#the path to hell was pathed by good intentions

[daryltwdixon]

Chapter 6

series masterlist Summary: In the time between when he took you to now, something changed. His hands grew gentler. Your fear turned quiet. And somewhere in the stillness, love kindled. || fluff, this chapter is nsfw, Pre-Boston QZ, Stockholm Syndrome, slow burn, raider!joel, captor!joel, a little bit of dark!joel, homestead, kidnapping, dark themes, morally gray comfort, slow burn, mentions of violence and death, referenced abusive family || notes: again thank you for your love and patience on this!! I daydream about these two all day and then get stuck when writing them because I want to do them justice :') enjoy!

You made yourself busy for the rest of the day.

Normally, most of your chores were done by midday—garden tended, laundry rinsed (now that you had more than just the clothes on your back) and hung, water hauled from the well—but you found ways to keep moving. Anything to stay out of the house. Anything to keep your hands occupied while your mind refused to be still.

You weeded the front path for the second time that week, even though it didn’t really need it. You pulled up overgrowth around the porch, tried to flatten the wild patches into something that looked intentional. Homely. Like a place someone might come home to.

Samson followed close behind, his big paws thudding softly over the grass, tongue lolling as he sniffed the air, circled you, then flopped in the shade nearby. You swore he could sense that restless current in your chest, that burning prickle at the back of your neck that hadn’t left since the morning.

Since you’d seen him.

You hadn’t meant to. God knows you weren’t trying to eavesdrop. But the image of him, there, in the bedroom you shared now, door just barely ajar, sitting on the side of the bed was hard to shake now that you had seen it. The way you had watched his hand moving in a rhythm that skyrocketed your pulse, his mouth slack and breath catching in his throat. And worse…so much worse was the way he had whispered your name. Like it had been clawed out of him. 

But you made sure to leave before he could see you, before whatever haze had fogged your brain could freeze you in place. You turned fast, heart in your throat, catching your breath in the kitchen before stumbling out the front door, splashing cold water on your face from the well.

Even now, hands covered in dirt and scraped raw from wiry weeds, you couldn’t stop seeing it. Couldn’t stop feeling it.

And it only got worse when Joel finally made an appearance onto the porch. You heard him, hell, felt his presence before your eyes caught the movement. 

When your eyes dared to look over at him, your stomach twisted. He looked so…normal. His worn boots, faded and stained denim jeans and plaid shirt with the rolled up sleeves. But now, you saw more. Things you’re not sure you would’ve noticed before. Because now there was a flush blotching at the column of his throat where his skin met his collar. His eyes found yours across the yard with a flicker of something more than recognition. Something like the embers of coals at the end of a bonfire, smoldering low and warm. 

You dropped your gaze immediately, wrestling with a patch of stubborn grass near the front step. 

“You got the whole yard torn up,” he eventually said, his voice a bit quieter than usual.

You didn’t look up at him though, “Thought we needed a path.”

There was a pause. You could picture him in your mind’s eye so easily—standing there, nodding, eyes scanning the land like he always did.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “looks good.”

You hummed a non-response, and soon you heard the screen door creak shut again as he went back inside. You exhaled, wiping the back of your hand against your sweaty forehead, only then realizing how tightly your hands had curled into fists.

“A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green. The…the water is warm too, for it has s-slipped twinklin’ over the yellow sands in the sunlight before reaching the narrow pool…”

Your voice was barely above a whisper, eyes flicking across the blurred, water-warped lines. You gripped the fragile copy of Of Mice and Men tighter in your hands, the spine cracking faintly as your shoulders readjusted against the headboard for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“…on one s-side of the river the golden foothill slopes curve up to the strong and rocky Gabilan Mountains, but…but on the v-valley side the water is lined with trees—willows fresh and green with every spring–”

The sound of your legs shifting over the bedspread was deafening in the stillness, skin brushing skin and itchy fabric in the quiet hush of candlelight. It made you falter, your voice catching on the next word as your eyes skimmed the page but didn’t see it. Then a voice broke through the silence, low and rough and startling in its closeness.

“You okay?”

Joel’s voice broke the disturbing loud silence of the room. You thought he’d fallen asleep long ago, unmoving beside you. But when you looked over, one of his eyes was open, peering up at you. His arms were tucked behind his head, elbows bent wide, the thin pillow beneath him flattened and bunched up where it sagged under his head.

“F-fine,” you answered quickly, your voice breaking beneath the weight of his one eyed stare. His brow twitched, just a little as he just kept watching as you turned back to your book, trying to will your heartbeat to slow.

But your eyes barely landed on the page again before they drifted sideways again. To him.

The slope of his nose. The shadowed dip of his throat. The harsh scar carved across the bridge of it. And his mouth, so soft and full, partially under behind that dark, peppered beard you couldn’t stop thinking about. About how it felt against your skin when he kissed you. How it tickled and scratched against your sensitive flesh. It gave you goosebumps even now— how warm he felt when he was that close.

The soft cotton of his shirt clung slightly at the collarbone, wrinkled and worn. He hadn’t gotten under the covers yet, and the candle beside the bed casted its dim, flickering light across the soft skin of his abdomen, the tufts of dark hair just visible where his shirt had ridden up and those old cotton pants slouched low on his hips.

Then he shifted, and your gaze shot back to his face only to find both of his eyes were open now. Fixed on you.

Your breath caught, and you whipped your head back to the book, holding it like a shield.

“--c-carrying in their lower l-leaf, uh, junctures the d-debris of the winter's flooding; and sycamores with mottled, w-white, recumbent limbs and…um, and branches that arch over the pool.”

You were muttering, tripping over your words, you knew that, but really were trying to refocus, yet the words were just lines and loops now. Useless.

You licked your lips without thinking, and he must have noticed, because the silence shifted, and he spoke again.

“You sure you’re alright?” Joel asked, quieter now, but there was something unmistakable in his voice. A teasing edge.

“I said I’m fine,” you replied, sharper than maybe you should’ve been at his amused tone. Your thighs pressed together again, knees colliding as you pulled them up closer to your body. You didn’t even realize you’d done it until it was too late.

“What’s got you all squirmy tonight?” Joel asked. His voice wrapped around you, thick and slow like molasses.

“Not squirming.”

He didn’t argue or tease anymore, but instead, his hand reached forward, fingers sending electric impulses through yours as they brushed against your hand where you held your book. He pulled it gently from your grip, folding it closed with care and setting it aside. 

“C’mon,” he murmured, warm light flickering against his cheekbones as he looked at you with sincerity, “talk to me.”

You curled your knees in closer, wrapping your arms around them as your back settled against the headboard. The space between you crackled, your throat tightening with the words you wanted to say. 

“I…” you cleared your already dry throat. “I saw…”

He waited, humming his gentle coaxing for you to continue.

You swallowed hard, eyes shifting to fix on him.

“I saw you.”

Joel didn’t move. But you were watching closely, watching every little shift in his face. You caught the way his mouth tightened, the faint pink rising along the tips of his ears. Subtle, maybe. Easy to miss in the dim light.

“What do y’mean?” he asked, voice low and steady, and the pink was moving to his cheeks as he asked it.

You hesitated, then forced the words out. “When I didn’t know where you were. I… I came upstairs.”

Just as quickly as something passed over his expression, it was gone. His shoulders tensed as he sat up a little straighter, arms lowering from behind his head to brace against the mattress.

“What exactly did you see, sweetheart?” he let out a deep exhale as he situated himself up.

Your eyes moved away again, back to the end of the bed, chin resting on your knees as you hugged them closer to your torso. Your thighs were molded together but it still wasn’t enough to ease the pulsing you felt. So foreign. So…strange.

“You were…” Your throat tightened. “You were sitting on the bed. I didn’t mean to look, I didn’t. I just—I walked by and the door was cracked and I—”

You stopped yourself before it turned into rambling. Before it sounded like an apology you weren’t even sure you owed him.

Joel didn’t speak right away. He shifted on the bed, leaning back, palms resting on his knees. He exhaled slow through his nose, jaw flexing once before his gaze slid away. “You ain’t in trouble,” he said after a beat, voice rough but soft. “Just… wasn’t expectin’ you to say that.”

You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“It made me feel…” You paused, fingers twisting in the hem of your shirt. “Weird.”

You could feel his gaze burning into the side of your face now, “Weird how?”

You licked your lips. “Like my body got all… warm. Hot. And uncomfortable. And tingly.” The word sounded ridiculous out loud. You stared at your toes, face warm. “I didn’t know what to do with it. I…I still don’t.”

Joel shifted on the mattress. You could sense it, the stiffness in his shoulders, the subtle tension in his breath. But when he spoke again, his voice was calm and measured. Always kind now.

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that,” he said gently. “It’s just your body… reactin’. Don’t gotta be embarrassed.”

You glanced over at him. His face was carefully neutral, but the blush creeping up his neck said otherwise.

“How do you… make it go away?” you asked, nearly a whisper, “it hurts.”

He blinked, eyebrows twitching, and for a second, you thought he hadn’t heard you. But then his eyes found yours again, sharper this time. Curious. Cautious.

His voice was careful. “You never… tried to deal with it yourself?”

You shook your head. “Not really. Once… I had…” You swallowed. “There was a boy. Back before… he was part of the group my—” you faltered, mouth suddenly dry. “Our families used to…trade or work with each other. And he and I messed around a little. But when my father found out…” Your eyes met Joel’s, not finishing the story. You didn’t think you had to.

He looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable in his expression. Then you added, almost to yourself, “I’m not…untouched. But I’ve never really, I don’t know, seen the point in all of it. Not until today.”

Joel’s voice dropped. “And what changed today?”

You swallowed. Your voice was barely a breath as you told him: “You said my name.”

Something passed between you then—something hot and slow and tingling with electricity.

Joel’s eyes softened at the edges, but his shoulders stayed tense. He exhaled through his nose and shifted closer. His hand reached out, stopped just short of yours. “You trust me?”

You nodded. It was as easy as breathing. Whatever hesitation you might’ve had days ago was gone with the girl who might’ve cowered at his outstretched hand.

He patted the cotton of his legs. “Okay. C’mere.”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. It wasn’t the first time he’d beckoned you closer. As if it was getting more and more natural for you to give in, to come to him. And so, you crawled toward him now, settling between his thighs. He reached for a pillow and tucked it behind his back, leaning against the headboard, then gently pulled you back with him until your spine rested against his chest.

“You tell me if this gets too much,” he murmured near your ear, his warm breath sending goosebumps to rise over your flesh.

Your only answer was another nod, your voice completely taken by the sudden closeness. Your fingers twitched where they hovered over his legs, uncertainty flooding your senses.

“Breathe,” he said gently, “just relax.”

You exhaled long and low before letting your hands rest against his thighs, grounding yourself in the warmth of him. Joel was quiet as his hands found your skin, so gentle and warm as he began to learn the shape of you. 

I ain't gonna touch you. Not unless you ask.

You weren’t sure what brought the memory back. Maybe it was the way his touch now came with warmth instead of warning, maybe it was how fast everything had changed in the quiet weeks since. How different he was. How different you were. 

Because you were hardly the same girl who had screamed and clawed at him, that girl who spat through cracked lips and flinched from his reach. 

The bruises had faded. Your cheeks had filled out, warmed with color from real meals and something that resembled a life. One that felt worth living.

You weren’t begging for freedom anymore. There were no more plans, no more escape routes scratched into your thoughts. No more counting the days. Because now, all you wanted was to be closer. Your body ached for it, your mind softening every time he was near.

His thumb moved in slow circles just above your hip, not wandering, but steady. A touch that was meant to soothe but made your stomach flutter nonetheless.

You weren’t afraid of his hands anymore.

Now, as you shifted slightly against him, your thighs pressed together on instinct. He felt the way your breath caught, the way your shoulders pulled tight, and he only held you a little closer in response.

“Still okay?” he asked, his lips close to your jaw now.

You sucked in a breath, trying to steady yourself, and nodded, smaller this time. “Mhm.”

“Talk to me,” he said gently.

“I just… I don’t know what to do,” you admitted, voice a whisper.

“That’s alright, baby,” he said, his lips brushing the corner of your jaw, “Don’t gotta do nothin’, just watch.��

You nodded again, uncertain if you had any more voice as his hand on your waist moved again, gliding over the front of your stomach, knuckles brushing up beneath the hem of your shirt. He paused there, warm palm resting just above your navel. The fabric had bunched slightly, and you could feel every ridge of his calluses against your skin. 

“Can I?” he asked.

You nodded. This time, without pause.

His hand continued upward, slow and reverent. He wasn’t searching for anything. Just learning. His fingers brushed the underside of your breast, then stopped. Another pause. 

“Okay?” he whispered.

“Joel,” you exhaled, shoulders rolling back with impatience, “please.”

He pressed a kiss to your bare shoulder, lips warm where the strap of your shirt had fallen. You could feel the smile that pulled at his lips against your skin, small and hidden. 

When his broad, calloused hand cupped you, your breath hitched. Not because it was bold or rough—but maybe because it wasn’t. His touch was patient, like he had all the time in the world and he’d wait until your skin stopped trembling and your ribs stopped shaking.

“You’re alright,” he murmured, lips still brushing your skin along the top of your shoulder. “Sweet girl. Let me show you.”

Your mind was caught between the heat of his hands and the weight of the names he kept whispering. Sweetheart. Baby. Sweet girl. Each one made your head spin, left your chest aching in ways you didn’t know how to explain. You’d said such cruel things to him all those days ago—sharp, angry words thrown like stones—and still, here he was. His touch was steady. His voice was gentle. He called you sweet like it was the only truth he knew.

Your eyes followed his movement, blinking down at the stretch of fabric over his knuckles as his hand curved to fit around the fullness of you beneath your shirt, and he squeezed, just ever so slightly, and you gasped. The sound pulled a soft rumbling from his throat, and a sudden warmth pooled even worse in your lower abdomen. His breath was coming in heavier now, the other hand now moving to your waist to anchor you to him. 

“T-take it off, please.” you said.

You thought maybe you’d be embarrassed, to be begging him like this. To be this open about the need growing between you. But now that his warm, broad hands were all over you, you couldn’t help it. The ache that pulsed between your legs lit your body like a fuse for him.

He didn’t hesitate, helping you pull the shirt over your head and setting it aside, his hands returning immediately. His palm spanned your waist, warm and steady, and he breathed out as if he needed a moment to take it all in.

“So pretty,” he said, voice hushed. He dipped his head, lips trailing along your neck, making you arch back into him without thinking.

You didn’t let yourself linger on the words for too long.

Pretty.

You weren’t sure when the last time was that someone had called you that and meant it. Or maybe no one ever had. Not your family, that you knew for certain.

Not when your skin would split and bruise beneath their hands, when your hair was tangled and your mouth bled. But now, beneath his hands, Joel’s, with his voice like that, you believed it for a second. 

He held you tighter, his fingers kneading you until they found the soft peaks of your breasts, taking the nipples between his digits so gently. Like he already knew where your body wanted him. You inhaled sharply, a shaky breath that melted out of you as his thumbs swept gently over sensitive skin. 

Everything was so quiet except your breathing, the soft rasp of it mingling with his. His lips hovered near your ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a ripple down your spine.

"That's it," he said. "Doin’ so good for me, baby."

The praise settled over you like a warm blanket, melting away what little nerves still clung to the corners of your thoughts. You weren't shy anymore. You weren’t uncertain. You just felt... wanted. Held.

He didn’t rush. Just breathed with you, deep and quiet, like he was syncing himself to the rhythm of your body. You didn’t think it was because he thought you were fragile, but because he knew what it meant for you to be touched like this and not flinch. No more pulling away, no more unease. Instead, you were arching and pushing back into his chest, breathing deeply at the feeling of him so thick and real against you. There was no mistaking the feeling at the base of your spine, something that sat heavy and rigid against you. It only made the ache between your legs so much worse, feeling it. Feeling him.

One of his hands slipped from your waist, trailing down your stomach with quiet intent. The rough pads of his fingertips stirred your skin into fluttering sparks, soft and ticklish and impossibly warm. Had you always been this sensitive? It felt like your body had been waiting for this—him—for longer than you could admit. Every brush of skin ignited something sharp and shivery beneath the surface. Your lips parted on instinct, tongue darting out to wet them, breath held like you were afraid to exhale and break the spell. 

He didn’t continue his descent into your cotton sleeping pants though, but instead massaged his palm down your thigh, coaxing your leg to fall open over his, and then the other. 

His breath was warm against your ear, your jaw, the column of your throat, “Tell me how you felt,” he murmured, “when you saw me.”

“I told you–”

“Tell me again.” His teeth grazed your ear, the gentlest bite, then just enough pressure to make your whole body jump. A little sound escaped you, sharp and startled, like the breath had been knocked from your lungs.

Your hands reached for him without thinking. One gripped the wrist still spread across your chest, anchoring you in place. The other dug into the muscle of his thigh beside you, trying to hold onto something solid.

“I felt…” you swallowed, “I was…confused. At first.” 

He hummed in understanding, not pushing or rushing you to go on. His hand cupped under your knee and pulled your leg so it hung over his outstretched leg, spreading you further. You obeyed and followed suit with your other leg, forcing your body to fully recline against him. 

“B-but you…” you started, then faltered, your voice catching in your throat. You sucked in a shaky breath, your fingers tightening around his wrist. “You looked like you were in pain. But not the bad kind. Like—like it hurt to feel that good.”

Joel didn’t say anything at first, but his lips brushed your temple, his breath steady even as you felt the way his chest rose against your back. His hand slid slowly along your thigh, gently holding you open, his fingers dipping into the flesh of your inner thigh, making you subconsciously push your knees wider for him. Inviting him. Needing him.

“And it…” you blinked slowly, watching his hand carefully move up your thigh, “It felt like my blood was on fire. I wanted to feel it too. To feel it…w-with you. I didn’t know it could feel like that, like I would ever feel like that.”

His nose brushed the curve of your ear, and you felt the shape of his smile just before he pressed his mouth beneath it—soft, not smug. There was no teasing in it. Just something quiet. Maybe something grateful. And proud.

“And now?” he asked.

You nodded, barely. The motion was tight, like your body didn’t trust itself to move too much.

“Worse now,” you breathed.

“Where?”

The question landed deep in your stomach, and lower. It seemed to pulse in the air around you. You felt your thigh twitch beneath his palm as it moved higher—still slow, still careful. His touch wasn’t searching. It was listening. Curious, yes. But not impatient. His fingers, all roughness and warmth, stopped just shy of where you burned for him. The air felt thinner there, like the heat coming off your skin was something he could see.

You didn’t answer right away. Your fingers shook where they dug into his thigh. But then you reached for him. You lifted your hand and found his, large and steady and waiting on your leg. You curled your fingers around his wrist, then slid down to his hand, guiding him.

Your breath trembled in your chest as you moved him to your center, pressing his fingers where you wanted him most. It took everything not to pull away from the weight of being seen like that.

“Here,” you said, barely more than a breath.

Your hand looked so small, resting on top of his. His palm spread over you, warm and solid, the heel of it against your mound, his fingers brushing the damp cotton between your thighs. The contact was almost nothing, but it sent shockwaves of something through you. Something like need and want and hunger. 

Something you never felt allowed to ask for. 

“Here?” he echoed.

You swallowed hard. Your hips twitched, just barely, a subtle press upward into his palm that gave him everything he needed.

“Yes,” you breathed.

He hummed in understanding, the sound low and steady in his chest, vibrating against your back like a lullaby turned electric. The warmth of it traveled straight through your spine.

His hand slipped away, and you almost whined at the loss, already missing the heat of his knuckles beneath your palm. But then you felt the careful glide of his fingertips at your waistband, a pause there in quiet question. Your breath caught. Every nerve was alive under the brush of his rough fingers, the contrast of calloused skin against your soft belly making you twitch. Not in fear. Not in doubt. You hoped he could feel it. That he could tell it wasn’t rejection—but anticipation.

He moved his hand lower then, more confident, tugging gently at the waistband until he slid beneath it, fingers traveling freely right to where you asked him to be. Where you ached and pulsed and craved. 

The first thing you noticed was the thickness of his digits. Rough with years of hard work and survival, now dragging over skin that had never been touched like this before. His fingers moved slowly, unhurried, pressing into the wetness that had gathered between your thighs that had gathered while you fidgeted and tried to keep from falling apart. 

You gasped like the air had been knocked from your lungs. Not from pain, but from the gentleness of it, the unbearable tenderness that nearly tickled. Two fingers slipped through your slick, parting you with a touch so careful it felt almost sacred. They teased up and down, brushing just slightly over your bundle of nerves, then back down again. He didn’t rush. Didn’t press harder. Just kept his rhythm steady, devastating in its patience.

“Shouldn’t be lettin’ an old man like me touch you like this, baby.” he muttered, his breath wrecked and warm against your neck. You jolted against him, and your hands found his arm, gripping tight like you needed something to hold onto before you floated out of your body.

“Next time you feel that ache, this is what you do, alright?”

You shook your head before he could finish, your breath catching in your throat with another pass of his fingers.

“No?” he said with a soft, breathless laugh, part surprise, part pleasure.

“Wa–want you.” you whispered, fingers digging into his arm, “Don’t care t-that you’re… older.”

A low groan rumbled from his chest. Then his mouth was back on your ear, teeth catching the lobe, tongue tracing over it with slow, heated teasing. You could feel him rigid against your lower back, straining through his clothes. But he didn’t push. Didn’t take. He just held you, steady and open, his hand between your legs like he had always belonged there.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said, voice rough and quiet. “Next time you feel like this, you come find me.”

You nodded, lips parting around a broken moan as he circled that sensitive spot again, more firmly this time. Your back arched without permission. The tension inside you was tight, hot, unbearable.

His other hand never left your chest.

It cradled you, the heel of his palm warm over your breast, fingers curled gently around the curve like he wanted to hold your heartbeat in his hand. His thumb brushed softly across your nipple in slow, grounding strokes that had you gasping anew, nerves pulled tight and raw from both sides now.

The rhythm between your legs stayed steady, each slow circle of his fingers more devastating than the last. You were slick and trembling, your body drawn so tight you thought you might split apart. His mouth found the curve of your jaw, then lower, lips dragging over the skin of your throat in open-mouthed kisses.

His fingers moved with unbearable patience. He circled you, again and again until you couldn’t tell whether you were holding back or being held together by him alone.

Then, with a murmured hush against your throat—“It’s alright”—he shifted lower.

You barely had time to breathe before you felt it.

The first press of his finger, thick and careful, slipping into you with a slow, steady push that had your entire body going still. Your walls clenched around him, instinctive and tight, and he stilled there, giving you time, letting you feel the stretch, the shape of him inside you.

You felt him breathing you in.

His lips skimmed your collarbone, your shoulder, the underside of your jaw. He kissed every inch like it was something sacred, something his, and with every press of his mouth, the fire in your belly climbed higher, coiling tight and hungry and aching to be let loose.

“You’re shakin’,” he murmured against your skin. He didn’t sound smug. He sounded wrecked.

You couldn’t answer. Your hands scrambled for purchase, clinging to his muscled arm like it might tether you to the earth.

His fingers pushed into you again, deeper this time, slower, curling up before pulling back just enough to feel the friction of your walls clench around him. The wet sound of it — of you — was filthy and beautiful, and he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop kissing you, didn’t stop touching you as you climbed up the foreign ascent to bliss.

“Gonna take care of you,” he breathed, lips brushing the shell of your ear again. “Let me.”

You nodded frantically, body rocking helplessly against his hand, hips chasing the friction he gave so generously. He cupped your breast in his palm, full and heavy, squeezing gently as his thumb teased your nipple in time with the pulsing strokes between your legs.

Your breath broke into gasps. Your thighs tightened around his wrist. The heat in you was rising sharp and fast now, no longer a slow burn but a wave cresting at full height.

“Joel,” you whimpered, breathless.

“I know, baby,” he whispered, hand working you faster now, lips pressing firm into the hollow of your throat. “Do you feel that? Ever felt that before?”

“N-no– I don’t think–oh!” 

The world tunneled to nothing but his hand, his mouth, the low groan that tore through his chest as he felt you clench around his fingers, your body seizing with a cry that broke you open. Your whole body clenched hard around him, your muscles locking as you let out a sound you’d never heard from yourself before. It was raw. Guttural. Like your body had waited your whole life for this one moment and didn’t know how to contain it.

You’d never felt anything like it. You didn’t know you could.

He didn’t let up. Didn’t pull away. His fingers stayed deep inside you, moving just enough to draw every wave out of you, and his mouth never left your skin. He whispered something against your jaw, something low and quiet and maybe your name, but it was lost beneath the roaring in your ears.

You didn’t know when it ended.

When the trembling slowed, your body went soft against him, boneless and spent. Joel was still holding you, his arm a solid anchor around your ribs, his hand resting low between your thighs, not teasing anymore—just there. Warm and steady.

He kissed your cheek. Your temple. The sweat-damp hair stuck to your skin.

When he finally eased his hand from between your thighs, he didn’t let go of you completely. He rested it on your bare hip, fingers splayed gently over the curve of you, still damp with your slick. The absence of his touch left a hollow ache, but the way he held you after, so tender and reverent, made you feel fuller than before.

His breath skimmed your ear, low and soft. “How do you feel?”

You let out a quiet hum, letting your head fall back against his shoulder. “Mmm…”

He smiled against your neck, “Think it’s time for sleep.”

Your fingers trailed along his thigh, lazy, reluctant to let him go. “What about you?”

But before he could answer, Samson’s bark cracked through the quiet.

You both went still. You had forgotten about the mutt in your moment of tangled limbs and shared breaths. 

But the dog’s warning wasn’t playful or curious. It wasn’t the whine he often made when squirrels scurried up trees in quick escape. It was sharp and vicious, the kind of bark that didn’t carry up the stairs for just anything.

He let out another snarl—low, guttural, full of threat.

Joel’s entire body tensed behind you. The warmth in the room vanished in a breath, as though someone had pulled a curtain shut on it.

He was already moving.

“Stay here,” he muttered, voice suddenly clipped, already reaching into the drawer beside the bed as he stood up. The revolver clicked as he checked the chamber, then snapped it shut with finality.

Your throat went dry as he disappeared down the hall.

You sat up, still flushed, heart pounding in your ribs, pulling the blanket over your bare chest. The sudden silence after Samson’s growl was deafening, like even the house itself was holding its breath.

The ache between your legs hadn’t faded, but now it was eclipsed by a new kind of tension. Something sharp and cold as stone.

Fear.

taglist: @orcasoul, @ilovetoomanymen, @niceforcum, @glaszdoll, @therewastherewas, @axionn, @aleariixx, @izzy698, @shivispunk@demonsasss, @pedropascalsbbg, @urlivingdeadgirl, @televangrl, @mani-pedro, @erska777, @samarav, @levlli, @harriedandharassed, @tomie-it-girl, @streamermattsgf,

[beethatwee]

Some point after Sun and Moon’s fight, they reach an agreement where they try to see if they can splice Solar and Sun’s code to separate them. Moon and the mechanic don’t find any good news.

Sun accepts this new reality (or familiar one) and welcomes Solar with open arms. Accepting him as a new addition to the family

Moon… does not

[rizzanon]

SORRY SORRY I JUST NEED TO TALK ABOUT YOUR MOST RECENT CHAPTER ,,, IT WAS SO GOOD AND THE WRITING GOT ME SO EMOTIONAL ARGHGHGHGH

The fact that MC literally told Dick “This isn’t helping me at all— You pushed me aside” in no small amount of words and it didn’t sink into his thick skull is so realistic to people in general it’s making me hurt BAD. MC is better than me. The things I would have said to him would have been TERRIBLE. I would have made him cry too.

But it made me think like— what if they found out that she had actually ended up dying (in another timeline) as a result of their combined actions isolating her and whatnot… of not explaining to her in full that they actually care for her (or that most of them do). Like Idk . It makes me hurt to think about it, not for them, no. Nah, they were TERRIBLE to her. I feel bad for MC. Because girl how do move on from that :( The path to hell is paved with good intentions is like Dick Grayson’s motto in that chapter. All these mfs need therapy BAD.

HAHA TY!!! glad you enjoyed chapter 5!!! <3 🤭 (mc better than me too, i would have up and left if i could lol)

i don’t want to spoil too much, but the batfam in this new universe will definitely someday find out about mc’s regression. not that soon though (the plot needs to develop more 😇)

[brainicusrotticus]

technically i played my first run of iwatex more than a year and a half ago. i focused heavily on exploration, managed to cure the shimmer and stop the famine without realizing it was possible to fail at those, and became a gardener with sym and dys.

but i remembered very little when i finally came back to the game (i remembered tammy dying, the gardeners, and the helios arriving, but that’s about it), so i decided to completely wipe my data and start fresh.

my new first run was… tragic. obviously tammy and hal died because it was a first run. i mostly did exploration. i went out and explored the month that tonin died, saw the fight, didn’t have the stats to try to save him so i ran for help, and then held his hands while he died, thinking i was tammy.

i stopped exploring for a while after that, and zeroed in on xenobotany again. i’d already done a little bit, and ended up creating the native hybrid right around the time i turned 13.

…which is also when sol’s mom pulls out the “you’re not doing enough” talk (possibly just if your rebellion is on the higher side? but mine has never not been, so i don’t know). which happened to be the event that triggered right after i made the native hybrid. so i was pissed that i’d just achieved a scientific marvel as a prepubescent child, only to be told i needed to try harder.

so i chose every angry option that presented itself. i despised her after that. i feel so strongly about it that i made it a foundational event to my view of my doctor!sol.

i stopped researching xenobotany, and started focusing on engineering instead. leaned back into exploration, too. until the famine got bad. i thought working on xenobotany might help things, make more plants and solve the problem long term.

…but it didn’t. and fluorescent died. which made feelings… complicated.

i leaned fully into engineering and exploration. managed to get to the ridges before ever fully exploring the valley. made efforts to befriend tangent, too. learned that the shimmer cure might be in the valley, but it wasn’t pollen yet so i wasn’t thinking super hard on it. helped her with some other stuff, too.

eventually, a pollen season hit and i remembered the cure. i went out exploring in the valley, but misremembered where the big event for it was and ended up using most of my stress getting to the wrong spot. i had to go back, relax for mid-pollen, and then went back out in late pollen.

i did manage to get to the glade, get what i needed, and get out. went back to the colony, last missing piece for the shimmer cure in hand.

and walked right into the story event where the shimmer finally kills geranium.

…i helped cure it the very next month. i, as a player, felt so… numb and useless about it. at this point i’d failed to save tonin, flulu, and geranium. not just failed, but tried and failed. tried so very hard.

i threw myself entirely into my relationship with tang. we started dating. i focused back on engineering because i didn’t know what else to do.

i found out what tang was working on. had been working on, for years. what i’d been helping her with, unknowingly.

i could tell she felt conflicted. that this was something she felt she had to do, but something she didn’t want to do.

i told her… i supported her.

i thought it was the first step. that if i let her know that i support her (not her project, but her), then she would know, when i told her it needed to stop, that i wasn’t mad at her. she wouldn’t have to defend herself. that she could lean on the parts of her screaming that this was wrong, and i’d support her in following the path to undoing what she had almost done.

that wasn’t a choice i was given. i just couldn’t read the writing on the walls.

i hoped the chance would come up with time passing. but it didn’t.

i decided i had to tell someone else. the only person i could think of who would be against it, and who could do something about it.

i told dys.

and he just… told me it wasn’t a serious threat. that the gardeners could handle it. i wasn’t close enough with him to make him take me seriously.

he left during the next glow.

i tried exploring again, hoping i might find something out there that would let me stop this. i broke up with tang, because i realized i couldn’t talk her out of it. i’d damned us both with that one choice.

in the end, there was nothing i could do. tangent’s cure came to pass.

i just imagine all those years sol spent sitting in the helios. thinking on the course of their life.

how they chose to run and get help instead of fighting to protect tonin. and he died because of it.

how they chose to try and focus on breeding new plants for the famine instead of working the fields. and fluorescent died because of it.

how they took one wrong turn in the valley of vertigo, delaying curing the shimmer by two months. and geranium died because of it.

how they said one wrong thing, thinking it was a path to redemption. and because of that, cal, and instance died.

…a planet died.

i know how it ends in the story. emerging more than a decade later. surviving, because that’s what humanity does.

but in my heart, it ends differently. sol refuses to stay in the helios. a season after the quarantine starts, they just leave. they venture out into the plagued wilderness to try and save something. some small bit of vertumna. something that can be regrown, like it was thousands of years ago.

…but they die with the rest of it.

[daemon-in-my-head]

TELL US ABOUT YOUR PRE TADPOLE BHAALIST CHANGES 🎤🎤🎤🎤🎤

SKDHSKSK alright alright, get urself a cup of something hydrating, take a seat nd get comfortable.

Here's the short version; Orin and Helena are no true Bhaalspawn, Sarevok is alive by grace of the spell Reincarnate and not whatever the fuck BG3 was doing, the Murder Tribunal exists but it's rly just beefy Sarevok and cult members doing funny shit they didn't necessarily sign up for, Sarevok is the Realms greatest grudge holder and the "ruling body" of the temple, including Bhaal himself, are much, much more fucked up than just good old "heres a high priest/ess have fun". Also everyone here is running on spite, generational trauma, and a fuck ton of delusion (also a bit of nature vs nurture cuz hi hello it's me). And we're back to lawful evil cuz they massacred my boys and I chose to turn a blind eye.

As for the longer (no geniunely) story;

Let's start with a brief, somewhat comprehensive timeline to make sense of shit lmfao (trust me this will come in handy)

1331 Fines Creation 1331 Adoption 1345 Sarevok's Birth 1349 The Urge awakened for the first time 1350 Banishment to the Shadowfell 1350 Tamokos Birth 1358 Bhaals Death 1368 Tamoko's Death + Sarevok's departure in 69 1407 Sarevok's Death + Reincarnation 1434 Helena's Birth 1440 Fine's brief return to the Gate 1440 Calimport 1441 Sarevok returns with Helena 1444 Gortash's Birth 1461 Meeting Gortash in Calimport 1462 Return to the Cult 1462 Orins Birth 1467 Fine is anointed as cult leader 1467 Helena's attempt on Orin 1475 Meeting Gortash as Banite 1776 The Raids 1477 Murder Spree/Blood in Baldurs Gate (in support of Gort) 1480 A blossoming, toxic situationship 1482 Chosen 1483 Ketheric joins 1491 Bormul Incident 1492 BG3 happening

Now with that all out of the way, let's actually go and start at the beginning, namely the end of the original story. Its 1369, Bhaal, Tamoko, Irenicus, Amelyssan, the 5, etc. etc. are all dead, the Bhaalspawn crisis avoided, Gorion's Ward aka Abdel Adrian is the Hero of Baldur's Gate (......), now-normal-mortal Sarevok got a bit of Adrian's Soul nd dipped, yada yada we all know this story. Except I'm going with that particular Sarevok ending that mentions he leaves for Kara-Tur (specifically Kozakura) where he buries Tamokos body.

And this is where my bullshit begins; instead of simply going there to burry Tamoko he decides to stay. After all, he's very much infamous in Faerûn for no particularly great reasons and considering their own political issues, finding work as an experienced fighter and schemer in Kozakura was quite easy for him. So he did just that, lived there as a mercenary for a second or two, staying as long as his contract demanded but not a second longer and relishing in his newfound freedom. If all had gone according to plan, that is.

See, the Spellplague of 1385 affected all of Toril, and in Kozakura specifically it only amplified the already tense political situation, escalating into a full scale civil war, constantly fueled by the scheming and mingling of a Wu Jen Society. And boy oh boy did it trigger Irenicus former little toy when he saw some people trying to pull weird arcane bullshit again.

So rather than leaving Kozakura like many others, Sarevok stayed back, tried to be a good guy for once, ended up being allowed to join a local clan and just having the time of his life beating up a bunch of people for a better cause than his own had been. And then he fucking died lol. But not to worry, if any place has an abundance of spirit folk, yokai and other "nature if it was human" creatures, it is Kozakura. And if any place was in need of people capable of fighting, it was Kozakura as well. So good old Sarevok earned himself a new, now 100% confirmed Bhaal free body, alongside an extended lifespan.

Life simply continued this way for a while, and albeit the scars of the war were beginning to show in all aspects of life, it was still bearable and Sarevok felt good about being able to beat (one of) his traumas arse and protect something related to that true love of his that he fumbled harder than anyone else ever fumbled in all of history.

And then Helena was born. See, Sarevok may have kept mainly to himself, but even he couldn’t avoid the trap of a found family in the home he'd chosen for himself. So long story short, when shit got really fucking bad and everyone was considering "well we can't rly afford any more mouths to feed maybe we should close a few here or there" rather than stand by as he would've done once upon a time Sarevok decided to grow bhaals, snatch that kid of his friend doomed to be one of those closed mouths, and vanish once again. He was certain he could make it out of Kozakura and manage life somewhere else with or without a little bundle of shape-changing something after all, so that's exactly what he did.

He changed little bundles name and went along, back to his earlier days of just enjoying whatever he wanted (except now with a bit more responsibility in the shape of a lil kid), and just tried to raise this kid that had been unwanted by so many others, much like he himself once was.

But this is still my durgetash bullshit and the magnum opus of my insanity so 1440 hits and he catches wind of a funny rumor about a Bhaalspawn returning to his old turf. And as a survivor of Bhaals reign and the first iteration of the Bhaalspawn crisis, good old Sarevok was not having any of it. So he took that kid and went back to the home of his nightmares, like any reasonable guy who sought avoidance rather than therapy or accountability would. :)

Upon his return, however, he learned that those rumours were seemingly unfounded and the only known Bhaalspawn still roaming around in the vicinity of the Sword Coast was his good old half-brother Abdel Adrian. Who was, much unlike Sarevok, overjoyed to welcome back some family. Especially considering the fact he may or may not ended up receiving intel that Dad's old followers are back, if one is inclined to believe they've ever left that is. But eitherway, something is happening in this beautiful never-quiet coastal town and as the figure head of the opposition and kind of busy co leader of this cesspool that calls itself a city; "pretty pls Sarevok whom I've given a piece of my fucking soul how about you help out ur good old pal and brother here hmmm?"

To which Sarevok agreed. Less cuz of Adrian and more so because of the lingering effects of growing up the way Bhaalspawn tend to grow up. Besides he got fucked over beautifully by Bhaal and the temple and if he can get back at them even just the tiniest bit more that's absolutely worth it in his humble opinion.

So Sarevok does end up finding the remnants of the cult, which are objectively doing "not good"™️ but surprisingly not that small in number and he decides that this won't be an in and out gone and done typa thing and resorts to the thing he does best; scheming. And as luck would have it he's wonderfully prepared for it. Because he may no longer be a Bhaalspawn, but once upon a time he was. And with no precedent to dispute his hypothesis, who's to say the taint won't return in a second generation? With no Bhaalspawn left to dispute his claims, who would out Helena as a fraud?

So Sarevok returns to the Cult, Helena his "daughter" in tow, remorseful about his "betrayal" and ready to give it his all in serving Bhaal again and definitely not just to do his best to destroy the faith from the inside (because fuck you Bhaal) and stop any attempts to resurrect the kinky murder lord immediately (because again, fuck you Bhaal).

And it would be so nice if the story ended here wouldn't it? So very nice. But alas. This ain't about him. And there's more Bhaalspawn around. 2 more to be precise.

20 years pass. Tiny Helena isn't quite so tiny anymore, and Sarevok regained some station thanks to her. And gods, how he missed it. Holding sway over people, having people listen and obey, clinging to his word like lives depend on it. As much as Tamoko wished to believe it was solely the rotten blood that caused all of their misery, perhaps he had always been a little rotten himself. But of course, this time he won't repeat his mistakes, he still holds onto his plan. This is, after all, to spite Bhaal and control the temple from acting out again. He's simply taking a more pleasing approach. One without nearly as many casualties. Adrian would understand, if they had been talking still. If he knew.

Anyhow, moral decay aside, generally speaking things were going swimmingly for Sarevok. A few hicups here and there couldn't be avoided, like when a boy and an imp showed up in front of the temple claiming that the boy was Bhaals long lost masterpiece, but lucky for Sarevok, his newfound brother was rather perceptive and it wasn't too hard to string him along. Perhaps the nativity from being isolated for longer than most humans lived contributed to that nativity, but today's Sarevok would probably find an explanation why he'd been the mastermind behind it all anyway.

And honestly with how he'd been managing things, it could've proceeded smoothly if not for this tiny, minor issue of Helenas pregnancy. The cult as it was now placed blood purity above all else. After all, with Bhaal missing and most of his spawn eradicated, a pureblooded Bhaalspawn was about as close as they could come to their god. And the boys arrival alone had been enough to highlight how important this belief had really grown within their ranks, and how easily opinions became divided.

But then again, this too wasn't an issue good old Sarevok couldn't navigate around. If this issue was the purity of Bhaals essence there's one handy way to get around it; eliminate the sources that could taint it. If Helenas true identity hadn't been revealed even after decades had passed it was unlikely it would be revealed now, and if the boy had a change of heart and exposed what Sarevok had done he'd ruin his own credibility alongside Sarevok's anyway. So he placed his bets and proceed to claim fatherhood. His consciousness did sting a tad bit but Tamoko would understand, he'd convinced himself of that. After all if this would lead to Bhaals certain destruction, it was worth every little white lie.

And well, from here on out, its pretty much the story everyone knows. Under Sarevok's careful guidance "Elli" learns how to resent Bhaal properly and how nice this particular flavour of power can be, both keep pushing off that destruction of the cult they're both definitely still pursuing, trust them, they'll do it tomorrow. And then Helena dies, one of them gets involved with a burly armed Banite and the other one is too busy feeling vindicated for suffering so much in his past to still care about anything else.

At least until Viekang grows a backbone (nah jk it's Viekang and I love how miserable he is; he was simply strung along by another branch of bhaalists cuz yeah that faith is bigger than just the Gate even if BG3 loves to forget that and not everyone falls for Sarevoks bullshit), Bhaal is resurrected and decides to visit his little failures. Like geniunely visit. Cuz yes the gods can casually drop by. And they do. Especially when the people they're about to visit can do fuck all.

Anyway after a brief visit from daddy dearest Sarevok is done. Bhaal knows what he did. He knows Bhaal knows. He failed everything he sat out to do and more, and again it happened because he was drawn into a false safety by his own hubris and realising that just absolutely crushes him. Theres no coming back from being destroyed like that twice. "Elli", unlike Sarevok, is a bit more rebellious (thx nativity); however he too is quickly put in place the second the world's greatest dad displays how little control "Elli" actually has. Especially over his own body. No the Urge was no unhappy little accident like he told himself, that was just the beginning.

Also because I can; yes Bhaal knows Orin is a complete scam. Yes he indulges it anyway. On one hand it's blatantly rubbing into Sarevok's and "Elli's" face that he's the one in power here, no matter what they try, if Bhaal decides it's the truth, it will become the truth, and also because it's just easier. Bhaal after all is an incredibly cruel and manipulative arsehole who knows how to turn a situation in his favour. He's perfectly aware of the power he holds and how to use it effectively, and I love that for him. Cuz he is murder personified and death, especially of that kind *is* cruel and malicious. Also, a nice little loyal puppet that doesn't know any better and already dedicated herself to him? For free? Without him having to do anything special? He'd be an idiot to turn that down. Besides if his other kid fucks up again (I mean theres a track record of that) he already has a spare ready. Thanks, Sarevok, "Elli", dad's finally proud of u guys :)

Oh also "Elli" babe? Yeah you don't get a choice in whether you become a chosen or not. There might be a consent requirement for normal people but being literally created by that God as an affront to nature and life itself kind of overwrites those rules. Hope ur fine with it, and we'll even if you're not; it's not like you could change it lol

[spliqi]

okay so after finishing chosen of the wolf my main takeaway is that all the women in noxus are lesbians and all the men are twinks. as any fearsome warmongering nation’s inhabitants should be

[trappedinafantasy37]

Your chest is heavy with breath as the battle rages all around you. You take your mace and bash through every enemy that dares get in your way. They stand to threaten everything that is important to you. You cannot let them succeed, you cannot let them get away with it, you cannot let a single one of them live for they are wrong. They are a stain, a plague that needs to be eradicated.

You push further into their sanctuary, destroying anyone and anything that you can find. You do not hold back and you show no restraint and no mercy. You laugh at their measly and pathetic attempts to fight back. They stand no chance against you and your might. Do they not recognize how much better you are than them? They fail to see what such abhorrent trash they are, and you are here to make a demonstration.

It took a lot of energy and there were a few close calls. But all those who would have stood against you lie cold on the ground. You take a deep breath, appreciating the sweet and metallic smell of blood. You won, they did not. You walk around, inspecting the corpses, looting all you can find for the spoils are now yours to take.

You wander into an isolated corner to a body whose arm leans over a ledge. This corpse piques your curiosity as it is a fish out of water. It doesn't belong up here. How did this one get wrapped up in something so vile? But, then again, maybe that's just her base instincts as murder and carnage are all that drow are known for. And look at her now. Dead, cold and alone, left to be remembered by no one. Her hand reaches down over the ledge to a home she can never return to. You loot her corpse of everything, being sure to leave her naked and bare so you can belittle and humiliate her even in death. Because that's what good and honorable people do! It's what she deserves anyway. Someone as evil, and vile, and horrible as her doesn't deserve respect, not even in death.

Her blood, along with who knows how many goblins, soak through the skin of your hands and drips off your mace. Gore, bone, and brain matter decorate the metal plate of your armor and tangle in your hair. Corpse after corpse is left in your wake. The decorative stone of the temple once held sacred now runs with the river of blood you spilled.

How many lie dead thanks to you and your allies? You have killed far more in this goblin camp than that drow ever would have if she found the grove. Goblins, bugbears, ogres, a drow, a hobgoblin, a few lost humans, and even children, all dead by your order. And they all deserved it a thousand fold because they are all wrong, and evil, and your world has no place for them. It does not matter if they ever actually would have been a threat to the grove. No, their mere existence in proximity to good people is threat enough. And you are a good person and you only do good things. And that is exactly what you did by killing them all.

You return home to celebrate and inform the tieflings of the good news. You talk, you laugh, you dance, you sing, you drink, you fuck. You did a good thing today. A heroic thing. You committed a massacre, a genocide. But that's acceptable because you are a good person and you only do good things. They would have otherwise done it to you. But, they are wrong as they did not have a good reason, at least not one that you could find. You did, and thus this massacre, and only your massacre, is justified.

And you continue on your journey. You learn more about this Absolute and the nature of these 'True Souls'. You think back to the fight at that goblin camp and the three True Souls you killed. They were just brainwashed, forced against their will to commit horrendous atrocities. Atrocities that you might have been forced to do yourself had you not been so lucky. You shake your head, removing all semblance of doubt and sympathy. The reality does not change a thing. They were an active threat and they deserved to die and be denied chance at redemption. As far as you are concerned, drow and goblins are just born evil and should be killed on sight. None of them deserved to live. You had to punish them for what they might do, rather than what they actually do. True Soul or not, that drow would have been a threat to you and anyone who breathes. Even if you knew before hand the full scope of her situation, you would have made the same choice because she is evil, and you are not because you only make the good choices.

You slaughter and kill your way to Baldur's Gate, leaving behind bloody footprints with every step you take. You have paved a path of corpses in the name of this crusade. You have killed, lied, stolen, manipulated, cheated, and exploited all to claim your victory and force your principles onto the world because you are good and the only one who is correct and knows what's best, and thus your actions are good. You intend well. You want to save the world and help people. You want to snuff out all evil. And sometimes being good means killing.

But, in the end, you always end up doing all the same things that the bad guys would do, making all the same actions that lead to the same outcome. And that outcome often is death and carnage. The only thing that separates you from them is your intentions and your perception of those intentions. And all those who disagree will die by your hand because your morality will not be questioned, as those who question you must be evil because you are good.

You stand atop a mountain of corpses, happy and proud of your deeds because you did the right thing. The smell of rot and decay spirals around you as you stand amongst the dead, erecting yourself as a pillar of honor and integrity. There is a growing list of names that have been permanently removed from the world by your hand, amongst them is a genocidal lunatic, a lunatic who never would have killed as many people as you have.

You are a good person. A hero. And yet, your hands are just as bloody as all those you killed, those you claim to be evil.

[pigeonsareevil]

Idk about all of you but it never sat right with me when people portrayed Dutch as evil, manipulative and money driven ever since begining. I mean pre-canon pre-gang begining.

I think if it really was that way there would be no way the gang would trust him that much and that blindly after making so many bad and dangerous decisions. I know from expierience that emotional manipulation can go far but not that far. I simply cant see the younger him as the giant asshole that he becomes during the second game. I believe that, in order to achieve this level of trust and loyalty he mustve really loved all of them.

In a way, i think he also loves them during the course of the second game in his own, twisted way. I think he truly wanted to get them out of the trouble he caused, but had no idea how, and with his own paranoia and whispers about traitor in the gang, he kept making desperate decisions that in the end, resulted in even more trouble and suffering.

Now, i know there were no traitors in the gang (not counting Micah) and if he got his head out of his ass he would probably realise that but sometimes i think about how he mustve felt, thinking that someone that he loved, raised and gave so much to, would turn back on him and the rest of their family, let them die for a pile of cash, not even realising he himself was doing exactly that, but that feeling alone would be enough to drive someone crazy.

Combine this with the grief he mustve felt for the fallen members and the fact that none of this has ever happened before Blackwater, he must have thought that him failing and showing weakness would be the reason someone would betray him and it would explain his insane plans and attempts at regaining control over the situation, only realising just how wrong he had been when he saw Arthur dying at his feet.

Im not apologising him and DEFINETELY not trying to paint him as innocent. He did manipulate Arthur and many others during the game but i think it came from a different place then just wanting money. And of course he wanted the money, his greed was one of the many reasons the gang ended the way it did but there were deeper reasons as to why he wanted them so desperately, besides just for the sake having them and i choose to believe it was because he really wanted to provide and have enough for his family to live comfortably.

I just think the way he acted during the second game was, as tragic as that sounds, mostly out of fear of losing the people he saw as his family. Not even realising it would be that fear that would eventually kill them all off.

[themyscirah]

@hal-jordan-events Emerald Twilight Weekend | Day Three: Memory

[same-name-supremacy]

Can you stop being so mean to Sierra? She's my favorite character and reading about how much you hate her is just triggering for me.

Sierra is actually a great character. She's a blogger and a romantic who loves Cody and wants to support him. Even though she comes across as creepy, she has his interests at heart and genuinely wants to take care of him since she feels like he can't really protect himself.

Also, I've imagined Sierra with ADHD since I have ADHD and sometimes act the same way, so it's very hurtful when you insult her. Please try to think about who is reading your posts and be considerate. There are a lot of sensitive people like me on here who don't like when people they love are antagonized.

Sorry to rant, this is just a very sensitive topic.

Okay I understand your feelings I do, but I'm not a fan of her so i wont talk positively about her, so if what I say about her makes you upset, I suggest blocking me so you won't see my posts.

If what I have to say about your favourite character makes you really sad or angry, blocking me would be better for you mentally and emotionally.

The internet sucks I get it. People are going to have different opinions then you. Sometimes you won't change their mind. Sierra freaks me out, she unlocks a deep fear in me. So to any Sierra fans who might stumble across my account. I don't like her, so if you don't want to read posts about me talking negatively about her. BLOCK ME.

[primordialruin]

Gosh, it's such a trip to write what went down in Eden for my art fic. The sweet joy between Adam and Lilith that slowly progressed to a terrible relationship is honestly really heavy on me. The core themes of the story are: fear, protection at all costs, weaponized incompetence and misalignment. I am not going to demonize either party in spite of their accumulated toxicity. They truly wouldn't have known better.

I feel even in the eventuality that she was brought back to him after she left the garden, bouncing back to their originally good relationship would take a really long time due to trust having been lost. Not impossible, but really difficult. They both will have their faults.

[moonmacabre01]

So I just watched the three most recent Dungeon Meshi episodes

That is the creepiest fucking elf I've ever seen.

OH GOD OH FUCK FALIN

I like the orc woman ^^

Kabru is going to get whiplashed so bad when he actually catches up to Laios and co. I cannot wait.

Chilchuck's status as my favorite character is now cemented.

I hope Laios fucking hand-to-hands that elf next time he shows up.

[androgynouspenguinexpert]

"We make a deal with the devil!"

[beatsforbrothels]

Vegyn - The Path Less Travelled

[b0kksu-gone]

I need a soul crushing hug and ten shots of vodka rn

[grrlmusic]

Vegyn - The Path Less Travelled