, to no avail, as she had no idea of what was happening either, he had just closed himself off from the world, and as an understanding person, she was trying to give him space to work it out with himself. 

But damn, she missed him. And if she only knew how much he was yearning for her, fighting against his deepest fears, trying to escape the confinement of his walls, causing all these explosive and melancholic sentiments to surface. It was maddening. He wanted to be rational about it - perhaps tell her to leave, but not wanting to ever live without her, ever again.

After two months, he felt like ripping the hair from his scalp. It was like her presence was just becoming stronger in the walls of the Polar Tang, he could hear her melodic laugh from anywhere, could smell her perfume everywhere, taste her hand in the food Bepo would bring to his room - she knew how to make it exactly how he liked. 

He couldn’t just give in. Too prideful, too committed to his work and chosen fate, too scared. So scared. What if he gave in? A pirate taking a lover was unheard of, and those who did would just live in a constant state of paranoia, not knowing when their enemies would find out about the weakness of their heart. Because that's what it was. A Weakness. Or at least that's what he kept telling himself. He would lose her, and that would be enough to break the last amended piece keeping his sanity intact. 

Just need to wait it out…. It shall pass, he tried to rationalize. 

After three months, it was her turn to be done with his behavior. She came to his room one day, with the excuse of bringing his favorite snacks, ignoring the warning glare thrown to her form. At this point, that was just typical behavior from the young surgeon. 

He was going to talk about this, or he was going to tell her to leave, because no matter how much she cried from the yearning of his presence and the confusion of not knowing what was really happening between them, she was also a prideful woman, and she was just as much done with suffering for a person she barely knew, even if she opened her own walls to receive him, she could just as much close it if prompted.

“So, are we going to talk about this - or you’ll keep pretending I don’t know you are avoiding me like I have the plague?” 

Oh, how infuriating she was. Snarky, sarcastic, annoying, fucking gorgeous. For a long second, he could only sharp his gaze, his expression taking a note of fury, wanting to tell her to back off. Like a cornered wild animal would. But he was no mindless animal, and her stance above his sitting form did not change one bit, like she knew the power she held over him. He could never truly hurt this woman.

Taking a breath, reclining his posture back in his chair, he schooled his expression back into a blank unamused glare, before answering. “It’s not something I wish to discuss. If it bothers you, that’s your problem, not mine.”

He could see how it immediately affected her, and it affected him as well. Her eyes widened, like she didn’t expect to be blatantly rejected, not after all the time they had been together as colleagues and partners - as friends. Her posture went rigid, like struggling with herself to have strength to fight back, to fight back the tears threatening to escape, and he could feel his heart constricting with the instinct of reaching out and taking her in his arms, protective of her - even if he was the one instigating those emotions in her heart. Her beautiful heart, who did not deserve to be treated that way, who should have left the moment it met with a heartless being like himself. If only he was selfless enough to tell her to run and never look back.

“Fine,” she managed to say, between a difficult breath, “If that’s what you wish, I will pretend we were never friends, then.” And with that resolution, she turned her wheels and left, closing the door with enough strength to be heard by anyone who was hoping for a good outcome from their meeting. And it was like all heart pirates, a few room away, collectively sighed defeated from it. 

That night, she wasn’t the only one who cried in her pillow.

It wasn't long after that night, when the heart pirates came to a new inhabited island, looking to resupply for a longer ride. It was a breath of fresh air, to not be stuck inside a submarine with the stubborn couple of bulls, hitting their head against each other, glaring from their corner, making everyone’s life miserable. 

And it came to no surprise that Eliza was the first one to be out, the moment the Tang submerged and ported, ready to use her energy to work and actively ignore Law’s existence for the few days or weeks that they kept anchored in the island. Hell, it might be a month before anyone is ready to leave and go back to the uncomfortable feeling. It came to a collective agreement that they better take their time away from the ship while they could, as long as the Captain didn’t catch on it.

And he did catch on it, around day five. Every supplement needed was reestablished, but no one seemed to be in a rush to go back to the next adventure, and the Island wasn’t even that impressive to keep them around, just a small village with enough entertainment for a day or two. 

“Penguin. What do you all think you are doing?” He would ask that day, after spotting the man lazily sunbathing in the ship’s deck, earning a long-suffered groan from his crewmate. From all the years that he was loyal to his captain and so-called friend, it was one of the first times where he truly wished the man could take a hint and work on his own problems. 

“What do you mean, Captain? We are taking one day to relax, you should too!” He said, but what he really wanted to express with that was: and please make amends with your lady friend, you are being a problematic asshole, she is so nice to you and everyone else, why are you acting like that? Are you having relationship problems or something? I know you have no experience, but anyone would be able to work it out after three whole months. But again, he did know his long-time leader from the inside out, pointing out anything obvious to him would just aggravate the situation, and chances were, he already knew he was being difficult.

Trafalgar Law from his part, only rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue, accepting it. Because he was not stupid, truly, he could tell how much it was heaving on his crew, his little squabble with the second tribulation’s doctor. And perhaps he did needed a break, not only from his work, but from all the drama he created for himself. 

So, hugging Kikoku close to his body, he left to find a distraction.

As it has been happening the entirety of this particular year, it seemed fate was against his plans of finding a peace of mind. 

Walking into a secluded inn bar, believing to be a refuge from the busy streets, the last thing the pirate expected to find was the object of his affections and anguish, sitting with her back turned to the door, fully engrossed in a discussion with another man. Not that he immediately paid attention to said man, but the way the other had his knee so close to his crewmate’s barely covered (deliciously voluptuous) thigh, while they both animatedly chatted, was enough to catch his scrutiny.

It was a bad idea to stay, he knew that, but he couldn’t help his primal instinct of protection to grab a hold of his brain, as he cared for this woman enough to keep an eye on possible harassment towards his crewmate. Right? At least that was what he kept telling himself, silently making his way towards a shadowy booth, sharp gaze focused on the scene before him.

There was an irritation growing inside him, a hand squeezing the pit of his stomach, making his hands clench under the table, for the mere thought of how adorable she looked gesticulating about a subject he couldn’t hear. It was him, a few months ago, who she would look after to share information and discoveries, it was him she would look with those big doe eyes, shining with excitement while she rambled away about something so new and interesting, she couldn’t help but have to share with someone willing to listen. 

And now he had shut her off, made her look for another person to give half the attention he had always been willing to offer, always enchanted by her intellect, but if he was a little more honest with himself, it was the way she’d seek him first. Holding him important enough to share her thoughts and confide her life with. Someone else having the same treatment was truly infuriating. 

But not only that, he could tell by the way the other man melted his entire posture towards her, he was very much interested in her beyond an intellectual stimulation. Only a few minutes of observation, and the Captain of the Heart Pirates was gritting his teeth, emotional brain rapidly winning over his logical responses to she’s not yours, never was, never will. Get yourself together. She didn’t seem bothered at all, either choosing to ignore or interested in what that man had to offer as well. 

His rational side was telling him to leave at this point, and he couldn't agree more to it. Sliding himself away from his seat, ready to ignore this whole encounter, before something caught his auditive senses, making his entire body go rigid. She laughed. That melodious and gorgeous sound, that he only ever heard during their shared times, alone in his office, talking about foolish memories and happier times.

In one shaky breath, heart hurting enough to suffocate, he turned back around, stalking his way towards the couple, stopping a foot from their forms, eyes blazing with quiet fury, but a placid expression of masked anger. She had only spinned around in her chair, before his gravy tone could be heard. “We need to talk. Come.” And he was leaving the establishment, not waiting for an answer, knowing she would follow anyway, as he was not only willing to speak about their problems, but he was her commanding figure in the hierarchy of their crew.

The quiet walk back to the was tense, even if he did slow his pace for her to keep the pace, aware of his long legs and more fit build to walk quickly compared to hers. He could feel her enragement and furious glare hitting the back of his head, but his mind was only filled with how he would go about this. 

Should he ask her to leave? She never truly wanted to join a pirate crew, their deal being about giving a space for her to work her medical research, be free to explore the islands they ported, to use her abilities to heal the people in need, in exchange, she’d use all her abilities to protect and treat the crew. 

But he didn’t think he could be that cruel nor that self centered with her, knowing she had no one prior to the heart pirates, who quickly became a found family of sorts to the female doctor. 

Walking through the deck, ignoring the questioning gazes, he went straight to his office, already planning to lie through his teeth to save himself from the situation he found himself into, pretend he was just saving her from an unfortunate encounter with someone she didn’t really wish to be around, he was too flirty, not interested in her as a intellectual partner, just a pass time. 

Perhaps come with terms of coming back to their somewhat friendship, with a level of boundaries around being too close and too personal, those feelings of desire would come to an end eventually, more hormones of his young blood, than actual wish for a relationship with someone who could make him happy. He didn’t wish for that kind of happiness, after all.

But before he could open his mouth, sitting in his chair, to gaze up to meet hers, she was already speaking, arms crossed over each other, face contorted in one of resolve and grief. “Law, perhaps I should leave this crew.”

And with just that, something he did thought about asking of her all this time, she broke his pathetic illusion of being fine with her leaving this ship, this crew, her leaving him. 

He could hear her speaking, lips moving around an explanation of why it was reasonable for her to find a different way of traveling, as this tension was hurting the ship’s crew morale. He had the feeling that she was nervously rambling, looking for him to give an answer to her plans, but all he could do was stare back, mind fogging and words turning too confusing for his understanding, slight sensation of disconnecting his mind from the harsh reality of She will leave me. She will actually leave me.

Why did it hurt so much? How could she hold such a tight grip around his heart? When did he allow this to happen? Was him that weak?

“LAW! Are you even listening to me? Please!” Came a distinct voice, in the middle of the chaos of his mind. He might be panicking, the medic on him was saying, his cardiac frequency was too loud, he could feel his entire body tingling, legs too weak to answer, he was going mad. 

But what made it more maddening, was the idea of never seeing her again, never hearing her eyes shining with excitement, never hearing her amused smile to one of his witty remarks, to never again gaze at this person who turned his days brighter by existing and knowing she was safe as long as he lived. It was like she could take all his breath away with one realization, and it was certainly not pleasant.

Licking his increasingly drying lips, he tried to focus back in reality, understanding of the situation coming back to him, she was asking for his opinion, she wasn’t leaving yet. “You can’t.” Was what he could come off as an answer, with the turmoil happening inside his being.

“What do you mean I can’t?”

“You… I- Just. Don’t.” He could hear his breath quicking, and she seemed too, medical trained eyes sharpening on his form, advancing in his direction like one would a hounded animal - and he despised her for it. How easily she could read him, how open and vulnerable she made him. 

But he also came to realize, those feelings would never leave him, ever again. Her love crawled her way through his defenses, climbed his colossal walls made of years of traumatic experiences, and reached his closed icy cold heart. He wanted to hate her for it, make her stop, tell her off, let him be comfortable with his loneliness once again, but when she looked back at him with those warmhearted eyes of hers, reached both hands to gently graze his tattooed ones, soothingly asking if he was feeling well… He could only give all of himself to her.

Both arms shooting up to bring her body closer, head dropping to her shoulder, trying to hide the shameful sob tearing itself from his throat, body entirely shaking in a full panic attack triggered by all the experiences he had lived so far. For a moment he was back into the child he once was, an orphan, lost, utterly lonely, rejected by all.

His pride in shambles, broken mind taking over his more rational being, the only solace in the hands caressing his hair, the weight sitting on his lap - as he made her lose her foot with the surprise. But she didn’t mind, she loved this foolish broken man, even if he never bothered to ask. 

She would hold and love him for the rest of their life, if only he allowed it. 

“Breath, Law. Can you hear my voice, dearest? Breath with me.”

A few minutes of caressing his hair locks, firmly holding him toward her soft body, soothing whispering to his reachable ear, and the breath started to settle into a more even rhythm, the sobs that wrecked his body, turning into soft exhales, but the arms around her only tightened, like she would run away the moment he came back to his senses. 

It was devastating to see such a strong and resilient man breaking apart, never once expressing his feelings so openly before, all those years of suffering on his own breaking like a torrent of guarded anguish, pouring down from every pore, making his body weak and tired. But if anyone should’ve seen it, he was glad it was her. 

There was no judgment, no pitiful gaze, no questions to be answered, only a warm body and hands resting against damp cheeks, forcing his tired eyes to gaze back at an adoring expression, already grasping the situation at hand. “Law, don’t suffer on your own anymore. You don’t need to keep your thoughts to yourself, you are only hurting yourself.” She kept on, smiling with fondness. “I understand it’s hard to trust, to allow yourself to give in to strange feelings, but I will only leave you if you wish for me to. Ok? I promise, I want to stay and hear all that goes inside your head, I want to protect you as much as you've been protecting me. Would you let me do that?”

A hesitant nod. A progress, or an emotional response of someone who was just so tired of fighting back, so afraid of losing what he had been building, so hopeful of what it could mean to give in and embrace the sun. Either way, acceptance in the way his head fell back to her body, resting against her ample bosom, focused on the way the rhythm of her heart lulled him back to a better reality. He knew from that moment, he would try to improve himself, if it meant she would keep kissing the top of his head like this, caressing his back and humming a foreign lullaby to calm his raging heart. He could love her fully, if it always felt like this safe haven. And perhaps there was hope, if she was the one who held his heart.

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

read this chapter on ao3

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, ���Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. ���I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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[punkpandapatrixk]

💓Heartbeat Disco ☆ Timeless Tarot Guidance

Elements/Signs in this reading are calibrated to all aenergetic placements. Feel free to read as many Elements/Signs as you feel called to at this point in your spiritual evolution♡

☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Are you feeling this aenergy of a Higher Romance that’s been pouring unto Earth this year? Earth’s temperatures are finally changing and so many Destined Lovers are going to find each other in the coming decades. I hope you’re excited for that for yourself~ You might just get a heartbeat disco this year and I hope that gets you enjoying Life and Love all over again! ☆

Fated encounters? Honest romance? Love that doesn’t leave you guessing? What’s coming to you in Love within the year you’re seeing this reading?! I hope your happiness is here to stay finally~♪

☆♪°・. aenergetic companion PAC ☆♪°・.

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Heartbeat Disco for 🐞Fire Signs – Gold Astrologer (Simon Forman)

Page of Cups, 8 of Swords, 6 of Pentacles

This year, Fire Signs, you are going to meet very interesting people that will make your heart flutter. This isn’t just about romance but a real sense of human connection that makes you understand, finally, that good people really do exist. And you’ll be glad you never lost hope in people—at least, not entirely XD The people you’ll be encountering are either younger than you in age or they simply exude a joyful and optimistic aura. These people are going to pull you into their worlds—their worlds are very exciting. You just need to know that you, too, have a place in those worlds.

Up until now, you’ve lived under the impression that you’d never amount to anything. This was all a mind game though; perhaps your society made you believe that someone from your country or background would never be able to be where you dream to be; perhaps you were gaslit since childhood, being made to believe that you’re worthless; perhaps there were many evil whispers about your power and talents. All’s a mind game. You’re getting out of that fuck-fog; you’re seeing your true worth now and you have been magnetising your Tribe.

This year—whatever year you’re finding this reading—you’re on the fast track towards your Soul Tribe and that place you belong to. On this new land, on this new landscape, you will be sharing positive aenergies and ideas with people who are similar to you not only in character but also in dreams and ambitions. For the first time ever, you will truly know what it feels like to have a ‘family’. And this family is so much better than you could’ve ever imagined~🍀

Oracle Guidance for Fire Signs🔻❤️

🐏Aries – Priestess of Prosperity

🦁Leo – Priestess of Luxury

🎠Sagittarius – Priestess of Luck

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°��.

Heartbeat Disco for 🐍Earth Signs – Red Alchemist (John Dee)

3 of Cups Rx, Queen of Cups Rx, 8 of Wands

Wow, seems you’ve been through some betrayals up until this point. It could also be a feeling of being disappointed in people—people or communities you thought had your best interests. For quite a while now, I think you’ve been in a purging phase. Ridding yourself of attachments and expectations that no longer served your highest good. It seems to me this year you’re still gonna be in that phase. This year is probably your last leg of the purging process though.

This whole being isolated, being alone, keeping to your own, learning to care for your mental health, has been necessary as part of your growing up. This is integral to your character/story development. Your Higher Self (and likely your ancestors, too) wanted to shield you from outside forces—vampiric forces—that would’ve drunk from your aenergy constantly, leaving you mentally drained and exhausted.

This year could be your last year of being alone in that sense—or maybe some time beginning next year. Your new chapter of better communications and better connections with high-quality people is only beginning to unfold. It hasn’t even started yet, dang. So keep going and be expectant for what’s to come. You have high places to go and powerful/inspirational people to meet. Your glorious days are yet to come, babe~🥂

Oracle Guidance for Earth Signs🔻💚

🐂Taurus – Priestess of Ritual

🧘🏻‍♀️Virgo – Priestess of Opulence

🐐Capricorn – Priestess of Inspiration

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Heartbeat Disco for ⛲Air Signs – Gold Astronomer (John Dee)

Knight of Cups, 9 of Wands Rx, Knight of Wands

Have you been wishing upon a star for a healthy Love? Seems like lately there’s been a love song in your heart <3 Seems like your Higher Self is announcing the advent of someone special this year hahah Of all the Signs, Air and Water seem like they’re going to be having the hardest heartbeat disco LMAO A destined encounter is very likely to happen for Air Signs this year. I sense you’re on the trajectory of a Soul Mission. I know you’ve been having signs and synchronicities. Your Spirit Guides have been giving you premonitions~

You’re seriously coming out of a karmic loop where in the past relationships were always taxing on your emotions, and simply, difficult/confusing to navigate. You’ve done all the inner work now. Starting this year, it’s like you’ve transported yourself into a different timeline altogether and you will start meeting very important Souls throughout the next chapter of your Life. In what ways are they important? All ways! You’ll know when you meet them! The excitement in your heart will tell you what purpose each Soul is meant to serve in your Story.

Some may lead you towards your Life Purpose; some may really carry you through the storms so you get to your Life Purpose; some may work with you as part of your collective dharmic Life Purpose. The scenarios vary but the people you will begin to meet starting this year are those that will make you fall in love with Life and yourself again. For some, romance may not seem all too close this year because you’re really working on your enterprise, but that surely can come later, right? XD

Oracle Guidance for Air Signs🔻💙

👯Gemini – Priestess of Intellect

⚖️Libra – Priestess of Illumination

🏺Aquarius – Priestess of Enchantment

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

Heartbeat Disco for 🐝Water Signs – Silver Astronomer (Galileo Galilei)

4 of Pentacles Rx, 4 of Swords Rx, 5 of Swords Rx

Ready to mingle, Water Signs? :D Y’all seem to be the peeps who are most ready to re-enter society LOL You’re the ones who have been most disciplined in your healing and transformation. I sense this is especially the case if Water is your Moon or Ascendant! And to some extent, if Water is your North Node or the NN is in a Water House. Anyway, you’ve done such a marvellous inner work all by yourself, isolated from society and some of you have probably been dealing with curses and financial misery and whatnot. You’ve been keeping your chin up tho! The time for you to get rich, mingling, and be of assistance to others is NOW!

If you’ve not been able to go out or work regularly or even hold a decent conversation with anyone, soon you’ll see that you’re coming back to your healthy self. It’s your psychology that you’ve been working so hard on fixing and healing. This year is the end of all your spiritual struggles. You’re coming into your authentic power, your authentic expression. You don’t care anymore and you won’t be easily triggered by what used to depress you so much before. You’ve won this WAR against frequencies that were trying to destroy you from the inside!

I’m actually seeing bombs raining down on whoever tried to mess with you up until recently XD All of the bad karma, all of the negative thought-forms formed against you are firing back at their generator(s). You’re safe. You’re on calm shores now. And moving forward, you’re going to be surrounded by new friends and family who are going to be so supportive as well as protective of you. Congratulations! Love is in the aethers for you! Claim it~ Aaaahh! <3<3<3 Happiness is the most potent revenge on those who wished death upon your Light!

Oracle Guidance for Water Signs🔻💛

🦀Cancer – Priestess of Healing

🦂Scorpio – Priestess of Solitude

🎏Pisces – Priestess of Love

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☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・. ☆♪°・.

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[waywardnerd67]

Fireworks

Title: Fireworks Summary: When (Y/N)’s BFF invites her to a 4th of July party she would never imagine meeting the man of her dreams… literally. Main Characters: Glen Powell, Reader Pairing: Glen Powell x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Fluffy/RPF Word Count: 5376 A/N: Jumping back into the saddle so please forgive all the rough edges.

“Honey, I’m home!”

(Y/N) looked up to see her best friend walking through her front door, “Addison! Why didn’t you tell me you were in town?”

She hugged her hard, missing her BFF more than she realized. A year ago, Addison got the opportunity of a lifetime to be the personal assistant to a Hollywood actor. She had been traveling the world, hanging out on movie sets and living her best life. Meanwhile, (Y/N) was still living in their hometown of Austin, Texas working at the same high school, in the same position for nearly a decade.

“I’m sorry, my boss has had me planning this big Fourth of July party and today is the first day I’ve had time to come see you.”

They both sat down on her couch as (Y/N) paused her millionth rewatch of Supernatural, “How are you planning a party here if he lives in L.A.?”

Addison smiled, “He recently moved back to Austin, so it looks like I will be coming back here as well.”

(Y/N) let out a squeal hugging her friend tightly, “Oh my god, that’s amazing! I mean I know you’re gonna be busy but damn will it be good to have you back here.”

For the next few hours they caught up on each other’s lives or lack of one for (Y/N). They ordered dinner and were getting ready to watch one of their favorite rom-coms when Addison’s phone rang.

“Hey boss, what’s up?”

(Y/N) watched her friend’s face light up and suddenly her body was filled with envy. She was incredibly proud of the life her friend created but it was a reminder of how boring of a life she had. She couldn’t even remember the last thing she had been excited for except for maybe the new Twisters movie coming out later in the month.

“You got it. I will confirm everything and send you an email update.” Addison paused listening, “Yes, I will make sure to bring someone with me. See you tomorrow.”

“From the look on your face I would say you love your job.” Addison nodded with a smile, “I really do. He’s great and nothing like the other Hollywood douchebags. He’s just a good ole Texas boy. Kind of reminds me of Jensen and Jared.”

(Y/N) remembered her best friend's time volunteering at Creation Entertainment Supernatural conventions. She eventually was one of the workers who helped walk the actors to and from ops. Several times she had walked with Jared Padalecki or (Y/N)’s favorite actor, Jensen Ackles. That was how she had met them and found out they were truly just as nice and humble as everyone said they were.

“He wants me to bring someone to his party. What do you say?”

“Me?” She stared at Addison, “Don’t you think you should bring someone more interesting or fun?”

Her friend slipped her arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders, “No. There’s no one else I would rather bring than my best friend. Plus, who knows, maybe you’ll meet someone there and hit it off.”

“Yeah. Right.” She scoffed, “The plain Jane school secretary hitting it off with some Hollywood hunk. This is reality and not fanfiction.”

“Please? For me? It would mean the world to me if you came and then I can finally introduce you to my boss.” Addison stuck out her bottom lip in a pout.

(Y/N) narrowed her eyes then smiled, “Fine. Only because I love you.”

“Yay! If you want we can go get you a swimsuit and a new outfit. On me, of course, as a thank you.”

“I’m immediately regretting this decision…” She groaned.

The next day, they spent the day going to lunch and shopping. After one crying session in a dressing room and a slight argument in front of a cashier, (Y/N) arrived back home with three bags worth of stuff. Addison had convinced her to buy a two piece swimsuit. She was always hyper aware of her body even after losing a lot of weight. She was still plus size with killer curves and she was proud of her body. Knowing she was going to be around beautiful actors and models made her notice every little imperfection she had. Staring at the dark green checkered pattern suit made her stomach churn.

“It will be fine, (Y/N). No one is going to notice you anyway.” She murmured to herself.

The morning of July 4th, Addison was at her apartment bright and early, “I’m sorry it’s so early on your day off. My boss wants me at his house early and I figured you wanted to ride over with me.”

(Y/N) yawned, “It’s fine. I have my Monster and should be some form of human like by the time we get there.”

Addison led her out to a brand new Jeep Wrangler that was the same orange as the Longhorns. They threw their stuff in the back and headed off onto highway 290 towards Dripping Springs.

“Please tell me this is his car and not yours.” (Y/N) said as Addison started laughing.

“Yes, it’s his. I still have old faithful who recently hit 200,000 miles and is still purring like a kitten.” Addison turned on her Spotify playlist, “He’s a big Longhorns fan so anything he can get in burnt orange he does.”

One thing (Y/N) loved about living in Austin was the scenery. It had been awhile since she had driven out to Hill Country. The last remaining bluebonnets were holding on strong from a late blooming season mixing with other wildflowers. She couldn’t help to notice they were headed the same direction as Family Business Brewery.

“If we’re going to Family Business and Jensen is going to be there then I need some notice to calm my inner fangirl.”

Addison shook her head, “No, he just lives near there. I know he invited Jensen and Jared’s families but I think they have a convention this weekend.”

(Y/N) let out a sigh of relief then continued to admire the scenery around her while they sang to their favorite songs. Soon they were pulling up to a newly built, gated home. The main house was a subtly modern farmhouse with a big wrap around porch. Addison parked in front of the three car garage behind the house and that’s when (Y/N) saw a beautiful red barn straight out of a western movie.

“Wow…” She said, grabbing her things and following her friend to the pool house.

“Make yourself at home, this is where I stay. It’s easier for me to be close by than to have my own place and worry about subletting it.”

(Y/N) found pictures of her best friend in various cities, countries with celebrities she admired. There were also plenty of pictures of them together throughout their friendship including childhood and being roommates at UT-Austin. She looked at one picture of Addison pulled into a big hug from Glen Powell.

“You’ve met Glen Powell and didn’t tell me!” (Y/N) smacked her BFF’s shoulder, “How dare you.”

Addison laughed, “He’s a sweetheart.”

“Talk about good ole Texas boy… by god not that I need another bow legged Texan to love, but whew!” (Y/N) fanned herself.

“Come on, help me organize the food and everything before my boss gets home.”

There were tables set up in the massive backyard with a food buffet large enough to feed an army. (Y/N) found herself enjoying helping Addison get everything ready. She was helping the DJ get set up in the barn when Addison called out to her.

“Hey, my boss is here. I’m going to the main house to help him with something then I’ll be back.”

“Got it boss lady!” (Y/N) laughed as her friend rolled her eyes.

She was putting the last touches of the Firecracker themed tables together when a low, raspy voice came from behind her.

“Nicely done. You must be Addison’s best friend.”

She turned around and froze, “Holy shit, you’re Glen Powell.”

He laughed holding out his hand to her, “Yes, but not the OG Glen. He’s in the house right now. You’re (Y/N), right? Addison talks about you all the time.”

She slipped her hand into his then flinched from the electric current running up her arm. From his wide green eyes, she assumed he felt it too.

“Uh, y-yeah that’s me. Um…” She swallowed hard, “Sorry, my inner fangirl is having a mild heart attack right now.”

His deep, rich laugh blanketed her body in warmth, “Well hopefully your inner fangirl won’t pass out. Calling 911 is not on my list today.”

“I promise, she’ll be fine. Still getting used to my BFF hanging out with celebrities, especially ones that I love.”

The bright smile on his face nearly melted her heart, “Awe, so you love me?”

“Uh… yes, I mean… yes I love your movies and you seem like a really great person.” (Y/N) mentally kicked herself.

Shut up. Stop talking you weirdo.

“Thanks, I try to be a good guy. Main reason why I moved back to Austin. Stay grounded in my home roots. Anyway, I’m looking forward to getting to know you. I better get back to the main house and see what kind of chaos my family is causing for Addison.”

“Oh, okay. Talk to you later.” (Y/N) watched as he walked out of the barn then finally let out a shaky breath.

She immediately went in search of her best friend, finding her near the buffet. She smacked her shoulder several times as Addison tried to defend herself with tongs.

“What the hell (Y/N)!”

“Why didn’t you tell me that Glen Powell was your boss?! A little warning would have been nice so I could prepare myself.”

Addison chuckled, “Damn, I missed you meeting him. I was hoping to see your face.”

She smacked her shoulder again, “Not funny. It was like the first time I met Jensen and my brain short circuited.”

Now Addison was nearly falling down laughing, “Did you word vomit all over him?”

“No! Though I did mention my inner fangirl having a heart attack. Also, the first thing out of my mouth was ‘Holy shit, you’re Glen Powell.”

“Oh my god!” Her friend was rolling in laughter, “God, I wish I had been there for that.”

“That’s it, I’m leaving. I’ve already embarrassed myself and who knows who else will be here for me to embarrass myself in front of.”

(Y/N) started to head towards the front of the house when Addison reached out grabbing her arm.

“Wait, wait. I’m sorry, I should have warned you. Glen only invited a few actors that live around here over. Honestly, I think Zac Levi is the only one confirmed to be coming. Other than that, it’s mostly Glen’s family and friends.”

“Zac Levi?” She stared at her, “Zachary fucking Levi… oh god, I’m out. Me and my inner fangirl cannot handle this.”

Addison ran in front of her, grabbing a hold of her shoulders, “(Y/N), they are just humans like you and me.”

“Humans that are sculpted out of marble by the good lord himself with a good heaping pile of sex god appeal. Not like me. They’re main character energy and I’m one of the background people no one sees.”

“(Y/N) stop. Trust me, stay and hang out with me. Glen said once everything was set up that I was off the rest of the night. That means, it’s you and me hanging out by the pool, eating our weight in BBQ and watching fireworks. With some particularly good eye candy around.”

Addison was looking at her with pleading eyes, “Please stay and find out for yourself that they are normal dudes. Just like when we hung out with Jared and Jensen.”

(Y/N) sighed, “Only because I love you more than life itself and I have no way of getting home.”

Addison pulled her into a hug, “Thank you.”

“Group hug? I want to join!” Before (Y/N) could look up, she was sandwiched between her best friend and a firm body behind her. Instantly she was enveloped in a woodsy smell with a hint of citrus. Glen squeezed them together making both girls laugh.

“Can’t… breathe… Powell.” Addison managed to squeak out as he let go of them.

“Sorry, just wanted to be a part of your little moment.” He joked.

(Y/N) turned around sucking in a breath and trying to keep her jaw from slacking. Standing before her was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Which said a lot since up until that point it had been Jensen Ackles who was the most beautiful man in her mind. Glen was wearing a pair of swim trunks with firecrackers all over them that hung low on his hips. His golden skin was glowing beneath the Texas sun and on top of his golden hair was an American flag cowboy hat.

“Ladies, I believe everything is set up and our first wave of guests have arrived. That means, Addison, you are officially off the clock and my last request is for you both to have a great time tonight.”

They looked at one another then saluted Glen saying together, “Yes sir.”

His laughter filled the air, “Your salutes need some work but we can work on that later. Now, go! Get drunk, eat and have fun.”

Addison hooked her arm with (Y/N)’s and they headed back towards the pool. For the first couple of hours, (Y/N) laid out on one of the chairs by the pool. One of the only things she loved about parties was people watching. There was no shortage of people to watch here. Glen’s family was an absolute joy to meet. Currently, his dad was in the pool playing with his grandkids while his mom was sitting on the edge hanging her feet into the water.

(Y/N) watched as Zac Levi walked through the main house with a cooler and a few of his friends. She was surprised to see him pull Addison into a hug then kiss her cheek. She made a mental note to ask her what was up with that later. Sipping on her beer, she watched as a group of guys including Glen and Zac started a game of football. Addison was talking with Glen’s sisters when suddenly there was a shout.

“Watch out!”

Before (Y/N) could look up, she was hit with something hard in her chest. She let out a loud grunt and her beer dumped down the front of her.

“Shit! (Y/N) are you alright?” Glen asked as he and Addison ran up to her.

She groaned, “Fine, just covered in beer.”

“I can show you where you clean up.” Glen said, taking the football that had hit her and tossing it to his brother-in-law.

He held out his hand to her and helped her up from her seat. She looked back at Addison who was smiling like the Cheshire cat. She narrowed her eyes at her friend suddenly smelling a set up and beer… lots of beer.

Glen led her into the main house and up the stairs. They walked into the largest bedroom she had ever seen and immediately knew this had to be his room.

“You can use my bathroom to wash up and I’ll get you some clothes to wear.”

She chuckled, “Um, I’m pretty sure your clothes won’t fit me.”

He arched an eyebrow at her, “I’m sure I can find something or if you prefer to walk around in a towel only then that’s cool too.”

“No! Oh god, no.” She sighed, “Thank you. I appreciate anything you can find for me.”

“You’re welcome.” He walked into his large closet while she went into his master bathroom and shut the door.

Leaning against it, she took a moment to calm her frantic nerves. A week ago, she was home rewatching Top Gun: Maverick and now she was standing in Glen Powell’s bathroom. Quickly, she stripped out of her soiled clothes and swimsuit. She turned on the water of the massive shower and let the hot water beat down on her tense muscles. She heard the door opening and immediately tried to cover herself.

“There’s clothes on my bed for you.”

(Y/N) noticed he had his hand covering his eyes even though he couldn’t see her from where the door was. Her heart skipped from the small gesture.

“T-Thank you. I’ll be back out in a few minutes.”

“Take your time.” He closed the door.

(Y/N) noticed his shampoo was the citrus she had smelled earlier while his body wash was the woods smell. She decided that combination was her new favorite smell. Once she was out of the shower and wrapped in one of his towels she walked out to find his door closed. On the bed was an extra large Longhorns t-shirt and gym shorts. There was also a pair of black Calvin Klein boxer-briefs which she was thankful for. However, not having a bra to wear was going to be difficult.

She stepped into his closet and chuckled from all the burnt orange shirts. She found one of his tank tops and slipped it on. She rolled the bottom up beneath her breasts and tied it off with her ponytail. The girls would at least be secured but one good cool wind and her nipples would be on display.

“Maybe it’s time to step up to whiskey.” She muttered as she slipped on the rest of Glen’s clothes.

Opening the door, she found a muscular, tan back standing there like a bodyguard, “Sorry, I just didn’t want anyone walking in here on you. My family is not big on boundaries nor are my niece and nephew.”

She chuckled, “Thanks for keeping watch and for the clothes.”

He turned around and she watched as his eyes traveled the length of her body. Goosebumps spread across her flushed skin. When his eyes came back up to hers they were darker and filled with something that she refused to let herself believe was there.

“Have to say, those look way better on you than on me.”

(Y/N)’s default mode clicked on whenever she received compliments, “I highly doubt that, but thanks. They’re at least more comfortable than my swimsuit. By the way, do you have somewhere I could wash my clothes out?”

“Yeah, give them to me and I’ll put them in the washer. You can head back out to enjoy the party.” She handed him her suit and clothes, “Man, I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you in this. I bet it looked great on you.”

He headed down the stairs leaving (Y/N) speechless. Was Glen Powell flirting with her? No way. She was delusional from the alcohol and sun. She headed back outside where she found Addison swimming in the pool with Zac. Seeing them together, she knew she didn’t need to ask if they were together. It was obvious by the way they looked at one another that they were. Once again, (Y/N)’s green eyed monster raged inside of her. Deciding she needed some more time alone, she headed out towards the barn then kept walking to the field behind it.

She was watching a team of guys setting up fireworks for the big display later that night. She could still hear everyone laughing and having fun behind her, suddenly she felt tears falling down her cheeks. She loved her best friend, but it was obvious she didn’t fit into her life anymore. She was hanging out and dating celebrities and traveling the world.

What was she doing? Still working the same job and never allowing anyone to get close to her. She gave up on dating after her one and only boyfriend had cheated on her. Did she want someone in her life? The family and white picket fence? Of course, but the closer to forty she was getting the further away that dream seemed to be getting. Seeing how happy Addison was and how wonderful her life was a harsh reminder of how meaningless her own life was.

“You okay?”

Turning around, she found Glen walking up now wearing a navy tank top and his dark Ray Bans covering his eyes. She quickly wiped away the wayward tears.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

He leaned his forearms against the fence, looking out over the field, “I see you found my ‘I need a moment’ spot. I love coming out here and just being. I don’t have to be actor Glen, but just me.”

“I bet that is exhausting.” He nodded as she looked at him from the corner of her eyes, “On behalf of fans everywhere, I appreciate all the hard work you put into your characters. I can’t tell you the number of nights I have watched one of your rom-coms laughing and making my day better.”

He looked down at her with a smile, “Thanks, that means a hell of a lot to me.”

“However, I have to say, I wish they would pair you up with a woman your age. Seeing you make out with a woman ten years younger gives girls like me a complex.” She chuckled.

“How so?” He asked, turning towards her.

She sighed, “You never see a leading woman that is both older and doesn’t have a model’s body. The average size of a woman is 14/16 which is plus size and if I had to guess I bet the majority of rom-com audience is like me. A woman in her late thirties, plus size, single and looking for hope that men like Glen Powell would be interested in her.”

“You don’t think guys like me would be with a woman like you?”

His question was genuine, but made her scoff, “In the movies they aren’t. Why would I believe that in real life? Probably why I’ve been single for over a decade now. It’s easier to fantasize over fictional men or celebrities than putting myself out there to get humiliated.”

He stepped closer to her, his fingers brushing against her cheek and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. He pushed his sunglasses up on top of his head and his glossy eyes were staring down into hers. She had dreamt of him looking at her in this very way a million times. The way he looked at every leading lady in one of his rom-coms.

“What if I told you that I do find you attractive? That I find you incredibly sexy.”

“I’d say that you’re a great actor.” She tried to look away, but he gently grabbed her chin making her look at him.

“I’m not acting. The moment Addison showed me a picture of the two of you, I thought you were the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen. The way she gushes about you and all the work you do for your students. The difference you’re making in their lives. I couldn’t imagine anything more sexy than a woman who loves to help those who need it.”

(Y/N) stepped away from him, “It’s really nothing special. Yes, I’m there for them and help them in any way I can, but so do a lot of staff. Honestly, there’s nothing special about me. I’m definitely not gorgeous. I mean, you’re around beautiful actresses and models all the time. They’re gorgeous, me not so much.”

“Addison warned me that you usually put yourself down when you receive compliments.” He took a step towards her engaging in an awkward dance as she stepped backwards.

“Warned you? So, this was a set up?” (Y/N) rolled her eyes, “Did she really think you were going to magically fall in love with me and sweep me off my feet. Which by the way, you couldn’t, not literally anyway.”

“I asked her to introduce us. Yes, I found you attractive and after hearing Addison talk about you non-stop in Oklahoma, I wanted to meet you. Addison is not only my assistant but a dear friend and if you’re important to her then you’re important to me as well.”

He closed the distance between them pressing her back against the fence and caging her in with his strong arms on either side of her. He leaned in towards her and she sucked in a breath, holding it in her chest.

“I wasn’t hoping to fall in love or sweep you off your feet. Which I could totally do.” He smirked, “I was hoping to meet the amazing woman Addison loves so much and who happens to be fucking gorgeous.”

“Glen, I…” She let out a trembling breath, “I'm nobody and I don’t do one night stands. Even if it’s with a sexy movie star that I’m sure would give me the orgasm of my life. It’s not me and I don’t see you wanting to settle down with a high school secretary.”

He leaned closer to her. His nose brushing alongside hers and his lips merely an inch from hers. She wanted to look away, but his eyes were mesmerizing.

“Won’t know unless you give me a chance.”

His lips pressed against hers. They were soft and tasted of tequila as he pulled her bottom lips between his teeth. Suddenly, her body felt like it was on fire and she wanted more. Needed more. His large hands fell to her hips and pulled her tighter against him. (Y/N) wrapped her arms around his neck, pushing her hands into his soft hair. His sunglasses falling from his head was enough to knock her senses back into place. She pressed her hands against his chest, pushing him gently away.

“We… I… this can’t happen. It’s not happening.” She stammered.

(Y/N) took off back towards the barn as Glen called after her, “(Y/N)! (Y/N), please wait!”

She didn’t stop until she was in the pool house and in Addison’s room with the door shut. Tears immediately sprung to her eyes and she sank to the floor beside her bed. What the hell was she doing? Glen Powell had kissed her. Told her she was gorgeous and yet she was sitting on the floor crying. Why couldn’t she be more impulsive and have one night with a man who was way out of her league? Looking at her reflection in the glass from the sliding door, she sighed.

“Because you catch feelings, (Y/N).” She whispered.

“(Y/N)?” Addison’s voice came through the door, “You alright?”

She opened the door, “Seriously, Glen Powell?”

“Let me explain.”

“Addison, what did you think was going to happen? You couldn’t actually believe this was going to work in any sort of way.”

They sat down on her bed, “I talk about you non-stop with him. I’ve told him all your stories from school with your kiddos. I’ve told him how I’m worried about you being alone all the time and how I wish you could meet a nice guy like him. How proud I am of all you’ve done for your health and how you love your body for what it is.”

(Y/N) placed her head in her hands, “And what, he was like ‘oh I want to meet this chick’?”

“Not his exact words, but yes. When he started planning this party, he asked if there was anyone I would like to invite. I told him Zac and his friends…” She paused looking at her bashfully, “Yeah, I’m kind of seeing Zac Levi.”

“No shit, Sherlock. I could tell that from the lovey-dovey looks you give one another. After my breakdown you can spill all about how that happened.”

Addison nodded, “Anyway, Glen asked if I wanted to invite you. I told him that you’re pretty introverted and didn’t like going to parties. He dropped it, but then when he was having me finalize the list of people I noticed he had added your name at the end of the list. When I asked him about it, all he said was he wanted to meet the amazing best friend I kept talking about.”

“So, you decided to turn it into a set up? Knowing full and well I would never fall for it.”

Her friend turned towards her, “It was never a set up. I warned him how you are. I asked him directly what he was up to. He told me that he found you attractive and wanted to get to know you.” She grabbed her hands, “Honestly (Y/N), I think he’s just a dude who is nervous to ask out a beautiful girl. It’s hard for him to meet anyone who doesn’t see him as only a famous actor and I really think he wants this part of his life to be as normal as possible.”

(Y/N) groaned, “You know this sounds like a fanfic I would read on Tumblr, right?”

Addison laughed, “Oh I’m well aware. However, doesn’t it make you want to see what happens? Usually, the next part would be you going to find him and you two would have a moment of tension that snaps. Then wham, bam, smutty dreams fulfilled.”

“I think I’m going to throw up.” (Y/N) took a couple deep breaths.

“That is not usually in the fanfics. Take the time you need, but please come back out and hang out with us. If anything, I’ll introduce you to Zac and you can fangirl over him.”

“I love you, but get out. I can’t even with you right now.” (Y/N) laughed as Addison hugged her.

Once she was alone again, (Y/N) went into the bathroom to splash cool water on her face. Looking into the mirror, she gave herself a once over. She walked out into the bedroom letting out a surprise yelp when she found Glen sitting on the bed.

“Scared the crap out of me.” She held her chest.

His eyes were focused on the floor, “Sorry. Addison said you were in here.” He stretched his long fingers out over his thighs before looking up at her.

“I wanted to apologize for coming onto you so strong and kissing you. I should have been more of a gentleman about it, not that I regret kissing you because I don’t.”

She sat down next to him, “I don’t either and you don’t need to apologize. It was nice to know I remembered how to kiss a man.”

He chuckled finally looking over at her, “It’s like I’m living out a meet-cute rom-com without a script and it’s terrifying. There’s a fine line between endearing and creepy. I feel like I’m crossing the line into creepy.”

(Y/N)’s hand was trembling but she placed it over his, “You’re not creepy. Addison told me about how you wanted to get to know me. I think it’s been so long since a man has shown any interest in me that I don’t know how to react to it. Let alone that man being someone I have fantasized about being the Leading Man in my own life.”

“Is there any way we could start over? You being you and me being just a normal dude wanting to ask you out?” He laced their fingers together, “Or at least ask you to watch fireworks with me?”

(Y/N) smiled, “I would love to watch fireworks with you… what was your name again?”

His breathtaking smile appeared as he stood up in front of her, “Hi, I’m Glen and you?”

She took his outstretched hand, standing up, “(Y/N), it’s nice to meet you totally normal dude who is definitely not a famous sexy actor.”

He laughed pulling her into his side slipping his arm around her shoulders, “That’s me. Normal dude who is thankful to have a chance to be in the presence of a beautiful woman.”

“Oh jeez, please stop with the compliments. They make me uncomfortable.” She sighed, sliding her arm around his waist.

-----

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[jacquesthepigeon]

I have personally seen cases where kids grow up as complete strangers to their heritage especially as is the case with my own cousin in California but that involved multiple factors

1) My aunt was isolated and practically estranged from boricua communities. There is a large latino population in California, yes, but it’s mostly Mexican, not a problem, but it’s drastically different from boricua culture. I cannot describe to you how sad it was to see her express relief at being around her people during holidays for the first time in over a decade.

2) Assimilation and shame was heavily encouraged. My aunt’s MIL, from Mexico, went as far as having her name legally changed to its English equivalent. Over the years since my aunt’s move to the states, there have been multiple incidents where she drastically exaggerated the state of the country and our living conditions (all way before the infrastructure, particularly electricity services, got noticeably Bad) based on sensationalist news articles. It got to the point where she called all of us “idiots” for staying.

Bringing it back to ML

According to a 2019 census, there were 71,500 parisians who reported being born in China, a figure that doesn’t account for descendants of chinese immigrants. That is a far cry from leaving Sabine isolated from her culture. She has ample resources to find and participate in a community of fellow chinese immigrants within the city.

In regards to assimilation and shame, just look at her fucking design and hobbies holy shit. It clearly doesn’t apply to her. As for her english (french?) name, it is a fairly common practice for people from various asian countries to adopt an english name. I’ve seen multiple explanations for this ranging from confucian self naming practices being influenced by exposure to western cultures all the way to workplace culture and convenience. In Sabine’s case, because her chinese name is so similar to her western name, I imagine it’s simply a matter of avoiding the headache of constantly correcting people on the spelling and pronunciation of her chinese name. It sucks that it’s something so many immigrants and even tourists have to do to be addressed respectfully but that’s also worth exploring within the narrative.

Which brings me to why it’s important that we recognize the crew’s intentions and POV when discussing how these characters and dynamics are written. They’re not considering any of these and countless other factors that affect how immigrants and their children interact with their own heritage. They want to be praised and lauded for being “inclusive” and “diverse” simply for commodifying a cultural aesthetic. They have no real concern for the people they’re profiting from or their lives and complexities.

So let’s assume for a moment that despite not being affected by any of the factors that I mentioned influenced my own aunt’s lack of educating my cousin about her culture, that’s still an issue that should be addressed specifically in regards to Sabine’s decisions in raising Marinette rather than pushing the blame onto Marinette for “not expressing interest” and learning on her own. The last few times my cousin has come to visit, we do our best to accommodate her and make her as comfortable as possible but when she inevitably lets it show that she is uncomfortable and would prefer to step away from the situation, my aunt has the nerve to shame her for not liking or participating in her culture. I assure you, my aunt was the only one blaming my cousin as we were all silently judging my aunt as she’s obviously the one responsible for it getting to this point, as we have been doing ever since we knew she wasn’t teaching my cousin spanish. So assuming this is the case with Sabine and Marinette, where Sabine had the means to teach Marinette at the very least the basics, and now Sabine is somewhat resentful of Marinette not figuring it out on her own, that is something that definitely needs to be addressed with close attention and care.

But they won’t.

Sabine is not a chinese immigrant in the interest of other chinese immigrants

Marinette is not a white-passing diaspora child in the interest of other white-passing diaspora children

There is no diversity or representation in this show that isn’t meant to turn them into props to make white men look better, be they fictional or real

That is the issue, not the existence of borderline caricature-esque immigrants or white-passing POC in the real world possibly getting representation. It’s not about them, never has been.

[within-your-eyes-if]

FAQs

Welcome to the FAQs post for Within Your Eyes. More may be added in the future!

Do you take NSFW Asks?

Yes! [Though at the moment, Asks are closed]

Will there be more poly routes?

Right now, the polyamorous routes I’ve included felt "right" to me. While I'm open to the idea of introducing more, I want to ensure that each route is well-developed and fulfilling. Therefore, I’m carefully considering any additional paths. My main focus right now is enhancing gameplay elements and keeping a manageable workload. Future updates might bring new possibilities, but for now, my energy is dedicated to enhancing the current experiences.

How many NSFW scenes will there be?

I let the story guide me a lot on certain things, letting it unfold organically, including NSFW moments. While I do follow a detailed timeline for the story, it's flexible enough to accommodate new ideas, including unplanned NSFW scenes. So, the exact number isn't predetermined — there could be quite a few, depending on how the story unfolds.

You should do __________!!

I receive a variety of suggestions for many aspects of the game. To streamline this process, I've set up a dedicated Feedback form. Please note that while I'm open to hearing your ideas, especially about technical aspects, there are limits to the changes I can implement. I encourage you to read the guidelines carefully before submitting!

Why can't the MC be a virgin?

Initially, I thought the MC's virginity could be an implicit aspect of their background, but I now recognize its significance to some players. While my story isn't purely NSFW, I can see the appeal for having this option, and I'm actively working on incorporating it — this includes adjusting existing scenes. I apologize for any oversight and appreciate your patience!

You said you've been working on this world for so long, why isn't it done?

Bringing a world that's been growing in my imagination for over a decade into an interactive format like Twine has been quite an endeavor. Initially, I envisioned a linear story with three main characters across three stories. However, as I started adapting it to an interactive, choice-driven narrative, I realized these characters wouldn't work as I had intended. This realization led to the introduction of a new character—our beloved Warden—and a shift in the storyline that hadn't been part of the original plan. These adaptations have opened up possibilities that have significantly enhanced my world. It’s taken time, yes, but the depth it's brought has been absolutely worth it!

"Who is ???" or "I already know who ??? is!"

While I love your curiosity and detective work (looking at you, code divers), I must tread carefully here. There’s definitely more than meets the eye. What you think you know is just another piece of a much larger puzzle. Regardless, I hope it will be worth the wait!

I love your story, thank you for sharing!

I promise I see you, and words cannot convey how much I appreciate and adore every message I've received. I keep them to uplift me on the hard days. I may not be able to answer them all, but know I cherish every one! Thank you for being a part of this journey ♥

[faded-if]

DEMO (TBA)

Have you ever had everything you thought you wanted? Everything you could ever dream of just within your grasp? Only to find out it was all built on quicksand?

You were the lead singer in the most popular band to grace the music industry in over a decade-- breaking records, amassing fame and fortune, and launching your career into a height you never believed possible. Everything was going great, better than you could ever hope to imagine, until it wasn't. Until everything started to fall apart. The dreams you had thought you wanted, the life you thought you'd be able to build, began to crumble around you.

So, you did the only thing you thought you could do, you ran. Left the band that you had created within a garage back in high school, and the people that had been with you through it all, behind. Never thought you'd go back, that you'd simply fade into obscurity, but the past has a way of catching up with you. Even after five years of being away, you'll always find your way back home.

Just like you find yourself back in the world you thought you'd left behind for the Legacy Tour-- an event that could right all of the wrongs you had caused.

Will you be able to save what's left of your career, your relationships, and your passion for music? Or will it all simply fade away once more?

Faded is rated 18+ for explicit language, sexual themes, drug/alcohol use, potential violence, morally questionable behavior, and more!

✯ FEATURES ✯

Customizable MC: name, nickname, appearance, gender, hobbies, facets of your personality, various vices, public image, and more!

Delve back into the world of the music industry! Will your MC enjoy being back or secretly long for the simplicity that they have carved out for themself?

Create your own music! Will you share it during the Legacy Tour? Wherein millions could finally hear the true story behind why you departed so swiftly?

Engage in romance with a variety of characters! Some may cause more gossip than others, and be notable for the tabloids, but it's all in the name of love!

Interact with fans, new and old, and discover what they think of your departure. Will you be able to win some of them back?

✯ THE ROs ✯

Hudson Lock ✯ He/Him, 26 ✯ A fan that still remembers when you had met years before; citing that you're the reason he has pursued his passion for photography. His passion, as well as his fervent drive to do better, is something to be commended-- especially when it's focused in the manner it seems to be during the Legacy Tour.

"You've been someone I've looked up to for so long, I hope that I can be someone you can rely on when it counts too."

Noah/Nora Fox ✯ He/Him or She/Her, 28 ✯ Your oldest friend and the person that had helped create the band with you-- the only person that had believed in you during the earlier days. The very same person that can barely look you in the eyes, and has shifted from a happy ray of sunshine to the classic partier that sleeps around. Will you be able to fix what's been broken?

Special Romance: Choose to have simply been best friends with them or have been in a relationship prior to you leaving.

"I hate how much I love you sometimes, I hate that it's still your face that I want to see first thing in the morning and the last thing I see at night. I fucking hate that you destroyed me, yet you still hold all the shattered pieces."

Angelina Thorne ✯ She/Her, 28 ✯ The woman that has taken over for you within the band. With an attitude as fiery as her hair, Angelina isn't one to back down from a challenge, especially if she feels threatened. It'll take a while to break down her walls, but she may just be worth the effort.

"I don't know what bugs me more. The fact that you're here or the fact that I can't fucking stand it when you're not."

Elijah/Elizabeth Knight ✯ He/Him or She/Her, 34 ✯ Your old manager hasn't changed in the slightest; barring that they're no longer married. You don't know how you feel about the news, nor do you wish to comprehend what it could potentially mean, but you do know that nothing would ever happen as long as they kept you at arm's length.

Special Romance: Choose to have had a crush on them, but nothing ever happened because they were married.

"You are, and will always be, my only exception."

Jaime Winters ✯ They/Them, 28 ✯ One of the few people you've let close to you within your new "normal" life. They're not the most talkative person, which you can appreciate, but they always make sure you know that they're listening, and they can brighten any room with a signature smile of theirs. Plus, when they do get comfortable their teasing quips and sly remarks can lighten the mood if needed.

"You're still you. You'll never be anyone else to me. I don't care how famous you are."

Harry/Harley Sharpe ✯ He/Him or She/Her, 29 ✯ A security officer that's been placed to protect you, and the band as a whole, during the duration of the Legacy Tour. They seem to be overall a gentle individual, surprising given their career choice, but their drive to protect and serve creates quite an intimidating presence for anyone wishing to cause you harm. Will you be able to resist their gentle eyes and understanding nature?

"I don't know why this happened, or if it's smart that it's continuing to happen, but I can't stop. I don't know if I'd even want to if I could."

[sahonithereadwolf]

Can I tell you about the very queer game I made this Pride?

In A World That Hates and Fears You, Living Becomes an Act of Rebellion.

Exceptionals is a game inspired by X-Men about and for the spaces and communities marginalized peoples make for themselves. Play as a Geno, one of little less than 0.5% percent of the population that has gone through a mysterious process called Claremont-Simonson mutation, as you try to navigate a world that won’t make room for you. Exceptionals is a game about what the mutant metaphor means to you and the different lenses through which we view it. Punch back and build something of worth together in this narrative tag-driven tabletop role playing game. 🧬Features Open-Ended Character Creation🧬 Mix and Match between (23) open-ended but guided protocols. Answer questions to create high concept and unique super powered characters where the only real limit is your imagination. Get invested in who you make as a whole person, and not just a set of powers. Build a Community 🧬Create a living and dynamic community space full of colorful characters. 🧬 Grow your base as an anchor for other geno and help fill it with the resources they and you need. Understand how your actions effect others and gain trust through the bonds mechanic. It’s a game where you get stronger by growing your community and heal by being part of it.

🧬Comic Book Storytelling 🧬 Play as a creative team of writers and editors working to tell the best version of the story you can over time and storyline-based experience to model changes of the status quo and creative direction. Enjoy panel based action pacing and the ability of characters of all power levels to coexist and carry the same amount of story weight.

🧬Not Pain Tourism 🧬 While Exceptionals offers a number of places to push back, we understand and recognize that the most important part of a punching bag is that you choose to hit it, even if it’s not at all. We recognize not everyone gets to set the issues that the mutant metaphor is used to talk about down when they leave the table and offer many ways to tell stories outside of a lens defined by pain. We also put an emphasis and mechanical weight on the importance of joy and celebration. 📚You can buy the Core Book here:📚 https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals 📚You can buy the Expansions here:📚 https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals-expansion-bundle 📚You can buy the bundle with everything here:📚 https://bramblewolfgames.itch.io/exceptionals-expansion-bundle I didn’t go out with the intent of making this a very queer game. Not explicitly. I started making games because  I got frustrated waiting to feel seen or acknowledged. Another game got me mad about using my peoples stories to be transphobic, to be racist, to be ableist. Nevermind my people have more than two genders traditionally and faced a genocide. That was too much for me. I said this was enough and the quite indignities I suffered to feel included wasn’t worth it. I could do better myself.  So I set out to make a superhero game. I hated just about every comic book game on the market. It never seemed to capture what I did like about big hero comics with high concept storytelling and powers and couldn’t care less on a mechanical or narrative level about who this person was outside the mask. More focused on bashing action figures together and golden age pastiche that doesn’t really reflect the decades of character and genre developments that have happened since then. I later found games that do it better, but I was dissatisfied... I chose x-men for the homies. I’ve always been an x-men fan. A lot of people my age were. My first action figure was one of rogue I got at a garage sale, where she then went on to fight many a play-dough monster. But for many of us it was the first place we were allowed to be heroes. There are no natives on the 90′s x-men team. But I had uncles and older kids all too eager to tell me about Forge and Warpath (I hate that name) and my favorite Dani Moonstar (I ain’t the biggest fan of that name either, but she’s the closest thing mainstream hero comics have to a good NDN).

After that, things just kinda flowed from there. The X-men have such a focus on community. It’s “comics greatest soap opera”. It can be messy, complicated, beautiful and life-affirming all at the same time. They take the time to play basketball, go to the mall, and have birthday parties as they grow. Two of my favorite x-men comics aren’t about fighting at all. One is framed around a sleepover some students have, and another is about a wedding and framed around everyone filming their part of the wedding tape.

So I started thinking about the communities I’ve been a part of. A big core of the game is informed by my time and the people I met in these sort of spaces. As a native, as a queer person, as a disabled person I’ve been both someone who needed them and someone who gave back.

Which suited x-men just fine. X-men has cared about that sort of thing from about X-men #3 with the first appearance of The Blob, establishing it’s tone of sympathy and mutants as a minority analog.

I just kept going and I didn’t stop. And apparently I did a good job. Someone out there has been using my game as game-therapy and community outreach in a gender health center out in California. I got a lot of kind words for the game too (which is good, because I spent 3 years on it).

KUDOS

-As featured on; io9/Gizmodo, Kotaku, Listen to Theses Nerds, Team-Up Moves, Yes Indie'd Pod, Team-Up Moves, and The Voice of Dog -#1 Best Seller and Popular on Itch.io in both Analog & RPG Games, Sept 2021

Listen to the Team-Up Moves AP Here!: https://teamupmoves.com/runs/exceptionals "Exceptionals is a beautiful, brilliantly designed superhero RPG. It's truly a masterpiece, and if you haven't checked it out, do yourself a favor." -@PartyOfOnePod

"This thing COOKS, Sahoni doesn't just tap into the queer/minority readings of mutants, but also ties in the weirdness that really gets my mind racing when it comes to X books." -@froondingloom 

"A refreshingly different game, that strikes a good balance between unlimited player freedom and solid guiding handrails. Really gets at the full potential of what the ;mutant outcast heroes' genre should be about: found family, building communities, and lives lived to the fullest despite being lived in defiance." -@guywhowrotethis 

"The whole game oozes love for its inspiration while also going further than they dared...." -@Phoenix24Femme

"Astonishing! Uncanny! All-New! And all other X-Adjectives available. This book gets why one would want to play the Mutant Metaphor in an RPG. It cleverly weaves the power fantasy of powerful individuals with the drive to do good for one's community. It's well-researched, well-written and, well, so much fun to play! This is the superpowered game I've been wanting for a long, long time. I can't wait to tell an Exceptional story of my own!" -@Kokiteno Team-up moves even made a recommended comic reading list. It has some of the best x-men has to offer and then some. It even includes that  New Mutants comic with the sleepover. They read me for filth and I love it.

I hope you play my game too. I hope you like it. I hope you tell queer stories and build community around you. I hope it’s messy, complicated, beautiful and life-affirming all at the same time. Thank you for reading this. Please reblog if you can as well as share it with x-men and rpg fans in your life.

[terrence-silver]

how do you think what Larusso's relationship would be like! beloved (daniel's oldest daughter in her twenties) and old man! Terry during the Cobra Kai timeline, especially if beloved, was extremely morally similar to Terry? let's say, they "match each others freak." ❤️ I love your blog, especially because I'm also a writer and I love your take on Terry, your in-depth character study of him is terrific, sorry for any mistakes, english is not my first language, I'm Brazilian, lots of love from here!

Hello, Brazil! ❤️

---

Frankly, I think Daniel would just feel downright haunted by one of his kid's proclivities and her character long before Terry ever returns into the picture --- years and years before he does, actually. This is an ongoing process that stems back to the time Mr. Miyagi was still alive; it's like Terry Silver never went away in the first place, notwithstanding the lingering trauma and bad memories that Daniel would have to live with on a daily basis, but that his own daughter is starting to resemble one of his demons from the past in worldviews, personality and behavior now too; it is literally the worst development imaginable. Nothing and nobody in his life is safe. Moving on is impossible when the battlefield is happening under your own roof. This whole city, the passing decades, The Valley itself as a whole and each passing generation feels like it has something of Terry Silver's in them and he's never truly gone. His darkness is stubbornly ever-present.

It's like Terry infected everything, even things and people he never actually touched.

Never came in contact with.

Never interacted with.

Nonetheless, it is there, finding ways to seep into every pore of his existence like an infection, possibly leading to Daniel being strictest precisely with his oldest daughter in the hopes that he'd steer her away from becoming the way she's becoming to overcompensate for her shortcomings and all the things he's expected of her but that she didn't live up to from his point of view. Something she might take to heart, because what child of their parent's wouldn't? Cause her to feel like she's far from her father's favorite. Like he cares for Sam, Antony and Louie a lot more and that he sees them as 'the good children he can feel proud of' because they're incarnations of everything Mr. Miyagi espoused...unlike her', which couldn't be further from the truth because Daniel would adore his estranged daughter too, but still, his stance towards her would be here causing her to wish to rebel, go against the mold even more and willfully embrace every bad impulse she has even more than ever before because it's hard to reconcile the fact that she's incompatible to her family. That she's distinct. Daniel takes a different approach with his problematic older daughter because he loves her and doesn't want her to grow into a morally questionable person, but is simply so afraid of what he's witnessing in her that his methods might be unbalanced, their root found in fear --- infinite parental concern. Meaning, he might snap, he might yell, he might be judgmental and not always be an exemplary, patient parent, because validly, it's hard to be exemplary when your own kid reminds you so much of a past abuser who messed you up for life. He might take some draconic measures with her too. His belief in pacifism and 'letting go' might just vane as well. What choice does he have? She's starting to resemble...someone he knew a long time ago. Someone he'd rather not speak of anymore. Jesus! He doesn't even want to think about it ever again! Hard not to! When she's right there, at the dinner table, in his own house, his own flesh and blood, someone he adores, someone he would do anything in the world for --- anything but accept that she's going down a negative path. What parent worth his penny would? Should he just allow that without doing anything?

So, when she befriends Terry, of all people?

Becomes a little too close for comfort with him?

It's a nightmare.

It's like watching his life's work and efforts at setting a good example literally collapse and history repeat itself except in an infinitely worse way than could ever be anticipated. Daniel would be convinced Terry Silver has perversely planned this for god knows how long and that getting under the skin of his daughter was premeditated, and heck, knowing Terry, maybe it was too and that this is revenge. Some sort of sick scheme. Grooming. The desire to continue ruining his life by hitting Daniel where it hurts most, even decades after everything that's went down and for the longest time, Daniel would feel like he's the only one who understands the unhinged gravitas of the situation, causing him to feel crazy and all alone in the world, with nobody to get his point of view and how eerie and harrowing Terry being with his daughter actually is, whereas Amanda, for example, wouldn't see the full picture for a good while, her concerns being limited solely to the age difference, but not the actual context under which any of this is happening seeing as how she's not entirely aware of what went down between Terry and Daniel because Daniel didn't tell her. In fact, she might even understand why their daughter likes Terry Silver. He's rich, he's handsome, he's charming, sure, a little sleazy, perhaps, but ultimately the harmless, inoffensive kind of sleazy (ultimately being too old for their daughter). She might even see Daniel freaking out as slightly overblown. He's overreacting. Of course, man's old enough to be her grandfather and it's a reason for concern and intervention but surely, not the amount of panic and crisis Daniel's exhibiting --- except, it makes the whole situation only feel the more dizzyingly infuriating, because that, that guy, right there, is also simultaneously the worst person Daniel knows and he knew quite a lot of those. And now, his own daughter is consorting with him. How does Amanda...just not get it!? He would feel like he's losing his damn mind. Terry Silver ruined so much of his late teenage years and the years that followed, influenced by the lingering trauma and trust issues; the last thing Daniel would allow for him to have his daughter's soul too. This whole discourse might just lead to the Larusso's marriage encountering shaky grounds.

Amanda could easily be taking her daughter's side, because ultimately, she'd see her daughter as a free person (and she'd critically misunderstand how awful this whole thing) is and Daniel would become more and more volatile seeing as how he wouldn't feel empathized with in the least bit. ''It's the man who tortured me when I was just eighteen!'' he'd yearn to scream out. ''He made me believe he was my friend. That he had his best intentions at heart. And then he tortured me and I trusted him, Amanda! He and John Kreese! They did it together! And now, Terry Silver's got his hooks in our daughter and she's letting him! You're telling me to calm down!? I can't calm down!''

Daniel would fight against the situation with all his might.

He'd argue.

He'd get his hands dirty.

He'd ironically show that bit of Cobra Kai he had in him all along.

He'd do things he'd do in no other situation if it meant changing his kid's perspective.

But, he'd under no circumstance accept his daughter being the way she is.

Just like he wouldn't accept her being with the enemy.

Terry Silver can't have his family.

Terry Silver, though? He'd manipulatively and very sweetly expertly exploit this pre-existing rift in the family to masterfully to divide the Larussos even further and get exactly what he wants by being the (seemingly) understanding, concerned supportive shoulder for Daniel's daughter and offering the camaraderie she doesn't feel she ever had at home. He becomes her support network. Her only support network, eliminating everyone else who isn't him because there's 'no matching the freak' of someone who has a couple of decades of experience in malice ahead of you, who fought in a war and who could, effectively, push came to shove, kill and die with relish. Daniel's daughter might think she can go toe to toe with Terry where being chaotic is concerned (and he'd fuel and enable her belief that this is true) but is there really anyone who actually can? Heck, he might even encourage her to keep a good relationship intact with her folks all while effectively sabotaging said relationship purely so he'd seem guiltless in the matter, playing good cop, bad cop accordingly. But, ultimately he's cool! He's awesome! He lovebombs! He lavishes! He's generous! He's seductive! He can give the spoiled Italian princess the life she's used to and so, so, so much more. He takes on whatever mask and personality is best suited for the situation to draw people in! He's older and by extension, probably makes a younger woman feel more mature and 'cool' by comparison too, appealing to whatever mommy and daddy issues are present! He's all about embracing instincts, impulses, holding nothing back which feels liberating to the otherwise Zen and possibly stifling teachings of Mr. Miyagi! He's rich! He's knowledgeable! And he's Terry Silver, which automatically could mean a world of damage. Never doubt the man's an influence that would entirely destroy what little stability's left in this family and turn Daniel's daughter against her father, mom, brothers, her sister and literally everyone she ever knew. In the end, she'd get more than she's ever bargained for. She thought she had control over the situation. She didn't, though.

Her dad would've been correct all along.

Terry Silver corrupts and devours.

Nothing's for free.

[quaintlyfig]

Having thoughts after reading @dimplyowl's posts about Izzy and Ed and their behaviors.

I mean, I've had these thoughts a lot already. I attempted to express some of them shortly after season 2 aired when folks on twitter would rail against Ed's violent behavior toward Izzy at the same time they vehemently insisted that Izzy had never done anything bad ever to Ed. I tried to craft thoughtful responses on posts of people I thought might be interested in having a conversation and open to maybe understanding a different way of understanding Izzy's behavior. I did this maybe about three or four times, and every time I was 100% completely ignored. No "thanks for sharing your thoughts," no "cool story, bro," no "get fucked." Crickets. Zip, nada, zilch.

This show is silly and serious, goofy and deep, sweet and heavy. And I like exploring both sides - being able to float in the fun and being able to plumb the depths. And I'm in this fandom to do both of those things in a safe community - which I experience in abundance each day and am so grateful for! - not to be re-traumatized by people who are gleeful and militant apologists for emotional abuse. I became very well acquainted with the block and mute buttons around this time, happy to curate my experience.

I freely admit that this is a bit of a ramble and that it won't be flawless, but it feels good to organize my thoughts.

Content note before you continue reading: Author's experience with physical and emotional abuse as it relates to their thoughts regarding Izzy Hands' character and people's dismissal of the gravity of emotional abuse. Not gratuitous, but take care of yourself, and do not continue reading if that may cause you harm. And yes, I've been to lots of therapy, for which I am very grateful! 💜

I was raised by season 1 Izzy Hands.

Filled with rage, virulently jealous, and expertly manipulative. Someone who expected me to meet their every need by existing in their fantasy world where they were the ultimate martyr, and I was the ungrateful piece of shit they bent over backwards for. Gaslighting and crazy-making were literally a part of my everyday existence.

Less frequently, this person was also physically abusive, and I feared this abuse even on the occasions it didn't occur.

Both fucked me up plenty, and I won't play the "abuse olympics" and say one was worse than the other. (And I would imagine that there isn't such a thing as "only" physical abuse - the two are intimately tied together.) I will say that in my *own* experience, which is individual to myself and probably the proportions of each type of abuse, I have found the emotional abuse to be absolutely insidious in the ways it molded my understanding of self, relationships, love, affection, communication, sex, worth, sense of free will, responsibility, and more. I am still unraveling these things even over a decade after I cut all contact with this person.

The scene where Izzy confronts Ed, who is cleaning up his cabin and wearing the pink robe, is one that really sticks out to me.

A decent number of the Izzy-apologist takes I read talked about how Izzy didn't do anything wrong when he told Ed he'd be better off dead than as a "namby pamby in a silk dressing gown pining for his boyfriend." That he only serves Blackbeard and that Edward "had better watch his fucking step." These people said that Ed could have basically let that go like water off a duck's back and never become the Kraken.

We are responsible for our own actions *and* abusers know exactly how to push your buttons, get under your skin, take you down at your knees, and to grind your face into the gravel when you're already down. They know exactly where to stick the proverbial knife to do the swiftest, most lethal damage with the fewest words. They know how to make you feel like less than nothing - that you have NO inherent worth outside of what you do and how you serve them - so that you will bend to their will.

This scene shatters my heart every single time. I think Con and Taika both get their characters so right in every syllable and micro-expression during this exchange.

And whether Izzy's manipulation is conscious or unconscious doesn't matter. Just as there are reasons, but no *excuse* for the way Ed hurts people (or that Stede or the Badmintons, etc, hurt people), there is no *excuse* for the way Izzy abuses Ed (or anyone else).

I also heard people saying that Izzy's threats were empty and Ed should have known that. No, there isn't one single thing about Izzy's threats that were empty. He brought the fucking British to the Revenge and tried to have Stede - the man Ed loves - executed before Ed's eyes.

"Are you really going to lick the king's boots" wasn't about Izzy wanting Ed to be free. Ed felt free and happy with Stede when he could be someone softer and 3-dimensional. Izzy wanted Ed to be licking *his* boots in his every choice and behavior, even if Ed was captain in name. Izzy never served "his captain" - he only ever served the Blackbeard of his fantasies. A caricature that left Ed feeling utterly hollow and contemplating "packing it all in" (which didn't mean "retirement" when he said those words).

I simply don't have time anymore for people who wish to live in their own fantasy world where Izzy is a wholly-innocent victim being preyed upon by the Big Bad Kraken. The Kraken may have been born the night Ed killed his dad, so that part of Ed pre-existed Izzy, but Izzy did say in his own dying words that he fed the darkness in Ed and needed it for himself.

I know some people have a hard time seeing Izzy as a father-type figure to Ed, as David Jenkins has said before. But I can see it perfectly clearly. He's living his life through Ed, wanting him to perform exactly as ordered, to be a two-dimensional figure that satisfies his own need to feel important and needed.

One thing I haven't seen discussed as much that I absolutely recognize in Izzy from my own experience with my abuser is his incredible jealousy of anyone else that gets Ed's attention. He does not want anyone else to be close to Ed. He wants to be the gatekeeper to Blackbeard and the only one to call him Edward. He literally tries to have Stede killed because of how jealous he is. He does not want anyone else to love Ed, and he doesn't want Ed to love anyone else. He is so deeply insecure that he cannot share him at all.

If Ed has a real relationship (of any kind, not just romantic - he and Stede start out as instant BFFs), then he is not capable of performing Izzy's version of Blackbeard and pouring all of his energies into serving Izzy's (obviously very unhealthy) emotional needs. It's a zero sum game. Izzy has to have all of Ed, or he's "lost" the game.

Izzy needs to be to needed so badly that he creates in his mind a Blackbeard/Ed who cannot function without him, and he will do whatever it takes to shove Ed back into the box he needs him in in order to keep his own identity secure. Because if Ed doesn't have to be Blackbeard, that means he doesn't need Izzy, and who is Izzy without Blackbeard? He doesn't have a stable self and so *uses* Ed to prop himself up to feel like "somebody." He has built his own identity around the fantasy of Blackbeard.

Just because someone isn't losing toes doesn't mean abuse isn't happening. Emotional abuse is real. Additionally, perpetrators of violence have often been victims themselves. (This isn't even touching on the fact that they're all pirates.) Ed can be both. These things are messy as fuck. But I will say that Izzy's abuse clearly pre-dated Ed's Kraken-era violence against Izzy by years, at least, if not decades.

I'm genuinely not sure what the perceived merit or gain is in pretending otherwise. And just as Ed is ultimately responsible for his own actions, so is Izzy.

I appreciated Izzy's redemption arc, and I cried when he died. And I think it's ok that Izzy died. And Izzy was a very skilled emotional abuser in season 1. All of those things can be true at the same time.

I know there are a thousand other ways to come at this topic and examine it. I didn't even touch the question of apologies or redemption or any of that. Nor am I going to. This was primarily a personal examination of season 1 Izzy Hands' abusive behavior.

--

Image from Our Flag Means Death Frames on twitter

[ogrepoppenangleaksofficial]

WHO WINNING THE TWERK-OFF: HtP edition

Through careful analysis I have determined out of nearly every character we've been introduced to so far, who would win a naked and covered in oil twerk competition

First up is the Arcanum and immediately most of them are disqualified for having little to no ass or heart. There's really only four worth talking about. Brok has cheeks but wouldn't do it (DO I'Z LOOK LOIK A POOF TO YEW?!), Grimy has potential but would not lock in and probably would end up doing some weird shit she saw in a doujin, Harry has the bod and knows how to move it, and Elise is well...just look at her

Team vamp is pitiful. Shitbeard canonically has negative ass, Ape is too wound up, and while Guy and the manager would do it if vitae was on the line, they wouldn't be very good. Pyotr is the only one bringing his A+ game and probably should diablerize the others for that instant BBL

Team Hunter has some choice picks. Boy is disqualified for obvious reasons (sorry kid, maybe if we get a timeskip), Horse physically cannot twerk, and Krakus won't leave the well so it's down to the mains. While the sweatpants are doing him some favors, Kitten couldn't possibly stand up to the competition, I'm sorry. Door could probably crush a Coke can with those buns of steel but he doesn't seem like he can't move that mass effectively. Marckus is really the only choice, as we can see an episode 1 that shit was moving like water. D obviously moves on but that should go without saying.

So who wins? I hate to say it but Harry, Pyotr, and Marckus aren't up to the task, they might be good but not that good. So it's down to Elise and D. (Though out of the runners up, I think Pyotr beats Harry by the skin of his fangs)

Elise has cake on cake on cake (I don't know why you guys made her so incredibly stacked) but D actually cinches it due to that. She's a natural talent and natural talents are known for not putting in the work because they don't really need to. Besides, I don't see this as being something she'd be particularly enthused about, so I can imagine her just squatting down and doing literally whatever because it's gonna clap and jiggle regardless.

D on the other hand is going to WERK. He is going to shake it like rent is due. It'd look like that one scene from American Dad. You didn't think it was possible for ass to move like this. He has decades of experience and this certainly isn't his first rodeo. He has flawless technique with the physique to seal the deal.

So in hindsight the answer was kind of obvious,

BIG-D WINS