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solxamber · 17 hours ago

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This is a funny lil idea I just had but have you ever thought about rook and a reader that acts like his behavior is normal? Like, they know he's literally stalking them but is perfectly fine with it for some strange reason.

And when they finally do start dating, everyone is either

1. Convinced that he’s threatening your life

2. Judging you like crazy because WHY

Totally Normal Romance || Rook Hunt

You've fallen hard for the hunter and you're dating! But when you tell your friends the good news, they immediately try staging interventions. Huh, I wonder why?

thank you for waiting! I loved the idea a lot and it became way longer than I expected but I hope you like it!

You’ve somehow managed to fall into a relationship with Rook, the Academy's resident “Hunter” and renowned tracker of students who can't even attempt to hide without him finding them.

Most people would be a little alarmed—okay, extremely alarmed—by Rook’s knack for showing up whenever you breathe a little too loud. But you? You’re weirdly, unapologetically chill about it.

The day starts as it usually does. Rook is outside your door bright and early, practically sparkling, ready to report how many steps you took in your sleep, how many breaths you exhaled, and what percentage of your dreams contained images of his dashing silhouette.

You nod, acting like he’s merely sharing the weather, and go about your morning. People are whispering in the hallways; they’ve noticed that the school’s “greatest hunter” is now your personal shadow.

Some think you're being held hostage in an unholy union. Others are convinced you’ve cracked under the pressure of Rook’s endless poetic monologues and have, in fact, lost your mind.

When the two of you officially start dating, the rumors take a delightful nosedive into the surreal. Rook is, naturally, over the moon, reciting sonnets about your “captivating acceptance of his pursuit.” Friends beg you to “see the red flags.”

You just smile as Rook emerges from behind a tree on your morning jog to hand you a flower he found “radiant with the essence of your aura.”

Intervention Attempt 1: Adeuce

You’re just sitting down to lunch when Ace and Deuce suddenly approach you with identical expressions of horror and determination, like they’ve somehow stumbled into a horror movie and taken it upon themselves to rescue the clueless protagonist. Ace, as usual, decides to take the lead.

“We need to talk. About... him.” He jerks a thumb toward Rook, who’s lurking—quite visibly—behind a tree, watching you with a delighted grin as if the entire world is his favorite reality TV show.

You shrug. “Rook’s just being his usual sweet self.”

Deuce’s mouth falls open. “That’s... sweet? The dude’s literally hiding in a tree to stare at you.”

You wave a hand. “He’s just thoughtful, you know? He knew I needed a pick-me-up yesterday, so he waited in my closet for two hours just to surprise me with a motivational haiku.”

Ace’s expression is somewhere between pity and disbelief. “You’re serious? That’s... sweet?”

“Uh-huh.” You pop a fry in your mouth, unfazed. “Honestly, it’s kind of nice to have someone that dedicated.”

Ace and Deuce share a silent, horrified look, one that clearly says, Our friend has lost it. Then, Ace leans in close. “You know, if he’s threatening you, you can blink twice or something. We can handle him.”

You burst into laughter, almost choking on your fry. “Guys, come on! Rook’s harmless. It’s just his way of showing affection.”

Behind the tree, Rook notices you laughing and beams even wider, waving with both hands like you’re his entire world. Ace sighs, looking like he’s just signed up for an impossible mission. Deuce’s brows knit together in concern, like he’s mentally preparing himself to guard you from the “danger” Rook apparently presents.

Intervention Attempt 2: Leona

Leona lounges on the couch as you walk into the room, looking way too relaxed—except for the sharp glint in his eye as he watches you. You know that look; it’s the we need to talk look, though Leona would sooner eat his tail than say it outright.

“You know that guy who keeps creeping around you?” he starts, his tone casual, as if he’s talking about the weather. “The hunter dude?”

“Oh, Rook? Yeah, he’s great!” you reply with a smile, clearly missing his hint.

Leona raises an eyebrow, looking faintly amused. “Great? The guy basically tracks your every move like a lion on a hunt. He’s probably memorized your breathing patterns by now.”

You laugh it off, waving a hand. “Leona, you make it sound creepy. Rook’s just… committed.”

Leona smirks, leaning back with a lazy yawn. “Committed to what, stalking you?”

You shrug. “It’s romantic in its own way! He writes poetry about me, makes sure I’m always safe... It’s kinda nice knowing someone’s always watching out for me.”

“Watching out for you,” Leona mutters, barely concealing a snicker. “Sure. Or just watching you.” He tilts his head, examining you as if you’re some rare species that’s suddenly shown up in the savanna. “You sure he hasn’t put a spell on you? You sound completely out of it.”

You smirk. “Leona, you’re just not used to people showing appreciation.”

Leona narrows his eyes, amusement flickering in his gaze. “You keep saying stuff like that, herbivore, and I’m gonna assume you’ve completely lost it.” He yawns and flops back onto the couch, muttering under his breath, “That crazy hunter and his weird haikus…”

You walk away, oblivious, and Leona just shakes his head with a smirk, quietly wondering if he’ll end up having to pry Rook off of you someday.

Intervention Attempt 3: Riddle

Riddle stares at you over his teacup, his brows knit with concern as you talk about your latest “date” with Rook. You've barely started describing his newest poetic declaration when Riddle sets his cup down, looking thoroughly alarmed.

“I… don’t understand,” he interrupts. “Did you say he was waiting in the shadows outside your dorm window at midnight? And he… recited sonnets?”

You nod, completely unbothered. “Oh, yes! And he was so sweet about it. He even had a rose between his teeth, Riddle. He really went all out.”

Riddle’s expression looks like he’s been hit with cold water. “And you… didn’t feel unsafe?”

“Why would I?” you laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s Rook. He’s just being his passionate self.”

Riddle’s face hardens, and he stands up, clutching his teacup with barely contained fury. “This is unacceptable! You must report this immediately—stalking is a severe issue! You don’t have to tolerate this treatment, no matter how he frames it!”

You blink, surprised. “Riddle, it’s really okay. He’s not stalking me; he’s just… really attentive.”

Riddle’s lips thin, and he looks at you with pity, as if you're just too naive to understand the danger you’re in. “It’s worse than I thought,” he mutters, eyes blazing. “He’s… he’s manipulating you into thinking this is acceptable!”

Riddle finally sighs, shaking his head. “If you’re too afraid to tell him off, I’ll do it for you. As a dorm leader, it’s my duty to protect students in my care.”

“Riddle, I appreciate it, but I don’t need protection,” you insist, patting him on the shoulder. “Rook is harmless.”

Riddle huffs, looking like he’s already planning out the verbal lashing he’s going to deliver to Rook the next time he sees him. “You’ll see,” he says. “When you realize the danger, remember I warned you.”

You just smile, and he glances at you like you’re a sheep walking happily into a lion’s den.

Intervention Attempt 4: Malleus (And Lilia?)

When Malleus summons you to Diasomnia for what he calls an “urgent matter,” you’re intrigued. However, when you arrive, his expression is downright grave. The flickering candlelight gives his face an eerie glow as he looks at you, his usually calm demeanor laced with worry.

He leans in close, and his eyes narrow. “I understand you… spend much time with Rook,” he says, voice almost a whisper.

“Uh, yeah? We’re dating,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Malleus blinks, clearly taken aback, as if he was expecting an entirely different answer. “So you willingly… permit him to lurk in the shadows around you?”

“Well, yes, he’s got that whole poetic ‘silent protector’ thing going on.” You shrug, but Malleus doesn’t look any less alarmed.

“I see,” Malleus says, more to himself than to you. “So he’s already gained control over you.” He sighs, looking deeply concerned. “Fear not. I will protect you from him.”

Before you can respond, Lilia, who’s been silently watching with a smirk, bursts into laughter.

“Oh, Malleus, you’re taking this far too seriously,” he cackles, clapping a hand on Malleus’s shoulder. “Rook isn’t dangerous—well, unless you count bad poetry as a weapon.”

Malleus doesn’t look convinced. “You find this funny?” he asks, frowning.

“Of course I do!” Lilia grins, wiping a tear of laughter from his eye. “They’re dating, Malleus. Rook doesn’t even know how to scare a fly when it comes to them.”

Malleus turns back to you, still worried. “Are you… certain you’re safe?”

You nod, but the look of pity in his eyes says he’s clearly unconvinced, as if he thinks you’re only defending Rook out of fear. Meanwhile, Lilia gives you a wink and a mischievous grin, enjoying the absurdity of the whole situation.

Intervention Attempt 5: Azul

You’re strolling past the Mostro Lounge, hoping to grab some food, when Azul intercepts you, looking unusually serious. He gestures for you to follow him into a private corner, glancing around as if he's worried someone might overhear.

“I understand you’ve been spending quite a bit of time with Rook,” he says, his tone grave, though there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s already calculating something.

You raise an eyebrow. “Yeah, we’re dating.”

Azul’s expression shifts to something between shock and pity, as if he’s just heard you’ve taken up with the Grim Reaper himself. “Dating? So… you’re aware he’s stalking you?”

You shrug. “He’s not stalking—he’s just keeping an eye out. Very vigilant, actually.”

Azul’s face darkens. “Right… vigilant.” He clears his throat. “In that case, allow me to offer the services of Floyd and Jade for your… protection.”

You blink. “Protection?”

“Yes. For a reasonable price, of course,” he says with a smooth smile, back to his usual self. “Consider it a sort of… insurance in case this arrangement with Rook takes a… dramatic turn.”

He leans forward, lowering his voice. “Imagine if you had two skilled guards who could tail him as closely as he tails you.”

Before you can respond, Floyd appears out of nowhere, draping an arm over your shoulder and grinning. “We could totally scare him, too. Make him feel like he’s the one being hunted!”

Jade nods from behind him, his smile too sharp to be comforting. “Yes, we’re more than happy to shadow Rook if you’d like.”

You stare at the twins, whose predatory smiles seem to stretch further the longer they look at you. “Guys, I appreciate the offer, but Rook’s fine. I’m not being held captive.”

Azul raises an eyebrow, but he doesn’t push, instead sighing in that dramatic way of his. “Very well. The offer stands should you need it. Just remember: one word, and we’re at your service.”

As you walk away, you catch a quiet exchange between the twins.

“Do you think we’d even get the chance to tail him, Jade?”

“Hmm… I’d say it’s more likely he’d follow us, Floyd.”

You shake your head, amused. Only Azul would find a way to capitalize on your love life.

Intervention(?) Attempt 6: Vil

You’re backstage in Pomefiore, helping Vil with his costume adjustments for his latest role when he pauses, hands on his hips, giving you a long, evaluative look.

“So… you and Rook?” he finally says, an eyebrow raised with an almost resigned air.

“Yeah.” You grin, shrugging. “I mean, he’s… intense, but it works.”

Vil sighs, pressing two fingers to his temple as if that would ward off the headache he’s certain to get from this conversation. “You realize that most people would find his behavior concerning, right?”

You wave him off. “He’s harmless. Just… expressive.”

He gives a soft, humorless laugh, as though he’s not sure if you’re just that naive or that confident. “You’re both completely mad, you know that?”

“Maybe,” you say, leaning back with a shrug. “But I like it that way.”

Vil sighs again, and there’s a glimmer of a smile, even if it’s hidden behind a look of sheer exasperation. “Well, at least he won’t make you look bad. He’ll be too busy swooning in the background to do anything truly reckless.” He adjusts your collar with an air of finality, giving you a nod. “Good luck. You’ll need it.”

And with that, he returns to his preparations, mumbling something under his breath about how only you could take Rook’s intensity as a “feature” rather than a “warning sign.” But you catch the faint smile on his face as he walks away, leaving you feeling oddly reassured.

Final Intervention: Idia

Idia’s “intervention” is the sort of spectacle that would probably have your other friends dial emergency numbers if they walked in. He's got his laptop perched on a stack of comics, his tablet propped up, and an honest-to-Seven laser pointer he’s brandishing like it’s going to physically ward off any poor life choices.

He points at his first diagram, titled in neon-green font: "Why Your Boyfriend Should Not Be Tracking Your Every Move Like a Supervillain”. It's complete with cartoonish red arrows and diagrams that could pass for an undergrad thesis on questionable behavior.

Rook’s sitting beside you, nodding along with a strangely approving look, as if Idia's crude drawings are just part of the "unrefined genius" he'd expect from mere mortals.

When Idia clicks to his next slide—a very intense pie chart on “Reasons You’re Definitely in Danger"—you shrug. “Look, Idia, everyone’s got their quirks, right? He leaves poetry scrolls for me; you send messages only through encrypted text channels with six layers of memes as the header.”

Idia stares at you, blinking, and drops his laser pointer. It rolls pathetically across the floor, and he looks like he’s two seconds away from fainting. “Th-This isn’t the same! I don’t leave my IP address in your flowerbeds!”

Rook, thrilled, interjects. “Ah, but would you not feel a poetic stirring in your heart if you did, monsieur? Every new line I compose is a love letter to the chase!”

Idia sways. You’re genuinely worried he might black out.

Life, as it turns out, continues with a healthy dose of Rook’s “love language,” which to everyone else looks like the dictionary definition of a security risk.

Yet, you find yourself smiling every time he swoops in with that glittering look in his eyes, poetry scrolls under his arm and a thousand strange ideas.

And even if everyone around you is either looking into exorcisms or planning escape routes, for you, it’s just another day of living your best life.

Masterlist

#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt x reader #rook x reader #rook x you #rook hunt #rook

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vscabarca · 3 days ago

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a gavi fic in which he dispels the reader's insecure about her appearance? pleaseeee

"one tummy roll or two, I don‘t care" - pablo gavi

summary: before a date night you become insecure about your appearance, but gavi talks you out of it.

genre: fluff,

warnings: talks of body image

a/n: enjoyy!💞💗

———

„Amorcito are you ready to - hey why are you crying?“ Pablo originally wanted to check in on you to see if you were ready for the date he had planned.

Since he could play football again, you and the brunette hadn’t had much time for each other. It didn’t bother you - you loved seeing him smile again and do what he loved, but of course - you were excited to be taken on a night out again.

That excitement was long gone though.

When Pablo told you to dress nicely, you immediately thought of that one dress. The one you wore on the first date with the midfielder.

Everything had been going well so far. You took a shower, did your makeup and straightened your hair until it was time to put on the black dress.

Once you put it on, your heart sank. Why didn’t it look like the other times before? You tried to flat it out, maybe there were just too many wrinkles from being in the closet for too long.

After trying to adjust it better, you realized it wasn’t the wrinkles, it was you. Suddenly all the confidence you’ve had about your appearance vanished. The dress was too tight in all the wrong places, showing off your insecurities no one besides you would notice.

Your hips seemed to be too wide, your arms too big and your belly seemed to be extremely visible through the silk material. The smile gradually turned into a frown and you had to swallow down a forming lump in your throat.

Do I really look that bad? You questioned yourself, now looking at every detail of your body. More and more seemed to make you insecure. Did you gain weight? Why were there so many pimples on your forehead and why did your legs look like that? Your thoughts kept spiraling till they stopped at the comment section of your instagram profile. Since you and Pablo have made the relationship public, comments and tweets decorated not only his posts but also yours. A lot of them were just purely jealous, but a few also pointed out how you were not worthy enough to be a football star‘s partner.

They called you all kinds of names, but Pablo was always there to talk them out of your little head. At the beginning it was horrible. He even disabled yours and his comment section to show you his support.

Now, after several months, you have gotten pretty used to it. People still call you slurs and whatever, but you realized Pablo loved you the way you were. Yet there were days where the suppressed feelings came back to make life difficult for you, just like now.

You still stood in front of the mirror, silent tears rolling down your cheeks, messing up the pretty makeup you have done just moments before.

The sound of Pablo’s voice made your head spin and once you saw him standing in the doorway, you quickly wiped away the tears.

„Oh, I wasn’t don’t worry.“ You bluntly stated, not wanting to mess up the night.

„Bombón don’t lie to me, I see how you were crying before.“ Pablo said with a sad tone, slowly walking up to you. As he stood in front of you, brushing away the wet tears, your chin started to quiver even more. More and more tears streamed down your face as your boyfriend pulled you close against his chest. Pablo’s arms were tightly wrapped around you, soothing you and placing gentle kisses on top of your head.

„Do you wanna tell me what happened? I hate to see you cry.“ He whispered, trying to get you to look at him.

You finally did, looking into the eyes of your worried boyfriend who was giving you a weak grin.

„I hope I wasn’t making you cry with something I did.“ Pablo joked, finally getting you to crack a smile.

„No, of course not.“ You sniffled, mentally preparing yourself to explain to him why just everything seemed to disgust you about your body.

Pablo led you to the bed, taking your hand into his.

„I think I gained weight.“ You simply swallowed while new tears poured down your cheeks.

Pablo knew immediately what you were about to tell him. He wished you could see yourself through his eyes, how beautiful you smiled at people you loved, how soft your skin was and how you still turned his head upside down every new day.

„Bombón… I love you. I wish you could see how much you mean to me and how beautiful you truly are.“ Pablo softly caressed your cheek, trying to lift the weight off your chest.

„It’s just… I hate how I look in that dress. And then I think about all those comments I‘ve received. What if I really don’t deserve you?“

Pablo’s heart shattered right there. How could you even think of something like that while you were all he ever wanted in life?

„I am with you because you are all I want in my life. You complete me in every way possible. If one of us doesn’t deserve the other then it would be me. You are beautiful inside and out. These people who write these tweets are just jealous and don’t see how good you do me.“ He stopped his small speech, pressing soft kisses all over your face, achieving to elicit the sound of your giggles.

„You are gorgeous. I love your hair, your cute nose, the bushy eyebrows, your long legs, your tummy and your butt. I love everything about you. More or less weight, one tummy roll or two, I don’t care and so should you. You turn my head upside down wearing that dress, wearing anything basically or nothing, you decide.“

Finally, your laugh echoed through the shared bedroom, shaking your head softly at your boyfriend’s comment.

„I love you too, everything about you. Sometimes I don’t know what I would do without you.“ You said once you felt yourself relax and laid your head onto his shoulder.

„Mírame.“ Pablo said gently, making you turn your head to look into his beautiful brown eyes.

„Let’s skip our reservation and watch a movie cuddled up under some blankets. Maybe bake something? What do you think?“

You gave Pablo a gentle kiss, silently agreeing with his proposal before he took your hand and led you downstairs to the kitchen, making you forget all the worries from before.

#fc barcelona #pablo gavi #barça #football one shot #gavi #pablo gavi x reader #gavi x reader #vscabarca requests!#football x reader #gavi one shot

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luxthestrange · 2 days ago

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Avatar Incorrect quotes#65 Arvok came to judge you...but he got suprised adopted-

In the early days, you and tsu'tey were secretly courting...I love the dynamic of Arvok finding out his brother is courting not only a human but also a sully...Tsu'tey was simply helping Arvok in his romantic mate ideals...

Arvok: No offense, Brother, but what would you know about relationships anyway?

Tsu'tey*Stop and feels his cheek get hotter, His ears go down and his tail is tucked*Well, actually- I— uh…

Arvok*Looks confused*...Actually what?

Tsu'tey: …

Arvok: Spill it!

Tsu'tey: Y/NSULLY AND I ARE COURTING!!!

Arvok*Gasps,drops a mug he was now suddenly holding*!!!

Tsu'tey: For like a couple of months now!

Arvok*Gasps harder*!?!?

Tsu'tey*Showing off the necklace you made for him proudly...to show off what you made for him*-We have matching necklaces!?

-In your secret compound, watering your garden when you spot your boyfriend...bringing his younger brother to introduce each other properly-

Y/n*With your headphones push a wheelbarrel and notice them as they speed through them* Excuse me! Coming through!~- 'Tey! Oh, my gosh!? You must be Arvok!!!

Arvok*Is taken aback by your...energy and why are you screaming!-*U-uh-Oh!-

Y/n*Brining him into a hug and grins at pulling him down*I've heard so much about you!?!-MUAH MUAH!

Arvok*Ears up in shock as you kiss his cheeks and pull him along*...

Y/n: Perfect timing. Perfect timing!~

Tsu'tey*Follows his mate, is a tad mix of...happy seeing you welcome his brother...and envious you gave him the human kisses before him*...Dont adopt my young brother y/n

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samott · 3 days ago

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Ez volt mar itt, olvastam, de nem talalom. Megkerestem a redditen, link lesz a vegen, de legyen meg itt egyben:

My missing husband came home, but I just know it isn't him

My husband went missing six months ago. Just... went out to work one day and never came home. It was a horrible shock to the whole neighbourhood, because things like that just didn't happen in our little slice of white-picket-fence suburbia. The police launched an investigation, and the neighbourhood watch sent out search parties, but no one ever found any evidence to indicate what had happened to him. Our families were devastated. Recently, the missing posters have been taken down or papered over. The updates from the police became less frequent and dwindled away. I accepted that, hard as it was to admit, my Rick wasn't coming back.

Until he did.

A week ago, I was in the back garden watering my petunias when I heard the garden gate creak open. I jerked my head in that direction and- there he was. Exactly the same as he was the day he disappeared. Same windswept blond hair and bright blue eyes, same curl to his pink lips. I was in shock. Our families had mourned for him, and yet there he was, standing in our garden like he had just popped out for milk or something. When I asked where he had been, he said he didn't know. He couldn’t remember anything about the last six months.

All our family and friends are beside themselves with joy. They almost can't believe it. But that's just the thing: I don't believe it.

Look, I understand how crazy this all sounds, I do. Our families would never believe me, and I can’t go to the police unless I want to end up in a straightjacket. But I just know that the man sleeping next to me isn't my husband. I don't know what to do. I know I should be happy, but I'm not. I'm terrified. I don’t know much about anything supernatural or paranormal, I don't even like watching horror movies. But something about this whole situation makes my skin crawl.

Just let me explain why I'm so sure. Once I've done that, hopefully one of you will believe me, and you'll be able to tell me what to do.

The morning after "Rick" came home, I made him a cup of tea. When I handed it to him, he gave me the brightest smile. Then he took a sugar cube from the dish on the table and dropped it into the cup. Our house was in chaos with his return, and I was still in shock, so I didn't think much of it at the time, but its been replaying in my mind ever since. I know it doesn't sound very significant, but my husband never put sugar in his tea. He was always adamant that it ruined the taste, and he'd get so frustrated if I ever put sugar in his cup by accident. And yet, this man had sugar.

Then it was the golf. A few days ago, when he was out visiting his mom, I recorded a golf tournament that was showing on the TV. It was one of Rick's favourite golfers that was competing, and he never missed it. Once, he even skipped out on an anniversary dinner just to watch a championship. Only, when he came home from his parents' and I told him what I'd done, he just seemed... unbothered? Like, he said thanks and everything, and then he asked if I wanted to get dinner. He didn't even watch it, and that’s just so out of character for him.

Then one night I woke up around 2 a.m. to see Rick's face inches from mine just... looking at me with these blank eyes. I kinda gave this nervous laugh and asked "Baby, what are you doing?" And he didn't answer. For like a solid thirty seconds. He just stared, almost like he was looking right through me. Then he suddenly smiled and said, "Sorry, honey. Sometimes I just can’t believe this is real". Then he just rolled over and went to sleep. I didn’t get much sleep after that, myself.

Yesterday, about a week after he came home, the neighbourhood threw a street party to celebrate his return. Everyone from our street and the streets on either side turned up to see him and tell him how happy they are that he's alright. When he wasn't standing with his arm around my waist, he was milling around chatting amicably to each and every one of our neighbours, even the little kids. Jackson, our next-door neighbour Sally's toddler, wanted to play peek-a-boo, and Rick happily played along with a smile on his face. Now, my husband never did that. Rick always said he didn't like kids - that's why we never had any - and so he never wanted to play with any of the neighbourhood children. Especially not Jackson: Rick all but avoided him. Before he disappeared, I had started to suspect it was so I wouldn't see them together and notice the subtle but unmistakable similarities.

The final nail in the coffin, proverbially speaking, was Sally. Just this morning, she came knocking on our door. Her excuse was the tray of brownies she carried, but I think she just wanted to push her way into our morning so that she could see for herself what the situation was. After she left, I called her a nosy busybody. Rick laughed, kissed my head, and agreed with me. That was when I knew for sure that it couldn't really be him. Rick always used to get so mad whenever I insulted Sally, like I didn't have any right to hate her even though she'd been fucking my husband for years. But today there was none of that. He didn’t even try to defend her.

I know what you must be thinking. If he was in an accident or something, he might’ve had some kind of traumatic brain injury that caused him to forget some things about his life, maybe even change his personality. And that's a valid, reasonable explanation. I have no doubt it's what the police would tell me if I reported all this.

But you know why I'm dead certain that man isn't my husband? He doesn't have a scar. If he was really Rick, he'd have a scar on the side of his forehead shaped like the golf club I hit him with. But there's nothing. Not a mark. Honestly, I'm this close to going out tonight and digging up my petunias just to make sure he's still under there.

I don't know what I'm sharing a bed with, but I know it's not my husband. So what the hell am I going to do?

innet

#petunia

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enigmatist17 · 2 days ago

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Dot was not expecting to come home to an ambulance in her driveway during a quick break mid-shift, the car tucked just out of view of the main road. The ranger hopped out of her truck and approached it, clearing her throat while crossing her arms over her chest.

"I have about twenty minutes before I need to return to work, so talk to me now or wait for me to return." There was a moment, before the familiar sound of a Transformer shifting to its root mode filled the air, the ambulance standing a fair height above the human. "Welcome."

"Apologies, wasn't expectin' to get in so early." The mech had a gruff voice as they knelt down, extending a servo. "Name's Ratchet, don't think we had the pleasure of meetin' on the field."

"Dot Malto, I've heard of you." The ranger relaxed a little as she rested a hand on his palm in greeting. "Heavens know how many stories I've heard from Wheeljack and Bumblebee."

"Wheeljack is here?" Ratchet seemed a little surprised as he pulled his limb back, standing with a slight grunt. "That is...nice to hear. Haven't seen much of anyone these days, not with G.H.O.S.T tryin' to hunt us down, or had been anyways."

"Trust me, that's not something you need to worry about anymore." Dot sighed, glancing up at him. "I'm assuming you're here about what happened a few weeks ago?"

"Among other things." His optics dimmed for a moment at the memory of dying so suddenly, only to be revived with the knowledge that something had ripped his Spark from him for just shy of fifteen minutes. It hadn't taken him long to wrangle coordinates from Bumblebee once the initial panic had subsided, knowing Prime wouldn't be too far from the scout, and would hold the answer about what the frag had happened.

Ratchet wasn't scared of many things, but that had rattled his processor to the core.

"Well, I can start by introducing you to the kids, they're going to love meeting one of the "super ultra famous" Autobots." Dot smiled sympathetically, pointing toward a barn further into the premises.

"Strange, most humans don't let their sparklings live outside their home." Ratchet raised an optic ridge, motioning for her to step forward and trailing behind the ranger.

"Oh, my kids do live in the house; these are where my other kids live, the ones who don't quite fit." This had the medic further intrigued, Dot opening the door and whistling down the open large grate in a far corner. "Hey kids, why don't you come on up and say hello to someone!"

Ratchet felt his Spark nearly stop again when he was suddenly bombarded with five wide-open EMF fields, brimming with emotions so openly it almost made him fall to his knees.

No, no, this can't be what he thinks it is.

The first mech to come up from the underground area was so small Ratchet nearly thought they were a Minicon, the little femme zipping up into the air with an excited sqeual.

"Ohmigosh omigosh it's Ratchet!" The medic barely had time to register what she was saying before a blue and white mech ran up into view, his eyes wide.

"Mom, how come you didn't tell us he was coming!" Ratchet looked down helplessly at Dot, who just smiled and shrugged as three more sets of pedes hurried up from the underground area.

"I didn't know, sweetheart." Ratchet remained silent as what looked like a Dinobot, a lanky bot with glowing eyes reminiscent of an owl, and the tallest of the set, sporting a grin and thrumming with a particularly powerful EMF, gathered around him with overlapping questions.

Sparklings....honest to Primus sparklings were around him, a sight Ratchet never thought would come to pass.

"W-When were you all created?" The question nearly gets lost in the din, but Dot silences the bots by merely crossing her arms.

"A few months ago, when Mo and Robbie found the Emberstone and helped make us!" The petite femme smiled, hovering within his sight. as Ratchet stared.

"I see." Ratchet smiled as he knelt down, reaching into his subspace to pull out some tools, along with five glowing purple sticks. "Well, I'm going to assume you've never had a proper medic give you an exam, so I'd like to start with that."

"Do we have to?" The tall femme whined, eyeing Ratchet in slight discomfort. "Robbie and Mo hate the doctor, they say it's kinda scary sometimes."

"I assure you this won't hurt a bit, I've been doing this a very long time." Ratchet held out the sticks to the children. "Why don't you give me your names, and we'll go one at a time. Lieutenant Malto, you're more than welcome to observe."

"Just call me Dot, and I might do that for the first kiddo before I get back to work." Nodding, the medic finally pulled out a scanner before motioning for the bot closest to him. "You're up, come on."

"I'm Jawbreaker." Ratchet scanned him with what he hoped was a gentle smile, the young bot nervous yet curious.

"It's nice to meet you, Jawbreaker; like you heard, I'm Ratchet." The older bot frowned at the readings on his scanner before his optics went wide in alarm. Jawbreaker smiled nervously when Ratchet leaned forward with his scanner again, the readings the same as the first scan. "How are you operating?! I've never seen energon levels this low!"

"Oh that's 'cause we don't need energon, w-we drink magic cave water?" The small dinobot smiled, Ratchet just staring at the youngling before a trilling noise escaped him, unable to vocalize any response as he merely pressed one of the purple sticks into Jawbreaker's servos.

"Off you go." Dot looked amused and concerned at Ratchet's silence, Nightshade moved forward to take Jawbreaker's spot. He's just finishing up with Twitch when there's the familiar roar of Bumblebee's engine, the bot transforming the second he was close enough to the house, whistling a tune as he headed for the barn.

"Oh kids, I brought a surpi- Ratchet?!" The scout froze before throwing himself to the side, narrowly missing the wrench thrown at him.

"You SLAGGING PIT SPAWN!" The medic nailed him right to the face with a second wrench, stomping over to the stunned bot with a hiss. "You have been with SPARKLINGS and didn't think to CALL ME?!"

"W-Wait, I thought you knew!" Bumblebee winced as Ratchet stood over him, optics flashing in irritation. "I've been uncover with them, a-and Optimus would have told you, right?"

"Oh ho ho don't you dare try and distract me, although he will answer me later." The medic sneered, before letting out a long vent and offering a servo. "It's good to see you, kid."

"...it's great to see you too, I didn't know you were even on Earth." Ratchet easily pulled Bumblebee up onto his pedes, grumbling lightly when he was yanked into a hug. "I have missed you, though I didn't miss your wrench sharpshooting skills..."

"Comes with the package." The older bot smirked, the five younglings watching the two from their spot by the barn with wide optics. "They're in good health, despite not being properly checked over by a professional."

"I tried my best?" Bumblebee grinned, doorwings fluttering in delight at the backhanded praise. "Ratchet, why are you here?"

"I want to know what happened a few mega-cycles ago."

"Oh...right." The scout glanced toward the younger bots, offering a servo when Twitch rubbed one of her arms with a guilty look. "Who wants a hug?"

"We do!" Ratchet stepped back to allow the five young- terrans all but tackle Bumblebee with a group hug, his spark practically melting at the sight.

"Can we hug you too, Mr. Ratchet?" Hashtag asked, the older bot chuckling as he placed his data pad in his subspace.

"I suppose I could agree to that." It was Bumblebee's turn to laugh when one of his mentors was suddenly besieged by five eager terrans, sending him to the ground with an amused look, reminding the younger bot of times long past. Ratchet would find himself agreeing to spend the night later on in the day, unable to say no to the puppy-eyed optics that Thrash and Hashtag wielded with deadly accuracy, as well as Bumblebee's not-so-silent pleas for adult interaction of the Cybertronian kind. Spending an entire evening catching up and talking about just about every topic either bot could bring up was...nice, and Ratchet decides the moment when the scout drifts off to recharge that it might be a good idea to stick around for a little while.

Optimus was going to get one hell of a lecture first, however.

#personal #transformers #transformers earthspark #tf earthspark #tfe bumblebee #jawbreaker malto #dorothy malto #ratchet #twitch malto #thrash malto #thrash metal #nightshade malto #hashtag malto

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oceandolores · 4 hours ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer:

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot.

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right.

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him.

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her.

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought��" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her.

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this.

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate.

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

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storiesfromafan · 2 days ago

Text

Mr Sandman - Benny Cross x Reader

A/N: another Benny Cross one-shot to go with, I guess, I am dubbing the music series? Or something as such, as I am using song lyric's before or in the one-shot haha.

Previous: Part One, Part Two

Friday, the end of the work week for you! The joy it brought you was relief, to know two days away from this lousy grocery store. And its shitty manager, who enjoys making shifts Hell. But it was Friday, his power ends after you bundy-off for the day!

Two hours and thirty-five minutes left, not that you were counting down. But you had past the clock as you walked from the back room, and brought out a box with different candy and gum to stock at the registers. While it wasn’t busy you thought you’d get a head on replenishment. And it would – hopefully – kill more time.

The stores radio was on a not so popular station, which played mostly 50s music, and you didn’t mind it. You quite enjoyed it really. Mr Sandman by The Chordettes had started playing. And, funny enough, you moved back to your register with smooth steps, almost gliding to the music. While humming along to the catchy tune. You smiled as you turned around, your dress swishing about.

“Mr Sandman, bring me a dream

Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen

Give him two lips like roses and clover

Then tell him his lonesome nights are over

Sandman, I’m so alone-“

You had been singing, your back to the store and any customers. Though the store had been dead when you went out the back. In that time a customer had entered, moving around. They had came in for one reason, and unfortunately, that reason wasn’t in sight. Until you had come out from the back. They had taken a moment to notice how focused you were on the music playing, how you seemed to glide back to the registers. And began to sing. They found it all so amusing, and adorable.

Your singing died – and you wish you could have died on the spot – when you turned around, coming face to face with Benny Cross. You jumped, hand flying over your chest in fright, and a touch of mortification. Your cheeks heating up, eyes wide. After the diner incident a few days ago, you had been mindful to avoid Benny. But it looks like he wasn’t avoiding you.

Slowly your senses came back, and with it your brain function. “C-can I h-help you?” you stuttered, wishing to kick yourself. And moving back behind your register, trying to put distance between you as you awaited his reply.

Benny suddenly questioned why he had come in. Sure, he had noticed you working and finally wanted to talk to you. But what for? It was as if his body had acted before his brain could come up with a plan. So here he stood, before you, unsure of how to answer you. How could you help him?

His baby blues darted from you and around the register, before landing on a pack of gum. Reaching out, he grabbed a packet and placed it on the counter. “Gum" was his response. Which he cursed himself for.

Really? All you could say was gum!? He mentally chastised himself.

Slowly you nodded, hand shakily picking up the packet and running it through for him. Softly you told him what he owed, and Benny pocketed his hand in his jeans in a hurry. Fishing out the money, he placed it in your open palm. For the briefest of moments the rough pads on his finger tips touched your skin. The feel caused a chill to run down your spine, before you finished the transaction by putting the money in the register.

Benny picked up the gum, neither of you speaking. His eyes watching you, as you tried to remain calm. Which was hard to do under your crushes gaze. This was his moment, so what was happening? It was like he was a teenager again, and had trouble talking to a girl.

Benny cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologise for the guys the other day" he babbled out. “They shouldn’t have said that...”

You blinked, taking in his words. “A-ah, it’s f-fine. No real harm done...”

He nodded. “Ah...what’s ya name?”

Your eyes widened at Benny’s question. “I-I'm (Y/N)...” you replied softly.

Benny slowly nodded, a small smile on his full lips. “That’s a pretty name, it suits ya...”

You blushed, yet remained quiet. How do you reply to that? And without sounding like an idiot? You can’t, not for you anyways. You both stood there, watching the other while remaining quiet. Benny was having trouble coming up with something else to say, wanting to keep this interaction going. But he was dying, no words coming to mind. And in that moment the silence was broken, but not by either of you.

“Mr Cross" came an all too familiar stern voice, you both turned and saw an older woman you knew all too well.

“Mrs Martin” Benny stiffly greeted.

The old woman was actually a former high school teacher, which you both had encountered years prior. The old gargoyle looked to you, her gaze soft, before her stern gaze was back on Benny. She was known to be a hard ass, unless you had been a good and hard working students. Which you had been. As you can guess, Benny hadn’t been such a student. And that meant many of the teachers looked down their noses at him.

She huffed. “I hope you aren’t bothering this nice young woman" her voice was sharp, and had almost a warning to it.

Benny stood up tall, head held high. “Of course not Mrs Martin, just makin' a purchase and small talk".

Mrs Martin nod firmly, “good. Then you can move on".

Benny sighed, not wanting to cause a scene. “Yeah” – he turned to you with a lopsided grin and a wink – “see ya around (Y/N)”.

Benny then headed out, you watched him walk across the road to his bike via the window in the front of the shop. You stared at him, getting on his bike and starting it up, until you heard Mrs Martin clear her voice. Turning back to the old woman, who was giving you a pointed look, her basket sitting on the counter awaiting you. So you began to ring up her items and bag them, before taking her money and returning her change and receipt.

She collected her bags and was about to leave, before pausing. She looked to you with a concerned look. “Look (Y/N), a man like Benny Cross isn’t right for you. You’re a good girl, who deserves a good man. You understand?”

You didn’t like how she assumed Benny wasn’t a good man. Sure, he was a Vandal and they are questionable. But part of you believed there was good in the young Vandal, and saw it first hand when he stuck up for you. Benny was good in his own way. Plus, there’s good and bad in everyone.

Not trusting your tongue, you just nodded to her. And she seemed pleased, taking her leave. Yet that small interaction with your old teacher left a bad taste in your mouth. In your fantasies Benny was sweet and kind, but in reality, he wasn’t as such. You’d heard the gossip of what he gets up too or has done.

Then you realised you had spoken to Benny. He had come in to your work and spoken to you. Your face felt hot from the blush that washed over your face. No doubt your face was bright red. Placing your hands on your cheeks, you couldn’t help but smile a little. Than that voice in the back of your head came forth, putting doubt in your mind. Maybe he was just apologising and that was it. No way he would be interested in you...

#benny cross x reader #benny cross x y/n #benny cross x you #the bikeriders x reader #austin butler x reader #benny the bikeriders

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icarusredwings · 2 days ago

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A love with no need for words.

Chapter 3

A sfw young Cherik fic

Art at the end <3

Special thanks to

@joykai

@stucky-just-stucky

and

@capusciara

After struggling to almost drag Charles up the steps, who was giggling far too much to properly concentrate and fooling around, the poor man ended up tripping.

“Tch- Charles come on.”

“I'm sorry! What can I say? I'm just too weak, I'm afraid.” He says, dramatically falling faint against the steps.

“Oh you are not! Now stop acting like a fool. You'd kill me if I let anyone see you like this.” he grumbled, pulling him up again only for Charles to dead weight, forcing Erik down with him.

The color of his face was lovely, perhaps that's what the color of the new carpet would be.

“Charles! What would your sister say about this?”

“My sister..? Raven? Oh, I love Raven, my darling girl.”

Grunting, The stern eyes that stared at him became his new favorite color, staring at him with such an innocent smile.

“She's sleeping. And you should be too it seems. Get up, let's go.” Pulling him by the arms, he manages to get him upright, holding his arm tight so as not to fall a third time.

You should carry me

“Why would I carry you- A-and I told you to stay out of there!” Oh and there was that shade again. The one he adored. The one Charles wished to take him to the carpet seller and show them directly what color he wished to have, and if there wasn't one he would have one made.

“Because that's what team mates do. What if I got hurt and needed you to carry me to safety?”

“Oh like you can carry me..”

“I could, if I wanted. But what if I have no metal on me, Erik? What if I'm wearing nothing at all?!” He says, a little louder then Erik would have prefered.

“C-charles!! Shhhhh!”

Ah goodness, Now look there. A perfect shade of dark rose, the smoothest of petals and sharpest of thorns. The prettiest of blood dripping from the hands that held them tightly like this. Oh how he wanted to plant a rose bush out front, in perfect view of his window, water it with the tears he cried when he felt alone, gift him the personally grown bouquets and then, one day, on a GOOD day, he'd come by and Charles wouldn't be afraid to tell him that he looked insanely pretty. If it wasn't for the fear of Erik laughing or stuffing them in the bin with the garbage? He would.

Finally picking him up, He was quick to wrap his arms around him, gasping, shocked from the sudden movement. “Don't drop me!”

“I won't! J-just stop moving!” The sound of struggle in his voice at first made Charles question his weight. But with these? These strong shoulders that his hand gripped for dear life? No. He was struggling for a different reason. But what was it?

As Erik carried him up the steps, He swallows, trying his best to be careful. He'd never forgive himself if he dropped him and he got injured. Imagine trying to explain that to Hank. ‘Sorry, I broke our team leaders back on the stairs last night-’ Ugh, just the thought riled him up. He prayed to whatever god was up there that Charles wasn't listening, how embarrassing would that be?

“...I wanna buy you pretty little things and never ever lie to you”

“Oh-.. uhm. Okay? Thank you?” He says with a nervous chuckle, but in reality he's not realizing the seriousness in his tone, only noticing how quiet he was after that. How silent the chatty man has become.

Glancing down, He was taken aback to see he was staring up at him with that soft grin. The one that said he was up to something. Blinking, he looks away, suddenly sweating bullets. When he looks back, He's still staring.

“W-what? Something on my face?”

Charles shakes his head; eyes never leaving him.

“Then what are you looking at me for?”

“..You look perfect.. Heh.. pretty boy..”

Coughing a bit, Erik pauses in the hall upstairs. “C-charles, I’m not ‘pretty’! Stop that. Why are you acting so… Different??”

“Hmm??” He hums.

“What are you thinking about? Huh?” He give him a small shake to keep him awake, feeling him melt into his chest. “Are you still wondering about that girl from the party?” He could only hope, it was the easiest explanation, and he feared what would happen to their friendship if he said no.

How delusional do you have to be to hear ‘pretty boy’ and ask about a woman? Very. Unfortunately Erik passed that line weeks ago.

“...Wonder is the most purest form of understanding..”

“What?”

“But I don't wonder about our indifference…We're so different but all the same..”

“Uh- huh…. Okay.. uhm. Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“You're quite groovy, Erik.” He speaks softly, as if whispering drunken secrets to him.

Blinking, his head tilts a bit only to roll his eyes. God he was wasted. He was so going to tease him about this in the morning, thinking now that Charles must be spewing nonsense now… right?

“Pft. Oh yeah?” He laughs, nervous.

Charles nods, not a crumb of hesitance.

“Oh….Well..uh..Thanks.. I guess? Come on. Let's get you to bed..”

‘It's just the gin talking.’ He convinced himself. ��He's had too much. He thinks i'm someone else’ Anything to save his dignity so he wouldn't have to admit what he hoped was true.

“No, it's true. You're my Achilles heel…My

Philtatos..” Charles whispers, leaning against him, limp and if you were passing the hall right about now, you would think Charles was dead asleep against his shoulder.

For a moment, when helping him into his room, Erik smiled, chuckling quietly as he thought about how sleepy he was only to pause, He thought about what this meant. Why must he always speak in riddles?

Laying him down, Erik shakes his head.

‘I should have known. The only other person like me and he's mad. What was I thinking?’

“Goodnight, Charles.”

Sighing, disappointed, Erik began to make his way back into the hall, not wanting Charles to become sober and accuse him of something sinister. Something he could never take back.

You still owe me a game.

His brows furrow, doing a 180 as he stomped his way back to that massive mattress, the kind only rich assholes had. The kind that looked like a single sleep in it would cure all of his problems.

“Charles. Francis. Xavier! How many times-”

“Your move.” He says, sitting upright, a perfectly set up chess board in front of him, a single white pawn moved forward. The man shrugs, guiltily, knowing Erik became frustrated with each time he invaded his mind, but god the way he flushed and the color his ears got was so worth it. Besides..

I could never be afraid of you, my dear friend. Please don't ever think that.

‘How the fuck did he set that up so quick!?’ He thought.

And that is how Erik Lehnsherr ended up in his bed, sitting on the edge with a nervous demeanor.

‘Oh god, oh god, oh god, why? Why!? Why didn't I just leave? Why is he staring at me like that!?’ Glancing at him to see if he was still staring, he sure as hell was, those eyes glazed and sparkling with the water that filled them, his neck and face completely red. He could only imagine how dark his chest was by now.

‘Oh for fucks sake! He's going to hear this and think I'm a massive creep!’

A giggle came from across the board, looking at him so dearly, shifting to lay on his stomach, his feet in the air.

“Your move, Erik.” He purrs, holding a spare piece in his hand, playing with it, fidgeting.

‘I have to go. This is getting out of hand.’ Taking a breath, Erik sits up, straightening his back as he turns to him.

“Charles-” He starts.

“I could get used to this.. having a friend..”

‘Ah come on! Shit shit shit!’ He couldn't leave now… could he? No.. he couldn't..

Clearing his throat, his eyes softened.

“W-what… what do you mean?”

“I don't have any friends, Erik..” He whispers, frowning as he looks down at the piece in his hand.

“Sure you do, you know you do.” He tries to reassure him, but the emotional man shook his head softly. “No… None that know me like you..you water down what I call being grateful.” l

“What?”

“You weaken my intensity of gratitude, make it the standard of all who call themselves a friend of mine… now if only they were like you. Maybe then I could keep them..”

He swallows again, looking up at the ceiling with a sigh of defeat. No.. he couldn't leave him like this.. it was simply cruel. Even if he is just a spoiled rich kid. That's all he is.

“Alright… but just one game. Understand?”

“And another drink.” He says, stretching out with A smug grin because here he was, getting his way- again.

Erik scoffed, laughing through his nose as he shook his head, knowing exactly what he was doing. Stalling so he couldn't go to bed, like a child at a sleepover who wished for it not to end. Like a brat. A kid child throwing a tantrum when not given a toy they wanted.. and here Erik was.. being that toy.

“Fine.. And another drink.. but if I win you have to tell me your plan from earlier. Deal?”

“What plan?” He asks, innocently laying His cheek in his arms.

“Of course… Nevermind.”

And so- Charles gets his tea, Sitting up once again as he sits close to him, cross legged and patient, holding his cup in both hands.

“Wow…You're Incredible.” Charles whispers, watching as Erik casually uses his mutation to put just the right amount of sugar into his second cup of tea, swirling the spoon around as if it were something he did daily. So effortlessly and thoughtful.

“I would say the same for you but I doubt you'd accept the compliment.” He mutters, pushing a piece on the board with a single finger.

“Oh yeah? Like what?” He asks, Moving another piece directly after as if he had anticipated that move. Erik was predictable in times like these. Perhaps it's why it brought Charles a sense of calm serenity.

“Oh, As if you'd actually accept it. Besides.. nevermind.”

“How about this. You go first and then I'll say something. That's fair.. right?” He questions as if he truly was asking him if it was equal.

‘Yeah right, so you can tease me more And make fun of me in the morning?’ He thinks, Shaking his head, moving A piece a 2nd time. “I suppose… But how will I know if you're telling the truth? For all I know you're just laying down charm on me that's complete nonsense”

“Opinions simply can not be truth without evidence behind it… in which case makes the truth and opinion both factually correct.” He mutters, moving his bishop.

Another sigh comes from Erik, who honestly wasn't sure how he can be so drunk but still such a wise prick. Even with his ears red like this he still was getting lectured.

“Your mind is truly something worth being studied.” He says to him, complimenting what everyone says about him, adding his own personal twist. “And by that I mean cut open and dissected to see what causes such insanity.”

Charles, mid sip, spit out his tea, coughing a little over the silk sheets only to burst out laughter, throwing his head back and giggling his little heart out. He was smiling so wide that almost all his teeth shown, his eyes bright with stars despite being so full with joy. His already dark crimson cheeks lighting up as if he successfully just told him a pick up line, similar to the girl from the party.

Staring, Eriks eyes widened, seeing what joy he got from such dark humor. Contagious like the plague Or perhaps scarlet fever, His laugh harmonized with his, chuckling at how ridiculous this was, I mean come on, he wasn't supposed to find fondness in this terrible joke but here he was, losing his breath over it.

The warmth that he felt ran deep in his stomach, the harder he had to press down on the pillow in his lap, the sparks that run up his spine like that of a vintage lighter trying its hardest to light a flame.

‘Be still my foolish heart don't ruin this for me.’ He thinks, feeling the hard quickened beats knocking on his ribcage, trying to escape its captive cell.

“What else?” He asks through attempts to re catch his breath and small giggles that lingered.

“Oh.. uhm.. I wouldn't know where to start..” Erik starts, stricken from his spell of laughter so hard that he had already forgotten the deal of it being Charles’ turn to compliment him now, the words trying their best to form in his head but instead fell off his tongue, past his teeth and out into the open air.

He thought about what he should say.

‘The very thought of you banishes my blues. Your voice Is like music playing, leading me from the dark. I got along just fine without you-Or at least I thought so before those baby blues came into my life. Like A colorblind man who hadn't known what he was missing until he saw you.’ He thinks. ‘Ah but that's all too corny isn't it?’

Oh no, not at all.

He thought, hearing each and every word.

“Your laugh alone is music that constantly rings in my ears.. like a favorite song you can't seem to get out of your head.… is that your doing? Are you putting that song in there?” He asks, laughing nervously, but Charles dosn't laugh.

He just… stares …with those massive wet eyes. Once he wished he could ethically scoop out and give back to him as a gift, what more beautiful things could he possibly give him?

“No..not purposely.” He whispers, slowly as he blinks, watching Erik tug at his collar and swallow, fearing he's said too much.

“...what else?”

“Hey isn't it your tur-”

“Tell me what you want, Erik…”

"I wish I'd had a chance to walk with you to parties. You would wear that dress shirt, and I would say, "I'm sorry" for something, I don't know what but you'd say, "it’s okay" and smile at me. You always smile at me. I want you to smile at me. Even when I say things that upset you, you smile at me. I wanna sit around and watch you do your hair. I want to watch you write. I want to watch your lectures. I want to watch you get dressed And compliment your godly expensive taste even though you would look just as nice in something much simpler.. or nothing at all."

Blinking, It was as if time had skipped, like dozing off and waking up seconds later.

“I-... I'm sorry.. I seem to have forgotten myself.” He says, sweating as he watches Charles start to make his way closer.

“Y-you should lie down. It's already quite late, it seems I'm getting tired myself, a-and I believe you have a lecture tomorrow so you need a good sleep for that-” he blurts out, becoming more and more nervous, hands pressing into the pillow that stayed on his lap.

Charles was mindful of the board, careful not to ruin their little game as he crawled over, slowly pulling his hands away, intertwining them as he sat up on his knees.

Oh Erik..

..My good lookin’ boy

He kisses him.

He on the edge of the bed he bouta fall off :0

Not finishing this btw :)

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superscourge · 7 hours ago

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Before the Storm [AU drabble]

Summary: An AU where Tails is killed thanks to one of Eggman's plans going sideways, and Sonic goes off the deep end because of it. Shadow confronts him before he does something he'll regret.

Words: 891

TW: Major character death (implied)

Notes: wheeeee i dont think ive posted any sonic-related writing here before??? so this is um. scary. LOL. but i hope it's at least an interesting read <3 dont kill me im just a little guy ok

“What do you even think you're doing here, hedgehog?”

Sonic stopped in his tracks with a stomp when he was addressed. He didn’t turn to look at who had spoken; he knew instantly just from the voice.

“What’s it look like?” he responded. “I’m avenging Tails. That's all there is to it. If you have an issue, then feel free to let me know once I'm done.”

Behind him, about twenty or so feet away, stood Shadow. He stared coldly at the other hedgehog. “You know I’m not going to just stand aside and let you do this, right?”

“Yeah, I figured.” Sonic shook his head a little. “I don’t get why not, though.”

Shadow narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

Sonic finally turned to face his rival, and when the two gazes met, Shadow could feel a chill slither up his spine. This…wasn’t Sonic. Not anymore.

“You lost someone important to you, right?”

Shadow’s ears perked. He wasn’t… Was he?

“She was taken from you, even. She didn't deserve it. She wasn't ready.” Sonic stared back at him, almost seeming to challenge him to deny it. “And neither were you.”

Shadow remained silent. He didn’t say a word, his expression unreadable. Sonic, figuring he’d caught him, just continued to speak. “So, I don’t get how you’re not on my side. You know what this situation is like. You lived it. You even tried to destroy the world because of it.” He waved his hand a little. “So why shouldn’t–”

“Let me tell you something.”

Sonic paused once he was interrupted. Across the way, Shadow’s expression suddenly became a bit more clear. He was angry. More than that, really–he was seething.

“The difference between our situations is that while, yes, I did act out of anger and grief and aimed to destroy the world with it, I did it because I thought that’s what she would have wanted.” He let that statement sink in for just a moment before he continued. “I’ve since come to realize that this wasn’t the case at all.”

Sonic’s ears folded back the longer the other went on, but Shadow didn’t let up. In fact, he began to step forward as he spoke.

“You’re right. I do know what it’s like to lose someone dear to me. I do know what it’s like to have someone who could light up the room with their presence alone, have their light be extinguished prematurely. And I do know what it’s like to want to end everything and everyone because of that loss.” He stopped approaching once he was only a couple feet away. “But, do you know the difference between you and me, Sonic? The true difference between our situations?”

He didn’t allow Sonic to respond even if he had wanted to. Instead, Shadow leaned in a little closer, his voice dripping with venom as he nearly spoke through his teeth. “I was able to get it through my head that that wasn’t what she wanted. I was able to pull myself together and not let myself succumb to my own misguided idea of how I was supposed to deal with my loss and grief.” He narrowed his eyes, then. “I was able to accept that causing others to suffer in her stead would not bring her back. Nothing would. And you haven’t accepted any of that.”

Something in Sonic’s chest twisted into a tight knot. His nose scrunched up into a slight snarl as he glared back at Shadow, fists clenched at his sides.

“You’re wrong,” Sonic spat back finally. “You really don’t get it after all. You gave up. You could have gotten them back for what they did to her, but you didn’t. You let them get away with it.”

The icy look in his eyes told Shadow that his words had gone in one ear and right out the other. He wasn’t going to get through to him.

“So, I guess we are different, yeah. You chose to let Maria’s killers off the hook.” Sonic took a couple steps back. “I’m not making that same mistake.”

Shadow watched him for a few moments, trying to find some sort of sign that this was salvageable. He didn’t want to take drastic measures to stop a disaster from happening…but, this was Sonic. Drastic measures were par for the course when he was involved.

With a resigned sigh, Shadow began to back away as well. He had no intention of leaving, though. Now, he had a mission. “I see.”

Reaching up, he gently grasped the inhibitor ring on his wrist. He didn’t unclasp it–not yet. He was going to give Sonic one last chance to walk away from this. He could see Sonic’s eyes shift to look at the inhibitors before meeting his gaze once again, and he could tell just by that look that he still wasn’t going to back down. So…he supposed that was that.

“There is one thing about you that hasn’t changed, at least,” he noted, finally clicking off the inhibitor. He knew this would be an uphill battle despite the course of action he was going to take.

“You still don’t know when to quit.”

#fanfic #sonic fanfic #sth fanfic #sth #i have fear in my heart bc ive never posted my sonic writing here before lol. not in fic form at least #anyway erm. hands this to u and then runs away very very fast

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crooked-wasteland · 2 days ago

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I genuinly want a hh/hb rewrite it would be peak

If I were to write the story from the ground up, I would have focused more on the idea that Heaven and Hell are unimportant. I actually liked the idea of people being sent to either one on arbitrary criteria that exists outside of morality, as I am a moral nihilist.

I would have focused the plot of Angel Dust on the idea that redemption is personal. You aren't seeking to be redeemed by others for them not being able to use you. The idea of owing others is debilitating psychologically. There are consequences to actions and people have a right to their feelings, but you don't owe others happiness or fulfillment. The only person who you should seek to redeem yourself to is yourself.

Psychologically speaking, expectation is the death of happiness. When one expects to receive a gift, they will be emotionally devastated when that expectation isn't met. Additionally, we as a generation (at least my fellow millennials) were raised to deflect negativity inward. What about us is wrong or failing to explain why others don't want to meet our expectations. It's a cycle of demoralization, low self esteem, identity crisis, imposter syndrome, and ultimately poor mental health.

As such, I would have framed Hell as Camus frames the universe: apathetic and uncaring to you, your happiness, your pain, your existence. And Angel Dust would have been my philosophical vehicle to how one would find happiness in the face of that. Because that is what Camus argues for in The Myth of Sisyphus.

We have to be comfortable being alone before we can have a healthy relationship with anyone else.

The best visualization of humanity, person to person, has to be in The Midnight Gospel where Clancy and his mother are visualized as planets. Whole worlds of their own that sustain themselves. And while he loses pieces of himself as she leaves him, engulfed in a black hole, he is still alive and is expected to move forward, for no one's benefit but his own. The idea that he is a planet shows how that expectation manifests. We have pieces of ourselves tied to others, but our ecosystem is self-regulated.

And Angel Dust as a character is the perfect example of someone who is incapable of being alone. He sold his soul to Valentino for some gold plated validation. The appearance of security, that someone else would take care of him for him. And when Valentino shows himself to be a bad actor, Angel Dust does nothing in the main series. He keeps the status quo, at most whining and complaining about how he does nothing, until he has some other person to chase.

The flaw of Angel Dust's character is his personal disregard for himself. His self destruction is a solid trait to focus on, but not validate. I would push Angel in finding happiness in the face of his choices. Learning to be proactive for himself in a way the show actually seems to devalue. Angel Dust is framed as a better person for allowing himself to be taken advantage of, but protecting his friends. But that sort of mentality is no different than him hoping someone will break him or save him to get him out of his choices.

It also leaves people who identify with Angel Dust waiting on a savior that will never come.

Slowing down the narrative and focusing heavily on characters and their wants vs needs is more important to me as someone in my 30s. I would imagine my audience being older teens to young adults who are just realizing that 18 isn't the end. You aren't going to wake up on your birthday and suddenly have it all figured out for another decade, but you are suddenly thrown into a world that has no concern for you. All your protections as children are stripped away, no one is looking out for you. Meanwhile, you have no idea who you are or how you fit into this circus called society.

Especially now with politics and the social climate we are in, I would treat it as a way of educating this demographic on how to care for themselves metaphysically through philosophy and psychology. Stripping the concepts of religion from the idea of a god, because he will never answer you. You will not be saved.

I would have probably designed my story around the idea of Steven Universe, but for adults. Bojack Horseman, but for people who don't understand the existential philosophy surrounding the plot.

And ultimately I think that is where Hazbin fell off at the starting line. It didn't have a concept of why it exists or for whom. It's a show for Vivienne Medrano that offers nothing for anyone watching. It wasn't designed for an audience, and any audience who felt it was is only providing validation to Medrano herself. It is a vapid empathy sink that only cashes back in Medrano's ego when storytelling has always been about more than just the author.

Mary Shelley writing about Frankenstein was one part a friendly competition to see who could write the most scary story. But it was another two parts of Shelley injecting questions of her soul:

Scientific study was on the rise and religion vs science was having a resurgence. For many people in her time, science was a means of replacing God. It isn't a coincidence that Frankenstein was written in 1816 and philosopher Frederick Nietzsche was born in 1844. He would have grown up alongside this work that has never fallen from popularity. The entire 19th century was marked by exponential scientific growth and philosophical recalibration.

As such, Shelley's work tackled many of the concepts philosophers would argue over in the coming two centuries. Especially so early in the era, Frankenstein explicitly tackled the idea "what if God was so horrified by his creation that he abandoned it?" It's why Frankenstein exists not just as science fiction, but existential horror.

I'm posting this picture again, because this will always matter, always be relevant, and always help when formulating a creative idea.

I apologize for not having a real rewrite, as I don't have much desire to think point by point how I would have done the show differently. Mainly because television requires some flexibility in where the story will go, but I have foundational rules and structural concepts as to what is important to tell or why this story exists.

#vivziepop critical #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel critique #spindlehorse criticism #spindlehorse critique #spindlehorse critical #vivziepop critique #vivienne medrano #moral nihilism #expressivism

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saamaton · 4 months ago

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george is such a concept. like they've taken a 9-year-old british boy and stretched him out vertically and then stuck him in one of the fastest cars in the world and made him a psycho about driving while simoultaneously having him speak in the most british way known to mankind. i love him a bit

#like crikey what a bloke #or whatever idk i'm not british #(and that god for that)#why have i suddenly taken a liking to him whats going on #george russell #formula 1 #l

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unproduciblesmackdown · 16 days ago

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another day another part of a discussion w/an asexual lens making me think of billions, starting with the articulated normative concept (which is clearly part of an assumption billions' material works off of & expects the viewer to work off of to interpret that material) that for men sex is a matter of fact need whereas for women sex (that they might Seek themselves, beyond dutifully providing it in the face of a man's Need) is an indulgence, like lol imagining billions being like yeah i mean cmon is [woman] supposed to pretend she doesn't have a body with needs :/ while it's like prince taking advantage of women & wags looking for another Young Woman Body to use as thing that gives him His Progeny & it's like aw it's great actually that you have Wants, that's so empowered of you guys

obviously thinking of winston in that mix & what creation &/or leveraging of increased vulnerability is also taken as matter of fact or empowering indulgence or something, rather than analyzed re: power dynamics....& then was thinking that like yeah billions assumes winston is a man but makes him the engaging site of Doing Things Wrong that it doesn't even Partly, With Many Limits, engage with critically as it does re: introducing taylor as someone who "does things wrong," (but not too much. stop that) or then, like, rian in the same vein, but what a surprise that in often already putting up these limits on of what & how much taylor's character can actually fundamentally put things taken as "normal (unquestionable) & correct" into a critical context, amazing that rian's character as supposedly another level of [taylor] added to that actually gets reined in immediately like "oh you can't actually be That abnormal, for Real" (then also immediately treated as yeah true i'm a normal i'm a paragon what the hell am i doing Leaving here i Do belong here. you've never seen me with a hat) & after billions doesn't have [rian serves the purpose of taylor having dialogue at someone. or alleged but largely insubstantial nonmeaningful conflicts Or resolutions] or [rian, ofc assumed woman, serves the woman purpose of "keeper of body man uses to have sex" for a plotline as or more insubstantial & antimeaningful (besides the substance & meaning of all the preexisting normative perspectives on gender/sexuality & power dynamics) as anything has ever been] or even [rian, just zany enough to be abusive to winston in ways beyond doing your best to filter out / deny that he exists] like oh None of that's relevant? rian is completely some background rando who just goes "yeah what he said" to background randos like dollar bill & victor or just stands in for those roles here & there, indistinguishably except whoa hey didn't you notice she's a girlboss version of these rando assholes

but like back to how winston is "wrong" in a way that cannot be questioned or question the "right"ness in that paradigm (flipping the script, rejecting the premise. of course that winston was "wrong" to do that is Factual), or ofc if you did it would be a joke with no meaning that could Really be considered to be "real" questionability of the assumptions that dictate what winston Factually Is (wrong)....that ofc sex isn't a "need" for some particular created Class of people, but it's the hierarchal elevation of that class (i.e. patriarchy) that can frame it as a "need" that ofc in actuality isn't about anyone dropping dead but as an Entitlement that one can Expect to have fulfilled, indeed supposedly "matter of fact" when the "fact" is that the concept here is that a man will have sex if he wants it, so what's to distinguish it from fulfilling a need he can Expect to have met b/c he will literally die without it? meanwhile whether a woman "wants" sex is beside the point when her body is a component of [men's fulfilled need for sex] & thus that question of "want" is an "extra" matter that is only relevant if a woman seems to be engaging in sexual activity in a way not fully contained by the concept of [fulfilling a man's need] wherein it's like the idea of oh this woman Wants sex is "useful" in ways that would reinforce patriarchy: sex work happens in an socioeconomic context that doesn't start & end in the domain of Individual Men? call that "wanting sex" to be like, yeah i assume i'll have sex in the future according to what i'm traded for it, not according to the enshrined Need Of A Man(tm)....& then to just accept the same premises, women don't Need Sex (i.e. aren't entitled to get it from men, independent of whether the man wants that at all or from them specifically, the way it is re: men "needing" sex from women) & their "wanting" it is something Extra to their status as fulfillers of men's sexual needs, but what if instead of that "want" being Bad, we saw it as Good? like hell yeah that's Empowered of you? feminism wins, done & dusted

back to winston for real like he is a role seen as Wanting things, And That's Bad. he wants things all the other characters are here wanting, like to have relationships of various kinds, get validation & be re/affirmed, get to partake in the activities that others are by virtue of Being There, such as "communicating," but it's more "well, of course. they're only human" for others & it's Pathetic of winston & offputting & arrogant in the ways that he seeks getting these wants met, or meeting them by doing [xyz] in the first place, like Being Present b/c he wants to be, & he is Out Of Line in doing so b/c others are supposed to be superior, which is meaningful insofar as they have authority over him for it, thus he Ought to have his "extra" "wanting" denied as much as possible b/c hm turns out Superior Authorities aren't just such benevolent omniscient shepherds of the inferior that it's all harmonious & there's not as much extraction in a situation of greatest precarity as possible....prince a sicko for seeing things that way, wendy is correct for seeing herself that way though, & anyone who lashes out at winston on sight for whatever reason is correct for it too, b/c call it a generous benefaction of ABA

anyway people "needing" all this stuff, can't go without it, how could you expect them to??? which is to say ofc it's not a "need" like they would be able to point to themselves dying without it, but it's something that can always be Expected to be accessed / obtained due to an Entitlement to it (backed up by power leverage). if it's not happening in that context, it's back to being a "want" that someone would be arrogant to Expect or out of line to Seek, including by "demanding" it which would be asking or arguing for it beyond what is heroically charitably given in a way that does not threaten the elevated superiority of the giver who has taken pity thusly....winston being put in a queer context unbeknownst to billions for being assumed a man but "wrong" at it (while billions also doesn't think about how it saddles the other quant with the demands of a cishet context, two sides same coin going on there in the "right" vs "wrong" quant duo) & unlike True Men he is not entitled to sex, thus, it's something he Wants b/c the [he can Never Have It, that would be wrong] is incompatible with being that alleged Need that of course these other men just "have to" pursue & obtain with all their bonus power leverages, i.e. they Are Going To, vs winston Not going to, "obviously," even as it isn't obvious at all b/c why would it be? he even gets to implicitly have had sex ever Just for the purposes of how "factually" wrong it is, imagine Learning anything about sex or not being born with the Right Body, no question that those "ideals" are undeniable reality, emphasis on the "undeniable," hey if the eugenics is still systemically entrenched who's to "question" it lol? those targeted? same as "how can Women question that Men need sex"? it's god or nature that dictates this gender binary, insofar as i don't Need to convince anyone of it to be enforcing it. force of nature. as is the "need" of a man to have sex. as is whatever the abusive party feels like doing at any given time, if you're the abused stuck in that situation. May As Well Be, so

all that to say like winston has this "extra" "want" for Everything b/c billions thinks he is a punching bag nonperson who ultimately anyone deserves to violate & assault however to whatever extent (where any restraint is just the assumed bounds of what would be too "unseemly" in the context of the broader situation, which is pretty arbitrary & just changes upon whenever billions decides "oh actually this violent action is Serious" like dollar bill was good to go the whole time, wags was, wendy is just creating Fun if she puts on a performance of this eruption of violence in the office the same ep she yells & slams some phone around after putting the tmcers in front of the people who are assaulting them but it's not That Serious....the entire idea that "of course" there are these absolute concrete boundaries based on what's "too much" that you would just Feel at the time such that you couldn't possibly find yourself in the wrong b/c you would have preempted Doing that inappropriate act; the entire idea that "oh yeah Some people are less of real people than me but i'd Know when i went Too Far" as though "too far" isn't mostly bounded by what you can get away with &/or is rewarded for how it plays into this hierarchy as is of who is inferior vs superior. dehumanization? don't mind if i do, b/c i'm against it, except like, you don't have to "be against dehumanization" to be against dehumanization, right? your inner sense of The Vibes would make sure you never "really" did that, same as Everything Else ostensibly based on principles that don't actually need to be exercised "on principle"....don't Really have a problem with in group / out group so long as i'm in the out group. it's not bad for anyone to do something to someone, it's bad to be anyone someone could do something to. and winston is definitely someone that anyone could do anything to :) what's more shocking than this: victim blaming being completely the Norm, abuse being the Norm, the Norm comfortably containing all the violence that it already does & able to obfuscate & deflect actual questioning of it b/c it can so far just keep doing it one way or another, may as well Need to be this way, may as well be the only possible way b/c it arises out of these assumed beliefs that are just Universally Human, thus would happen no matter what & it can only be this way. the autistic rando Would be treated like this in every universe :) as another way of believing it Unquestionable, b/c it is surely inherently Inviolable

bringing it back around from whatever might have been the thread there: also Lol Lmao (dire) that part of what makes winston's sexuality so cringefail is that he doesn't consider himself "entitled" to have sex w/any particular woman, such as his crush, As He Should if he were a man in the Right ways, i.e. "truly," i.e. he is more like a woman, i.e. inferior, which is absolutely what we see in how winston treats him, like a woman he doesn't "need" sex (is entitled to it) & so he "wants" sex & this is suddenly not Empowered of him b/c why would billions go "oh right, uh, feminism win" when it doesn't see him as "really" a woman, just a man who is too Like one, thus not bestowed with the ostensible Girlboss lens on every single woman on billions ever, feminism win again, a Boyemployee out here fr to be Humorously Abused by one of those girlbosses, with we the viewers assumed to assume that girlboss recognizes the fact that winston's sexuality is a repulsive deviant intrusion trying to disrupt the Natural Order (nothing to question in that, am i right? my cishet agenda'd men who would never research anything about having sex & can Sense what kind of bodies everyone has b/c well isn't it always so obvious? if it weren't, that in & of itself would be Too much of a turnoff. i would never be Really attracted to "wrong" bodies, i would preemptively be correctly repulsed, i would never be Really abusive to "wrong" "people," i would preemptive by correctly repulsed by True moral transgression) like. stunning that billions' idea of an encapsulating sendoff for riawin is rian hanging back shit talking winston, being in charge of winston's actually friendly coworker & ABA telling him that being Known to support winston is wrong, obviously no reflection on rian being abusive other than to tell us billions thinks it was a graciously charitable kindness of Attention he didn't deserve, rian then talking to him like aw i'll kind of miss this piece of property i'm throwing out (oh wait i forgot he exists. oh wait yes i'll help you kill him. oh wait i'm not interested in the followup & winston will never get to talk to me about it including when he materializes back into the office once more later) but like it's just:

(cont.) so above & beyond stunning for billions to spell out winston as an Exception in no negative shift in his treatment of her & then saying this treatment has always been "pathetic & slavish" (like........) / this lack of a negative shift in his treatment of her is itself Negative, "truly," rian is just too sentimental towards him as she has been all this time in becoming like the one person whose abusiveness towards him is most varied, most frequent, and most intimate (winston isn't friends or even seatmates with anyone else who does this kind of shit / other kinds of shit, award for rian not being seen physically assaulting winston) like um lol imagine not being Entitled to this woman, hence the "joke" that was winston's crush the whole time which was so actually not relevant that there'd be no reason to assume in s7 he still Particularly "wanted" (boooo hissss, like a woman?? a woman who is a slut??? or empowered if you accept the same premises but suppose a "positive" framing is doing the Opposite in any way that actual threatens the premises, which it doesn't much, which is preferable to analyzing the power dynamics within which people "need" or "want" or "have" sex or don't....don't mind billions' preoccupation with winston's body (with a sexual context) or sex drive (also sexual context. nothing Matter Of Fact about that, it's gross, thanks) or any expression of pursuit of sex with a specific person, so Pathetic as to assume it might not happen b/c that person has agency he doesn't want to steamroll (or can't anyway? like a loser) rather than Knowing He Is Entitled & a girlboss would correctly recognize his Real Man right to have sex with her, why Wouldn't she want to have sex with him anyway? which is a question you can just say to yourself rhetorically as you write that happening for a hollow gesture at [power dynamics?] that goes "well, but of course men need sex, which is simple fact. & women want it, if they're empowered, which is okay" i.e. it is "correct" to assume any given correct woman (all of them, on billions) will fulfill your entitlement to i mean need for sex, ofc it's up to the Wrong kind of men to Not assume as much, or even leverage [negative treatment] to their advantage, just Positive (& neutral) treatment in case a woman is down b/c that's All They Have, like a loser, unlike winners who have their power to leverage. cue mafee getting a pat on the head by wendy about the "aw gee i guess i kind of have a crush but i know it's never gonna go anywhere" like oh pathetic but you get that pat on the head b/c we don't hate you as much as winston, same as the Went Nowhere Fast thread of his liking lauren, well but she's not even single so it's not Necessarily as personal an [of course not?] but like also lol of course not, well but we didn't make sure to laugh at another [never gonna happen] moment in the end. but what else is the point of winston, & we have so much fun Indulging in it, we sure do Want to, & it's an epic fun n games Want & Indulgence when we do it. not when winston does it

tl;dr billions is like "smh winston's a slut for everything" and Lol Lmao the "don't be so fucking needy" b/c his wanting is Needing & our wanting is needing but in a correct way; uh oh is the way billions lashes out at winston a Reflection on the assumptions & actions behind that? that winston is introduced (as supposedly only to appear in that episode) as being too liable to Defensively Lash Out, which is done in a scene where all the other characters are defensively lashing out at him & that was Correct? can you imagine if some characters felt entitled to have various "needs" met & to be able to create negative consequence if they weren't, no, it's the quant we targeted for being autistic & who is irritated about this, & about his boss shitting on him in the meantime, & is daring to Say Anything about it or in general, who is creating such a hassle for everyone & demanding so much with his feelings at any given time. episode WDE really showing how so much of the ultimate fantasy re: winston is to force a mirror up to him (surely the purest power trip is forcing that "nooo, my inferiority, & truly your superiority" despairing acknowledgment Affirmation &/or simply the exercise of superiority i.e. authority that is just doing whatever you want to someone. both happening to winston, they only don't also literally kill him b/c billions just doesn't really do that in general) & but then that episode actually being that clearest mirror to / reflection of billions & its assumptions & perspective & limits it sets in Analyzing Power or anything else & what it even wants to do more generally, whoops! & you know that even if you got a degree of "maybe any of that was out of line in any Real way" it'd be about the victim blaming perspex of [i mean is the real problem Doing Xyz To Anyone or Having Xyz Done To You? (that's right, it's the latter)] like couldn't be done to him if he wasn't a loser anyway, real winners can dictate what can happen to them & do whatever they want, just as we always knew winston was a loser b/c he Might Not have sex w/a woman he likes, & they Might Not (lol. Will not. but he thinks "might not" b/c he's pathetic & Doesn't Get It b/c if he did he'd have been born better or kill himself for not having done so, one supposes) b/c winston is a loser, who can only "want" sex & anything else, vs what other characters "need" to have, like control of his existence & sometimes also taylor's

#winston billions #it's only the belief that as a loser no winner (which incl All Women) would have sex with him / he is obv Not Entitled To Sex that has it #such that we couldn't get the scenario that rian plans to hook up with him; makes sure they're both high before propositioning this #(as is unquestioned in canon like. why is this in here. you didn't even use it to suggest it was relevant to rian's judgment?)#(plausibly as a cue to us abt prince but tfw billions expects us to break out Not That Bad in defense of the existing power dynamics; so)#& then has it like a ''you're welcome'' + ''i know you like me; so'' + ''you're Human & A Man so ofc you want sex'' + ''you're a loser so #how else are you going to have sex'' + ''i feel well-meaning'' rape apologia / whole basis of a mostly offscreen fwb type situation #billions would sure not have that kind of scenario happen to Be Questioned at all. couldn't even manage it when having a Winner Very Young #Woman be taken advantage of with a way greater power difference as a several episode thread so like. lol.#with reassurances that actually in this case it's not Bad to have been a victim (?) whereas yknow it's comedy if we flip the normative #i.e. wow suddenly aware of Power Difference if a woman takes advantage of a man & it's comedy b/c imagine. what a loser #whereas the power difference even in [we exist in a patriarchy] is regarded as completely neutral. just Normal Stuff going on here #would have to really be something ''extra'' to be ''out of line'' & we would All just Sense it if we're inherently abstractly Good enough

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