#body snatchin story

[nearlycassidy]

character designs for this story i spruced up

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

pt XVI good omens season 2 (still not traumatic) episode 3 EDINBURGH

HELLO IT'S ME IT'S THE OFFICIAL GOOD OMENS MASCOT WHY DO I STILL KEEP INTRODUCING MYSELF IDK. If you don't know who I am, thank God and Satan for their mercy and flee. Also, the day after I post this, I'll be watching the last three episodes on livestream for the first time so. You know. I'm hyped on the energy of this being my last day not enveloped in tears. Take the summary:

Before the episode starts, someone asks why Crowley said in the last episode that Aziraphale couldn't fall because look at him, all angelic when Crowley looked the same as starmaker. I reply that "Crowley thinks he deserved it, he sees Azi as something beautiful and untouched while he probably sees himself as idk marked in some way so god kicked him down."

I am told that I am learning too fast to weaponise the narrative to induce angst. So then I say oh, I go too fast for you. Tears ensue.

The episode begins! Everyone shrieks about Edinburgh, David Tennant, how it is their favourite episode, and SCOTTISH CROWLEY.

We open with lesbians being gay, and then Muriel enters as Inspector Constable! They are very sweet and very determined to do their job right, and they are adopted by Crowley and Aziraphale just like Jim.

Crowley sits on Aziraphale's chair's arm. The maggots all swoon.

Fine, I also swooned.

Aziraphale gaslight-gatekeep-girlboss-mansplain-manipulate-manwhores his way into getting Crowley to give him the Bentley keys (BOUNDARIES. BOUNDARIES.).

WHAT PLENTY OF USE DO BOTH OF YOU GET OUT OF THE BOOKSHOP?

The really ineffable plan is whatever the fuck was happening in Aziraphale's brain when he somehow went from London to Edinburgh via Loch Ness (check the map) and then proceeded to disguise himself as a detective who pretends to be a journalist.

Crowley slays in sleeve garters and a cardigan keeping house in the bookshop meanwhile, does not sell books, instead cleans with Jimbriel and periodically yeets book stacks into corners when distracted.

Aziraphale reads his old diary entries about Crowley, a (6000+) 13 year old with a crush.

MINISODE MINISODE. They are in Edinburgh during the mid 1800s. Victorian outfits, check. Scottish Crowley, check. Capitalist Karen Aziraphale, che-wait what.

Huh. Well. There's a wee bit of body snatchin' going on, to sell to doctors for medical research because there aren't enough murderers, and to make enough money to survive.

Aziraphale channels his inner capitalist judgemental Karen and ruins that plan, come on Aziraphale you have religious trauma but you're better than this, and long story short, Wee Morag dies after Aziraphale realises his error, her friend Elspeth has to sell her corpse for pennies, and is about to commit suicide with laudanum. Azi, oh god. I'm glad you underwent character development at least.

NOW CROWLEY HERE SLAYS. I KNOW THIS IS AZIRAPHALE'S PERSPECTIVE AND IS BIASED. BUT WITH THIS POV, CROWLEY SLAYS.

He calmly educates Aziraphale about how his whole "the poor have more opportunities and you shouldn't give them money or they'll lose the virtue of poverty" is absolute bullshit, and he does this understanding Aziraphale's situation and not losing his temper.

The framing. The framing of the shot when they see Wee Morag and Elspeth sitting down on a step and explaining their situation. Aziraphale stands above, bustling with righteousness, and judges them. Crowley sits down. He sits down next to them, rather than taking the high ground. He meets them where they are and empathises. It is the fact that he is fallen and damned that makes him behave really divine and sorry I wrote a whole hymn on him have it I'll stop rambling just know I love him.

I think his amusement is a facade so hell won't think he's genuinely being good. I think he's morally grey and incredibly brave and kind.

When Elspeth is bouta kill herself with the laudanum, Crowley grabs it and drinks it himself, and grows tiny and then huge, absolutely high off his head. David Tennant takes the opportunity to travel Scotland from east to west in terms of accent variety.

He gives us the good message of NO DYIN'. NO MORE DYIN'. IT'S NOT ON. And then forces Aziraphale (who doesn't want to ruin her virtuous poverty) to give the girl all the guineas he has in his pocket, and tells her to go off and start a farm or something. BUT NOT JUST PRETENDY GOOD, BE PROPERLY GOOD.

He then gets pulled into hell. To be punished for this. Aziraphale is frightened and heartbroken for him, looking around desperately, and we find out that Crowley didn't meet him for a while after. And later he wanted holy water. To protect himself? He got punished by hell. For how long? The whole month in between the incident and the diary entry? There can't be anyone better at punishment and cruelty than hell.

Sorry I'm just screaming here.

Never mind fuck I started this summary really happy and bouncy and listening to a dance playlist. Dionysus by BTS and Italian pop is still playing and now I'm crying.

Is this the natural progression. Fuck I'm crying. Sorry guys something else happens with Aziraphale politely talking to a phone and Crowley smiling really beautifully while unsuccessfully trying to manipulate two lesbians into a relationship and something about a visit I don't care everyone's being morally dubious as usual and then lovely Scottish music outro I CAN'T FUCKING ELABORATE I'M SITTING HERE CRYING OVER CROWLEY.

right summary done, time to go sob, lmao i thought i wouldn't cry today over good omens HAHAHAHA still not traumatic eh HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

[human-trash-fire]

Shot Through The Heart: Chapter 7 (part 4- Rowaelin) NSFW

First and foremost I want to apologize to all my readers for the delay. This is my 5th pass at this chapter. I lost motivation when it seemed that every time I went to write this it didn’t do the buildup justice.

A few notes going in: 

1.The total money Dorian, Asterin, and Mannon made from their game will be posted at the end of the chapter. 

2. This is the first chapter that will feature a group text, so I’ve changed the formatting on text conversations to make it slightly easier to track. That being said, we see the Group Chat from Aelin’s phone and, as you’d expect everyone has a name. Here is a list of the characters and their text names so it’s easier to understand:

- The Queen: Aelin

-Sexy Liger: Lysandra

-SINnamon Roll: Elide

-Dorian’s Dom: Manon

-Blonde Demon: Asterin

-Elsa Havilliard: Dorian

-Balto: Aedion

-Discount Deadpool: Ren

Lastly, a GIANT THANK YOU to all of you who have kept up with this story and to @starseternalnighttriumphant​ for beta reading this chapter. I hope you all enjoy <3 

(Click HERE to bring you to my masterlist if you need a refresher course on what’s happening bc I took so long to write this)

AELIN:

What the fuck is going on? Aelin thought as she reached for her mimosa, taking care to lean as far away from Rowan at her side as possible. Last night…. Last night was clearly eventful in more ways than one. She had been awake for approximately 15 minutes and wasn’t entirely sure she was sober yet, if she was being honest. The demon 3-way at the end of the table had spent the entire morning cackling like a pack of witches and, not-so-subtly marking tallies for their fucking “bets.” By Aelin’s estimation she’d made Dorian enough money over the course of their friendship to buy a fucking Lambourghini.

“Hey Rowan,” Dorian sounded mild but the smirk playing about his lips gave him away. This motherfucker. Aelin cut him a scathing look over her sunglasses.

“Sup?” He responded, while Aelin lifted her drink to her lips and started a long pull, eyes now locked on Dorian.

“I was just wondering if you enjoyed your night,” Dorian said, all to-casually. “I seemed to have lost track of you after you went out for fresh air.” Four Things happened simultaneously:

Aelin choked on her mimosa. Pale orange liquid sputtered from her lips as she fought to catch her breath.

Aedion loosed what could only be described as a growl from across the table.

Dorian and Asterin fist-bumped, without looking away from the debacle.

Manon muttered “Fucking cheaters.”

Son of a bitch.

***********************************************

He leaned forward, a sensual smirk playing at his lips. Aelin glanced down, then back up to his eyes as she moved forward, their breath mingling. One of his hands slid up to cup her cheek, while the other slid down her lower back to squeeze her ass. Aelin closed her eyes when their lips came together, but as she went to deepen the kiss a loud giggle escaped instead. Fen’s eyes snapped open and he began to pull away. 

“Oh gods, no, I’m so sorry, let’s try this again” Aelin pleaded, once again closing the distance between them. This time as their mouths opened and tongues met Fenrys began to laugh. He was laughing so hard he was shaking, and Aelin couldn’t help but join. 

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” He wheezed  between bouts of laughter. “Don’t get me wrong Ace, I’ve wanted to try that since I first saw you gut a guy in Assassin's Blade. And it’s not that I’m not grateful,” at this point tears were streaming down both their faces and they tried to regain their composure. “It’s just, you’re.. it’s like kissing connall! You’re way prettier, for sure, but it’s just not…” his hand waggled between the both of them. 

“Full of fireworks and shit?” Aelin supplied. 

“Exactly! And as much as I adore you, I think maybe we were just meant to be-“ 

“Friends? Oh thank gods.” Aelin breathed.  She couldn’t help but be relieved he felt the same. As much as she had grown to love him over the past few months, and didn’t want to lose his light in her life, she couldn’t help that as they kissed she found herself wishing it was a different blonde in her arms. 

“Besides, you're nearly as pretty as I am, it wouldn’t be fair to hoard all this to ourselves.” Fenrys responded with a smirk, and grabbed Aelin’s hand dragging her back down the hall and into the festivities.

When they re-entered the room, Fen’s eyes immediately landed on Asterin. She was chugging whiskey from a bottle while standing precariously atop the coffee table. “Soooo… tell me about Asterin,” he whispered in Aelin’s ear. 

She snorted, “I admire your recovery time Moonbeam. She’ll tear you to shreds. But I rather think you’d enjoy that” she said with a knowing look. “Go on,” she nodded. And with one last wink Fen sauntered over to his next conquest. 

“Hello little wolf” Asterin purred as she lowered the bottle from her lips. “Care for a body shot?” Fen’s eyes dropped to the intricate chandelier style tattoo that began somewhere beneath her breasts and spread out across her abdomen. Eyes trailing back up to meet hers, he slowly reached for the bottle in her hand. 

“Lay down,” Aelin heard him say in a commanding tone. Asterin lowered herself onto the table, eyes never leaving his. She was a predator luring it’s prey by feigning compliance. While his face remained stoic, Aelin saw his throat bob. 

“Try not to get me too messy,” Asterin purred. 

“I can’t make any promises.” 

Aelin chuckled quietly and looked away from the, frankly pornographic scene, only to find a pair of pine green eyes watching her across the room. She smiled, and grabbed a bottle of Johnny Walker off a nearby table and headed outside hips swaying.

************************

“Smooth,” Gavriel muttered from somewhere amidst the chaos. Aedion was still glaring daggers, if looks could kill Aelin was sure Rowan Whitethorn would have been obliterated. Overprotective asshole. After catching her breath she snagged her phone from the pocket of her sweatshirt and fired off a text to the group chat.

The Queen: You MOTHER FUCKERS

Elsa Havilliard: ????

Blonde Demon: Problem?? 

Blonde Demon: hahahahahahah

Dorian’s Dom: fucking CHEATERS

The Queen: WHAT WAS THE BET

The Queen: I WILL PAY YOU TO END THIS 

Balto: I will burry his fucking body under the field

Balto: Ren will help

Discount Deadpool: Eh…

SINnamon Roll: Oh shut up Assryver

SINnamon Roll: Go back to eye-fucking Lys

Dorian’s Dom: LOLOLOL 

Dorian’s Dom: $40 and counting

Discount Deadpool: Elide out here snatchin’ wigs

Sexy Liger: Fuck. You. All. Stop making brunch WORSE. 

Sexy Liger: And no one is “eye fucking” anyone

SINnamon Roll: IDK what you’re talking about, this is the best fucking brunch I’ve ever been to

Blonde Demon: 10/10 agree

Elsa Havilliard: One for the ages

Dorian’s Dom: iconic

The Queen: CANCELLED

Discount Deadpool: *gasps in gay*

Balto: …….

The Queen: You heard me, you fucking traitors. 

The Queen: Except you Lys. I love you always.

SINnamon Roll: rude.

*****************************************

Aelin knew he had followed her to the pool, her skin pebbled with anticipation. She took a huge swig from the bottle and turned around, slowly dragging her lips off the top. “Hello Buzzard.”

“Brat.”

Aelin brought a hand to her chest, “You wound me.” She allowed her hand to linger, toying with the edge of her bathing suit top. Fingers drawing his gaze to the valley between her breasts. Rowan brought his thumb up to graze his lower lip, and dragged his gaze back to hers. “I was considering going for another swim, care to join me?” Aelin set the bottle at her feet and slowly removed her sheer bathing-suit cover, letting the material pool at her feet and biting her lip.

“And Fen?”

“Tongue deep in a new prospect, as you saw…” Aelin lowered herself to the edge of the pool and gracefully slid beneath the surface. Breaching the water, she pushed her hair back and swam back to the edge, arms folded in front of her. Looking up with a smirk.

Rowan squatted down in front of her, bringing a finger underneath her chin and forcing her eyes from his spread thighs to his face. “And you?” He asked, voice low and head cocked to the side.

“What about me?” Aelin asked, voice a near whisper and heart hammering in her throat.

“What do you want, Aelin?”

“What I’ve wanted for a while now…” His brow hitched in question, and she swallowed audibly. “Whatever you’ll give me Whitethorn.” Rowan nodded once then released her chin, standing to remove his shirt. HOLY FUCKING GODS she thought. The tattoo that crawled down his face danced across every chiseled plain of his body. Covering the entire left side and disappearing beneath the low-riding waistband of his Terrasen flag swim trunks. 

“Eyes are up here sweetheart,” he chuckled.

“I’m sure they are,” she choked out, licking her lips and continuing to stare at the V of muscles hovering above her head.

“Menace,” Rowan growled and dove over her head into the pool. Aelin turned, resting her elbows against the wall behind her and tracking his body as it moved under the water towards her. He came to the surface a foot from her face, shaking his head and brushing his silver hair from his forehead. 

“Dramatic.” She whispered through a smile.

Rowan brought himself within inches of her, hands on either side of her shoulders, strong arms boxing her in. 

“If we do this, we do it my way.” She tilted her head in silent question. “I don’t do soft. I don’t do vanilla. If you can follow my rules I’ll treat you better than anyone ever has. If that’s not something you’re interested in, we stop now. No harm done. A ‘no’ from you will stop this, no matter what. You’re safe with me, always Aelin.” She was shaking with anticipation, and the smirk he wore was indication enough that he knew he had her. “I have spent months thinking of all the ways I could take you apart.” He leaned in even further, lips ghosting hers. “So I’ll ask you one last time… What do you want Aelin?”

“You, Sir.”

And with that, he kissed her. It wasn’t gentle, it was a brand on her lips, fire licking its way to her core. A large hand slid down her back beneath the water and dragged her body against his. Instinctually she wrapped her legs around his middle, rocking against the evidence of his arousal prominently resting against her ass. He pulled back from her mouth with a click of his tongue. “Did I tell you to move?” he asked, voice almost bored.

“N-no.”

“No, what?

“No, Sir.”

“Back against the wall,” Aelin did as instructed, dropping her legs from his waist and pushing back. Heart hammering a staccato beat against her ribs, her every nerve-ending was both too hot and too cold. “Good, girl.”

His praise shot straight to her core, Oh shit. He moved back into her, pressing her bodily against the wall as he nipped and sucked his way across her jaw, up and down her neck. The hand that had pulled her in initially dragging its way across her stomach… moving south, hooking a single finger into the material he paused. “Yes or no?” he whispered into her ear, and punctuated the question by dragging her earlobe into his mouth. Sucking gently, teeth grazing. 

“Gods yes, pl- please sir.”

**************************************

Aelin thrust her phone back into the pocket of her sweatshirt, and shrank down into her chair with all the grace of a sullen child. Her friends were assholes, and if they didn’t stop they’d fuck up whatever it was that started last night. They don’t know shit, she reminded herself and glanced at the hulking man next to her casually drinking his coffee. There was no way Rowan and the Cadre were unaware of the tension that had settled at the table. It seemed as though the only people exempt from it were Connall and Vaughn, currently feeding Ren at the opposite end of the table. 

What in the actual fuck is happening? 

A hand on her thigh startled Aelin from her highly obvious oggling of the threesome, and she turned her head to fully look at Rowan. He hitched a brow and smirked, his eyes seeming to ask Something the matter? Aelin rolled her eyes and gave him a look that she hope conveyed Not at all, I’m just curious.

Rowan leaned in then, using the movement to drag his hand to the apex of her thighs beneath the table and whisper in her ear. “Connall and Vaughn like… Pets. They’ve been looking for someone new since we got back, looks as though they’ve found one.”

“Should I be worried about Ren?” She whispered back.

“He seems to be handling himself just fine.”

“For now…” Aelin mused. “But if they hurt him I will personally cut them into pieces and feed them to Fleetfoot.”

“If they hurt him Princess, I’ll help.”

********************************************

Mouth sucking a pert nipple through the soaked material of her swimsuit, Rowan slid a single finger along her slit. Torturously slow. Swirling her clit with to-light pressure, and then back to circle her entrance he dipped just the tip in. She was shaking, so tempted to grind into his hand, desperately seeking the release that had been building and now sat on a knife’s edge. 

He kept teasing, holding her at that edge while she begged “More” and “Please Sir” and “I’m so close.” He was taking her apart with a single finger and a set of teeth slowly dragging their way back up towards the shell of her ear. 

“Do you wanna cum, Princess?” he whispered. Pulling his finger from her sex and resting his palm against her. That damn finger now resting lightly against her entrance. She barely held still.

Aelin nodded her head furiously.

“Use your words.” A command.

“Yes, Sir. Pl-Please I need to cum. Please can I cum, p-” Her plea cut off as he plunged two thick fingers inside her and began to fuck right against that spot. 

“Cum.” He growled. And Aelin saw the Gods.

Rowan worked her through her orgasm, thumb circling her clit and fingers hammering, until she was sobbing with over-sensitivity. He eased out of her, pulling his face from her neck and his fingers from her body, bringing them up to his mouth. Pine-green eyes boring into her soul, he slowly sucked her taste from his fingers. 

“Good Girl.”

Rowan lifted her out of the water, setting her on the edge of the pool and hoisting himself up with sheer upper-body strength. The front of his trunks still tented, she gathered what brain cells she had left and nodded towards his glorious erection, “What about you?”

“What about me?” he reached for a towel, and came back to her side helping her to her rather useless feet. How the fuck had he made her like this with only his hands?

“Isn’t it my turn?” Aelin asked dumbly.

“No.”

“No?” She was so fucking confused. Didn’t he want her? “But I thought…”

“You thought, what. That I’d fuck you tonight?”

“Well… yeah, don’t you want to?”

“More than you know princess,” Rowan wrapped the towel around her shoulders. Pulling her in to kiss her forehead. “I want nothing more than to fuck you until you can’t remember your own name. But I won’t do it when you’re drunk.”

“I-I’m not tha-” her protest died in her throat when he gave her an irritated look.

“Mhmm. Enough.” He began to lead her towards the door leading them back to the rooms. “Now, let’s get you dried off and in some warm clothes. Would you like to sleep in my room or yours?”

“Yours please, Sir.” She smiled as he kissed the top of her head.

“As you wish Princess.”

****************************************

FINAL TOTALS FROM THE BETS:

Dorian: $75 (Because Aedion had some fucking opinions)

Manon: $40 (Because Lys and Aedion studiously ignored eachother after being called out in the group chat

Asterin: $40 (Because Aelin was a stumbling mess- though curiously Rowan remained calm)

****************************************

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[artepoetica]

Nas - N.Y. State Of Mind Legendado

Intro: Nas

Yeah yeah, aiyyo black it's time (word?) (Word, it's time nigga?) Yeah, it's time man (aight nigga, begin) Yeah, straight out the fuckin dungeons of rap Where fake niggaz don't make it back I don't know how to start this shit, yo, now

Verse 1: Nas

Rappers I monkey flip em with the funky rhythm I be kickin Musician, inflictin composition of pain I'm like Scarface sniffin cocaine Holdin a M-16, see with the pen I'm extreme, now Bulletholes left in my peepholes I'm suited up in street clothes Hand me a nine and I'll defeat foes Y'all know my steelo with or without the airplay I keep some E&J, sittin bent up in the stairway Or either on the corner bettin Grants with the celo champs Laughin at baseheads, tryin to sell some broken amps G-Packs get off quick, forever niggaz talk shit Remeniscing about the last time the Task Force flipped Niggaz be runnin through the block shootin Time to start the revolution, catch a body head for Houston Once they caught us off guard, the Mac-10 was in the grass and I ran like a cheetah with thoughts of an assassin Pick the Mac up, told brothers, "Back up," the Mac spit Lead was hittin niggaz one ran, I made him backflip Heard a few chicks scream my arm shook, couldn't look Gave another squeeze heard it click yo, my shit is stuck Try to cock it, it wouldn't shoot now I'm in danger Finally pulled it back and saw three bullets caught up in the chamber So now I'm jetting to the building lobby and it was filled with children probably couldn't see as high as I be (So whatchu sayin?) It's like the game ain't the same Got younger niggaz pullin the triggers bringing fame to they name and claim some corners, crews without guns are goners In broad daylight, stickup kids, they run up on us Fo'-fives and gauges, Macs in fact Same niggaz'll catch a back to back, snatchin yo' cracks in black There was a snitch on the block gettin niggaz knocked So hold your stash until the coke price drop I know this crackhead, who said she gotta smoke nice rock And if it's good she'll bring ya customers in measuring pots, but yo You gotta slide on a vacation Inside information keeps large niggaz erasin and they wives basin It drops deep as it does in my breath I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death Beyond the walls of intelligence, life is defined I think of crime when I'm in a New York state of mind

[New York state of mind - repeat 4X]

Verse 2: Nas

Be havin dreams that I'ma gangster -- drinkin Moets, holdin Tecs Makin sure the cash came correct then I stepped Investments in stocks, sewein up the blocks to sell rocks, winnin gunfights with mega cops But just a nigga, walking with his finger on the trigger Make enough figures until my pockets get bigger I ain't the type of brother made for you to start testin Give me a Smith and Wessun I'll have niggaz undressin Thinkin of cash flow, buddah and shelter Whenever frustrated I'ma hijack Delta In the P.J.'s, my blend tape plays, bullets are strays Young bitches is grazed each block is like a maze full of black rats trapped, plus the Island is packed From what I hear in all the stories when my peoples come back, black I'm livin where the nights is jet black The fiends fight to get crack I just max, I dream I can sit back and lamp like Capone, with drug scripts sewn Or the legal luxury life, rings flooded with stones, homes I got so many rhymes I don't think I'm too sane Life is parallel to Hell but I must maintain and be prosperous, though we live dangerous cops could just arrest me, blamin us, we're held like hostages It's only right that I was born to use mics and the stuff that I write, is even tougher than dice I'm takin rappers to a new plateau, through rap slow My rhymin is a vitamin, Hell without a capsule The smooth criminal on beat breaks Never put me in your box if your shit eats tapes The city never sleeps, full of villians and creeps That's where I learned to do my hustle had to scuffle with freaks I'ma addict for sneakers, twenties of buddah and bitches with beepers In the streets I can greet ya, about blunts I teach ya Inhale deep like the words of my breath I never sleep, cause sleep is the cousin of death I lay puzzle as I backtrack to earlier times Nothing's equivalent, to the new york state of mind

[New York state of mind - repeat 4X] [Nasty Nas - repeat 8X]

[tanyaodebra]

You 2.2: “Just the Tip” – Of the Iceberg

“Just the Tip” opens on a fish market, because so many things about both Joe and Love are very fucking fishy. Catfish, anyone? (The penis-y title paired with a vaginal allusion has not gone unnoticed, btw.) Our resident cool girl saunters from table to table loudly demonstrating her seafood savvy, so I’m holding strong to the idea that she might be baiting our antihero to serve him on a platter. Unable to stay in reality for two consecutive minutes, Joe takes a stroll down memory lane to the moment he believes his Love story began – one whole week ago with his arrival at LAX. There he spots a celeb to whom he immediately and favorably compares himself by employing the ultimate backdoor brag, praising himself for being so humble. Must be tough to be perfect.

The next stop on Joe’s journey to Love brings us to the inception of his new identity, where the real Will Bettelheim shows just how much he deserves everything that’s coming to him by daring to bitch about GMOs and the state of animal farming in Joe’s presence. Joe has hired Will to scrub his identity, but that’s not good enough for our Joe. As usual, he wants what he can’t, or shouldn’t, have; in this case, it’s Will’s identity. In a moment of cosmic irony, Will blurts out the whole conceit for You, that no one ever suspects white guys. He quickly feels the consequences of his own miscalculation as Joe cracks his skull with a cement brick. The timeline jumps ahead close to where we left off at the end of the last episode, when Joe is trying to figure out who Jasper is and why he came looking for Will. Shocker, the guy Joe hired off Craigslist and who had to scrub his own identity is into some shady shit. Looks like Will owes Dark Web Jasper three large for services never rendered. This is no sweat for a professional book counterfeiter like Joe, especially since LA is full of dumb-dumbs who will buy anything. Something about this feels a little too easy.

Back to the fishmonger’s ball where Love, who is serving major Liv Tyler in Empire Records vibes, demonstrates that she has absolutely zero healthy boundaries by kissing Joe for the first time completely out of the blue. A sucker for “romance,” Joe takes his own slapshot in this game of tonsil hockey and gets nothing but net with the catch of the day. Uh-oh, look out. Is that… Beck lurking in the shadows? Ex-girlfriends, amirite? They just don’t know when to stay dead and buried. Lucky for Joe, she’s vanished as swiftly as she appeared. In the meantime, Joe the daydreamer has missed Love’s proposition: lunch with her friends. If memory serves, Joe wasn’t too fond of his old girlfriend’s pals. In fact, he even murdered one (RIP Peach Salinger). That Love is pressing Joe to meet her buddies so soon might be another hint that she is fucking with him. Or maybe she’s a big old roll of cling-wrap attempting to cover the world’s deepest black hole, and now he’s going for a walk on the stalk-ee side of the street. Either way, it’s pretty karmic.

Out at the dumpster behind Anavrin, an affable fellow calls out to Joe, or rather, to Will. Jasper (Steven W. Bailey) isn’t nearly as scary as we may have imagined, and it seems Joe will be able to pay up and be done with the whole messy business – that is, until Joe discovers Will owes fifty grand, not three. And here’s where the joke in the title of the episode pays off. Jasper cuts off the tip of Joe’s pinky finger, throws it on ice and keeps it as collateral for the balance of the debt, all with a smile on his face. Looks like Joe should have listened to his mentor, Ellie, when she called the guy a creep. When Joe circles back to the plexiglass prison where he’s storing the real Will, he finds a sniveling mess in dire need of his meds. Even though Will can barely function, he’s somehow able to recall a fifty thousand-dollar IOU Joe can claim. In order to hunt those ducats, Joe must cancel his lunch date with Love and her squad. Upon receiving the news, Love, who knows no bounds, returns a text with a fucking phone call. Like, I don’t believe in The Rules, but come on. Show a modicum of chill. Of course, Lonely Boy doesn’t have any boundaries either, so he finds this adorable. He comes up with an alibi blaming Forty, which Love does not seem to buy, and decides to go to the lunch anyway in the capacity of a cap-wearing creep peeping from behind a plant. To Joe’s surprise, the group decides they like the sound of him, and he reciprocates with his own stamp of approval. It seems Beck’s ghost does not approve of Joe’s happiness, because here she is again, cockblocking from the other side.

Remember Joe has a severed finger? He finally does, too. Joe must endure a noontime LA party to find Will’s debtor, Rufus, endearingly named in a nod to Penn Badgley’s Gossip Girl father. Guests at the party just will not believe that Joe is not John Mayer, and they honestly might be right. Dude looks EXACTLY like John Mayer, a true fact that I hadn’t noticed before. As he traipses around the party, he spots the celeb from the airport –  a comedian named Hendy (Chris D’Elia). Guess who else is at this party? Delilah the landlady. Small world made smaller by the fact that she knows Rufus, and also Hendy. When he notice’s Joe’s hand, Hendy recommends the same microsurgeon as Jake, which shores up Joe’s good opinion of Hendy earlier earned in a brief Google search. Delilah vehemently disagrees, storming out of the party. We learn later that Hendy raped her when she was seventeen. Delilah points to this experience as the reason she sees right through Joe’s bullshit – she knows he’s bad news and she warns him to stay away from her and Ellie. Back at the party, Joe finds Rufus who hands over a huge bag, not of money but of pills – Will’s meds.

Joe doubles back to his (or Will’s) place to tend to his wound, and of course Love turns up uninvited, and she is displeased. You guys, I fucking love soap operas. Guess who Forty is to her? Her fucking TWIN BROTHER! I live for this shit. According to common knowledge, twins share everything, so now Love knows Joe lied about his reason for bailing on her friends. While Joe spins some wild yarn in his head about doing all this crazy shit so they can be together, she whips out the dead husband card in order to emotionally strongarm Joe into being her boyfriend. And since this is exactly the type of shit Joe lives for, everybody’s favorite ghost steals the scene again, which makes Joe flip his lid. It’s like, can’t a guy do a few little murders and then live in blissful peace? Love draws the line at yelling (boy is she in for a surprise if she gets to see his true colors) and hightails it out of there. Perfect, because Joe really needs to see to that finger.

Joe meets Jasper at the storage unit. Seeing that he’s never going to raise his dough from the whimpering puddle otherwise known as Will, Jasper lunges at Joe. But Joe is a seasoned killer and he takes Jasper out lickety-split, butchering him Sweeney Todd-style and ditching trash bags filled with his ground-up body in a dumpster. Right alongside this scene, Love hacks away at a rack of lamb with a large butcher knife. As she prepares the rest of her dinner, she cracks a couple of eggs with one hand. Vivisected balls much? Joe shows up at Love’s door – even that psychopath knows to text first – and he bravely drops the knowledge he learned from Beck’s ghost; it’s not that he’s afraid of getting hurt, it’s that he’s afraid of hurting her. Love does all the heavy lifting for him and warps this loud siren into whatever she wants to hear, which is that they need to be in a relationship. Let me remind you once again that it has only been ONE WEEK. Love pulls the classic high school move of claiming friendship when her motives of partnering are so, so transparent. Both are playing this game, though, so Joe is delighted by her willingness to wait for him. Aw! Gross!

And just like that, old Joe is right back in his comfort zone – panty-snatchin’ and trophy-hidin’. This is a pretty high bar to set for episode two; Joe’s only been in LA for one week and he’s already got a body count. Can’t wait for episode three! See You then!