#the sweatbox

[the-plot-blog-thing]

For Fun: Here's My Favorite Disney Songs That Were Deleted/Changed In The Final Film (Part 5)

Eventually, the Disney executives decided the film wasn't working, and called for a complete retool. Roger Allers left, leaving Cats Don't Dance director Mark Dindal as the sole director on the film. The film became a buddy comedy, road-trip Looney Tunes-esque film set in ancient Peru, known as Kingdom in the Sun, later known by release as The Emperor's New Groove. All of Sting and David Hartley's songs were cut, but they stayed on to write "Perfect World", Kuzco's theme for the beginning and end of the film, and "My Funny Friend and Me' which is the end credits song. However, at one point, Yzma was going to have her own reprise of "Perfect World". About halfway through the film, after Kuzco's fake funeral would've been when this reprise would've taken place. (The fact that Eartha Kitt does not sing in the final film at all is the biggest problem of Emperor's New Groove)

(If you do get the chance, check out the documentary "The Sweatbox" on Internet Archive. It documents the crazy development of this film, and Disney intentionally tried to bury it as it made their execs look bad. It's very interesting, so give it a watch!)

Tangled and Frozen were both in development for a significantly long time for Disney movie standards. Back when Tangled was called Rapunzel, songwriter Chris Curtis wrote these two songs based on an early draft: "All That I've Done for You" and "Are There Girls In The World Like Me?"

For the final film, there was a cut reprise of "When Will My Life Begin" and "Mother Knows Best" was also longer initially.

Alan Menken wrote an early song for Frozen called "Love Can't Be Denied" back when the film was called The Snow Queen

Finally, my personal favorite cut song from Frozen by the Lopez's is "Life's Too Short" which was replaced by the "First Time in Forever" reprise in the final film. I like how the sibling energy feels between Anna and Elsa here.

That's all the songs I'm gonna cover here, but there are plenty more. Alice in Wonderland had like two movie's worth of cut songs to go through. But thank you for indulging in my wordy nerd posts!

[i-swear-its-only-ironical]

This is ... Wow, I thought this movie was kind of fun when I first watched it. But with the knowledge that all of this was improvised in the very literal sense of the word puts this work in a whole new light. I respect that, this is how I do my work as well

emperor kuzco was clearly gay

[thedyf]

Kingdom of the Sun: Animated Compilation (June 2021)

[inmate62763]

Convict... Cause any more trouble whilst you are on the chain gang and you will get another 24 hours confinement in the sweatbox.

[really-good-devil]

matt murdock in and out of the daredevil suit gets me like a victorian man about to catch the flu bc his lady love showed him her stocking like the suit does nothing i don't think anything about it but if he takes off his mask, gloves and/or boots and the rest of him is still fully clothed i need smelling salts

[patzweigz]

watching the frozen 2 documentary and it really is just. all the more fascinating that disney buried the sweatbox as they did

because functionally they're very similar? sweatbox is of course more focused on sting, and i suppose with him being a very critical outsider to the film making process (along with just nakedly showing the reality of the disney artists as well) is probably why only a sliver of it has been released officially. the frozen 2 doc is just the sweatbox but sanatized to prop up rather than examine the disney machine...

and yet. because of the inherent messy nature of making corporate art, it can never be fully sanitized. there are raw kernels of insight just waiting to pop under the surface, those that had fully bloomed in the sweatbox. and even as mild as they are (perhaps the only incendiary thing that happens in the doc is the swearing), they betray the corporate mythos and thus can never be broadcasted. just... little things, even, like andreas deja choosing to leave emperor's new groove after the shuffle, betray the narrative that disney so badly wants people to buy into...

but even the frozen 2 doc, as manufactured as it is, displays the falliblity of the system. the fact that with less than a year left to release-- with a trailer released --the story was still being ironed out... it's a wonder that emperor's new groove was able to be what it was despite enduring similar circumstances

[mikejudge]

i don't talk about it enough but yzma is like one of my favorite characters ever i love her evil ass

[mywifeleftme]

292: Various Artists // Abstract Magazine Issue 5

Abstract Magazine Issue 5 Various Artists 1985, Sweatbox Just got up to flip the record after sitting cross-legged on the couch typing on my laptop for quite a bit, not realizing my leg had fallen asleep until I tried to plant on it and had to pinwheel my arms to keep from falling flat out and cracking my head into my turntable. Absolutely how the coroner will shoot my body someday too, ass-naked and alone on the floor of my apartment, surrounded by instruments I can’t play and books I haven’t gotten to, bleeding into my record collection with a scythe propped sardonically against the wall in the background.

Speaking of ignominious deaths, while doing some research on the compiler of today’s record, a post-punk compilation / fanzine combo from 1985, the first thing that came up was a 2007 post from Burl Veneer’s old Typepad blog, specifically this inimitable sentence: “Abstract was the brainchild of Rob Deacon, who died last month in a canoeing accident at age 42 (same as me).” Strange nautical coincidence that, and a neat trick for Burl to keep blogging after death too (in fact, he’s still at it here on Tumblr), but I kept link hopping, and have learned that Deacon was quite a special guy, and a pivotal figure in two or three generations of UK music.

There’s genuine fondness and grief in The Guardian obit, the kind they reserve for lesser-known people who busted their asses and made a difference behind the scenes in media, and they spell out a resume I’m a little ashamed not to have been more up on. He was in his late teens when he started Abstract magazine, profiling the cream of the post-punk crop and cajoling exclusive tracks out of a bunch of them. Abstract would eventually morph into his own label, the influential Sweatbox, but the magazine + compilation bug stuck with him, and he’d go on to start the CD-era Volume series, which moved real numbers for an indie comp and featured… Jesus, everybody, apparently. He followed that up with the groundbreaking Trance Europe Express and Trance Atlantic electronic compilations, became a dance night impresario, did music photography, started a label (Deviant)… and then he fell out of his fuckin’ boat. Damn.

Abstract #5 is a real time capsule of 1985, featuring songs and interviews with the likes of Swans, Gene Loves Jezebel, Cindytalk, Colourbox, and the Jazz Butcher, interspersed with record reviews, scene reports, comics and more. The written pieces are all over the place stylistically, some transcribed in a borderline-incoherent fashion, others fighting for their lives against the adventurous two-tone printed layouts, but it has a wonderful fanzine energy and a level of ballsy spite you don’t see much these days.

Nearly every artist has a bone to pick with their label or journalists or bands they used to like that sold out or fans who have any sort of expectations of them. (The editorial pages get into it too, describing Morrissey “prancing daffodilously” and previewing a new New Order tune called “I’ve Got a Cock Like the M1,” which would see daylight as “The Perfect Kiss.”)

It’s zany and vulnerable and, even just shy of 40 years later, totally inspiring stuff. Highlights include Swans’ Michael Gira’s typically serial killer-coded interview, in which he talks about watching TV for 14 hours a day and shares the trans body horrific lyrics to a song called “BASTARD” that would eventually come out during the band’s maniac 1986; an account from industrial music pioneers Test Dept of the ’84 miner’s strike in South Wales, with a photo of one member who appears to have two sets of upper teeth like a shark; and the 400 Blows talking about having recorded their contribution to the issue in an echoing drainage pipe in which they nearly became trapped and drowned.

Musically this is by design a mixed bag (side one is kind of the uncommercial, experimental bits; side two the peppier guitar pop stuff). None of these exclusives would make anyone’s definitive collection of any of these bands, but as a complete listening and reading experience, Abstract #5 is a beautiful celebration. Cheers to Rob.

292/365

[justsome-di]

I’m making a deal with myself that if I get one of my homework assignments done tonight, I get to watch The Sweatbox before bed

[riddlerosehearts]

thinking about how people who watch the emperor's new groove and somehow come out of it shipping pacha and kuzco, or thinking yzma only became evil when kuzco fired her and that she would've been a better ruler than him, are both so wrong in so many different ways and are also missing one of the things that i absolutely love about the movie. which is that, the way i see it, pacha and yzma are counterparts. as parental figures to kuzco.

like, just to get this out of the way first, yzma was a dismissive asshole to a peasant whose family was starving. and yeah, if kuzco had been in her place he definitely would've also done that, which... is why she would not be a better ruler than him. she'd just be the same because they're both horrible people in the exact same ways. her reaction to being fired is to plot murder, and as soon as his funeral is over she sets everyone to work on replacing paintings of kuzco with paintings of herself and covering the palace with imagery that makes it clear that it's all about her now. i'm not even sure why this is a discussion tbh.

and also, kuzco is literally a teenager. he's barely 18 years old. source: in the movie, yzma says at his funeral that kuzco was "taken from us so tragically on the very eve of his eighteenth birthday." she also claims in the movie to have "practically raised" him, to which kronk replies "yeah, you'd think he would've turned out better". and sure, she could be exaggerating, but what evidence do we have that she is? we learn absolutely nothing of his parents, who are never mentioned even once in the movie, or of anyone else who could've raised him, and she's his advisor who for some reason sees no problem with attending to royal duties in his place. most likely because she's his regent. also, i'm not exactly a fan of the sequel tv series "the emperor's new school" but it does have something that backs up my point: kuzco is revealed to be an orphan and just before his father went and got lost at sea, he asked yzma (who was also his advisor) to take care of kuzco if anything happened to him. so, yeah, the writers who worked on the series clearly thought that yzma genuinely did raise kuzco, and nothing in the movie contradicts this.

and i find the idea of her being his only parental figure for pretty much his whole childhood incredibly interesting because, and this also goes back into why she wouldn't be a better ruler than him--she mirrors him as a reflection of what would've become of him if he'd never met pacha. they're both incredibly arrogant, power-hungry, selfish, and cruel, with a tendency to blame their problems on everyone but themselves. yzma was even originally going to have her own reprise of kuzco's theme song "perfect world", which i really wish had been kept:

[ID: Lyrics that read:

I'Il be the sovereign queen of the nation And the chicest chick in creation I'm the cat with all the cream and ooh-la-la This deadly concentration Will put an end to my frustration Now this perfect world begins and ends with moi

What's my name? Yzma, Yzma, Yzma Yzma (what's my name?) Yzma, Yzma (What'd you say?) Yzma (Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha!) Yzma. End ID]

(this song can be fully heard in "the sweatbox", the documentary about the making of the movie, and is also on youtube btw)

anyway, i'm sure yzma would not exactly have been the most nurturing or hands-on guardian, especially given that she and kuzco don't exactly treat each other like family. but it makes a lot of sense to think that her behavior influened kuzco's throughout the years. and for the entire movie, she remains determined to kill him. when he tries to reason with her and admits that he should've been nicer, she says the same thing to him that he originally said when he fired her. she never grows or changes and in the end, she hurts the one person who was willing to stand by her (and even then, kronk had never fully been on board with her plan) and he ends up trying to crush her with a chandelier. kuzco on the other hand is able to realize the error of his ways, come to regret who he was in the past, and start taking steps toward being a better person. his theme song gets a reprise where it's changed from a song about one person being the center of the world to a Power Of Friendship song. why? because, as i've already mentioned, he has pacha.

pacha, who similarly to both yzma and kuzco is in a position of authority as the leader of the village but unlike either of them is gentle and humble. who isn't afraid to stand up to kuzco and be honest with him even though he's the emperor, who agrees to take him back to the palace but has no obligation to be so helpful, kind, and caring toward him--and just about every reason not to be--and still chooses to be anyway. pacha who is 45 years old (also stated in the sweatbox documentary) and can see that kuzco is practically still a kid, not a single day over 18, who has time to grow and change. pacha, who already has a wife and two kids with another on the way, but practically treats kuzco like one of his own. who acknowledges that if kuzco dies all his problems will be gone and then still worries about him and goes out of his way to rescue him after he wanders into the jungle. who sees kuzco shivering at night and covers him with his poncho, who carries him when he's genuinely too weak to keep walking, who refuses to give up on him even after repeatedly being betrayed by him because he believes there's good in everyone.

also, while yzma ends up repeating kuzco's harsh words of dismissal as she tells him of her plans to kill him, kuzco had previously repeated pacha's words that "nobody's that heartless" after he saved pacha's life. and as the movie progresses kuzco and pacha's relationship becomes more and more equal and is constantly contrasted by moments of yzma being cruel and unappreciative of kronk's kindness. a good example of this is how kronk is constantly being forced to carry yzma everywhere on his back while yzma literally walks all over him and steps on his hands when she gets down, whereas when pacha briefly carries kuzco after the latter collapses he tells him he'll have to walk the rest of the way later and kuzco doesn't even protest.

idk if i'm even explaining well what i'm trying to say here. but basically, if yzma actually raised kuzco and contributed to his current behavior, then she and pacha both are figures who guided him and helped him grow. only yzma helped him become the tyrant that he was at the start of the movie, who was selfish and callous and saw everyone else as beneath him. whereas pacha helped him see the value in being selfless and considerate of others. and in the end, yzma is stuck as a cat and nobody is concerned about her. kronk has found a new job that makes him genuinely happy, while kuzco has decided to build a hut on the hill next to pacha's and effectively joined his family. in the sweatbox documentary it's even mentioned that chicha and the kids were at risk of being removed from the film, but it was decided that they needed to be there because having just pacha as a single guy who lived alone wasn't interesting enough--kuzco needed to go from having basically an empty world where he had nobody to being able to come together with pacha's whole family. and i just think that's incredibly satisfying and beautiful. it also leads up to one of the few things i really do enjoy about the emperor's new school, which is the fact that during the show kuzco moves in with pacha and chicha and pretty explicitly thinks of them as basically his parents while he's like a son to them.

idk. i feel like my mind went in a million different directions while i was writing all this. but i guess i just think that for all of the praise the emperor's new groove gets for its comedy and for how hilarious yzma and kronk in particular are as a duo, the movie also has a lot of genuine heart that gets overlooked. kuzco's character growth and his unique dynamic with pacha is, for me, really what elevates the movie from just a funny movie that i like to one of my favorite disney movies. and i wish more people appreciated that aspect of it and saw it as a found family story in the same way that treasure planet, brother bear, and lilo and stitch are all found family stories.

[postpunkindustrial]

Skinny Puppy – Ain't It Dead Yet VHS

A live video companion to the Ain't it Dead Yet live album. The live video that shows Skinny Puppy on the cusp of their late career experimental peak.

A great showing of Skinny Puppy's Industrial Horror Goth aesthetic crammed into a punk gig sweatbox.

One of the great live show documents of the era.

You can get a DVD rip of the show fon my Google Drive HERE.

also here is the record on bandcamp.

[cheynovak]

Fevered Confessions part 1

Characters: Soldier boy x Y/N Female character     

Summary: Y/N got hurt during a mission with Soldier boy, Ben feels guilty and tries to take care of her. But the fever makes her believe she is imagining it.

Warnings: Mentioning of fever/wounds/ fighting/... -> 18+ later on in the series.

English isn't my first language.

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated* 

**Y/N's POV**

The motel room was a sweatbox, stifling and suffocating, a hellish trap I’d been exiled to while the others handled God-knows-what. My body felt like a furnace, the infection crawling through my veins like hot poison. The wound on my side, hastily bandaged, throbbed in a cruel rhythm that made me grind my teeth.

I couldn't think straight. The fever fogged my brain, warping reality, and when I thought I saw him—Soldier Boy, Ben—stride into the room, I just laughed weakly. My mind was playing tricks on me, obviously. No way the grumpiest bastard in the world had any concern for me.

“Good. Still got your sass,” the hallucination growled, kneeling beside me.

He knelt on the dingy carpet, his hands on my side, peeling the blood-caked fabric of my shirt away from the wound. His touch was gentle, far too gentle for a man like Ben, which was the clearest sign he wasn’t really there.

This wasn't real. Couldn't be.

When he sighed, a soft, almost regretful sound, it nearly broke me. “Damn it, Y/N. You look like hell.”

I managed a shaky laugh. “So that's your line to pick up girls, huh?”

His rough fingers paused for a beat before he resumed cleaning the wound with something cool. The sting bit through my haze, making me hiss.

“This is bad,” he muttered. “Why didn’t you want to go to the hospital?”

"Butcher said MM could fix me." He looked furious, "And where is he?" I tried to shrug my shoulders but the pain made me hiss again. "Damn it Y/N, you should have told me it's this bad."

I couldn't hold back a laugh, though it came out cracked and strained. “What were you gonna do? Offer to help? You hate me, Ben.”

The hallucination didn’t answer. Instead, it tilted a glass of water to my lips, forcing me to drink. I coughed, spilling a little down my chin, but he didn’t stop. His hand, steady and commanding, stayed firm on the glass until I swallowed properly.

“You’re not real,” I mumbled, eyes fluttering shut.

A hand brushed damp hair from my forehead. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

---

**Ben’s POV**

Y/N was a mess. The infection had turned her pale skin sallow and her lips cracked. She was burning up, trapped somewhere between shivering and sweating buckets, and it was all my fault.

I should’ve seen the hit coming. Should’ve blocked it. Instead, I’d frozen like a goddamn rookie because some idiot hit her.

And now she was here, teetering on the edge, and the thought of losing her hit me harder than any blast.

“Idiot,” I muttered under my breath, pulling out the pathetic excuse for a first-aid kit Butcher had stocked. “Could’ve asked for a medic, could’ve gone to a hospital. But no, gotta be a tough little thing, don’t ya?”

I hated how shaky my hands felt as I cleaned her up. Every pained noise she made tore through me like a goddamn bullet. Worse, I couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, pink even when she was this sick, her lips parting just so when she sucked in shallow breaths.

“Snap out of it,” I told myself, rubbing at my jaw. But the truth was I’d been losing the fight ever since she joined the team. The way she laughed too loudly. The way she rolled her eyes at every little thing I said. The way she could throw down with Supes twice her size and somehow make it look graceful.

She drove me nuts. Couldn’t stand her.

Except I could. Too much.

“You hate me,” she whispered, voice raspy. Her glassy eyes fluttered open for a second, pinning me in place.

She wasn’t wrong. I’d made her life hell on purpose—snarky comments, side-eyeing everything she did, telling her how young she was, calling her 'kid' more to remind me of our age difference but it still pissed her off too.

Finding fault with the smallest things just so I wouldn’t act on what I actually felt. She wasn’t supposed to matter, but she did. More than she should.

Guilt clawed at my throat.

“I don’t hate you,” I muttered.

She let out a weak laugh, already halfway to unconsciousness again. Good. She didn’t need to see the raw truth crawling across my face, like I’d been flayed open.

I sat beside her the rest of the night, watching her breathe, forcing her to drink water every time she stirred. Every now and then, my fingers brushed against hers. Not because she needed it but because I did.

**Y/N's POV**

The next time I woke, sunlight poured through the grimy blinds, but my body still felt leaden, sluggish from fever and pain. My head spun, but one thing was crystal clear���I needed to pee.

“Anyone!” My voice was more a croak than a yell, and every syllable scraped my throat.

I couldn’t hear footsteps, but then, just like before, he appeared. Not a hallucination after all.

“What?” he grunted from the doorway, his face a mix of exhaustion and irritation. “Pain?”

“Toilet,” I wheezed.

He blinked, clearly annoyed, but without another word, he moved toward me. The bed creaked as he leaned down, one arm under my knees and the other around my back. He lifted me like I weighed nothing, and suddenly, my face was pressed against the faint scent of pine and leather clinging to his shirt.

“You couldn’t wait until Annie was here?” he muttered, carrying me into the tiny adjoining bathroom.

“Shut up,” I managed, too tired to come up with a better retort.

Ben set me down carefully onto the toilet, his hands lingering longer than necessary like he didn’t quite trust I wouldn’t tip over. Instead of leaving, though, he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, one eyebrow raised.

I glared at him, despite feeling half-dead. “You’re watching?”

He raised both hands, palms out. “Relax, sweetheart.” He turned his back, standing with one foot braced against the doorframe, but he left the door wide open.

I couldn’t tell if it was to keep an eye on me or because he didn’t trust the locks. Either way, my cheeks burned hotter than they had all night.

---

**Ben's POV**

Once she was done, I scooped her up again and carried her back to the bed. Her arms wrapped weakly around my neck like she was hanging on for dear life, even though I had her. Carefully, I laid her back down, arranging the damp sheets around her. She winced as I checked the wound, peeling back the edge of the fresh gauze.

It still looked angry, red lines snaking away from it under her skin. Damn it.

“Drink,” I ordered, bringing the water glass to her lips again. She sipped automatically, her eyelids half-closed.

Her voice, barely above a whisper, broke the quiet. “Why am I not healing?” I stiffened. She didn’t know. She didn’t remember.

It hit me all at once: the rage, the blast, the fear, the way they all fell when I’d snapped. I’d taken everyone down, every damn one of them, the second I saw her hit the ground, blood spilling out of her side.

My hands shook just thinking about it.

But in the blast radius, there’d been her too. She’d been close enough to catch the edge of it. Not enough to destroy her physically, but enough to rip away what made her…her.

She wasn’t a Supe anymore. She didn’t have her powers, her healing. She was just human now. Because of me.

The truth clogged my throat, but when her cloudy, fevered gaze met mine, I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t. “You got hit pretty bad,” I lied gruffly, looking away. “These things take time.”

My outburst hadn’t just taken away her powers—it had made me realize something I’d been trying to deny for weeks: she mattered to me. Not just as a teammate, or someone I had to protect. She mattered in a way that turned my gut into knots.

And now, because of me, she was fragile, mortal, breakable in a way that made my chest ache just looking at her. I sat down beside the bed and stayed there, holding her glass until she drank again, even as guilt burned a hole straight through me.

As I watched her fall asleep again.

**Y/N’s POV**

When I woke again, the world was blurry.

My throat was raw and dry, each breath like sandpaper dragging against my insides. A tray sat on the nightstand—some takeout box and a glass of water, untouched with a note, 'All out, here's food.' It was Butchers writing.

My stomach ached from hunger, but every time I moved, pain lanced through my side like a red-hot blade.

Reaching for the glass was a mistake. I barely got my fingers around it before a sharp pain stole the strength from my arm. The glass slipped, shattering against the grimy floor. The sound was almost too much for me. Weakly, I tried to move, trying to get up to clean it up, but my head swam and the room spun.

Eventually, I stopped trying and let sleep take me again.

---

**Ben’s POV**

When I came back, days had passed and everything smelled like old food. The motel room, never clean to begin with, had become a disaster.

But none of that mattered.

Because the second I saw her pale, frail body curled on the bed, fever burning higher than ever and skin stretched too tight over her cheekbones, something inside me snapped.

“Fuck.” My voice came out low, broken. I crossed the room in long strides, grabbing a bottle of water from the supplies. The glass on the floor told me everything—she’d tried to reach it.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” I said softly, easing myself onto the bed behind her. My arms slid under her, lifting her weak body against my chest so she wouldn’t just flop forward. She was limp, her head falling against my collarbone, her skin cold and clammy despite the fever raging through her.

I tipped the water bottle to her lips. “Drink.” My voice wasn’t loud—barely louder than a growl—but I needed her to hear me. To wake up. “C’mon, sweetheart, you can do this. Drink.”

She stirred weakly, cracked lips brushing the bottle’s edge before her body slackened again. A soft moan escaped her lips, and it crushed me.

Not long after, the door burst open.

“Ben!” Mother’s Milk’s voice rang loud as he rushed in, his face pale and tight with worry. His hands clenched into fists, surveying the room quickly before his gaze landed on her. “Why the hell did you leave her here this long?”

“Don’t start with me, MM.” My tone was sharp, but my grip on her was softer than it had ever been. “I just got here.”

Butcher was close behind, a cigarette between his fingers as he took one look at Y/N slumped against me. He froze, his usual smug, careless attitude replaced by a fleeting hint of guilt.

“Yeah, she’s got a great nurse here,” Butcher said dryly, though his voice lacked its usual bite.

I glared at him, the anger boiling in my gut nearly strong enough to burn a hole right through him. “This is on you, Butcher. You were supposed to take care of her while I was gone.”

“Like I’ve got time to—”

“She didn’t even get water, you asshole! She's burning up!” I barked, cutting him off. Y/N shifted slightly at the sound, her breath shallow and rattling in her chest. I turned my attention back to her, my fingers brushing her damp hair off her forehead. She barely flinched.

Butcher raised his hands in mock surrender, but MM looked ready to only focus on her. “Look,” MM said, stepping closer. “Argue later. Right now, we need to get her stable. Ben, she can’t stay here like this.”

I nodded, though the thought of moving her anywhere sent a spike of fear through me. She felt so fragile, like the tiniest shift might shatter her completely.

“I'm going with her,” I said, my voice quieter, steadier now. “Not leaving her again.”

And I meant it. I wasn’t leaving her side—ever again.

**MM’s POV**

Y/N’s wounds were worse than I thought. The infection had spread, red and angry, seeping past the edges of her bandages. Fever had her trembling, her breathing shallow and erratic. I’d seen it before—blood poisoning.

“She needs a hospital, Ben,” I said, my voice steady despite the knot of worry in my chest. “She’s not gonna get better without stronger antibiotics and fluids. We’re way past the point of takeout, clean bandages and water.”

Ben didn’t say anything right away. He sat on the edge of the bed, his hand resting on Y/N’s clammy forehead, his jaw so tight it could’ve been carved from stone. Finally, he nodded, standing up and shifting to the side so I could wrap her up better in the sheets.

“Right,” he said, voice low but full of resolve. “We’re going.” Butcher, of course, wasn’t having it.

“A hospital?” he said, scoffing as he stepped into Ben’s path. “Think for a second, mate. You take her to a hospital, and every bloody supe in the world knows she’s down for the count. Not to mention the press. You want every spandex dickhead in the world hunting us down ‘cause they sniffed her out?”

Ben didn’t respond immediately, but something in his posture changed. He stepped closer to Butcher, towering over him, his gaze dark and dangerous.

“Move.”

Butcher stayed put, arms crossed, clearly digging in. “It’s not worth the risk. She’ll push through it. She’s tougher than—”

Ben grabbed him by the shirtfront, yanking him so close their noses nearly touched. Butcher’s cocky facade flickered, replaced with something uncertain.

“She dies,” Ben growled, his voice low and filled with lethal intent, “you die. Right after. You hear me, Buddy?”

The silence that followed was tense, almost suffocating. Butcher’s eyes darted toward me, and I gave a small shake of my head, silently backing Ben. I wasn’t about to let Y/N suffer any longer, no matter the risk.

“Fine,” Butcher muttered, wrenching free from Ben’s grip and smoothing his shirt with a scowl. “Do what you want. But when this goes tits up, don’t come cryin’ to me.”

Ben didn’t even look at him again. He bent down, gathering Y/N into his arms with a tenderness that looked almost unnatural coming from him. She barely stirred, her head lolling against his shoulder as he held her close.

“I’m not leaving her to die,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else, as he carried her toward the door. I followed, determined to make sure she made it through this.

Butcher could whinge all he wanted. Right now, saving her was the only thing that mattered.

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[alwaysmicado]

Wet

3.3k | 18+ MDNI | fwb!Joel Miller x f!reader | pt. 2

Warnings: no outbreak au, implied age gap, smut: pussy sliding, unprotected piv, choking, creampie, public sex, pet names, degradation/praise, soft!dom Joel, aftercare Summary: You run into Joel at the gym. Seeing him all sweaty in his gym shorts turns you on, so you fuck him in the whirpool. A/N: Get your favorite protein shake ready, make sure to stay hydrated, and have fun! 💦 Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 🖤 series masterlist / AO3

“Mmm, I’d know that beautiful ass anywhere,” a deep voice behind you murmurs. You duck your head to look at Joel’s shoes through your spread legs. “This your signature move, Miller? Perving on girls in the gym at night?” You hear him chuckle, “Only you, baby.”

It’s 98°F today and your AC died five days ago. You’ve been too busy with work to call someone to fix it for you, so you’re currently lounging on your couch in your panties and a white tank top, beads of sweat forming on your face and chest, fanning yourself with an envelope that used to contain a wedding invite from your co-worker. It’s far too hot in your apartment and the prospect of spending your whole weekend in this sweatbox is giving you a headache. Since it’s already 8pm on a Friday, there’s zero chance you can get your AC fixed before tomorrow, and that’s if someone’s available on such short notice. 

You sigh and get up to pour yourself a glass of water. It’s ice cold after sitting in your fridge all day and cools you down nicely from the inside. Your phone lights up with a message from your gym, notifying you of a promotion they're offering for their new line of protein shakes. The gym is two blocks away from your apartment and has a big indoor pool. Why not, you think. Do a quick workout and then cool off in the water. Sounds like a plan.

The girl at the gym’s front desk greets you cheerily and compliments your shorts. They’re bright pink and make your ass look incredible. You thank her and go to the locker room to change shoes and stow your bag. You take your towel and water bottle with you and go to the main room with all the cardio and strength equipment to do a warm-up before running a few miles. The room is empty save for a handful of people doing their own thing.

You lay your towel down on the mat and start doing a few yoga poses to stretch all of your tense muscles. When you’re going into the Downward Dog pose, you exhale deeply and try to let go of all the stress that’s been weighing you down lately. Work, the heat, your family, your life- 

“Mmm, I’d know that beautiful ass anywhere,” a deep voice behind you murmurs. You duck your head to look at Joel’s shoes through your spread legs. “This your signature move, Miller? Perving on girls in the gym at night?” You hear him chuckle, “Only you, baby.”

You sigh deeply and get up. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing here on a Friday night, hm?” Joel asks, taking a swig from his shaker and licking his lips. Now that you’re getting a good look at him, you can only stare for a few seconds. He looks sinfully handsome in his black shirt and gym shorts, his hair already a bit wet and disheveled from a previous workout.

“My AC’s broken,” you eventually find your words, “I’m just here to cool off in the pool.” Joel furrows his brow and tilts his head, “Why didn’t you tell me? You know what I do for work.” You give him a smile, “It just went out a few hours ago, no big deal. I’ll call someone tomorrow.” Joel looks at you for a second before nodding. “Alright, sweetheart, gotta do my next set. And you keep doing those beautiful poses,” he winks at you, “giving me all sorts of ideas.” 

You resume your yoga routine and try to concentrate on your breathing again. It’s no use. All you can focus on is Joel’s biceps and triceps flexing a few feet away from you, sweat running down his neck, his strained face, the way his big hands grip the weights. Oh, and his spread legs in those slutty shorts he’s wearing. You could just sit between them and blow him while he’s doing his workout. Or straddle him while he’s sitting on the bench, rubbing yourself on his hard cock, your bodies separated by the thin material of your shorts only. 

You can feel wetness seeping out of your pulsing pussy and pooling in your synthetic thong. You press your legs together, flex your abdomen and stretch your torso to try and distract yourself from your burning arousal, but it doesn’t work. You can’t concentrate on anything but your throbbing clit and the fact that your cunt should be clenching around Joel’s thick cock right now instead of nothing. Your heart is racing and your skin is on fire. 

When you sit up and spread your legs, you realize that there’s a visible wet spot on your shorts. Joel is taking a sip from his shaker when his eyes lock with yours and then drop down to your exposed core. His brow furrows, eyes wide when he chokes a little on the thick liquid going down his throat. He tries to play it cool, but you’re already giggling smugly. He glowers at you, but you just bite your lip and tilt your head. He is too easy sometimes. 

You turn around, get on all fours and present Joel with a perfect view of your ass and the damp fabric hugging your folds when you move into Downward Dog again. You make sure to hold the position for a few long seconds before getting back on your hands and knees again, moving into Cat and Cow. After a few repetitions of those poses, you can hear weights hitting the floor rather aggressively.

“You need it that bad, huh?” Joel is standing in front of you now, his erection clearly visible through the thin fabric of his shorts. You look up at his face, feigning innocence, “No idea what you’re talking about.” Joel scoffs, “All you need to do is ask nicely, darlin’. No need to act like a desperate whore.” He crouches down and grabs your chin roughly to force you to look into his dark eyes. “Or is that what you are, hm? A desperate whore showing everyone what a mess she made in her pants?”

Fuck, it turns you on when he talks to you like this. You look up at him with big eyes and bite your lip. “Hmm, poor baby can’t even use her words anymore,” he tuts mockingly, tracing your lips with his thumb. “It’s okay, baby. I know what you need.”

Joel releases your chin and gets up to stand above you. “Tell me what you are and I’ll give you what you need. Simple as that, darlin’.” You’d usually try to defy him, but your physical need for him to fuck you outweighs any and all inclinations to be a brat right now. “I’m a desperate whore for your cock, sir,” you purr, batting your eyelashes. “Yeah, that’s right,” Joel smirks, palming himself over his shorts. “Time for a swim, don’t you think?”

—---

The water looks beautiful. Turquoise, clean, cool. Joel dims the lights and closes the door behind you two. There’s no one else in the pool area right now, but you can’t lock the door from the inside. 

“C’mere,” Joel growls, pulling you close by your waist with one hand and grabbing the back of your neck with the other. “You gonna be a good girl and take what I give you, hm?” He raises an eyebrow at you, the dark glint in his eyes making your whole body tingle. His face is so close to yours that you can feel his hot breath and smell the intoxicating mix of sweat and aftershave. You want him so bad it hurts. 

“Yes, sir,” you coo, your pulse quickening rapidly. Joel lets go of your waist and grabs your chin instead. “Look at me, baby.” You lock eyes with him and swallow. “You get off on being a pathetic little slut in public, don’t you,” he smirks at you. You nod and can’t hide the grin spreading across your face. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, pulling you close for a passionate kiss. His plush lips find yours, pressing against you gently but commandingly, making you moan into his mouth. His skilled tongue circles yours as he tangles one hand in your hair and runs the other down your back slowly. He squeezes your ass and then slides his hand further down, feeling the damp spot between your legs, massaging you softly through your pants. His hard cock is rubbing against your thigh and you want nothing more than to feel him deep inside you, filling you up over and over again until you can’t think straight anymore.   

“Fuck, Joel,” you breathe against his lips, “I want you so bad.” He grabs your ass cheeks with both of his big hands and pulls you up his thigh. “I got you, darlin’. Gonna fuck you so good you’ll be begging me to stop.” You press your thighs together and whimper at the thought. Joel nuzzles his nose against the delicate skin of your jaw and hums, “Yeah, I know that’s what you need.” He starts trailing soft kisses down your neck from behind your ear all the way down to your clavicle while you tangle your hands in his curls and moan softly into his ear. 

“Tell you what, baby. If you make it into the pool naked before me, I’ll let you come tonight,” he smiles mischievously against your hot skin. You stare at him like a deer in headlights for a split second before determination sets in and you rip your shirt and sports bra off.

Joel starts fumbling with his shirt as well when he realizes you’re taking this seriously, but you’re already shucking off your shoes and pulling down your pants along with your panties before he can even get to his shoes. You run towards the pool and clumsily jump on one leg at a time while taking your socks off without stopping.

Joel just laughs to himself and stares at you in awe, your beauty taking him by surprise every single time. You lift your hands above your head and jump into the wonderfully cold water head first. It feels incredible.

You come up again and put your arms on the edge of the pool, Joel’s naked toes appearing right in front of your face. He looks down at you and laughs, “Remind me to never underestimate your desperation for my cock again, baby. Alright?” And with that he jumps into the water. 

You both swim a few laps, trying different styles, making a race out of it until Joel catches you by your ankle and pulls you back into his broad chest, his arms wrapping around your naked torso from behind. “Can’t stand that I’m winning, old man?” you chuckle breathlessly, your chest heaving from the exertion. “You’re such a brat,” Joel growls, moving one hand to cup the soft flesh of your left breast, kneading it roughly and rolling your pebbled nipple until you cry out in pain, while the other hand finds its way down your belly.

“You love it,” you pant, turning your head to look at him. He immediately removes the hand that was almost touching you where you need it the most and puts it around your neck, squeezing hard. “You’re really pushing your luck tonight, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his face so close that his lips brush yours, “let’s go in the whirlpool.”

Joel gets in first, closing his eyes, spreading out his arms and groaning at the feeling of the jets massaging his back and legs. You smile at the sight. You know he has a stressful job and isn’t the type to allow himself much downtime, so it warms your heart to see him be able to relax when he’s with you. He’s beautiful. “You just gonna stare at me or come in,” his voice yanks you from your thoughts. “C’mere and sit on my lap, pretty girl.” 

He immediately wraps his arms around you once you’re straddling him, tracing your back with his palms. His cock is already hardening again and you can’t help yourself but start rocking back and forth on it.

“Mmm, what a needy little thing you are,” Joel coos, “can’t wait for me to fuck you, huh?” You nod and whimper at the delicious feeling of your swollen clit finally getting the stimulation it has been aching for. “Shame you had to be a brat today and behave like a bitch in heat in front of everyone,” he grips the back of your neck with his hand, sending shivers down your spine.

“You wanna get off so bad, you do it. But I’m not gonna help you,” he searches your eyes intently, “got it?” He raises his eyebrows and you nod slowly. “Good. Now be a good girl and make yourself come on my cock.” 

You start rolling your hips, your slick folds sliding over Joel’s length continuously. “Fuck me, you feel so good, baby,” he moans, arms crossed behind his head. You keep grinding and tilt your pelvis so you’re stimulating your clit with every movement you make.

You’ve not fucked anyone since Joel a week ago and it’s been too hot in your apartment for you to get in the mood and masturbate, so you’re understandably desperate for release. It’s so close you can taste it, but still too far away. You dig your fingers into Joel’s shoulders as your movements get more erratic, the tension in your lower belly close to snapping.  

“That’s it, baby,” Joel pants, “keep going.” He keeps his eyes trained on your face and puts his hands on your waist. For a second you hope he might help guide you and start thrusting his hips, maybe even fuck you, but you know better. He loves it too much when you’re desperate.

You’re so close to coming, but just can’t seem to get there completely, no matter how hard or fast you rub yourself on his cock. You whine in frustration, hot tears starting to well in your eyes. 

“Look at me, baby,” Joel purrs, “you wanna say something?” You shake your head, trying to avert your gaze and blink away your tears. Joel grips your chin and forces you to look at him. “It’s okay, you can tell me,” he coos sweetly, the smirk on his face telling you that he’s mocking you.

“It hurts, Joel,” you whimper, tears rolling down your cheeks now. He cups your face and wipes them away with his thumbs. “Well, princess, it wouldn’t have to if you didn’t behave like a little whore. You think I should reward that behavior, hm?” 

Your pussy’s on fire and you’d say anything at this point if it meant you could come. “I’m so sorry, sir. Please help me, I’ll do anything, please, please, just help me,” you whine pathetically. “Aww, you poor thing,” Joel teases, “no fight left in ya, huh?” You shake your head and fall into him, burying your face into his neck, putting your arms around him. “Please, Joel,” you sob, “I need you.” 

He wraps his arms around you and strokes your hair. “You’re a good girl for asking so nicely. Wasn’t that hard now, was it?” You look into his eyes and shake your head no. “Good girls get rewarded, you know that.”

He nudges your nose with his and presses his soft lips on yours, kissing you urgently, nibbling and biting until he can’t take it anymore himself. “Sit on my cock, baby,” he pants, holding his shaft up with his hand. You position yourself right above his tip and sink down on him slowly. You almost come instantly, the way he’s stretching you open the perfect combination of painful and pleasurable. 

“Fuuuck, that’s it, baby. Take what you need from me,” Joel encourages you, gripping your hips and guiding you up and down on his thick cock. You can’t hold back your moans anymore, bouncing on him frantically, throwing your head back and flexing the muscles in your abdomen.

“Fuck, Joel, I’m so close,” you whine, starting to feel dizzy from the overwhelming mix of sensations. “Look at me when you come on my cock, baby,” Joel commands. You open your eyes, brow furrowed, mouth slightly opened, and look into his big dark eyes. “Just let go, baby,” he pants, “you’re doing so good for me.” 

Your skin is burning and your heart is racing when the tension inside you finally snaps and you come with a strangled moan. You convulse in ecstasy, your walls spasming and contracting around Joel, sending him over the edge himself. “F-fuck!” he groans, holding you down and thrusting up a few times, emptying himself inside you.

You collapse into him, as the aftershocks of your orgasm run through your body. “C’mere, darlin’. I got you,” Joel mumbles into your ear breathlessly, holding you tight and stroking your hair gently. 

The sudden rush of dopamine and oxytocin flooding your brain is forcing tears down your cheeks. You’re so exhausted that you can’t stop yourself from crying and sobbing into the crook of Joel’s neck. “Shhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here,” he reassures you calmly, drawing soothing circles on your back.

Your body’s still trembling and the tears won’t stop. “I know, baby, I know. I’m here, just breathe.” He kisses the top of your head and murmurs into your hair how proud he is of you and how good you’ve been.

After a few minutes of silence, you’ve calmed down enough to open your eyes and lift your head again. “There’s my pretty girl,” Joel cups your face and smiles at you softly. “Let’s go take a shower, hm?”

---

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened,” you murmur while Joel’s gently rubbing soap into your skin. “No need to apologize, darlin’. Crying after the incredible orgasm I gave you seems pretty natural to me,” he smirks and you giggle.

“I never want you to hide your feelings from me. Just want you to be yourself around me, always,” he looks at you earnestly. You nod and smile at him before rinsing off the shampoo in your hair. You both towel off, gather your clothes and go to the respective locker rooms to change. 

Joel waits for you outside the gym’s front door, enjoying the cool night air. You try to sneak by the front desk, fearing that the receptionist might have put two and two together or even heard you, but of course she sees you. “Have a great night,” she winks at you and gives you a big smile. 

“I can never come here again, I hope you’re happy,” you sigh and Joel chuckles. “Not my fault, baby, remember? I was just doing my workout when you came and decided to put your pussy on display.” You slap his arm and laugh.

“Well, have a good-” “Let me drive you home, darlin’,” Joel interrupts you, taking your hand in his. You shake your head. “I live like ten feet away from here, you don’t have to drive me.” “I know I don’t. I want to. No buts, c'mon.”

Despite your reassurance that you’re fine and that he doesn’t need to bring you upstairs, Joel’s currently in your apartment, fixing you a glass of water and an Advil. You should know better by now than to expect anything less from him - he’s a gentleman through and through.

“Let’s get you to bed, darlin’,” he leads you into your bedroom, helping you out of your clothes and into a new shirt and pair of shorts. “Thanks, Joel. It was really nice seeing you tonight,” you murmur, your eyes getting heavy as soon as your head hits your soft pillow. “You too, sweetheart.”

You think you feel him put a soft kiss on your lips and murmur something when you drift off to sleep. You're probably just dreaming already.

If only you knew how much you mean to me.

Something’s off when you wake up in the morning. You rub your eyes, stretch, look around your room and can’t figure out what it is. Only when you step into your living room, it hits you. Your AC is working. You smile to yourself and look for your phone. 

You: Thank you, mr. contractor

Joel: Anything for you, babe

—--

part 1 || part 3 || series masterlist

[inmate62763]

HMP life in British prisons. In the sweatbox in the prison and police transport vans. Very small and cramped in those narrow locked cubicles in the van they keep you in whilst in transport.