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#nothing is real everything is nebulous

nsomniacsdream · 2 years

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I have a hard time talking about American law enforcement, because I have ptsd (like a therapist told me this and everything) from my own experiences with cops and because it's so balls quaking insane.

Like, a cop in the United States can pull you over for any reason. Which is a nice way of saying no reason, because literally anything can be used after the fact as justification. A cop can say its cuz you looked at him, or didnt look at him, or it looked like you were holding something, or looked like you were driving too perfectly for it to be natural. It's insane.

There are apparently no circumstances where a cop can't just kill you. The line the courts have applied is "reasonably believed" you were a threat, but that's such a nebulous nothing limit that people get shot for reaching for their license, having their phone in their hand, you're running away with no weapon, not being able to follow conflicting commands, like anything. And cops are almost never charged, because every court is going to believe he could "reasonably believe" he was threatened. Fuck, if you give me enough time, I can make any situation seem juuuuust plausibly threatening enough to pass that bar. It's insane.

A cop can just rob you. Like tell you to give him your wallet, take all the cash out, and just walk away with it. Exactly like you would imagine getting robbed in an alley would go, except no one can help. And he doesn't even have to hide it, he just drops it in a box at the station and they put it in their bank account. It's legal. You can't prove it wasn't drug money. I can't prove any money wasn't at some point drug money. It's insane.

If a cop just walks in your front door and says "I'm here to kill you and your entire family" YOU ARE GOING TO PRISON IF YOU STOP HIM. There is no positive defense for assaulting a police officer in the United States, and doubly so if you kill him. You have effectively no defense against a homicidal cop, which happens same as any other job. Unless for some reason you have cameras all thru your house and clearly caught the audio of him saying that he's there just to kill you, you have zero chance of not going to prison, probably for life. And that's assuming you aren't killed "resisting arrest" while being taken into custody. It is a crime, in this country, for you to defend yourself under any circumstances if the person you're defending yourself from is a cop. That's insane.

You don't have civil rights if a cop says so. You have the right to have a gun, right? A lot of states have open carry. A cop can shoot you if he sees you have a gun. Doesn't matter if you have a license and everything. So you effectively don't have the right to bear arms if a cop can shoot you for exercising it. You have the right to protest. Unless a cop tells you to stop. He doesn't need a real reason to tell you to stop. And if you don't stop, you can be arrested or shot. So you don't really have the right to protest, do you? A cop cant just search your car or house, right? Unless he claims he heard something, or smelled something, neither of which can be proven. So a cop can search whatever he wants, as long as he pretends there was a "reason". So you dont have protection from unreasonable search and seizure, do you? These are no longer rights- they're things the cops allow.. for now. But legally, those rights have already been found to not actually be rights, because any random cop can decide to take that right from you, for any reason. It's insane.

These aren't like crazy things that I'm just making up, these aren't some weird twisted way I'm looking at something, these are all very real things that we all just.. ignore? Police abolitionists and the media bring these things up all the time, and the overwhelming response to it is: so what? Don't break the law and it won't matter. Blue lives matter. More police funding. Cops should have tanks. It's insane. And I always feel like im just rambling and sound insane when I say this kind of stuff because if you wrote a book and had the dystopian government doing the stuff that the police in this country do every single day, those same people who "back the blue" would line up to say stuff like "*Books government* wouldnt have a chance before us real americans stopped them" on twitter and not even get a hint of the irony.

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anthurak · 3 months

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So with everything we learned and saw in Episode 4 from Angel, Valentino, Charlie and Husk, here’s a little theory on how the Hotel crew saving Angel from Valentino might play out. Particularly in how Husk’s status as a former Overlord may factor into things.

Because I have a hunch it’s actually going to be Husk, rather than Charlie who gets fed up first and goes out to make a real attempt at getting Angel away from Valentino, given everything we saw between Husk and Angel in this episode. Specifically, Husk aims to lure Valentino into gambling for Angel’s contract.

Now that raises the question of what exactly Husk could gamble with. I see two possibilities:

Option One, Husk full on bluffs Valentino that he still has substantial power as an Overlord and has been hiding it all this time, tempting him with more souls and power. And as we’ve seen most notably in Episode 2, Val in kind of a massive fucking idiot, so I could see him actually falling for this. Essentially, Husk gambles with nothing, save his own soul, for a chance to save Angel.

Option Two, Husk actually gets his power BACK from Alastor. Specifically through fulfilling some mysterious, nebulous condition Alastor set up for him. It could even be that this is what sets up Husk to gamble Val for Angel’s freedom. Alastor returns Husk’s power as an Overlord because he’s curious as to what Husk will do with it now. Which we see, is putting it all on the line again for a chance to save Angel.

Whichever way we get to it, we find Husk in a high-stakes card game with Valentino. And of course, Husk does the classic trope of NOT telling his friends or even the guy he’s doing this for what he’s doing to ‘keep them safe’ and all that. Of course, they do find out. Which will come into play later…

As for the all-important gamble; Husk actually does WIN legitimately against Valentino. However, because Valentino is… well, Valentino he welches on the deal and attacks Husk, and perhaps a recently arrived Angel as well.

Now in the event that Husk was bluffing Valentino the whole time and is actually helpless against a fully-powered Overlord, this would be when Alastor, from afar, actually returns Husk’s own power as an Overlord as some offhand, magnanimous whim. Which of course now allows Husk to actually fight back against Valentino.

What ensues is a full and proper fight between Husk/Angel and Valentino, with all the requisite emotional drama of Angel and Husk admitting their feelings for each other and all of Valentino’s shittiness as a person coming out in force. Maybe like an mlm version of the Bees vs. Adam fight.

However, despite getting his power as an Overlord back, Husk ultimately turns out to not be as powerful as Valentino. Alternatively, perhaps he never gets his power back at all and we just skip to here from Husk winning the bet. Whichever way we get here, Husk and Angel are now at the non-existent mercy of Valentino.

Which is precisely when CHARLIE shows up.

And I imagine what ensues plays out in a flash. Like everyone is only just registering that Charlie has appeared when suddenly everything is on fire. We get only the briefest glimpses, perhaps only in silhouette, of the full-sized horns on Charlie’s head, the great leathery wings coming out of her back and the pitchfork in her hand before she has Valentino by the throat and the mothman starts BURNING, screaming in pain as he is consumed in hellfire.

Basically, I feel that after this episode we are going to see Husk be the one to step up first to try and save Angel from Valentino, given everything we saw between the pair this episode. But at the same time, I think the interactions between Charlie and Valentino, particularly Charlie starting to transform in rage, sets her up as the one who’s going to ultimately put Val down. Specifically via giving us a glimpse at Charlie’s true power.

And I do say glimpse because I imagine the full and proper reveal of Charlie’s ‘Devil Form’ is almost certainly going to be saved for when she’s forced to take on the likes of Adam and the Exorcists, the ones who have been set-up as proper antagonists to Charlie herself.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin theory #hazbin rambling #angel dust #hazbin husk #huskerdust #husk #hazbin valentino #charlie morningstar #devil!charlie #how valentino dies a horrible painful death theory

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eldritch-spouse · 8 months

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what would the TCE boys be like with a darling who's super self conscious about her body? like maybe they try to have sex with her but the whole time she's trying to cover herself up so they can't see her or smth

[Do I have to crank out the Main Character speech again? Because I fucking will anon. This is a threat.]

You cover yourself during sex

Morell doesn't get it. He doesn't get what it's like to be inscure. Yeah, he doesn't think he's the hottest shit out there, but he's never had real problems with his own body either, so he's not sure where yours come from. And he's not truly the best at explaining how gorgeous you are to him, he just lets you know how much you make him want you and hopes that it clicks one day. There's no one else he'd rather lie in bed with, he's seen you butt-ass naked woman, and the only thing that gave him was a massive boner.

Gallon hopes that you're not getting the wrong idea when he gifts you fancy dresses and bright accessories that stand out. He's not trying to "fix you" or make up for any sort of "ugliness", he does it because he already thinks you're ethereal. The slime physically won't let you cover yourself, rest assured he'll wriggle between your limbs and keep you aaall open while he fucks you, and the barkeep will continue to do so until you learn there's nothing about you that'll turn him off.

Patches gets it. He does, really. Sometimes he doesn't like taking everything off, and ironically, he's always wondered if his body was good enough for you- But seeing you try to cover yourself as if he's about to laugh and leave otherwise makes his stomach sink. Don't. He'll let you cover your face because he knows what it's like to be shy, but he's going to touch every part of you, not matter how hot his own face burns.

Santi is utterly disheartened, it's a shame how so many people can't find sex comfortable in their own bodies, seeing you exhibit that same fear is extremely heartbreaking. He'll stop whatever's happening to blanket over you and press his lips to your ear, whispering about the way you make him burn up hotter than any ring in Hell and about how he needs to see you whole, he needs to see everything, he needs to worship everything and you're teasing him so hard right now.

Grimbly didn't expect that. Your bravado just sort of died... Is that why you never take your clothes off with him? He thought you just didn't want to take it that far with him. As materialistic and appearance-obsessed as Grimbly is, he needs you to know he'd sooner kill whoever put that fear into your head than let you think he's going to leave his Mommy. Ever. He doesn't say this a lot... But you make him feel so comfortable in his skin, and he wants the same for you.

Nebul finds this adorable. But no one gave you permission to cover yourself. Obey him, keep your body unobstructed and let him observe for as long as he wants, don't dare speak. While you're there trembling with fear of rejection, he's circling you and touching random parts of you. At some point, he puts your head to his thigh, dangerously close to a shape straining his robes, as he tells you you're going to have to fix what your perverted body did to him.

Vinnel understands too. He doesn't like his body. In fact, his husk is useless, he fucking loathes it. But by no means is he transparent with his empathy. He'll force you against a mirror and do all number of filthy things to your body, all the while mocking you for trying to hide it from him. You're ridiculous. Are you going to cry? Are you? Good, do it. Just give him an unobstructed view, poppet.

Belo literally will never comprehend it. You're the most supremely elegant being in his eyes. If there ever was a being whose form could lead anyone into the rabbit hole of depravity, it would be you- Not that it's your fault! No no, you are simply too perfect. He's got no business telling you how to show yourself to him, but Belo will try to gently pry your limbs away so he can sink to his knees and beg to rub his undeserving, lecherous hands all over your body. He can't take it anymore.

Fank-e doesn't get it either. What's wrong with your body? No really, what's the damage? Hey, you see him running around full of stickers and with a cracked head, what are you being all cute about? Do you think he finds organics gross? Come on, he's been hard for you for a while now... He'll try to joke and poke around until you laugh and get more comfortable.

Sybastian thinks it's dumb. You know he's seen every inch of you before, right? You know he's tried to put his tongue everywhere on/in you, what makes you think he's going to be put off now? Have you seen him? Sybastian admits he's freaky-looking, are you seriously telling him you're worried he's going to skip on this?? He looks at you like you're a bit dim, but it's a look full of fondness too.

Krulu finds your demeanor insulting. He has picked you, selected you as a lesser, and you dare question his taste? You are presumptuous enough to assume he's wrong in his conviction? You don't even know how offensive you are, do you? Drop your hands from your front immediately and apologize to him. While doing so, make sure to stare him in the eyes and spread yourself on his altar.

#Morell oc #Gallon oc #Santi oc #Grimbly oc #Patches oc #Nebul oc #Fank-e oc #Vinnel oc #Belo oc #Sybastian oc #Krulu oc

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wizzard890 · 1 year

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Hello! I'm someone who really enjoys makeup, but has recently in the past few years begun to view makeup and the makeup industry more broadly as something that is really detrimental to women. You seem to be in somewhat of the same position, and I admire your thoughts, so I was curious how you reconcile those positions or if you feel the need to reconcile them at all? Please ignore this ask if it's intrusive or weird lol

You can't reconcile them. You really can't. The beauty industry exists to churn out propaganda, inventing flaws and offering us fixes for a price, before moving on to the new (usually opposite, so you don't already have the tools) trend.

I'm in my thirties, I've seen the beauty industry turn into a nightmarish hydra that I never could have imagined as a teenager. The speed with which people create and zero in on new physical nitpicks, the ubiquity of filters and plastic surgery, that skincare (literally unless you have a specific ailment, a soft cleanser and nothing else will do you just fine) has become a lunatic self-flagellation in the name of some kind of nebulous Purity, just the endless chasing and chasing and chasing of that new thing that new miracle bottle, whatever will finally make you less disgusting for living in a human body. It's rancid. But it’s always been like this. Just slower.

And it's important to be intellectually honest about all this. The reason we think we look better with our lips a certain color, or our skin being a certain texture is because beauty culture has spent hundreds of years and trillions of dollars rotting our brains. None of this is real. You know that you find the people you love the most attractive when they're comfortable and bare faced and being themselves. Contour would change literally nothing about your feelings in that moment.

I enjoy makeup. I like gold eyeliner and deep berry lipsticks and a stain of blush. Why? Because I also have brain rot, and think I look Better with it on. You can't dismantle the entire wretched apparatus on your own, but you can be clear with yourself about why you believe what you believe. As my wife pointed out when I talked to her about this ask, even saying "I just like to decorate my face" doesn't hold water. You don't know what you natively like to do with your face, when it comes to beauty. You've spent your whole life marinating in propaganda. It gets into everything.

Due to my Ancient Years, I am no longer expected to be Young And Hot, which means I don't put on makeup on to run errands, and I don't feel like a full face is necessary to see friends or get dinner on a weeknight. I've started trying to treat makeup like I'd treat a pair of high heels: sometimes it's nice to feel dressed up, and in some environments heels are part of the dress code. Sometimes you wear heels to show your partner that you put in extra effort for them, or to make sure someone knows you took an occasion seriously.

Tellingly, heels also exist to fix a "failure" in your appearance.

It's like finding smoking sexy. Smoking kills you, unambiguously. And yet....it's hard not to feel like you'd be cooler if you had a cigarette in your hand. No one is immune to the manipulations of propaganda. But it is propaganda, plain and simple, and we shouldn't twist ourselves in knots to defend the lies it tells us, or try to make them ~praxis~. Beauty culture is exactly the same.

#yikes scoob!#it's rotten all the way down #(speaking of heels nothing makes me roll my eyes more than watching a movie where A Woman In Heels Does The Thing Like The Men)#(like oo wow she managed to be useful without losing her desirability!! yas queen)#and I wear heels!#I own many lipsticks!#I am not better than you #but you HAVE to be honest #you can't pretend there's a tension between good makeup (for me!) and bad beauty culture (for Others)#it's all for others #and surprise others is capitalism and the politics of desirability #makeup games #(lol I made that tag back when I was pretending at the aforementioned tension)

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dontbelasagnax · 7 months

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First, I love your art and your fics so much! Second, you seem like someone who has very good Codywan headcanons, and I’d love to hear some of them if you have any you��d like to share 🙂 (No pressure at all though!)

Tysm anon!!! I don't know what kind of headcanons you're looking for but I have soooo many always haha! They live in the nebulous realm of headcanons in which they are applied to every iteration of codywan unless they are not--for no reason other than vibes. All sfw but I always have thots (very intentional spelling) if anyone would like to hear about the nsfw things.

- Cody has spreadsheets for everything. It calms and organizes his mind. Helps him visualize and put the chaos to rights. When Obi-Wan notices Cody getting antsy and agitated, he gently asks him if he's made a spreadsheet recently. If that doesn't solve things, he'll offer to look over the charts together. If that doesn't solve the issue, he'll pull Cody into his lap, tenderly kiss any available real estate that needs kissing, and twirl fingers through his head of curls and massage away the tension. For all that Cody hates when his hair gets messed up, he does love being pet like a cat.

(the rest is going under the cut because I'm rather verbose)

- SPEAKING OF CATS! Cody is a cat person. This is nothing new, I just wholeheartedly know it to be true. It's only because he wants a cat so badly that he acts like he doesn't care for them. Obi-Wan sees through the facade. He saw how Cody looked at the stray tooka they rescued from the rubble one somber evening. How he cradled the lump of fluff and ran his thumb back between ears as if the lightest of touches would hurt the poor dear. How palpable was the anguish in his eyes after handing off the tooka to the surviving locals of the city. Even after he said, "Glad that's over with. Would hate to get cat hair on my blacks." Obi-Wan knows. So the next time he's on Coruscant, he buys a little orange plush tooka. It's tiny, only just bigger than his hand, but perfect. He ties a piece of flimsi reading '- OWK' to its neck with a ribbon and tucks it under the covers of Cody's bed so its head and front paws peek out. Perhaps he's a coward, perhaps he's just being gracious in letting Cody have some privacy in receiving his gift. What he does know is the next time he feels Cody staring long at the side of his face, he looks back and Cody blushes and smiles ever so slightly- shy. Oh, Obi-Wan loves him.

- Obi-Wan doesn't hate caf. It's simply not his favorite. When he does drink it, he likes it black. There could be many reasons for this but Cody thinks it's a superiority complex thing. Cody likes his caf with cream and two packets of sweetener. Sure, he'll drink any caf shoved his way, but what he truly enjoys? Yeah, it's not the shit coming straight from the dark depths of a Sith Lord's ass crack.

- Cody likes when Obi-Wan drives. Could be a ship, speeder--any mode of transport, really. It's not a secret that Obi-Wan does not like driving. With how calm and steady he remains at the wheel, there is tension in his jaw, bitten into his cheek, and clenched white into his knuckles. It stresses him out. But he is good at it. And he makes Cody feel safe. Cody doesn't get to feel safe a whole lot in the midst of war.

- Cody will never tell a living soul this (except maybe when he gets so sloshed he can't remember his name or all the reasons why he really should not lay out his honest bleeding truths) but his favorite color is not 212th gold. Yes, 212th gold is Cody's color. It's his. But blue is what he finds most aesthetically beautiful. It's the color of a certain Jedi's eyes in the sunlight and the unnatural glow of that same Jedi's lightsaber. It's the color of that Jedi's eyes in a dim room when he looks looks soft and tired, a blue that's more grey than anything resembling an actual blue. It's not one color and yet it is because he loves that color just like he loves that Jedi. He doesn't love the color just when it's pretty in one vibrant idealistic shade. He falls in love again and again when he sees it in new lights. Just like Obi-Wan.

- not to cozywan truth on main or anything but There's not a place Cody and Obi-Wan sleep better than in each other's arms. Or maybe not arms, per se, but sprawled across one another in some fashion. Touching. More often than not, in the tiny cots onboard The Negotiator, Cody ends up plastered to Obi-Wan's back, arm possessively wrapped round his front to keep him from falling off the edge. With the luxury of a bed actually made to fit two grown men, things aren't much better. Cody wakes to find he's being suffocated by Obi-Wan who, in his sleep, discovered the joys of lying directly on top of Cody. Cody's not innocent. He can count multiple occasions where he's buried his face in Obi-Wan's belly and woken up to being gently shoved away from his heated pillow because, oops, his resting place was a full bladder. Neither of them complain too much, not when it's so easy to be lulled into the warm, liquidy loose and easy clutches of cozy sleep in close quarters to the person they love. Something deep in the brain unlocks and says, 'everything's alright now, relax, let it all go--safe, safe, safe,' when Obi-Wan's cold nose finds the column of Cody's throat who's hand comes up to indulgently cards through silky hair. There's a resonating hum of rightness in their chests that says, 'home'.

#codywan #lasagna rambles #and boy did i ramble. jesus. diagnose me with long-winded bitch disease.#i love getting asks btw. poke me with a codywan stick and I'll love you forever <333 #ask box

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vaspider · 1 year

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re the ai art thing: there are absolutely some shitty things going on with ai art at the moment, but i feel like this whole thing would benefit from more clarity on the bad actors involved so that arguments could be meaningfully directed at them instead of the nebulous concept of "ai art". i suspect elon musk's name is being used as a buzzword here - while he was one of many founders of openai, he resigned from the company before things like gpt and dall-e even came into existence, so i find posts that talk as though he's still actively involved to be suspect. second, it's entirely possible for an ai art generator to create something thats no more derivative of existing work than a human using it as inspiration. i agree it's still not 100% ethically pure, but at that point it sort of becomes a philosophical debate, not a practical one. a lot of ai art bots DO use significant parts of work, though, and the medical photo story would be horrifying even if ai art wasn't involved - these are specific bad actors, specific people who put private photos into the public domain, specific people who don't do the due diligence in making sure their model doesn't violate the copyright and forgery boundaries we already have in place, specific users who choose to generate derivative art for unethical purposes, and aiming this very justified anger at them is likely to bring about a lot more positive change.

No, Elon Musk's name is being used because he has a very long and very loud history of thinking he shouldn't need to credit artists or writers and that he should be able to use anything in any way he wants and people should be grateful that he did. That context is very important when talking about the intention behind the Tech Bro Collage Machine.

Second, no. It is not possible for an AI to create anything that isn't 100% derivative. There are a few reasons for this:

"AI," that is, actual artificial intelligence, does not exist. This is not nitpicking terminology, this is extremely important and crucial. What we are talking about isn't a brain. It doesn't think. It doesn't create. It cannot create. We may wish to think that it can create - humans love to wonder and we love to anthropomorphize everything, but no. Calling it "AI" is a branding decision, and propaganda. It isn't fact. AI doesn't create anything, first of all, because AI doesn't exist.

Tech-Bros Discover Collages™️ is a program. An algorithm. It does not create any more than a paint mixer creates purple paint when the Home Depot worker puts red and blue paint into a can and loads it into the paint mixer. All it can do it take what it is given and smash it together over and over and over again. And that is - in a very simplistic but also very real way - all that TBDCs do.

I'm very sorry, but androids do not yet dream of electric sheep, computers don't think, and comparing the pixel output of a machine that's just as likely to barf put a man with three fingers growing out of his cheek as it is a "masterpiece" that, if you unfocus your eyes and ignore the watermark artifacts and look past the weird smeary edges and all of the other tells, almost looks kinda like it's not AI art to the output of an actual working artist is absolutely facile. I genuinely cannot believe that people are actually making this argument. Like, I really can't. No, the computer isn't thinking and it can't actually create anything. You're playing with an extremely complicated kaleidoscope loaded with millions of dollars worth of stolen art, intended to help billionaires further defraud everyone else by replacing artists with digital garbage. That's it. That's all. It is nothing more. It cannot be anything more.

I really do wonder what people think is going to happen, here. Do y'all really think this is going to do anything but make it impossible for small artists to make money?

People are already selling "prompts lists" on Etsy as if that is original art, which it is not. People who have gotten really good at playing with the kaleidoscope have gone on long huffy rants about how they shouldn't have to reveal their prompts because they put work into coming up with that specific prompts list... all written without a shred of self-awareness or realization of irony.

I genuinely don't want the answer, here, because as a working artist, I am really exhausted of people trying to defend the destruction of the livelihood I've poured myself into, and the destruction of my friends' livelihoods, too, but I want you to ask yourself (quietly, in your head, and if you want to post about it, do it on your blog, don't put it here) what you think the end result of all of this is going to be.

Do you think this is going to result in some grand new wave of art democratization? It will not. Do you think computers can really create? They cannot. Or do you think instead this is going to lead to a lot of artists no longer being able to find sufficient work as the Fiverr/Uber/Amazonification of everything combined with AI art means that a lot of the meat-and-potatoes commissions and art jobs dry up, because why would you pay someone $100 to draw you a really original picture of your OC with their hours of labor and years of experience when you can get Midjourney to make you one in minutes ✨️for free✨️?

While y'all are busy talking about how computers are doing something not at all different from the human mind (lol), you're hammering the livelihood of a lot of people into the ground, duped by the same people currently burning Twitter to the ground, lighting piles of money on fire as crypto, and minting NFTs. This is just the next thing in a long line of tech bro scams.

Stop falling for it. You're fucking shit up and I'm tired.

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mellori · 9 months

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Jod wants to die (and will, happily in Alecto the Ninth).

He's either:

Spent the last 10,000 years enacting turbo space colonialism on the trillionaires' descendants as purely symbolic revenge for their forefathers "getting away".

(I personally subscribe to the theory that when Jod says all but one of the trillionaires' ships escaped into FTL and were "lost to me in time" that stopping one ship ruined the mathematics of the jump and stranded them in transit until, presumably, some time soon in Alecto the Ninth. See also: "I still don't understand the maths. It'll take me ten thousand years to understand it."

Which would mean:)

He's been doing all of the imperialism and murder to a bunch of innocent bystanders so that his real enemies will have nowhere to hide when they finally, ten thousand years later, complete their jump. Which is worse. (Which is why I subscribe to this theory.)

Either way, everybody he loves is dead and he's turned himself into literally everything he professes to hate. The cognitive dissonance alone must be exhausting. It doesn't redeem them in any way, but at least the trillionaires only slowly murdered their own planet extracting all the resources they could from it.

Also one of the Nine Houses is basically themed around front line suicide mission first assault child soldiers, and he's apparently alright with that? Millennia spent sending literal children into active combat zones, most of them armed with nothing but a sword?? Could've stopped it at any time with nothing more than a single sarcastic question???

Anyway I could go on...

But Mellori, you say, Jod just happily submitting to everybody that wants him dead just so he can skip the finding out that's otherwise sure to follow his 10,000 years of fucking around is so unsatisfying. Every good story needs an antagonist.

Well you're right, I say. If only this story had somebody who could replace him?

Somebody with the knowledge and experience necessary to kill a planet and perform the eightfold word? But more than that, somebody dedicated to understanding precisely how he became God? Somebody we've already established is happy to carry on his legacy of theocratic space fascism? Somebody with their own nebulous and/or nefarious plans we're not yet privvy to?

Maybe to make it even more juicy, somebody with an already established narrative and emotional connection to our heroes? Maybe even somebody who at least one of the main characters is indebted to in some way, making their defeat more difficult and complicated? But maybe with some convenient restrictions on the limits of that debt, so that ultimately our team can surprise and overcome her when she "forgets just one thing"?

Now if only we had somebody like that, ay?

#the locked tomb #tlt #the locked tomb spoilers #tlt spoilers #jod #john gauis #ianthe tridentarius #ianthe the first #cw ianthe tridentarius #the locked tomb theories

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pochapal · 10 months

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32! Do you like HS^2?

i...genuinely do! i think sometimes there's a half-conception that based on the mere premise of my fics that i don't like postcanon all that much (omelette route was misconstrued as an epilogues fix-it fic in certain circles and pickle route is still sometimes seen as a "better version" of hs^2) even though everything i write is in direct conversation with and comes from a place of admiration for hs^2/the epilogues.

with hs^2 in particular i think it had some really electric ideas that we only got to see the very first brushstrokes of (thinking most pertinently here about whatever was going to go down on deltritus that we never saw) that, if they'd been able to get off the ground, probably would have eclipsed the epilogues as the most interesting part of homestuck. from the bits we saw the meat timeline stuff was definitely the weakest. outside of the jade/altcallie possession chapter a lot of that half of the story was fairly unsurprising character-driven extrapolation of the same angst we departed the epilogues with - and i largely agree with @hms-no-fun that some kind of timeskip here would have helped it feel a little less repetitive (although arguably there might have been? three years definitely passed with dirk et al but it was very up in the air as to how long it had been for the pursuit spaceship crew). i get why that never happened - both meat and candy were being told in tandem and candy ended on a buildup to an immediate conflict that needed to be followed in real time versus meat's meandering slingshot towards something more nebulous, so for the sake of structural symmetry that limited things a little.

i think i'm more amenable to a lot of hs^2's storytelling decisions because i wholly and entirely loved the epilogues from the getgo and it was so good to see that theme/tone be carried through to a more "traditional" mspa space, even if i wonder if the comic form damaged the story more than it helped it. i remember a lot of people getting weirdly mad whenever we'd get an extended prose scene instead of visual panels despite hs^2 being a continuation of the text-based epilogues. then again, the mainstream hs fandom as a whole fucking sucked when it came to postcanon and that's even more evident in how they've collectively memoryholed the whole thing so talking about audience reception is maybe not the most useful thing to talk about here lmao. idk i think people forget that homestuck is largely a story about people who suck and then who get better from sucking. it's just that nobody really likes it when that lens is turned inward onto the alphas/betas who outside of a small handful of exceptions in canon never really had any ethical issues that caused problems for them and others so i personally think it was very interesting and refreshing to explore how the kids' complacency wrt their baggage and trauma allowed them and their world to backslide so disastrously! roxy lalonde enabling jane's fascist ascension is fascinating storytelling actually! (side note: read through shadowed eyes)

hs^2's original characterwork is probably where the story shines the most. the fucked up dynamics between the theseus crew was super fun to read because there's honestly nothing more enjoyable than Supremely Divorced people deciding that makes them irredeemably evil now. the egbert gender stuff was really nice! i particularly enjoyed how, even though it came after the june egbert renaissance, it still managed to be its own unique take on egbert's gender arc that i think really encapsulated the originality driving the project. also forever shoutout to the candy kids my beloved candy kids my children who i will die for - for me in particular hs^2 was a fun time because i was developing my own versions of harry/vrissy/tav for pickle route in parallel to hs^2 and it was so enjoyable seeing all the overlaps and divergences with each upd8. also yiffy fucking rules on every level and even though she never got to be more than a promise she sure was one hell of a promise.

that said i do not think it's that surprising that hs^2 ultimately died before its time. the conditions of the story paired with the most demoralising and vicious iteration of the fandom meant the odds were stacked against it in a big way. you can particularly see the strain of that starting to manifest in the final ~6 months worth of upd8s where people were leaving/being pushed out of the project and every part of hs^2 was a completely hostile environment and the quality of the art and storytelling began to get a little shaky - which i can't really blame them for all things considered! it's hard to want to make the best version of a story possible when the overwhelming reception is a bunch of sanctimonious redditbrained weirdos screaming that you're evil and foul for making characters in a piece of fiction do unexpected and surprising things and also being sympathetic to trans women. there were of course issues with the production conditions of hs^2 that would have probably led to some sort of reckoning at some point, but it's very obvious that the traumatic pressure cooker of a fanbase that wanted nothing more than the death of this project and the ruination of everyone that worked on it threw this whole thing off the rails much faster. despite that, you still have to infinitely admire the team for daring to make something challenging and original in a sphere dominated by people who are content to regurgitate the same babybrained 2013 content ad infinitum - for just a brief moment, homestuck was truly allowed to be the literary masterpiece it's been all along. now people just treat it as more fandomslop to consume and that's perhaps the biggest shame of all.

in the end i think hs^2's legacy is best felt in the places haunted by its premature absence. i'm talking about the comic itself of course but also other spaces and people and projects. stuff that really engaged with the meaty thematic frameworks being thrown up in postcanon that now no longer have a mirror to talk back to - stuff like pesterquest and godfeels and the aforementioned through shadowed eyes that all massively are in conversation with the deeper artistic and philosophical principles underpinning this era of homestuck. if anything else hs^2 will continue to serve as a useful prerequisite for getting into some of the best stuff homestuck fans have ever made. we might never see what could have been, but at least the torch is still being carried by people who care.

#spaceengineerjulia #homestuck asks #homestuck^2 #long post #i had more opinions on this than i'd previously thought lmao

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irregodless · 7 months

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okay so about the chintz

the poem is ekphrastic and so while not essential to understanding it i feel makes the picture important

so the chintz isnt referring to just the fabric. artistically its being used as part of an overarching style. its froufrou. its filled with tchotchkeys. a decadent elegance thats garish and pompous.

see attached a censored image of the subject:

its rancid. its posh. and so there is also art in noting that they fuck on the floor. "to keep it real." keep it basic and natural, fucking on the dirty floor surrounded by elegance, refusing its comforts and instead rolling around on the floor, beneath everything, like would have once been the case.

this is to say nothing of the other uses of "keep it real" where as opposed to meaning to be honest it can be used for a pleasant farewell or something more nebulous like just kinda chilling

but this is not to ignore the artistic genius of keeping it "real" suggesting the chintz is all fake, or at least insincere. whether to tastes, to individual relations, or the human nature

perhaps indicative of the mans relationship with his wife, artificial and superficial where she has force-glammed their house but doesnt reflect him. theres much to say of the misogyny of the idea but im not about to get into it rn

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bigblueoctoling · 2 months

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Side Order Observations about Acht

Some reiterating of points, an analysis of our New Canon, some speculating on the timeline, and a little bit of headcanon.

So first and foremost to reiterate, I really feel like a lot of people are overfixated on the idea of Acht's reaction to Marina and Pearl's relationship being funny. To me, after going through everything, it feels like they're genuinely just trying not to be discomforted by it.

Consider the fact that Acht pretty clearly displays a low self esteem, after everything; a part of why Marina's escape hurt Acht is because of a sense of abandonment- one has to imagine they would feel like they weren't worth saving. Especially given that Acht sunk low enough to become sanitized willingly.

I dunno. To me, none of this really reads as "funny", it's tragic. And there's nothing really to do about it- Pearl is obviously a great partner for Marina- it doesn't feel like Acht has any animosity towards her. A lot of the Funny Jokes about Acht being a Hater feel very rotten to me as a result.

I feel like there's a great amount of meaning to Acht finally being able to sing with their own voice. Mind you, a decent amount of that has to do with my own complexities with my voice, but as someone who had their worthlessness cemented into them their entire life, it's a big step to be able to move forward and present your true self openly.

I don't mean to sound like I'm just venting that people aren't appreciating Acht enough, but it really feels like a lot of people just take them as like a Funny Joke Character and don't take them seriously at all. A lot of this story is about Acht's struggle with self worth. The difference between suffering in silence as long as it meant things were stable, or changing everything into an uncertain future for the sake of bettering things.

I can't help but wonder if Acht somehow fought their way into being here- as I've established previously, it's very nebulous how exactly Acht got *into* the Memverse. But beyond that, the fact that they had made #35 caught is strange, too. One has to assume timeline-wise this happened before Side Order, but... how? If reports of the low-tide party can be considered canon, their music was there as well.

It might be related to the fact that they bring up Pearl's killer wail during the finale of Octo Expansion- seemingly, that was able to reach them while they were sanitized. Perhaps that was able to return some amount of control to them? Likely not entirely, but enough to ambulate without external orders, perhaps.

It's also very strange, to me, that Acht somehow managed to be hurt prior to Eight's arrival, and moreover, that this injury seemed to incapacitate them? While I'm at it, a few theories for that:

Acht's lack of their own Palette (as mentioned in my previous post, due to sharing one with Eight, theoretically) causes them to not actually be considered by the program as a Real Person, and as such, it just doesn't Heal her.

Acht got hurt, and simply Gave Up. Seeing no way to handle this threat on their own and not really having the willpower to fight it.

The story of them getting hurt by a Jelleton was a lie, for whatever reason, and the scar already existed one way or another. After all, the Jelletons don't exactly seem capable of physical injury like that?

Each theory offers an interesting amount of potential, and ultimately it could go either way. Regardless, the cut is very strange.

So, where does Acht end up after everything, exactly? It's kind of implied that Acht did, in fact, go on the world tour with Marina and Pearl and Eight. Again, I have to ask- Marina, Pearl, and Eight all entered intentionally, where was Acht? My only real idea here is back with the "Eight and Acht share a soul and ergo this process automatically pulls Acht in too" theory, so I have to presume she's still in the NILS statue, one way or another. But going off of the map, there's evidently a subway line that leads to the deepsea now, so I have to presume it wouldn't be TOO hard, but it'd still be a bit of an ordeal to find her and get her out on her own. Just a tidbit of writing I'll definitely do once I fic this all out.

But where does Acht go afterward? I can't really help but want to just also put her with Marina and Pearl. The language of her letter implies they don't immediately live together, though. I can't really imagine Marina and Pearl wouldn't do SOMETHING to help Acht integrate into normal society, though. Then again, Acht does produce music which, evidently enough, is at least moderately popular. It's not out of the question for her to get her own place, nor is it out of the question to imagine, as much as Acht loves The Gang, they wouldn't want to feel like a burden on them, regardless of that actually being possible given their Immense Mountains of Wealth. Either way, I don't think I can come to a conclusion here, I'll have to think about it.

I just love love love Acht so much and I really hope that people appreciate them as much as I do. Even if I am greatly biased.

#bluetext #splatoon #splatoon headcanon #side order #acht splatoon

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gasolinerainbowpuddles · 7 months

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The Disquietude of Purgatory║ ⓛⓘⓜⓘⓣⓔⓓ ⓢⓔⓡⓘⓔⓢ

| The Disquietude of Purgatory | part of the Whistle in the Dark collection ║ series masterlist ║ main masterlist ║ | PAIRING(s): Joel Miller x married!fem!OC

| RATING: explicit material | 18+ | WORD COUNT: 9.2k | CONTENT: darker themes and situations than previous installments, discussions/depictions of verbal, emotional, and physical abuse, infidelity (husband cheating on wife), no cucking in this installment, Horny Demon Hours shit

| SYNOPSIS: After the upheaval of Matthew blindsiding you with separation and the destruction of your reputation, you try to pick up the pieces and move forward. Joel is firmly by your side. You want to believe maybe - finally - Matthew’s destructive, vindictive nature won’t claim you as the victim.

You know your silence is bothering Joel, but you can’t seem to snap yourself out of your doldrums long enough to say anything. You aren’t even sure how to put things into words at the moment. It was a hazy walk to Joel and Ellie’s. When you step inside, it’s clear Ellie has been expecting Joel to return home with you in tow. She greets you with a tentative nod, and you return it, grateful she doesn’t seem to require any further social niceties.

You slump forward to take your shoes off and manage to remove them with a little help from Joel. Your movements feel strange, like the blood rushing around your veins was nothing more than millions of little ants scurrying and scratching along your vessels. It was almost a deep itch of discomfort just to be existing. You absentmindedly reach out for Joel, who readily pulls you into him without even glancing down.

His eyes are locked with Ellie’s. He murmurs something to her. Or maybe it’s at regular volume and you’re just stuck in your nebulous cloud of upheaval. You’re faintly aware of their muted conversation but come to when Joel begins telling her that the two of you needed some privacy for the night. The guilt of Joel asking Ellie to avoid areas of her own house just because your life was falling apart? THAT was enough to snap you out of it.

“No,” you rasp weakly.

Joel’s head nearly spins off its axis as it snaps your direction. It was the first word you’d spoken in hours. After the 15 or so minutes of fruitless effort trying to get you to talk to him — to say anything — after he’d found you in the stables, he’d resigned to just pulling you close and holding onto you for dear life.

Never much of a talker for anyone except a handful of people, Joel found it in himself to fill the silence with words of encouragement and comfort. Each word spoken as if they were the string that kept you tied to reality when everything around you had come crashing down.

“No?” Joel repeats, clutching you closer to his side and tilting your chin to look at him.

You give a feeble shake of your head back and forth. “Don’t make her leave. It’s not right.”

“I mean.. I’m good,” Ellie offers up awkwardly. “This kinda seems like a disaster, to be honest.”

“Ellie!” he snaps.

“What?! Oh, I’m supposed to say this all seems totally normal and great?” she lobs back. “Come the fuck on!”

“This ain’t somethin’ someone your age would underst—”

“Uh, it’s really not that hard to understand, Joel. I know a shitshow when I see one,” she snorts. There’s no real bite in her words. Her complete lack of adherence to the basics of social formalities was as jarring as it was amusing. “ I dunno why you’re trying to act like it’s not at least a little bit weird. Even she’s gotta feel like she’s the star of the circus right now.”

Joel makes a strange noise that sounds a lot like he’s choking back a thundering reprimand.

They both draw in a breath, sucking in as much air as they possibly can in order to unleash tirades on one another. Their argument is cut short when you break into a shrill laugh. They both eye you curiously – Ellie more with a concerned squirm – as your laughter grows into a frenzied belly laugh.

“Uuuuhhhhh,” Ellie says under her breath. Her eyes flicker to Joel for an answer. Joel doesn’t have one.

They both stand there as the unwilling and uncomfortable audience to your jubilant breakdown. Tears collect at the corners of your eyes and begin falling down the curves of your cheeks.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you laugh in between breaths. “I just— this is a fucking mess.”

The shear stress of the day has finally worn away all traces of mental clarity, it seems. Ellie’s eyebrows are almost at her hairline as she shoots you an uncertain smile. “I mean, yeah. I, uh, I wasn’t trying to be rude, I swear. It’s just… I don’t mind giving you two some space. ‘Cuz, I mean– like, seriously.”

Joel briefly glowers at Ellie but shifts his attention back to you. “She stays out in the back addition anyway. You ain’t makin’ her leave her own house. She’s just fine. Aren’t ya, Ellie?” His question to her is pointed, but she just shrugs and grins.

“Yeah, old man. I’m fine.”

Joel’s eyes fall closed for a moment as though he’s working up the patience to engage with her further.

“I’ll be out back if you need anything,” she says, slapping him much too hard on the arm that’s not around you. She glances at you thoughtfully. “And, uh, sorry about.. all your… life stuff?” She purses her lips into a pensive frown, evidently unsure of how to word her condolences to you.

“Thanks,” you breathe out in a small laugh.

Ellie gives Joel a nod and heads out back to her adjacent housing.

“We’re workin’ on manners and, apparently, basic fuckin’ social interaction,” Joel grumbles. You note the pink in his cheeks, almost as if he’s genuinely mortified at Ellie’s lack of social decorum.

“Joel, she’s just a kid,” you remind him softly. Your voice crackles from the disuse and all the crying. “I’m sure she doesn’t know how she’s supposed to react. I mean, I don’t even know what to do with myself right now.”

He looks down at you, and his irritated demeanor slips away into a gentle gaze as he takes you in. “Too understandin’ for your own good sometimes.”

You shuffle back and forth for a moment, feeling aware of your body again after your bout of detachment. Joel’s hold tightens on you ever so slightly.

“You here with me now?” he asks gently.

You offer a watery smile and nod. You wrap an arm around his middle and circle the other behind his back to meet it. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where I’m supposed to begin with all this mess,” you sigh. Your bones feel weary. Your heart feels like lead is pumping through it, collecting in your chambers and weighing you down with each pulse of blood.

“I think you should probably eat somethin’, to start,” he suggests.

Your stomach turns at the thought of food. “I-I don’t know if it’ll settle if I eat something right now,” you admit.

Joel runs his large palm against the fall of your hair. “Alright,” he concedes. “Then let's get you upstairs and washed up a bit. See if that’ll get ya feelin’ more like gettin’ somethin’ on your stomach.”

You let Joel lead you upstairs. The numb feeling was still shifting in and out of you. When you realize you’ve stopped walking and have made it to his bedroom, your eyes come back into focus. Joel appraises you with an unspoken question. You nod silently, understanding what it is he’s uncertain how or if he should ask.

“I can? You’ll let me?” he wonders aloud.

“Yes,” you reply in a soft lull.

He doesn’t want you to think about whether or not you deserve it. He doesn’t want you to think about what you have to offer in return or if you'll be able to make it up to him. He doesn’t want you to wonder if he feels obligated to do all of this for you.

Joel wants to take care of you. He wants you to let him.

And you do.

It’s frightening to give yourself over to someone wholly, for them to cradle your sanity in the palm of their hands. He could crush you in an instant, if he wanted to. It’s terrifying and overwhelming, but so is love. So, you let him. Because you love him. You love Joel, and a small part of you knows he loves you back in the same exact way.

“Thank you,” he breathes into your hair as he pulls you into a warm embrace. He draws back to look at your face as he cradles it between his calloused, gentle hands. “I’ve got you, and I’m never gonna let you go.”

You nod and sigh softly when he brings his lips to yours. You sit calmly and quietly as he starts up the shower and undresses you both. You lean into the safe feeling of him washing away the day from you. Just like the water runs over you and spins down the drain, Joel enshrouds you in himself – in his safety – and cleanses the pain and the hardships of whatever else is out there, all to be washed away from you and forgotten.

You were going to be okay. Joel was going to make sure you were okay. Joel loves you. You know he does.

The soft drag of his t-shirt against your body provides a comfort that is only second to being blanketed in his scent. He pulls a pair of pajama bottoms onto himself and rummages around for what you can only assume is something to adorn your lower half. You slowly approach him from behind and place a soft hand across the warmth of his bare back. He pauses to look at you. You know what he finds when he searches your face. The want is all to clear.

“Lay down with me,” you say into the quiet of the dimly lit bedroom.

He nods slowly and pulls you towards the bed. You sidle into the center of the bed together, eyes wandering over the other’s face. Your breaths are slow and soft.

“Tell me what you need, honey,” he implores in a low hum.

Your fingertips trace the lines of his face. You let them graze slowly across his lips and watch as they part obediently at your touch.

“I just want to feel loved,” your muted confession spills out.

Joel’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he settles on silence. He looks as though he wants to say something but thinks better of it at the last moment. He wordlessly reaches an arm around you, cupping your backside, and bringing you flush against him.

“I said it before, and m’gonna say it again. I will do whatever it takes to make you understand the way you can make someone feel about you. To make you understand what I feel for you, my sweet girl,” he breathes into the shell of your ear.

Your skin erupts in goosebumps. The gentle press of his lips along the column of your throat makes your mind feel hazy again. “I want you to show me. Please.” Your words tremble out.

A soft grunt is his only reply before he’s making a steady pass of kisses towards your collarbone.

Your ragged breaths pick up tempo the lower Joel’s mouth works over your body. A soft sigh escapes when he mouths against your breasts. You move to pull his t-shirt off your body, but he stops you.

“Wanna fuck you in it,” he rasps, grabbing at the bits of skin you exposed when you pulled the shirt upward. “Want you to wear me. Wanna be in you. Want you tuh’feel all of me,” he adds in a low, muddled hum.

He kneads at the soft underside of your bare breasts, cresting the pad of his thumbs against your peaked nipples. Your body arches to chase his touch. He switches out his thumb for his mouth as he lazily slips his tongue over them. Your hands fly to the back of his head and the nape of his neck where you bury your fingers into the damp curls of his hair.

He works his way down your tummy. The flex of his hands grips into bits of pliant flesh, eager to be devoured. His kisses across the contours of your shaking thighs send a tingling thrill up your spine. You bite down on your lip to keep the wanton, loud sounds from spewing out uncontrollably.

“S’alright,” he groans against your folds. “I wanna hear what I do to you. Lemme hear it.”

You immediately release the shaky whimper you were holding back.

“God, yeah. Perfect for me, angel. Just like that.”

He flits his tongue along your seam and rolls its against your clit. Your entire body tenses at the sensation, desperate and oversensitive for his touch and attention. He chuckles to himself when your legs automatically start to clamp together at all the sensory input he’s flooding you with. He pries you back open, intent on keeping his promise of showing you what you do to him. He rolls his tongue in curling waves against you, undulating in a merciless circuit against your clit. Your calves begin to shake from how tight you’re clenching them as your orgasm starts to crest.

“Yeah, right there. You give it to me, baby. You hear me? Go on ‘n give it to me,” he goads just before forming a wet vacuum of his lips around your clit. The first ardent suckling that draws your sensitive nub further back into his mouth sets off your climax in a dizzying burst. Your legs seize up, and the harsh clench of every muscle in your body jolts you forward. Joel grabs your hands in his and lets you squeeze them as he keeps suckling and slurping.

Your teeth grind together, but a strangled moan still edges through. Your walls are still spasming when he releases one of your hands and inserts two fingers, immediately plunging them in and upward in a quick looping motion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head. You writhe at his incessant ministrations. You can already feel another orgasm building on the tailend of the last. A third finger and harder drives send you over the edge. Your mouth opens in a silent cry. Joel is panting as he shoves his pajama bottoms off his legs and onto the floor.

“Fuck–fuck,” he hisses to himself, grabbing at his already hard cock. He strokes himself a few times and groans. The red, swollen tip is drooling precome, and you absentmindedly lick your lips when a bead of it starts to dribble down his length.

Your breaths quicken at the thought of how it stings and bites when every bit of it sinks into you. Those first few punches of it against the mouth of your womb. The demand it places on your walls to accommodate him, spasming with the effort of stretching enough for him as he cleaves you in two.

“Put it– please, I want it so ba—”

Joel flips you onto your tummy and sheaths himself into you with one swift plunge. He lets out a pained moan when he bottoms out. You feel the air punch out of your lungs with every sequential thrust.

“Goddamn! Wan’you—fuck—wan’you so fuckin’ bad,” he moans. When you lift your hips so he can go deeper, you swear for a moment you hear him whimper. “That’s it, honey. Yeah, want more, huh? M’gonna give you more, baby. Gonna give you more.”

You reach an arm behind you, and Joel understands without you having to say it out loud. He presses his chest into your back and continues slamming into you. Your arousal only heightens listening to the filthy wet squelching sounds of him ramming into the deepest parts of you. He tucks his hands under your hips to hold them up when they start to drop. You make one continuous trembling moan, only broken up by the breath being fucked out of you every time Joel bottoms out.

When he angles himself slightly upward and starts nudging the ridged, spongy part deep inside you, your balance fails you completely, and you collapse into a trembling mess beneath him as you come. One of Joel’s hands slips between your folds to rub your clit while you ride out your high while the other snakes its way around your neck to pull your head up enough that your crown lay against his shoulder .

“Jus’like thah,” Joel pants into your ear. “Jus’ fuckin’ like that, baby. So-hnnggggg–SO FUCKIN’ good for me. Takin’ me so good. Takin’ me so fuckin’ — hnnnnffffuuu-FUCK– so fuckin’ good.”

He places sloppy kisses along your hairline and neck as his thrust slow. You lay splayed out on the mattress beneath him, shivering and trembling at multiple orgasms in such quick succession. “You’re gonna give me another one,” he huffs, trying to catch his breath.

You whine in lieu of a verbal response, already too fucked out to think straight enough to form anything rational or intelligible.

“So fuckin’ dumb on this cock,” Joel groans in your ear as he flips you back over, limp and already completely spent. “Got you so fucked out, baby. Told you I was gonna give it to you. Tell you how I feel. Show you what you do to me.”

You slur something incoherent back at him, which only makes him grin wildly. His eyes are bright and explosive with something possessive and resolute.

“C’mere.” He drags your body closer to the side of the bed until your legs dangle off the edge. He plants his knee beside your thigh for leverage and presses himself inside you once more. His brow scrunches and matches the pleasured frown he already has at the feel of you encasing him from all sides like the grip of a slick, wet fist.

He captures a soft rhythm with his hips and eases slowly in and out of you. And just like the delicate petals of a flower unfurling until they inevitably separate from the stem, you feel your pleasure gently drifting down down down as you sink into an alcove of content. Your breath catches when he tilts your hips upward just so. He holds your gaze with a burning refrain, the look of a man who wants nothing more than to worship at the altar of your love. You cloister yourselves in the temple of one another.

You feel compelled to speak on the things he makes you feel. The overwhelming joy of his body melding with yours. The safety he wraps you in. The affection he holds for you. “Joel, I– This– Joel, I’m—” Your words fail you. You whimper at the almost overstimulation of his cock dragging back and forth inside your swollen, needy hole.

“Ssshh. I know, baby. I know,” he says softly.

You whine and grind your hips to meet his slow thrusts. You can feel your previous arousal dripping out of you when he pulls back far enough, just before he drives a grueling snap of his cock right back into the furthest reaches of your messy cunt. Broken, breathy moans press from your lungs.

“Ahhhh–I know, honey, I know. I’ve got you,” he murmurs against your lips before sliding his tongue against your mouth until you open for him. He takes his time deepening the kiss, building it into a slow and deliberate thing while he makes you come completely undone.

He hooks his hand under your knee and folds it against your chest, pressing deeper into you with each stroke. A choked gasp gets stuck in your throat when he starts thrusting his thick tip in earnest right against your cervix. Your whole lower half starks to shake again when you feel another wave building in your lower belly. “Give it’tuh me,” he grits out. He pushes the limits of your sanity and clarity when he starts a tight roll of his hips, hitting your cervix in quick succession. “C’mon. Gimme another.”

You brace your bent leg against his chest where he’s pressing you down into the mattress. Your vision goes flat when your climax rips through you. You shriek out in a sob at the force of it. You feel wet streams gather and fall from your lashline. You grab haphazardly onto Joel’s biceps, clinging onto something - anything - as your blistering pleasure wipes your mind of all else.

“YYEaaahhhh,” he groans. You can barely see from the cloud of your tears and the whiteout vision.

“Fuckin’ god, so tight on me, fuck –told’ya I was gonna make you fuckin’ — AGH goddamn—” Joel sounds absolutely wrecked trying to stave off his own orgasm “—fuckin’ cry on this cock again.”

Your vocal chords crackle something akin to a reply. Joel’s hoarse moans and pants are the only thing you can hear aside from the sucking wet squeeze of your walls around him, growing noisier and filthier with the hastening of him pistoning into you.

“Gonna give it to you now, baby,” he pants. “Gonna fuckin’ show you now.”

Your mind barely registers what he’s saying. If everything leading up to this wasn’t already showing you how badly he wanted you and how much you meant to him, you weren’t sure of what else or how much else you could take. You didn’t have long to wonder what else could be coming your way.

Joel braces his arms on either side of your head, looking into your eyes with a feral sort of want, before slamming into you so hard you start scooting backwards each time his hips collide into the cradle of your thighs.

“JOEL!” you let out in a pitched scream. Your walls start spasming with no preamble as he draws yet another orgasm from you. You can feel the snot gathering in your nostrils and dripping to the top of your

lips as you continue to truly cry and sob out in pleasure. You sniff with each pitiful drag of breath you manage to pull in. You feel as though every orifice of your body is seizing, clenching, or dripping.

Joel’s teeth are bared into a gritted snarl, and his chest heaves with the effort of utterly dismantling every part of you. His groans sound only with the air clawing to and from his lungs. He grabs onto you to keep you in place, counteracting your movement across the bed from his merciless drives.

“FUCKIN’ SAY IT,” he growls. He bites his bottom lip so hard the margins of his teeth tinge with blood.

When all you can manage is whimpers and incoherent mumbling, Joel is gracious and compassionate for the state and limitations of your cock addled brain and decides to help you out. “WHO’S GONNA WRECK THIS PUSSY, HUH? WHO’S GONNA SOAK IT??? HUH???? FUCKIN’ TELL ME.”

“Y-Yyouuuuuuuu,” you wail. “You’re g-gonna—” you hiccup at the overstimulation now “—wreck me, my-my pussy. Ohmygod– gonna s-soak it. PLEASE!”

A low, guttural grunt is the only warning you get before you feel the hot liquid siphon of his come spilling out and funneling straight to your womb. He doesn’t stop pushing it as far into you as he can with harsh snaps of his hips until every last drop has been spent and coats your insides.

Joel collapses onto you in a heap, sounding somewhere between pained panting and blissed out, throaty hums. You welcome the weight of him pressing into the expanse you, holding you where he surrounds you in affection and comfort - the little nook of safekeeping he crafted for you to occupy.

He pushes off you enough that you can take a full breath but still has his arm and leg slung over top of you. You can feel his spend drooling out of your used, drenched hole. Without looking at where his hand now sits between your folds, he curls the dribbles into the scoop of his fingertips and smears it upwards to where it leaks out of you. Your breath catches at the overstimulation of him pushing it back inside your opening. He pushes two fingers inside just to hear the sound of his cum squelching into you again.

You sigh a whine at the feeling of him claiming you once more, after filling you to the brim with his cock, spilling out into you until every crevice of your sex was marked by him, making your hole drink him back in when it can no longer hold the remnants of his pleasure.

His breath is hot on your ear. “You gonna keep me inside you a lil longer, sweet girl?” He circles his fingers against your entrance where his spend smears and weeps out.

You turn to face him and swallow hard. Your hands curl around the back of his neck as you give an affirmative bob of your head.

“S’good. S’real good, baby,” he sighs contentedly. “You understandin’ now? Hm? Understandin’ how I feel ‘bout you? How loved you really are?—” he pauses to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear “—What I’d do for you? Jus’tuh call you mine? To have you wrapped up in this bed w’me every night?”

You slowly nod. Joel loved you in the very same way you loved him: fierce and unconditional. As you quietly hold each other, you think to yourself that Matthew’s destructive, vindictive nature just might work in your favor for once.

You had envisioned leaving your desolate, unfulfilling life with Matthew behind you more times than you could count, but none of them were ever like this in your imaginings. The cold, cruel disgrace he’d rendered, layered with an intricate nuance that touched on each and every insecurity you had. It was a reminder of the painful mistake of the wrong person knowing everything about you. Even more so painful when, perhaps, they had seemed like the right person once upon a time.

But there was no going back now. There was nothing you could change about having let Matthew in, having cultivated your own ruination. There was only a path forward, and you took one blind step after another, in search and in hope of finding sanity and peace.

The muted comments you were so used to following you around now felt like claps of thunder with each hushed whisper of gossip the town breathed of you. The sets of eyes following you felt like they had grown tenfold in such a short amount of time. It would’ve bothered you less if you could know for certain it wasn’t the same cloud of shame following Ellie and Joel around. You don’t think you could bear to be the cause of their unhappiness. You would sooner let Matthew destroy everything you have and everything you are before you’d willingly grant him the satisfaction of hurting them.

As expected, Joel insisted you keep a low profile at the house and let him or Ellie run errands. He could see the way the town’s abrupt shift in their perceptions of you and your marriage had gnawed into your chest, snapping the delicate bone that housed the pith of your resilient spirit. He wouldn’t let Matthew’s grip clutch around you like that. He refused.

“I don’t give a shit what anybody has to say, and nobody is botherin’ Ellie,” he insists.

“Joel, it’s not right for me to hide away and let you two bear the brunt of whatever bullshit Matthew is spewing,” you counter.

“Let me be clear. I don’t give a single flyin’ fuck what that asshole’s got stirred up. I care about you bein’ out in it and takin’ it on. I know you do. I know it bothers you.”

You wish you could argue, but it’s true. The way Matthew has twisted the truth of your relationship and dynamic has been brutal to endure, even with Joel firmly at your side. The fact that you immediately moved in with another man set more tongues wagging, only adding onto the idea that neither you nor Matthew were completely faithful partners throughout your marriage and that maybe his never ending string of infidelities weren’t all so illicit afterall. If both parties were in the wrong, neither party could be in the right.

“Tommy gave you the week off for a reason, alright? So use it to get settled in, and let me ‘n Ellie worry about the rest of it for right now,” he reasons.

You hold his gaze, your resolve wilting away with each passing second.

“You get started on some’uh your stuff, and I’ll head over to get the rest of it.”

You sigh and nod, surrendering to let Joel once again step up and take care of you. He wanted to. You kept telling yourself so. He wanted this. He wanted you. It didn’t matter what else came with it. He wanted you. He loved you.

“C’mere,” he mutters, pulling you gently into a hug. He leans back and kisses you. “It’ll be alright. I promise. You just let me worry about it.”

“It’s not your burden,” you mutter.

“Doesn’t matter whose cross it is to bear when I’d take it on regardless. I’m not doin’ this because I have to. I’m doin’ this because I want to,” he presses.

You wring your hands together, trying to think of something to say that would convince him that you aren’t worth all this trouble. As if he could read each thought like it was written across your face in bold, red letters, he cocked his head to the side and grinned.

“You know what I get to thinkin’ when I can tell you got nonsense knockin’ around up there in that brain of yours.”

You feel the pull of a grin edge onto the corners of your mouth. Joel raises an eyebrow at you expectantly. He wants you to say it.

“You’ll have to fuck it out of me,” you whisper in a giggle.

“Smart and beautiful,” he quips with a smug grin as he pulls you close.

You feel the heat of shyness and want creep across your chest and cheeks. You dip your head to hide yourself away a little bit.

He nips at your earlobe. “And you got it just right, honey. Start talkin’ nonsense, and I’m gonna hafta fuck it outta you,” he murmurs in a gravelly voice.

Joel had made trips to John’s over the past several days to gather up all your belongings that Matthew had haphazardly packed up into worn out boxes. Joel had been diligent in his effort to not speak on Matthew’s predatory relationship with John’s daughter Natalie. You had sworn that you wouldn’t divulge any of the details, and for some reason you intended to still keep the promise despite everything Matthew was doing.

This was the last trip that Joel would have to make. He wouldn’t have another opportunity like this to speak on something he felt needed to be disclosed. He had never made any sort of promise to Matthew, so there was no agreement to renege. John fiddles with something in the corner of the room as Joel sets aside his last trip worth of things.

“You know, John,” he hesitates for only a split second before diving right into it. “I got somethin’ to say, and you can do with it what ya will. I just know if the situation was flipped, I’d sure as hell hope somebody’d come tell me.”

John sets his work down and quirks an eyebrow curiously at Joel. Never one to strike up conversation unless absolutely necessary, Joel’s sudden announcement that he had something to share came as more than a surprise. It also lent itself to the inherent weight of whatever was to come: someone so quiet and reserved now has something so compelling that they have to get it off their chest? It must be something important.

“I’m not gonna sit here and say I saw anythin’ with my own two eyes, because I didn’t, but I don’t think that’s a good enough reason anymore to not speak on it.” Joel’s fists clench at his sides. It’s not from nerves. He’s getting angry just thinking about everything Matthew has done.

“Alright. Say what’s on your mind then, Miller.” John jerks his head upwards, signaling Joel to continue.

Joel nods thoughtfully for a moment, wanting to choose his words carefully. If he speaks with all the passion and anger he holds for Matthew’s actions, he will risk coming across as only vindictive and reactionary to the recent events.

“It ain’t exactly a secret that piece’uh shit next door has been with just about every woman in Jackson if they were stupid enough to have him, but I come to learn recently that it might not just be women he’s interested in. Might be the kinda fucked up man to think somethin’ on the younger side was some sorta sick prize to win. Braggin’ rights and all that sorta thing.”

John’s head cocks to the side. His eyes glance towards the stairwell, presumably leading up to his and his daughter Natalie’s bedrooms. When his eyes snap back to Joel’s, there’s a cinder that’s been flooded with oxygen.

“So, if somebody’d done somethin’ to Ellie for example,” Joel continues, emphasizing his commonalities with John, “but I didn’t know somethin’ had happened…..”

John’s brow furrows as his gaze sinks to the ground. He looks deep in thought, disbelief, and realization.

“Maybe I’d wonder why she’d been actin’ off lately. Maybe I’d’ve noticed her lookin’ sorta sad. I wouldn’t’uh said anythin’ to her probably, ‘cause teenage girls just kinda do that stuff, right?” Joel huffs in a humorless laugh.

John’s eyes rise again and have a notable gloss veiling them. He begins to blink rapidly. Joel suppresses the emotion tightening in his chest. The thought of anyone harming Ellie was enough to make him feel helpless and furious. The man across from him unfortunately didn’t have to imagine how he might feel if someone had harmed his baby girl.

Joel’s jaw sets to the side and back. “And I know that - dad to dad - you’d wanna tell me if you even had a shadow of a doubt that somebody had preyed on Ellie.”

John’s face was contorted in rage and comprehension. Joel had to avert his gaze for a moment when the anguished look of failure began to escape through the cracks. He knew all too well the weight of failing someone you were meant to protect at any and all cost.

“So if any’uh that is strikin’ a chord with you… I’m-I’m sorry,” Joel offers gently.

John’s hands are firmly on his hips, mirroring Joel’s stance. He shakes his head at the ground with a sour look.

“Get the boxes and head out, Miller,” he answers in a detached voice. “Natalie’s due home in a half hour, and I’m gonna need some privacy with her.”

Joel grunts in affirmation and packs up the last of your things.

He walked home without a firm understanding of the chain of events he’d just set off. It wouldn’t have come as any surprise to him to know that when Natalie did get home, she was met at the door by her openly distraught father. That when she was asked by her dad if anyone had done anything to her, she shrunk into herself and couldn’t hold eye contact. That when pressed for an answer, she would’ve admitted that she thought Matthew cared about her. That he promised he was in love. That he promised he couldn’t wait until she was old enough that they could “finally be together” out in the open.

Omitting the more shameful details. That it had hurt so badly when they were finally intimate. So painful that her body hurt for the next week. When she’d told him, worried that something wasn’t right, he’d seemed pleased with himself. Assuring her that it was normal for your first time to be like that. Explaining that she needed to relax the next time but shouldn’t be surprised if it doesn’t feel as good for her, too.

Yes, maybe Joel should’ve anticipated some of the aftershocks. He should’ve anticipated what a man similar to him would’ve done at the sight of his baby girl so utterly destroyed and broken - her innocence and trust stolen from her and never to be rightfully restored. That there would be nothing in the entire world that would stop him from finding the person that did it and exacting the cruelest revenge conceivable.

Joel should’ve known that a man like John - a man who much like himself was a protector above all else - wouldn’t let Matthew walk away unscathed.

“Joel, it’s fine,” you insist for the hundredth time. “Ellie doesn’t need to stay cooped up in the house to babysit me. Just let her go.”

Joel grumbles under his breath but generally seems to concede that he might just be going a little overboard. “She can do a sleepover another night. It don’t hafta be the one night I’m takin’ a shift.”

You bury the inclination to roll your eyes. “Half shift,” you pointedly correct him.

“Whatever. Still means I’ll be gone longer’n I should be.”

In some ways he was correct. He shouldn’t have to be leaving the house at all right now, but he’d insisted on taking up some random shifts and half shifts over the next week to help offset the days Tommy had given you to get settled into Joel’s house. There was enough coverage, but Joel seemed on edge about making sure nobody had any room to gripe about the patrol schedule getting off kilter while you’d been given the week off so you could attend to your personal matters.

He’d been even more protective and on edge ever since he went to pick up the last of your boxes from John. You wonder if John had said something to upset him, but Joel didn’t mention anything so you didn’t ask.

You wonder if it was too much to ask Joel to retrieve your things and hold his tongue about Natalie. You hadn’t discussed it, but deep down you know it’s only right to tell John. You decide once you get settled in, you’ll have to talk with Joel about the best way to go about that. Maybe John wouldn’t believe you. Maybe no one would believe you. But at least for your own peace of mind you could know that you tried.

“Joel, it’s fine. I can head over to Tommy and Maria’s if I need anything, okay? Don’t take Ellie’s slumber party away from her on account of me, especially when it’s not even necessary.”

When Joel doesn’t respond, you sigh and set down the jumbled mess of your belongings you’d been sorting through for the past 45 minutes. “Joel,” you implore, cradling his face between the soft cup of your hands. “Baby. Please.”

He huffs and smirks at the petname rolling off your tongue like honey. “You know exactly what the fuck you’re doin’ usin’ that goddamn name on me,” he chuckles.

He grabs you up into a tight hug and nuzzles along your neck. Your low, playful giggle fills the air like a million little bells ringing off. Joel takes a deep breath and lets out a long exhale. He looks down at you with concern.

“You sure you’ll be alright?” he presses.

“Yes. Positive,” you reply with a quick kiss. “Now go on before you’re late.”

A few - several - kisses later, and Joel finally departs. You kick yourself for forgetting to ask him if Ellie would be coming back by after school to get clothes for her sleepover or if she’d already packed them this morning. You decide you’ll make enough dinner for you both just in case she does have to make a stop by the house first. You hum to yourself quietly, trying to pass the time as you sort through your belongings.

You smile softly as you gently place a trinket of yours right next to something of Joel’s on the nightstand. He’d insisted you co-opt his bedroom and make it into your shared bedroom. When you tried to reason with him that he didn’t have to give up his own room, he just ignored you and hauled your boxes wordlessly into his bedroom.

As you look at your things together on the nightstand, you have to admit to yourself that it just seems right. Like they were meant to go together. Like you and Joel were meant to go together. A soft thud downstairs draws your attention to the stairwell just out of sight. You aren’t entirely sure how much time has passed since Joel left. It doesn’t feel like it’s been very long.

You call out his name. No response.

Once more, louder.

Had he forgotten something and come back?

No response.

You set the other trinket in your hand down and head for the door, hoping you’ll be able to better hear the happenings of the floor below you. A heavy creak of the floorboards freezes you on the spot. It’s just outside the bedroom door. A wave of heat and sick washes over you in the deceptively calm quiet that settles into the house and makes the air feel too heavy to breathe in.

A tall figure fills the doorframe. You jump back and gasp at the sight before you. A pulpy, bloodied mess of a man. The swollen bits of flesh that had been pulverized make it hard to discern the distinct features of the face before you.

“Matthew?” you breathe.

When he calmly steps through the threshold of the frame, you can finally decipher enough of his countenance through the black and blue and the swelling. Despite everything he’s done to you, your instincts propel you forward to tend to him. Something that could bring harm to him in this way was enough to make dread grip in your stomach. If Matthew wasn’t safe from whoever had done this, were you safe? Was it going to come for you, too? All in an instant you’re transported back to those days of surviving in the wilderness together, fighting for your lives every day until you made it to Jackson.

You stumble forward. “Wh-What happened?” you ask shakily. You feel afraid in this moment – not of him, but for him. You tentatively extend a trembling hand to his pummeled face. You shudder at the thought of what the confrontation must have been like to have left him in such a state.

A pinching grasp around your wrist stops you mid-air. You hiss at the pain.

“You’re going to insult my intelligence? Really? Just pretend you know nothing about any of this? Like I’m that fucking stupid?” His voice is dangerous, low. Barely restrained fury dances at the edge of it. The words are slightly garbled from the stiffness of his jaw movements. It must hurt him to even utilize enough muscles to speak given the condition he’s in.

Your fear now shifts to its rightful place – to yourself. You’re in immense danger, and you’d only just registered it. Your eyes widen as you try to break free from Matthew’s hold. He tightens it. You wince. He tightens it even more, watching you with a calm veneer of detachment as you squirm at the pulsing, sharp hurt starting to spread up your arm. He grabs your other wrist and yanks you forward.

“If you’re honest with me, it will make this go a hell of a lot easier for you,” he warns.

You try to swallow past the dry patch in your throat. “M–Matthew,” you start with as level a voice as you can manage, “I’m being honest.”

His battered face contorts into a twisted grin. He’d wanted you to answer that way.

He shifts the clutch of your wrists into one of his hands and grabs your jaw with the other. His fingers are pressing mercilessly into the flesh, crushing into your jaw so hard it feels as though your tongue is being clamped in place.

“You should know better than to lie to me,” he utters, venom laced in each syllable. “Admit it. Admit that you went back on your word and told John about me and Natalie.”

It’s a threatening provocation, a challenge that you’re not even certain has a correct answer as far as Matthew is concerned. You shake your head frantically, but the movement is limited by his vice grip on your jaw.

“Liar,” Matthew whispers inches from your face.

He slams you into the ground and pins you underfoot as you try to scurry away. He smacks a cupped hand against your ear, and you scream out in pain. A deafening whistle sound rings through the muffled white noise in the ear he’d struck. He’s suddenly down on the floor with you, grabbing you up by the collar of your shirt and yanking your face around with his vice grip again.

“Let’s try that again, shall we?” he asks into the only ear you can properly hear out of now.

His breathing is labored. His teeth are bared. You’d feel like a prey caught by its hunter, but the glint in his eye tells you that the chase has only just begun. He draws his hand back and slaps your face. You knew it was coming, and you still find shock at the pain. You instinctively cower and raise your hands to hover above you in a sign of surrender. The skin of your cheek explodes in heat and pinpricks. Your jaw feels unhinged. You’re reminded of your father. You yelp when Matthew snatches up a fistful of your hair and drags you closer to him.

“Look what he did to me,” he commands. He jerks you forward to closer inspect John’s work. “I bet you love seeing me hurt.”

You shake your head again emphatically. It’s no use. Another blow lands on the same side of your face he’d already hit. You cry out, rambling apologies for things you haven’t done, begging for understanding of things you didn’t say.

“That’s okay,” he insists in a feigned cool tone. “I like to see you hurt, too.”

He grabs you up with a hold on either side of your upper arms and shoves you roughly into the bedframe’s pointed corner. It’s a harsh angle that stabs into your back between your shoulder blades where he’s slowly pressing you harder and harder into the point. Your breath catches in your throat when he stops for a moment, and you realize it was only to make the next slam into the hard corner all the more unexpected and painful.

“MATTHEW!” you shriek. It’s a hectic plea for him to stop, even though you know he won’t.

“You knew what you were doing. You knew what telling him meant for me, and that still didn’t stop you. So why should I give you the mercy you won’t even show me?”

Another hard blow, to your chest this time. You cough and sputter.

“You know he’s planning to go the the Council today? To tell them everything and demand my expulsion from Jackson?”

His large hand wraps around your neck as his knee pins you against the bedframe and the ground. He slowly begins to squeeze.

“You know what that will mean for me.”

And you do. There were a lot of things that were frowned upon here – stirring up rowdy bar fights, not pulling your weight, going against town ordinances of basic safety practices – but there were a handful of things that weren’t tolerated whatsoever. Murder was an obvious charge. Stealing from the community was another surefire way to guarantee you’d be asked to leave before being forced to do so. Another grievance squarely on that list of absolute nonstarters was the grooming and exploitation of children. It didn’t matter how old Natalie looked or acted; she was still a child. She would be considered such for many more years to come.

Matthew’s fingers tighten around your windpipe. You grab at his forearm but know it will only serve to spur him on. He lets up just enough for you to take a breath before he’s straddling you with his entire body weight. Your eyes are wild and pleading. Matthew’s meet yours, but there is nothing but a black, unfeeling void staring back.

“You know what will happen to me.”

He would have a hard time pleading his case to be allowed to stay in Jackson once John made it abundantly clear that he was a snake in the grass who was capable of some truly deplorable things. There were enough disgruntled husbands of wives that Matthew had entertained who would undoubtedly love to see him get cut loose from the settlement. You aren’t sure the fact of his forthcoming child is enough to save him from expulsion.

“Matthew, please,” you choke out.

“Your father and brother had the right idea,” he snarls.

You freeze in place at the mention of them. The mere memory of them is enough to frighten you into stillness.

“I never understood why they’d beat someone like you, someone so desperate to listen and follow instructions – just to be loved,” he muses callously. You wince at the harsh truth of his words. “I never understood why they’d beat such a pathetic thing. Somebody so aware of their own uselessness.”

Tears pinch behind your eyes.

“Because that’s what you were. What you are. But you can’t help what you’ve always been, now can you?”

A swift slap makes the tears seep to the front of your eyes. His breathing is becoming more erratic. Every strike he lands only seems to fuel his hunger for your suffering.

“I used to feel sorry for you. Desperate for love while being such an unlovable thing. Hardly seemed fair.”

The wet streams trickle down your temple. You sniffle.

“And it didn’t take me long to realize how useful you would be for me. Someone to appreciate and savor any little scrap I offered. Someone so starved for affection that they’re willing to accept anything. Never brave enough to ask for more. Never stupid enough to believe they deserved more.”

“Please stop,” you gurgle.

“I should’ve let them kill you that day,” he grits out. “I shouldn’t have saved your life. It was never worth anything to begin with, and now looks where it’s gotten me.”

You quietly cry. You know there’s never been an adequate way to pay him back for saving your life.

“You couldn’t even make yourself worthwhile being the bare minimum for me,” he breathes out in a harsh laugh. His brow quirks together, an inability to understand how you could manage to fuck up something so simple.

“And now what? I’m supposed to just wait for them to hand me down my sentence? Wait for them to tell me I have to leave?” he laughs humorlessly. “After all the shit I went through to get here. I don’t even know if I’d survive out there anymore. So do I die out there or do I decide my own fate?”

He watches your face with rapt attention, looking for any glimmer of understanding of his meaning. You shake your head, lost in the whirlwind of his madness.

“You have the nerve to take my entire life away from me when you can’t even repay the debt of me saving yours,” he hisses.

“I know I can’t—”

A sharp pop to your mouth stuns you into silence.

“Shut your fucking mouth.”

Matthew is trembling with a renewed rage, a sick hunger about him to delve into your ribcage and tear you apart from the inside out.

“You think that little stunt with Miller was the end of it? Hm? You think I couldn’t see how much you loved watching him shove that sock covered in his fucking COME – INTO – MY – THROAT?!” he accentuates the last few words with jabs of his fist to your upper chest where it meets your shoulder. Not enough to knock the wind out of you, but hard enough to remind you that you’re only breathing because he still wants you to.

You stutter through a gasp and a cough and a choke.

“But that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You want to believe you’re better than me, but you’re not,” he taunts. “And now you’ll end up just like your mother. Dead at the hands of a husband who you could never begin to deserve.”

You still as though ice water has replaced the hot, sticky blood in your veins. Matthew grins wildly at your reaction.

“That’s right. You owe me your life, and it’s high time you paid that debt.”

You start crying again, shaking your head furiously. “No no, Matthew, please! It doesn't have to be this way,” you plead.

“Oh, but it does, my little wife,” he coos in a sickening coddle. “And that piece of shit you let into our house? Who you thought you could just run into his arms and escape our life together? I’m going to wait for him to come back home before I do it.”

“MATTHEW, PLEASE–” you sob.

“Watched him leave the house this morning,” he whispers. “Watched him walk away without any idea of what he’s gonna come home to. And I can’t wait for him to see what his choices have earned him. Can’t wait to see his face when he watches the life leave your eyes.”

He smiles fondly at you. Your throat and chest burn as you cry and beg for him to not involve anyone else. You begin to present any and every reason you can think of for him to spare your life. When you bring up his unborn child, his sneer makes your heart stutter.

“You think I care about that? Some bastard child?” he mocks.

He looks at you with disdain, a disappointment that you still don’t really know him at all.

“You wanna know why I got her pregnant?” he asks softly.

He doesn’t wait for you to answer. “You screaming for Miller to put a baby in you? Because that’s what you really want, isn’t it? To be with him? To have a family with him?”

You don’t dare to make a sound or an expression. This was a dangerous game, and there was already no way for you to win. There were only ways to make it worse for yourself.

“But you’ll never get it. You’ll never have what I’m capable of having. You will never know what it is to have him fuck you until it takes.”

You swallow harshly but remain silent.

“YOU won’t ever have anything unless I’M the one giving it to you, do you understand?” he bites. You watch the pulse of the veins on his temples throb the angrier he becomes.

“You don’t get to play house after you rip my entire life away from me,” he hisses so low you barely hear him with your one good ear.

“Matthew, I’m sorry,” you whimper. He shakes his head thoughtfully. “You’re not. Not yet.”

It’s a constant rain of blows down on you, and you don’t fight it. There’s no use. He’s already decided what’s going to happen, and you can’t stop it.

The last coherent thought that goes through your mind before you lose consciousness is that you realize you never got to tell Joel you love him.

Hey, gang,

Real quick: please be mindful of your responses to this portion of the story.

I’m not going to police anyone’s reaction, but I would like to ask that you take into consideration your words before you post them.

I know it may be upsetting that she didn’t fight back or try harder to escape or what have you, but the truth of it is that not everyone responds to stressful situations like that, especially if your mind has been programmed to respond certain ways to abuse. It is almost a learned, instinctive response sometimes due to years of abuse and mistreatment.

Not everyone is brave. Not everyone fights back. Sometimes people just freeze up. Sometimes people are immobilized by their fear. It doesn’t make them less worthy of your understanding. This is a work of fiction, yes, but many of the elements of the story are all too real.

Thank you for reading, and feel free to rant about whatever sorts of ills you wish for Matthew to suffer.

catch ya later, ♥Puddles♥

#fic: whistle in the dark #joel miller #cuckolding is romantic #pedro pascal characters #tlou fic #tlou

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ganymede-princess · 1 year

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Entanglement Theory | Robert Capa (Sunshine)

Part 2

ship: robert capa X fem!oc

warnings: capa is mildly suicidal but it's basically tooth-rotting fluff for the most part, capa has a bruise from his fight with mace, i try (and fail) to explain several pieces of theoretical physics through dialogue despite having only a layman's understanding of the concepts.

summary: capa's insomnia inadvertently causes an impromptu date.

word count: 3263

a/n: i know almost nothing about physics, but I do try to explore some of the concepts in the narrative here, so when I inevitably get things painfully wrong, please do correct me. AlsoI know that Searle is the medic as well as the psych officer, but you're going to have to bear with me here. I sort of think of Doc as a bit of an all rounder on board: part gardener, part mechanic, part cook. Basically a spare who helps keep everything running smoothly until it's time to treat illness and injuries. Also, yes I made that GIF, that's why it's so horrible and decayed.

written by @ganymede-princess

The floor lights burst in and out of life like tiny stars as I tip-toe down the hall. Icarus tracks my movements closely, giving enough light to see my feet and enough darkness to stay half asleep. The dream is still fresh in my mind, almost more real than the floor beneath my feet. It was frightening, but I wish I could salvage that feeling somehow. The weightlessness and unbearable brightness, the heat and pain so strangely pleasurable, like cleaning corruption from a wound. I wonder if it would truly be so magnificent to die that way. I know I should doubt it- that death is grotesque in truth- but a piece of me still clings to the sense of belonging I felt as my hands turned to dust and burned away into the cosmos. I focus my eyes on the floor lights as they appear and try to bring the vision back into my mind. The lights pale in comparison to the unbending beauty of the sun's surface, but I still see the orange ripples of the source of all life swimming in the tiny artificial effigies. The details of the dream are slipping out of my grasp, back into the shadows of my subconscious when I collide with something warm and hard. I stumble back, sucking in a breath and wheel back blindly to punch my assailant.

"Hey, hey!" A low, gravelly voice commands me, and my arms lock in a vice grip. "Ah- calm down! Icarus, floor lights up."

White light floods the hallway and I come back into myself to see that I'm trapped in the arms of Robert Capa. God help me, he's so cute. His hair is ruffled up and his brow is creased with concern as he sets his nebulous blue eyes on me, locking me into their gravity field.

"What's the matter with you, Doc?"

"Ca-Capa... I'm sorry." I will myself to pull away from him, but time and space seem to stand still. "I didn't hurt you, did I?"

"No, but you were going to." He huffs.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Relax. What are you doing up anyway?"

"I-" As he frowns, it feels as if every pair of eyes in the universe are scrutinising me. "I was just... Taking a walk."

"Where?" A smirk tugs at the corner of his lip like a fishhook.

"Nowhere."

"Funny. That's exactly where I'm going." He lets me out of his grasp and pushes past me to walk a few paces down the hall, then looks over his shoulder. "Are you coming?"

He gives me a rare smile of encouragement, and as I walk obediently towards him I realise he could make me do anything he wanted with just that smile.

As the primary medic on board the Icarus 2, I am essentially the mother of my crewmates. I kiss their grazes and fuss over them all. I listen to them cry and offer what comfort I can before I move them to the more calculated psychiatric care of Searle. It is my job to love these people as if they are my own family, and I do sincerely. I must treat everyone with equal kindness and empathy, never picking favourites or singling out scapegoats, but when I look at Robert Capa, my training is sucked out of the airlock. No matter how much I try to deny it to myself, I know that his safety and happiness takes absolute precedence in my mind. He is my first thought in the morning and the last one at night. Speaking to him is the only thing that brings me peace, even more than the Earth Room. We are a handful of humans traversing the impossibly massive vacuum of space; we should all be losing our minds, but I feel safe as long as I am close to Capa. Even so, dreams can be more frightening than reality. I want to reach for him somehow and ask him to take on the futile task of protecting me from my own subconscious.

My throat dries up and my cheeks are burning as I walk close beside him, my hand inches from his. I could just slip my fingers in between his. Surreptitious. He might not even notice. What might be an insignificant gesture to him would serve to anchor me to reality. I'm not sure if it's my logical side or simply fear, but I stay my hand and follow beside him as he marches through the hallways, fleet footed and silent.

"So, um," My voice wavers. "Where are we going?"

"Almost there." Capa inclines his head toward me and the ghost of a smile passes over his face.

We wind through a few more hallways until we reach the Payload unit. Capa fiddles with the keypad.

"Why are we here?"

He keeps his eyes trained on the keypad, but quirks an eyebrow and bites the inside of his cheek, his expression somewhere between amused and annoyed.

"Primary Payload entrance unlocked." Icarus lowers the intercom volume and isolates her voice to only this corridor so the rest of the crew may sleep undisturbed.

"Mind yourself." Capa warns as he releases the door and steps inside.

As I pad in behind him, it seems as if a whole world is opening up before me. I have only been inside the Payload a handful of times, and the sheer size of the place awes me every time. Panels upon panels stretching for miles in every direction, each one containing enough nuclear matter to fuel an atomic bomb.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" All the wonder I feel is written on Capa's face.

All I can do is nod. There is a power here that none of us can comprehend, maybe not even Capa himself. I follow him as he traverses the scaffolding that runs a few stories above the ground until he sits down, dangling his feet over the railing. I have only ever seen the Payload from ground level, and the huge scope of the glossy black room is all the more evident from up high.

"It's big in here." I say it just to fill the silence.

Capa huffs, eyes alight with amusement. I sit close beside him and try to focus on the view.

"Fifty billion tonnes of fissile material." Capa muses. "Every scrap of accessible nuclear fuel in our solar system is in this room. The Stellar Bomb. Payload. Humanity's final hail Mary. Doesn't it make you feel tiny?"

Though I have heard every detail hundreds of times before, Capa's voice breathes life into the story that every human in the planetary system thinks about in every waking moment.

"I feel tiny next to you." I admit. "You are the Payload. You're the only person in the universe who can pull off the detonation."

"No pressure, huh?" Capa squints.

"None at all." I bump him with my elbow. "But I didn't mean to freak you out or-"

"I've heard it all before, don't worry."

With nothing to say, we fall into silence again. I drop my legs over the edge and kick them like a child on a swing. I tap his foot with mine earning a breathy laugh, and for a minute or two we tussle as we both try to keep our feet on top. He eventually wins by pushing his ankle underneath mine and locking my foot down under his. My heart races so hard that I'm afraid Icarus might ask me why I'm exercising outside of the designated gym room.

"How's your bruise?"

"Hmmph." Capa lifts his shirt to reveal a yellowing bruise on his ribs. "Hurts when I poke it, but it's alright."

"Why would you poke it?" I giggle, trying hard to keep the redness off my cheeks.

"'Cause its there." He side-eyes me. "Anyway, you should have seen the other guy."

"I did! Not a scratch on him."

"That was on purpose." He closes his eyes and presses his hands together as if in prayer. "I'm completely zen in the face of violent aggression."

"Maybe you just can't fight."

"I can fight, I assure you." He cracks his knuckles and eyes me in amusement. "I'd drop you in an instant."

"Sure, you would." I nudge him.

"You wanna go?"

In a rare moment of confidence, I sling an arm around his shoulder and ruffle his long, velvety hair. He tickles my sides in response with dexterous fingers.

"C-C-Capa stop tha-at before I fall off!" I gasp between giggles.

"I've got you." His grip on me tightens, but he keeps tickling. "Now, say 'yes, Doctor Capa, you can fight.'"

"Ye-yes, Capa, you can fi-ight!"

"Doctor Capa!" He grumbles. "I have a PhD, you know."

"Yes, you can fight, D-doctor Capa."

"Say I'm the most handsome physicist in the solar system."

"You're the mo-host handsome physi- physicist in the- the solar system!"

"Good girl." He quits tickling but keeps a strong hold of me while I catch my breath.

"Dr Bigshot PhD," I say weakly. "You weaselled that out of me!"

"You didn't put up much of a fight." He growls in a voice like black treacle, and I notice how close we have gotten.

My eyes trace the dark stubble growing into the hollow of his cheeks, then his heavy, sleepy eyes, his dicky little sideburns, and finally his pink seashell lips. I feel him studying me too, and I can't help but lean closer as he rubs circles on my waist. A husky breath escapes his lips, and he relinquishes his hold on me. Leaning away, he shakes his head as if to un-stick an annoying thought. A strange, guilty sickness grips me. What did I do wrong?

"You wanna see something cool?" He slaps his hands on his knees and stands up, offering me a hand.

I nod dumbly and accept his help, just happy to touch him. Capa leads me to the control room, and goes through the familiar motions of setting up the control panel. I sit down on one of the swivel chairs and watch his slow, methodical movements. I have noticed before that Capa always thinks things through this way, doing everything by the letter. He has the same slow, practiced approach to relationships, after all it took until nearly the end of our training for Capa to really feel like a friend to myself and the rest of the crew.

"Icarus, show me the lights." Capa presses the test button.

"Yes Capa, initiating Payload visual test."

"C'mere, look." Capa pulls me close to him and points out a tiny white star blossoming in the corner of the room. "See, that's a projection of what the Payload will look like when it's detonated. It's called Cherenkov light."

"I've heard of that." I admit as the lights begin to spread and dance across the room. "How does it work?"

"It's quite fascinating, really." Capa murmurs, the wonder clear in his voice. "The light is caused by charged particles travelling through a dielectric medium faster than the speed of light. That's how powerful a nuclear reaction is. It can fire out particles faster than light itself can travel."

"It's beautiful." The lights wink and swirl together like a glowing algal bloom.

"It is. When this thing detonates and all the stars come out, there will be so much energy all in one place that time and space will smear together. For a few seconds, everything will be unquantifiable. The impossible will be possible. You could light a candle in a fish tank, live a lifetime in a second... stand, unharmed, on the surface of the sun."

"It's almost a shame that we won't get to see it up close."

"I want to. I'd die to."

"You better not." The lights begin to fade, and I look up at Capa. "I'd miss you."

"Yeah?" Capa almost smiles.

"Yeah. What's the point in any of this if we can't enjoy the sunshine together back home?"

"You don't think we'll all be sick of each other by the end of it all?"

"Well... I'm already pretty sick of Harvey, but-"

A hissing laugh escapes from Capa, and he covers his face in embarrassment.

"I think even Harvey's sick of himself by now." He snickers

"We should be careful, he might be listening."

"Oh no, he might be." He chuckles and guides me to sit with him on the lounge at the back of the room. In the quiet darkness, Capa's eyes catch the luminance of the control panel lights.

"Where were you going when we ran into each other?"

"I couldn't get to sleep. There was just... so much going through my head with the comms fuck-up, and..." He sighs. "I've just had a lot on my mind."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not yet." Capa chews his lip. "What about you? Where were you going?"

"Oh um," I flush. "I had a dream and it frightened me. I... I guess I was just clearing my head. Can I tell you about it?"

"Sure." He shifts in his seat to face me better, and tucks his feet up under him.

"It- it was us. We were floating together in space. We weren't wearing equipment, but it was warm and we could breathe. Everything was so still, and there were stars everywhere all around us, just like the Payload test. I thought it was beautiful, and I wanted to tell you but it was like I forgot how to talk. I thought you looked like a star too, so maybe that's why I forgot, I don't know."

"Like a star?"

"Yes, you... I don't know. You were you, but amplified. A-anyway, I noticed that one of the stars was getting bigger, and bigger, and then I realised we were falling towards it. We kept falling and falling so fast that we had to hold hands, or we would have lost each other, and the stars smeared out into white lines, but I wasn't scared, and eventually we passed all these planets and I realised we were falling into the sun. We just kept getting closer and closer to it, and I could see more and more of it until it was all I could see in any direction. It was so burning hot but I couldn't die. Eventually we caught right up to it, and it was right there in front of us and we reached out to touch it, but then I woke up so I don't know what would have happened."

"That's incredible."

"It was. It was really strange, though. It was just like Searle said, the light becomes you, and because you were there too, it was like we became each other."

"Do you get why I would die to see the Payload detonate up close? Not even Icarus knows what will happen when she blows. It'll be a big bang on a small scale. It's entirely possible your dream could occur under those circumstances. You could touch the sun."

"No?" I squint, baffled at the urgency of his tone. "No. I- I don't want to die like that."

"It would be beautiful, Doc, but I won't die with the Payload." He is burning with intensity. "Not if you forbid it."

"Were you planning on it?" I laugh, hoping he is joking.

For a moment, he stares into the middle distance, focused on something only he can see. His eyes are blue supergiants; stars that burn hotter and brighter than any other, and die young as they collapse under their own weight and burst out into brilliant explosions of light.

"Yes." He finally says, coming back into himself. "For a while now, I... I've planned to detonate the Payload from inside, so I can see for myself what it's really like."

"Why?" My voice cracks in despair.

"No human being has ever seen such a thing, or ever will again. What is returning to a frozen earth worth compared to seeing the impossible?"

"Everything, Capa!" I want to shake him. "You'll get to see the ice melt. You'll get to see the world as it was when we were children."

"So will everyone."

"Exactly! We'll see it happen together."

He smiles in a ghostly far-off way.

"Forbid me to do it, and I won't."

"I forbid it." The words come as easy as breathing.

Capa nods, a shadow of disappointment passing over his face for a second before it melts into acceptance.

"Okay."

"I'm sorry." I do not fully understand why I apologise.

"Don't be. You just saved a life."

"Why did you give me the choice?"

"What do you know about entanglement theory?"

"What does that have to do with-"

"What do you know about entanglement theory?"

"Very little."

"So, basically, when placed under a huge amount of energy, such as during the Big Bang, a pair of particles can take on some shared property, and even if one of those particles ends up light years away from the other one, you can still tell that the two are entangled because they still share the same property." Capa is alight and animated in a way that only physics can make him. "Now imagine those atoms spend 13 billion years apart, until eventually they end up on earth, one as part of a person in the United States, and one as a person in Australia, and these particles can sense each other. They're calling out to each other, and it effects the people they are a part of. They make them both interested in science, they make them both adrenaline junkies with fucking god complexes who think it'll be fun to get fired into the sun in a big steel stick insect. And, eventually, the two people find each other. Well, one of them doesn't really know how to act for a while, but the other one is always good to him until he realises what he really wants, and hopefully, one day soon, she might let him kiss her and the two entangled particles can touch again."

"My god." I whisper. He can't be serious, can he? "That's some cheesy shit, Capa."

"Yeah, I know." He buries his face in his hands.

"You don't really believe that do you?"

"No." He grins. "No, I'm talking out of my ass here. But it's a good story, huh?"

"I'm impressed. But I need to know something. Capa, if I tell you now that I don't feel the same, will you throw yourself into the sun?"

"No." Capa's face creases in pain. "I already promised you I wouldn't."

"Good."

I lay my lips on his, as gently as I would hold a rose petal between my fingers. Everything he is melts into me, and I am completely and deliciously his, forever. We are simultaneously binary stars, gravitationally bound to one another in orbit, and a pair of insignificant creatures trapped in the void of space by the hubris of our species. Our hands move across every inch of each other in the ancient, desperate hunger that humans have felt for centuries. The hunger to be closer, even when two bodies are pressed flush against each other, the hunger remains. It is as if there is something deep inside each of us that pines to be touched by the other, something that wants to burst out of us and be a new kind of naked. Everything I have felt for Capa since the start of our training boils out of me and into the kiss. I never want to be without him.

#sunshine 2007 #sunshine #sunshine (2007)#icarus 2 #icarus ii #cillian murphy #robert capa #robert capa x reader #robert capa x oc #chris evans #physics #cosmology #speculative fiction #space romance #astronaut fan fiction

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fereldanwench · 4 months

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WIP Whenever (Actually on a Wednesday!)

@chevvy-yates had tagged me in a WIP Whenever thingy last week (I think? What is time) and @breezypunk sharing their WIPs reminded me I meant to do this. So, stuff I'm working on!

Over my Christmas break, I just started barely scratching the surface of working on my own custom poses. Because I'm me, I desperately need some battle couple poses--Fighting side-by-side, holding the other one while they're wounded, maybe fighting each other, etc. I compiled a Pinterest inspo board here to get an idea of what I'm going for.

This pose isn't anywhere close to being finished, but it's a start:

A small confession: while I actually like working in Blender quite a bit, I kind of hate everything else about modding, lmao. I've probably said it before, but my day job requires me to use so many shitty apps and software that always require 37 workarounds just to perform normally--I really don't have a lot of patience for troubleshooting shit during my leisure hours. Hopefully, the project won't become too much of a headache when I get into importing and working with props. 🤞

Virtual photography is always a constant for me these days--I was actually thinking yesterday how it feels like the absolute perfect creative medium for me. I like drawing and writing and 'real' photography, and I very much need to make sure I have more analog and tactile creative projects to keep me sane, but VP just hits in a way nothing else really has.

I am still working on the photostory I shared last time, but I don't want to give away too much there. It's also on a bit of a pause while I figure out some tech issues (read: I regret updating my game, lmao). However, I already have a ton of shots/mini-stories I need to queue up:

Other than that, it's kind of personal reflection shit and contemplating goals/resolutions for 2024. Getting long-winded and a little blunt under the cut:

I've always really struggled with making goals--I don't think I've ever had a situation in which I explicitly stated "I have a goal of XYZ" and then I achieved XYZ. I've had plenty of nebulous "Hey, I think I'd like to do XYZ" thoughts and then lo and behold, I do actually make XYZ a reality, but as soon as the word "goal" is attached to something, I just check tf out.

It was actually something I was trying to talk to my therapist about last summer, and then we kind of hit a dead end on that specific topic and decided I had other problems that were more pressing to deal with, lmao. But all the best goal advice in the world--following the SMART method, sharing it with someone for extra accountability, etc.--Just does not work with my brain.

(The accountability thing in particular always hugely backfires for me because just telling someone I want to do a thing tricks my brain into thinking I did that thing and now I don't need to anymore. Also, I don't like people telling me what to do, so if someone was like "hey, shouldn't you do this thing so you can meet your goal" I will say no just on principle of being a brat, lmao. I really hate that piece of advice.)

I know some of it, probably a lot of it, is fear of failure if I don't meet the goal. I'm very hard on myself--That's a no-brainer.

But I also think some of it, maybe just as much, is fear of success. Which I used to think was the stupidest fucking thing anyone could say about this shit, but success can mean big change. Success can mean increased feelings of imposter syndrome. Success can mean attention and responsibility I don't want. Success can mean bigger consequences if I do fuck up later.

I've come to realize that success is honestly as equally scary to me as failing.

I think this is a big reason I've always been content (or convinced myself to be content) with being good and not great, even if that means I'm not reaching my ~*full potential*~. (There are other external/macro reasons for that too, like my loathing of people trying to push me to monetize my passions, but I don't feel like getting into systemic gripes, lmao.)

Goals that require me to step outside of my usual routine also give me a lot of anxiety, which is something I've working towards managing (you could say that it's a goal of mine to get that under control dfgjhfjgdf), but that's still a very real hurdle for me.

Like I've been trying to go back to a minimum of 20 minutes of dedicated exercise (versus just walking a lot) a 3 times a week, and I get stressed if I miss it, or even just feel like I'm going to miss it (like if 7 PM starts creeping up and I haven't started it yet), but I also get all bent out shape spending 20 minutes on exercising while I'm doing it as if there's a better use of that time and THERE'S NOT. Like, what am I really missing? 20 minutes of scrolling Tumblr? Shut the fuck up, lmao.

All this to say that I don't really feel like I'm ready to set goals in a traditional sense, and that might not be something that ever works for me, but there are things I think would just be... kinda nice for me to do for myself that I want to do this year:

I need to actually be nicer to myself. As a matter of fact, @ren3gade--I hope you don't mind the tag, but I've been meaning to thank you for the "forgive yourself" advice you shared a couple of months back. I started making it a point to use that in my self-talk when I start spiraling, and it has been one of the best means of mitigating certain aspects of my social anxiety. I felt goofy as hell when I first started doing it, but that shit works. Positive self-talk makes you feel better, wow, who knew certainly not me

In a similar spirit, I want to stop being so judgemental about my limitations, and I need to mitigate feelings of guilt when I set boundaries for my mental health and energy. This is something I want to achieve in all areas of my life, but I think the easiest place for me to start flexing these muscles is with fandom. Because, damn, I let myself get into some really bad habits with the CP77 fandom (and I forgive myself for that 🙌). One of the big ones has been putting pressure on myself to keep up with what all my CP77 mutuals are doing at all times, and I'm not doing that to myself anymore. I've spent so much time in the past two years methodically going through tags and blogs to catch up on stuff I missed, and I'm just... relieving myself of this obligation. I know a lot of folks have tried to mitigate that for themselves by encouraging everyone to use their username-tracked tag--I'm not doing that. I'm not giving y'all more tagging work, and I'm not going to give myself the same obligation just in a different way. If I miss a post, I miss a post. Of course y'all are always more than welcome to @ me or send me things you think I'd enjoy (I love that, actually!!), but I'm just one person--I'm incapable of being an omnipresent fandom cheerleader and I don't know why I was pushing myself to be that. Well, that's not entirely true--I have some idea of why, but that's also a mentality I'm leaving in the dust. 😘 Also, for a long time, I did not use the like button for anything other than personal posts purely out of spite because I got tired of people complaining when they'd get likes but not reblogs--My asshole mentality was "Fine, now you get nothing." And that worked for me for several years and several fandoms, but I'm frankly tired of the "like" slander on Tumblr. It's a valid form of interaction and letting someone know you liked their stuff. I don't say this with malice, but other people's mentality of being unhappy with likes instead of reblogs is not my burden to bear. Anyway, I don't want to turn this into a rant about fandom stuff, lmao, but the point is I need more boundaries in my life, and I'm starting here.

I'm happier when I spend more time than I have been on traditional art and creative things that get me off my PC. Like I said above, I love VP so much, but it does unfortunately tether me to my computer desk longer than is probably good for me in the long run, mentally and physically. I stocked up on some new traditional art supplies, and I need to put those to use now that I'm settled into my new place. (And I've been itching to do a charcoal portrait of my bb girl.)

Reading books (gotta be physical, no screens) also makes me feel better. I've got about 7 books on my nightstand that I could totally finish this year--Doing that might be the one stereotypical goal I make for myself.

I want to reevaluate how I "multitask;" in particular, I want to break the habit of always having to have a background show/movie on OR always feeling the need to do something on my computer/phone while I watch a show/movie. Even as a kid (way before I lost my attention span to my smartphone lmao), I've always been inclined to doing something else while I watch shows and movies, but that used to be limited to drawing or painting my nails, which I think is fine. Now I just always feel like I need a screen nearby to do something else, even if there's really not something else worth doing. And listening to music or podcasts while I work on a thing is also fine, but it's gotten to the point where I almost can't have complete silence, and I don't like that. I miss being comfortable with silence while I pour all of my focus into a project. I just need to find some equilibrium here.

I know this isn't exactly a standard WIP Whenever, but me is what I'm working on, and I think it's all essential stuff to nurturing my creativity. 😊

#mine: wip #t: wench.txt

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richincolor · 6 months

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If you're looking for a few books to get you into the Halloween spirit this week, we put together three book lists earlier this year:

3 YA Black Horror Books for Spooky Season

Haunting Reads for Your TBR

Celebrating Women of Horror

And in case you've already seen all of those lists, here are six more books that came out recently that might also fill your Halloween needs:

The Forest Demands Its Due by Kosoko Jackson

A Lesson in Vengeance meets The Taking of Jake Livingston in this page-turning YA horror/fantasy set in dark academia about a queer Black teen who discovers the sinister history of his boarding school and the corrupt powers behind it all. Regent Academy has a long and storied history in Winslow, Vermont, as does the forest that surrounds it. The school is known for molding teens into leaders, but its history is far more nefarious. Seventeen-year-old Douglas Jones wants nothing to do with Regent's king-making; he’s just trying to survive. But then a student is murdered and, for some reason, by the next day no one remembers him having ever existed, except for Douglas and the groundskeeper's son, Everett Everley. In his determination to uncover the truth, Douglas awakens a horror hidden within the forest, unearthing secrets that have been buried for centuries. A vengeful creature wants blood as payment for a debt more than 300 years in the making—or it will swallow all of Winslow in darkness. And for the first time in his life, Douglas might have a chance to grasp the one thing he’s always felt was power. But if he’s not careful, he will find out that power has a tendency to corrupt absolutely everything. A high-octane mystery of murder and magic for fans of Ace of Spades, House of Hollow, and Get Out!

And Don't Look Back by Rebecca Barrow

Harlow Ford has spent her entire life running, caught in her mother’s wake as they flit from town to town, hiding from a presence that Harlow isn’t even sure is real. In each new place, Harlow takes on a new name and personality, and each time they run, she leaves another piece of herself behind. When Harlow and her mom set off on yet another 3 a.m. escape, they are involved in a car accident that leaves Harlow’s mother fatally wounded. Before she dies, she tells Harlow two things: where to find the key to a safety deposit box and to never stop running. In the box, Harlow finds thirty grand in cash, life insurance documents, and several fake IDs for both herself and her mom—an on-the-run essentials kit. But Harlow also finds a photograph of her mom as a teenager with two other girls, the deed to a house in a town she’s never heard of, and a handful of newspaper clippings discussing the disappearance of a woman named Eve Kennedy, Harlow’s grandmother…relics of a part of Harlow’s life she never knew existed. With these tantalizing clues about her mother’s secrets and the power to choose her own future for the first time, Harlow realizes she has two choices: keep fleeing her mom’s ghosts or face down the nebulous threat that’s been hanging over her for her entire life.

Mermaids Never Drown: Tales to Dive For edited by Zoraida Córdova and Natalie C. Parker Feiwel Friends

14 Young Adult short stories from bestselling and award-winning authors make a splash in Mermaids Never Drown - the second collection in the Untold Legends series edited by Zoraida Córdova and Natalie C. Parker - exploring mermaids like we've never seen them before! A Vietnamese mermaid caught between two worlds. A siren who falls for Poseidon's son. A boy secretly pining for the merboy who saved him years ago. A storm that brings humans and mermaids together. Generations of family secrets and pain. Find all these stories and more in this gripping new collection that will reel you in from the very first page! Welcome to an ocean of hurt, fear, confusion, rage, hope, humor, discovery, and love in its many forms. Edited by Zoraida Córdova and Natalie C. Parker, Mermaids Never Drown features beloved authors like Darcie Little Badger, Kalynn Bayron, Preeti Chhibber, Rebecca Coffindaffer, Julie C. Dao, Maggie Tokuda-Hall, Adriana Herrera, June Hur, Katherine Locke, Kerri Maniscalco, Julie Murphy, Gretchen Schreiber, and Julian Winters.

Brooms written by Jasmine Walls & illustrated by Teo DuVall Levine Querido

It’s 1930s Mississippi. Magic is permitted only in certain circumstances, and by certain people. Unsanctioned broom racing is banned. But for those who need the money, or the thrills...it's there to be found. Meet Billie Mae, captain of the Night Storms racing team, and Loretta, her best friend and second-in-command. They’re determined to make enough money to move out west to a state that allows Black folks to legally use magic and take part in national races. Cheng-Kwan – doing her best to handle the delicate and dangerous double act of being the perfect “son” to her parents, and being true to herself while racing. Mattie and Emma -- Choctaw and Black -- the youngest of the group and trying to dodge government officials who want to send them and their newly-surfaced powers away to boarding school. And Luella, in love with Billie Mae. Her powers were sealed away years ago after she fought back against the government. She’ll do anything to prevent the same fate for her cousins. Brooms is a queer, witchy Fast and the Furious that shines light on history not often told – it’s everything you’d ever want to read in a graphic novel.

The Changing Man by Tomi Oyemakinde Feiwel & Friends

A teenage girl is pulled into investigating the truth behind her new boarding school’s decades-old legend in The Changing Man , this debut Young Adult speculative thriller by Tomi Oyemakinde Face front. Watch your back. BE BRAVE. If it was left to her, Ife Adebola wouldn’t be starting at Nithercott School. Because despite her being in the Urban Achievers scholarship program, her parents can barely afford the tuition. No matter who is trying to be friends with her, like her classmate Bijal, or how much the prestigious boarding school tries to pull her in, Ife is determined not to get caught up in any of it. But when another student, Malika, begins acting strange, Ife can’t help but wonder if there’s more going on at Nithercott than she realizes. Could there be any truth to the school’s decades-old legend of the Changing Man? Is there any connection to the missing older brother of her classmate, Ben? As more questions arise, Ife has no choice but to team up with Ben and Bijal to investigate. But can the trio act quickly enough to uncover who is behind everything, before one―or all―of them is the Changing Man’s next victim?

The Grimmer by Naben Ruthnum ECW Press

The small-town mysteries of John Bellairs are made modern with a dash of Stranger Things in this spine-tingling supernatural horror-thriller. After his father returns from treatment for addiction, highschooler Vish ― lover of metal music and literature ― is uncertain what the future holds. It doesn’t help that everyone seems to know about the family’s troubles, and they stand out doubly as one of the only brown families in town. When Vish is mistaken for a relative of the weird local bookseller and attacked by an unsettling pale man who seems to be decaying, he is pulled into the world of the occult, where witches live in television sets, undead creatures can burn with a touch, and magic is mathematical. Vish must work with the bookstore owner and his mysterious teenage employee, Gisela, to stop an interdimensional invasion that would destroy their peaceful town. Bringing together scares, suspense, and body horror, The Grimmer is award-winning author Naben Ruthnum’s first foray into the young adult genre. This gripping ride through the supernatural is loaded with vivid characters, frightening imagery, and astonishing twists, while tackling complex issues such as grief, racism, and addiction.

#halloween #the forest demands its due #and don't look back #mermaids never drown #brooms #the changing man #the grimmer #book lists #horror

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