#anyway time to stop yapping in tags and go to sleep.

[wrvvth]

Finally left the honeymoon phase for arcane season 2 and I can finally admit it genuinely was not that good, but not for the reasons that most people (tiktok users) think

[cassiskurocorner]

Try not to make Sebastian have heated eye contact with another man challenge (Impossible edition)

[bumblevoid]

since the specfic concert i went to (not gonna doxx myself you don't get to know when) has passed,,,

here's the western tanager i drew & gave to @sparkbirdmusic !!

ramblings & ref photo under

genuinely the best concert i think i've ever been to! a great venue, two of my top 3 favorite artists, and the first (standing) concert i didn't almost pass out at? heck yeah!

but seriously even on vocal rest sparkbird was so nice at the merch table,,, and omg the unreleased songgggg & the collab one???? araghsgshh words cannot describe how incredible the whole experience was,,, and between sparkbird's set and shayfer james' set a whole bunch of us just started nerding out together about the life series which was so cool??

oh yeah also reference pic i used! not sure who took the photo, just found it on google (lmk if you know though!). working on this has kept me sane studying for finals, though a number of people in my dorm hall have heard me muttering over and over "sparkbird's sparkbird for sparkbird" sooO-

[roocomehome]

i've just been reminded of one of my favorite things in all of RDR2 and it's Arthur's journal,,, I loved doing stuff around the world, hunting specifically, and remembering that Arthur will just passively and occasionally draw or write something,,, There's something beautiful about that which makes me love the game so much more, like I would scope out some birds, discover a new species and the next day when I woke up and checked the journal, Arthur drew those birds and it just made me smile, it makes him feel much more human, and makes the journal much more worth it to look at and isn't just some feature to tell you about this or that, it's *actually* a journal that he uses,,, Now granted it is a bit weird that his journal has infinite pages, but idc LMAOO I'm just here to appreciate the beautiful nature of Arthur's journal

[chiistarri]

i hate change id rather die

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 3

summary: when nothing comes of the frantic call for help you'd made just before joel had attempted to take your life, you realize that he had been telling you the truth—nobody cares about you, and nobody is coming for you. the fear of being forgotten becomes so overwhelming, you decide to go against your better judgement in a last-ditch effort to make sure that somebody knows you're still here. what you hadn't anticipated, is that you'd be putting more than just your own life in danger by doing so.

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy issues, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, introduction of female original character, reader's skintone shows bruises, reader has at least shoulder-length hair, reader's hair texture can be put into ponytails, reader has pubic hair, groping, fingering, kissing, fingersucking (both reader and joel), mild blood kink, domination and control that is essentially abuse, development of stockholm syndrome, pet names (baby, darlin', babydoll, sweetheart), story inspired by "preacher's daughter" by ethel cain, vaguely set in the 70s, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 12.9k

a/n: heyyy... how y'all doin... it's been a while. i am very excited to share the next part of this story, written by some miraculous feat of perseverance. if you're still here, thank you for sticking around. i love joel and babydoll so so much and they have never left my heart or my mind, even when i was taking a break from them. i thought that putting a hard stop to my hobbies while i was having a difficult time at work was a good coping mechanism, but i realized last month that i can't let them take my creativity away from me no matter how hard they try. thank you @chippedowlmug and @polaroidpascal for always yapping with me and keeping their story alive even when i didn't have it in me to write it all down. there is much more of them still to come, thank you for being here <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 4

You can’t sleep.

Each time the air conditioning kicks on, or the pipes let out a rattling groan, or the mattress springs creak underneath Joel’s weight, your eyes snap open again. Each time you hope to awaken to the sight of blue and red lights streaming in through the crooked blinds, and each time you’re disappointed. Your heart rate hasn’t been able to settle into any kind of steady rhythm all night, the muscle beating erratically every time you hear so much as a cricket chirp or a gust of wind outside. You could’ve sworn at one point you had heard distant footsteps crunching through the gravel parking lot, and you’d held your breath as you imagined they belonged to a police officer coming to your rescue, sent by the woman who had picked up your call for help. Any minute now the footsteps would reach your room, and you’d hear fists pounding on the door as they demanded entry. 

That minute had turned into five, then ten, and then fifteen, before the sound had repeated itself, and you’d realized it was just some nocturnal critter rustling around in the trash can outside the door. 

It’s been hours now since you’d made your futile little escape attempt, since you’d uttered all of about four words to the woman on the other end of the line before Joel had pounced on you like an animal, ripped the phone out of your hand, and dragged you back into his lair. 

…Someone had picked up, hadn’t they? Your memory is failing you now. Maybe the line was dead, maybe you hadn’t inserted enough coins for the call to go through, maybe you had only wanted there to be somebody out there who cared, and you had just hallucinated the woman’s tinny voice in your terrified state.

What you can be sure you hadn’t hallucinated, however, is the contents of the box you wish you had never pulled out from underneath the bench seat. You can’t escape the graphic memories of the polaroids that project themselves onto the backs of your eyelids each time they dare to close, jolting you back into reality the second your consciousness begins to slip away. You can’t help but think about how Joel had made you lay perfectly still for him while he forced himself inside of you, and you taste bile in the back of your throat as you wonder if he had ever really violated any of the other girls that way, or if it was just some sick fantasy.

You’re almost certain of what the answer is, but you try to swallow it down along with the sourness in your mouth.

You think about how scared you were, how scared you are, and how scared they must have been in their final moments, knowing there was nothing they could do anymore except submit themselves to his violence and hope he would at least make it quick. Eighteen or so years’ worth of dreams and desires and ambitions dashed in a single night, snuffed out in an instant as he reduced their bodies to nothing more than something limp and pliant for him to play with. You think about Ruby, and try to blink away the sudden vision of sunken glassy eyes and blonde ringlets covered in dirt and blood, skin pale and body decaying in a forgotten patch of land off the side of the road somewhere. You hope if he had ever spared even one of them from his grotesque defilement, that it was her.

You’re crying, you realize, when you feel a hot tear pooling in the shell of your ear, and you try to suppress your shuddering sobs as the guilt begins to feel all-consuming. How come you’re still alive to feel Joel’s hot breath raise the hairs on the back of your neck, and yet there’s a fucking shoebox full of dozens and dozens of girls who’d been brutalized and violated and discarded like trash? What makes you so fucking special? Being lost and naive and stupid enough to play into his little game without knowing what the cost would be if you’d tried to back out, to say that you’d changed your mind because he was too rough and controlling and it wasn’t fun anymore, like the rest of them probably had? It isn’t fair that you get to escape their fates just because you were the only one fucked up enough to enjoy the game, at least while it had lasted.

You’re going to wake him up with all your sniffling and shivering if you don’t get yourself under control somehow. You need to breathe. You need to get some air. Feel the breeze on your face and look up at the stars and calm yourself down enough to try and get at least a couple hours of sleep tonight. Lord knows you’ll probably need them tomorrow. 

Although Joel had fallen asleep with his arm locked tight around your chest, it rests across his own now, rising and falling slowly with his breathing. He seems to be in true, deep sleep, having laid perfectly still for the past couple of hours save for the bear-like snorts he lets out every once in a while. Must have really worn himself out last night, you think to yourself, the tone of the voice in your head dripping with venom.

You wait another couple of minutes for the AC unit to turn back on, and use its obnoxious metallic rattling to cover the sound of you peeling back the thin sheet and musty comforter. You do so carefully, in as slow and as delicate movements you can manage in your current state, practically placing your feet on the carpet one toe at a time before pushing yourself up to a standing position. Joel makes some kind of grumbling cough just as you finish straightening out your spine, and it startles a gasp from you. You cover your mouth quickly and turn back to face him with wide eyes, afraid that you’ll find his own darkened ones staring back at you. 

They’re still closed, to your immense relief, but his mouth is hanging open now, his sharp canines catching the moonlight in a way that sends a shiver down your back. You still have another minute or so of cover from the air conditioning before the room is cloaked in sinister silence once again, so you use your last remaining seconds to sweep the floor with your bare feet, blindly feeling around in the dark for your shoes. Come on, where the fuck are they? you wonder, sure that you would’ve kicked them over by now, if they were still in the spot Joel had put them after he had stripped off your clothes and pulled you into the shower with him. 

Fuck.

He locked them in the fucking truck, along with the rest of your clothes, along with all of his clothes and both of your bags full of your modest belongings. You’d been tucked into bed already, sniffling quietly into the pillow as he’d made one last trip outside in nothing but his briefs just to ensure that you wouldn’t be motivated to try something again during the night. You’d hardly be able to make it anywhere without a stitch of clothing on your back except for his threadbare t-shirt, after all, the length of it just barely enough to cover the tufts of curls that poke out from the apex of your thighs. 

“Just a lil’ insurance policy. You understand, sweetheart,” Joel had whispered, slipping the key to the truck underneath his pillow before slithering into bed behind you, wrapping his arms around you and constricting you like a snake. 

Fuck it. It’s been too long. You tiptoe across the few feet of space between your side of the bed and the door to the room, thankful that the AC rattles out one last dissonant groan loud enough to cover the squeak of the hinges and the click of the lock. 

Free from the confines of that cage-like room at last, you shakily exhale the breath you’d been holding, and the desert air is cold enough for you to see the pale cloud of it against the onyx-colored sky. With your back pressed up against the door and your hands splayed out against the wood, you look up at the endless expanse of stars above the treeline and let out a shuddering sob, the sight both comforting and overwhelming all at once. 

You feel small. You feel lost. You feel trapped. Scared. Sick. Confused. Everything. Nothing.

There’s a whole world out there, right in front of you, all around you, and it was waiting to welcome you with open arms, if you hadn’t fallen into the wrong ones first. You feel both grateful and damned to be alive, relieved that you’ve been fortunate enough to live to see another day, but knowing that each one that follows will be spent with him. In his captivity, doing his bidding, spending the rest of your life trying to decide which side of his polaroid camera is the worse one to be on. 

The polaroids. You just can’t fucking get them out of your head. The only physical evidence of what happened to any of those girls, now sitting at the bottom of a gas station trash can, likely covered up with empty soda cans and fast food wrappers and grease-stained napkins by now. That black plastic bag was probably tossed into a dumpster sometime last night, ready to be loaded onto a trash truck and taken to a landfill, never to be seen again. Discarded. Forgotten.

If anything, you wish you could at least provide some kind of closure to their parents, to Mr. and Mrs. Carpenter, who only gave up the search for their daughter because they had let the police convince them that their bright, beautiful, and promising child had just decided to run away that summer. You wish you could somehow make it back across the country, walk up to their home and knock on the door and be able to tell them “I know what happened to her. A man took her—a monster. He killed her. I’m sorry.”

But then, what condolence would that provide them, without a body to lay to rest? You wouldn’t even know where to begin to look for her. Joel probably doesn’t even fucking remember where she is anymore, where any of them are. He probably just picks the most unassuming, low-trafficked area he can find nearby to dump their bodies after he’s done with them, chosen as carelessly as he would the next cigarette out of his pack—a thatch of tall grass off the side of a back road, a pile of dry-rotted debris where a barn once stood, an algae-covered pond behind a long-abandoned farmhouse. Bleak, filthy, forgettable places, where nobody would ever be able to find them.

Another sob wracks your body, and you muffle the sound with your hand as you slide down the door, your knees giving out from underneath you as you collapse onto the sidewalk. 

Nobody knows where you are, or what happened to you, and nobody fucking cares. Not the police, not your own mother. You’ll be forgotten just like the rest of them if you haven’t been already, whether you make it out of this alive or not. 

You can’t bear the thought. You thought you could, when you had first left home and started following Ruby’s trail all that time ago. It had seemed inspiring at the time, the idea of leaving that suffocating little town in search of somewhere else to plant your roots and let yourself bloom. But now… you have to make sure that someone knows the truth. Whether they care about you enough to come to your rescue or not, you need at least one person out there to know that you didn’t just vanish into the wind. That you’re still alive. That you’re still out there. That you haven’t given up yet.

You close your eyes for a moment, taking a few steadying breaths as the cool night breeze dries your tears and the thin veil of sweat that your anxious spiral had produced. When you open them again, your gaze lands on the payphone across the parking lot, and you heave a despondent sigh as you study a moth fluttering dizzily around the bulb that illuminates the little booth. The phone is even more useless to you now than it was the first time, without access to the handful of quarters that are still locked inside Joel’s truck. With that option eliminated, you push yourself up to your feet, and feel the tiny muscles in your toes spasm with the desire to run. You try to rewind your memory several hours back, searching for even a glimpse of something that might tell you where the fuck you are, which direction to head in—had you passed any street signs, local schools, city halls, anything? You must’ve been too terrified to pay any attention to your surroundings as Joel drove from the gas station to the motel, devoting all of your focus to planning your failed getaway. Joel was probably counting on that, and had intentionally picked this drab little motel in the middle of fucking nowhere in order to imprison you here.

You finally tear your eyes away from that hopeless, trapped little moth, instead turning your head toward the motel office all the way down at the end of the row of rooms. There’s a dim light on inside, but no other sign of a person working there. Considering the isolated nature of this bygone stretch of highway, the motel might not even get enough business to justify paying a person to man the front desk all night. You chew on your lip, debating if it’s even worth a shot just to take a look around and see if you can find anything of use in there.

Your feet are stepping one in front of the other before you can stop them, leading you toward the door with “OFFICE” painted on the glass window in bold red letters. Goosebumps rise on the exposed skin of your legs as you walk, and you almost hope that there isn’t anybody in there after all, just to spare yourself the embarrassment of having to talk to some innocent bystander while you grasp desperately at the bottom hem of your shirt and your remaining shreds of dignity. You hate how well Joel’s little “insurance policy” is working exactly the way he wanted it to.

The doorknob is cold against your fingertips, and your breath hitches in surprise when you’re able to turn it with no resistance. You slip inside the office and close the door behind you quietly, taking a beat to survey the wood-paneled room—there’s a corkboard of room keys with only one empty hook, a clock on the wall that makes you jump with each startling tick, and a coffee maker in the corner covered in a thin layer of dust, illuminated by the slices of white moonlight coming in through the blinds. It’s all too still, too untouched, everything about the room only emphasizing how absolutely alone you are here. And yet, you can’t shake the eerie feeling of a presence, of eyes on you, watching you and waiting to jump out from the shadows and drag you back to your keeper. 

Just find what you came in here to look for and get the fuck out, you scold yourself, stepping behind the front desk and opening each drawer one by one as you search for the handful of items on your mental checklist—a pen, paper, an envelope, and a stamp. 

It’s not your brightest idea, attempting to send a letter back home to your mother. But it’s better than doing nothing, just disappearing into the forest and letting the monster that lurks there kick dirt over your trail of breadcrumbs. Even if just one remains, it will be enough to prove that you were ever there at all.

The pen and paper were easiest to find, sitting right on top of the desk in plain sight. You’d torn off a sheet of the motel’s personalized notepad, the place’s name and address printed neatly across the top. If your mother does find it in her heart to come looking for you, at least she’ll know where to start.

The envelope and stamp are proving more difficult to locate, and each deafening tick of the clock above your head taunts you with its reminder of how much time you’ve been in here, out of bed, away from Joel. Your searching becomes a little more frantic, less gentle moving of objects out of the way and more haphazardly swiping them around the drawers in your fruitless scavenging. 

“Um… hi there—” comes a voice from behind you, nearly startling a scream from your throat as you whirl around. You hit your hip on the open drawer and wince, and the owner of the voice puts her hands out in front of her, as if she had just spooked a small dog. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you…” She flits her eyes up and down your minimally clad form as she apologizes, and you self consciously yank your shirt down over your thighs. “Are you okay? Can I help you with something?”

She’s young, pretty, maybe a few years older than you, with doe-like green eyes and a pale face dappled with caramel-colored freckles. 

“I-I was just, um… looking for an envelope? A-and a stamp, if you have any,” you confess shakily, your heart pounding and cheeks burning as you fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt. You glance over the girl’s shoulder and see a door you hadn’t noticed before, now open. There’s a drab-colored couch and a small flickering TV inside, playing at a volume low enough that you hadn’t heard it at all through the closed door. She must spend most of her night shift in there, watching reruns of old movies and munching on stovetop popcorn to stay alert just in case some poor soul comes stumbling into the office in need of her assistance. You feel a small pang of jealousy in your stomach as you imagine what a relaxed, carefree night she must have been having, while you were fighting for your life under the very same roof.

“Oh, sure! They’re just, um… Excuse me—” she says meekly as she steps in your direction. You scurry out of her way, swiping the pen and paper from the top of the desk as you do. She takes your place to crouch down and tug open the very bottom drawer in the stack you had been searching through, and rifles around for just a moment before she finds what she’s looking for. She hands the items off to you as she rises back to her full height, just a couple of inches above your own. “Here you are. Is that all you need?”

Yes. No. Not even fucking close.

You turn over the stationery in your hands, running your thumbs across the smooth surface of the envelope as you debate whether or not you should ask her for what you really need—help. 

But the girl has so much life in her eyes, so much color in her cheeks that you can see even in the office’s low lighting, that you’d never be able to forgive yourself if you decide to involve her in this. Her face would be printed on the side of a milk carton the second you open your mouth.

“Mhm, just this stuff. Thank you.” You do your best to make it sound like the truth.

“...Are you sure?” She presses, gesturing to either side of her neck, her auburn eyebrows peaked with concern.

Shit.

In your effort to make sure your bottom half stayed covered, you had forgotten about the dark marks Joel had created around your throat just a handful of hours earlier. They must be pretty noticeable already, if this girl—Chrissy, her name tag reads—is able to spot them just by the light of one yellow bulb and a few slats of moonlight.

You nod, fighting the whimper that threatens to escape when you bring one hand up to press into your bruises, the other holding your letter-writing supplies in front of your lap.

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” you lie, though you can tell she doesn’t believe you. You wouldn’t believe you, either. But you’re thankful that she decides to let it go, anyway. 

Chrissy nods, too. “So… you’re trying to mail a letter, then? We can’t really send it from here, but there’s a few mailboxes in town, if you’re gonna be sticking around for a little bit.”

“Oh, um… I’m not sure. Maybe,” you reply, offering a small smile as you shift your weight awkwardly. “Thank you.”

Chrissy presses her lips together, giving you another quiet nod along with one last sympathetic glance at your disheveled form. “Are you sure you don’t need anything else? I might have a pair of sweatpants with me if you—”

“No, no, it’s okay. I have to… he’s gonna, um…” You fumble, gesturing back to the room at the end of the row while you scramble for some kind of excuse that doesn’t give too much of your situation away. “I’m just going back to bed anyway, so… I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

A few beats of silence linger between you before you speak up again. “Could I write it in here, though? Just like… at the desk? I’ll be quick, I promise.”

She looks at you like you’re a kicked puppy as she replies, “Of course you can. I’ll be back there, if you decide you do want the change of clothes after all. If you could just close the door on your way out, and… be careful, okay?”

“Okay,” you half-whisper, and you can’t help the way your bottom lip trembles when Chrissy retreats back into that cozy little room, leaving the door cracked open just enough for the voices from her movie to keep you company while you write. You glance up at the clock once before you begin, promising to allow yourself no more than five minutes to say what you need to say, seal it away in the envelope, and sneak back into bed without Joel ever noticing you were gone. 

You used to pride yourself on your neat handwriting, when you were still in school and a thing as trivial as that actually mattered. But you haven’t had to write anything by hand in so long now that you hardly recognize the disconnected capital “T”s and chaotically pointed “M”s as you scribble them down. The words are still mostly legible, though, even the ones that were accidentally blurred by stray tears you couldn’t wipe away in time before they hit the page.

You read over the letter once as the clock counts out your last remaining seconds, and decide it’s good enough to be slipped inside the envelope and secured with a swipe of your saliva. Your stomach flips when you go to write your home address on the front, fearing that you’ve forgotten it in all the time that Joel has spent scrubbing you clean of who you were before you met him. But when you close your eyes, you hear the song your father used to sing to you to help you remember it when you were little, in case you ever got lost and needed to tell someone where you came from. It had never really come in handy, until now.

With your sufficiently addressed and stamped envelope in hand, you quietly exit the office and pad your way back down the sidewalk to the room where your captor lies waiting. You press your ear to the door before entering, and wait until you hear the telltale groan of the air conditioning kicking back on. When the mechanical sound reaches its full volume, you slip back through the door and shut it behind you all in one swift, delicate movement. You slink over to your side of the bed like a cat, and tuck the envelope underneath the mattress as you gently crawl back underneath the covers, next to Joel’s still-sleeping form, in the exact same position you had left him in. The slight disruption of your weight depressing the mattress prompts him to roll over in his unconscious state, and his skin is scorching against your own as he wraps you up in his arms again, pulling you tight against his chest. He gives a slow buck of his hips against your backside and releases a quiet growl into your hair that makes you shiver despite the heat he radiates.

You can’t fight the pull of your heavy eyelids for much longer, the wave of adrenaline you had been riding all night finally coming to a crest and crashing against you all at once. Telling your story, getting the words down on paper, having some kind of half-assed plan to make sure you don’t just disappear into the ether, seems to have given you more peace of mind than expected, at least in your delirious, traumatized, and sleep-deprived condition. For now, you’re still treading water, still holding your head above the surface of the deep dark unknown that awaits, and it’s enough for your exhausted mind to finally show you a few hours worth of mercy. 

You will survive this, you won’t disappear, even if you have to take it one excruciating day at a time.

—

The first day of the rest of your life begins that hazy morning after, when Joel finally rouses around ten o’clock from what seems to have been a relatively deep slumber. He tightens his grip around your upper body as he purrs out a sleepy groan, wetly kissing under your ear before mumbling, “Mornin’ babydoll.” Your body seems to have not caught up with reality just yet, evident in the way your cunt still flutters involuntarily at the sound of his gravelly morning voice and the warm slide of his tongue. You curse yourself for the instinctual reaction, wishing you could just reset all of the ways that your nerves have been trained to react to his touch over the past few months.

“Morning, Joel,” you whisper, and you can feel his half-hard length pressing into your back.

“You sleep okay, sweetheart?”

Your eyes go a little wide at his question, and you’re grateful that you’re still facing away from him. Is this a test? You can’t be sure anymore. But if he had ever realized you were gone during the night, surely he wouldn’t wait until the next morning to do something about it… right?

You nod. “Mhm, fine.” Your voice cracks a little, but Joel doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good, tha’s good…” he snakes a hand between your legs, finding its way underneath your—his—oversized shirt to lightly prod at your bare little hole. “And how’s she doin’, hm? Was dreamin’ about her all night, how fuckin’ good ‘n tight she was for me… She feelin’ sore at all this mornin’, babydoll?”

“A little, yeah.” His touch makes you shudder, but you know better than to try and reject it.

Joel tuts, circling the roughened pad of his finger over your clit. “Poor thing… ‘M sorry about that, baby. Jus’ got a lil’ carried away last night, tha’s all. You forgive me, don’t you, sweetheart? You understand?”

You hesitate, swallowing down the bitter taste of the lie you’re about to tell. “Yes, it’s… it’s okay, Joel.”

“Mmm, just the sweetest lil’ girl, ain’t you?” Joel says, swiping two of his fingers through your folds to collect some of your involuntary slick. He pulls his hand out from under the covers and sucks one of the damp digits into his mouth, releasing a pleasured groan. Joel gives another slow grind into your ass before bringing his hand in front of your face, pushing the other still-wet finger between your lips and forcing you to taste yourself. “See how sweet she is for me, baby? Think she forgives me too, don’t she?”

You nod around his finger, humming in pretend agreement.

“Perfect… so perfect for me, my lil’ doll,” Joel muses, sliding his finger back and forth across your tongue and teasing the back of your throat with each intrusive thrust. You fight to suppress your gag reflex until he eventually removes his finger from your mouth, wiping the dampness off on your shirt. “C’mere, pretty girl. Gimme a kiss,” he grumbles, gripping a paw onto your shoulder and pulling backwards, using the leverage to get you to roll onto your other side to face him.

The warm morning light coming in from the window illuminates the back of his head, highlighting the way his mussed salt and pepper locks stick up every which way. This is the first time you’re getting a good look at him since you had first spotted his disturbing keepsake box peeking out from underneath the bench seat, since he had snapped at you for trying to grab it, since you had still thought that would be the worst thing he’d ever do to you. It’s almost comical, in a sinister sort of way, how harmless Joel looks like this, with his scarred nose and stubbled cheeks still rosy from sleep.

You hadn’t anticipated how complicated it would be to still have to feign intimacy with him, how dizzying it already feels to stand on the sidelines in your own mind and watch your desire wrestle with your disgust. Joel presses his lips against your own, and you do your best not to grimace as you kiss him back. He still feels the same, still tastes the same, like black coffee and cigarettes and spearmint. But he isn’t the same.

Joel parts your teeth with his tongue as he deepens the kiss, hungrily lapping into your mouth as you let him take what he wants, only pulling away from him once he breaks the connection first. He brushes some of your hair away from your face when he does, admiring your slightly swollen lips as he rubs his calloused thumbs across your cheeks.

“Whaddya say we just have ourselves a nice afternoon together, hm? Think there might be a lil’ town nearby, could get us somethin’ to eat, maybe even do some shoppin’, dependin’ on what’s there.”

There’s a few mailboxes in town, if you’re gonna be sticking around for a little bit, you hear Chrissy’s voice repeat what she had told you last night, and feel an exhilarated pang in your chest when you remember the envelope you have hidden beneath you.

You try not to answer too eagerly, taking a beat before you respond with a quiet “Really?” “Yeah, babydoll. Why, you don’t wanna?”

“No! No, I—that sounds good. I just didn’t think… I thought you’d wanna get going again, or something. After… you know.” You bring your hand up to touch the sore sides of your neck instinctually, unable to bring yourself to say it, to think about it for longer than a couple of seconds. 

“Like I said, sweetheart. We’ll just leave your hair down today, nobody’ll see ‘em,” Joel says casually.

It’s unsettling, the evenness in Joel’s tone as he suggests having a normal day together, attempting to just move on as if the contusions you’re discussing aren’t a direct result of his abuse. You’ve only just woken up, and you’re already feeling the whiplash from the softness of his words in comparison to the degradation he was spitting at you last night. You wonder how much of it he even remembers, if he had really just let some entirely separate entity inside of him get “carried away”, or if it was all Joel. He couldn’t have been that good at hiding his true self from you the entire time you’ve known him, could he? What does it say about you if the signs had been there all along, and you’d either chosen to ignore them, or missed them completely? How can you ever be sure now which Joel you’re in the company of at any given time?

“Okay,” you agree, putting on a small smile that he’s quick to return. 

“Alright, we’ll get to it, then. Jus’ stay put, sweetheart, lemme bring our stuff back inside, find you somethin’ to wear.” Joel plants a whiskery kiss on your hairline before tossing the sheets aside and rising to his towering height, retrieving the key to the truck from underneath his pillow in the process. You can’t help the way your stomach flips as you watch him lumber towards the door, squeezing your thighs together under the covers at the sight of his visible morning wood bobbing in his briefs with each heavy step. You roll back onto your other side as soon as he steps over the threshold, letting the corners of your mouth drop as you curse yourself again. Is this how it’s going to be from now on? A constant battle between wanting to forget and feeling disgusted with yourself for even trying to? There has to be some way to navigate this without completely fucking loathing yourself for just trying to stay alive. 

Joel returns to the room a few minutes later with his arms and hands full of the clothing he’s chosen for both of you. He drops his boots onto the carpet with a heavy thud, but sets your own shoes down next to them with more care. He tosses a few articles of his own things onto his side of the bed before coming around to yours, holding out his free hand for you to take. “Up you go, babydoll, c’mon,” he commands. You grab hold of his steady hand, using it for support as you slide out from underneath the covers and push yourself off the mattress, the springs creaking in protest.

Joel entwines his thick fingers in yours as he leads you toward the small bathroom. You loosen your grip to shut the door behind you, expecting him to drop his handhold to allow you some privacy, but his grasp only tightens. You inhale sharply at the dull pain caused by his fingertips digging into the back of your hand, and turn to face him with panicked eyes. The stern expression you’re met with makes your heart rate quicken, terrified that you’ve already somehow found a way to upset him again.

“I just need to use the bathroom first, I’ll try to be quick,” you insist, still attempting to untangle your fingers from his.

“Not with the door closed you don’t.”

“...W-why?” You question timidly.

Joel jerks his head toward the shower, his gaze still trained on you. “That lil’ window up there. Just gotta make sure you ain’t gonna try anythin’, tha‘s all.”

You glance over to the tiny window he’s referring to, the kind that doesn’t even open all the way, just cracks open enough to let the steam out.

“But… I couldn’t even fit through there. And I… I learned my lesson, Joel, I promise—”

“Shh, don’t gotta get all worked up, ‘s alright, sweetheart. Jus’ do what I ask, okay?” Joel finally drops your hand in favor of cradling the side of your neck, brushing his thumb across the tender cartilage at the front of it. “You understand, don’t you, baby? ‘S just a precaution.” 

Joel speaks to you so gently, with such adoration in his tone and in his expression, even with the threatening placement of his hand on your throat. The blatant display of manipulation makes you dizzy. You drop your gaze from his face to the bathroom floor, and try to use the cool sensation of the tile against your bare feet to ground yourself. 

“Are you gonna watch me while I… go?” You ask meekly, your cheeks warming with embarrassment.

“No, no, sweet girl,” Joel placates, using a hooked finger to lift your head back up. “I’ll wait outside for you. Jus’ leave the door ‘bout halfway open, ‘s all I’m askin’. Besides, ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, hm?” He pinches at your chin with a teasing smile, continuing to act as if everything he’s asking of you is completely ordinary. 

“Yeah, but…” You start, but Joel huffs in warning.

You concede with a sighed “Okay,” and he finally leaves you to conduct your business. You’re thankful that he at least isn’t watching you, instead just leaning his broad back against the doorframe outside the bathroom with his arms crossed. Although, you think he might’ve taken a peek when you had first sat down, in the brief moment when your oversized t-shirt was rucked up to your tummy. You go through the motions as quickly as possible so as not to prolong your mortification, practically flushing and stepping over to the sink all in one hurried movement. Joel slides himself behind you as you’re washing your hands, setting your clothing down on the back of the toilet before placing his hands on your hips. His hard length is slotted against your backside, and you do your best to ignore him as you dry your hands with the bleach-stained motel towel. He only continues to use his weight to press you harder against the edge of the sink, undeterred by your efforts, and you wince a little at the pain that begins to pulse under your ribcage.

“Lemme tell you how this is gonna be from now on, okay babydoll? Look at me,” Joel orders, and you meet his darkened eyes in the mirror where he towers above you as he continues, “You ain’t gonna do nothin’ for yourself or by yourself ever again, ‘s that clear? Nothin’. Know we had some of that before our lil’... incident… and you liked that, didn’t you, baby? Liked me takin’ care of you like that?”

You nod, because it’s true.

“You’re nothin’ but a lil’ doll to me from now on. Gonna let me dress you this mornin’, do your hair up, brush your teeth, everythin’... And when we go out today, you ain’t gonna talk to anybody, ain’t even gonna look at anybody, you understand? Nobody except for me. I’m all you got for the rest of your life. And that’s what we always wanted, ain’t it? Just each other…” He says the last part almost wistfully, letting go of your waist with one hand in favor of twisting a lock of your hair around one of his roughened fingers. “You’ll come to like livin’ like this, babydoll. Got no other choice, do you?” 

You swallow, biting your lip to stave off burning tears that you know will only upset him if you let them spill. 

“Do you?” Joel repeats.

“N-no, I don’t,” you reply, and he hums in satisfaction before rewarding you with a wet kiss to your temple that makes your skin crawl. 

“Yeah, tha‘s right… Turn around now, arms up for me, sweetheart.” Joel steps back from the sink to allow you room to obey his command, and you don’t hesitate to do so. He carefully lifts his t-shirt over your head before tossing it to the floor, and you shiver as the breeze blowing in from that one cracked window wraps itself around your naked form. Joel tuts when you wrap your arms over your pebbled nipples on instinct, gently scolding, “Nuh uh, don’t cover up what’s mine. Lemme look at ya.” He uses a light touch to guide your limbs down to your sides, whistling low as his predatory eyes roam around your trembling body, spending a few extra moments on your exposed chest. “Most gorgeous lil’ thing in the whole world… Would jus’ parade you around with me all bare like this if I could, show y’ off to everybody. Bet you’d like that, huh babydoll?” He taunts, pinching at one of your hardened buds.

“Y-yeah, I would,” you appease quietly, but he doesn’t seem to pay your unenthusiastic response any mind, too preoccupied with shimmying a new pair of panties up your legs. He takes a little too much extra care in settling them around the creases of your thighs, and huffs to himself when he notices the way your little hole squeezes around nothing at the sensation of his fingertips sliding underneath the elastic, just barely teasing your folds. Joel has you turn around to face the mirror again so he can clip your bra behind your back, and a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips despite yourself when he zips on the pretty blue dress he picked out for you. You like how it compliments your eyes, even with how tired they look.

Just like Joel had told you he would, he doesn’t allow you to do a single thing for yourself as he completes the rest of your morning routine, holding your chin securely in the dip between his thumb and forefinger as he brushes your teeth and tips a glass of water into your mouth for you to rinse out the minty paste with. He cradles the base of your skull with one hand, using the other to scrub the sleep from your eyes and the oils from your cheeks with a damp washcloth. Joel gets to work on your hair next, pulling the top half of it into two small ponytails and tying each of them off neatly with ivory-colored ribbons. You’re surprised at the delicate movements his hands are capable of despite their size, despite the damage they’ve caused. He’s clearly had some practice with this, but you try not to think about it too hard.

Once Joel deems his doll pretty and presentable, he leads you out of the bathroom and has you sit on the edge of the bed, kneeling before you with some protest from his aching joints. He slips a pair of lace-trimmed socks over your feet, one at a time, followed by the same canvas sneakers you were wearing when you had first met him. The sight of them brings you a little comfort, somehow, the discolored laces and smudged rubber soles making up just about the only familiar things you have in your possession anymore. Nearly everything you own, everything about you, has been tainted by Joel in some way now. You should’ve just taken off in the other direction when he’d pulled over his truck, left nothing but a cloud of dust in your wake and never even have given him the chance to ask you in that stupid disarming Southern twang of his if you needed a ride, if you were lost, if you had family or a boyfriend who cared about you enough to come looking for you. You’d advertised yourself in big bold lettering that you were the perfect fucking victim, practically wrapping the rope around your white woolen neck yourself so he could lead you to slaughter. This is what you deserve, stupid lamb that you are. Look at you now.

Joel instructs you to stay perched on the bed while he completes his own morning regimen, and you hang your head low as you rest your hands in your lap, picking at the skin around your fingernails. They’re practically raw now, but you can’t stop even though you should, even though it hurts, even though you’ve made yourself bleed. It had always been a nervous habit of yours, and you hadn’t noticed until you started up again last night that this was probably the nicest your nail beds had looked in years. You’d felt so comforted, so safe with Joel that you hadn’t had a reason to continue the self-destructive behavior, until all those fluttery feelings were ripped out from under you in a second. You’d been biting and tearing at your skin all night in addition to the many other things you’d been doing instead of sleeping, the habit having returned with a force as you’d used the pain to… what? To make up for the lack of blood you’d shed, to apologize to the ghosts of Anna and Elizabeth and Ruby and ask them please not to haunt you, you’re sorry, you’re sorry, you’re sorry. See? He’d made you bleed, too.

You’ve been attempting to balance your attention between your hands and the bathroom, waiting for an opportunity to arise where Joel is distracted enough for you to retrieve the envelope from its hiding place without him seeing. You keep your chin close to your chest as you observe his movements, trying not to make it too obvious that you’re watching him. After a few minutes, he finally bows his head into the sink to splash some water onto his skin, and you quickly reach behind you to swipe the letter and shove it underneath the waistband of your panties. Joel still hasn’t lifted his head back up by the time you’ve got it situated, and the corner of your mouth twitches in satisfaction. For a plan that you’re basically just making up as you go along, it’s going better than you expected. 

You return to your preoccupation with your hands as you wait for Joel to finish up, and you remain hunched over yourself even as he flicks off the bathroom light and stalks over to where you’re now sucking the taste of bitter iron from one of your fingers. He startles you out of your focused state when he asks, “What’re you doin’, babydoll?”

You lift your head up, releasing the smarted skin from your mouth as you hold out your hand to examine the injury. Both of you watch a little crimson pearl begin to swell in the groove where your nail disappears into the skin. “Oh…” Joel sighs, grabbing your hand gently and raising it closer to his face, turning it this way and that to admire how your blood catches the light. You swear you can see his pupils dilate before he sucks your finger into his own mouth, swirling his tongue around your skin as he savors the metallic tang mixed with the remnants of your saliva. You feel the sharp edge of his teeth graze the pad of your finger, and your breath catches as you fear he might just bite the thing clean off from the last knuckle down. He doesn’t, of course, just lets his eyelids quiver and his cock twitch before releasing the digit from his mouth and rumbling out a quiet growl. You can’t help the somewhat sickened expression that overtakes your features as you watch Joel’s perverted little display, but work to fix it into something more neutral as he opens his eyes again.

“Pretty sure I got some bandaids in the truck, lemme get dressed ‘n then we’ll hit the road, hm?” he says, in a tone too casual to belong to someone who’d just had a near orgasmic reaction to tasting your blood. You suppose this is just another consequence of your survival—having to endure Joel’s unconcealed freakish tendencies now that he knows you’re not a flight risk anymore.

Joel tugs on his standard uniform—his thick canvas jacket layered overtop a simple undershirt and earth-toned flannel, paired with tattered jeans and his sturdy leather work boots. You allow him to help you to your feet as he leads you out to the truck, his thick fingers laced tightly through the ones of your non-bloodied hand. You have to squint at how bright the late morning sky is, your eyes aching as they adjust from the dim lighting of the motel room. 

“Hey, morning!” Comes a cheery voice from down the row. You turn your head in the direction of the sound, and put your hand up to shield your eyes from the sun in an effort to get a better view of the person it came from. When your gaze finally focuses, you’re able to make out a feminine figure with auburn hair and alabaster skin, her slender arm waving at you in greeting—Chrissy.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

You dip behind Joel, attempting to hide yourself from her view. He puts a protective hand across your body, and takes the lead in responding to her. “...Mornin’. Can we help you with somethin’?”

Her footsteps pause on the pavement, and there’s a beat before she says anything else, likely not expecting Joel’s less-than-friendly response to her sunny demeanor. “...No. Well, I just wanted to say ‘hi’, check in on you—Both of you,” she corrects herself quickly. You’re staring straight down at the sidewalk, avoiding eye contact just like Joel had demanded of you. But you can still see her out of the corner of your vision, attempting to lean around Joel’s large form to get a better look at you. You feel like your heart is about to burst out of your fucking ribcage as Joel turns his head toward where you’re cowering behind his arm, then slowly back to Chrissy. 

“We’re fine,” he says plainly. 

The silence that follows feels like it lasts an eternity. You hate how weak you must look in front of her, practically shaking where you stand like a newborn fawn while you seek the protection of this much older man whose hands, Chrissy must notice, are large enough to have created the marks on your neck that she had pointed out last night. It doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together, to figure out the reason—the person—behind your flighty, nervous, and fidgety behavior in the office. Chrissy takes a few steps backwards, away from this strange couple standing before her, one she realizes is in her best interest not to engage further with.

Her voice comes out noticeably more unsteady now than it did when she had first approached you. “W-well, I just like to say ‘hi’ to guests on my way out if I see them. So… ‘hi’, and, um… if you need anything, someone else will be here soon to cover the office.” She rushes through the latter part of her sentence, like she just wants to spit all the words out as quickly as possible so that the interaction can be over with. You can’t see his face, but you suspect Joel is giving her some kind of hooded-eyed look that’s making her stumble over her words. “Have a good day, you two. Be careful,” she adds before she departs, and you know that those last two words were meant for you.

Joel watches her as she disappears around the corner of the building, only lowering his arm once she’s completely out of sight. You don’t look up until the sounds of her footsteps dissipate, until Joel’s arm is on your lower back as he ushers you into the truck. 

“Get in, baby,” he commands, opening the door for you and helping you up into the passenger side of the bench seat. He reaches across your body to buckle your seatbelt for you before you can even lift your hand to do it yourself.

Once you’re situated to his liking, Joel closes your door and makes his way over to the driver’s seat, climbing inside and igniting the rumbling engine. He roots around in the truck’s center console, tossing aside cigarette butts and gum wrappers and loose change, eventually coming up with a single bandaid. Its paper sleeve looks crumpled and neglected, and you suppose it’s because he’s never really had a use for it until now. There isn’t much of a point in trying to bandage the type of wounds he typically inflicts, anyway, the damage already having been done.

“Gimme your hand, darlin’, hold it still for me.” Joel tears open the wrapper with his calloused thumbs and flicks away the little paper tabs from the fabric’s sticky surface, wrapping the bandaid around your finger tenderly. It would be a sweet moment, if it weren’t for the way he adjusts himself upon seeing the deep red droplet bloom on the other side of the little cotton pad. You make a mental note to work on finding a different self-soothing mechanism, lest you want to wake up in the middle of the night with his knife at your neck and his cock in his hand, deciding that you weren’t worth keeping around after all, that he just had to know if you really are just as pretty on the inside as you are on the outside, to know if the rest of your volume tastes as sweet as the small sample he’d already taken. 

You sit on your hands the entire ride into town.

—

The drive was mostly silent, but actually kind of pleasant, finally giving you a real opportunity to take in the vast surroundings of… wherever you are, New Mexico. Your hands had gotten uncomfortably warm where they were squished under the bare skin of your legs for the entire half-hour or so drive, but you didn’t dare remove them. You’d have had nowhere else to put them anyway, not with the way Joel’s large paw was clamped onto your upper thigh, his pinky finger slipping underneath the hem of your dress and tracing the edge of your panties. You were grateful you’d had enough forethought to slip the envelope into the right side of your underwear, predicting that he’d get handsy like this in the truck. You’d just kept your body perfectly rigid with your head turned away from him, and tried not to descend into madness thinking about what he had made of your interaction with Chrissy earlier, if he suspected anything, if he knew you were hiding something, if he suddenly developed x-ray vision overnight and knew exactly what you were concealing under your dress.

Relief washed over your nervous system as you’d observed jagged rockwork and ochre-colored scrub brush gradually turn into modest Pueblo-style homes and businesses, glad to have finally been granted an opportunity to escape the motel after your twelve hours of terror. The steadily approaching signs of civilization had served as a reminder that the world does actually have other people in it besides you and Joel, despite what he’s been attempting to convince you of.

The town had become more populated the further the truck had chugged along down the main street, with a few friendly-looking people walking their dogs and carrying paper grocery bags as they strolled along the storefronts. You had even found yourself staring at a group of girls around your age sipping their coffees together on a bench, giggling and gossiping and making you wish you had problems as superficial as theirs. They reminded you of the type of girl Ruby was, bright-eyed and carefree and beautiful, and you’d tried to swallow down the bitter resentment that had begun to simmer in the pit of your stomach. Joel hadn’t even seemed to notice the girls as the truck passed them by, and you weren’t sure if his disinterest should make you feel satisfied or hopeless. Yesterday, you would’ve told yourself that you’re the love of his life, of course he wouldn’t dare have eyes for anyone but you, he’ll never leave your side for the rest of his life. But the sentiment takes on a much different connotation today, feeling more like a life sentence than a daydream.

You hadn’t realized how hungry you were until the truck had finally rolled to a stop outside of a quaint little restaurant, its terracotta awning decorated in twinkling lights. The sign on the facade read The Coyote Café, and had a little silhouette of the namesake animal painted next to the words. You could see through the turquoise-trimmed windows that there were already a handful of other patrons inside enjoying their meals, and it made you feel a little safer, knowing that Joel would be more motivated to put his mask back on in front of so many pairs of eyes. In a town this small, the two of you probably stick out like a sore thumb enough as it is, the café seeming like the kind of place where the waitresses know the regulars by name. You were eager to finally be able to drop your defenses, at least for a little while.

Joel had chosen a table all the way in the back corner of the place, furthest from the door, and had insisted on the both of you sharing the same side of the booth. Although you could feel a few stares on you, you’d remained steadfast in your obedience of the rules he had laid out for you this morning, and kept your head down while he placed your orders with the waitress—a plate of enchiladas and a beer for him, and a cheese quesadilla with a glass of water for you. You probably would’ve been able to eat more, but you suspected that his choice of meal for you was deliberate, so as not to provide you with too much energy that you might use to make another break for it. It had reminded you of the way he had convinced you to take your coffee decaf at Moody’s that night, all of it seeming so fucking obvious now, in hindsight. 

“You know somethin’, babydoll?” Joel suddenly asks through a mouthful of beans and rice. “Think I saw a lil’ consignment shop just down the way. Whaddya say we head on over there next, let you pick out somethin’ pretty for yourself since you been so good today, hm?”

You hadn’t exchanged many words as you’d been eating, other than the occasional semi-awkward comment about how nice the weather is or how good your meals are. Ordinarily, you’d be making up stories about the interesting-looking strangers sitting at the counter, or quizzing each other on the country songs playing over the radio, or debating whether the color of his flannel was really green or brown. You’d sometimes hang out at diners so late into the evening that the waitstaff would have to kick you out, and you’d be apologetic as you made your way back out to the truck, hardly able to believe how much time you’d lost track of while you were flicking wadded up straw wrappers at each other or taste testing each other’s desserts. You mourn the version of Joel in those memories as you push around the crumbs on your plate, quietly responding to him with, “Really? You’d let me?”

“‘Course I would, sweet girl.” He wipes the corners of his mouth with a napkin before lowering his voice, leaning down closer to your ear. “Long as you let me take it off of ya later tonight.”

“Let me.” As if you have any other choice.

Joel chuckles at his own crude comment as he slings an arm around your shoulder, pulling you flush to his side. He finishes the rest of his meal with one hand while he rakes the other along your upper arm, occasionally sliding a finger underneath your bra strap and snapping it against your skin. You’re only able to let your posture relax for just a moment when the waitress brings around the check, and he finally removes his scalding hand in order to retrieve his wallet from his back pocket. He slaps a few crumpled bills onto the table, and then his thick fingers are forcing themselves in between your own smaller ones as he pulls you up from the booth and leads you out of the café. You spare a glance at the motherly-looking waitress on your way out, and you exchange sympathetic looks with each other behind Joel’s back. You wish she didn’t look so sorry for you, like you’re a wounded animal being dragged around by the hunter who shot an arrow through your heart. But isn’t that what you are?

Your feet stop dead in their tracks when you step down onto the sidewalk outside the cafe, your brain too enamored with the landscape of the surrounding valley to tell them to keep moving. The wide open sky and limestone hills dappled with towering evergreens almost look like a painting, the way the mountains turn paler shades of blue-green as they extend further into the distance. It’s so unlike the flat, beige midwestern states where you and Joel had begun your journey together, it almost takes your breath away.

“You just gonna stare up at the sky all day, or d’you wanna get to shoppin’, hm?” Joel says, startling you from your state of wonder.

“Oh, no, we can go. I’m sorry,” you submit, hurrying to Joel’s side. He makes an enamored little hum and kisses the top of your head before continuing to pull you along the storefronts. You keep your head down, counting the cracks in the pavement as you work to keep up with his long strides. 

“See that buildin’ down there, the one with the pink siding? Tha’s the lil’ clothin’ store I was talkin’ about.” You flick your eyes upward to where Joel is pointing a lazy finger, immediately spying the technicolor little shop he’s referring to. The unusual choice in paint color is certainly eye catching, but what you’re really drawn to is the dark blue metal receptacle standing on the sidewalk just in front of it—a mailbox, just like Chrissy told you there would be.

This is it. This is your chance. When you get up to the mailbox, you’ll improvise a way to direct Joel’s attention elsewhere, and use the opportunity to slip the envelope from under your dress and deposit it into the box without him noticing. You’ll have to move quickly, precisely, quietly, or it’s all over. 

You should start tugging it loose now, so that it’ll be halfway in your hand already by the time you reach the store. You pat your hand against your upper thigh, expecting to feel the paper crinkling against your skin.

Except, you don’t. You can’t feel it. It isn’t there anymore. 

You feel panic start to bloom in your chest, but try your best to keep your cool. The mailbox is only a few paces away now, and you’ll have nothing to deposit into the slot, because your chance at preventing yourself from being completely forgotten by the one person in your life who might actually care, is gone. Vanished.

Where the fuck is it? Had it fallen out when you were exiting the truck? Is it laying on the floor of the cab for Joel to discover when he helps you back into your seat later? Where could it possibly have—

“Hey, excuse me! Mister?” A young-sounding voice—male, unfamiliar— shouts from behind you, followed by the sound of jogging footsteps. Joel turns around, your hand still held securely in his own. Your feet stay planted exactly where they are, your eyes unblinking and locked onto the mailbox, just barely out of reach. “Did one of you drop this? Found it on the floor by your table when I was cleaning up, didn’t want you to leave it behind.”

“Uh… don’t think so. Lemme take a look—” Your arm pulls in an uncomfortable direction as Joel reaches toward the boy to retrieve the mystery object. Well, it’s a mystery to him, you already know exactly what it is. All you can do is hold your breath while Joel undoubtedly reads your handwriting on the front of the envelope, hoping that if you stand perfectly still, you might really be able to disappear. Without the letter, that’s the ending you’re destined for now, anyway.

Joel laughs breathily. “Y’know what, son? Think we did drop this. Thank you kindly for bringin’ it back to us.” Joel squeezes your hand so hard you think all the fragile little bones might shatter, and you bite your lip to stifle a pained whimper. Your eyes start to water as the crippling fear you had felt last night begins to climb its way up the back of your throat, and you wonder if this bus boy in the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, might just become the last person besides Joel to see you alive. Or at least, the back of your head. Without giving him a good look at your face, he wouldn’t even be able to recognize you when they show your picture on the news a day or two from now, or be able to go to the police and tell them that this lumberjack-looking older man he encountered was the one he saw you with last. You should’ve known better than to try tempting fate again. 

“Of course! Have a good one,” says the bus boy, and a tear escapes your waterline as you wait for the sounds of his footsteps to fade. You can’t be sure if the wetness collecting on your lashes is from the pain of Joel’s iron grip on your hand, or from the sheer terror of being found out by him again. What you do know, is that he doesn’t seem like the type to let you go through all three strikes before he puts you out.

“We will,” Joel responds, but only loud enough for you to hear.

He turns back around after what feels like an eternity, sighing disappointedly. You don’t need to look at him to know that he's upset, angry, furious. It radiates off his skin, penetrates your soul, wraps itself tightly around your throat in replacement of his hands. Your palm is sweating, but he doesn’t let go, just digs his dull nails into the back of your hand as he snarls a one-worded command close to your ear—”Walk.”

Joel drags you the rest of the way to the mailbox, shoving you down onto the wooden bench just beside it. You’re surprised that whatever it is he’s about to do to you, he’s confident enough to do it in broad daylight, in front of a few dozen potential witnesses. You keep your eyes on the ground, waiting to hear the flick of his pocket knife or the cracking of his knuckles, but all that comes is a tired groan as he kneels before you, lifting your chin up to face him. 

Joel wags the envelope in front of your face with his other hand, looking at you with a more pitied expression than an enraged one. “You wanna tell me what this is, babydoll?” He asks in a confusingly even tone. You search his eyes for the reddish hue they had become last night when he was spewing obscenities at you and threatening your life, but you don’t find it. 

“It’s… it’s a letter,” you admit, blinking away tears. You avoid his gaze even with your chin raised, looking around at the townspeople to see if any of them are staring at the little scene the two of you are putting on. 

“Don’t look at them, baby, look at me. They ain’t gonna help you.” Joel jostles your face in his grip, and you flick your eyes back to him immediately. “I can see that it’s a letter, sweetheart. Who were you plannin’ on sendin’ it to, hm? Whose name is this?” Joel prompts, using his thumb to tap the name and address you had scribbled onto the center of the paper.

You let out a sob, the patronizing tone of his questioning making you feel so fucking stupid with just a few words. How is he so fucking good at this? At breaking you down, spinning the effects of his own actions back onto you, making you feel like the one in the wrong.

“My mom, I… I wrote it to my mom,” you reply through little sniffles, and you can hardly stand the exaggeratedly sympathetic way that Joel’s eyebrows peak at your answer.

“Babydoll… What could you possibly have to say to her? You ‘n I both know she don’t care about you anymore, never did. She’d open this up and just throw it right in the trash… I mean—” Joel releases your chin from his hold in order to slide his thumb along the envelope’s seal, tearing open the flap and removing the page of motel stationery you had written your plea on in the dim lighting of the office. “Here, sweetheart. Why don’t you read it to me, lemme hear what you wanted to tell her so badly you decided to do it behind my back. You snuck outta bed last night to do this, I assume?”

You nod, taking the letter from his hand and unfolding it.

“Hm… Have to do somethin’ else about our sleepin’ arrangements from now on, then.” You don’t know what he means by that, and you aren’t looking forward to finding out. “Read it to me, darlin’, go ‘head.”

You take a deep breath, blinking hard as you try to get your watery eyes to focus on the page. “I s-said that, um… that I was sorry for leaving, that I don’t blame her for the way she treated me growing up.” You pause to swallow the moisture collecting in the back of your throat as you cry, and attempt to steady your wavering voice before you continue. “A-and… that I was with you, that we’ve been traveling together, but… But I got scared, and I w-wanted her to come get me. Um… ‘Please don’t forget about me. I love you. I’ll see you when you get here.’ That’s the last thing I said.” You set the letter down on your lap and collapse in on yourself, burying your wet face in your hands as your sobs become full force.

“Oh, babydoll…” Joel soothes, rubbing a hand up and down your arm as you cry. “Where did you get all these ridiculous ideas, hm? Sayin’ that you love her, that you forgive her? I mean, do you really believe she’d come lookin’ for you all the way out here, snatch you up and take you home ‘cause she cares so much about you?” “I… I don’t know, maybe. I just couldn’t sleep last night, I got so afraid of—” “That girl in the parkin’ lot this mornin’... it was her, wasn’t it? You moseyed on into the office lookin’ all pitiful last night and she talked you into doin’ this? She took advantage of you, baby?” Joel brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his face contorted in dramatic concern.

You’re so caught off guard by his accusations, your shuddering body finally stills. You lift your head up from your hands, wiping your eyes on the backs of them. “...What?”

“I mean, I know you know better than this, so it must’ve been her, puttin’ all these nonsense ideas into your head, convincin’ you to do somethin’ that’d only get you hurt… She don’t know what’s good for you like I do, baby. What was gonna happen when you sent off your lil’ letter, and you waited ‘n waited ‘n waited, and your mama never came for you? Who’d be there to take care of you, hm? Me. Always gonna be me.” Joel gently swipes his thumbs underneath your eyes, collecting the salty dampness still there. He sounds so sure of his own words, they’re almost convincing you that you’re misremembering your encounter with Chrissy last night. It was late, you were exhausted, and Joel is right, you do know better, you’ve told him yourself. Had she done more than just provide you with the envelope and stamp? Was the idea in your head before you walked into the office, or had she somehow persuaded you of it without you being any wiser? You’d remember if Joel’s version of the story is the one that really happened, wouldn’t you?

“No, Joel, she didn’t—” you start, but he cuts you off swiftly.

“She did, baby, I think she did… Poor girl, must’ve been too out of it to even remember what really happened. D’you see now? This is why it’s gotta be just you ‘n me from now on, sweetheart. ‘Cause there’s all kinds of people out there like her who wanna get inside your head, convince you of things that ain’t true…”

As undeserving as Chrissy may or may not be of the blame for your childish endeavor, you feel relieved that your most recent act of defiance doesn’t seem to have the same effect on Joel as the one you attempted last night. He seems more… sorry for you, than anything else, and you aren’t quite sure why he seems to feel differently now than he did a mere twelve hours ago. Maybe he views it as proof of your loyalty, the fact that you had made it outside, gotten yourself a small taste of freedom, and still decided to crawl back into bed with him afterwards. You could’ve taken off running down the road if you’d really wanted to, his “insurance policies” be damned, but you didn’t. You stayed. And you hate what that says about you—that you’re fucking weak. But you’ll take “weak” over “dead”, at this point.

You decide to poke the bear a little bit, just to confirm if you’re in the clear the way you seem to be. “So… you’re not upset?” 

“No, no, I ain’t upset with you, baby. But this is why you can’t do things without me no more, okay? Can’t trust nobody out there except for me, can you?”

You pause, then shake your head at him.

“Good, good girl… Y’know what, baby? Here—” Joel reaches into the pocket of his jacket, and pulls out a tarnished silver lighter. “Why don’t we just forget about all this, huh? Forget about your mama, that girl back at the motel… All those people who don’t care about you the way I do.” He places the cool metal object in your hand and closes your fingers around it. 

“You… want me to burn it?”

Joel shrugs, quirking his mouth into a pout. “Don’t see why you’d wanna keep it… Ain’t goin’ anywhere, is it?”

“...No, guess not,” You mumble under your breath. You know what this means, what it symbolizes, why he wants you to do it yourself. So you can bear witness to your one last glimmer of hope dissolving into embers and ash on the sidewalk at your feet, so you can understand that there is no other outcome other than the one Joel had predetermined for you the second you had agreed to let him take you to Moody’s that night. There is no way out. There is submitting to him, and there is death. Take your pick.

You flick open the lighter, raise the flame to the paper, and watch it ignite. It only takes a few seconds before you feel the heat begin to lick at your fingers, and you drop the still-burning remainder of the letter onto the pavement below so as to spare your hands any further injury today. It curls in on itself and crumples as it chars, and the two of you stare at it until it’s nothing more than a smoldering pile of cinders. You swear you can see an amused smile tug at the corners of Joel’s lips in the edge of your vision.

“Don’t that feel better, baby? Finally lettin’ go of her?” he asks, taking the lighter from your hands and shoving it back into his pocket, along with the envelope. 

You sniffle once, shrugging. “A little.”

“I know, sweet girl. It will, in time. You’ll understand sooner or later.” Joel groans as he pushes himself back up from his kneeling position, then extends a hand down for you to take. He helps you stand, then adjusts your hair to sit nicely over your bruises again, before placing his hands on your shoulders. “Now, that red-headed girl… Did you get her name, sweetheart?”

“...Chrissy. Her name was Chrissy,” you answer hesitantly, the intonation of your response sounding more like a question.

“Chrissy…” Joel repeats, letting her name settle on his tongue. “Whaddya say we just head on back, see about payin’ Chrissy a lil’ visit, hm?” He retakes your hand in his, then starts in the direction of the truck.

Your heart sinks into your stomach, realizing the hidden meaning of his words. “Jus’ gotta bring ‘em to me, tha’s all. Maybe go after ‘em if they try to run,” Joel had rasped into your ear last night, when he was describing the role you’d be forced to play in continuing his sick habit. 

“W-what? Why? She won’t be there anymore, remember? She said she was leaving, that somebody else would be working in the office for the day,” you frantically remind him, hoping that she can be spared after all, hoping that you can be spared from your first time acting as bait.

Joel stops walking for a moment as he considers your words, then pulls you along with him again. “Pay a visit to whoever’s workin’ in there, then. See if they know where she might be.” He doesn’t look at you as he speaks, just stares straight ahead as he hones in on the truck like a missile. The overly concerned facade he had put on earlier seems to be faded now, replaced with something more akin to bloodthirsty determination.

You scrape the far corners of your mind for something, anything you could say to him that might talk him out of this. “But… I thought you said she took advantage of me? Why would you want to see her if you think she tried to hurt me?”

A muscle in Joel’s jaw ticks. His nostrils flare.

“You know why.”

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @joelsdagger @natalieispunk @mermaidgirl30 @untamedheart81 @galway-girlatwork @pinkiec6-rubi @wand-erer5 @arminsbf @shivispunk @gigistorm @theoreticalfreak @vinceelser @always-andromeda @path0logicalpeoplepleaser @old-logan-and-old-joels-slut @zliteraturehoe @k1l4ni @hjzghi-blog @xkyxkyxxlylcylulucuflfluclu @kay1805 (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[akashis-waifu]

Excerpt from It Takes Two to Tango

Chapter 2 of Beyond God and Evil (Aizen Sōsuke/Female Reader)

Canon-divergence set months after TBYW. Reader is the new Soul King, so is Aizen if you squint hard enough.

Tags: Romantic comedy, fluff and angst, enemies to old married couple, banter as love language, mutual pining, immortality, slow burn, political intrigue, Aizen is that co-worker who never stops yapping

WHEN YOUR EYES flutter open, your gaze expectantly turns towards Aizen, only to find his seat vacated. Dazedly glancing at the window, the scenery of the setting sun instantly knocks the lingering sleep out of your system, causing you to immediately sit upright. A low chuckle catches your attention and you find Aizen now sitting beside you, watching you with a smug smile.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” you protest, glancing at the neat stack of finished paperwork with a hint of guilt.

“It seemed like you needed rest, and I can work faster without deciphering your cryptic writing.”

You ignore his incessant jab at your penmanship. “Okay, thank you, but I still need to double check them.” In case he orders the Central 46 to off themselves or something.

“By all means.”

Much to your annoyance, Aizen remains seated beside you, observing you with his chin propped on his palm. After several minutes of enduring his stare, you turn your head to face him.

“Can you please go back to your seat?”

“Why? Am I distracting you?”

“No, you’re annoying me.”

He feigns hurt, though his shit-eating grin gives away his amusement. “Ah, you wound me. Is this how you treat someone who helped you with your share of work?”

“I already thanked you.”

“You didn’t sound grateful enough.”

You roll your eyes. “What do you want then?”

Pleased with your surrender, he fixes you with a suggestive gaze, his hand reaching out to play with your hair. “Come on now. You know exactly what I want.”

Visibly cringing at his innuendo, you slap his hand away. “Are you in heat? Because I wasn’t aware that men can ovulate.”

Aizen regards you with a deadpan expression before lowering his hand.

“You should spend less time with Sarugaki Hiyori and Yadomaru Lisa. I do not appreciate their vulgar influence on your vocabulary,” he remarks, voice so flat that he actually sounds disappointed for once. “Anyway, ignoring the fact that your mind is perpetually in the gutter—”

“It’s not.”

“—you can thank me by staying here in the Soul King Palace.”

“You already know I can’t.”

He hums in challenge. “Are you sure? What if I murder your little division and seize the palace in your absence?”

“Go ahead. If you have the luxury of time, that is,” you retort, tapping the pile of documents on the table. “While I'm in Seireitei, you will be the one handling all the paperwork here.”

Aizen barely stops himself from grunting. When he said he wanted to ascend to Heaven, he pictured something akin to sitting on an exalted throne—not behind a desk full of unfinished reports.

Glaring at you from behind the reading glasses that he has been forced to wear again, he mutters.

“Insufferable woman.”

[neverenoughmarauders]

⭐Snippet Sunday⭐

You know me @lilacella - I am always happy to yap about my work and read your progress!! James was just too cute in your snippet. And Sirius too!!! I am still dying. So.... that may have influenced me in which snippet I chose. Still from Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Chapter 13, this time:

'Eh, mate, common politeness would have you ask before you take my cloak.'

James threw himself on his bed, having just returned from the bathroom. He was already in his pyjamas, though it was barely ten.  

'What happened to "you don't need to ask"?' 

'You don't need to ask to borrow the cloak,' replied James, in a tone that suggested Sirius was being rather thick. 'But what about asking if I want to join? Where are you going, anyways?'

'James...' Sirius started. 

There was no colour in James' face. His return to Herbology, a rather more physically demanding subject than say Charms or Transfiguration, had taken a lot out of him.  

'Not the kitchen,' said James, propping himself up on his elbows. 'You wouldn't "James" me for a trip to the kitchen.'

'Not the kitchen, you dimwit, because I would have asked you if you wanted something.'

'That too,' grinned James. 'Inside the castle, or outside... that would help narrow things down nicely.'

'The library,' sighed Sirius, knowing James would not stop until he had an answer. 

'What for?' 

Sirius glanced towards Remus' bed to see if he was sleeping. Unfortunately, Remus was reading and more than able to hear any exchange between them.

'Oh. That. I'll come.'

'James...' Sirius tried again.

'You're not doing this without me.'

And Sirius realised there was no point fighting. 

No pressure tags: @jamesunderwater @albi-bumblebee @annabtg @tedwardremus

[ysaefinn]

I've not read or watched jjk but i know -i know- i would be a fool not to acknolwedge that suguru getou is the patron saint of 2d mother men. the mother men to end all mother men.

SO OF COURSE IM FREAKING OUT WHEN I SEE YOU TAGGING ME IN THE NOTIFS HDJKLSAFHJKDSF OH GOD ITS BEEN A LONG WHILE BUT IVE MISSED MOTHER AND DOG CODED MEN SO MUCH HJKASDHJFHFF AND UR POSTS ARE GETTING ME INTO THE BRAINROT AGAIN I HOPE YOUR PROUD OF YOURSELF.

anyways.... spare thoughts of mommy sugu and mommy johan scheduling a daughter-wife playdate perhaps? 👀 discussing different mothering methods? their darlings being too shy to see other people after being slowly cut off and isolated from the world that they hide and tuck theirselves into their mommy's necks?

Contains: infantilization, mommy lifestyle, yanderes who locked you up

OEBKSGDIDHDIDBDID OMFG SUU YOU SAW THE POSTS TATATATATATATATAT forever and ever grateful to the anon who tagged you a few months ago WHOEVER YOU ARE JOHAN AND SUGURU ARE ON THEIR WAY TO CRADLE YOU TO SLEEP!!!!!!

Ok here's the thing, no need to see jjk, trust me he is mother..he mothers HARDDDDD look

NOT EVEN TRYING HE IS IDLE ASF!!!!!!!! the dog coding part omfg you get it.....we are working on getting him a spikey collar don't you worry hopefully he won't go around biting strangers for long ;v;

OK THE IDEA OF PLAYDATES SLONE HAUNTED ME FOR WEEKS THIS IS MAKING THE BRAINWORMS FESTER EVEN MORE OSBEJBDKDBDJ the brainrot is contagious what can I say,,,,

I really am a firm believer that nothing brings hardcore mommy suguru more joy than feeling you cower and scurry back into his arms, no matter how much he tries to stay solid and shield you from every and all sources of stress, you need company at some point,,,its his guilty pleasure TAT

My hearts tells me that they fuel ans validate the fuck out of each other,,,,, i huge part of suguru's overprotectiveness stems from the belief that nobody will treat you as gently as he would, so meeting his match is gonna make him tap dance from happiness TAT

But imagining them talking while their darlings are sitting snuggly on their laps being petted and occasionally rocked (suguru...suguru thigh bouncing....the bouncing of suguru's thigh when you get cranky...the bouncing..... :<<) suguru definitely brags about how well behaved his baby is tho lmaoo, the occasional mishaps (plotted escape attempts) are never on you tho!!!! It was his fault for ...having glass windows?? If the lock has clearly been tampered with then he hasn't baby-proofed the house enough yet. It makes sense lmao, his entire approach from the beginning was as a caretaker, not really a boyfriend,,, he loves being romantic with you but seeing you as this infantile little thing really fucks with his brain and he loses the plot its veryyy complicated which in turn makes him harder to outsmart (since overpowering him isnt even an option lol)

JOHAN'S FRIENDSHIP DYNAMIC WITH HIS DARLING THO OMFG IT WAS GENIUS,,, the gradual isolation and coddling will mold you into whatever he desires eventually, really TAKES HIM to pull it off huh TAT

Suguru's gonna yap about the importance of nap time in the middle of rocking you to sleep with his tit in your mouth. Stops in between sentences to coo at you, mf has most definitely conditioned you to get all loopy the moment his boobs come in contact with your face too TOT (just all around evil...) they're def sharing recipes too

Im trying to determine which of the darlings has their head above water, I wanna say johan's but...its Johan ;v;

To ms Johan is a master of the gaslighting arts and just so incredibly casual about. in Suguru's case he just slams you full force with his mommying the moment he manages to get his hands on you, adjusting to his rules is how you'll survive, which eventually into Stockholm syndrome, and "well it's not that bad when i think about it, he just wants to make sure I'm safe" further proving his point by not pushing you to talk to johan or the little thing on his lap. "Stress bad for baby but baby must stimulate their brain somehow" he's a gentle parenting mom bless his psychotic ass <3333

A second playdate has already been scheduled tho aahahahahaahahha

[ask-wheatley-core]

Hello!

Oh, brilliant-- brilliant! Someone to talk to! D'you know how long I've been up here? Just sort of... Floating aimlessly, around and around and around this stupid moon? No one to talk to, all alone-- well, not alone, really, but... er... well... SORRY MATE-- ah, he can't... He can't hear me, can he? Doesn't matter.

Anyway! You're here now! So, er... I dunno, maybe we could chat for a bit? Anything you want to talk about - listen, mate - I'm all ears! Metaphorically speaking, of course. Can you imagine if I was all ears? That would be-- well, it would be horrific, really.

.  ⋆. *⋆ .  ⋆ ⦿

☆ OOC yapping under the cut

I'm sure there are plenty of Wheatley ask blogs, but I felt compelled to make my own because... Well, I just love the stupid little orb. You know? Of course you do, you're here. I look forward to being silly with all of you, and I hope I can do the definitely-not-a-moron justice.

Hi, all! My name is [REDACTED] - long time Tumblr user, writer, roleplayer, and Portal enjoyer. I've always wanted to make one of these silly little ask blogs, but I've never really had the nerve... Until today, apparently!

I'll be reblogging general Portal/Wheatley content between asks (I'm not exactly sure what to expect in terms of how many asks I'll get, considering ask blogs seem to be a dying breed), so even if you're not in it for the roleplay, feel free to stick around for the Wheatley content!

GENERAL NOTES:

- Please be patient with me, as I am an adult with a full time job (disgusting, I know).

- Speaking of being an adult: NSFW doesn't phase me. You want to come on here and thirst for Wheatley? Brother, GET IN LINE! Fr though, go ahead, but a couple things -

1. As I am not a fan of romance in general, I'll be playing an aroace Wheatley. I'm sure there are ask blogs out there willing to humour romance, but I'm not one of them. Sorry!

2. If you send me something particularly egregious, or something that could get me banned into oblivion, I'll delete the ask. I also will not humour any asks that make me uncomfortable. If I didn't answer your ask, and you find yourself wondering why, please don't hesitate to DM me.

- If you have any issues with me or what I post, feel free to DM me and we can discuss it, or simply block me and move on. Hostility will be immediately ignored/blocked/deleted. I'm doing this for fun, and nothing I post will be worth taking seriously enough to lose sleep over.

- That's it! Thanks for stopping by, and have fun yapping with Wheatley! (Or don't - I can't tell you how to live your life.)

Answered asks will be tagged #Wheatley Yaps

UPDATE: When I first started this blog, I honest to God thought I'd get max 5 messages a week - y'all have completely surprised me! I'm having so much fun. Thank you to everyone who's been sending in asks, RPs, silly pictures - all of it!

That said - I think to balance my life and this blog, I'm going to switch to a weekend posting schedule! Please continue to send in asks and roleplay responses throughout the week - and I'll queue all the answers up for Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, at a rate of about 10-15 per day. I think that will just make it much easier for me to maintain! :)

Ok - that's all - I LOVE YOU ALL, MWAH!

[kestrel7997]

How would they (the proxies and my oc) would play in WCUE

I... can't....stop..... writing... OUGHHHH!!!!!!....................

anyways, in honor of my favorite game, Warrior cats ultimate edition, I will be writing this. No ''x reader'' this time, friends.

(I don't headcanon any of them except for Toby to play WCUE btw, this is just a hypothetical.)

Tim Wright/Masky

- Just plays as a spec if I'll be honest, follows Brian most of the time if the host in the rp doesn't allow specs ;-;

- Actually read the books (like the first, second and third arcs maybe) but only because Toby forced him lol. \

- Masky DEFINITELY power plays, especially if he's hosting an rp.

- Tigerstar copy in WCUE 100%.

Brian Thomas/Hoody

- Also read the books, also only because of Toby, though.

- Read like the first three books of the first arc.

- Despite not having read many books, he's very experienced.

- Essays every time he talks in the chat when roleplaying.

- Doesn't roleplay realistically though, aka doesn't eat, sleep or drink in rp.

- Doesn't go on patrols -_-

- Hoody also just is a spec all the time, doesn't talk to people. Just there to observe what's goin' on.

Toby Erin Rogers/Ticci Toby

- OHHHHHH HE HAS READ ALLLLLLL OF THE BOOKS

- Not just the main series but also the super editions/novellas, and the manga, just whatever Erin Hunter Warrior Cats book he could get his hands on.

- He takes wcue VERY seriously

- Goes on patrols, eats, sleeps, drinks, interacts with other cats

- veryyyy exp, just not in lead, deputy or med cat roles.

- Awesome freaking names, like ''Creek'spider'' or ''Wolf'Coltsfoot'' just to name two examples.

- Has almost all of the game passes...

- gets soooooooooooooo mad when there's an unexp player though... especially hates trollers...

Kate Hayes/Kate the chaser

- my BABBYYYYYYYYYY

- poor unexp player, asking other people what to do most of the time

- hasn't read any of the books, just learns through starpedia

- most of the time tries to get med cat roles

- this is the only unexp player that Toby tolerates

- she's rlly good at writing the fight scenes though

- types out the most beautiful sentences, only for it to get tagged (I headcanon that Kate is a writer)

- Kate the chaser just sits with Hoody most of the time, yapping with him.

Lily Penelope/Lily the hunter

- she's such an ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!

- troller 100% and if Habit is in the game too they troll together

- deff power plays

- makes absolutely beautiful morphs though

- hates it when people ask to trade morphs ;-;

- suprisingly an exp player, just doesn't rp most of the time

[snugglesquiggle]

Do you like juzi or vuzi more

i'm gonna ramble hella hard about this, sorry, but that's the bargain you strike when you shoot an ask my way

but there's a fun story to my answer. you see, V/Uzi was actually my first interest, and in fact when i started kicking around the idea of writing Murder Drones fanfics, the first idea i seriously tried to work out was a V/Uzi fic

(for the curious, general shape of the idea was that Uzi encounters V first, railgun wipes her memory, fails to befriend her like she did with N and has to run away. Uzi then sneaks out again and again, exploiting the railgun-induced amnesia and errors to try and get through to V, leading to a kind of mutual rivalry as V tries to figure out why she keeps having gaps in her memory.

pretty sure it was going to escalate to Uzi hacking into V and potentially going dubious places. the working title for that fic was "Somnabulation". which means sleep-walking, so it would have been kind of ironic for Somnabulation to be the mind control fic and Hostile Takeover the one that spends half its wordcount in memory simulations)

but i'm rambling.

i never ultimately figured out how to make the V/Uzi fic come together into something i liked. and i didn't have that much motivation to do so, as there are good V/Uzi fics out there, like This World Couldn't See Us or Hold On Tight To This Time, This Place

but, as you'll quickly discover if you search the tag now, J/Uzi fics are a lot less numerous. i did like some of what i saw there, so i didn't have a full on "if i don't do this, nobody will" kind of motivation driving me

but then one day, out of the blue, a single thought occurred to me, an observation, comparison, an answer to the question of "what could a relationship between these two possibly be based on?"

and then the whole fic just crystallized around that thought.

(what was thought? i'll leave that as an exercise for the reader, or perhaps i'll save it for a minor reveal later on in Hostile Takeover. it's not very profound, but when it occurred to me i did have the distinct feeling that i'm not sure anyone had thought of the connection i just made.)

and i want to emphasize, when i say it crystallized, i mean it seriously came together, all at once. on October 31 last year, i jotted down the outline, initially as something to post in a discord brainstorming channel, but then i spent all evening writing more and more, and came out the other end with ten thousand words of notes and scene sketches

but anyway, all of that yapping is a long way to say

at the start i preferred V/Uzi (V was my favorite character, and J barely registered as anything but a joke to me), and i began writing Hostile Takeover essentially as a writing challenge or puzzle to prove something, or even just as a practice run for the fic i really wanted to write.

but i think my phrasing here gives the game away, doesn't it? i think very few people would write nearly 160k words in four months out of mere intellectual curiosity

so to finally, finally answer your question, my favorite is J/Uzi and by a long shot. the relationship absolutely grew on me as i wrote it. i'd genuinely go as far as to say my hot take is that it's actually easier to have J/Uzi make sense than V/Uzi, if you're being truly faithful to both characters. is this because J has less character to be faithful toward? shut up.

i think the biggest factor here is that in the course of writing HT, V stopped being my favorite character. i still find her a lot of fun when i'm reading her in other fics, but writing her has just brought a lot of her flaws to the forefront, and it's hard not to be increasingly frustrated with her character. (is this self-inflicted on my part for writing a plot where V causing problems is the central driver? maybe)

but yeah, i've found myself so much less interested in V/Uzi as time goes on. one of my mutuals has describe vuzi as something to the effect of the blander, safer alternative to juzi, and don't look at me i'm just misquoting him.

[crossnamara]

wjos. him. ill yap

my horrible ex husband. my beautiful wife,,,,,,,,my .john.

get ready for horrible fictkin ramblings

okay so. youre not like. in the fandom. so ill jsut explain the basics. john and i worked together. at peip. a secret part of the us military that investigated paranormal extraterrestrial and interdimensional phenomena. i was his mentor. and we. were in love. it was a secret, obviously, it was the early 2000s in the fucking us military, of course it was a secret. didnt stop us, though. he was everything to me.

but. then. the portal. peip built a portal to access a place beyond all realities, the black and white. we knew it was risky, but. they never told us how deeply unstable it was. he gave me his dog tag. as a little good luck charm. i never managed to give it back.

i went through the portal. it was dark, at first. just endless blackness. then He revealed Himself to me. first it was wiggog y'wrath, the lord in black, then his brothers. pokotho, bliklotep, t'noy karaxis, nibblenephim. it was horrible and yet everything about it was so right. it was terrific in every single sense of the word. and i knew. they would bring about salvation, the true gods. (for um. context. these are horrible eldritch gods that want to destroy humanity. telling this from my perspective at the Time but they fuckeddd with my head. a lot.)

it felt like i was there for a month, but when they finally dragged me out, i had only been gone for a few hours. still, i tried to tell them the truth and they didnt listen. said id gone mad. howd john describe it. a raving lunatic. they tried to fix me, like that was possible, but i managed to get out before they fucked with my head even more. i want to say i didnt see john until he saw me, but. thats a lie. the black and white is just. a void. mostly. and after a few years all i could feel was boredom. so i watched him. started from afar, catching glimpses of him any time he went out in public. he still looked like shit. but he. slowly got better. slowly started moving on. and god that fuckking hurt. there was a time, a few years after the portal. maybe around 2010 ish. that i would watch him sleep every fucking night. i wanted to slit his throat. i didnt.

(more plot context bc i started rambling. the lord in black wiggog y'wrath, also known as wiggly, wants to enter the world and make it his. to do so, he needs a cult, which he gets by getting people obsessed with dolls of him. peip sends the president, howard goodman, through the portal to the black and white to speak with him. try to negotiate by threatening to nuke him)

then. im so fucking close to finishing wigglys plan. but. john. he came into the black and white after the president did. wiggly was about to kill him. but john. came through. stopped it. it still worked out, in a way. johns spirit dissolved into the black and white. howie got out, they sent in the nuke, but. they forgot the russians had a portal too. moscows gone and world war 3 is imminent. we still couldve won. but that bastard gave his gun to that little brat through the black and white. she gave it to barnes, who used it to kill the prophet. the world still ended, but because of john, wiggly had no chance to reign.

and i miss him. i miss him so fucking bad. i remember him helping me go to sleep after id pulled a couple all nighters in a row. i remember letting him win at chess as i taught him until he was actually better than me. the way his breath always smelled a bit like coffee. the way he held me when i cried to him about my father. the way id held him when he did the same. the way we always promised each other we'd quit smoking and never did. his problem got a lot worse after i went through the portal.

anyway i got post limited half an hour ago so ive been able to add so much to this. sorry for the length

[nebuliix]

​im very late to this but i’ve been reading the notes on this for a while and ive not really seen anyone talk about my favourite ship, temenos and hikari, so far so im gonna yap about them for a bit. (this is basically my first time formatting a tumblr post (it ended up being way too much to keep in the tags) and im scared so i hope the cut works)

i really like the parallels between temenos and hikari about how they both lost absolutely everyone and never had time to confront or process that. in their pasts, with hikari losing his mother and temenos losing his brother, roi; their first chapters, with hikari losing his father/king and temenos losing the pontiff (also a father figure and leader) but neither of them getting a chance to grieve because they’re both put on their journeys so quickly afterwards; then, later in their stories, hikari losing ritsu and a whole lot of other cherished people throughout the war, alongside temenos losing crick in stormhail because of a conspiracy he got him involved in. i personally subscribe to the headcanon that temenos is a descendant of the kal people, so to me his crackridge chapter contributes to that personal sense of loss too. then, later, when both of their stories are complete and things seem to be settling down for both of them, the endgame comes along and rips kazan (oboro) from hikari and sister mindt (arcanette) from temenos, both with no warning and a strong sense of betrayal that they never get closure for.

both of these characters simultaneously get their worlds torn from them in extremely similar ways again and again and again as the game goes on and, what with hikari fighting a war and taking on the leadership of his entire kingdom afterwards as well as temenos uncovering the church and the sacred guard’s corruption and working to stop a death cult from literally ending the world, neither of them ever truly sit down and take care of themselves or process their grief as it happens.

i love pairing them together for this because they both care enough about each other as fellow travelers that they’d help each other get through it all and hold each other accountable. temenos is ignoring his grief and pushing it down, but hikari won’t stop being so gentle with him and before you know it they’re having a heart to heart about it. hikari doesn’t think he deserves to treat himself to his favourite foods amidst his responsibilities, so temenos asks him to treat him instead and now they’re sharing. temenos is pulling ANOTHER all-nighter trying to piece together this cult situation, but hikari’s having night terrors so they cuddle and oh would you look at that now they’re both sleeping great. amazing gorgeous stunning you’re doing incredible i love you both.

this is already so long so i won’t go into details (and i don’t have the poetic language to do it justice anyway) but i haven’t even started on the ‘guy raised in divinity but kind of shuns it a little bit because its done nothing for him’ vs ‘guy with a bloodlust shadow curse that keeps making him kill people but still maintains his connection to the light’ themes like COME ONNN im obsessed with them. i like to imagine shadow hikari comes out with a vengeance only for temenos to say something so absolutely insane-yet-profound-yet-baffling that it just stops him in his tracks. then he gets put in shadow-timeout like a naughty cat. go think about your actions young man. also special mention to the endgame scene where they were the last ones back to the camp. its very funny to imagine they were late because they were making out but as an aroace i also like to imagine it was a petting session (since i played with hunter hikari please give this lad some ear scritches PLEASEE he deserves them)

ok. im done now. if anyone took the time to read it thank you. my other favourite ships, in no particular order, are primrose/h’aanit/ophilia, alfyn/therion, therion&h’aanit platonically (beast tamer vs feral cat vibes letsgo), therion/cyrus/olberic, therion/primrose (she is absolutely on top. throw h’aanit in there with her animal-trainer energy as well for maximum effectiveness. im begging for literally anyone to see my vision), throné/agnea, and the very specific dynamic of every ot1 traveler in a polycule except for tressa who makes fun of them for it

[holding up catboy hikari] you all will look at him and pet him

I miss octopath yapping with people so uh yknow what! We’re gonna play a game!!

Explain in the notes what y’all’s favorite ships are and why you like them!!!

Only rules are

1) do not explain why everyone should think your ship is canon, as that is not the point of this post 2) do not put any other ships down bc that is also not the point of this post 3) ALL games are included (yes including cotc) 4) ANY SHIPS ARE ALLOWED!!! GO NUTS!!!!

[wintrwinchestr]

strangers | part 1

summary: following in the footsteps of a girl you once knew, you decide to up and leave home one morning without looking back. when you find yourself to be tired, hungry, and alone in the middle of nowhere, you're thankful when a kind stranger offers you a ride, a warm meal, and a place to sleep for the night. he only tells you about himself in bits and pieces, but he seems trustworthy enough, and what you don't know can't hurt you, right?

!!PLEASE READ WARNINGS, THIS IS A VERY DARK FIC!!

I've tried to label this fic as detailed and as boldly as possible. I will not be held responsible or bullied off the internet if you choose to read this potentially upsetting/triggering work of fiction anyway.

warnings: joel miller x f!reader, 18+, smut, age gap (reader is college-aged, joel is mid-50s), no outbreak au, serial killer!joel, dark!joel, talk of death/murder and blood, mommy & daddy issues, brief talk of domestic violence, lying/gaslighting, manipulation, f-receiving non-con somnophilia (no sex, but groping, fingering, dry humping, kissing, and choking), degrading language toward victims, pet names (baby, darlin', sweetheart), some joel pov, no ellie/sarah but tommy has an unnamed daughter, somewhat inspired by "strangers" by ethel cain, takes place in illinois/ohio/indiana, vaguely set in the 70s/80s, this part is mostly introduction/storytelling/yapping, please respectfully let me know if i missed anything and i will rectify the tags

word count: 9.8k

a/n: i started this as a oneshot way back in november, and then it sat abandoned for a very long time. thank you to my lovely friends @polaroidpascal and @chippedowlmug for encouraging me to finish it, and also bestie kiers who never hesitates to match my freak. also thank you to the many writers who made me feel inspired to write something dark and not give a fuck what people think about it. i hope you enjoy this joel he's a freak and i love him and if you say anything mean about him i'll send him after you <3

divider by @saradika

series masterlist/moodboard

read this chapter on ao3

part 2

Ruby Carpenter.

You had spent all day trying to remember her name without really knowing why. Maybe it’s because as the sun sets on what would be the first day of your junior year at the nearby state school, you wonder if she ever made it to one of the fancy ivy leagues she had always aspired to attend. You wonder if she’s even still alive.

Ruby had disappeared a few years ago now, the summer after your senior year of high school. For nearly a year afterwards, her missing posters remained stapled onto every telephone pole and stuck onto every store window around town, until the paper began to disintegrate and the ink began to fade. In that time, you couldn’t even make a quick run to the grocery store without being confronted by dozens of replicas of her yearbook photo printed onto the sides of all the milk cartons. Despite all of the efforts to find her, including several search parties and a decent amount of statewide media coverage, everyone had just stopped looking for her, eventually. Even the police. Even her parents.

It was decided that she had probably just run away, and you can’t entirely blame her, but you can’t imagine why she would, either. You remember her perfect head of blonde ringlet curls that shone a yellow gold in the sun, and her bright blue eyes that turned fiery in her more passionate moments during classroom debates. She had every boy in your grade wrapped around her finger, was the teacher’s pet in every class, and it wasn’t even a question whether she would win prom queen your senior year. She was always sweet to you, always complimented your outfits or your makeup or your art projects with a genuine lilt in her voice and a kind smile, so you could never bring yourself to hate her even though it would’ve been so easy to. You figured she was going to cure cancer or become the president after you had all graduated, which is why you never really stopped wondering whatever happened to her that summer. She was beautiful, with boundless potential and a bright future ahead of her, why would she have just given it all up?

Everyone around town knew Ruby, or at least it seemed that way. But maybe nobody ever really knew her as well as they thought. Maybe she’d had a secret boyfriend all that time who whisked her away that summer, maybe she had decided to try drugs and fell down a rabbit hole that she couldn’t claw her way out of, maybe she had finally figured out that the only thing this town would ever be good for is holding people back. Maybe she did just wake up one day and decide to run without ever looking behind her.

Maybe you should do the same.

With your dad long gone now and your step-father doing a piss poor job of filling in the hole he left, following in Ruby’s footsteps has sounded like a better idea with each passing day. Rob isn’t even really your step-father, anyway, just your mom’s sorry fucking excuse for a boyfriend. The guy’s already been married upwards of three times before, why try for another one? He’s a lazy son of a bitch who can’t hold down a job at a fast food joint for more than a couple of weeks at a time, who sleeps every second of the day that he’s not chugging through a six pack, and who leaves marks on your mother uglier than his fucking face. 

She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way, of course, but it’s not like she’s winning the “mom of the year” award any time soon, either. She’s never even been nominated. She’s forgotten just about every one of your birthdays, been the reason you’ve never had any friends come over, and in her most recent offense, blew all the savings you had put away for your last two years of college. Which is why you’re not spending tonight celebrating being one year closer to at least having an official-looking piece of paper to show for yourself. Instead, you’re using the rattling of your bedroom window unit and the booming bass of your radio to drown out yet another drunken screaming match between your mother and the guy she lets live in your house now, watching the world outside pass you by and knowing that if you don’t do anything about it now, you’ll never make it out of here. You’re thinking about Ruby Carpenter, hoping she found somewhere greener and more promising and was able to make something of herself, far away from here. And you’re thinking that this rusted orange sunset is the last one you’ll ever see from your bedroom window.

It’s decided, then. You’re leaving, first thing tomorrow.

—

You’ve only gotten a few hours of sleep by the time your alarm clock chimes to life at five o’clock on the dot. You’re quick to silence the shrill beeping with a swift swat of your hand, careful not to wake anyone else in the house. The sun has just barely begun to stream in through the blinds of your bedroom window, but it illuminates the room just enough for your eyes to land on the backpack you had stuffed full of a few changes of clothes last night, waiting for you by the door. 

You don’t waste any time stripping off your pajamas and pulling on just about the only clothes left in your room that aren’t in your bag. You’ve got your teeth brushed, face washed, and hair tamed in all of about ten minutes, too anxious to spend even one more unnecessary second in this house. You swing your backpack over your shoulder, pull your bedroom door open at just the right speed so that the hinges don’t squeak too loud, and tiptoe delicately down the stairs, careful to avoid the creaky floorboards that you know like the back of your hand—the one three steps from the top, the one at the landing about halfway down, and the very bottom one.

You land softly when you leap over that tattletale bottom step, successful in the most difficult part of your escape plan so far. Rob is passed out on the living room couch in typical fashion, his mouth full of crooked teeth hanging open as his grating snores permeate the calm morning air. He’s still got a death grip around an empty beer can, even in his sleep, and your mother will likely be the one to toss it into the trash for him, useless fucker that he is. You aren’t going to miss either of them, and you imagine they’ll just skip trying to replicate the first half of the aftermath of Ruby’s disappearance altogether—no posters, no search parties, no police. You’ll just be gone, one less mouth for your mother to feed. Though, you’d been mostly feeding yourself since you were tall enough to slide a couple of bills across the counter at the corner store down the street, anyway. You’re ready to disappear, the same as candle wax when it burns, the same as the end of a rainbow, the same as Ruby Carpenter.

You don’t bother looking back when you shut the door behind you, content to leave it all behind just as the sun begins to rise and set the sky ablaze. By the time it sets again tonight, you hope to be in a different county, in a different state, anywhere that isn’t here. The rest, you’ll just have to figure out when you get there, wherever “there” may be.

—

You had only realized about an hour ago that you’d forgotten your cheap digital watch in the drawer of your bedside table, where it’s laid unused for the past couple of months, because who needs to tell time during the summer? You never had anywhere to be, never had to get to class or turn in a paper by a certain time, so it’s just been collecting dust since you had unclipped it from your wrist on the last day of spring semester. It sure would have come in handy right about now, when you have no fucking clue what time it is. The sun had disappeared behind the hills several mile markers back, so it must be… eight o’clock? Ten o’clock? Fucking midnight? You have no idea. What you do know is that you’re exhausted, hungry, and your feet hurt like hell. You aren’t really sure what you expected, the reality only just now setting in that you don’t even have ten bucks to your name anymore, thanks to your narcissist of a mother. The crumpled up bills you do have in your pocket are hardly enough for a goddamn sandwich, let alone a motel room. The cool night breeze raises goosebumps on your skin, and you swear you can see your fucking breath, even in the middle of August. You wrap your arms around yourself just as tears begin to prick at your waterlines, and you let them fall as you collapse onto the scratchy patch of dead grass on the side of the freeway, not a park bench or a bus stop or even a gas station in sight for God knows how many more miles.

You sit cross-legged, elbows propped up on your knees so that your hands can support your weary head, the skin of your palms becoming slippery with salty tears as your crying just doesn’t seem to stop. The road you’ve found yourself on seems relatively low-trafficked, the heaving sounds of your sobs accompanied by more cricket chirps and rustling wheat than rumbling tires. But a few high beams do streak across your vision every once in a while, coloring the backs of your eyelids a flaming scarlet.

After several minutes, your tears seem to dry up on their own, your body likely too dehydrated now to produce any more. You wipe the moisture from under your eyes with the back of your hand, sniffling as you gnaw at the skin of your bottom lip and debate if you should just turn back now, give up on your stupid little plan (or lack thereof) and just call the whole thing a loss, pretend it never even happened. Your mother and Rob won’t have even noticed you’d left.

Just as you pull yourself back up to your feet, set on at least finding somewhere that isn’t the hard ground to sleep on tonight before you make your way back home tomorrow, the warm headlights of an old pickup truck are shining bright in your eyes. You put your arm up to block them as the truck slowly squeals to a halt in front of where you’re standing, and you squint your eyes at the driver as your vision adjusts.

“You need a ride, sweetheart?” A man asks in a gravelly voice, and you can still hardly make out what he looks like. Based on the southern accent you pick up on, he doesn’t sound like he’s from around here. 

“N-no, thank you. I’m okay,” you respond shakily, taking a nervous step back from the stranger and his rusted pickup.

“You sure? Looked like you were cryin’ over here, like you might be lost or somethin’.”

“‘M not lost, I know where I’m going.”

“Oh yeah? Where’s that?”

Shit. 

You take a guess.

“Um… the motel down the road,” you reply, tilting your head in the direction you had been walking in.

“There ain’t a motel down there, sweetheart. Ain’t nothin’ in either direction for miles, ‘s all just farmland out here. Reckon you’ve already figured that out, though.”

You pause, unsure of what your next move should be. He knows you’re lying, knows you’re alone with no fucking idea where you are or where you’re going. You could run, but even that shitty truck of his could catch up to you in a matter of seconds. You take another step back, swiveling your head around to look up and down the road as you try to figure your best way out of this.

“Just lemme give you a ride somewhere, darlin’. There’s a diner just off the exit, ‘bout twenty miles up ahead. Could take you that far, at least, get you somethin’ to eat,” he offers. A warm meal does sound pretty good right now, and you suppose you aren’t exactly in a position to refuse his help.

You think on it for a second. “What’s it called? The diner.”

The stranger huffs. “Moody’s.”

“What do they have?” you challenge.

He sighs. “It’s a fuckin’ diner off the side of the freeway, darlin’. They got greasy food and black coffee, ‘s about all you need.”

You don’t say anything.

Then, after a beat—“They got some kinda sloppy mess they call the Thunder Burger. ‘S got onion rings and shit on it. Ain’t half bad.”

You have to admit, he’s passing your pop quiz with flying colors. His answers have been too quick, too specific for him to be lying to you. There’s a pretty solid chance this diner does exist, and that he’s been there before. The man hasn’t said anything that’s indicated he wants more to do with you than to offer you a ride and some dinner. He’s probably just somebody’s harmless grandfather, anyway, judging by his motheaten flannel and gray-stricken beard you can see now that you’ve approached his truck a few paces closer.

“Okay,” you concede, your stomach growling loudly as the man leans over the bench seat to pop open the passenger side door for you. You shrug off your backpack and climb into the cabin, clicking your seatbelt into place as you situate yourself on the cracked leather seat. 

“All set?” the stranger asks.

“Mhm,” you hum, finally getting a better look at the man you might just owe the rest of your life to after tonight. For being somebody’s grandfather, he’s… kinda handsome. Really fucking handsome, actually, in a rugged sort of way. He’s got warm amber eyes that sparkle even in the dark of night, a kind smile that completely disarms you in an instant, and a splintering scar across the bridge of his nose that somehow only adds to his good looks. You try to suppress your own grin as you look away from him quickly, opting to focus on fidgeting with one of the fraying edges of your denim shorts instead. Even in your peripheral vision, you don’t miss how his eyes shift from your own to the exposed skin of your thighs. He doesn’t say anything, just clears his throat as he shifts gears and steers his truck back onto the road again. 

He lets the next few minutes pass in comfortable silence before asking, “You got a name, sweetheart?”

You tell him, and he flashes another charming smile at you. “I like that, ‘s pretty… Well, I’m Joel. Sure you were wonderin’. Now you ain’t gettin’ a ride from a stranger no more, are ya?”

“Yeah, I guess I’m not,” you giggle, and you’re surprised at how comfortable you feel with him. “So… you’ve been to Moody’s before?”

“Handful of times, yeah. When I’m passin’ through.”

You nod. “So you come up here, like… for work or somethin’?”

Joel chuckles. “Or somethin’. You never even heard of the damn place, so… reckon you don’t find yourself out here very often, do ya?”

“No… ‘M not even really sure where ‘here’ is, to be honest. I just kinda… started walking.”

“Ah… a runaway, then, are ya?” Joel asks, with an appreciated amount of understanding in his tone rather than judgment. “‘M sure your folks are missin’ ya right about now, must have your boyfriend worried sick.”

You scoff at that. “Fuck no. They probably don’t even know I’m gone, won’t even bother trying to come look for me. And I don’t have a boyfriend, so…”

“Damn shame. ‘M sorry about that, sweetheart,” Joel comforts, placing a large calloused hand on your thigh. It makes your breath hitch, but his touch isn’t entirely unwelcome. You let him squeeze once at the plush of your leg before he replaces his hand on the wheel, and your cunt spasms out a little fluttering pulse against the seam of your shorts, despite yourself.

The rest of the drive to Moody’s is relatively quiet, save for the gentle crooning of an old country singer emanating from the cassette player on the dash. The soft singing and steady strumming of a banjo combined with the muffled chugging of the truck’s engine is enough to lull you to sleep, especially after the day you’ve had. You know that just about every mental alarm bell you have should be screaming at you to jump out of the car, to run, that sleeping alone in the dirt would’ve been a better decision than getting into this strange man’s—Joel’s—truck, but you’re too tired to hear them. He smells good, like woodsmoke and pine and cinnamon, and if he wanted to do something awful to you, he probably would’ve done it by now. So you trust him, for now at least, and let your lashes fan out against your cheeks as your head falls back against the cushioned headrest, coaxed into sleep by the lullaby of tires against pavement and fingertips against guitar strings.

—

You only rouse when you feel the truck come to a stop about half an hour or so later, slowly blinking your eyes open against the bright neon sign that reads “MOODY’S” in bold capital letters. Your jaw stretches wide as a yawn overtakes the muscles, and you hear Joel’s southern drawl replace the one from the cassette as he shuts the engine off.

“Mornin’, sleepyhead. Not too tired to eat somethin’ now, are ya?”

Another unpleasant-sounding rumble from your empty stomach answers for you, loud enough for both of you to hear this time. The air puffing out of the diner’s kitchen smells strongly of fatty bacon and rich coffee, just like Joel had promised you the place would offer. Although the digital clock on the dash read just after 10:30 before you fell asleep, you’ve never craved breakfast quite like you do right now. You absentmindedly lick your lips as you imagine the sweet and savory—and more importantly free—meal that could be waiting for you beyond that blinding beacon of a sign.

“Well, alright then. Let’s get some food in ya before you keel over, hm?” Joel says as he exits the truck, landing on his feet in the dirt parking lot with a soft groan. He waits by the hood for you to meet up with him, and you walk up the couple of steps to the entrance together. He holds the door open for you, and you offer him a shy ‘thank you’, to which he responds with a soft spoken ‘welcome, sweetheart’. You stand shyly behind his broad form as he asks the hostess for a table for two, and she leads you to a green leather booth tucked into the corner of the diner. She hands each of you a sticky laminated menu, the pages a charming mess of clashing colors and faded pictures and retro-looking fonts, then departs with a promise that your waitress will bring the two of you some water as you take your time deciding on what you might like. 

You light up upon reading that Moody’s serves breakfast all day, and that they can make you exactly what you were hoping for—a stack of chocolate chip pancakes with sides of bacon and hashbrowns. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you wiggle in your seat, excitedly anticipating the waitress to come back around so you can order.

“Whatcha so excited about over there?” Joel asks, eyeing you from across the table as he glances up from his own menu.

“Nothin’, I was just hoping I could get some pancakes, and they have ‘em on the menu,” you explain giddily. “I’ll probably get some coffee, too, really complete the whole ‘breakfast for dinner’ thing.”

Joel huffs through his nose. “Decaf, I hope. ‘S the middle of the goddamn night, sweetheart. Gonna be bouncin’ off the walls in the room later, hardly get any sleep.”

He’s right, you suppose. But wait—“What room?”

Joel shrugs casually. “There’s a decent motel another exit or two down, figured they could probably get us a couple o’ beds for the night. But, ‘m sorry, shouldn’t have assumed—”

“No! No, it’s okay.”

Is it? You only met the man less than an hour ago, and you already agreed to let him give you a ride before you even knew his name. You suppose you hadn’t really thought about what would happen after he bought you dinner, but not thinking ahead seems to have been a theme today, hasn’t it? You remind yourself that he’s only been kind and respectful to you so far, save for that placement of his hand on your upper thigh soon after he picked you up. But that could’ve just been a friendly, paternal gesture, right? And he said a couple of beds, when he mentioned the motel, which seemed to imply that he plans on the two of you sleeping in separate beds, maybe even separate rooms. You’ve found yourself having to make yet another somewhat reckless decision tonight, but one that would be in your best interest to say ‘yes’ to, at this point. What other option would you have if you declined his offer?

“Don’t really have anywhere else to go, so… yeah, okay. Motel sounds good. And decaf it is, I guess.”

Joel’s apologetic expression quickly morphs into a satisfied smirk. “Good girl,” he praises. You like how the words sound coated in his thick drawl, even though you probably shouldn’t. You shift where you sit as that familiar fluttering sensation returns to the seat of your panties, just for a moment. You’re grateful that the waitress arrives at the booth not a second later, cheerily introducing herself as she sets down a glass of water for each of you. When she asks if you’re ready to order, Joel gestures to you as if to say ‘ladies first’, and you politely prattle off your request. You make sure to emphasize that you’d like your coffee decaf, and ask if she could please bring some more of the little cups of vanilla creamer to the table. “Not a problem, honey,” she replies, and Joel winks at you as she asks what she can get for him. He orders the Thunder Burger he had told you about earlier, and a black coffee, which he doesn’t request to be decaf. The waitress leaves the two of you alone again with an ‘I’ll have that right out for ya,’ and you let your eyes follow the calming baby blue color of her dress as she glides her way back to the kitchen. When she disappears around the corner of the bar, you take the opportunity to study Moody’s other patrons. There isn’t another young person in sight, mostly just men around Joel’s age with similarly heavy bags under their eyes, likely truck drivers indulging in their first hot meal of the day within the diner’s comforting wood-paneled walls. You wonder if that’s how Joel knows about this place, because he “passes through” this area on long hauls across the midwest. You open your mouth to ask him if your assumption is correct, but he cuts you off before you can say anything.

“I gotta admit, sweetheart, I’m curious… The hell was a pretty thing like you doin’ out in the middle of goddamn nowhere tonight? I mean, I know you’re a runaway ‘n all, but… shouldn’t you be one o’ those college party girls or somethin’? ‘M sure you got plenty of friends wonderin’ where you are.”

You sigh, shaking your head as you distractedly pick at a splintered piece of wood at the edge of the table.

“I was in college. Was supposed to be going back again this year, but… my mom spent all the fucking savings I had left for the rest of it on fixing up her dumb boyfriend’s car. It’s just been sitting in the fucking lawn all summer, sure as hell not being used for something useful like going to the job he doesn’t have. That bastard…” You say the last part under your breath through gritted teeth.

“Shit… Tha’s a tough deal, baby, ‘m real sorry to hear that,” Joel comforts. “But y’know, everybody’s got mommy ‘n daddy issues, don’t mean you just up and start walkin’ all by your lonesome, not even have any idea where you’re goin’.”

“Well, it wasn’t just that. There was… nevermind, it’s stupid.” You slump into the cushioned booth, silently cursing yourself for even bringing it up.

“What is it?” Joel pushes, sitting up straighter to show you that he wants to listen, wants to get to know you. And God dammit, he might be the first person you’ve met in a long time who actually seems to care about what you have to say, as strange as it is. You flick your eyes up to his face, and he’s wearing a sincere gaze that convinces you to continue.

“There was this girl I went to high school with. She disappeared a couple of years ago, nobody ever found out what happened to her. People figured she probably just ran away, and I thought… I dunno. That maybe she had the right idea, leaving that place behind. I always held onto this hope that maybe she was still out there somewhere actually doing something with her life, that maybe she just changed her name or something and disappeared on purpose.” You pause. “I guess I just thought I might be able to do the same, if I left.”

“I see…” Joel muses sympathetically. “Maybe I oughta give you a lil’ more credit, then. Must’a been tough losin’ a friend like that, not knowin’ where she ended up.”

“I mean, Ruby wasn’t really my friend. She just—”

“Hang on. Ruby, you said?” Joel interrupts, his eyes suddenly looking a little wild.

“...Yeah. Her name was Ruby. Ruby Carpenter.”

—

Fuck.

Joel has to adjust himself under the table, his dick now hardening uncomfortably in his jeans at just the mention of her name. He remembers Ruby, remembers chuckling to himself when he realized the irony of her name matching the color of her blood, remembers watching the news coverage of her disappearance in this very same diner, those handful of years ago. She was a sweet thing, he remembers this, too. It was a shame she had ended up being such a fighter, that she had to get put down the way she did. But she shouldn’t have thrown that fucking rock at his face, called him a sick fuck and a freak as she made her pitiful little escape attempt. Joel is lucky that all he came away from it with is that ugly little scar that mars the bridge of his nose. He can’t say the same for her.

“Why? You heard her name before?” You ask him, an unfortunate little twinkle of hope in your eyes.

“Maybe.” Yes. “Sounds a lil’ familiar, might remember hearin’ about it on the news or somethin’.”

That goddamn news coverage sure as hell taught him a lesson. Joel had spent months trying to keep the cops off his fucking tail after he had dumped her body on some forgettable patch of land behind an old decaying barn. He had even gotten pulled in for a fucking interview at the station in what he now presumes to be your hometown, where they had questioned him for an hour or so about her disappearance. He still isn’t sure how he talked his way out of that one. Ruby might not have been good for much else, other than pissing him the hell off with all of her pathetic crying and begging to just please, please let me go back home, but she did help him perfect his craft, he can give her that much. It’s because of her that Joel makes certain now that any girl he picks up doesn’t have anybody who will miss her or plaster her face on every local channel or send out goddamn search parties to find her. Girls like you.

You’re just so perfect, it would be so fucking easy for him to make you disappear for good, it’s almost comical. It had hardly taken any convincing at all to get you to climb into his truck, had taken even less to get you to agree to go to some seedy ass motel with him that might not even exist, for all you know. It does, but you didn’t even try to test him about it this time, just put all of your trust in him like a stray puppy would to the first person to pick it up off the street. That is just about what you are, he supposes. So far, you seem like the perfect candidate to become his little captive pet. If you keep it up, maybe you won’t meet the same fate as the rest of them. He’d told himself he’d be done after the last one, anyway, his body too old and achy and slow now to chase after the ones who put up a little more fight, like she had. She’d nearly escaped, made it a decent way through the woods and almost reached the main road before tripping on an exposed root and snapping her ankle. He remembers how weak and scared she’d looked before he’d used his knife to put her out of her misery, and it makes his dick twitch. Joel doesn’t plan on snuffing you out, not right now at least, since you haven’t given him a reason to. But his fingers still twitch where they rest on the table, moving out of instinct as he can’t help but imagine what they’d look like wrapped so tightly around your little throat. Would you cry? Would you beg? Would you pray? Would he have to glide his blade across your vocal chords just to get you to stop screaming so fucking loud? He wonders.

“Oh… Was that one of the times you were just ‘passin’ through’ for whatever reason you haven’t told me yet?”

Joel hadn’t realized that his eyes had been unfocused for so long, or that he’d been holding his breath, or that his hand had been squeezing his glass of water so hard he’s glad it hadn’t shattered. The airy sound of your voice brings him back to reality, and he huffs a light chuckle as he fixes his face into a more pleasant expression. 

“Yeah, ‘spose it was.” 

You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Come on, Joel. I just told you, like, my whole sob story. I feel like I deserve to know at least one thing about you now.”

You have a point.

He gives in. “Fine. I got a brother, used to come through this area when I’d pay him a visit. That good enough for ya?”

You cross your arms. “No. What’s his name?”

“Tommy.”

“What’s he look like?”

“Like me. Little younger. Little uglier.”

You laugh at that.

It makes Joel smile.

Maybe you could be the one he’s been looking for all this time. Too bad he had to waste so many others before he finally got to you.

—

The waitress comes back to your table soon after that, with your steaming plates of delicious-smelling food and hot mugs of coffee balanced expertly on a large plastic tray. She sets them down in front of the pair of you with a cheery smile, and you thank her happily when she doesn’t forget the extra sickeningly sweet cups of creamer you had requested. Joel doesn’t take his eyes off you once during the interaction, not even to feast his eyes upon the monstrous burger now sitting before him, not even as he thanks the waitress for delivering it to him. His lingering gaze makes you feel a little warm, but it could just be from the heat radiating off of your plates.

“What? You’re not getting a bite of mine, if that’s why you’re looking at me,” you tease, already getting to work putting the sugary creamer to good use.

Joel just shakes his head, his caramel colored eyes still never leaving you as your coffee begins to resemble their hue. “No, ‘s not why.”

“Whatever,” you reply through a giggle, making a poor attempt to hide your girlish grin behind the lip of your white ceramic mug. 

The two of you eat your meals in relative silence, mostly enjoying each other’s company and basking in the relaxing ambience created by silverware tapping against porcelain, hushed conversations, and the local country station playing through the old radio sitting on the counter. The reception is a little spotty way out here in wherever the hell you are, so you can’t quite tell what song it is. But Joel seems to know, judging by the rhythmic bouncing of his knee under the table that creates little circular ripples in your coffee. Maybe you’ll ask him what it is later, how he knows it, if you can listen to it again in the truck together. He doesn’t seem to be as much of an open book as you’ve already given yourself away to be, and you respect that about him. It doesn’t make you any less curious, but you resign yourself to getting to know him better in the small doses he’s willing to offer you. 

You decide to begin a mental list of all the things you want to ask him later, knowing that by the time you make it to the motel tonight, you’ll be far too exhausted to do anything more than just collapse onto the springy mattress and sleep until you get kicked out of the room the next morning. You almost wish you hadn’t listened to Joel’s request for you to take your coffee decaffeinated tonight, and you still aren’t quite sure why you did. It just feels so strangely easy to give into him, to trust him, to let him make decisions for you. You suppose that’s what you’ve been needing all this time, someone to guide you and understand you and at least pretend like they care about you. Joel has shown you more concern and care and protection in the last hour or so than either of your parents have pretty much your whole life. And he’s good at this, making you feel wanted, making you feel like somebody, even in subtle ways, just by looking at you.

“A’right, why don’t you finish up, darlin’, ‘n we’ll hit the road again. Practically usin’ your pancakes as a pillow over there.”

“Oh, sorry,” you apologize sleepily, waking yourself up enough to make quick work finishing off your plate and your last few sips of coffee. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout, sweetheart. Lord knows you need some rest, won’t be too much longer now,” Joel assures, fishing a few tens out of his faded leather wallet and placing them on the table. He slides to the edge of the booth and stands himself up with only a few pained noises as he straightens out his back, then offers his hand for you to take. You use it as leverage to pull yourself upright, and your hands linger in each other’s hold for a few seconds longer than they need to. The hostess thanks the two of you for stopping in when you pass her by, and Joel opens the door for you again as you leave Moody’s. He opens the truck door for you, too, and promises you that the motel is just another couple of minutes down the freeway. You make an effort to stay awake in your seat this time as Joel begins the drive, opting to gaze out the window and focus on trying to make out the sparkling constellations above the treeline. You smile privately at the moon when you find that she’s following closely behind you just as she always does, bright and full. 

She doesn’t leave your side until you reach the unassuming little roadside motel, which to your gratitude, proudly displays their vacancy on the flickering sign in the parking lot. It doesn’t look like a five star joint by any means, but you know it will serve its purpose just fine. Joel instructs you to stay in the truck while he goes about getting a room for the two of you, and you don’t object. He’d insisted that you didn’t need to be on your feet any longer than you already had been today, and you were too tired to argue with him even if you wanted to. When he returns, he taps lightly on the passenger side window so as not to startle you from the half-asleep, half-awake state you’ve found yourself in, and swings your backpack over his shoulder as he helps you out of the truck. He leads you to the room at the end of the row, and the door takes some finessing of the key and a shove of his shoulder to open. Joel flicks on the light, and you let out a disappointed-sounding ‘oh…’ when it reveals your accommodations.

There aren’t two beds like you had assumed Joel was going to request. There’s only one.

Joel catches your reaction. “‘S this gonna be alright? I know it ain’t the Ritz Carlton, but—”

“No, the room’s fine, it’s not that. I just thought… I just assumed that… I didn’t know it was gonna be, like… just the one bed.” You try to explain your discomfort as gently as possible, without seeming ungrateful for everything Joel has done for you tonight.

He looks at you sympathetically. “I know, I ain’t tryin’ anythin’, I swear. Guy told me it was the last room they had, jus’ figured it was better than nothin’.” 

You offer him a soft smile, but your eyes must still look a little wide as you begin to nervously pick at your fingernails. Joel continues, “I can take the chair if you want, darlin’. Get the bed all to yourself, how’s that sound?”

You visibly relax at that, your shoulders deflating as your smile becomes a little more genuine. “Okay, that’s good. Thank you.”

“‘Course, sweetheart. How’s about you take a nice hot shower, rinse off some o’ that dirt you picked up from walkin’ all day… Don’t suppose you got some suitable clothes in here for sleepin’ in?” Joel asks, handing your backpack off to you.

You shake your head. “Just some jeans and t-shirts, and another pair of shoes. And… y’know, some underwear, and stuff.”

Joel pinches the bridge of his nose, then rubs his fingers across his forehead exasperatedly. “I swear… it’s like you didn’t think there’d be a tomorrow or somethin’, girl. Christ.” Joel looks out the window to his truck parked just outside. “Tell you what, think I got somethin’ in the truck you can wear. Why don’t you see if they got anythin’ on the TV tha’s worth a damn, ‘n I’ll be back, alright?”

You nod, “Okay,” then set your backpack down on the drab carpet in favor of picking up the remote perched in front of the small square television. You sit yourself down on the edge of the bed as Joel leaves the room, and begin to flick through the few channels that aren’t just a screen full of snowy static.

Local news. Commercial. Game show. Commercial. Documentary. Commercial. 

Eventually, you land on what seems to be one of those old black-and-white western shows that you can never remember the name of. You only know that the reruns used to play on Sundays around lunchtime, because Rob would always be half paying attention to it with a beer in his hand when you and your mom would get home from church. For how adamant she was that you attend every weekend, she sure never called him a harlot and a sinner for not wanting to go with her. You’re not sure she had ever even tried to get him to go, but he probably didn’t own anything decent enough to wear, anyway. Whatever, fuck them. The show seems like the kind of thing Joel would like, so you let it keep playing. 

He comes back a moment later with a small stack of folded up clothes, tossing them over to where you sit on the bed. You unfold what he’s given you and examine them—a pair of simple pink cotton shorts, and a white tank top with a ditsy floral pattern scattered across the fabric. The clothing is a little more revealing than you’d like, but you figure you’d be a hell of a lot more comfortable wearing them to sleep than the denim shorts you have on now.

“These are… great. Thank you, Joel. But…” you snicker. “Should I be concerned that you have a very convenient supply of girls’ clothes in your truck?” Joel scoffs. “‘S for when I got Tommy’s kid with me, smartass. He’s got a daughter, few years younger ‘n you.”

“Okay, well, I dunno how I was supposed to know that, but… as long as you don’t have a girlfriend who’s gonna come after me for wearing her clothes.”

Joel only chuckles in response, his attention suddenly pulled to the TV.

“Gunsmoke, huh? ‘S a good choice, definitely what I’d classify as ‘worth a damn’.”

You smile to yourself, and his approval makes that warm fluttery feeling return to your belly. “I didn’t even know what it was called, just seemed like something you’d like.”

He turns back to you. “That obvious, huh? ‘S just ‘cause I’m old and southern, ain’t it?”

“Maybe a little,” you admit, making a pinching gesture with your hand.

Joel nods as he makes his way over to the armchair on the corner of the room, collapsing onto it with a groan. “Well, why don’t you go ‘n get yourself all changed and cleaned up, ‘n if you’re quick enough maybe we can finish the episode together and then get some shuteye, hm?”

You swiftly unzip your backpack to retrieve one of your clean pairs of underwear, then bound over to the small bathroom with them and your new change of clothes in hand. It’s not the most spotless one you’ve ever had to use, but you’ve honestly seen much worse. You rinse off quickly in the steaming shower, using the scratchy motel-provided washcloth to scrub the dirt from your legs, stuck to you with the sweat you worked up from God knows how many miles of walking today. 

Today. You can hardly believe it hasn’t even been a full 24 hours since you left home yet. It seems like you’ve already known Joel for days, maybe even years, as silly as it sounds. You wonder if he might just take you in after this, or if he’ll have had enough of providing for you after just one night. He seems like a man of limited means, and he’s already given you so much. If you’re brave enough, maybe you’ll ask him tomorrow, when you get to the ‘so… what now?’ part of your time together.

For now, you step out of the shower and dry yourself off with an impossibly scratchier towel, then pull on your panties and the tank top and shorts Joel provided you with.

Jesus, how much younger is Tommy’s daughter?

The shorts just barely cover your ass, and there’s a sizable gap between their waistband and the bottom hem of your top. The thin, white material of the shirt only serves to accentuate the way your nipples poke through the fabric, but you suppose there isn’t anything you can do about that.

You quietly crack open the bathroom door, and are somewhat relieved to find that Joel’s already fallen asleep in the chair. You do wish you could’ve finished the episode of Gunsmoke with him, but the end credits seem to be rolling already anyway, and you’d rather avoid being seen in your very ill-fitting pajamas. Although, you do wonder if he’d say anything, or if he’d just let his hungry gaze linger in silence again, holding himself back from touching you beyond a comforting pat on the thigh.

You pick the remote up off the bed and use it to make the TV screen sizzle to black, then tip toe over to the lightswitch by the door and turn it off, the room now completely shrouded in darkness. Joel snores softly from the chair as you blindly feel your way back over to the bed, pulling the covers back and nestling yourself underneath them. The bed is surprisingly comfortable, considering, and it doesn’t take long for your exhaustion to catch up with you. Your thoughts become slower and slower along with your breathing, and you’re asleep not even five minutes after your head hits the pillow.

—

The last room they had, yeah, right. You’re just the most pathetic little thing, aren’t you? You’ll believe just about anything that comes out of his mouth if he turns up the ‘southern charm’ dial a few ticks, throws in a feigned apologetic-looking expression for good measure. It’s sad, really. For you, anyway.

Joel fakes his snoring for another thirty minutes or so, until he’s certain you’re sound asleep. He had heard your breath even out almost immediately after you had tucked yourself in, but he had chosen to lay in wait for a little while longer, just to make sure you wouldn’t put up too much of a fight when he made his move. You don’t seem like the type, considering how you’d hardly argued with him at all tonight, like when he had convinced you to forgo the caffeine with your dinner. There’s a reason he wanted you sleepy and subdued tonight, but you didn’t know that. Joel likes how well you listen to him, how easily you do as he asks.

He also likes how warm you are, how small your body is compared to his own, the difference in size especially prominent now that he’s laying snugly against you, his front pressing firmly into the back of you. You don’t wake from his lumbering movement, only coming to slightly when you feel his arm slide underneath your body, his warm hand snaking its way beneath your tiny shirt to squeeze at your plush tits. 

You mumble out a little “Hm?”, which he’s quick to quiet with, “Sorry, darlin’. Chair was too hard on my damn back. Just go back to sleep, ‘kay?” That chair felt like laying on a goddamn cloud compared to some of the other surfaces he’s found himself having to sleep on before, but again, you don’t know that, and what you don’t know won’t hurt you. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning, how his hard cock is slotted so perfectly against your ass, especially without the confines of his thick jeans holding him back. They’re discarded onto the floor now in front of the armchair, along with his flannel shirt and jacket. Joel holds you tightly against his bare, hairy chest as he circles a roughened pad of his finger around one of your nipples, smirking to himself at how quickly the bud hardens from his touch. He knew you wanted this, and the wet spot that the fingers of his other hand are teasing in the gusset of your panties is proof of it. How long have you been leaking for him like this? Had you been soaking the seat of his truck earlier today? Filthy thing.

You still don’t rouse when he pulls your panties aside and slips a finger inside your slick cunt, or when his grip on your tit loosens in favor of sliding up higher under your tank top, his hand coming to a rest around the base of your throat as he pumps his finger in and out of your tight heat. It would be so fucking easy…

But he can’t, he won’t, because you’re not like the others. You want to get to know him, you let him take care of you, you seem to like his company, and you don’t leap out of bed and call him a fucking perv and a dirty old man for what he’s doing to you. That’s what the others would have done. It’s what they have done. And they faced the consequences.

But you’re different. You’re not like them. You’re like him. A lost soul, that’s what you are. Nowhere to call home, no one who misses you or loves you or gives a damn what happens to you. Joel’s mouth had tasted bitter when he had told you about Tommy, or rather, lied about him. Joel hasn’t seen the fucker in years, certainly doesn’t pay him any visits or watch his brat, not since Tommy had learned the truth. You better not show your goddamn face around here ever again, you understand me? Tommy had spat at him. You’re fuckin’ sick. Only reason I don’t turn your ass in myself is ‘cause you’re my goddamn brother. But if I ever fuckin’ see you again, I won’t hesitate. Better make yourself pretty fuckin’ scarce ‘fore I change my mind. That might’ve been about the only time Joel had ever taken orders from his little brother. 

That bitter flavor is cut by the sweet tang of you that he tastes on his finger now, so young and eager and fresh. The hand around your throat squeezes a little tighter, and Joel’s hips begin to move against your ass as he allows himself to suck wet kisses onto the skin under the hinge of your jaw. Softly, gently, so as not to wake you. He could come just like this, using your pliant body in your sleep, rutting himself against your still form with the taste of your pussy on his tongue and his fingers pressed against your pulse points.

He’s close when you stir again, making broken hiccuping sounds as you choke on your breath.

“Shh, shh,” Joel soothes. “You’re alright, sweetheart. ‘S just me. Just—fuck—hold still, go back to sleep, baby.” You let out a quiet whimper, squirming against him just a little bit, but return to your unmoving and silent state a second later. Joel finishes himself off quickly with another couple of shallow thrusts against you, his large hand still gripped around the column of your neck, trying to stifle his groans as he spills into his briefs. He removes his suffocating hand and keeps you pressed tightly against him for a while after that, tanned arms wrapped around your waist and breathing in your scent as he waits for you to settle back down. 

When he’s sure he won’t disturb you again, Joel releases you from his hold and pads quietly back over to the armchair, redressing himself and resuming the position you had left him in. In the morning, if you do remember any of it, you’ll just chalk it up to a very strange dream, one fueled by the desire he knows you’ve felt towards him since he picked you up. You’ll be left with a strange assuredness that he feels the same way about you, without really knowing why. 

But Joel will always know.

—

The digital clock on the nightstand only reads around 8:00 when you’re awoken by a beam of sunlight shining brightly against the backs of your eyelids, streaming in from the window’s lopsided blinds. You had gone to sleep with your back to Joel, but you find yourself facing him now. He looks kind of peaceful when he’s asleep, that permanent furrow etched between his brows finally smoothed out as he dozes. A small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, but they fall quickly when you adjust your legs and feel the cool dampness against your core, the sensation bringing back the memory of the dream you’d had last night. 

It had felt so real, but it couldn’t have been, could it? There’s no evidence that Joel had really laid next to you last night, that he’d really touched you like that, that you’d wanted him to keep going. It must just be some kind of strange side effect of the affection you feel toward the man who had rescued you, more or less. You’ll likely just part ways after today, anyway, so it’s probably best to just try and forget about the whole thing, put on a fresh pair of underwear and pretend it never happened. 

Joel is awake by the time you’re done freshening up in the bathroom, and he greets you with a raspy ‘Mornin’, sweetheart’ as you retrieve your backpack from next to the bed and shove your ruined underwear into the bottom of it. “You get some good sleep last night?” He asks, rubbing a hand over his eye.

“Mhm, the bed was nice, more comfortable than the one I had at home, honestly.” You finish zipping your backpack closed and sit back down on the bed, pulling on some socks and the lace up sneakers you had been wearing yesterday. “I hope the chair was okay, like, for your back and everything.”

“What makes you say that, baby?”

You pause in the middle of tying one of your shoelaces, turning to look at him with a confused pout. “Didn’t you…? I thought you had told me something about how the chair would be hard on your back. Like, last night.”

Joel frowns, shaking his head. “Don’t think so, darlin’. Chair was just fine.”

“Oh… Well, that’s good.”

Maybe it had just been a dream, then.

Joel hands you a few bills from his wallet, and tasks you with getting the two of you some breakfast from the gas station across the street while he cleans himself up. He tells you that he doesn’t eat much in the mornings, but that you can get yourself whatever you want, as long as you bring him back a carton of cigarettes and a black coffee. You obey eagerly, retrieving what he asked for and getting a pack of miniature powdered donuts and an equally as sugary coffee for yourself.

He’s just stepped out of the bathroom when you return to the room, and your face feels hot when you see him with his dark hair slicked back and wet from the shower. The few strands that fall onto his forehead as he laces up his boots almost make him look a little boyish, despite his whitened temples. 

“Such a good girl, thank you,” Joel praises when you hand him his items. 

You respond with a shy ‘You’re welcome’, but he doesn’t miss how you seem to light up at his words. You plop yourself down onto the worn-in chair that Joel had used as a bed last night, happily munching on your gas station donuts and sipping on your coffee. It all makes you feel warm from the inside out.

But you figure you should find out what the rest of today might look like before you let yourself enjoy the beginnings of it too much.

“So, um… We’re just gonna check out this morning and then… what?” 

“Whaddya mean, baby?”

“I mean… are you just gonna, like… take me to the nearest bus station or something?”

Joel’s confusion is written all over his face, embedded deep into those lines between his brows. You could swear he almost looks a little hurt. “Why would I do that? ‘S that what you want?” He asks softly.

You try to backpedal a little, afraid you might’ve offended him or seemed ungrateful in your question. “I just thought it might be what you want. That you probably have somewhere else you need to be, like Tommy’s or—”

“No, I don’t,” Joel says definitively.

You pause. “Okay, so—”

“You ever been to California?”

His question stumps you for a moment, seeming so random in its nature. “No.”

“You want to?”

You shrug. “I mean… sure. Maybe someday—”

“Why don’t you come with me then, baby?”

You let out an awkward giggle. “...Come with you where?”

“To California. Come with me.” Joel’s tone is genuine but firm.

“Like, today? Are you sure?”

“I mean, we ain’t gettin’ there today, darlin’. But yeah, I’m sure. We both got nowhere else to be, do we? So let’s just go, we’ll see it together.”

You beam up at him, realizing that he’s being serious. Joel does want you, wants you to be his companion, maybe even something more that you’ll discover on familiar-looking back roads and in cities you’ve only ever seen pictures of. 

“Okay,” you agree excitedly. 

Joel nods. “Okay, then. Lemme go check us out ‘n we’ll get back on the road again. Burnin’ daylight already,” he jokes. He carries your backpack out to the truck for you, setting it down between your feet after he opens the door and helps you inside with a stable hand. It only takes a few minutes for Joel to hand in the room key and pay for the night, and then he’s back at your side. You begin to feel like that’s where you always want him to stay. 

“So, where to first, baby? California ain’t goin’ anywhere, can take as long to get there as we wanna. We’ll go wherever you like, take your pick.” Joel leans across your body to dig a folded up map out of the glove compartment, handing it to you. 

You examine it, your eyes darting across the dozens of dots with the names of cities next to them, some you’ve never even heard of. You point to one that you have heard of, but have never been to, because you’ve never even left the state you grew up in before.

“Um… how about Detroit? I’ve heard it’s nice, I think.”

Joel belly laughs at that. “It ain’t, but sure. You wanna go to Detroit, that’s where we’ll go. Buckle up, baby,” he instructs, patting your thigh. You oblige, and it feels good to finally know where you’re going, and that you’re going there with someone who cares about you, who feels safe, who wants you around. You also feel a little hopeful that maybe you were right about Ruby, after all. That you didn’t start walking for nothing, that you weren’t following some childish delusion, that if something as good as Joel had happened to you when you left, that maybe she had found herself on a similar path, ran into somebody good who took her wherever she wanted to go and helped her find someplace she belonged. Maybe she found her way out to California, eventually. What you are certain of is that neither of you ever have to go back to that town ever again, and that feels good, too.

And if it feels good, then it can’t be bad.

tag list: tag list: @beefrobeefcal @iamasaddie @rebel-held @dilfgestivo @zliteraturehoe @joeldjarin @kamcrazy123 @hellowoolf @rexamongthestars @stevie75 @luxurychristmaspudding @noisynightmarepoetry @mewantpeepaw @pedritoferg @alex-does-art-things @evolnoomym @annoyingmarvelreader @k1l4ni @joelsdagger (if your name is crossed out, it won’t let me tag you!!)

[mono-dot-jpeg]

nap time - k. leona

summary; being sent into this world wasn't so bad. at least you found people like you.

genre/extra tags; jaguar hybrid! reader, reader is mc but not really???, grim is their child and reader refuses to accept it, cat habits instilled into humans, fluff, comedy, consensual violence as affection, reader has vitiligo that looks like jaguar spots but i never address it in the story, reader is referred to as mc and prefect

word count; 1.07k

[gender neutral reader] [can be romantic or platonic? idk]

a/n; hey lol, i write for twst now ig. i wont do it often bc i think i havent grasped some of the characters well enough. but i'll take some requests

and im also on a stardew valley grind for this month so... not really playing twst often. but nonetheless, hope you enjoy. i wrote this thinking abt tank the jaguar. love that big cat fr.

anyways insert obligatory leona nap time fanfic.

you were quite glad that you landed in a different world where beastmen/hybrids were just common occurance. it's not like you didn't have them before you got here, they were just not as common in your past home. though, you've been here for a while, can you even call your old world, home?

if you were being honest, you found a new home with the savanaclaw dorm. despite being a more solitary animai, you found some comfort in the other beastman. though ruggie liked to annoy you in your times of silence, you consider him a good friend. jack was nice, he was awkward at times but he meant well. but you were much more interested in leona.

something about being so similar yet so different attracted you to him. and also the fact that grim was more than willing to let you be friends with leona if it meant free cans of tuna and money.

but you really like the moments you had with leona.

it was an unlucky day really. having to wake up to attend class, terrible. having to drag grim by the scruff to wake up, little brat gets an extra 5 minutes while you have to actually get ready. and then losing grim because... why would he listen to you for more than 5 minutes? sounded more like a normal day than you liked to admit.

"hey. herbivore." he chuffs. while it's typically a nice greeting between your shared kind with leona, you can't help but think it's more teasing than usual.

"i'm in the same family and genus as you. who are you calling herbivore?" you grunted. you bat at his arm once, causing the male to snicker.

"i believe you're looking for an annoying little cat?"

"myah! i'm not a cat!" you hear the familiar squeal of your tiny companion. "i don't want to go to class!" he's hanging by his scruff and being held by leona who's looking over at you in amusement.

"well, you cost us half an attendance mark!" you swipe him from leona's grip, pressing a hand against his cheek. "you can't just do what you please all the time! if i could, i would be sleeping right now!" you huffed. you turn to leona, who was watching you as if it was an interesting tv show, "thanks for finding him. i'm getting sick of chasing him all the time."

"ironic for a jaguar. don't you like the chase, being fast and all?" leona chuckles as you give him a pointed glare.

your arms soon cradle grim properly while your hand stays against the back of grim's neck. the loud cat yowls, "stop grabbing me there! myah!"

you ignore the small cat to answer the big cat, "i'm not that fast!"

he gives you a look, "jack thinks otherwise."

"jack is a wolf, completely different species!" you two bicker. but there's a growing grin on leona's face as you both start walking, grim wrapped up in your arms. "you better not leave this time, grim." he grumbles, eventually stopping his twisting and turning and gets comfortable in your arms. "as i said before, we're from the same genus, so naturally, we're gonna be built similar. but you're a big lazy cat who naps all day. of course you're gonna be slower than me!"

"for someone who is a solitary animal, you sure yap a lot. maybe you should be a chihuahua instead." his pointer and middle finger move to pinch your cheek for a second. "you like to scold me a lot. you're starting to sound like ruggie."

"you like being just as troublesome as grim." with a free hand, you push the side of leona's head.

"hey!" the cat shouts, offended.

"you need to relax a bit. i'm sure you're stressed out, right? grim doesn't really do much to help."

"so mean! and why does my henchman get to rest but i can't?!" grim whines. you shake your head.

"i'm not resting anytime soon. i have a lot to do. mostly just keeping grim in line but... no rest for me yet." you give a weary smile. "maybe later, i'll come by the gardens to see you." you hummed.

he huffs, "get someone else to care for grim. you need rest." you can't even say hi to your friends as leona grabs grim and tosses him to your friends, who are just as confused as you are.

"you didn't have to toss grim like that!" you slap the back of leona's head, "and i'll be fine!" you walk over to the adeuce duo, only to get tugged away again. you're tempted to throw hands as leona continues to have the audacity to try to get you to rest.

"the teachers like you anyways, you can skip one class to rest. we all know how biased crewel is when it comes to you." with enough bickering between you two, you make it to the gardens. the sun is warm against your skin as you huffed.

"do i really need to rest during classes?! i could just sleep after school!"

"do you really want to nap in your dorm, prefect?" he's already laying down on a comfortable spot. you stare at the already sleepy beastman, who only stares back as if to challenge you. it takes about two minutes for you to fold. might as well as this point. you grovel over in defeat as leona smiles smugly at your behavior.

you sort of force your way into his arms and rest your back against his chest, to which he presses his face to your neck. you can hear him chuffing. you can't help but comment, "you're chuffing an awful lot. sounds like you care for me. ack-!" his hand reaches over to your face, pressing his palm under your chin to tilt your head up.

"talking too much for a jaguar." your eyes are forced to stare into his own for a moment before he lets go and gets comfy. "just sleep." his face is buried against your head as he starts to fall asleep.

"well, you never denied it." you snicker as you turn to face him. "i don't know much about lions but something tells me you like me." he opens one eye to look at your cheeky smile.

"yeah, i do." he moves to kiss your forehead, "you're stupider than i thought, you should've figured it out sooner."

you can feel blood rushing to your face as you stammer, "y-you can't just drop that out of nowhere!" it's too late to scold him as he's already asleep.