#life after lockup

[talentforlying]

thinking about john's multitude of short-lived, often quickly-abandoned apartments for some reason, so a couple details:

although you might expect to find a very wizard-y interior to any place he's currently living at — you know, grimoires, skulls, dust, clutter, etc. — his flats actually tend to be fairly spartan in terms of decor; they've even been accused of looking modern, here and there. he just moves too frequently to really settle in & accrue Things, and has so often had to simply up & leave everything he currently owned behind (with very little chance of getting any of it back) that he no longer attaches much meaning to household objects.

besides the consistent presence of at least one bookshelf with at least 12 books on it, and a sad sprig of garden sage that miraculously hasn't died yet, the one exception to his lack of personal touch is his extensive collection of records + tapes, all of which he has repeatedly & methodically tracked down and bought / bid / traded / stolen / threatened for / blackmailed for / simply taken back whenever an enterprising landlord or new tenant left him the opportunity to do so. his record player itself has never needed to be taken back, since it has always mysteriously vanished from whatever flat he's leaving and mysteriously appeared wherever he's staying; it's convenient like that. his 10th anniversary walkman, however, frequently goes missing, only to turn up again later in a place he KNOWS he checked when he's least expecting it.

lack of home decor isn't to say he doesn't own much, mind: the bulk of his personal possessions — assorted occult paraphernalia, blackmail documentation, miscellaneous crap from his mucous membrane days, and anything he is able to take with him from past flats — are usually stored off-site, in a secure location that can't easily be tied back to him. this guy's been accused of being a satanic killer on multiple occasions, he knows better than to keep all the real shit out where anyone can just swan in and see it.

currently, this storage location (which i lovingly call occult shit central) is an abandoned inner london storefront + adjoining flat that was formerly his old friend ray monde's shop and home, called brick-a-brac antiques. it's decidedly cozier than the last place, (in that there are chairs, plural,) and has fewer bear traps laid out in anticipation of unlucky thieves; in fact, if a person were to visit without already knowing where constantine actually lives, it'd be easy to mistake it as his expectedly-wizardy flat. it's not an ideal location for an occult shit central, too close to the heart of the city and too close to people to avoid drumming up suspicion should constantine attempt any sort of ritual inside, but until chas finally quits ducking the paperwork and signs over his storage lot (which he may or may not be dragging his feet on out of pure resentment for having to do it at all) ray's place is the best option there is.

constantine's previous (and future) storage location was a lock-up in streatham that chas had been letting him use (see: all but surrendered to him entirely) since he got out of ravenscar, but after constantine's sister died, john decided he was done with magic and, in a spontaneous fit of rage, burnt the place down with everything but a few necessities still inside. he regretted this later, when he inevitably returned to the occult scene after just over a year away, and spent a lot of time calling in favors / hypnotizing arson inspectors to try and put together an inventory of everything he'd lost.

in the nearly 20 years since the fire, he's managed to replace or find substitutes for about 2/3 of what he had (occult-wise), and gather enough fresh dirt / do enough favors / orchestrate enough compromising situations to accumulate a little over 1/4 of the political / interpersonal power he once maintained. ( the lack of success in the latter being, in part, because people now in power aren't as familiar with his name & reputation as they once were; in part because people just don't believe in magic as much as they used to, or were otherwise bought by hell / heaven / other parties a LONG time ago; and in part because he's come to absolutely fucking despise most politicians / people in power more than he is willing to work with them, or more than he is able to plausibly believe they won't try to drop him at the first opportunity. )

you would be hard-pressed to find a landlady/landlord that speaks kindly of this man. if he wasn't kicked out for suspicious smells / disturbing noises / sudden infestations / suspected satanic activity, then it's likely that he abruptly up and disappeared in the middle of the night, with no warning and no rent. (on a few occasions, this vanishing act also coincided conspicuously with a gruesome death on the premises, sometimes of the landlady/landlord themselves, although no one's ever been able to prove anything.) frankly it's . . . magic, that people still rent to him.

due to these aforementioned bad ends, he's incredibly lucky if he gets enough time or leeway to take any sort of furniture with him from one place to the next. however, there is one incredibly comfy, wing-backed, sapphire-blue armchair that's miraculously managed to survive every move in the last ten or so years without being reported stolen — even though it has survived every move because it has, in fact, been stolen in the dead of night nearly every single time, by john and at least one of his buddies.

#( ooc. ) OUT OF CIGS. #the extent to which i think about constantine's personal storage unit should frankly be concerning to medical professionals. but i digress #it's the rust cohle instinct to make yourself a secret lair i fear. i too would like a private little cubbyhole that no one knows about #where i go to plot my little plots and draw my little pepe silvia webs and occasionally live and sleep out of #anyway this man trades apartments like fleas trade barn cats. bc people and creatures just keep fuckin SHOWING UP and RUINING THINGS #he just wants a HOME GODDAMMIT!! STOP SLOPPING DEMON MUCOUS ALL OVER THE CARPET AND ENTICING HIM TO SOLVE PROBLEMS!!!! #i do think i will return custody of the streatham lockup to john when he turns 72. but i like the challenge of a tiny lil change #it's my way of acknowledging that he is getting older and the world is changing around him. and chas is still pissed about the fire #and i think john would Hate to see ray's store just lying empty after all these years. that was a sanctuary for both of them for a long tim #( headcanons. ) I'M JUST LIKE THE BASTARDS I'VE HATED ALL ME LIFE.

[maipareshaan]

I mean i could be fucked in the head but i never wrote to an inmate then had our trainwreck relationship filmed so

#Uff i love seeing ppl make horrendous life choices #Makes me feel better #Love after lockup #I feel like cheryl and rachel are my fave #I can't remember one of them

[heartpascal]

i think any sort of joel x overly sensitive reader would be so cool, platonic or romantic. like they've survived through the apocalypse and you'd expect them to have hardened up a little but they're still so easily brought to tears 👀 joel is like annoyed by it at first but starts to realize that he'd rather they be a bit sentimental than shut off and guarded like himself

break beneath the weight

▹— joel miller x platonic!reader

▹— summary: joel struggles to deal with someone who isn’t as emotionally constipated as he is

▹— a/n: idk what i was doing with this. but. here!!! thank you for the req i apologise if it wasn’t exactly what you had in mind :’)

▹— warnings: mean joel, emotional reader, FEDRA lockup, corrupt guards, dare i say… comfort?, (not sure what else! lmk if i missed something) not proofread!

▹— taglist: (ALL) = @rhymingtree (PEDRO) = @auggiesolovey @just-kaylaa @evyiione @lemonlaides @fariylixie0915 @erensloveinterest @dazedshoon @faceache111 @randomhoex @canpillowscry @sleepygraves @pedropascalsrealgf @star-wars-lover @coolchick333 @soobsdior @ilybbg @rvjaa @oliest19xx @pedropepsi @sunflowersdrop @truthfuleeyours

masterlist

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel Miller knew from the moment he saw you that you weren’t made for life in the apocalypse. He could see it, clear as day, in the way you held yourself, in the way emotions played loudly across your face, in the way your fingers trembled around the blade in your grip.

Perhaps it was pity that led him to take you in, or the absence of his younger brother, who had always had a harder time keeping his emotions in check in comparison to his older brother. Whatever it might have been, he wasn’t sure it was a wise decision. In fact, if it hadn’t have been for Tess’s unexpected care for you, he might have kicked you to the curb already.

But instead, he found himself stuck with your presence. For whatever reason, which he couldn’t begin to understand, you had taken to clinging onto his side, following him wherever he went. Which included going on jobs during the day, and tearing up when he put his foot down after you tried to follow him to a deal.

It was irritating.

And while you had never openly burst into tears in front of him, it wasn’t like it was a secret when you went down the hall, shutting your door behind you.

Maybe, if he had met you before the outbreak, he wouldn’t have been so frustrated by you. Maybe, he could have been kinder to you, could have been the person you deserved. But the reality wasn’t going to fade any time soon, and Joel knew that. He just wanted you to realise it, too, before something happened that made you realise it.

But Joel had to realise that you had lived through this apocalypse just as he had. That you, too, had lost everything. The family you once had, the home you once lived in, and you couldn’t bear to lose yourself, too.

“No.” Joel said, before you had even had the chance for the question to leave your lips. He didn’t even glance in your direction, only continued packing the the bag in front of him. He glared at the bag as he spoke again, cutting you off as you opened your mouth to respond. “—What did I just say?” He asked, finally turning his head to look at you.

“You didn’t even give me the chance to—” You started, brows furrowed and throat tightening at his dismissal.

“—That’s right, I didn’t. So don’t start.” Joel reprimanded, tone flat as he turned back to his backpack. His brows were furrowed, expression practically made of stone, and you wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking.

You frowned, “Joel.”

“Mind your tone.” Joel responded immediately, still unbothered by your persistence. He tried not to dwell on the fact that it was the same tone he used for Sarah, when she was younger than you are now, to remind her of her manners.

“Can’t you just listen to me?” You asked, practically begging him, which might have been dramatic, but you couldn’t help how desperation arose at his carelessness.

“No.” Joel said flatly, unimpressed by the emotion crowding your words. Dealing with your overly emotional nature was so low on his list of priorities, in fact, it wasn’t even on there. It was the very last thing he needed to do with himself, given the demanding nature of the deal he was headed to, courtesy of Tess’s orders.

It was frustrating for you, too, having to dampen your reactions when you were upset, just for his and Tess’s benefit. It was hard to be so alone in your emotions, to feel so isolated even when living with the only people you trusted.

They didn’t understand how you were still so capable of emotion, after everything that had happened. It left you vulnerable, which meant they were vulnerable. But you couldn’t help the way you felt, could you? Was it fair for them to ask you to numb yourself just to be more convenient?

All you were trying to do was ask to join Joel on his deal, ask him to show you the ropes. That was all. But he would never even hear you out, and it upset you. Why shouldn’t it? Joel and Tess may have taken you in if their own accord, but that didn’t mean that you wanted to remain completely unhelpful to them.

“Seriously, Joel, I’m just trying to—”

“How many times do I gotta tell you no before you’ll listen?” Joel huffed out, voice raised, as he whirled around to face you. It was instinctive, the way you flinched away from his almost-yelling. He stared at you with unreadable eyes, his expression changed from anger to something you didn’t recognise.

You bared your teeth at him, nose twitching with the effort of holding tears at bay. “Fine! Whatever.” You spat out, spinning around and storming down the hall, slamming the door behind you before you slumped down against it, hands covering your eyes, as if that could stop the inevitable. The tears fell regardless, the tight feeling in your chest making your throat ache. You just couldn’t understand him — you hadn’t even done anything.

There was no need for him to make you feel so… small. He didn’t need to dismiss you like that, and he certainly didn’t need to be so loud about it. Joel knew well enough by now that you were easily upset, a fact which seemed to be a great annoyance to him, which only made you more upset. You were trapped in one prolonged, vicious cycle with him.

The door to the apartment slammed shut only moments later, leaving you in the deadly silence that followed Joel’s exit, without his pottering around to provide any background noise. It made the ache in your throat worsen, and you sniffled, cursing yourself for your tears even as more fell down your cheeks.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

Joel was ready to kill you, really.

He told you to stay inside, to hide in the apartment where there was the slightest semblance of safety, and this is what you do? You directly go against his word?

Now, he didn’t tell you why he wanted you to stay in, which he knows, may have been a big mistake, but really… was it so hard for you to just trust him? When had Joel ever done anything that wasn’t to ensure your safety? He told you to stay inside. That shouldn’t need a discussion, in his eyes. After all, he was the adult, you were the kid.

But instead, Joel had come home to an empty apartment, with no sign of your presence for the past hour, at least. And given the gunfire that had sounded just as Joel ascended the creaking steps with his equally aged knees, he knew that if you were out there, you were in danger.

He knows you’re not with Tess, either, because Tess was in another sector, closing a deal with another smuggling ring to bring them into the fold. She had left Joel with the responsibility of keeping you safe, and he had already been nervous the moment she had stepped out. After what happened the last time he was solely responsible for a kid, who could blame him?

Yet, Tess had silenced him with a “Get over yourself, Joel.” So what choice did he have? It was a reminder that Tess had lost just as much, and a reminder of how much better she was at coping.

If Tess got back, and you were still gone, what would he say? What could he say? She would be back by tomorrow evening, which meant Joel had a limited time to find you. Even worse, Joel had that sinking feeling that if he didn’t find you in that time, he never would. Which was something he couldn’t even consider.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to have to collect you from FEDRA custody, the very next morning, after searching all night for you. His time had been spent ducking into tunnels, speaking with contacts, avoiding FEDRA guards who were on patrol, and yet he caught wind of your presence in a facility just as the sun broke the horizon, reflecting the break of curfew.

When he walked in, approached the desk with a familiar FEDRA guard sat on the other side of it, he didn’t notice you immediately. But when he looked past the guard, into the crowded cage, he saw your tear-streaked face, staring at him with wide, glossy eyes.

“Miller,” The guard greeted, sending a grimy smile his way, eyes showing a spark of interest. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” He asked distastefully, fingers splayed across the dirtied pad of paper in front of him.

Joel knew this guy — and he also knew that he preferred to deal with Tess. Unfortunately, she wasn’t here. But Joel had no qualms with convincing this guy to do what he wanted.

“Sorenson.” Joel grunted out, nodding his head. “Kid’s mine. Let ‘em out.” He demanded, crossing his arms as he stood casually in front of the desk. Joel glanced in your direction, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at the way fresh tears were rolling down your face.

“Oh, is that so?” Sorenson asked, glancing back and meeting your eyes. He smiled, maliciously, before turning back to Joel. “What do I get, if I do?” He questioned, as if he was in any position to negotiate. Which, to be fair, he kind of was. Only because of your presence, which limited what Joel was willing to do, in the way of putting you in unnecessary danger.

Really, he was probably making a mistake revealing his hand. Claiming you as his. It was just ammunition for dirtbags like Sorenson to come at him with, to come at Tess with, but what choice was there? He couldn’t well let you rot in this cage, even if you did ignore what he told you, because who knew when FEDRA would let a kid like you out? They’d try to recruit you into one of their schools, if nobody came for you.

Joel sighed through his nose, clenching his hand into a fist and ignoring the way his skin stung with the motion, a reminder of the last guy who had gotten in Joel’s way. “I can give you the next two weeks, free of charge.” Joel relented, expression stony as he glanced between the guard and you, as you stood with your face pressed against the bars of your cage.

“Two weeks? C’mon, Miller, I’m doin’ you a favour, here! Help me out!” Sorenson said, voice low, but louder than ur should’ve been. He glanced nervously around as if somebody would come and snap him up, before setting his sights on Joel once again. “Your kid’s in a lotta trouble, man. Four weeks.”

“Three.” Joel replied, firm.

Sorenson tilted his head from side to side, before shuffling through his papers with a nod. He took out a stamp from the drawer at his side, and pressed it onto a piece of paper with your name written at the top. He stood up, making his way over to the cage with a heavy sigh, and counted through his keys until he finally found the correct one.

You practically leaped out of the cage, the moment the door was open, and you headed straight for Joel. He said nothing as you gripped onto him, only putting his arms by his sides as opposed to having them crossed in front of him.

“Three weeks, Miller. Don’t forget.” Sorenson said as Joel ushered you away, and Joel said nothing to him. But Sorenson had dirt on him now, so it wasn’t like he could go against the deal. Tess was going to lose her shit.

He said nothing to you, the whole way back to the apartment, instead choosing to stew in his anger as you clutched his arm, sniffling.

You flinched when the door shut behind you with a slam, letting Joel go and practically curling in on yourself. It wasn’t entirely your fault, you might have argued, if Joel didn’t look so angry. He didn’t tell you that he knew about a Firefly attack in FEDRA, if he had, you would’ve never gone out! You only wanted to go and trade for some new shoes with the cards you had been saving up.

“Joel, I’m— I’m sorry.” You finally said to him, when he was quiet for far too long, when picking at your fingernails wasn’t enough to distract you from his silence. Vaguely, you noticed that your fingers were still trembling when you stopped picking at them, likely from the leftover fear.

Joel scoffed, rifling through a drawer in the kitchen. What he was looking for, you had no idea, but it was distracting him from giving you that scathing look, so you were glad for it. “You’re sorry.” He muttered out, disbelieving. He shook his head, glaring at the drawer in front of him when he finally stopped rifling through it. “What’d I tell you?” He asked, glancing up at you, eyebrows raised.

“To stay in the apartment.” You murmured in response, feeling your eyes well up once more. It wasn’t your fault, not entirely. You couldn’t help the way your body responded to people being angry at you! It wasn’t exactly something you could control.

“To stay in the apartment.” Joel repeated, staring at you with wide eyes. He shook his head again, apparently exasperated by you. “And what’d you not do?” He questioned, staring accusingly at you by now, his hands resting on the counter in front of him.

“Stay in the apartment.” You repeated, frustration coating your words. You knew full well that you had made a mistake, so did he really have to do this? Did he have to rub it in your face? That he was right, as always, and you were wrong? “I said I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry.”

Joel wipes a hand down his face, feeling his age like never before, and sighs at the distinctive tremble in your voice. You were going to start crying, any moment, Joel knew it. And it seemed, given your desire to get away from him as quickly as possible, that you knew it, too.

“I—I made a mistake. I should’ve listened to you, I know.” You continued on in response to his silence, to his exasperation. He didn’t know what to do with you. Raising a kid before the apocalypse was hard enough, but here you were, a kid he hadn’t raised, who he was trying to parent, nonetheless. He doesn’t remember it reaching this level of difficulty, before the outbreak. Maybe that was why.

Joel didn’t exactly understand you, and he had never really bothered to try. After all, his time was spent keeping you and Tess as safe as possible, providing for you as best as he could. He may not understand you, may not know the ins and outs of your mind, but he cared for you. He wasn’t your dad, not exactly, and he’s not sure you could ever be his kid, exactly, but it’s about as close as he thinks it’d ever get.

Joel looked back at you, softening the slightest bit. “You gonna start listenin’ to me, now?” He asked, though it wasn’t really a question. It was more of a you are.

You nodded, movements jerky but without an ounce of hesitation in them. He frowns at the sight, brows furrowed, and sighs once again. “Are you alright?” He asked, then, after everything else was out of the way. With the way your eyes immediately started brimming with tears at the question, he was leaning towards the answer being no.

He stepped around the counter after a moment, in front of you in mere seconds, and his hands on your shoulders ushered you towards his chest with certainty. You gripped his shirt tightly, holding on to any ounce of comfort as if it was the most you had ever been given, and he said nothing even as your tears wet the material.

“I was so scared, I—I didn’t know what was hap—happening.” You confided, and it was exactly how he knew you would be in that situation. It was exactly the reason he had told you to stay in. But still, he’s somewhat sure that you know that by now, so Joel just gripped you tighter, as if he could squeeze the remaining fear out of you.

“I know,” Joel murmured, another sigh leaving his lips, blowing into your hair just below where his chin was resting on your head as he practically curled around you, hiding you from the world. “It’s all alright, now.”

He was still annoyed at you, still irritated by the way you disregarded his direct instructions, and the way you’re so easily emotional, but this was more important. He knew that much. So, he’d hold you as long as he needed to, as long as you needed him to.

And when Tess returned later in the evening, brows quirked at the way you were sound asleep already, Joel’s only response was a tired sigh.

∘₊✧───── ───── ───── ─────✧₊∘

It’s late one night, when Joel comes to a realisation.

The sun had long-since disappeared into the horizon, and he and Tess had been asleep for at least a few hours when he woke up to movement in the next room over. It was concerning, because you were usually asleep long before either of them. So, why you were up, Joel had no idea.

Whatever the reason, though, he couldn’t imagine it would’ve been a good one.

Which is the reason he got up, waving Tess away when she stirred awake from his movement. She squinted at him, as if questioning what he was doing, but settled back down soon after. She’d had a long day on jobs, Joel knew, which was another factor contributing to him dealing with whatever was going on with you.

He knocked your door, shuffling it open after less than a moment, and froze when he saw you kneeling on the floor, frantically shoving things back into a space below a loose floorboard. Your expression was scrunched up, as if you were trying to physically hold in your emotions before Joel could be exposed to them.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said, hesitantly, “Everything alright?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed, and hand still holding onto the doorknob. He frowned when you nodded wildly, squinting past tears in your eyes to look over at him, to silently urge him to just go. Instead of obeying the silent request, Joel made his way inside after shutting the door until it was just ajar. “What’s all this?” He questioned, peering down into the gap in the floor.

Your lips were trembling, eyes downcast, and you didn’t respond, even as Joel took a seat on the edge of your mattress in front of you. It might have been the most closed off Joel had ever seen you. It was certainly the most effort you had put into hiding your emotions from him, and especially into hiding the cause of them. It was… concerning. Not like you, actually, and Joel found that, as much as your emotional nature irritated him, you being distant was much worse.

His eyes were stuck, for a moment, on a single photo amongst the things in the gap. There you were, far younger than you are now, stood with a gap-toothed smile, beside who Joel could only assume was your father. He had never asked what had happened to your family, and there had only been a handful of times where you had hinted at it. Still, he had never taken the bait, instead choosing to avoid dealing with your emotions.

Today, Joel decided, would be different.

He reached down, plucking the photo from the gap, not saying anything when your hand hovered as if to stop him. He quirked his brows as he studied the photo, glancing between the present-you and the past you, and found more than one similarity. In the photo, he could see the shine of emotion in your eye — happiness, back then. Now, however, the gloss over your eye was one of sadness, despair. Nostalgia, maybe, or even grief. Joel wasn’t the best at detecting emotions.

“This your old man?” He asked, tilting the photo, watching the way the glossy print of it caught the dim light in the room. Joel looked back at you, then, focusing on you properly for the first since grasping the picture, and he found you struggling to hold onto the control of your feelings. “It’s alright, kiddo,” Joel said softly, smiling as best as he could at you, as comforting as he could manage. It had been a long time since he had tried to comfort his child. “You can talk about him, if you’d like.”

You shook your head, rising to sit beside Joel on the lumpy mattress. You plucked the picture from his grasp, turning it over and looking at the faded handwriting on the other side. It was unmistakably the writing of a child — of you, Joel realised, but below it, faded until it was almost invisible, was a translation of whatever you had been trying to say.

“I miss him.” You said, instead of anything else. You thought, perhaps, that this was something Joel could relate to. That it was something he could share with you.

“I know,” Joel sighed, placing an arm around your shoulder, squeezing as gently as he could manage to. He wasn’t good with emotions, not anymore. Feelings weren’t a Joel Miller special, and he preferred it that was. He preferred not to linger in his pain, in everything he had ever suffered through. He didn’t want to feel it.

But you… you were something else. Something purer, than him, he thought. While you were quick to tears, easily scared or stunned, you also radiated a certain happiness. It had taken over the apartment, so much so that Joel couldn’t even remember the shade of grey it had looked before you started staying with them. No, with you here, everything seemed warmer. And Joel Miller wasn’t an emotional person, anymore, and he wasn’t sure he ever would be again, but you made him feel something. Even if it was just a bit of warmth in such a cold world.

Despite your tears, Joel thought that you might just be the strongest of all of you. After all, he didn’t possess the strength to face his emotions, not like you did. He couldn’t bring himself to feel. But if you could, if you could manage to retain some sort of happiness, if you could hold on to some of the happiness that came with these tragedy-tinged memories, why shouldn’t you? Why should he shame you for that? For being stronger than he is?

“I know.” Joel repeated, frowning down at the picture in your hand. Not for the first time, he wished that he had a picture of his Sarah. “I miss her, you know.” Joel told you, lightly, voice right. It was possibly the most you would ever get out of him, but as you looked up to him, teary eyed and aching heart, you knew it was enough for you. Even this slight glimpse into his feelings, it was enough.

“I know.” You responded, squeezing Joel in return, and you felt the way a slight smile lifted his cheeks at your gesture. “It’s going to be okay, right?” You asked, glancing back down to the other bits and bobs you had kept, all to remind you of what you had lost, of what you had had.

“I think,” Joel paused, shaking his head at himself after a moment, before he squeezed you tighter. “You’ll be just fine.”

#joel miller imagines #joel miller imagine #joel miller x reader #joel miller father figure #joel miller x platonic!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x gn!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller one shot #tlou imagine #tlou imagines #tlou one shot #tlou x reader #tlou x you #heartpascal writes

[seventeenpins]

knock him down a peg

pairing: QZ!Joel x F!Reader x Tess

word count: 4.4k

summary: A follow up to Never Pegged You For A Quitter. After a raid gone wrong, Joel's been acting out. Cue an attitude adjustment. Inspired by this ask! 🩷

content/warnings: threesome, pussy eating, anal fingering, Tess is 'daddy', sub!Joel, fucking with a strap-on, reader is injured, Tess is protective af about reader, Joel nuts a frankly concerning amount, references to fisting, Tess slaps Joel

a/n: uhhhh i've been working on this for MONTHS but i think it's finally ready?? shoutout to my co-writer @ozarkthedog without whom this wouldn't exist -- thank you for letting me scream about all of my horny Tess thoughts, helping me organise my brain, giving me about a million good ideas, and encouraging me the whole way thru, and to @sp00kymulderr for giving me the fic title (did you know you did that?? you did. thank you!!)

The three of you had been planning for weeks; maps spread out across the kitchen table. Packs filled with ammo and food and product. It was an immaculate plan, every variable accounted for.

It still went tits up.

Just that morning, FEDRA had changed patrol routes altogether, so your route out wasn't clear anymore. It was no matter, you'd figured. You could head south, through the old high rises, and hook around.

That's when you discovered why FEDRA changed their routes.

Swarms of infected like you'd never seen them had flooded the buildings, hissing and flailing and scrambling towards you. Tess nearly got bit. And then once you made your drop and collected your payment, you had to go back through again.

Tess and Joel had taken the rear, and you'd gone ahead, ending up face-to-face with a slimy FEDRA lackey who took all of the cards you had on you, half your new product, and still put you in lockup for three days.

All in all, bad. 

Arguably better, though, than the noose.

Tess had been waiting for you when you got out and scanned over you as you limped your way out. Your shoulder had been dislocated, but she'd reset it as soon as you were let outside, cussing out the disinterested agents who were watching you, telling you to breathe deep and setting it on two when she made you count to three.

Now, you’re home, sat across from Tess, hissing as she dabbed iodine on the oozing cut beneath your eye. There was a gash on your abdomen that was just shallow enough to avoid the need for stitches. Small miracles. You watched her scan over you, head-to-toe, as if you were hiding some extra life-threatening wound that neither of you knew about yet. Her concern was firm and fierce; never sweet words, but warm hands and a careful touch.

Joel, however, wasn't handling things well. He was pacing back and forth, dangerously quiet. He wore a mean scowl, and his eyes were nearly black with fury. You could see all of his tells; the clench of his jaw, the flash of his eyes, the way his fingers twitched nervously and he refused to make eye contact with you.

The more he paced, the more Tess tensed till suddenly she snapped.

"Sit the fuck down, Joel. You're not helping, pacing like that," she scolded. He practically growled in response.

"It was fuckin' reckless," he spat, "Shouldn't've let her go ahead."

"Her?" you scoff, "We all decided I should go ahead. Someone's gotta do it, and I'm as much a part of this as you are."

He glowered.

"You think you're some kinda savior?” Your shoulder smarts, and the more Joel talks, the more you want to smack him. “Gotta protect me, is that it?"

“You’re more important here,” he argues, punctuating his point by jabbing his finger towards you, “Plottin’ out the routes, trackin’ product, inventory-”

“Joel-” Tess interrupts, “You know as well as I do that she’s been doing this just as long as we have. You wanna know why you weren’t the one going ahead?”

The guard dog reels, as if he didn’t know his place and his role were calculated. As if it weren’t something Tess would ensure.

“You’re talkin’ bout reckless? You’re the one getting reckless, Joel,” Tess hisses.

“It shouldn’ta gone like that-”

“Shit’s gonna go bad, sometimes. But we’re all here. We’re all okay.”

Joel huffs a sigh. “We nearly weren’t.”

Tess ignores him. “And you think being a martyr, putting yourself in danger ahead of us is gonna help us in the long run?”

“If I’d been up front-”

“If you’d been up front, right now we’d be cleaning your oozing face. Maybe you’d have some broken ribs, too.”

“But-”

“Nah. Shut the fuck up, Miller.”

Joel scoffs, nostrils flaring. Shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

The eye roll–that’s the final nail in the coffin.

Tess glowers. “You’d better fix your fuckin’ attitude, Joel, or I’ll fix it for you.”

He grinds his jaw, glaring at you both in turn.

But then Tess sees it; the way he’s starting to get hard in his jeans. You see it too, and you start to notice other things; the flush of his cheeks, his pupils dilated, blown black.

“Oh-,” Tess smirks and turns to you, “Look at that, baby. Looks like he wants a little attitude adjustment.”

You expect him to fire back, make some quip, talk some shit. Instead, he looks ahead. He avoids making eye contact with either of you. A deer in headlights.

“C’mon, Joel.” Tess soothes, stepping forward to rub small circles on his hips, holding and settling him with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Instead of letting you be a stubborn jackass, maybe we oughta fuck some good sense into you.”

Joel doesn’t groan, he just lets out a breath. You do groan.

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten how to be good for us,” she taunts.

You’ve been on the receiving end of Tess’s mean streak before and it’s embarrassing how immediately it excites you. Whenever you think about it, your stomach flips and you have to actively restrain yourself from rubbing your thighs together. Her voice was then as it is now–gleeful and mocking. She made sure you learned your lesson- you fucked up, so now I gotta teach you how to act right. 

The last time you’d seen her like that, the night had ended with your ass on fire, covered in raised handprints. Painful indents of bite marks bruised beautifully up along the insides of your thighs, and you’d come so many times you nearly passed out. These days when you touch yourself, you’re thinking of that; how Tess must’ve been wrist deep, fucking her whole fist into you as she opened her mouth, tongue ready and waiting, grinning when your release splashes her face and drips down her chin, telling you, “Now that’s better, baby.”

Now, fully back in the moment, you’re looking at her and you can see the fire in her eyes. Tess grabs you by the collar, kissing you hard. It’s a dizzying few moments as she licks into your mouth, tongue hot and sweet. You love how she tastes.

When she pulls away, you’re breathless and she’s smirking. 

“Take a seat, honey,” she tells you, and pushes you back. You stumble and land in the armchair behind you. Then she turns to Joel. “You,” she fixes him with a stern glare, “No touching. Behave.”

She exits the room. You and Joel are left in silence. 

You don’t know exactly what Tess has in mind, but you’ve got a pretty good idea.

Joel watches you, wordless. You can feel the energy, the urgency vibrating out from him, but he says nothing. Barely moves. Tess has him trained well.

You unbutton your jeans and lower your zipper. Shimmy them down your hips, past the swell of your ass, and kick them off. 

There’s a sharp intake of breath, and you know Joel’s just noticed you’re not wearing any underwear. You recline back, letting your legs spread. Letting him see every part of you.

The wound on your abdomen is hot, a burning pulse. Your shoulder aches. Your jaw stings. You’re pretty sure your face is a swollen, puffy mess, especially where the gash beneath your eye still weeps, and there are bruises in the shape of handprints all down your arms. 

You need to feel good. Not broken or disregarded, and certainly not made to feel inadequate. You’d gotten your ass handed to you. Now, you need to indulge in some of your more hedonistic pleasures. And, you want to torture Joel, just a little.

Hoping Joel’s watching, but refusing to look up to see, you start to trace along your body. Your fingertips brush your lips first, trailing down your chin, your throat, your collarbone. It’s grounding. Assessing. You need to know what will make you feel good and what will cause you pain.

Slowly, you follow down your shirt, taking a moment to pinch your nipples, tracing a path along your belly, and then to the thatch of curls between your thighs.

You hear a restrained breath, and now you know Joel’s watching. You cup your mound, feel your own heat in your hand. You don’t want to go too far, don’t want to really start before Tess is back, but there’s no harm in warming yourself up.

A few minutes later, as you’re stroking your cunt, feeling yourself start to drip, she walks back in. 

What a fucking sight to behold. Her own shirt is unbuttoned, harness secured at her waist and thighs, the firm silicone cock hanging heavy between her legs. She’s beautiful, breasts unconstrained by any bra, nipples hard, and legs so toned. She looks at you, your naked self, and her scowl softens.

She turns to Joel. “Now, that’s a good girl, huh? Look at that.”

Joel says nothing, just grunts a vague noise of affirmation. 

Tess raises a brow. “Really, Joel?” she admonishes, “You had plenty to say earlier.”

He’s grinding his jaw, has been grinding his jaw for a while. You start to gingerly pull the shirt you’re wearing off and over your head, and Tess leans down to help, taking care to avoid your fucked up shoulder, all your cuts and bruises.

“This is what’s gonna happen,” she tells Joel, “I’m gonna fuck our girl, and you’re gonna watch. If you’re good, then we’ll fuck you, too. Got it?”

Joel grumbles an affirmation, but Tess is sick of his avoidance. She rounds on him, closing the space between them in only a few steps, and slaps him hard on the cheek.

“-The fuck, Tess.” Joel growls, and he’s mad now, “Goddammi-”

She smacks him again. “This isn’t a negotiation, Joel. You can leave if you want,” her eyes glance down to where his cock strains painfully against the fly of his jeans, “But I’m guessing you want to stay here and play with us.”

Finally, Joel looks at her. Directly at her. It’s like staring at the sun.

“Yes,” he admits, “I want to be here.”

“Good boy.”

Now, her attention turns on you. “How’re you feeling, baby?” she asks.

“Better every minute,” you grin up at her, fingers lazily swirling around your clit as you let yourself feel.

“Let me see,” she commands, and you let her spread your legs, opening your thighs wide as she examines your glistening cunt. She nearly gasps when she takes a look. “Oh, baby,” she praises, “Look at you-”, and it’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

It feels so vulnerable, having Tess on her knees in front of you, looking at you bare. She breathes in deeply, groaning as her nostrils fill with the smell of you. The vulgar eroticism sends another surge of arousal through you and you’re almost embarrassed at how much it makes you drip.

Gently, she presses an exploratory middle finger against your opening and hisses out a breath when she slips in easily.

She turns her wrist, twisting the digit, letting you feel the width of her fist pressing against your mound. The pressure against you is delicious. It obsessed you, every time you considered it; the way she can make every time feel like the first time. You could never get bored. She’s a force.

You want to taunt her or tease her, rile her up just a little more. You love her rough side. But you know she wouldn’t go for it, the state you’re in, and besides–you’re tired, and the way she’s fingerfucking you feels so goddamn good you can’t even think of a single thing to say. 

She goes from stroking your folds and covering you with your own slick, to slipping her ring finger in with her middle. It’s an easy glide, too, and she starts pumping the digits, thumb hard against your clit as she works you open.

“God damn,” she groans, “All beat up and you’re still fuckin’ gushing for me, pretty girl.”

The pressure is overwhelming but you want to endure, need to endure. That doesn’t, however, stop your body from writhing and shaking, and the combination of her words and her ministrations, you know Tess feels how hard you’re clenching around her, feeling yourself get too close, too fast. She winks at you before turning back to Joel.

“C’mon over here,” she beckons him. He obeys, kneeling down beside her. She leans over and narrates. “Look at how she’s taking my fingers. Barely any resistance. Slipped right in, see how wet she is for me?”

Joel hums in acknowledgement, something between a sigh and a growl.

“Good thing she’s this wet already,” she tells Joel, nodding at the strap between her legs, “Otherwise you might have to suck it first-” 

His growl turns into something like a whine, desperate and beautiful. You know more than most how much effort he’s putting into not allowing himself to speak. How he must really be desperate to get fucked if he’s restraining himself like this.

“And we know that’s not a punishment for you, don’t we?” She swats him on the cheek, “We all know how much Joel Miller loves suckin’ cock, huh?”

She’s not wrong. His eyes somehow grow darker, and you’re so focused at watching his reactions that you barely even register Tess spreading your legs even further apart till the head of her cock presses against your drooling cunt, and she slides the entire length in, bottoming out in a single smooth thrust.

“JESUS, Tess,” you cry out. 

She just grins and holds you by the waist. “Hold on tight baby,” she tells you, “I know you can take all this and then some.”

After a few restrained thrusts, she finds her rhythm and starts fucking you. The initial sensation of being filled starts to wane, and you swear your pussy is a starving entity of its own. It wants and it wants and it wants.

The ache is so good, and she’s deep, too. It’s a perfect balance of pleasure and pressure. With each cant of her hips, you sink further into a blinding euphoria. It’s exactly what you need. 

“Taking me so fucking good,” she praises, “Like you were made to take me. Goddamn, baby, you’re dripping like a faucet.”

“Needed this so bad-” you mumble, “Fuck, Tess, I need you-”

“You got me, baby,” she promises, “You got me, I’ll give you anything you need.”

Every word is punctuated by another thrust. 

“Tell me what you need, honey.”

“Faster,” you gasp, “Please, Tess, need it faster-”

With a growl, she shifts you, pulls out for a moment and grabs you by the legs. She drags you further down the chair but rests the back of your calves on her shoulder before plunging the strap back in, deeper and rougher than before.

You wince a little, the tender part of your belly stinging, and she notices immediately. Rearranges you, just a little. 

When she slides back in, the pain is gone. Only pleasure remains.

“See?” Tess snarls, “She knows how to be good, huh?” 

Still holding your legs with one arm, she wraps the other around you and lands a hard smack on your ass, grinning when she feels you gush around her again.

You buck and writhe, and you know you have the stupidest grin plastered across your face.

She makes you dizzy.

“That’s it, baby,” she tells you. “So good, telling me what you need,”

“Fuck–” you rasp, “I’m gonna cum, Tess, please-”

She keeps to the rhythm, letting her fast strokes and the snap of her hips undo you. You’re close, so fucking close, but you can see the way she’s trembling, so focused on you, you don’t think she realises she’s close to the edge too.

Now, the only thing you want is for you both to cum together.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, Tess, daddy, cum in me, please–”

A strangled moan leaves her, breathless, and she fucks into you and feels the way you tighten and pulse around the cock, feels the way you drip greedily down her thighs, and that’s enough; Tess comes with you.

As you come back out of the fog, your head is giddy with bliss. You’re tangled up, sweaty, sticky skin pressed together. You hold her close as she runs her hands up and down your back, soothing you. Your breasts are pressed together like a jigsaw puzzle, and the thought is silly, but it’s true.

The strength of your orgasm has knocked you numb, and it takes several moments for your vision and hearing to come back fully. Tess seems to be in the same boat, because it’s at the same time that you both hear it.

Slick squelches. Soft moans.

You both look over at the same time. Tess’s jaw drops. You feel another surge of arousal run through you as you focus on Joel.

“I’m- I’m sorry, honey,” he tells you, “Shouldn’t’a acted like that.”

You barely register his words. Instead, you watch how he’s stripped down near completely, barring his socks. That should make you laugh, but his legs are lewdly spread. With one hand he’s gripping his balls, clearly trying not to touch his drooling cock. With the other, he’s three fingers deep in his asshole, moving desperately. There’s a bottle of lube nearby and you can see its contents dripping down his wrist as he pumps his fingers hard and fast into his aching hole.

Tess looks stuck between telling him off for touching himself, and wholly impressed by his dedication to preparation.

“Well I’ll be damned,” she laughs, incredulous, “Someone’s eager.”

She’s still inside you, and you can feel another rush of your cum drip down the strap. An idea strikes you.

“Fuck him with it,” you tell her, looking down at the thick silicone as she glides out of you, “Fuck him with it, while it’s still dripping with me.”

Tess moves a hand to her breast, pinching and flicking at her own nipple, practically growling at your words. She stares at you for a moment. Then back to Joel.

He’s lost for words, too, it seems. He looks absolutely wrecked. His fingers are still buried deep, but they’re not moving anymore. Focus on the motion is forgotten, he’s just fixed on you both, eyes darting between you, waiting for a decision, any decision, to be made.

“Honey,” she smirks at you, “Why don’t you move over to the head of the bed there, that’s a good girl.”

You get up and scoot back, snorting a laugh as she swats at your ass while you rearrange yourself so your back is against the headboard.

“Spread those legs,” she orders. “Mmm yes, that’s it. My good fucking girl-”

She turns to Joel. “What a nice view, huh?”

Your lips are puffy and used, shining with slick. The room smells like sex, heavy and intoxicating.

“I think you’d better clean up the mess I made of her,” she gestures towards you and Joel doesn’t hesitate. “Hands and knees, Miller.”

He moves from his seat, crawling up the bed, wrapping his hands around your thighs and spreading them further.

The first stroke of his tongue feels like coming home. The hot, wet pass of it is intoxicating, and you’re already so sensitive you don’t need any focus on your clit to feel the build clutch at you again already.

“Good boy,” Tess praises him. He growls into you, the strokes of his tongue growing wider and faster, drinking up every drop of you.

He pulls away for only a moment. “Fuck me, Tess, please-”

“You focus on her and you’ll get what you need,” she promises, “But you’d better move fast, Texas.”

He sighs, but glances up at you. He nods, more weight to it than you’d expect, before he runs another lick up your cunt.

You shudder at the sensation, your legs turning to mush again. His calloused hands scrape against your thighs as he holds them apart, nuzzles at your pussy, dives back in, alternating between licking and sucking. 

There are many things that can be said about the man worshiping between your legs, but no one could ever say he eats pussy with anything less than religious devotion.

He nibbles gently in a way that devastates, knocks you back and wears you down. Once you’ve hit one peak it doesn’t take you long to hit the next, and he has you on the edge so damn fast you’d feel embarrassed if you didn’t also feel so fucking good.

“Fuck,-” you breathe, “Fuck, Joel-! Can’t fucking stop coming- Fuuuckkk–!”

He blinks, dark brown eyes gazing up at you as he continues, relentless, barely impeded by the way your body is convulsing from the overwhelm of sensation.  

You shudder on his mouth, legs shaking, involuntary whimpers turning into something more like panting whines and moans. You’re pretty sure the entire building can hear you. You really don’t care.

Tess has been watching the whole time, smirking but silent. Now she lines up her still-wet cock against his slick hole.

“Y’ready, Miller?” She asks, and you feel yourself melt at the tenderness of it. You fall in love just a little bit more, every time you see her soft.

He grunts an affirmation. His mouth is still on you but his movements slow and he buries his nose between your folds, nudging at you gently as Tess presses the head of her cock to his slick hole. The most beautiful whine slips out his mouth, reverberating against your cunt. You can feel the way his entire body moves, pressing up into you, as she lets herself loose, thrusting shallowly at first before snapping her hips in longer, deeper strokes.

With one particularly brutal thrust, he knocks forward. The curve of his nose hits against your clit and you come again with a shriek, soaking his face as he takes everything she gives him.

You’re worn out, spent and satisfied. You clutch him by the hair and yank him off of you, and now his moans aren’t muffled anymore. 

He keeps his head between your thighs, breathing in your scent as the cum on his face cools and starts to dry. He’s loud, whining and grunting, taking Tess’s cock like it’s his only purpose.

“Fuck, Tessa-” he sobs, the heat of his breath on your used-up cunt. “Feels- so fucking- good.”

“Feels real fuckin good, don’t it?” she echoes, rhythm never ceasing, “Lettin’ your daddy fuck you like this.”

“Uh huh.”

“You wanna be good for me, say thank you?”

“I-” His words come out stilted, punctuated by each thrust. “Yes-”

“Say thank you, Daddy.”

“Thank- Thank- you- daddy-” he chokes.

“Thank you for what?” you prompt, and Tess grins. Joel looks up at you with a flash of something that could be fury or hunger.

“Thank you-” he hisses, “Thank you- daddy- for teaching me a lesson-”

“Good boy,” she soothes, “Say ‘thank you daddy, for teaching me how silly and childish I’ve been.’”

“Thank you daddy,” he echoes, “For teaching me how silly I’ve been. How childish. Ain’t been actin’ right. Not to you honey-” he presses a gentle kiss to the inside of your thigh. Closes his eyes when he speaks to her. “Not to you either, daddy.”

“You feelin good, baby?” she asks him.

He breathes out a shudder. “Feels so fucking good, but–”

“But?”

“Need more. Need to be touched.”

“Poor baby,” Tess pouts, “I’m afraid we can’t do that.”

He whines, but nods.

“But since you’re taking this lil attitude adjustment so well, I suppose we can let you cum. That sound alright to you honey?”

“Sure,” you beam, “He can rub himself up against the mattress if he likes. Cum just like that.”

“Mmm yeah,” Tess agrees, “You able to cum from rutting up against the bed?”

“Yes- yes anything, please-”

“Love it when he begs,” you sigh and Tess hums in affirmation.

She presses him down, keeps her cock in him as she knocks him so he’s flat on the bed, legs splayed, swollen dick rubbing against the covers as she holds him by the hips.

This whole time, she’s kept a steady pace. Not quite brutal, but certainly not leisurely. You see the way his own hips rock as he humps the bed, trying to find an angle that’ll give him the release he needs.

“I’m- fuck, I’m getting close Tessa– Gonna fuckin cum–”

“Good,” she smacks him hard and watches the flesh of his ass shake deliciously from the blow.

The masochist he is, it’s all he needs to tumble over the edge.

He comes with a shout, cum painting the bedsheets and pooling on the fabric, coating his stomach, his cock, his balls. Tess is still inside him, still hitting his prostate with every stroke, and it strengthens his orgasm to a point of almost overwhelming intensity. After a few moments, you’re not sure if he’ll ever stop coming, the amount of it verges on concerning as the pool of cum threatens to trickle over the edge of the bed.

Finally, his orgasm comes to an end, and Tess’s thrusts slow. 

They both reel back, panting, Tess pulling out gently and Joel whimpering at the loss of sensation. 

“Good boy,” she tells him, unbuckling the harness and letting the strap fall to the floor.

“Fuuuuuckkkkkk-” he sighs, and you giggle. His eyes snap up to you, but he’s laughing too. 

He shakes his head and starts to peel himself up from the sticky mess he’s made. “Sorry I’m such a jackass.” 

“Eh,” you shrug, “We know you’re a jackass.”

He nods, considering.

“And–” Tess joins in, “We know how to set you straight.”

He snorts.

“Just– I know you were scared out there,” you tell him, and he must’ve been fucked real good because he doesn’t even try to argue. “We’re always gonna have close calls. But we’re in this together, yeah? Don’t shut me out just because you’re afraid.”

He’s silent for a moment. Then nods at you.

“Okay, honey. And- thank you, Tessa. You know how t’ keep me in line.”

“Anytime, Texas,” she grins.

You get up and turn on the shower. The rest of the day, you’ll get clean. You’ll rest. You’ll let your aching bones start their healing. Just over the sound of the shower spray, you hear Tess speaking to Joel; “Now, unless I’m much mistaken, it’s your turn to change the sheets-”

#joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #tlou fic #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #tlou #joel miller x tess servopoulos #tess servopoulos x f!reader #tess servopoulos x reader #save me daddy tess #daddy tess save me

[hellishjoel]

seven days, six nights

5.6k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

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summary: You get jumped in the QZ after a deal gone south and hide yourself from Joel to keep him safe. After eventually finding you and learning the truth behind your injuries, he heals you and promises revenge. 

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), post-outbreak Joel, living in the Boston QZ, somewhat established relationship, mentions of falling ill, mentions of hunger/starvation, mentions of weapons, mentions of sleeplessness, descriptions of a fight/brief assault, descriptions of bodily injury, talking about medical shit (and I ain't no doctor, I used google, don't sue me) thoughts and descriptions of murder (… isn’t he just so dreamy?), angst, light fluff at the end, half-ass edited (apologies in advance)

A/N: So happy to practice some post-outbreak writing! Enjoy this angsty one shot (inspired by this lovely ask!) that I fuckin loved writing. Dedicating this to @macfrog, as I pictured this entire plot with pixel Joel. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery-” “Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-” “Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” 

Joel doesn’t know where you’ve been. You haven’t returned to his apartment in the QZ for days. He keeps track. Every time the sun rises and shines blistering beams of light into the quiet apartment until the moon replaces it and casts light silver streaks between the torn-up pieces of newspaper taped to the windows. Another day gone.

You had a routine. Make the smaller drops or pickups on your own, return to Joel, and report back to him with anything you think he might find useful or interesting. Five days ago, he sent you off to negotiate a truck battery with that West End District piece of shit, Robert. He shouldn’t have let you go alone. Fucking smugglers, you couldn’t trust any of them. Hell, Joel was even surprised you trusted him at first. He regretted not insisting on being by your side, even if it was just as your personal attack dog to keep Robert  on his toes. 

Despite Boston being one of the more “well-managed” QZs to still exist, the black market that emerged from it was just as strong. That’s where Joel came in. He figured if he could smuggle himself into one of the most protected quarantine zones in the country, he could smuggle just about anything else. 

Drugs, weapons, ammunition, illegally forged paperwork, counterfeit ration cards, you name it, and Joel could work it in or out of the city.  Joel’s reputation was usually enough to keep you both out of imminent danger as he became popular with not only the inhabitants of the QZ, but also with fellow smugglers. You all needed each other to stay alive, in one way or another. 

Don’t be mistaken; the Boston QZ wasn’t perfect. It went through its fair share of scares. Food sources dwindled occasionally, leaving people angry, starving, and rebellious. Fireflies were a constant nag on depleting military resources. The fighting never truly stopped. This partially made Joel’s life easier. When times got tough, people searched for Joel to procure particular goods to help keep them afloat or, more importantly, alive. 

That’s the problem Joel ran into after spending a night in FEDRA lock up. He was the one in need of supplies. 

Joel was sick. Not infected sick, not cordyceps sick, some kind of infection he got from poor sanitation in the lock-up that attacked its way through an open wound Joel had gotten. He didn’t know if it was from work duty or from the recent street attacks, hence his stay in the FEDRA lockup. No matter where he got it from, an infection in the bloodstream wasn’t easily curable. 

The doctors, what very few the QZ had, were scarcely treating the sick due to a lack of supplies. And Joel was only getting worse. 

He was fighting a high fever, his breathing was fucked, as was his heart rate. Only a few days into his symptoms, he was crashing. He was damn near on the devil’s doorstep. He wasn’t made for heaven’s gates. 

Joel didn’t have friends in the QZ, but there were certain high-powered people who needed items smuggled, too. And the guards paid him well to keep his mouth shut about what he saw going in and out of those gates after curfew. That’s why when one of his more popular clients heard Joel was an inch from  death, they sent you. 

You burst through his apartment, the door nearly flying off its hinges as you fled to his bedside. He pushed you away with what little strength he had at first, the infection was making him lose his damn mind. His skin was scarlet red, and he was clammy with sweat. He didn’t know you, you didn’t know him. But you weren’t going to let him die. 

“Joel, I’m here to help you, hold still.” 

Then you started your search, tearing Joel’s clothes off one by one until you found the sizeable cut on his upper bicep near his shoulder, a huge scrape from a metal blade that had gotten infected. The man had tons of scars, all in varying sizes, shapes, and places on his body. You didn’t know his past, but his body told his story. He was a fighter. 

Your fear was how far into sepsis Joel was. Any further or even just a few hours later, you might have witnessed his organs begin shutting down. 

Despite his hazy state, Joel was struck by your amount of supplies. You weren’t a Boston QZ doctor, he would remember a face like yours. It took a smuggler to know a smuggler, and you dealt in medical supplies. 

Joel passed out not long after you got there. You caught him up in the morning, you never left his side. You monitored him, kept checking his vitals, pumped him with water, shoved antibiotics down his throat, cleaned his wound before it could fester anymore, and tried to regulate his body temperature. This could have been a lot worse. It should have been a lot worse. 

This was your first time experiencing Joel Miller’s tenacious stubbornness. He wouldn’t fucking die, not last night, and not today. 

A few weeks later, with Joel improving, he picked up on you around town. The way you blended in with just about everyone else. Not much slipped past Joel these days with his eyes like that of an eagle. But you slipped right through his fingers, didn’t even know you existed,  despite running the same territory. 

That’s when he decided he wanted someone like you on his team. Not just for your medical skills, but the type of supplies you ran was in high demand. You never did tell him where you got it, or how it was funded, all he had to know was that you were in. And you have been in ever since. 

Joel introduced you to heavier smuggling, like weapons and bundles of cash. Even people for the right price. He taught you how to make fake documents of verification and how to forge other paperwork. This was a lot bigger compared to your clean syringes and medicine. 

You learned a lot from each other. You taught Joel patience, and to thank you for saving his life, he taught you how to orgasm in less than five minutes. 

The relationship you shared, if you could even call it that, wasn’t strictly a romantic one. Both of you were too guarded for something like that. But also, life was too short and unpredictable right now not to crave pleasure to erase the pain from the past. 

It was hard to admit, considering how independent you’ve grown since being accepted into the Boston QZ, but you were thinking about Joel in ways far beyond a slightly romantic relationship. He had protected you and cared for you in the Joel sort of way that’s hard to read but you know exists. 

Joel worked extra hours to hand you off extra ration cards, shaking his head and not looking at you when he said it was no big deal, just take’em. Or when he didn’t want you to stay in spare housing, he offered to let you live with him in his nicer, non-shared apartment. It was a small slice of heaven in this fucked up world. You liked him, hell, maybe it was more than like. 

That’s why when you got jumped by Robert’s guys on the way back to Joel’s with the truck battery, they damn near killed you. They left you passed out in the alley. Robbed you of your ration cards, stole back the battery, smashed your head so hard into the brick wall you had passed out. All you wanted to do when you came to was crawl to Joel. So you did. You were outside his door, beaten and bruised, about to knock. Then you just stood there and spiraled. 

You listened from the other side of Joel’s door to the floorboards creaking as he paced the old wooden beams. You were late and left him worried. He was waiting for you to come home. 

The thought made your stomach twist. You looked like shit. You knew what Joel was capable of. One look at your bruised and bloodied face would send him flying down the street with a rifle in his hands and a pistol shoved in the back of his jeans.  You couldn’t bear the thought of him getting hurt in a war with Robert. 

Joel was smart, a hell of a lot smarter than Robert, but their smuggling operations varied greatly. Robert was an arms dealer, with henchmen all around the QZ. Joel only worked with a handful of people, he kept his circle small. If Joel went after Robert, you were more likely to find him dead in the street than anything else. And you couldn’t do that to Joel, not after all he’s done for you. 

If Joel saw you hurt, he would kill Robert. He’d kill anyone that laid a finger on you. No one touches what’s Joel’s. Not merchandise, not weapons, not the pills he smuggles in and out of the QZ, and certainly not you. 

So you tiptoe back down the stairs and run to the spare housing blocks just before the curfew alarm sounds. What Joel doesn’t know won’t get him killed. 

---

Joel stands in line during the heat of summer, ration cards stuffed in his back pocket as he waits with others in the queue for a tray and some food. The dining hall was packed, and by the looks of other people’s trays, the food was low again. All he can think about is how he worked extra shifts all last week to get more ration cards for both of you. Without these cards, you were going hungry. You were supposed to be by his side, where were you? 

By day six, Joel was restless. He didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you in bed beside him. All he could picture during his sleepless nights was his body spooned in behind yours, the heavy weight of his arm curled around your waist, being able to sense even the tiniest of movements. You’d push off his arm in the middle of the night, telling him that you just needed to use the bathroom or get some water. 

It wasn’t always like that, though. Sometimes, you have nightmares. Ones that left you shooting up straight in the middle of the night, gasping for breath, crawling backward in bed like something or someone was chasing you. Joel didn’t know everything about your past and vice versa, but he knew wherever you came from before Boston was a different form of hell. He would hold you in his arms, console you, wipe your hot tears, lay your head on the warmth of his chest, and tell you to level out your breathing by listening to the beat of his heart. He held you in his arms until you eventually fell back asleep. Most of the time, you’d wake up and wouldn’t remember a thing. 

What if nothing was wrong with you, and you just realized you didn’t want to be with someone as broken and battered as Joel? He didn’t make being in his company easy. He gave you a lot of shit, pushed you to the limits, told you on more than a handful of occasions he just wanted to be left alone. You’d ask about his daughter, the one he sparsely spoke about, and he’d bark at you until you regretted even thinking about her. He didn’t make things easy on you, but Joel did care about you. Even if he was shit at showing it. 

He pushed you away, maybe you took the hint and left him. 

On day seven, he started asking around about you, something he saved as a last resort. The less you two were seen together, the better. You had him worried sick, and he was damn near ready to raid Robert’s warehouse to see if he had taken you, made you his girl against your will.  

That was until he caught a glimpse of you going past the market. It didn’t take much, he recognized your figure and trailed you with his eyes.  You were walking towards spare housing, with a heavy backpack and a sweatshirt on. Your arms were wrapped securely around you, and your head was down. 

He navigated through the crowds, jaw tight, putting down heavy steps on the broken gravel road as he pushed people out of his way with a guided hand on their shoulder. He followed you out of the crowd and down the street lined with stone barricades and rubble from a recent building that was raided by patrol on the hunt for Fireflies. You turned sharply down an alleyway, and Joel followed you, needing to see if you were okay, looking for answers. 

As soon as Joel took the alley, he was attacked and harshly shoved backward, his shoulder blades smacking the red brick wall behind him. A small switchblade was then shoved against the protruding vein in his neck, heated puffs of breath leaving him. He initially panicked in the moment, his hand tightening around the wrist that held him there.

“Why the hell are you following me?” You bark at him, head still lowered. Joel’s eyes narrow at the sound of your voice. 

He speaks your name.

Your strength relaxes, and you lift your head up to see you had pinned Joel. Shit, you thought one of Robert’s men was following you from town. You let out an exhausted breath of relief. 

“You’re really holdin’ me up with the knife I gave you?” Joel asks. He smacks the back of your hand, reflexes making your fist open up and lose the grip on your switchblade. Joel snags it with his free hand and glares at you. He takes the opportunity to shove your forearm off his chest, the one that was pinning him against the wall, and sending you a few paces back from the force he exerts. He hesitates but folds the blade back into the handle, and offers it back to you.

You let out a sigh of relief to see that it was just Joel. But this was still a problem. 

You retrieve the switchblade you accidentally surrendered to him and stuff it into your sweatshirt pocket. You cross your arms and look away to the entrance of the alley. “What the hell are you doing following me, Joel?”

He lets out a scoff through his nose and shoots daggers out of his eyes that you won’t meet. “What the hell am I doin’? Where the hell have you been?” He tries not to bark so loud. You won’t stop staring at the entrance of the alley, and Joel’s not sure if you’re thinking about running or thinking about being ambushed. 

He grabs your arm and drags you further into the alley, sunset on the horizon. He brings you to the back of an old school that was ready to collapse. He pushes you back against the wall and stands close, too close. 

“Answer me, what the hell happened to you?” His voice shoots goosebumps across your skin, low and growling for answers. 

The grip he has on your arm tightens and washes a flood of heat over your injured arm. Your mouth hisses with hurt, trying to breathe through the pain. You shake him off of you and clutch your arm lightly. “‘M fine, Joel, I can manage.” 

You’re speaking with a break in your voice that Joel can’t quite place. The hood you’re wearing is working overtime to shield your face. 

He pauses before he slowly looks over you. “Why are you wearin’ a sweatshirt in the middle of summer?” 

The silence he’s met with only leaves him more curious. What are you hiding? He swiftly pushes the hood off your head before you can stop him, and he’s not prepared for what he sees. 

“Fuck,” he mutters, his large hands delicately coming up and caressing your cheeks.

You sigh and roll your eyes. The skin around your right eye is blueish-purple. You lightly twinged at the contact, no matter how delicate he was being. “It’s not as bad as it seems, it doesn’t hurt-”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Joel mutters, lightly taking your chin between his thumb and index finger as he angles your face from left to right, allowing him to get a full look at the damage done to you. You glance down at his broken watch for comfort, the band fraying and the glass shattered, but he still wore it. 

You can’t exactly explain why your lower lip starts to wobble. It was so hard to stay away from Joel, to distance yourself, but it was all for keeping him safe. Your small fists lightly clutch the button-up shirt he’s wearing around his abdomen, finally feeling a slight sense of security. 

“Joel, I’m so sorry, I lost you the battery.”

“Someone stole it from you.” He corrects, shaking his head as a sinking feeling washes over you. Your eyelashes flutter as you feel a droplet of water land on your nose. You glance up at the sky, seeing the clear summer day has turned into dark clouds overhead threatening to flood the city in rain. Joel doesn’t look up, he stays watching you. 

You can’t seem to meet his eye contact. “But the battery-”

“Don’t care about the battery right now, care about you.” His thumb gently examines the cut on your lip. You curl it inwards to stray from his touch. “Robert do this to you? His guys?” Joel’s asking accusingly, and you know better than to lie to him. You swallow the growing lump in your throat and gently nod, blinking back tears. 

His face grows taut with anger, his brows furrowing and the creases in his forehead are set in stone. His jaw is clamped shut while he grits his teeth. Joel’s probably thinking of a million scenarios of how to put Robert down. Which way would last the longest, string out the torture, make him apologize to you, and beg for his life. Make him apologize to Joel for ever touching a hand on what was his. 

“Joel, you need to take a breath. Focus.” The last thing you wanted was for Joel to go on a rampage tonight in search of Robert. “I’m fine, this shit happens. We’ll get back on track and-”

“Can’t believe they let you live.” He murmurs, taking a look at the damage that he can visibly see before lightly sighing and releasing your face. You’re quick to pull the hood back up and cross your arms in front of you as some sort of shield. 

His eyes are sunken in, his chest is lightly heaving as he tries to sort through his muddled thoughts. The rain is starting to scatter more, hitting your muddy sneakers and Joel’s dark denim shirt. The setting sun meant curfew was just around the corner. 

“Come on. We’re goin’ home. Need to take a look at you in the light." You hesitate but his eyes are pleading for you to just let him take care of you.  So you let him. 

---

You travel up the same staircase you did just a week ago, limping and injured, broken and feeling guilty. Joel needed that battery for the truck. He was going to leave Boston and go to find his brother, Tommy. Neither of you had discussed if you would come with. For Joel, you think you might do just about anything for him if he asked. 

He stabs his key into the lock of his door. You hear a crying baby in a neighboring apartment, it was probably startled awake by the blaring of the curfew alarm. Lightning and thunder crack outside as Joel pushes open the door. You follow him inside and set down your backpack by the door like you usually do. Another strike of lightning makes his apartment flood itself with white-silver streaks of light, if only for a moment. Joel flips the lock back into place and hits the switch to the one overhead light in between the kitchen and the living room. You’re sweating up a storm in your sweatshirt. 

Though living in Boston’s QZ wasn’t great, you had to admit that not every quarantine zone had clean water and electricity. Joel had an old standing oscillating fan that was stationed at the foot of his bed during the summers since he ran so warm all the time. He said he traded about four or five meals worth of ration cards to get it, said that it was considered a steal. You shed the heavy material of your sweatshirt and sit tiredly down at the end of his bed, closing your eyes as the fan wicks away your sweat and cools your face. 

Living in spare housing the past week was hell. You barely slept. The homeless, sick, and injured all found their way to spare housing. You weren’t safe there. And you didn’t have any ration cards to your name. You had to trade one singular, perfectly clean syringe to afford four rolls of bread. It was all you could get at the time being. Everyone was fighting for work, knowing ration cards and food were low. Since you were still somewhat new to the QZ, you weren’t given privileges. You laid on a nasty, old cot for a week. Joel’s small apartment was heaven. The solitude was peaceful. 

Joel was standing at the sink, water running over a cloth as he stared down at the water circling the drain. He needed to take a breath, set his anger aside, and get you to talk. 

Joel wrings out the rag, loose droplets of water splattering in the sink before he sits down at his small wooden kitchen table. “C’mere.” He whispers, taking your attention away from the fan. You slowly stand up and make your way to the table under the central light in his living room, sighing softly as you slowly sink into the accompanying chair. Now in the light, he observes your injuries closer. 

Without your sweatshirt on, he can see bruises and scrapes along your arms, residual blood on your knuckles and under your nails. His little fighter. He notes that your tanktop is a bit shredded, and he fears the worst. 

You catch him staring and intervene. “Don’t worry. I didn’t let them get close enough to touch me like that.” You glance down at the sweaty tank top and lightly tug on the hole. “Just got this while I was running away, trying to hop a fence.” 

Joel frowns and slowly works his eyes over you. “‘S not like you to get caught. You’re pretty damn fast.”

You held down a bubble of laughter as your fingers played with the fraying material of your top. “Yeah, well, they already got one or two good hits on me, so I was a little hazy.” Your words don’t settle him. They infuriate him. 

He brings his attention to your face. Your eye must have been swollen at one point, but it wasn’t anymore. The puffiness had gone down, and the bruises were in their final stages of healing. You have another more prominent bruise on your cheekbone, black and blue, but it’s not broken. That’s good. The cut on your eyebrow and the matching one on your lip catches his attention. A man with a ring. 

“Red hair? Crooked nose, missing a front tooth?” 

You blink a few times rapidly, curious as to how the hell Joel knew the characteristics of one of your attackers. 

“How did you…” You start to say until your words trail off, shaking your head in confusion. 

Joel sneers lightly and brings the wet rag up to gently dab at the cut on your lip. “Not a lot of men are stupid enough to wear a ring that basically signs their name on whoever’s face they’re knocking in.” How he describes your fight makes you flinch and shift uncomfortably in your chair, evading his eye contact. “Sorry.” He mutters quietly. “His name is Chase, Jase, somethin’ stupid like that. One of Robert’s guys.” Joel’s words lightly flitter off as he shifts his attention to your lip once more. 

It was still swollen and angry. You probably tried to eat with it still agitated and delayed its healing. But you know this already. You ate because you didn’t have a choice. It was that, or starve. He hated knowing you were roaming the streets in a horrible hunger, especially when he had ration cards waiting for you at home. 

Your eyes twitch closed as Joel’s wet rag rinses the blood out of the cut on your lip, the old excess blood lightly trickling into your mouth. Your tastebuds catch the tang of metallic and salt. You did what you could with the medical supplies you had, but you didn’t want to waste on yourself what you could potentially sell. If you were avoiding Joel for a while, you needed to be able to make trades of your own. You did use some supplies to clean the cut on your head. You were lucky the wall you were thrown into didn’t leave you with a concussion. 

Joel is still wrestling with why the hell you didn’t come home, why he had to go out and find you. Why, why, why? Why did he let you go alone? Why did the deal go south? A terrible feeling soured his stomach.  Robert’s men were ruthless, they must have felt kind enough to let you live. Or it was a message to Joel from Robert. You’re next. 

Joel wasn’t scared of Robert, but for them to be scared of a young woman was a mystery for the masses. 

He tosses the rag down on the table and stands up. “I’ll fuckin’ kill ‘em.” He grunts up, his lips snarling and his nostrils flaring in heated fury. 

He storms to the kitchen and impatiently fills up a glass of water. Joel was fantasizing about plunging his thumbs into Robert’s eye sockets and squeezing until his head turned into mush. Or maybe Joel could take him to the Eastern district, throw him in the Massachusetts Bay, and hold him underwater, only bringing him up from the brink of drowning before pushing him down again. And again. And again. 

Your sweet voice breaks Joel’s murderous thoughts. “Joel, I owe you the battery, and I promise I’ll find another one. Just give me a little time and-”

Joel slams the glass of water on the counter, the clatter of it echoing around the room. “Don’t care about the damn battery!” His back is to you, broad and strong shoulders heaving lightly as his head hangs low. His hands are gripping the edge of the counter. “Thought they fuckin’ kidnapped you! Or worse!”

You shift uncomfortably in your chair, your lower lip wobbling once more as he slowly starts shaking his head. 

“I almost lost you, and it’s my fault.” 

Your eyes soften at his words. He’s felt this way before, and he’s been haunted by the mistake ever since. His daughter, you think. 

His low, southern drawl makes you focus on him once more. “Tell me why you hid. Why didn’t you come to me? We could have figured things out, for fuck’s sake!” He shouts as he turns to face you, his body falling back into the counter as he crosses his arms. 

Your chest swells with heavy emotion. You stand up so fast from your chair that its sent scraping backward. “I did come here! I did! I heard you inside and I..” you pause and shake your head, still finding your voice. 

“I was scared you’d be upset with me letting someone steal the battery, I was afraid you’d go after Robert and get yourself fucking-- killed, Joel! I don’t want you to die, okay? I need you!” 

“And I need you!” He shouts back, lips parted with heavy breaths, both of you trying to settle with the newly shared revelation. 

You both stare at each other from across the room, watching as Joel’s jaw slowly begins to click loose. He shoves himself up off the counter and closes the distance between you two. You hesitantly take a step back, and he pauses his footsteps. His eyes soften, and he looks as broken as you do. 

“Please,” he pleads, gently shaking his head. “Would never hurt you, baby.” He puts his hand out, a gesture of kindness and warmth that you’d missed all week, yet you still hesitate. You almost wait too long, he’s already reeling his hand back into his side. 

“Joel,” you whisper with soft relief. You eagerly take a few steps forward, ignoring his hand, and gently settle your head on his chest as you tightly squeeze your arms around his lower back. You close your eyes and melt into him, finding solace in Joel’s embrace. 

Joel’s arms stay hovering in the air for a moment, lips parted as he looks down at the top of your head. He shames himself for even hesitating. He puts one hand on the side of your head and holds you to his chest, while the other settles low on your back. He breaths peacefully for the first time in a week. 

You stay like that for who knows how long. He’s warm, and you feel protected. You sink into his arms, he takes on your weight. He walks you backward to the foot of his bed once more, letting you delicately fall back into the mattress. You watch with tired eyes as he unties the laces of your sneakers, one after the other. He shucks down your jeans, making you giggle. 

“Joel, you don’t wanna fuck me right now, I smell like spare housing.” 

The right side of his mouth twitches up as he shakes his head at you. “I know you do. ‘M takin’ you to shower.” 

You sit up on your elbows as you smile a bit bashfully at him. “Good. Because I’m too sore to fool around anyway.” You whisper with a teasing smile as you grab the bottom of your tank top, peeling it up and off of your sticky skin. Joel tries not to stare. You’re not sure if he’s clocking your naked figure or the bruising around your ribs and legs. 

You’d need some time to heal. Joel knows you do. While you shower, he makes you as big of a feast he can muster up with the canned goods he has in his cupboards. You try to eat the first real meal you’ve had in a week slowly, to savor the taste, but you end up shoveling your spoon into the bowl and scraping it clean.  

Joel’s eyes are on you the whole time, watching you, observing you. He won’t let you out of his sight for a while, but maybe that’s what’s good for you. You meet his gaze and he speaks a silent vow. We’ll find Robert, steal the battery back, then kill him and anyone else who laid a finger on you. He nods. You nod too. 

Joel’s not sure how late it is by the time you two fall into bed together. He doesn’t know how to tell you how much you mean to him, but he says it in the way he holds you. Back in his arms, he’s more alert of how sore you are from your fight. He gently cups your face, watching your eyes slowly flutter closed with long blinks. You must be so tired. And he doesn’t want to keep you awake. He’s afraid to look away, like if he lets you out of his sight, you’ll disappear again. 

He speaks your name and gently stirs you awake. “Hm?” You softly murmur, bringing your hand up and gently feeling over the planes of Joel’s chest, fingers lightly grazing his chest hair. 

He looks down at you for a moment, choosing his next words carefully. “Don’t run away like that again.” His words are stern before he pauses again,  lightly pushing some hair behind your ear and touching you like a delicate flower. You watch him attentively. He cups your jawline and angles you to look up at him.  “We’re takin’ that battery back, and we’re gettin’ the hell out of here. You hear me?” 

Your heart swells at his words. We. You slowly nod in agreement. You feel Joel’s gentle kisses on your forehead and the tip of your nose. You lean up to capture his lips, but he falters by an inch. A confused expression crosses your face. 

“You’re hurt.” He mutters, referring to the cut on your lip. Don’t wanna hurt ya, sweet girl.

You roll your eyes and take his face in your small hands. “Don’t care.” You whisper before you pull him in, and the two of you share a featherlight kiss. You let it last, both of you soaking it in after a week apart. A week too long. 

Joel’s the first to pull away, giving you a playful little glare. The bruising on your face reminds him of the boxing movies he grew up watching. “Easy, Rocky.” 

You look at him confused and cock your head. “Who?”

He rolls his eyes at you and sighs, gently running his hand down your side. “Go to sleep. I’ll teach you about Rocky one through five tomorrow. D’you at least get a few good hits on Robert or his guys?”

You hum quietly and let your eyes dip closed. “Mhm.”

“Like I taught ya?”

“Just like you taught me. Gave ‘em the ole left, right, goodnight." You bring up your fists to demonstrate. "Made Robert’s nose bleed, think I broke it.”  

Your head falls into Joel’s chest, feeling it rumble with laughter and a sense of pride. “That’s my girl.”

His body shields you from the outside world. You sleep like a rock for the rest of the night. You live another day, and so does Joel. But with Joel’s promise, you know Robert’s days are numbered. You’ll be sure of it. 

---

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[astaroth1357]

Showing the OM Cast Trashy Reality TV Shows

We all have our weaknesses. Mine is called "Watching People Who Watch Reality Shows Talk About Reality Shows I'll Never Actually Watch."

Contents: Well I mean. Reality TV if that spooks you.

~♡♡♡~

Lucifer

You cannot convince me this isn't a guilty pleasure of his. I can absolutely see him pulling on some sweatpants and watching Love Island with MC on lazy day.

Sometimes, when your life is stressful, you just want to sit down and watch the DUMBEST thing possible. Pure junk food for the gray matter, you know? Can't get enough of the trashy romance shows in particular.

He gets pretty invested, even if he denies it. He'll usually pick out a favorite person or favorite couple and gets PISSED if anything happens to them. Everyone else, he couldn’t care less about.

If he misses a week, he'll get a text from MC asking if his favorite person/couple is still doing okay and nothing more. If something big happened though, he'll secretly clear his schedule so he has time to watch it with them as soon as possible.

Very "husband who says he doesn't care but the second you mention the name of a person he doesn't like, he'll go on a 20 minute tirade" sorta vibe.

Mammon

A very enthusiastic enjoyer of these kinds of shows. He loves the drama!

Definitely has one of the long running-types (like Vanderpump Rules) like a comfort show, though he mostly sticks to Demon RTV. MC isn't going to have a CLUE what 2nd Circle Beats or Devildom Dynasty is all about...

Mammon strikes me as someone who either has been on or auditioned for a reality show in the past. Just... look at him. Tell me he hasn't!

His modeling agent probably told him to so he could get better shoots... But I'll guess he was pretty popular on whatever he showed up on. Fan favorite for sure!

Would definitely show MC some of his favorite shows if they're into that short of thing. Demon RTV is.... edgier (the violence gets pretty heated) but the causes are all the same. They should be in for a good time!

Leviathan

Reality TV is for normies!! Why would he want to watch that???

The very thought of watching attractive people go on and on about their love lives makes him physically ill... Like he doesn't get enough of that stuff from Asmo and Mammon already!!

If MC is going to try and get him to watch ANY of them, it has to be a show that's almost guaranteed to be a mess from the outset like Love After Lockup or MILF Manor (which is a crime against humanity, btw. Sigmund Freud haunts us all.)

Make him sit through a second of Too Hot to Handle or F-Boy Island and he may straight up dump them. Or melt into a smoldering pile of envious goo.

If easy-watching is what they want, why can't they watch something else? Like a cuddly Slice-of-Life or some dumb card game anime?? There's even sports anime FAR more worth their investment with a billion times the substance!!

Not a reality TV fan. Keep it away from him. He'll whine, mope, or go ballistic if he has to see it.

Satan

Approaches human reality shows kind of like he's watching a nature documentary... but still laughs at the stupid bits.

Watching a trashy reality show with Satan can be pretty entertaining because he'll spend the whole time trying to grasp "human culture" from all the chaos. Or try to deconstruct why anyone would want to what these shows AS one is playing.

What's even funnier is when he makes comparisons between how things happen in the show and how they would play out in Devildom instead. Like, if a succubus catches their SO cheating, they'll either add the new partner into the relationship or behead them both. Depends on the day.

Particularly fond of one's that follow around bombastic families because then he also gets to pick apart human family dynamics in the process.

MC has to constantly remind him that a lot of it is staged and not EVERYTHING he sees to true to human life.... but it is true to human entertainment.

Asmodeus

Keeps up with both human AND demon reality shows and has even hosted a couple in the past!

He LIVES for the tea! He BREATHES in the drama! Man can't get enough!! He'll even skim through the tabloids and keeps up with any feuds like he's following genuine war updates.

Since Asmo is such a popular figure in Devildom public life, it isn't even surprising for the paparazzi to stop HIM to get a few photos and ask him his opinions on any fights or scandals.

Unlike Mammon, he's never been in one himself (MC has no idea how bloody Demon RTV can get and does he want to ruin his skin like that?? Hell no!). He doew hang out with the stars of shows he likes all of the time, though.

He sometimes has watch parties with Mammon and MC gets invited along now. Being in the middle of those two is insane because it's like getting to know ALL of the dirty laundry of the kingdom's elite at every get together. Gossipy bitches be chattin' fr.

Beelzebub

Man will watch anything as long as they supply the snacks.

Does Beel care about reality shows? No. Not even a little bit. Will he watch all 16 seasons of Married at First Sight as long as MC refills his popcorn bowl? Absolutely!

Honestly, poor Beel can hardly keep up with the drama anyway... If a show has too many love triangles, he'll lose track of who's dating who and sit there lost for an excruciating amount of time.

Was even more confused about why anyone would watch these shows after MC told them they were staged. All that shouting is over nothing...?? This is a really weird genre...

MC would have an easier time getting him invested in like... I dunno a cooking game show than anything having to do with relationship drama. Though they would run the risk of soaking the couch in drool if they try...

Belphegor

Not super into them or super against them. He'll watch one in the background until he inevitably falls asleep.

Belphie is probably one of the brothers most likely to agree to watch any reality show MC wants with them, but with the understanding that's he's only using it as an excuse for cuddle time.

Belphie weirdly has both zero emotional investment in anything happening on the screen but also a frighteningly good memory for what actually happens per episode... MC could quiz him on actor personalities, timelines, scandals, or relationships and he'll somehow always get it right.

He can tell you that Vassago and Sitri from 2nd Circle Beats are having a feud over who sent the succubus to crash Baal's birthday party, but seriously don't expect him to care. He wants soft blankets and warm bodies to nap to. Give him that and he's happy.

Part of it is just learned behavior. Belphie was Asmo's go-to watch buddy for the longest time. Whatever part of his brain that soaks up class lessons in his sleep seems to work just as well for the dramatic minutiae of a reality show, so he's like a walking DVR.

Diavolo

Thinks that all reality shows are so quaint and amusing, but they definitely skew his impression on everyday human life...

After being exposed to some of the longer running shows, he was really surprised that MC and Solomon are so... chill with each other?

I mean. They weren't throwing drinks, talking shit, or stabbing each other in the back every second of day, right? Obviously they must be quite close!

He even comments on how truly well they must get along as Master and Apprentice! Such a beautiful bond... Stronger than their natural human impulse for complete social and emotional disorder!!

(Please educate him on actual human dynamics and NOT just the ones that get dramatized for TV. We're not that bad, Dia, promise.)

Barbatos

Doesn't exactly like the shows, nor does he have time for them, but if MC likes them then he'll swallow his distain.

Honestly, Barbs looks down on the humans in reality shows even more than he does most of humanity in general. The things some of them would do to chase fame is simply... Well. He looks forward to seeing certain individuals among damned one day.

He probably busies himself by giving MC a foot rub or caring for their nails while they watch their shows. Anything that can keep his eyes off the screen.

Occasionally, something OUTRAGEOUS will happen and MC will hear him make a small scoff of disapproval, but that's about it.

He's well aware that a portion of what is presented is fake or at least staged to some degree, so he doesn't let it paint his perception of human culture. That said, he thinks that anyone who's willing to make a spectacle of themselves for a public audience speaks quite enough on its own. (And seriously don't get him started on the demon variety of these shows unless you want to seem him get grouchy).

Simeon

Also not the biggest fan, but he does enjoy getting to guiltlessly throw shade from time to time.

At some level, Simeon thinks it's a little impolite to gawk at total strangers and judge how they handle their relationships... butvon the other hand, they ARE the ones who agreed to the cameras so...

Has a strict policy to never watch reality shows in front of Luke so he doesn't get a bad influence. But also, so the little angel doesn't end up hearing the absolute INFERNO that Simeon roasts the actors with.

"Ah... So naturally gifted in all but wits!" "I do believe that young man is quite familiar... I think I once saw something much like him at the bottom of my shoe." "Mm? MC? Are you sitting on the remote? I think you may have changed the channel to Devildom TV... No? Oh. My mistake. They just seemed so heartless that I thought they'd fit in well here..."

Tearing. Scathing. His contempt cannot be contained. It is, however, a good outlet for him so please let him roast away!

Solomon

Guy is so out of touch with the modern era that watching these shows is just as bizarre to him as watching a viewing screen into a Victorian ballroom would be to us. Who keeps creating these strange words every other month...?

Reality dating shows give him whiplash. People get married now after 90 days? Or at first sight?? Or before they even SEE each other at all??? The last time he ever thought of courtship, it was still mostly arranged by the couple's families... Things have really sped up.

Not that he's complaining too much, because that gives him all the more reason to go through with his fantasy of proposing to then marry the MC in less than 12 hours (or however long before the brothers notice he's attempting to steal them away).

He feels like he has a leg up on the angels and demons around them for once because at least MC doesn't have to stop and explain human customs to him every five seconds. ... Just the modern ones.

I feel like watching Reality TV with Solomon is a very, "Let's get a little drunk and laugh at the screen" sort of affair. Very loose with a lot of jokes flying at the actors expense. He may or may not remember what all happens in the show, but hey, it's good fun!

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons #obey me diavolo #obey me barbatos #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me scenarios #obey me crack

[denial-permanente]

This is more of a question for Tom. Do you feel more confident when you are wearing the larger strapon? I know most men (myself included) have a deep seated feer that our cock is not "big enough" to properly satisfy our partners even if they are perfectly satisfied with our size. Our strapon is just a bit larger than I am, but when I am wearing it I just feel more confident. My wife notices my new found confidence and finds it quite attractive. I just wanted to know both of your thoughts/opinions on it.

As always, I love your blog and it has been quite the inspiration for both me and my wife. Keep it up.

🔏 This is a fantastic question. First, let me give you some background.

While I was not worried about my (very average) size, I have to admit that years ago when we got into "foxing" (ie, me wearing the strapon), I was afraid that if we bought a dildo much larger than I was, I'd either be locked longer than I really could stand, or that Mrs Edge would no longer be satisfied with "just me" again. That's how we ended up with the Vixskin Tex - a very average model that was just about my own size and shape. We stuck with the Tex for many years.

In 2018, after a little break, we got back into keeping me locked for a long term, and the Tex was back into the game. However, unlock previous long term lockups, this one went on... and on... and at some point, Mrs Edge found herself realizing that this could become permanent. By the fourth year, we both realized that this was going to go on forever. The knowledge that I wouldn't have to worry about measuring up after being unlocked made me think that a large one could be even more pleasurable for my wife.

I didn't surprise her with it; instead, I suggested the idea, gave her time to think about it, and we went shopping on the Vixskin site to look for a replacement. We ended up with the Ranger X - essentially a scaled up Tex. The Vixskin X line adds a thrid layer for even more realism, and we justified the expense because it was going to be the only one we would end up using.

On paper, the Ranger was only an inch longer and a half inch thicker, but in person it seemed much bigger (In fact, my wife later told me that she wasn't sure if she would be comfortable with it). And indeed, I had to learn - relearn - how to use it, because unlike the Tex, this did not feel like "me" to either of us.

Two weeks later, in the throes of passion, my wife told me that I could "throw those other ones away." It's been two years since that happened, and there's no longer any question about this being permanent.

That was the back story. The Ranger X is "me" now, both to my wife and to my own thinking. I don't even fantasize about making love to her any other way. And neither does Mrs Edge.

I'm not sure if "confident" is the word that I would use. I was never really worried that I couldn't please her when we had sex. That said, I do feel intensely satisfied after I give her several good orgasms and she has to tap out. Who doesn't enjoy giving pleasure to their partner?

But I still have a lot of mixed emotions over all of this. On one hand, I know that I will be locked and denied for the rest of my life. Yet, when @mrs--edge reminds me of this, I still get butterflies in my stomach at the idea of being "replaced" by the Ranger. On the other hand, I don't feel denied - that is, I do not feel like I am missing out on anything, and I still initiate sex even though my caged equipment won't be a part of the action. I look forward to it, even without the physical sensation or the orgasm. And I think that my wife, like yours, notices this and responds positively to it. She certainly seems to enjoy our time together. 😉

#chastity question #foxing

[dailyadventureprompts]

Dungeon: The Hole in the Hill

Of all places, a portal to the underdark has opened along a sleepy stretch of country road, drawing amature explorers and lookie-loos who all want to know the origin behind the mysterious purple glow. Those bravest to be first across the threshhold bring stories of glowing mushrooms and caverns full of odd animal life, a few even returning with souveniers in the form of carrot sized fingers of crystal. Naturally the party will be headed below next, going even deeper in search of greater treasures.

Adventure Hooks:

Diverted from his dayjob of selling snakeoil town to town when his cart and campsite fell into the original sinkhole, an enterprising merchant by the name of Canny Farwell has laid claim to the sinkhole and is charging admittance to its uppper levels at three silvers a head. He's got dreams of establishing a mine to exploit the riches of the seeminly bottomless cavern, and while he's more than happy to give the party a tour through the sinkhole's upper reaches ( full of facts he's made up), he's not going to let the party venture deeper and jump his claim without putting up a fuss.

However stubborn Canny might be, he's all to willing to drop his arguments and bolt for the surface when a pack of monsters from the world below show up hounding the party back to the surface. Forced to act quickly to protect the onlookers, the party will have to delve deep into the depths to force these creatures back into their original territory.

Somewhere in the depths the party can find the smashed remannts of the huckster's cart, being picked over by a gnomish waif with leaden skin. She speaks no common and is TERRIFIED of the party, but once they convince her they're no threat (food has a way of briding all cutural divides, especially when the hesitant party has been roughing it in a cavern for a fortnight) she'll use mud-doodles and pantomime to indicate that she was forced to flee her village when they were attacked by... somehing... that has enslaved her people and forced them to mine the great crystals in the cavern depths.. which might've been what set off the sinkhole in the first place.

The girl, Takta, is a svirfneblin, a deepgnome who lives along with her people in a hidden subterranian village, enjoying a humble existance while keeping themselves concieled from the underdark's major predators. That was until a few months ago, when a levitating duergar ironclad loomed its way into the network of caverns their community called home. The vessel known as The Esretnatzar and its crew of grey-dwarves are an exploratory expidition sent off to expand the borders of their autocratic homeland and to seek sites worthy of colonization. After nearly a year and a half evading perils of the world below they're delighted to have found a people to subjugate, useing psionics to expose and subdue Takta's people, forcing the Svirfneblin to act as laborers and servants as they dig themselves in.

Further Adventures

Its hard to oust an occupying army that can read your mind, and while the deepgnomes are no strangers to defending their home they have little defence against mind-censors, a fanatically dogmatic group of telepaths who kept order onboard the Esretnatzar during its long voyage and have now turned their attention to keeping the chattel in line. They've moved the troublemakers (including Takta's older brother) into a makeshift prison and while it doesn't compare to the reducation halls of their homeland it does keep the gnomes working for fear of their loved ones being hurt. Freeing these individuals from lockup is the first step to fighting back.

While the Esretnatzar's captian Fulgite Faultsaw is eager to return home bathed in the glory of expanding the hegemony, many in her crew do not feel the same. They're sick of the ship and sick of skimming dark caverns, and just want to keep their boots on the groud (even if it means pressing them into some deepgnome necks). Some others, careful to guard their thoughts from the ship mind-censors, imagine staying in the village, establishing a new clanhold and living like thanes. Perahaps this division can be exploited, convincing the recalictrant crew to surrender while pushing the hardliner faction back out into the dark.

After the party has done their thing and these cavernous conquistadors are defeated the village will be in rough shape, and while the deepgnomes will galdly put in the years of work to make it funcitonal again perhaps the party can suggest another option: moving the village to the far more defensible mouth of the sinkhole, allowing the svirfneblin to continue their subterranian agriculture in the upper reaches while having the whole of the upper world to fall back to if they need it. It'll be a hard sell, both to the traditionalist gnomes whos' lives have already been disrupted enough, and the authorities on the surface, but should the party succeed they'll get to see a new settlement blossom over the course of their adventures.

#underdark #dungeon #low level #mid level #svirfneblin #duergar #cave #d&d #dungeons and dragons #lowland #highlands #field

[luvrsbian]

𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐓𝐖𝐎: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐓 𝐔𝐏

A/N: thank you so so SO much for the support on part one. i did not expect that at all!! everyones likes, reblogs, comments, and tags made my whole day (especially the comments and tags, almost cried during class cause i was soft over some of y'alls fic reviews) um, anyway, still fluffy, still 4k words, still a little awkward eddie, and some very minor angst for plot movement. nothing to be scared about, i promise. also, this fic is very much not a slow burn, it's more akin to love-at-first-sight-but-were-both-awkward-idiot-dummys. and as always so much love and praise for mona @enam3l for making sure this fic is coherent and not just me rambling thoughts. please enjoy!

PART ONE ✿ PART THREE

Virginias letter sat heavy in Eddie’s pocket for the remainder of the day. Only being touched again when he took it from the deep, work pockets and folded it up to put in his jean pockets as he left for the day back home.  

Eddie didn’t see you the rest of the day, assuming you left around 2:50 like Virginia would, his own shift not ending till 4. This theory being confirmed when he did finally head out, there were only two cars left in the staff lot. One being his van, his baby that was on her last legs. A few spots down sat the second, Mr. Sinclair’s Honda Accord. Knowing the father of Lucas and Erica, an ex-elementary school teacher turned middle school principal, he probably wouldn’t be heading out till around 5:30 when Ron came in for the night shift and lockup. Mr. Sinclair was a kindly principle with a no-nonsense policy yet, still carefree enough for the kids to like him. He was way better than the principle of Hawkins middle when Eddie attended.   

Eddie parked the Mystery Machine - a name dubbed by Robin the first time he took her and Steve on a drive - in front of the small, blue house. Wayne’s car still parked in the driveway, his shift at the plant not starting till 6; giving Eddie enough time to take a power nap and make dinner for the both of them. Tonight was definitely a soup and grilled cheese kinda night. Maybe some steamed broccoli for a balanced meal or what not.  

Entering the home, he falls into his usual after work ritual of putting any change from his pockets into the coin-jar and his keys next to it. Then, his shoes come off and are placed by the door so he could slip them on easily in the morning. Wayne’s door was closed, presumably still sleeping, so he does his routine quietly. He keeps his shirt on but takes his jeans off to put on some plaid, loose fit pajama bottoms. Before discarding his jeans into the could-be-worn-again pile, he takes out the note. With a sigh, he sits on the edge of the bed with the letter clasped in his fingers.   

Eddie doesn’t even know why the letter was stressing him out so badly. He knew it wouldn’t be anything truly bad. Yeah, he was bummed he wasn’t warned beforehand about her sudden retirement to Florida, but at least she left him something to explain herself. That’s more than the other people in his life who upped and left with no warning could say.   

Man up, dude. It’s just words on some paper.  

With a few more seconds of memorizing all the curves and loops of his name written by Virginia on the back, he bites the bullet and opens the letter. He unfolds the parchment, noting the formal stationary with a huff of laughter, surprised it wasn’t just a loose-leaf lined page. Eddie begins to read the words left for him.  

Dear Eddie M.,  

If you’re reading this letter that means I’ve finally left this hellhole and jumped ship. (Jumped on a ship, that is. You know me and my affinity for cruises to tropical locations.)  

Eddie did know this, having heard a small handful of stories from Virgina about the cruises and summer beach vacations she would take with her son, Rick, and her roommate, Caroline. He even remembers a few years back, one of the first times he saw her out and about at the grocery store wearing this graphic t-shirt of a humanoid lady cat in a hot pink one-piece, lounging on a beach towel with the words ‘Bahama Mama’ in matching pink script above her. Eddie had walked up to her in the dairy aisle, Cheshire Cat grin on display, and said with his whole chest, “Hello, Bahama Mama.” To which Virginia promptly ignored him with a side eye glance and headed towards the produce section.  

But that also means you’ve met the lovely nurse who will be taking my place. She also has a great enjoyment of beach vacations, if you’re looking for topic starters. You’ve always been quite dreadful at small talk, but I won’t bore you with the reminiscing of our first meeting, you were there, and I hope you remember it like I do.  

Knowing you, though, you’re either jumping for joy to be rid of this old gal or confused on my sudden departure. I’m truly sorry I couldn’t say goodbye in person and to leave so suddenly. But let’s be honest here, Edward, if anyone could convince me to spend another 65 55 years in Indiana, it would be you.  

Caroline and I decided it was as good as time as any to finally do some traveling, just the two of us. Rick and the kids are in a good place now (but please still keep an eye on him when you can, I don’t trust him to be truthful about things, like you are.) You're in a good place as well, whether you care to admit it or not.   

I would never have left if I thought you truly still needed me.  

Eddie lets out a sardonic laugh at her truthful sentiments. Virginia wasn’t a liar, she had secrets like any normal person, but when she said things, she meant them. He furrows his brows noticing a small wet stain on the next line before another quickly appears. Bringing his free hand up to his face he realizes he’s crying. With a hard sniffle and another chuckle at his own emotions he collects himself and finishes the note. 

Enough of the sappy shit crap. You’ll be receiving various postcards in due time through our gorgeous new friend. Play nice and don’t fuck it up, Edward. I believe in you. You need to make friends now before you end up stubborn and old like me. Not everyone gets their own Caroline.  

I better here back from you. My replacement will know what to do with them.  

Love, Virginia Wagner  

Eddie folded up the letter, put it back in the envelope and tucked it in his bedside table drawer. Don’t fuck it up, I believe in you, echoing in his brain. He had no intentions on fucking up anything. Especially with you. You, the woman he just met not even 24 hours ago. He shakes you from his thought, not ready to jump  nto that obvious trap set up by a secret hopeless romantic. He needed time. His mind, body, and heart still processing the words he just read before an evil grin spread upon his lips.  

“I fucking knew that old witch was a lesbian.”  

You didn’t come into work for the remainder of prep-week.   

Which was fine. So fine in fact that Eddie 100% didn’t even notice. He had his own work to distract him. How could he have known you weren’t there when he was so busy moving desks, cleaning floors, eating lunch outside with that sad, puppy dog look on his face because he’s never had to find a spot to eat outside of the nurse's office before. Your disappearance hit him like a freight train on Friday.   

With one of those old school paperback books from a second-hand shop in town in one hand and the other preoccupied with feeding himself. His brain simultaneously trying to read the small words whilst not overthinking every possible thing regarding you.  

Did Eddie just fuck everything up with one meeting? Was he so off-putting that the only reasonable response was to quit on your first day in order to prevent the chance of running into him again? Your ability to make people leave will forever astound me, Eddie Munson, he tells himself.  

The reasonable part of Eddies brain played quickly to shut down this intense negative thinking. Maybe you were just sick? Even nurses get sick sometimes! Or a family emergency! Or your car broke down! Or something evil that Eddie wasn’t sure he’d ever possibly be able to explain to someone who didn’t experience it first-hand like him and his friends was happening in Hawkins again and you just happened to be the first victim-  

Nope. No. No. We’re shutting this down here, traumatized and overactive brain. Eddie began doing his deep breathing exercises that he learned from his therapist (well, Steve’s, who had promptly told Eddie because mental healthcare was a luxury he could probably never afford.) Reminding himself he was going to be okay he decided that on Monday, if you were still M.I.A, he’d ask someone. Freaking out and thinking the immediate worst, wasn’t gonna help anyone, he needed to just chill. Not let his mind take control of him. Virginia was smart and could sense things about people, she wouldn't have forced the two of you to collide in such a way if she thought you’d up and disappear.  

Besides, even the kindest of people don’t share Swiss Rolls with people they hate, and Hawkins was no longer a literal gateway to hell.  

Eddie’s weekend was uneventful.  

He finished his book. He went grocery shopping. Him and Wayne watched some rom-com film with Julia Roberts as a sex worker. In hindsight, a bizarre movie choice for both of them, next time Eddie thinks he’ll just let Wayne put on his beloved westerns. He worried just a bit about you. He kept his thoughts as realistic as he could this time. Although, he did at one point worry, whilst lying in bed Sunday night, whether you had gone missing and he was the only one to notice, meaning he’s now fucked up any chance of your rediscovery by not informing someone. But this was Hawkins. If you had truly gone missing without a trace, he would’ve heard of it by now. Especially from Pamela in Admin who did the attendance records and didn’t know how to keep things to herself.   

Point is, if you had an unexcused absence for the 4-days you were gone, she would’ve made it everyones business. Which gave Eddie some peace of mind that he’s heard nothing through the grapevine that runs through Hawkins.  

That Monday morning, Eddie was the first to traverse the halls of the first day of another school year at Hawkins middle. Or he thought he was. He wasn’t so sure because as he made his way to the main switch box that turned on all the hallway lights, a fluorescent glow was spilling out of the Nurse’s office.  

He slowed his pace as he approached the door left ajar, his head peeked around the corner of the entry. The lights were all on, there were various storage boxes on the beds, some filled with medical odds and ends, others empty. It was clear someone had been there organizing supplies.  

“Uh,” Eddie cleared his throat, the first use of his voice for the morning, “Hello?”  

“Good morning,”  

He whips around, startled by the cheery voice.  

“Jesus H. Christ, you gotta stop doing that,” his hand rubbed at his chest, face disgruntled and red from the jump scare.  

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps entering my workspace unannounced,” a look of innocence on your face. You step around him, bodies almost touching for just a second, causing Eddie’s heartbeat to increase embarrassingly so.     You’ve got a coffee mug held tightly in one hand, the other stuffed deep in your cardigan. The same sunflowers embellishing it, that greeted Eddie last time. Your scrub top today was black with various illustrations of Mickey and Minnie Mouse depicted as nurses.   

“I said hello,” he argues, hand rubbing at his chin. He continues to take in your appearance and any new details he can latch onto. You look the same, of course. It’s only been like what, 6 days since he saw you last. The only glaring difference being a sleepier appearance, even with the bubbly morning aura, your eyelids look heavy. You roll them at his defense, a resting smile never leaving your lips.  

You step over bins on the floor, take a long sip from your mug, and set it on the same table he put his lunch sack on last week. He smiles at the mug; it was off white and in red cartoonish font had the slogan ‘I ♡ my aunt!’. You begin to work on the boxes and talk as he stands in the entryway, not wanting to disturb the systematic mess you have in place.  

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much,” you snort, picking up a closed box and putting it in the storage closet by the office part of the Nurse’s Office, “I normally don’t disappear like that. You know, I just moved in town a few weeks ago, and I’ve been having problems with the house I’m renting,” you sigh after exiting the closet. Now stuffing labelled Ziploc bags with various bandages and over the counter medication into a new bin. You look focused even while speaking sporadically.  

He can’t move his eyes away from your hands as you work diligently on putting content into storage while still explaining about your absence. Vaguely, he catches something about landlords, repair men and having to take cold baths. He was listening but most of his attention was focused on your fingers tackling Ziploc bag openings. Your sleeves rising just enough for him to wonder if shadows were playing tricks on his mind, or there was a wrist tattoo he couldn’t quite make out from this angle.   

“Eddie, ya still with me?”  

He eyes snaps up from your stilled hands to look at the playful gleam in your eye from catching him staring, “hm?”  

“I asked if you’ve read the letter yet,” you decide to step slightly closer, most of the boxes now closed and in the closet. There weren’t that many to begin with but he’s still surprised with how fast you managed to finish the task.  

“Yeah, I did. It was sweet, for Virginia that is,” really sweet. You show your teeth in a wide grin.  

“I’m glad. I was afraid you might hold some resentment towards me for replacing her,” you do that snort laugh thing again, “I am nosey though, did she mention me?”  

Eddie smirks mischievously, hands coming to rest on his hips, allowing himself to incline, further closing the distance between you both.   “Wouldn’t ya like to know, Peach.”  

Your stomach did front flips from the use of that silly, little nickname again. 

“I would, I really would. That’s why I asked,” you say as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. One of your fingers he’d been watching intensely before, now coming up to give his chest a poke. 

Was this flirting? Eddie knew it was something akin to flirting, but was this a playful flirting or a serious flirting? He struggled between the two, often getting told off and read wrong for his natural charm. He’s like pretty sure he’s flirting with the serious intention, but were you? His heart felt like it was gonna fall out of his ass and he might throw up his own brain from all these emotions and thoughts.  

Before he could respond and remind his head and heart to start working again, a familiar voice spoke from behind his back.  

“What is happening here?”  

It was Eddie's turn to roll his eyes, another body squeezing past him to enter the nurse’s office. He takes a step back to let the young intruder have space to do whatever he needs to do here. You put your hand down and smile at the student you’ve yet to meet.  

Matty Sherman had a head of thick dark curls, a mole on his left cheek, and dark green eyes. He was wearing an obviously well-loved and a size too big Pantera t-shirt he had obviously cut the sleeves off himself to make into a muscle tee. He paired this with loose fitted, medium wash jeans, and some relatively new converse. Obviously wanting to make a statement and look his best for his first day of 8th grade. Both of his backpack straps were secured on his shoulder. His eyes looked between Eddie and you before landing securely on you.  

“Sup,” he smiles wide, dimples and braces on display.   

“Hi,” you smile widely yourself, a hitch in your voice from trying to not laugh at the situation. You glance over to Eddie, who’s looking at you with a pout on his pretty lips. Your eyes shift toward yet another, Ziploc bag that was in Matty’s hand.  

“That for me?” You ask, hand gesturing towards the bag holding obvious medication.  

“You the nurse?” The teen boy asks in a playful tone, as if you’re not wearing an outrageously patterned scrub top whilst standing in the nurse’s office.  

“I am the nurse.”  

“Then this is for you. I have asthma,” he hands you the Ziploc bag, curls bouncing when he turns to look at Eddie now, “Munson.”  

“Sherman, how was your summer?”   

“Dude, it was great. My dad felt so bad about not doing crap with us for Christmas that he took Me and Eli to see Megadeth in Chicago,” Matty excitedly responds, hands flailing around as he speaks. Beaded bracelets he had covering his wrist clanking together.   

Eddie couldn’t help but smile slightly at that. As much as he acted like Matty was a thorn in his side, he did genuinely care about him. In some weird turn of events, he had become to Matty what Virginia was to him. A safe haven at school. Even though Matty was far more popular than Eddie was at the same age, he obviously needed some sort of role model or trusted adult to just care. Matty had his mom at home and Eddie at school. Similar to how Eddie had Wayne at home and Virginia at school.  

Matty was waiting for Eddie's response, wanting some sort of confirmation that his ass of a father taking him and his older brother to see a metal concert was actually a cool thing to do. You were clearly taking your time putting Matty’s medication away to give them time to have this moment. Eddie smiles wide at Matty, to which he instantly perks up more.  

“Man, that does sound like a great summer. I spent my whole summer cleaning up after you kids,” he huffs and gives Matty’s shoulder a nudge.  

“You would’ve loved it, Munson, I’m telling you.”  

“Yeah,” he agrees before your make yourself known again.   

“I hate to break this up but class for you,” you gesture towards the youngest metalhead, “starts in about 5 minutes and I’m pretty sure we need to get back to work,” you give Eddie an apologetic smile. It’s probably the closest thing to sad he’s seen you so far and he’s not a fan. At all.  

“Yeah,” he agrees sadly, teeth nipping at his bottom lip, “We good for lunch?”   

“Yes.” You respond, quickly. Agreement coming out before he even got to the final syllable in lunch. Now his lips are being nipped to contain his full smile.  

“Good, I’ll see you then,” he moves his hand to grab the handle of Matty’s bookbag to lead him out.  

“You will! Bye guys,” You wiggle your fingers in goodbye.  

“Bye,” Matty waves to you as he’s being pulled out by Eddie. Your laugh following them out into the hall.  

Eddie keeps his hand secured on Matty’s bag until they’re a good few feet in the opposite direction from your door. He lets go and Matty takes a few steps to the side and adjusts his backpack to sit better on his back.  

“She’s hot.”  

Eddie is positive he gets whiplash from how fast his head turns to glare at the 8th grader. Disgust on his face, even though he said something factual, he shouldn’t be saying things like that at all. He’s like a baby in Eddies eyes.  

“Jesus, Matty, don’t say shit like that.”  

Matty gasps in mock shock, “Woah! Language, Mr.Munson, I have impressionable ears,” he dramatically covers his ears with both hands. Eddie shakes his head and gives his bookbag a gentle shove towards where he knows his home room is.  

“Get to class.”  

Matty laughs loudly as he runs down the hall to his first period. Eddie felt too old for this shit.  

That Monday lunch went swimmingly. Eddie thinks. He hopes. It definitely felt like it went swimmingly?  

You laughed at his jokes. His actual jokes, not just his situational awkwardness. You asked about his week and he asked about yours. He left out the part of being fearful you quit cause of him. Whilst you delved more into your trouble with the handy men and your landlord; your stove still didn’t work but at least you had hot water. He even got to learn more about you pre-Hawkins by finally divulging the info Virginia had written about.  

“Well, she is right. I do love the beach,” You were talking with a grape stuffed into your cheek. It was endearing but Eddie was silently praying you chewed it well and didn’t choke cause he definitely did not know the Heimlich manoeuvre. “I think that’s what I’m gonna miss the most while here. Indiana doesn’t even have a coastline, how sad is that,” You’re shaking your head in disapproval.  

“We have lakes,” he tries to amend, taking a bit of his Swiss Roll that you, again, have shared with him.  

Your eyes shoot up at him in a glare, not amused by his suggestion, “Eat your sandwich.” You say it in a tone that Eddie imagines you would use while scolding a student, it makes him roll his eyes with a huff but he does as you say. Putting the half-eaten Swiss Roll down to actually eat the sandwich he brought, another concoction of various cheeses and deli meat and some lettuce for color.  

You smirk at him following your directions. You’re eyeing both your lunches once again, almost identical to the meals you brought on your first lunch. Two sandwiches, two Swiss Rolls, one bag of pretzels, another bag of grapes. You have a Coke can and he’s got Yoo-hoo in a glass. It kinda makes you sad that you’re both grown adults eating lunches teenagers would prep for themselves. You think, once your stove is fixed you may start bringing some better meals, definitely less peanut butter and more vegetables. Maybe you’ll even bring enough to share.  

And on Thursday that’s exactly what you do.  

Outside of that first Monday morning, nothing eventful really happened for the rest of the week. You had your small group of after lunch medicine takers and a few kids in need of ice packs and Band-Aids. Your lunches were preoccupied with Eddie, getting to know him better.   

Part of your brain wanted to convince you that they were kinda like mini dates.  Unfortunately, your rational side reminded you that you were just two co-workers who didn’t really fit into any of the other staff groups, looking for some companionship during lunch. You were the replacement of his previous lunch partner. But then you remembered all the snippets of info Virginia had written to you once she began to send you letters after your acceptance to take on her job so she could retire. You probably would never tell Eddie you know this slice of information, not wanting to embarrass him, but she had made it very clear that Eddie was lonely. She knew you were lonely too.   

You two can be lonely together.  

When Eddie walked into your office that Thursday he was extremely confused at the second lunch box placed where he would normally sit. It was bulky and plastic like yours, but instead of Snoopy it was the Smurfs. You were writing something down in that nurses journal you had, your own lunchbox sat next to your resting elbow.  

A worried thought started in his mind, Did you find a new lunch buddy? Were his conversational skills not improving? But then you looked up at him, that kind little smile on your lips.  

“You gonna sit down or just keep enjoying the view?”   

He returns the smile and gestures to the blue thing before taking his seat, “What’s this?”   

“Oh, uh…” You’re flustered. It’s obvious and he’s enamored by it - like most things you do. God what’s gotten into him. “I hope it’s not too forward, but I made you a lunch. My stove got fixed and your, well our- please take no offense to this, our lunches were starting to depress me a bit.” You were talking faster the more you went on. Realizing the possible negative consequences of your actions. Eddie was nice but he didn’t have to entertain your too comfortable and too caring too fast behaviors.   

He quickly shut down your increasingly panicked explanation, “I’ve never had a girl make me a lunch before. It’s sweet. You're sweet.” He was honest. He hasn’t had a girl in this context make him any sort of a meal before and you were sweet. Sharing Swiss Rolls and ���take as many as you like’ candy bowls with the expensive chocolate kind of sweet. 

You smile. A wide, closed mouth smile at his understanding. He taps his fingers against the hard plastic shell, right on-top of Smurfette's blue face.   

“I hope you like it and I hope you’re not allergic to anything.” You’re calmer now and anticipating him opening his lunch.  

“I’m not. Except, for like, pollen,” he chuckles and unlatches the box. Inside there was a Tupperware of spirally noodles with a mix of cut up: vegetables, tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, a few rogue pieces of broccoli and some halves pepperoni slices, an oil based Italian dressing covering it all. Your aunt’s pasta salad, that was the first recipe you ever learned. Next to it, wrapped in cling wrap was a fudgy looking brownie with peanut butter morsels spread throughout. When he looks back up you had taken out two Coke cans from the stash he knows you keep in the bottom part of your giant metal filing cabinet. A pretty hand holding one out to him.  

“I refuse to buy Pepsi, hope you like Coke.”  

“I love Coke,” he takes it from your hand.   

The food tasted as good as it looked, so good only the sound of chewing, plastic forks on Tupperware, and hums of appreciation being heard. It was similar to the first lunch but instead of the awkward, uncertain air, this moment was comfortable, relaxing. Two friends - because that’s what you two have become in this last week - enjoying a meal together.   

It happened fast, Eddie thinks, this comfort between the two of you. Maybe it’s the kindredness between you two, the various similarities you shared.   

“You know, I can cook too,” Eddie breaks the silence. You’re working on your dessert, always saving it for last. Eddie was impatient and devoured his first thing in the most polite way possible. There’s brownie in the corner of your mouth when you give him your attention, humming for him to continue his thought.  

Eddie’s not sure what possesses him to do it. He could play it off as his role of janitor and having a habit of cleaning messes, but he knows that’s not entirely true. He cups one side of your face with his hand, the rings are a nice cold on your warm face. His thumb swiping the crumbs from corner lip in such a natural way you’d think he would have done this to you often. No matter how hard you try, you'd always been a messy eater. You don’t flinch. You don’t even show any signs of this being unusual or unwelcome aside from a slight widening of your eyes.  

Eddie let's another wave of confidence take over him. “Maybe I can cook for you on Saturday night?”  

You nod, mouth still full of brownie and making the executive decision to not be gross and talk with your mouth full in this situation. He smiles and removes his hand from your cheek. Silently, you both find the skin that had just made contact now tingles. It's hard not to think about when you may steal another touch, but the pair of you hope maybe Saturday.  

the clean up crew (taglist): @avobabe87 @bakugouswh0r3 @ms1oftheboys @rosaline-black @haylaansmi @adoringdanvers @wyverntatty @gaysludge @bebe07011 @boltonbritreads @hugdealer @gothvamp1973 @awhoreforeddiemunson @definitionwanderlust @billytalentleaves @aysheashea @pollenallergie @siriuslysmoking @heavymetalbabyy @killerbailey @sidthedollface2 @whenshelanded @hazydespair @mayhemicfordays @inocrazeh @thora-jane @varevaretostuff @vintagehellfire @chaoticgood-munson (strike means it wont tag)

comment or ask to be added to the clean up crew!

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #stranger things x reader #stranger things fanfiction #joseph quinn fanfiction #joseph quinn x reader #eddie munson #joseph quinn #school janitor eddie x school nurse reader #tcu #ʚ by gwen ɞ

[hptvnetworkfest]

Claiming and Prompt Ideas

Thinking about creating for the HPTV Network Fest and don't know what to write? You're in luck! The mods of the HPTV Fest have come up with some ideas for you. If something strikes your fancy, simply fill out the Claiming Form by 17 June! (Multiple people can write about the same reality TV show or trope! Each work will be unique!)

Pimp My Broomstick

Madam Malkin's Next Top Model

Made in Hogsmeade

Keeping Up With the (your favorite wizarding family here)

19 and Counting with (your favorite wizarding family here)

The Real Housewives of Diagon Alley (or Wizarding Britain!)

The Dragon Wranglers of Wales

Wand Wars (Robot Wars but for duelists)

House Elves' Kitchen (Kreacher is Gordon Ramsay)

Survivor: Forbidden Forest

The Potions Apprentice (Snape)

The Gringotts Apprentice (Griphook)

Who Wants to be a Galleonaire?

Dance Moms for Purebloods

Undercover Boss: Barty Crouch at Hogwarts

The Simple Life: The Black Sisters

Gilderoy Lockhart's Wizarding Eye (fashion goes from tragic to magic)

The Bachelor, Bachelorette, Golden Bachelor with your favorite character

Storage Wars: Knockturn Alley Edition

Say Yes to the Dress Robes

Dancing (Quidditch) With the Stars

Cash in the Attic (but Mundungus is stealing)

Long Island Medium hosted by Trelawney

Wizarding Britain's Supernanny Meets Draco Malfoy

Finding Bigfoot/Crumple-Horned Snorkacks by the Lovegoods

Love Behind Azkaban Bars/Love After Lockup at Azkaban

The Real World: Hogsmeade

Aurors (Cops but Aurors)

Big Brother

Death Eater Wives (Basketball Wives)

World's Deadliest Prisons hosted by Sirius Black

Geordie/Jersey Shore (choose your family)

Hippogriff Dynasty (Hagrid family)

The Dragon Whisperer with Charlie Weasley

90 Day Fiancé (your OTP)

Catfish (your BroTP)

The Great British Bake Off hosted by Dobby

Who Do You Think You Are? pureblood edition

Trauma: Life at the ER of St. Mungo's

Dumbledore's Drag Race

Wife Swap (Narcissa and Molly, Petunia and Lily, etc)

My Strange Addiction with your favorite character

Sister Wives but it's Aberforth and his goats

Wizarding TMZ hosted by Rita Skeeter

Crufts (international dog show) but for kneazles

I Want to Marry "Harry" Potter

Haunted House Hunters: Riddle Mansion, Gaunt Shack, Wool's Orphanage

Borgin and Burke's Pawnstars

Married at First Sight: Pureblood & Muggleborn

Extreme Makeover hosted by Walburga's portrait

#hptv network fest #hptv fest #hp fests #reality tv #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp fanfic #harry potter fandom

[hd-junglebook]

Edge of Exile

part 1

Following episode 9 Unity Day of the 100

You were escorted from your cell. The guard fixing you with a stern look as you both walk the all-too-familiar route away from maximum security.

"Don't cause any more trouble," he warns. you simply nod, too overwhelmed with anticipation to respond.

You were led through the halls to Mecha Station. The guard ushering you toward a small but cozy room. "Home sweet home," he says gruffly before departing.

You step inside the new room, making faces at his back as he walks away. This room was so different from your drafty, sterile cell in Prison Station. This space feels lived in. The desk was the same, your photos and colorful blankets placed neatly inside the room already.

The medium sized window that adorned one of the walls adding some natural scenery, just missing your drawings and paintings, each one a reflection of your innermost thoughts and emotions.

…

Your first week of freedom went better than you would have imagined.

At first, you were skeptical of his offer. Everyone knew how Jaha led - with an iron fist. You had witnessed his disregard for human life firsthand when he floated most of your friends. But his deal was your only chance to get out of that cell.

The work itself felt good. Kept your hands and mind busy, and finally able to use the skills that had been useless in your cell. The engineers even valued your input, unlike the guards who had tossed you in confinement.

These full, simple days of freedom were all anyone could wish for after surviving isolation. Every morning you reminded yourself to be thankful for this second chance, even if you didn't fully trust the man who had granted it.

Kane had only visited twice your release. Your stubbornness kept you from speaking, a trait you most definitely adopted from being around him so long. But no matter how much you tried pretending he didn’t exist anymore, he had always tried to be by your side.

You found it so hard to hate him. Even now when you think about it. They had placed you in indefinite lockup instead of death, if it were anyone else you would have been floated with the rest.

….

A soft knock sounded from your door, vibrating through the thin walls, waking you from your deep sleep. Bleary-eyed, you approached the door to find your grandmother standing there in the dimly lit corridor.

"Vera? What are you doing here so late?” you state, head lolling to the side.

She stepped inside, a small smile appearing on her lips. "I'm sorry to wake you, y/n. I couldn’t sleep but there’s something I wanted to ask you."

A look of confusion spreads across your face as you extend your hand, gesturing for her to sit at the small table as you shook off sleep. "What is it?"

"It's about your uncle, Kane."

You sighed, "What about him?" your voice came out harsher than intended as you crossed your arms, unwilling to yield. "You don't know what he put me through."

"You're right, I don't," she conceded softly. "But I know you. And I know holding onto bitterness will destroy the bright, brave girl I love."

“I won’t be alive for long. He's still family. His burden is heavy too. Will you at least try, for your old Grandma's sake?”

You let out a long breath, feeling your heart crack open despite yourself. You nodded reluctantly. Where Kane and you would end up, only time would tell.

Sadness filled her eyes. "Resentment will only poison your spirit, child. What's done is done. But you still have a choice - let go of the anger, or let it define you."

…

It was Unity Day, and the entire Ark was celebrating, minus you and the few engineers working to get the last three stations fixed up.

You had gotten to work the moment you woke up, Vera’s words still circling your mind. Sinclair had been first to join you, meeting in the remnants of flint station, helping you figure out the repairs for the damage.

Together, you both had spent hours poring over the manual, checking, and rechecking each step to make sure everything was done correctly.

Both of you taking turns going on breaks and grabbing snacks you had stolen from the eating hall, but for the most part, you were both fully focused on the task at hand.

The temperature in the room rose as well, making your work even more challenging. The air conditioning had been broken for weeks in flint station as if the mounting pressure of work wasn't enough.

You and Sinclair had pushed through it, determined to see this done.

The heat was stifling as you both crawled through the tight utility space, searching for the wiring short that was causing power fluctuations in Mecha Station. Rivulets of sweat dripped down your back.

"Phew, it's boiling in here," you complained, pushing past another bundle of wires. "Couldn't they have put in some AC?"

Sinclair chuckled. "Unfortunately for you y/n, the Ark wasn't built with comfort in mind. But don't worry, we're almost there."

You grumbled good-naturedly as he shuffled forward. your toolkit banging against the metal walls, the sound echoing in the tight space.

"Watch out for that junction box," Sinclair warned over his shoulder. You looked to the side and saw the hazard just in time and pivoted awkwardly around it.

"Thanks for the heads up. Wouldn't want to get zapped in here."

You reached the problem spot - a bundle of fraying wires with melted insulation. Sinclair gave a satisfied nod. "Just needs some fresh wraps and it'll be good as new."

As you both worked, Sinclair made quiet small talk, telling stories about past repairs and close calls he had with a coworker of his, Raven Reyes.

His calm expertise putting you at ease.

After another 30 minutes, all your hard, sweaty work paid off as you finally heard the hum of the machines coming back to life.

Packing up the tools, Sinclair nervously smiled at you. "You did great work today. With some more training, you'll make an excellent mechanic."

Pride swelled in your chest at the praise as you fanned yourself off from the heat. "Does this mean I get to do the fun zero-G jobs next?" you said jokingly.

He laughed heartily. "Maybe not just yet. But you've got a bright future ahead. Now let's get out of this sauna."

Grinning, you followed him out, grateful for his patience. Both of you let out a sigh of relief as you collapsed into a chair, exhausted, still drenched in sweat, sharing a fist bump before you stood and headed to the hallway to catch your breath, the sound of music and chatter filled the air.

The hallways decorated in banners and streamers recycled from the previous Unity Day adorned the walls.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you remembered that you needed to find Kane and your grandma before getting back to work.

"fuck," you whispered to yourself, speed walking down the hall.

you turned a corner, eyes on the floor glancing at the confetti when you were jolted out of your thoughts as a blonde lady bumped into you, causing you to stumble backwards.

"Oof!" you gasped.

Quickly regaining your balance as you looked up to see who had collided with you. It was Diana Sydney.

Diana looked at you with a mix of surprise and annoyance, her mouth pinched into a thin line before quickly brushing past you and disappearing down the hall.

"Excuse me!" You called after her, irritation flaring. "You just ran right into me!"

She paused and half-turned, eyes scanning right through you with her dark eyes. "Did I?" she murmured dreamily before whisking away again.

You stood there rubbing your left shoulder where she had hit you, stunned by her complete lack of courtesy. "Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath.

You couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about her reaction.

You had never met her before, but you had heard all the stories from your uncle about their shared time on the council.

You quickly made your way through the rest of the halls, passing by Jaha speaking to the citizens on the Ark and the delinquents on the ground through a broadcast.

His voice was firm as he spoke, pausing every so often to look at the faces in the crowd, stating that the ark would be sending down reinforcements within the next 3 days.

Just when you were about to give up your search, you spotted both Kane and your grandma off to the side of the room in the middle of a conversation.

Kane brushing off his mother’s request, about to walk away leaving Vera to stand alone to watch the unity speech.

Your heart ached at the sight, you couldn't understand why Kane would leave her like that.

You walked faster, almost in front of them when all of a sudden your thoughts were drowned out by a deafening boom as an enormous explosion rocked the station.

Your body lifted off the ground, a flying piece of metal stabbing your leg as you crashed to the floor. You felt a jolt of pain as your head smacked onto the surface, and everything went black.

...

When you came to, a groan escaped your lips, your whole body aching in pain from the fall. You look around to find yourself lying on the cold, hard surface of the floor. The footsteps vibrating on your face and muffled voices nearby.

You tried to sit up, but a sharp pain shot through your head and you fell back down. Adrenaline coursed through your veins as you struggled to move, your ears ringing and your vision blurry.

The feeling of wetness pooled on your thigh, a gasp escaping your lips when you looked down to examine your leg.

A gash stretched across the area above your knee. Your nose wrinkling in disgust at the sight of your thigh jaggedly cut open.

With trembling hands you ripped off your sleeves to tie around your leg. Pain shot through your body in ripples the tighter you made the knot.

Shouts and screams all around you, the smell of smoke and burning filling your nostrils, panic set in as you frantically looked around, trying to make sense of your surroundings.

It took a second for you to even understand how you ended up in this situation, how did this happen.

The chaos around you seemed to intensify as you looked around, noticing the number of people panicking, some of them injured and bleeding. The ground was littered with debris and shattered glass, and the walls were crumbling from the force of the explosion.

You spotted your grandmother lying on the floor impaled by a jagged piece of metal, your heart began to race, eyes widening at the sight of her blood pooling beneath her. The sight of Kane leaning over her, his voice trembling as he recited the Travelers Blessing.

"In peace, may you leave the shore. In love, may you find the next,” he whispered, his eyes filled with tears. “Safe passage on your travels until our final journey to the ground. May we meet again," Kane said, spending his mother’s last moment comforting her.

Pushing down the swirling panic in your stomach, you focused only on putting one foot in front of the other. You couldn’t look at her anymore. The adrenaline dulling the pain coming from your gash slightly.

You limped forward slowly, the bodies of council members greeting you as they lay motionless on the ground. There were four of them, all of them unconscious.

Jaha approached from your side, concern etched on his face.

"Y/n! Are you alright?" he asked urgently.

"I - I think so," you stammered back, disoriented.

Kane stood from his place on the ground, closing vera’s eyes and coming over to where you stood with Jaha.

“You need to get out of here, they tried to kill you,” Kane said to him, voice shaking with fear and adrenaline.

“Do you realize it was Diana who tried to kill you, she’s the only one not here.” Jaha looked at you with a grave expression.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, looking to both you and Kane with urgency, “First priority is getting survivors to safety. Then we stop them before they cause any more harm” he said. “We have to lock down the ark.”

“Kane find Diana.”

….

The adrenaline was pumping through your veins as you and Kane walked down the dimly lit hallways, the sound of your footsteps echoing off the metal walls. The air was thick with smoke, making it difficult to see and breathe.

Four skilled ark guards following in the rear behind Jaha, their weapons at the ready. Diana’s followers were not to be underestimated, they were fighting for their cause and would do anything to escape.

After what felt like an eternity, you reached the end of the hallway where the exodus ship was docked.

The doors were sealed shut, the guards and Kane charged towards the door, using all their strength to break it down. To no avail, the door didn’t budge. Jaha begged Diana not to do this.

You spotted a long metal pry bar lying nearby and snatched it up.

"Use this!" You called, passing the bar to the nearest guard. He wedged it into the seam between the doors, the muscles in his arms bulging as he heaved with all his strength.  They worked together, pushing with everything they had but it wasn’t enough.

Jaha persisted attempting to talk Diana down, “Diana, please! You don't want to be remembered like this!” The desperation clear in his voice.

“I won't be because you brought this on yourself, Jaha. You promised the people truth, and all you gave them were lies!”

Jaha paled in response, “You had me shot! You detonated a bomb in a public meeting, killing six innocent people, and now you want to kill everyone on this space station to satisfy your ego?”

Diana smirked, looking back to her followers “He is still lying to your face. There aren't enough dropships to get everyone to the ground.”

The men shared a look, Red deciding to break the ranks and save himself and sprinted forward, before anyone could react. Just out of your grasp, he had slipped through the open doors and seized the controls.

With a grinding screech, the massive doors began sliding closed, causing the dropship to begin its launch.

Sinclair began pleading with Jaha, his breathing heavy. “ Sir, we have to go right now! Everybody out! Get back behind the containment doors. Go, go, go! Please, sir.”

….

The ship was pitch black and the air was thick and heavy, causing sweat to bead on your skin despite the cool air lightly blowing around the halls. In the distance, a shuffling noise came from behind you.

Your heart rate quickened as you turned around, but there was no one there. But then, you heard it again, this time, it was closer. You strained your eyes, trying to make out any movement in the shadows.

The sound of footsteps bounced off the walls, slow and deliberate, as if whoever was making them was trying to be quiet. You tried to tell yourself that it was just your imagination, but the footsteps grew louder and closer.

Just as you were about to scream, a hand landed on your shoulder. You jumped and let out a gasp, as a familiar voice started to speak. “It's just me, Kane,” he said, his voice low and calm.

You let out a sigh of relief and turned to face him, thankful to see he was okay. In the faint light, you could see his tall figure looming over you on the floor.

“Can you stand up?' Kane asked, concern written on his face, the blood from your soaking the white fabric of your sleeves. You nodded yes and grabbed Kane's hand to stand up.

“We should look for everyone else,” he said, breaking the eerie silence. “We have to find Jaha.”

You nodded in agreement, relieved to have a goal in this unknown darkness.

…

Kane kept a steady hand under your arm while you slowly made your way down the hallway, leg throbbing with every step you took.

You both rounded a corner, stopping in the middle of the hallway as you stifled a groan when a spike of pain shot through your leg. Kane paused, his brow creased in concern. "Just a little farther," he encouraged.

You nodded, biting your lip as he continued walking you forward. The hall was eerily silent, a sudden clanging rang out, followed by a loud curse. You jumped abruptly, exchanging startled glances with Kane, heading forward to investigate the noise.

There on the floor was Wick, his arm caught in a doorway, tools scattered at his feet. He looked up at you in dismay. He was in a state of panic, his eyes wild with fear as he struggled to free himself.

"A little help here?" Wick pleaded, still trying in vain to free himself.

Kane sighed and moved to examine Wick's predicament. "What happened?"

"I was trying to override the door panel when it decided to eat my arm!" Wick explained in exasperation.

"What the hell happened, anyway?" wick said distracting himself while you and Kane use an axe to try and open the door.

Kane had a somber look on his face when he replied, "We were betrayed. Councilor Sydney... she took the Exodus ship by force. The damage to the Ark was catastrophic."

Wicks face turned in disgust, "What a bitch! You know, my mom voted for her."

You bit back an amused smile at the absurd situation despite the pain you were in. Only Wick could get into such a mess.

Once freed, Wick shook our hands gratefully. "I owe you both. Let’s look for everyone else."

With your leg burning in pain, you decided to separate and venture back to the med bay, you knew that they would be able to handle themselves and you were useless until you patched up your leg.

You could feel the warmth of the dark blood soaking through your pants, and you knew that you needed to find a safe place to tend to your wounds.

You hobbled through the wreckage of the ship, pushing the doors to the infirmary open.

….

#fluff #angst #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake #octavia blake #masterlist #the 100 rewrite #the 100 fanfiction #the 100 series #the 100 #the ark #abby griffin #clarke griffin #john murphy #raven reyes #bellamy x reader #marcus kane #fanfiction #new writers on tumblr #new fic

[howlinchickhowl]

Returning for some penpal action for @gallavichthings a.u.gust. This one is a scooch NSFW, hehehehe.

Picasso Baby fifteen - penpals

Every day in the joint is a lot like the one before, and the one before that. Woken unwillingly by the aggressive flash of the strip lights coming on, cold shower, sloppy eggs on stale toast, and then the laundry. Six hours of steam and starch and stains that don’t come out even after being boiled. Every day follows the same relentless pattern, with one exception. One bright spot in the drudgery of Mickey’s days. Every day after work, during their allocated free time, the mail gets delivered, and every week, on Thursdays, Mickey gets a letter.

He’d been skeptical at first. His rehabilitation advisor, because that’s a thing they had at this prison, had been keen for him to join one of the programs they offered, said it showed willingness to make a change, would look good on his record for when his parole came up. There were a few different options, book club, drama therapy, all of them sounded like shit that was more likely to get Mickey into more trouble than out of it, so he’d picked this. Fucking penpal scheme, get paired up with some do-gooder on the outside to write letters with.

Mickey’s guy, Ian, he was kind of a lot at first, overly formal, way too fuckin’ enthusiastic. He had this irritatingly positive way of writing, always trying to see the bright side of shit. Took Mickey a couple months of getting rubbed up the wrong way every Thursday to finally blow his top and let the guy know it don’t matter how hard he tries, there’s no fuckin’ bright side when you’re looking at the uphill stretch of a five year bit, and Mickey would appreciate it if he’d give up and just talk normal.

After that he got less irritating. Stopped trying to tell Mickey how to feel about shit and started asking him more about himself, started sharing a bit more of himself with Mickey. He was an EMT, training to be a paramedic. He had a bunch of brothers and sisters, a dead mom and a bum dad, and some sort of brain disorder that Mickey had to look up in the prison Library and still doesn’t understand a lot about.

He’s an interesting guy, a little too fond of puns to be considered really funny, but Mickey likes him, likes hearing from him, doesn’t mind answering his nosy questions and telling him all the shit that’s going on in the lockup each week, the stuff that goes through his head sometimes in his darker moments. There’s something, now they know each other a little better, about Ian that makes Mickey feel calmer, more relaxed. Happier. Or something.

It was Ian who had persuaded him to start drawing again, said Mickey needed an outlet or some shit, sent him a fancy sketchbook and some pencils, and Mickey had sat running his fingers over that sketchbook every night for a whole week before he’d even dared to put something down in it. And then, he didn’t know what to draw.

When he used to draw as a kid it was always whatever was around, guns and spliffs and bleeding fists, black eyes and swastikas and girls with massive tits. He started sketching out a glock, used to be his favorite thing to draw, and just ran out of steam. Didn’t want to start this blank white page with relics of his old life.

When he’d told Ian about it, in his next letter, he’d felt stupid. It was just a fucking drawing of a gun, it shouldn’t bother him this much. But Ian’s reply had been so full of understanding, of sympathy, and he had made Mickey feel like it was ok. Like it was totally reasonable to not want to fill his new book with shit that was violent and hollow and fuckin’ evil. And he gave Mickey a few ideas of things he could draw instead.

He started to send pictures, visual references for Mickey to work from, an L platform at dawn, a hand holding a hotdog. Ian’s hand. And hadn’t that been a shock to the system.

It was. Big. That hand. Long freckled fingers wrapped around a jumbo dog, a glob of mustard on a massive thumb. Mickey had spent a lot longer than he had ever intended to staring at that hand and wondering how big it was compared to his own. Compared to other parts of him. He drew the hand, over and over, holding the hotdog, holding a cup of coffee, holding someone’s throat, holding a throbbing hard cock right on the verge of blowing its load. He got kind of obsessed with the hand, desperate to know what the other parts of Ian looked like.

Was the rest of him as big as his hand implied? Where did that hand lead? What was his face like? His chest? His cock? On impulse he had shoved one of his tamer compositions into his next letter to Ian and implied, heavily, that he was thinking about doing more life drawing and could use some further references to draw from.

And in his very next missive Ian had come through in a big fucking way. Mickey must have stared at the pictures he sent for hours before he could even bring himself to put pencil to paper. And for hours since, studying the lines of his absurdly handsome face, tracing the outline of his shoulder in his white tanktop, touching his fingertips to Ian’s lips, spread wide in a glorious smile directed at the stupid bright pink flower he’s holding in his perfect massive hand.

He’d sent back a drawing, his interpretation of Ian holding the flower, and written something about wanting to help him with his studies of musculature, not able to help himself, not even sure if Ian would read anything into it. But hoping all the same that he would.

And Ian, Ian had fucking delivered. He’d sent Mickey a silly shirtless picture of himself doing a strongman pose, and Mickey had worn a whole pencil down to the nub doing different studies of his chest, his biceps, his fucking throat. He’d sent a couple of them by return and from there their correspondence had devolved into a spiraling series of near pornographic exchanges with increasingly flirtatious letters all leading upto what Mickey is expecting in his delivery today.

An actual picture of Ian’s actual cock. Hard. Potentially with fluids. They’ve been building up to it for a while, and Mickey can hardly catch his breath every time he so much as thinks about it. He’s sat on his bunk, breathing shallow and trying not to think about it too hard when Jensen comes by with the mail. He passes the letter to Mickey like it’s nothing, just another day, just another letter from Mickey’s state assigned penpal, just another tick in Mickey’s column on the rehab officer’s form. He couldn’t be more wrong.

Mickey waits until just before bedtime to open it, doesn’t want to risk his bunkmate seeing anything he shouldn’t, luckily he’s got the top bunk so there’s no chance of having his shoulder looked over. He clambers up and shoves his legs under the cover, shimmying down until he’s only half upright and carefully opens the envelope, he doesn’t want to tear it completely in case he needs to cover up something incriminating.

And fucking hell. Incriminating is fucking right. It’s all right there. Ian’s huge fucking hand holding onto his, fucking hell, proportionate fucking cock. Hard as a ramrod and flushed pink and fucking. Glistening. With lube, or with pre-come, or sweat, or Christ with spit. Endless possibilities for Mickey to ponder on, play with in his mind. The tip is beaded with a perfect drop of clear liquid that makes Mickey’s mouth water, he can practically taste it.

Ian’s letter is long, like usual, guy has a lot to say, and Mickey will read it properly tomorrow at breakfast when his head isn’t so clouded with bedtime thoughts. But there is a short note attached to the photograph that puts a devilish smile across Mickey’s lips as he reaches down into his shorts to grab ahold of himself.

Send me a drawing of you in return. Any part you like ;)

#fic #my fic #my writing #howl does a.u.gust #gallavich fic #ian x mickey #rated m

[meganwritesfanfics]

Clandestine Meeting (Joel Miller x Reader) Chapter 2

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Joel Miller x Reader

Joel's life has been filled with darkness and despair. For years it has felt as though his life had been drained of all color. He never dreamed that he would find anything to change that. That is until one day he finds a girl who becomes his rainbow.

Word Count: 1056

Rating M: For later chapter right now it's just a meet-cute.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Discussion of DV, nothing graphic, but talk about bruises.

These first two chapters are just going to be short little vignettes, I wanted to establish some groundwork with the characters before we start getting into the meat and potatoes of the story. Please show some love, would love to hear your thoughts. Thank you!!!

The next time Joel saw her was a few days later. And the minute his eyes saw her, his day instantly brightened. He couldn’t explain it, he didn’t under how one person could have such an effect on him. And yet there she was, a smile on her face as she walked down the street, her wagon of water behind her. 

The minute others began to catch sight of her, they began flocking to her cart, begging for water, and she greeted them all by name. She knew who everyone was, what their story was, how they had ended up in Boston. She took the time and effort to treat everyone like actual people, as if the world hadn’t ended, and life was normal. 

“She is an angel,” He had once heard and older woman call her and he couldn’t help but smile. Y/N was bringing humanity back in her own small ways, to a situation where it felt like ti had been lost forever. 

It was a nice moment until two F.E.D.R.A officers showed up causing the crowds to scatter and get back to their work. But Joel still stared at Y/N, watching indently as the officer grabbed her roughly by the arm. She quickly pushed back as she stood her ground against them. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but he could see from her expression and her body language that she had a fire in her. She wasn’t afraid to stand up for herself. 

That didn’t stop the F.E.D.R.A officers from kicking her cart over sending the water jugs spilling all over the hot cement. Joel had to physically stop himself from running over and pummeling the two officers, but having spent time in F.E.D.R.A lockup, it wasn’t something he wanted to experience again, no matter how much his blood boiled. 

As soon as he saw that the officers had moved out of sight, he rushed to Y/N’s side as she knelt on the ground picking up her bottles and cups. 

“Thanks Joel,” She sighed as she smiled at him. Joel was surprised that she remembered his name.  

For a brief moment, Joel saw her smile fade, and he saw the sadness that was behind her eyes, and it made his blood boil even more thinking that someone as lowly as a F.E.D.R.A. officer could hurt her. 

“Does this happen often?” He asked, surprised at himself for even speaking up. 

“Unfortunely. Some of these F.E.D.R.A. officers are absolute dicks.” She said and Joel could help but let out a laugh hearing her cuss.

“I’m suprised they would mess with you, seeing as your husband is an officer as well.” 

As he said this, he watched as she froze, instinctively she began to play with her ring. “Oh I’m sure Will sent them. He hates that I do this. Says it embarrasses him.” 

“Sounds like your husband is kind of a dick.” And this time it was her turn to laugh. 

After they had finished getting her cart back in order, Joel didn’t want to leave, he didn’t want to go back to work. When he was around Y/N things felt better, he felt better. 

“If anyone messes with you, you let me know ok. You come find me.” He said as he pointed to his apartment building. “I live there, third floor apartment 5, I think, numbers been missing for what looks like years.” 

Y/N chuckled slightly. “Ok Joel.” 

“Hey!” A loud voice boomed and Joel knew without looking it was the F.E.D.R.A. foreman. “Get back to work!” 

“You better go, I don’t want to get you into trouble,” Y/N said. 

Joel just nodded, as the thought of not seeing her for while again made him retreat back into himself. 

He turned to head back when suddenly she called after him again. 

“Wait,” She said as she scrambled through her bag before pulling something out palming it discreetly as she held her hand out to him. “Thank you for helping me.” 

Joel reached out, shaking her hand and secretly taking the object. 

“Anytime,” He responded as he quickly stuffed his hands into his pockets and walked away. He made sure he was out of view, before he pulled it out, shocked to find a small baggie of coffee, real coffee. 

It was almost a week before Joel saw Y/N again, but this time she wasn’t handing out anything. Instead she was walking, well behind dragged down the street by her husband, who had a rough grip on her arm. 

“Let me go!” She snapped, and Joel immediately began to take steps towards her. 

However the minute she caught Joel’s figure in her peripheral she turned to look at him, her eyes widening with fear as she watched him move closer. In an instant she stopped fighting, and instead wrapped her other arm around her husbands and quickend her step so she was walking with him instead of behind him. Her demineor immediately changed but her eyes still full of fear as they stayed locked with Joel’s. All she did was shake her head before she broke her gaze with Joel and looked ahead. With that Joel halted and watched them turn the corner and vanish from view. 

This wasn’t the first time Joel had suspected that Y/N’s husband maybe be hurting her. He had seen the bruises, or how she wore long sleeves even in the 90 degree heat. Or when she had shown up with a black eye, and would tell anyone who asked that she had fallen and hit her eye on the side of some furniture piece. But he didn’t know her well enough, hell he didn’t know her at all, how was he going to broach that subject. And yet, he still felt like he needed to protect her. He needed to find some way to get her help. And after that moment he saw her in the street, he told himself the next time he had the chance, he would talk to her about it. 

What he hadn’t anticipated was the next time he saw her, she would be on his doorstep covered in blood.

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#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #tlou

[justahumblememefarmer]

Ultimate Doctor Who Poll Round 2 - Matchup 6

Episode Summaries under the cut

27: Dark Water/Death in Heaven - Season 8, Episodes 11 & 12: After Clara's boyfriend, Danny, dies she asks the Doctor to bring him back to life. While he refuses to do that, he takes the TARDIS to investigate the afterlife, ending at the 3W Institute where they are greeted by Missy. The Institute claims to communicate with the dead, who are still conscious and feeling, and beg not to be cremated. In the afterlife Danny is given the chance to talk with the child he killed as a soldier. Clara communicates with Danny, while Missy shows the Doctor what the Nethersphere where the dead are held really is, a database to house their minds while their bodies are converted into Cybermen. She activates the Cybermen and reveals herself to be the newest regeneration of the Master.

UNIT arrives and takes Missy prisoner. She releases more Cybermen that fly above every town and city in the world and releases Cyber-pollen, raining down all of the minds in the Nethersphere to their bodies, which are then converted into Cybermen. Clara holds the Cybermen at the 3W Institute at bay by claiming the be the Doctor. One Cyberman shows up to rescue her, who is revealed to be Danny. The Doctor plans with UNIT on how to defeat the Cybermen, but Missy escapes lockup and has Cybermen attack their plane while she teleports away.

The Doctor summons his TARDIS in midair and joins Clara and Danny in a graveyard where they are surrounded by Cybermen. The Doctor questions Danny on the Cybermen's plan, but as his emotional inhibitor has not been switched on, he cannot properly connect to it. Clara turns it on and Danny states that the Cybermen will convert all of humanity. Missy teleports in, and gives over control of the Cybermen to the Doctor, trying to convince him to use the army to defeat evil across the universe, and show that they are not that different. The Doctor realizes that Danny is not following the Cyber's orders and is still protecting Clara, despite his lack of emotions. He hands control over to Danny, who orders the Cybermen to fly into the sky and destroy themselves.

Missy is seemingly killed by the Cyberversion of Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart. The Doctor and Clara part ways, with him going off to search for Gallifrey.

102: The Magician's Apprentice/The Witch's Familiar - Season 9, Episode 1 & 2: Missy seeks Clara's help to track down the Doctor, who is then taken to see a dying Davros, the creator of the Daleks. Missy and Clara seem to be exterminated and the TARDIS destroyed by the Daleks. They teleport elsewhere and Missy shares that she set their teleporters to be powered by the same energy the Daleks use, so when they were shot, they just teleported away.

hey sneak back in through the Dalek sewers and Missy puts Clara in a Dalek casing as a disguise with Clara pretending to take Missy prisoner. Davros tricks the Doctor into showing him compassion, and when the Doctor goes to give him a small amount of regeneration energy to heal him, he is seized and they begin to drain his regeneration energy. The energy begins to restore Davros and the Daleks in the city. The regeneration also begins to restore the discarded Daleks in the sewer, who begin to overwhelm the Dalek city.

Seeing Missy alive, the Doctor realizes that Clara must also be alive. Missy attempts to trick him into destroying Clara in the Dalek casing, but she is able to reveal herself to him. He summons the TARDIS, which had simply displaced itself and takes off with Clara while Missy finds an alternate way to escape.

#doctor who #ultimate doctor who poll #my post #polls #12th doctor #clara oswald #missy #peter capaldi #jenna coleman #michelle gomez #dark water #death in heaven #the magician's apprentice #the witch's familiar

[arguablysomaya]

Oooo, so you have more fic recs? (if possible any where Jason Todd jsut gets that hug he so desperately need, violently or not I will take anything)

Of course!! here's a bunch of jason fics that I adore <3

by RedHeadedWoman

Jason has decided to move back into the Manor at least part time (or so he says) but there's just one problem. His bedroom has not changed since before everything so now he has to redecorate it with some help from his crazy as hell family.

Jason was going to regret this. So very much.

this fic is very old but still doesn't get the respect it deserves wtf!!!

by @daedalusdavinci

There are moments when the… everything of Dick's life catches up with him, and exhaustion sinks deep into his skin. However, when he goes dark on everyone else, Jason doesn't quite get the memo. Rules never seem to apply to little brothers.

After two weeks of little more than clipped texts, Jason shoves his way into Dick's life and gets him up and moving again.

jason tricks dick into taking care of himself yayyyy

by sophene

Jason decides to take Tim with him on a road trip. Tim has no say in the matter.

LMFAOOOO. just read it you'll see

by @thingr1

(In which Jason is hiding but Dick seeks him out anyway.)

mutual hurt/comfort baby!!!

by darkesky

“‘M fine,” Tim said and somehow missed both of their incredulous looks. Tim could be actively bleeding out—and hey, he might be right now—and he’d still find a way to insist he was fine and would be fine.

Jason spoke first (which proved how out of it Dick was because most days, he needed to beg Dick to shut the fuck up). “You’re such a dumbass.”

“Hey!” Tim swatted at him weakly. He couldn’t even beat a butterfly in a fistfight right now. “You can’t be mean to me. I’m injured.”

“Thought you were fine,” Jason said.

Tim paused, blinking. Then, he groaned and hid his face again.

Jason has to deal with his dumbass brothers.

jason indeed deals with his dumbass brothers

by @badacts

“This is a real novel moment for me,” Hood says. “I’m savouring it.”

“Savour it quietly,” Bruce replies. They’re here for a purpose, and he may not mind it in the strictest sense, but the GCPD lockup is not the place or time for Jason’s irreverent humour.

a tumblr fic wow!! also i love the characterization here

by @chuuyanakahra

"It’s easy to find it, if you know what you’re looking for. And Tim knows exactly what he’s looking for; when you work with Batman, you always do.

So he finds the small apartment, breaks in, and sits in the surprisingly comfortable couch. And waits.

Waiting’s the worst part of the job, though."

or, alternatively, Jason survives Ethiopia, and things change, while staying more or less the same.

tim is a stalker fan!!

by @unavenged-robin

The man looks at him as if Jason had an answer. But Jason has no answers. He’s bewildered just like him. They’re two men with no idea whatsoever of what the hell is happening to them.

cass takes care of jason, and jason is Confused

by @jyanadavega

"Jason snarled his teeth at his brother. Nightwing, damn him, simply smiled more, his hands still on his hips, expression deeply amused despite the groans of pain behind him.

Jason really wished he hadn’t been the one to be tied up to this altar. He immediately shoved the thought away, because he really didn’t want any of his siblings in his position anyway. Damn. Who authorized him to have these feelings?

“So,” started Dick. Jason immediately cut him off.

“Don’t.”"

OR: Red Hood gets kidnapped by some cultists, and Nightwing rescue him.

a cornerstone fic of ace!jason

and one last one!

by NightOwl1600

Jason doesn't quite understand whats going on. All he can tell for certain is that Tim is injured behind him, and Damian is standing in front of him, telling him to shoot. And for some reason, he really really wants to kill them both even though he knows he shouldn't. He would never kill his brothers, not now, at least, since they'd really grown to become brothers. Would he?

brainwashing fic :( but the fluff prevails!

#fic rec #batfam #batfam fic rec #batfam fanfiction #dc comics #batman #batman fanfiction #batfamily #dc #dcu #shut up somaya #dc universe #jason todd #red hood

[lunaprincipessa]

ENTRY 170

Every year since his passing, fans have paid their respects to, and mourned the immense loss of, Peter Steele from the band Type O Negative.

I acknowledged the loss in the past but this year is unlike the others. For the first time since becoming a Type O Negative fan, I have a better understanding of what was actually lost to us.

I openly admit that there was a lot about Peter Steele that I didn't know. There is no other reason for this other than the fact that I just never learned about who he was as a person. Of course, I thought he was talented, of course I thought he was handsome, I just never looked into the details of his life.

I was more taken with Trent Reznor as I felt Nine Inch Nails expressed the angst and sadness I felt in a way, with certain sounds, that just fit me a little bit better. While my favorite band hasn't changed, my favorite singer certainly has.

I wrote about it in my seventy-fourth entry, a brief recap of what I recently learned. It was inspired by a comment section on social media where a couple of fans accused his last girlfriend of negligence. I wasn't aware of such a situation and never once knew or assumed that it was possible.

In lightly pursuing that somber topic, I eventually came to learn more about him. He was misunderstood, fighting addiction, having mental health struggles, grieving, depressed, dealing with the aftermath of lockup, feeling betrayed by family, trying to cope with loss, battling abandonment issues, and being unlucky in love.

This made my heart and mind break open wide as it provided a more revealing depth and life and sustenance to the songs I had listened to, to the music I had heard. Not that there wasn't any before, but now I could truly feel his voice and his words. Hard to explain. The art just hits different when you have a better understanding of the artist.

Same thing can be said for my little experience here. His music and his death are hitting different now that I have a better understanding of him, of who he was.

Consider everything he went through, then consider that despite all that, he was still so passionate and so loving instead of shutting down. That's not for the weak, you know. It takes real strength to maintain those qualities after going through hell.

A pure soul was lost, not just an amazing musician and lyricist, not just a great man, but a pure soul - as is anyone who can maintain their friendly, kind, humorous, and caring nature after a rough life where others may succumb to apathy.

And that is a much more positive tone for the blog, and a much more positive approach to the loss that can never be rectified. To revisit not only the gifts of the photography, acting, artwork, and music that he left behind, but the ways in which he is remembered to this day.

Someone who was a musical genius, one of the most influential, an original, kind, generous, helpful, supportive, creative, smart, intriguing, passionate, caring, funny, insightful, gorgeous, and hard-working.

While it cannot be denied that Peter Steele's loss still stings to this day, 14 years later, from April 14th, 2010 to April 14th, 2024, it also cannot be denied that we can seek solace in his work, even if it hurts knowing he's gone but wanted to continue. And I can only imagine how incredible it would've been to see Peter Steele and Type O Negative evolve and transcend over time.

Ending this blog with the same conclusion as the blog that started it all, my favorite song, and some more lovely pics.

"My guess is that Peter's spirit is still with us, silently urging us all to never forget about Type O Negative. And we never will. RIP 💔" ENTRY 74 - Jan. 29th, 2024

More thoughts later.

#14 Years Ago #We Lost a Legend #We Lost a Pure Soul #Peter Steele #Type O Negative #RIP #Green Man #Gone but Never Forgotten #We Will Remember You Peter #We Will Remember Type O #Timeless Music for All Generations