#if your morals are as you say they are then you will have no issue donating to this cause

[lee-laurent]

Summer Boy Pt. 2 - Quinn Hughes

Summary: Quinn and Elwyn find themselves caught in a web of lies as they attempt to hide their feelings from their friends. Luke, however, still wants the girl and he's willing to overlook his morals to get her.

Content: angst, fluff, (sort of) unrequited love, mentions of sex, slut-shaming, panic attacks, luke being an ass

Part 1

notes: ok ok, you guys are amazing! i could never expect my first post to do that well! (also if you haven't seen my about me post, english is NOT my first language!! so spelling errors and stuff i try catch but i'm learning :)) i had a lot of ppl ask for a part 2, which is awesome cause i was planning on doing it regardless of how much attention the first part got! i haven't written in years, like since high school so this is me attempting to get back into it :D thank you again everyone, much love! - lee

p.s. ppl that asked for part 2 are tagged at the end :))

Quinn was infatuated with Elwyn. Everything she did was perfect in his eyes. Even when she'd get a little too drunk and trip over herself, he still thought she was graceful. If he wasn't in love with her already, then he definitely was now. And he wanted to shout him from the rooftops, he wanted everyone on the lake to know how much he loved Elwyn... however there was a small issue: his brothers.

Jack and Elwyn had been friends their entire lives. They were attached at the hip. Twin flames. Growing up adults always said they'd end up married, which both of them thought was disgusting. Sure, they'd been each others' first kiss, but after "learning" how to make out together they decided it wasn't meant to be. They could never see each other in a romantic light. Although Jack could never be with Elwyn, he had made it clear that his brothers couldn't either. Elwyn had been off limits since they were ten and Quinn gave her a puck at one of his games.

Luke. Where to start with Luke? Luke hadn't found Elwyn cute until she came to visit in Jersey after he signed. She'd walked into Jack's apartment, a smile on her face and he thought he'd died and gone to heaven. When did Elwyn get... hot? She'd always just been his older brother's best friend. Sure, he knew of the crush his eldest brother harboured, but he was positive Quinn would never act on it. Plus, she lived closer to Luke. If he could convince Jack, maybe he'd have a chance. A chance he was still begging for.

"Come on, Jack. Let me take her on one date!" Luke pleaded, following his brother around the pool table.

"No. You're my brother and I love you, but El can do way better."

"I- I'm not going to break her heart, Jack. One date."

"Maybe she doesn't want to date you," Jack shrugged, lining up his shot.

"Okay, then she'll reject me and I can move on. But we all saw her when we played beer pong."

"Don't be cocky, Rusty. El is a touchy drunk, always has been."

"So I can ask her on a date?"

"No."

Luke groaned, throwing his arms up in frustration.

"Who's he not asking out?" Quinn asked, leaning against the door frame.

"Elwyn."

Quinn choked on his spit, "You want to ask out, Winnie?"

"Yeah! You've seen her. She's a smokeshow."

"Ew. Don't talk about El like that," Jack grimaced.

"I mean have you seen her ti-"

"Luke! Ew! Dude."

"Shut up, Jack. If she wasn't your best friend, you'd also think she's hot."

Quinn remained silent, watching the scene unfold. He felt gross listening to Luke talk about Elwyn like that. He'd be the first to admit she was fine as hell, but hearing someone else say it felt wrong. The two younger brothers continued to bicker about the attractiveness of the girl, when Quinn finally piped up.

"Are you letting him?"

"Letting him what?" Jack's brow furrowed.

"Ask her out."

"Hell no! Winnie is off limits for brothers."

"So if I asked her out?" Trevor smirked, joining the three brothers.

"No. That applies to friends and teammates too."

"Lame," Trevor whined, leaving to find Cole.

Jack rolled his eyes, "Anyway. No one is asking out Elwyn. She doesn't even like hockey boys."

Quinn felt his heartdrop. She doesn't like hockey boys? Was she just stringing him along cause she was horny? He thought she liked him, though she'd never explicitly said it, he thought the moments they'd shared were proof enough.

Elwyn was humming along to the song playing from her phone, while she attempted to do her hair. A knock came from the door behind her, leading to press pause on the melodies of Chappell Roan.

"Come in!"

"You don't like hockey boys?"

"Huh?" She swiveled around on her chair to face the boy in her doorway. There stood a sheepish looking Quinn, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I said, 'you don't like hockey boys?'"

"Who told you that?"

"Jack."

"Oh, um, I mean... they're not normally my type."

"So you don't like me?"

"Quinn, I didn't say that. Don't twist my words," she sighed, turning back towards the mirror.

"But you haven't said otherwise."

"Neither have you."

Quinn sighed, quietly shutting the door behind him. He stood behind her and pressed a kiss to her exposed shoulder, wrapping his arms around her.

"Elwyn, I like you. I like you a lot."

She pursed her lips and nodded, leaning back into his chest.

"I like you too, Quinn."

"Is this the part where we have the best sex of our lives?" he smirked, earning a gasp and slap to his peck.

"Quinn!"

"Sorry, sorry. So... later?"

"Get out!" she giggled, pushing him away.

Fifteen minutes later, El left her room, running straight into someone's chest.

"Oof."

"Hey, Ellie."

"Oh, hey, Luke," she smiled, stepping back.

"Some of the guys and I are gonna watch a movie, if you want to join."

"Sure."

"Sick. Basement in 10?"

"Sounds good."

However, when she got down to the basement, there were no spots left. The guys had taken up the couch and all the chairs, even the floor was occupied. El looked around awkwardly, noticing the lack of both Quinn and Jack, who she was told went to the grocery store.

"Here," Luke smiled, scooting over slightly. She responded with a tight-lipped smile, sitting "next" to him. It was more like she was sitting on him. El could've sworn she heard Ethan snicker when she sat down.

The movie the boys at chosen was terrifying. Elwyn could normally do scary movies, but this one was getting to her. She jumped as the villain appeared on screen again. Luke wrapped his arm around her waist, giving her a squeeze.

"You okay?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm good," she smiled politely.

Another jumpscare and Elwyn had fallen completely onto Luke's lap. She wasn't upset about it though, it was comforting in the moment. Dylan had taken notice of the position that Luke was in and elbowed Mark and Ethan. They all "discreetly" turned to look at the two, who looked rather comfortable. Elwyn jumped again, hiding her face in Luke's neck.

"This movie is terrifying," she whispered.

"It's ok, Winnie. I've got you."

It was in that moment that she realized the position she was in. Fully cuddled up on Luke's lap, one of his hands on her waist, the other on her thigh. What would Quinn think if he walked in right now? What would Jack think?

"I need to use the bathroom," she scrambled to get off of Luke.

"Oh, we can pause the movie."

"No, it's okay. I'll, uh, I'll be back."

She ran up the stairs, locking herself in Jack's ensuite. What was she doing? She couldn't let Luke get any ideas. She really liked Quinn. But oh my god, what would Jack think? Would he kick her out? Surely, he'd murder her before his brothers. They were his family, she was replaceable. Maybe she should end things with Quinn. Tell him it wasn't worth the strain it would cause on their relationships with Jack. But then again she'd already done things with him, would Jack even forgive her for that?

"Oh my god. I can't breathe," she gasped, splashing cold water on her face.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Her mind was running a thousand miles an hour. She had to stop seeing Quinn. Maybe she could just avoid him. Jack was more important. She had too. The more she thought about it, the more difficult it became to breathe.

She sat down on the floor, trying her breathing exercise again.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale.

Finally she felt her heartbeat slow and her breathing return to normal. She wasn't going to let boys ruin her trip with her best friend. Nope. Plan: Avoid Quinn Hughes at All Costs, starts now!

"What did I do?" Quinn mumbled as he watched Elwyn interact with Jack. She hadn't even shot him a smile when he walked in the door from shopping, she'd gone straight to Jack. They were giggling amongst themselves while they cut up fruit for dinner.

She looked just as happy as she had this morning, but now she was pretending he didn't exist. He brushed her shoulder as he walked past her and she flinched, scooting closer to Jack.

As the night progressed, it became more obvious to the boy that she was ignoring him. She hadn't even looked his way once all night. Too busy keeping up with Jack, following him around like a lost puppy. He even tried shooting her a text, which was ultimately left on read.

Q: Hey, is everything okay? You seem off tonight.

Nothing.

It wasn't until she was closing her bedroom door to get changed that he caught a moment alone with her. She shrieked when her door opened, clutching her shirt to chest.

"Oh my god! Have you ever heard of knocking? I'm getting changed!"

"Why have you been ignoring me?"

Elwyn rolled her eyes, turning her back to him. so she could continue getting changed.

"Winnie?"

She exhaled loudly.

"Elwyn?"

"Maybe I just don't want to talk to you, Quinn."

"But- what did I do?"

"I'm trying to get ready for bed."

"El, just talk to me. Please. I thought we were getting somewhere."

She could hear the sadness and disappointment dripping from his words. It made her want to cry, knowing it was her fault he was feeling that way.

"I'd like to go to sleep now."

"El," he reached forward, grabbing her wrist and spinning her to face him. "What is going on? If I did something, I'm sorry."

"We can't, Quinn."

"Wha- we can't what?"

"We can't do this. We can't be together. Fling or not. It's not fair to Jack."

"Not fair to Jack? You shutting me out, isn't fair to me! Not everything revolves around Jack! You're an adult, he doesn't get to make decisions for you!" Quinn seethed, his face heating up.

"Don't yell at me."

"Don't yell at you?! Then don't be Jack's mindless little minion, Elwyn! Jesus fucking Christ!"

"I- I'm not," she whispered, blinking away tears.

"Yeah, well you sure fucking act like you are," he left, slamming the door behind him.

"What was that?!" she heard Jack yell.

"The wind!" Quinn lied, storming off to his room.

Elwyn couldn't hold back her tears anymore, sliding to the floor. She sobbed, covering her mouth with her hand to muffle the sound. How could he say that to her? She thought she was doing the right thing. She never imagined it could've gone that poorly.

Quinn couldn't sleep, he was too angry. Why did Elwyn let Jack dictate her life? She could be with whoever she wanted, she was a grown woman. So what if Jack was mad at them for a day? He'd get over it. If he could just get her to realize that he was there for her, no matter what happened-

A knock at the door broke him from his thoughts. Elwyn quietly opened and shut the door, sitting herself on the edge of his bed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have ignored you. I thought I was doing what was right."

"I shouldn't have yelled at you, El. But you have to communicate with me. You can't just shut me out, especially if you want to make this work."

"But what about Jack?"

"Elwyn. He loves you. You're his best friend. He'll get over it. I promise."

"I hate lying to him."

"Keeping a secret isn't lying."

"I just-"

"Come here," he opened his arms, Elwyn climbing into the bed next to him. He kissed her slowly. He wanted to show her how much he cared about her. Loved her even. She ran a hand through his hair, giggling when he nipped at her bottom lip.

"Think we can stay quiet?" she whispered.

"Easily."

"Quinn! Wake up! The boys wanna go out on the boat! And have you seen El? Jack said she isn't in her-" Luke stopped dead in his tracks. A bare back faced him, the sheets barely covering her waist. "Holy shit."

Luke ran down the stairs, taking his place at the table.

"You okay, Rusty? Looks like you've seen a ghost," Trevor joked.

"Hm? Yep. All good. Great even."

"Okay? Did you wake up Quinn?"

"Um... yeah. Yeah. He'll be down soon."

"Did you find El? I'm getting worried," Jack mentioned, sitting next to his brother.

"I-"

"Morning!" Elwyn smiled.

"There you are! You weren't in your room, I was worried," Jack hugged her.

"Yeah, fell asleep in the basement watching TV. Was having trouble falling asleep."

"All good! Glad you're okay. Is Quinn awake up there?"

Luke watched something flicker in her eyes at the mention of Quinn.

"Yep, he's just brushing his teeth."

As if on cue, Quinn came thumping down the stiars. A smile plastered on his face. Luke felt sick. It seemed that Quinn had finally gotten his dream girl, but at the expense of both of his brothers' feelings.

"Sorry, guys. Didn't sleep well," Quinn explained, grabbing some cereal.

"That's funny. Neither did Elwyn," Luke smirked.

"Oh. Funny coincidece," El shrugged, eyes darting everywhere but at the youngest Hughes.

"Must've been something in the air last night," he continued.

El furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. What was Luke going on about? Surely he didn't know that she'd slept with Quinn last night? Quinn had assured her they'd been silent. They even put a pillow behind the headboard like teenagers hiding from their parents.

"So... boat day?" Quinn offered, feeling the growing tension in the kitchen

"Yes!" Jack cheered, "Come on, El. I'll help you with your sunscreen."

"Coming," she followed after him, shooting a concerned look at Quinn, who just shrugged in response.

"So, Quinn... anything you want to share with the class?" Luke asked.

"Um? No?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah?"

"Positive? Nothing you want to share about Elwyn?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't pretend you don't know."

"Luke, I don't know what you're implying."

"So, why was Elwyn naked in your bed this morning when I went to wake you up?"

"She wasn't," Quinn replied quickly, maybe too quickly.

"I know Elwyn when I see her, Quinn."

"Luke, I didn't sleep with Elwyn."

"You slept with Elwyn?" Jack's voice joined the conversation and suddenly you could hear a pin drop.

"I-"

"You slept with Elwyn?" Jack repeated, his voice increasing in volume.

"No, I know your rules, Jack."

"He's lying! I saw her in his bed this morning! That's why you couldn't find her!"

"Shut up, Luke!" Quinn sneered.

"No, please continue, Luke. I'd love to know what else Quinn is hiding from me."

"That's it, I think. I just saw her in his bed when I went to wake him up. Looking less than dressed."

"Jack, I don't know what he's talking about," Quinn pleaded.

"Bullshit! I-"

"Why's everyone yelling?" Elwyn's voice was soft compared to the rest of the conversation. Her nails were dug into her palms, surely leaving behind little crescent shaped indents. Worry filled her eyes.

"El..." Quinn breathed.

"Care to explain yourself, Elwyn?" Jack snapped.

"I'm confused."

"Don't act all innocent now when you were spreading your fucking legs for my brother last night!"

"I-"

"You what? Are acting like a slut?! Then yeah, you're right."

"I'm not a slut," her bottom lip quivered. Quinn was quick to get in front of her, feeling the sudden need to protect her from his brother's vicious words.

"She's not a slut, Jack. You don't control her."

Jack was at a loss for words. Quinn was right he didn't control her, but he could still be pissed at his brother.

"Fine, I don't control, Elwyn. She's a grown woman. But you, Quinn, you- you broke my rules! You took advantage of her!"

"How did I 'take at advantage of her'?" he air quoted.

"You-you..."

"You have no argument here, Jack. And you, Luke... what gives you the right to tell him? When you were trying to get with Elwyn too?"

"I'M NOT AN OBJECT!" her outburst made everyone jump, "Stop talking about me like I'm not standing right here! God! You're acting like children! Quinn, give me your car keys?"

"What? Why?"

"I'm going home."

"You're-"

"El, no. Please," Jack pleaded.

"You just called me a slut! You think I want to stay here with you? Ha! You are crazy."

"Babe, please."

"Don't 'babe' me, Quintin. Give me your keys," she demanded, reaching her hand out.

"No. You're angry. You shouldn't drive like this."

"Fine. I'll fucking walk home!" she threw her arms up, storming out the front door.

The group of boys stood around the kitchen staring at the Hughes brothers. Were they not going to go after her? Apologize? Boat day definitely wasn't happening.

It was getting dark out, Quinn and Jack were beyond worried. Jack was pacing the living room, his head snapping to the door every time there was a noise outside. Quinn was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands, sending text after text to El. No answers. Luke and their friends were in the back, drinking and pretending all was well.

"Should we go looking for her?" Jack asked.

"I think that'd just scare her off."

"But what if someone snatches her off the street? It's getting dark out. She's been gone all day, Quinn."

"She'll come back."

"Stop pretending like you know her better than I do just because you slept with her! I know my best friend."

"Jack, can we not fight right now? We have more important things to worry about."

Jack just sighed. He was worried about El, but her sleeping with Quinn was still in the background of all his thoughts.

"Can I just ask why? Like was it to rub it in my face? To get back at me for something?"

"It has nothing to do with you, Jack. It's about Elwyn. I really like El. I've liked El since we were kids. And she finally showed me that she feels the same way. I'm- I'm happy with her."

"She- you love her, don't you?"

"It's too soon to say that."

"Quinn..."

"Yeah... I do. I... I do."

"Shit. She probably hates me."

"I mean, you did slut-shame your best friend."

"Right."

"If we're giong to blame anyone for this mess though, I think we blame Luke. El and I were going to tell you. But Luke kind of jumped the gun."

"Really? You were going to tell me?"

"Yeah, I mean last night... we talked about it."

"I guess that makes me feel a bit better."

Quinn was about to apologize, but the front door creaked open. A sniffle and the sound of shoes hitting the ground made Quinn jump up.

"El?"

She just stared at them, arms crossed over her chest.

"El. I'm so sorry," Jack wrapped his arms around her, but she didn't reciprocate the hug.

"That's nice. Are you done calling me a whore?"

"I didn't mean it, El. I was mad. It was heat of the moment."

"Yeah, well, I don't fucking appreciate it."

"Do- d'you think you can forgive me?"

"Yes, Jack. I'll forgive you," she chuckled.

El finally hugged him back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. She turned her attention to Quinn, who awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Hi, El."

"Quinn."

"I'll give you guys some space," Jack shot them finger guns, walking out backwards.

"El, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like an object. You're not an object. You're... you're Elwyn. And I- I love you."

"You love me?"

"Yeah, I do. I love you."

She bit back her smile, throwing her arms around his neck.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

"Of course." Their lips met in a sweet, languid kiss. "I love you too, Quinn Hughes."

And their lips met again, smiles on their faces breaking it, ending in a fit of giggles. They finally had each other.

Tags:

@h0e4fictionalme-n @toasttt11 @homestylehughes @laheyxlover @dontknowhockey

[mysterycitrus]

This is so stupid but I was wondering if you might have any Dick and Roy meta? I've always loved your meta posts about the relationships between the Fab Five and different characters and lately, I've been seeing a lot of those posts where people splice certain comic pannels with poems/sayings/inspirational quotes and things that match and I've been wanting to have more in-depth ideas of the relationship between Dick and Roy because they're just so interesting but I don't have the brains to come up with anything myself

when i think about dick grayson and roy harper i think about the trope king + lionheart — a burdened hero, and their loyal protector — and how they switch roles with each other. like two standout dickroy books are probably old friends, new enemies and outsiders (2003), and while they’re both initiated with roy reaching out to dick for help, his motivations are very different. i think that dynamic, and how they don’t fit solely into one role, is part of why i enjoy reading about them so much.

in old friends, roy is the king — he’s trying to track down chesire and find lian, and isn’t initially honest about his intentions. he’s struggling with his decisions, and his faith in himself. dick acts as the moral support, his backup, and also calls him out on his actions.

but their relationship is still loving. there’s a solid foundation of trust that makes dick want to support roy and protect his daughter, to the point that he and jade nguyen show a (very) begrudging respect to each other.

in outsiders, dick is the king — donna has just died, bludhaven is going to shit, and roy knows that he’s spiralling. roy is the solid support who convinces dick to lead a new team because he knows dick hurts himself through isolation. they’re both grieving donna and the loss of their team, but roy forces dick to reconnect again. he forces dick to care.

despite being the leader of the outsiders, dick is uncompromising in his loyalty in roy. he tells people to leave if they don’t accept roy’s authority in the team. after roy is shot, dick takes the same action as roy in the first issue — he brute forces his way into getting roy out of the spiral. he holds a gun to roy’s head and tells him to take it.

im a huge sucker for friends to lovers, but what i really love is two competent people with absolute faith in each other. i dislike the idea that bat-characters are like….. absurdly op and everyone is just in awe of them all the time, but dick’s reputation means that trusting someone the way he trusts roy is important. he watched his teammates die, he watched his sister die to save his life, and he still trusts roy to be there. roy historically has a bit of an inferiority complex about working with dick, but dick does not reciprocate. dick knows roy will be there when it counts.

there’s a particular kind of love that comes from mourning the same person during one of the worst times of your life.

the fact that the early tragedies in their lives are so similar, that they lost family and an idea of place at similar ages, were mentored by mortal men who wanted to do good, but still ended up so close but so different is really really interesting to me. u get to outsiders, and they really know each other in a really intense way.

truly like…. i would fall on ur sword because i trust u not to land the killing blow. to finish — something something gay people

[system-of-a-feather]

Honestly I really feel some people take the "if you are sitting at a table with four Nazis having dinner, then there are five Nazis at the table" line to the extent that "if you ever are friends (or in some cases, talk) with someone with a less than ideal view then you are inherently supporting their ideology" and then that is also taken to "you need to make sure everyone you talk to is fully in line and agreement with the least problematic opinions at all time because everyone you engage with is inherently a reflection of your moral character" is honestly like…. a huge problem built from a well meaning place and just puritan culture

You might be wondering "what made Feathers say this"

Nothing other than me thinking about how honest to god collaborative and supportive the birding community is and that there is very very very little concern about anything other than birding when you walk up to a stranger who seems to be birding and ask if theyve seen anything interesting

And me just thinking about how that really discourse / politics / social issue removed space, environment and culture is a really nice thing to have that is unfortunately becoming rarer and rarer

A lot of social engagements with people almost seem to have to preface with a "do we have the same opinions on everything" - looking at extensive DNIs and what not - before you ever even get to talk or engage with people and it makes for a pretty just… kinda sad environment

Sad and unnuanced and non communicative environment and of course echo chambers

I feel a lot of people have lost the skill of "agree to disagree" in attempts to be morally correct at all times

I think its kinda sad how a lot of relationships and friendships have strings attached to being 100% on the same page about everything

[monstersinthecosmos]

Hi, completely agree with what you said here but it makes me very sad to think about it. As someone who imprinted on Armand at 12, Marius/Armand was my first ship in VC but I find it hard to ship them post Venice era, even though Blood Communion seems to suggest some positive developments in their relationship (Marius standing behind Armand during his argument with Benedict supporting Armand being his own person iirc?). Idk I want them to work their shit out but it’s still hard to imagine them putting their differences aside sans an apocalyptic scenario like in QotD.

And sometimes idk if Marius loves Armand enough to work on it. I know that the corner of tumblr that loves Marius (And I certainly understand the appeal of a complicated and polarizing character like him. Kudos to Anne for creating Marius!) likes to push the idea that the turning of Benji and Sybelle was mostly out of love (and to a varying extent depending on the person’s pov, due to Marius’ mental health issues) but how much was that love and how much was it ‘my pet needs to have pets so that he stays alive for ME’. Not saying these 2 motivations are mutually exclusive but I’m genuinely curious about your views.

I’m rambling but guess what I’m trying to say is, how much do you think Marius’ love for Armand is unselfish, whether in Venice, at the end of TVA or after Blood Communion?

Asdghjakl yeah I have really similar feelings about them as a ship! Like the Venice era is my favorite time period in the VC but modern/present-day Marius/Armand doesn’t really hit the same way for me because it’s just such a motherfuckin mess lol.

What I do want to say, though, is that we’re kind of dancing around a topic here that involves the inhumanity and inherent monstrosity of Marius, and while I tend to think “THEY’RE VAMPIRES” is a lazy approach to analysis, there’s a deeper version of it that’s relevant here.

What I mean is that Marius can love Armand truthfully, sincerely, unselfishly and STILL cause harm, and still love him imperfectly, and still cause problems. I think when we really wanna start dissecting Marius/Armand as a ship, and the Venice era as a whole, and whatever trauma it left on Armand vs Marius’s motivations/intentions/character morals, it’s important to remember that Marius was not human. 

I think a lot about like, when we say that Armand is a “pet”, or that Denis, Daniel, Benji, and Sybelle are Armand’s pets, there’s sort of a connotation or shorthand to TLDR that it’s their cute little human. But I think about like, for example!, my fucking cats! Like, when I think about ACTUAL pets IRL, um, I would fuckin die for my cats? They’re my lil babies? I love them so fully and with my entire fucking soul but they’re dumb little animals that live in my house and I take care of them and I don’t think they have a single thought in their fucking skulls. 

So when you think about like, a 1500 year old immortal night creature adopting a little human, he can love Armand with his ENTIRE being, and I believe he really really did, and it’s still “aww the cute lil human that I feed”. And Marius is unique amongst the vampires for how hard he tries to stay connected to the human world, and it’s still never enough, he’s still never quite there, so I have always believed he had the right intentions even if he fumbled it or did things that could cause harm. It’s not like, he’s a ~MONSTER~ in a scary way, but literally, he’s so removed from humanity that he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing. 

(Don’t let me get into a side essay here but it reminds me so much of like, imperfect boomer parenting, like looking at different generations’ parenting styles and realizing how much harm they caused, but most people aren’t intending to harm their children and just don’t know any better. Every generation will likely experience a form of this as we learn and grow and try to be better, but I find this really interesting for Marius specifically because of the age of the author!)

He was fifteen hundred years old when he met Armand. I think in a lot of ways he acted with good intentions that wound up causing a lot of harm. But it does a disservice to the story and to him as a character to only look at the outcome, without considering the universe he’s operating in. 

And idk like, where is the line between selfish and selfless love? Like, Marius is clearly a fucking mess at the beginning of TVA and didn’t take the news of Armand’s suicide very well. Is it selfish to do something drastic because he’s worried that Armand is still suicidal? Where does one end and the other begin? Especially with immortals like, is your own death a gift? Is it an act of kindness to save someone’s life instead of allowing them to check out? Idk idk! Grief is fucking messy, it can be both, but I don’t think it’s fair to characterize it as purely for himself. He even immediately fucks off to Norway in shame afterwards. I think I prefer to think he just wanted Armand to be happy and safe. By the end of the book they're still struggling to communicate with each other about religion, and in some ways I think Marius doesn't think Armand truly wanted to die, vs seeing a religious fit for what it is. So I'm not sure he sees Armand's suicide attempt as sincere, either, and maybe doesn't feel the need to respect his wish for death.  

I think a lot about the conversation Marius has with Armand after he turns Benji & Sybelle and realizes how bad he fucked up. 

"You loved them selflessly," he whispered. "For all their strange faults, and wild evil, they were not compromised for you. You loved them perhaps more respectfully than I... than I ever loved you." He seemed so amazed. I could only nod. I wasn't so sure he was right. My need for them had never been tested, but I didn't want to tell him so.

Even at 500 years old, Marius still doesn’t entirely understand Armand as a complete person. He doesn’t completely understand Armand’s needs, or the person he wants to be, or what his human companions were to him. I think it even starts when Armand is still alive, how Marius treats him like a silly little pet, like, Armand’s piety is a cute little quirk that Marius humors without ever truly respecting. It doesn’t occur to him that Benji & Sybelle aren’t just pets. And I think Marius being stuck in his trauma means he’s just perpetually trying to believe in himself and control everything around him, while Armand stuck in trauma means he’s constantly trying on different roles and figuring out who he is. 

(But FUCK ME, christ, “I wasn't so sure he was right. My need for them had never been tested, but I didn't want to tell him so.” this really fucks me up so bad, we have to keep talking about this another time because like, these two can NOT communicate with each other! They are useless with the barrier between them maybe they need to drink from each other more often and iron this out.)

Someone can do their best, and mean well, and still cause harm. Humans do this, too. I’m sure we’ve all been there. And Marius is a great example of vampires being stuck in the trauma of their turning—it doesn’t matter how wise he tries to be, he always comes back to the same trauma, over and over. Even the way he treats Armand in Venice is a direct result of Marius trying to fix his own trauma. And like, would therapy even work on a vampire, or are their brains stuck forever where they were? How much of their “changing” is just learning behavior, and learning to mask?

Because I think Marius 100% could do that for Armand. He loves Armand. Armand is his child. He was the first fledgling Marius ever made of his own will, after 1500 years! But I think canon left us off in a place where neither of them are quite there yet. Marius is in decent shape at the end of the series, I think—it feels like he’s made some huge strides in accepting himself and his nature, so I think there’s some potential! Armand also has to learn how to use his fuckin words a little bit better, which he’s never been good at, but I think the way he goes off on Lestat after keeping that inside for 200 years is a really great sign! 

I go back and forth about “does therapy even work on vampires” all the time, like, do they have neuroplasticity, are they capable of change, have we uncovered something in the PL Trilogy that could be a key to them functioning better and learning to change. I don’t really have an answer because canon doesn’t, it’s just a fun thing to think about, but it’s the best way that I can reconcile Marius’s intentions vs his actions, and how he somehow continues to make the same mistakes and never learns! 

Basically, I think it’s not helpful to ask if Marius loves him enough. He does! But loving someone doesn’t mean we magically know how to behave, and the qualities in Marius that cause him to behave selfishly are so deeply tied to his trauma, his control issues, his use of ego as a defense mechanism. And even in real life we can have boundaries and hold people accountable when they hurt us, even if it’s because of mental illness. We can have empathy and still have boundaries, and we can be hurt and still know when something wasn't personal. That feels kinda IRL and serious to frame vampire meta but like, Marius can love people and still fuck up, because he can’t help it, and I don’t think it’s a fair reading of the text to insist he’s a diabolical abuser because it just doesn’t really match his characterization otherwise. 

I hope he gets better! 

[thehollowwriter]

I thought this would be smt fun to post the night before Silas' birthday XD. Blame @the-trinket-witch who was inspired by my Finn shitpost/j

Silas Clearcove x Reader HCs

•Firstly you're going to have to be at least 40 because Silas views young adults as kids, and the idea of dating them is out of the question

•You'll need to have tough skin because Silas is blunt and to the point. He's not purposefully cruel or mean, but he doesn't see the point in tip toeing around things and trying to soften the blow

•Don't be clingy. He's busy, so you won't see him as often as you may like, and he's not very talkative either. He won't ignore you, of course, but he's a man of few words, and if you're chatty, you'll have to carry most of the conversation.

•Don't think he's ignoring you, though. He listens carefully to every word you say and is genuinely interested in what you have to say, even if it's as mundane as accidentally dropping your toothbrush while brushing your teeth or something

•Finn has to like you. It's like a major requirement. Not only has he sat through enough drama in relation to stepparents with Morrigan's family to last a lifetime, but he's simply not going to make Finn go through that

•So yeah, he makes it quite clear that you're second to Finn priority wise and be does not sugar coat it

•Other than that, your gender, species, etc doesn't matter at all to him

•It's impossible to tell if he's interested in you romantically because he acts the exact same as he usually does unless you initiate some form of flirting first, and if he catches on his flirting is a bit weird

•He's pretty to the point, just like Finn, except all he does is give you a courting gift, and if you aren't merfolk, he probably forgets you don't know what that means lmao. But he will clarify after he realises you don't get it

•Silas isn't lovey dovey in the conventional sense, but he loves deeply and fiercely and holds you in high regard

•He's protective and will absolutely kill for you, no questions asked. As long as you're safe, he's happy.

•He gives you things he's found or made that he thinks are interesting or useful, usually weapons

•You will be given lots of food and you will eat it. Nah, he'll just eat it if you don't want it

•This man does not believe in wasting anything, and if there's something you don't want to use anymore, he'll probably find some kind of use for it. There are very few things he can't reuse

•Doesn't mind getting into tussles with you at all and would be quite delighted if you are willing to

•He's paranoid, though he hides it well and frequently checks up on you to make sure you're aliv- *ahem* doing ok

•His toxic trait is that he will compare you to Morrigan internally. He doesn't do it on purpose, but it's a bad habit

•He doesn't take off Morrigan's courting gift either and that might cause some... issues if you have a problem with that

•You'll have to be chill with a lot of things because Silas is by no means morally ok and he does a lot of fucked up shit

•Silas is very loyal and supportive and if there's something you want to achieve he'll help to the best of his ability

•He takes immense interest in your culture and home and will pester you with questions about it

* * *

This started as a joke what happened 😭

Tags:

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind

[burning-sol]

Because I'm a loser I'm going over this piece of controversy because if it catches on here I will lose my mind. This controversy surrounds @ jinxontherocks and Charlie Slimecicle. All the following screenshots were taken the same day as typing, and I made this post with what may be incomplete information. DO NOT HARASS ANYONE INVOLVED!! Regardless of who you're contacting, regardless of your intentions, DON'T contact anyone shown here.. ANYONE!!

Jinx's Instagram lists their pronouns as she/they/he, please don't misgender her: https://www.instagram.com/jinxultraviolet

CW this shit is about RPF and MCYT NSFW (pornographic content of Minecraft Youtubers' characters and they themselves), there are screenshots showing censored posts of it and there is a brief mention of rape amongst them.

The tweet that started off my little investigation and is causing outrage..

https://twitter.com/shubluvr/status/1799909241404129604

Something I noticed as I was adding alt txt.. I don't know anything about Jinx or how she assigns "Close Friends" on his Instagram, but basically users can assign someone as a "Close Friend" and you can then post stories only ppl within that group can see. If Jinx is the kind of person who hands out this status to anyone they know, this isn't a big deal, but if this person was close to Jinx I want you to keep in mind the possibility that this is potentially a violation of Jinx's boundaries. If this person knew Jinx closely, they could have talked to her in private, but instead they chose to make this a public affair. At best this could have been something the anonymous person genuinely thought was the moral thing to do, or this person could at worst be straight up an emotionally abusive person who shared these photos as a way to egg on Jinx's "downfall" or something similar. Again, this is only POTENTIALLY, but you need to be critical of who is sourcing your information and what their intentions are.

So the screenshots do prove Jinx knows Charlie and has been interacting with him and maybe (MAYBE) even dating him.. Which!! I just wanna clarify before you ask, I searched this up, Charlie and Grace broke up. Jinx and Charlie are both in their early to mid twenties. Aside from this controversy, there is really nothing to say abt them that isn't just, "mind your own business".

https://twitter.com/insidetheslime/status/1770617006364262832

So why is this an issue? What's with the controversy? Let's check out that first quote tweet.

https://twitter.com/shubluvr/status/1793371199449547014

The claim is that Jinx, possibly, willingly engaged with someone who posted MCYT porn. Which the user states, "it wasn't my intention to present the examples of what that person posted as if u liked them" but then proceeds to reiterate again that "u have to go out of ur way to find an acc like that." so which is it? That's a rhetorical question, we know which it is because if it was the former people wouldn't be so mad. But at least we know where these initial claims came from so let me scroll back and see what this user had initially posted as proof.

Here's the thread.

https://twitter.com/shubluvr/status/1790861709218828459

The archive page linked: https://archive.md/g8xOX

So yes, this does prove Jinx followed an account that posted NSFW of Charlie (RPF) and Charlie's characters (MCYT). However, just following someone isn't necessarily proof you've seen the full extent of their content. So let's finally circle back around to Jinx's tweet in response to this (something that was quote tweeted earlier) and discuss why I have such an issue with this entire controversy. Time to crack open the point of this entire post.

https://twitter.com/jinxontherocks/status/1793353847437701538

Hi everyone, apologises for taking a few days to address this as I've been logged off of twitter for my own mental health and due to the constant harassment and death threats that I have been receiving. Recently, there was a thread posted on me showing how I was following someone who created NSFW art of some content creators, specifically Charlie who I'm friends with. I absolutely condemn this kind of boundary-breaking NSFW art of content creators, and would never willingly follow or interact with an account that I knew created art like this. I am only semi-active on Twitter, especially on my 18+ account, and I was shocked and upset to discover I was following an account like this at the same time everyone else did. Because this account is now deactivated, I'm not sure what I originally followed them for, but it was likely COD or puppy girl art. I've privated my NSFW account as well because I'm not comfortable with a bunch of people who are likely minors in the community scrolling through it. Because people are making some gross assumptions as well I want to clarify that I met Charlie IRL, and had no idea who he or his friends were at all or as content creators before meeting them. We met naturally, became friends, and still are. Throughout this past week I've received an insane amount of harassment and threats, and have seen tons of misinformation spread about me and the whole situation so I definitely felt a need to clarify everything. I knew essentially nothing at all abt this acc or any of their callouts or whatnot, that just wasn't the sphere of cc I was in at any point, and while I post semi frequently on here, I'm not very interactive with content beyond my mutuals. Likely gonna retcon that going forward and look more into who I'm following before I do. Also pointing out that a lot of the sc's included in this thread or others are being presented as or shown as if they were from my likes? They were not, straight up not. Just gonna clear that up now. Lastly, please do not harass the creator of the thread or anyone else involved in this situation please. Please be kind y'all, and good day!

Quick note, if behind the scenes Jinx had immediately gotten harassment and death threats after the conception of that thread, THAT'S why Jinx was suddenly "stalking" leaktwt. Like of course Jinx is going to find the source of a bunch of people who are telling her he sucks and (possibly) telling him to kill themselves. Someone becoming conscious of their own controversy very quickly after it's conception isn't an abnormal thing.

So basically, I felt like I was going bananas because I'm going through replies trying to see if there's more evidence but there's nothing really condemning Jinx that strongly. You have evidence they followed someone who posts RPF NSFW, SHE confirmed she'd followed the acc that posted RPF NSFW.. But do they condone it? Did he see it? WHERE is your evidence?? WHY are you all so convinced she condones RPF NSFW? Well I stumbled across this brilliant series of screenshots someone added that's making me lose my marbles.

https://twitter.com/4ngelcicle/status/1793729694577332396

artist: im genuinely baffled if anyone believes rhis like i cannot emphasize how much i only posted on that acc to post porn 😭 other user: she only followed you this april right? like after she meet charlie? artist: yess like only a few days to a week before the thread was made? im so confused how she couldve found me in the first place let alone follow me because ,, i only post abt charie my bio is nsfwrpf and my pfp was bsd and banner was fnaf? nothing to warrant her following me?

artist: uhmmm she followed me few days to a week before the first thread was made? i dont remember but i got the notification when she followed me on her very public acc? i didnt realize it was jinx tho so i just let her follow me? when i stalked her acc she just seemed like a normal nsfw acc without any nsfwrpf even in her likes. thats it in regards to interacting with me but its also strange how she even found me in the first place? my account is sightly inactive so it wasnt like i was tweeting something funny or even spamming the tl to regard being followed? anytime i posted on the public acc it was about porn because thats what the account is for 😭 so idek how she found my acc in the firstplace cuz i also censor everything?? but thats all i know xP artist: u already know most of it but yk

artist: omg ugh artist: literally the only things i posted on that acc ever was cc nsfw artist: if it was unrelated i would post it on my priv

My jaw DROPPED when I saw this. I wanna hone in on this one tidbit that you may have glossed over, "when i stalked her acc she just seemed like a normal nsfw acc without any nsfwrpf even in her likes. thats it in regards to interacting with me".. So that's it. THAT'S IT. Even the artist in question only has proof he followed them, not that there was any tangible interactions to prove she saw the RPF content. And also, "my bio is nsfwrpf and my pfp was bsd and banner was fnaf? nothing to warrant her following me?" So it is 100% possible that he had only seen the artist's pfp, banner, the words "RPF" but not the problematic content in question.. And here's a relevant reply from Jinx on the fact the artist had RPF in their bio-

https://twitter.com/jinxontherocks/status/1793370260885918108

So we actually need to talk about how exactly social media works, because for some reason nobody is bringing this up despite USING Twitter and KNOWING what Twitter feeds look like.

If you have ever been on a Twitter For You page (I'm checking mine now) you will know that the feed isn't strictly curated based on your following, Twitter has an algorithm that'll put posts on your feed based on different factors. When I go to mine, my feed isn't strictly people I follow (in fact it's barely people I follow), it's not chronological, and I don't know if this is still a feature but I distinctly remember times where I got shown posts that were LIKED by someone or RETWEETED by someone- So again, your feed can show you a lot of varying things that you're either only somewhat adjacent to or something that's not anything you're remotely interested in. So basically, you cannot know exactly what someone's feed looks like unless a person hand you their phone and you scroll through it. You can make ESTIMATES of what you thing someone's feed will look like, but, again, you can only know exactly what someone's feed looks like if you're able to scroll through it.

This is to say that it's 100% possible at some point Jinx came across a post from the account on their feed, didn't see it anything RPF related in the post or on their immediate page (assuming they clicked on the profile because you can follow people without going to their profile), and followed them. And even if they posted RPF the rest of the time, there is no way to know what % of Jinx's feed it would have been present on.. Which! Btw, is also influenced by if Jinx even frequents the For You page at ALL.. Which, Jinx claims he's not super active on Twitter, so that lines up perfectly with her explanation.

(And before you say something about it, we don't have access to the NSFW account because it got deactivated, but I personally doubt that the user literally only posted NSFW of RPF and MCYT. Most NSFW accs I've seen in my time always have even the slightest amount of variety.. So it's not to say it's not possible, but I think the artists' words are likely an exaggeration. That's the assumption this point is functioning under.)

Plus, remember what I mentioned about people liking or retweeting posts? It's kind of a whole point of social media that posts spread in chains, and it's 100% possible for posts from obscure or problematic people to reach normal people in the right circumstances. Again, this is just.. This is just how Twitter works?? How social media works?? And I feel like I'm insane sitting here typing out how posts actually end up on your feeds and reminding people what an algorithm is and that some people just AREN'T as online as you.

And I'm not saying all this to say that I am 100% sure that Jinx is innocent because I don't KNOW, and that's the POINT. You can't KNOW what Jinx has seen and what she hasn't unless you have proof of him interacting DIRECTLY with something.. And follows don't count because I know PLENTY of people (including myself at times) who don't vet the people they follow, and follow people from a post they've seen on their feed instead of their profile. The artist THEMSELF said, as I will highlight again, "when i stalked her acc she just seemed like a normal nsfw acc without any nsfwrpf even in her likes. thats it in regards to interacting with me"..

All the evidence I've seen as of typing this is heresay, and unless all these people can present some substantial evidence that actually SAYS what they WANT it to say, I'm going to believe that Jinx made an honest mistake.

There's probably some other arguments I could make to prove my point, but I've been so thorough with everything I've been typing for literal hours just covering this. So I just wanna get at something that REALLY pisses me off about Twitter and I don't want to fucking see.

STOP calling people complicit in someone else's behaviour just because they're close to them. You are very potentially blaming VICTIMS THEMSELVES and I'm so fucking done with this.

Some people are saying Charlie is condoning this behaviour and it is DISGUSTING because can you actually take a step back and think about what you're saying?? Maybe Charlie does know, maybe he's into some freak shit, IDK, but I think it's WAY more likely Charlie didn't. The chances are far more likely that, if the allegations here are true, Charlie's boundaries were VIOLATED and HE'S the victim here. Though we can't really know because (I can't stress it enough) we don't KNOW what's happened behind the scenes. Charlie liked the tweet jinx made..

Which could mean several things. Maybe! The allegations aren't true, and Charlie is showing support for her. Maybe! The allegations were true, but they've quietly resolved the situation behind the scenes. Maybe! The allegations were true, and Jinx LIED to Charlie so he believes her.

(And yeah, I am implying these allegations could be true and I STILL think Jinx should be given some leniency based on if they've changed their mind on the morality of that content and have apologised in private to Charlie.. Because life is weird and people are weird and people change. Like IDK, again, maybe Charlie into that freak shit. What are you gonna do if a guy likes NSFW being drawn of himself? Complain to HIM about what his boundaries should be?)

You don't KNOW, you CAN'T know. I will state this over and OVER, YOU DON'T KNOW. Don't harass Jinx over things you don't know are true. If you don't like him after hearing these allegations? You're allowed to! It's fine! Block them and move on. But DON'T pretend that's the same as having evidence, because from what I've seen, you don't.

And I got very heated in that last bit so I just wanna say, I've spent all my time (again, these past few hours) writing this post. I don't know if Tumblr knows about this or is already talking about this, but this is my thorough take on the situation. I just hope it clears up some things because I would really fucking hate if it caught on and everyone starts spread (potential) misinformation and ruining someone's life for literally no reason.

[nardos-primetime]

first thing that pops up on my for you page from your blog:

i am so lost from where this guy came from. is this an au? also i am extremely jealous of their hair, i want it for no good reason. lmfao sorry for the weird question/ask.

He's from a newer au I haven't talked about yet! Don't feel weird for asking at all!

The whole au is like. Heavily inspired by Cyberpunk 2077 (a guilty pleasure of mine), it could technically be a crossover au, I guess? I dunno, but I'm lazy/like to do stuff for fun, so certain aspects are obviously going to be changed. I'm not totally settled on designs, but I think I'm gonna keep most of the design aspects from this drawing for the "finalized" concepts.

The main plot centers on Casey Jr being put under the care of the turtles by "Mother" soon after having a whole (unwilling) relic insert situation in his brain, leading to former star Lou Jitsu to be revived within his mind!

The issue is that all of the turtles aren't really. The best father figures. None of them even want anything akin to a child, and even if Casey is 19, these guys are Mercs. Outside of their own clubbing and shows they do gigs for cash, including dangerous ones, ESPECIALLY dangerous ones. Having this new guy is like, a total roadblock, especially because Casey still, somehow, despite Night City's clutches and the last group he was pressured into before this, has some morals about him. The only reason they didn't kill him and stage an accident is because Mother promised them financial compensation for caring for him.

So he's stuck with four new "dads" who mostly all hate him or find him annoying, and Lou is not any different, he also finds him naive but he dislikes the turtles as well because he's a jaded old fuck (major hypocrite, too).

While the turtles are baseline all mercenaries, they share some traits between each other instead of leaving it to a "one guy only" job in most cases.

Donnie has the most technical skill, falling mostly under Techie and Net/Edgerunner, he adores tech after all, he also has illegally dabbles in being a ripperdoc, primarily for his brothers.

Mikey is actually the fallback for general medical issues, including those involving backfiring implants. He's only better at this because he's dabbled in researching (and using) tons of remedies, mainly for pain. He's the guy who's helped Donnie when working on inserting implants in the others. He's even stayed awake during his own surgeries to help Donnie during his fuck ups and implants.

Leo, while not extreme netrunner levels, does hold some hacking knowledge, just what he needs to make things a little easier with anything but combat most of the time, as combat is what he enjoys the most within jobs. He also tends to be the one to make their deals with Mother.

Raph is mainly muscle. Not to say he's simple, it's just his main role and main focus, having grown much more protective over the years, often acting as a bodyguard for the others during their own shows (hence he has the least involvement with any of their music). He's the least of the bad influences for Casey, at least directly.

They used to have another member of the group a few years ago, a media. Or a media wannabe, at least.

They normally have some reference to her, even if small, hidden within their shows.

This is all, of course, not tapping into their mystics, which are a bit different in this au as well with how they work. Lets just say Mother allows them special permissions when it comes to mystic usage.

...at least those are some of the basic ideas I've been throwing around in my head for the story, lol. I like to throw ideas at the wall and see what sticks to me. The whole thing is technically a wip still but so are 90% of my aus tbh lmao, this onrs just a lot more wippy because it's mainly a "for fun" au and I also haven't been able to play cyberpunk for myself to brush up on things outside of research and sometimes a man is just... not up for that, especially lately with my attention span, I hope to brush up a little more again sometime soon and maybe even delve into some aspects from the og ttrpg perhaps, I'm not sure yet, though, haha.

Oops long post, huh? My bad </3

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

Questioning NPD, and already prof. dx'd autism and OCD culture is (lengthy and vent-ish, but not really with the latter):

📌 Carefully orchestrating this whole ask.

📌 Thinking every day about how much criteria you meet. **It's nearly all of it**, but you're still unsure if the things you've been prev. dx'd with would cancel it out or not.

📌 Stigma and misconceptions making you second-guess yourself.

📌 "-But I don't constantly or overtly seek attention/admiration..." Though I DO desire it, fantasize about seeking it, and get upset or disappointed when I don't receive what I'd like/had expected (when I do so). I'll think about it for a bit and feel a mild (?) sense of entitlement, then scoff "whatever" in my head.

I'm also afraid of people thinking I'm pathetic if I try too hard, so that's why I don't.

📌 ^ Comparing your competence in something afterwards, then being like "🤔🧙‍♂️😏" (silly ass emojis ik) when you notice that you're better or on par with whatever someone/everyone else has presented.

📌 ^ Moral OCD kicks in not long afterwards. I'll be writing a book if I elaborate.

📌 Struggling to find resources on covert presentations of NPD besides "10 signs of a covert narcissist" (it's mostly emotional abuse shit) or "the covert narcissistic mother." 🫠 Like bro please.

📌 Being afraid that by claiming you have "narcissistic traits/tendencies" and potentially learning it's all something different later that you'll seem like a fool (I feel like there's irony in this).

📌 "What if it's just C-PTSD?" (Also questioning) + "What if I suspect what could be C-PTSD is just my OCD and *some trauma.*" The fear of seeming like a fool to people (generally and those you'd seek help from) 2x.

📌 "I'm also aware of how my actions affect others sometimes, and I'm pretty self aware..."

I KNOW it's a misconception/overgeneralization that narcs 'can't have empathy' (also dude how do you think I manage how others potentially perceive me lol). I ALSO KNOW that self-aware narcs exist (like on here, hello...), but man...

A therapist once told me that I seemed too self-aware to be one as the 3 (yes) previous people they had experience with "typically only came in due to other problems like depression or perceiving others having 'the issue,' then were later diagnosed."

Self-doubt plus a lack of resources is a Bitch...

📌 That same one also used Donald Trump as an example of a narc (not that I'd disagree since I've read a bit of that one book about his family that was made by.. I think his Niece? Who's a clinical psych, but lmao...), wasn't aware of certain terms I'd bring up, and would accidentally skip questions (brought a pocket diagnostic manual with me, so I knew).

They were nice, but it made me go "hmm I think I'm more competent." Fear of being 'an arrogant fool' with that one (esp. as they've gone through schooling and I haven't.... *Yet* 😏), but seriously. Makes me teeter between whether I should just go with self diagnosis or seek out a more qualified professional (realized that one didn't specialize in pds besides BPD, so..) whenever I'm more prepared (both bringing up that fear again).

📌 OH AND BEING ASKED "Do you exploit others?..." with a waiting stare. Maybe others have no problem admitting that or other unpleasant things, BUT WHAT MAKES YOU THINK I WANNA SAY THAT!!! 😭 (I actually don't - at least not harmfully or often? But still).

📌 Obsessing/having intrusive memories and thoughts about people who've rejected you, left you out, did relational bullying, and/or perceived you as somehow 'less than' and were condescending towards you. Fantasizing about either winning their approval (more of a younger me thing) or overpowering them; either directly proving them wrong/that you've actually been better than them/putting them in their place or becoming famous for something unique/grand. ALL for **Years** and it sucks because it's likely that I barely exist in their minds, and I've yet to move on.

I've yet to heal/grow from this internalized shame and whatnot in full (plus there's more I could add into it like familial shit, the compassion/thoughtfulness I've had for those people despite what I've mentioned above - like ik they've had their own issues, etc.) I mean, I have been doing better... I've noticed my own growth, but it's been a painfully slow process.

📌 My mom being like "*you're not like your dad!!*" when I talk to her about narc stuff; further feeding my self-doubt/questioning. Also yeah it's likely that my paternal side has tendencies and that my dad has NPD. Way more than me actually LOL (plus I also likely get the OCD from his side, but y'know... Lots of them are old, they're Latinos, and idk what's up w my cousins since I rarely talk to them).

- Uhhhhh can I please claim 🌀🪄?

.

[windybreeze12]

I am so very late sksksksk but you have asked, and I shall provide. Welcome to today's episode of A Fangirl's Analysis of DBD and today we have:

Edwin and The Cat King

okay now listen to me. I love payneland so much. I think they're amazing both romantically and platonically. BUT GOD THESE TWO.

I am very sick and tired of people trying to hate on this pair because honestly it's like we didn't watch the same damn show. Yes he's old beyond comprehension and yes he is very much attracted to Edwin (and to an extent vice-versa) but yall are completely overlooking the fact that without the Cat King and his infatuation with Edwin, most of the things that happened in DBD wouldn't have happened. Dare I say, all of the events of DBD.

Yes, it was the Cat King who was also the reason for the boys to go through all the events both good and bad but can we please stop forgetting that he also actively (actively) tried his best to help Edwin (and Crystal and Charles by association).

And can we also please stop overlooking the fact that even though Edwin is a teenager in a physical sense, he is very much emotionally, mentally, and in every other way, a hundred years old. Now, if Edwin were still as emotionally mature as a 16 year old, there would some ethical issues but we can very well see that this is not the case.

I find the Cat King to be a wildly interesting character. A fun sort of anti-hero if you will. A mischievous, fun-loving, playful and flirtatious character who's pining led to his boo being sent to hell (which honestly i find hilarious). Despite his sort of unpredictable nature, he still has a strong moral code and follows through with it. And we can also see that he is actively trying to woo Edwin like mans is showing up with vital pieces of information and saving Edwin just so he'll like him back. He's absolutely pathetic and I love him.

I love love love the last interaction we get between Edwin and the Cat King when he gives Edwin the lilies in honour of Niko. In that scene, it's subtle but clear that both characters have changed. It's obvious that Edwin has changed but it's also obvious that the Cat King has changed. Rewatching that scene i just keep finding new things and UGH. One important thing that stood out for me were the increasingly soft smiles he gave Edwin. These were less flirtatious and more understanding. Like he had already come to terms with the fact that Edwin would be leaving and mostly likely would have a different romantic path (maybe Charles) than him. Yes he is still very much a flirt and still trying to woo Edwin (because characters dont change like that overnight) but he does so with respect and boundaries. When Edwin didn't go in to hug him, he backed away. It's also super fun noticing how the Cat King kept freaking glancing at Edwin's lips when he was talking about how lonely they are.

And at the very end, when Edwin told him that he forgot to count himself, the smirk the Cat King gives Edwin is much less flirtatious and much more like the kind of smirk that someone would give when seeing someone as an equal.

Overall, I find Edwin and the Cat King's relationship to be extremely intriguing and very interesting to talk about and your honour, I love them.

Wanna see more interest dynamics like this? WATCH DEAD BOY DECTECTIVES!!! It's got dynamics like this and more and it DOES NOT deserve to be cancelled so please please PLEASE go watch it <3

[wintrwinchestr]

bite the hand

the killer & the sound - chapter 3

summary: you hadn't expected joel to put such an abrupt end to... whatever it is you two had. or, what you thought you had, anyway. you write and perform a new song on the second night of the tour about it, and the consequences aren't quite what you expected them to be. how could something that seemed so simple at first have become so complicated?

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, no use of y/n, rockstar!joel, aspiring rockstar!reader, d/s dynamics, pretty major daddy kink, age gap (reader is early-mid 20’s, joel is early-mid 50’s), pet names (sweetheart, darlin', baby, babygirl, songbird(!!), etc), big time angst, daddy/mommy issues, religious shame, degradation (joel calls you a whore), spanking, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected piv sex, manhandling, one (1) kiss, spitting, smoking (reader & other characters), drinking (reader & other characters), getting walked in on, characters who need therapy sooooo badly, lots of internal monologue, let me know if i missed any!!

word count: 13.2k

a/n: as always, thank you so much for your patience and sticking around to see what i put our pookies through this time. these chapters just keep getting longer and longer but it's not my fault they have a lot to say!!!!! if you'd like an idea of what reader's lil diss track sounds like, i very much imagined gibson girl by ethel cain when i wrote it. thank you as always to my best babygirl kiers i love u to death. i hope you like this one, nice comments/reblogs appreciated if you enjoyed!!

series masterlist

divider by @saradika-graphics

Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing?

Joel has been in the shower for at least thirty minutes now, and he’s spent more than half of that time just letting the scalding water pound against his back as his vision goes blurry from the steam. He finished his “rinse off” within five minutes of stepping inside the bathroom, and now he’s just stalling, wondering how the fuck he’s supposed to go back out there and get in bed with you.

If it weren’t for the decades’ worth of tattoos that he can see when he looks down at his bare body, he wouldn’t be able to recognize himself right now. He’s always been one to hit it and quit it, love ‘em and leave ‘em, or whatever little figure of speech you want to use for just being a fucking playboy. Since when has he ever cleaned a girl up, given her his clothes to wear, let her sleep over after he fucks her? Though, he has to give himself some credit, it’s not like he was planning on letting you stay. He was just trying to preserve some of your dignity, but then, when did he even decide to start caring about shit like that? 

Fuck.

When the tour bus jerks to life as the driver begins the trip to the next city, the loss of balance is enough to finally snap Joel out of the uncharacteristic morality spiral he’s now found himself in. He rubs his hands across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose and cursing under his breath, knowing that he can’t hide in here and avoid you forever. Besides, he’s getting old, and he has to sleep at some point if he wants to be at least a little functional tomorrow. And what is he so fucking scared of, anyway? 

Joel turns off the water, and the knob screeches in protest as the dull roar of the shower fades into silence. He steps out of the stall and hardly makes any effort to dry himself off, solely focused on getting out of there before the fog evaporates from the mirror and he’s forced to confront his own reflection. He shakes out his hair and pulls on a clean pair of briefs, then sends out a silent prayer to whoever the fuck might be listening, begging for help in making it through the night without having to address whatever it is that’s gnawing at his conscience. He didn’t even think he had one of those anymore.

Joel enters the bedroom quietly, hoping that you’d be exhausted enough to have fallen asleep by the time he returned. When you don’t even twitch as he shuts the door behind him and climbs under the covers, he lets out the breath he’d been holding, and lays himself down as close to the edge of the mattress as he can without falling off the damn thing. If he can put as much distance between the two of you as possible tonight, maybe he can make it out the other side unscathed.

Just when he thinks he’s in the clear, having settled himself down with his back to you and situated his silk sheets and pillows to his liking, he feels you roll over in your sleep as you let out some dreamy little whine. Joel likes to keep it cold on the bus, and your shivering form must feel the heat still radiating off of him from his shower, because then you’re wrapping your little arms around his bicep and pulling him close. He wants to shake you loose, to put some extra pillows in between your bodies just for good measure, but he can’t be so cruel. Not when you look like such a goddamn angel, sleeping so peacefully with your hair spread out around you like a halo, long lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He wonders what you’re dreaming about. 

Joel isn’t sure when exactly it happened, but somewhere in between that very first rehearsal and right now, the lines started to blur between a fun little fling he wasn’t going to think twice about letting go of once the tour ended, and something that he wants to sink his claws into and claim as his own. He has to face it now, whether he wants to or not—he can’t get himself to push you away, to growl at you not to touch him and to stay on your own side of the bed, because he doesn’t want to. What he wants is to tattoo his fucking name right underneath that shitty moth on your upper thigh, and therein lies the problem.

He has a history of breaking things, of being too controlling and rough and mean when he plays with his toys, until they fight back and tear themselves apart as they escape his clutches. But you seem like something that can’t be broken, that would glue itself back together just to get played with again the next day, and that sets off some alarms he didn’t know he was capable of hearing. Maybe he does still have a conscience, after all.

At first, Joel had liked how eager and willing and naive you were, how easily he could push and pull you this way and that because you didn’t seem to realize what this was. Or at least, what it was intended to be. Whether you were smart to his intentions or not was never really his concern before, but now… You’re nuzzling your face into his arm, breathing in his scent and letting it soothe you as it coats your senses, and it’s awakening something protective, possessive, in him. Joel has never been good at romance or love or relationships, and he had resigned himself a long time ago to the fact that he’d never be able to settle down. The life he lives can’t sustain something steady or healthy like that anyway, what with the touring and the groupies and the sex and the alcohol. 

But now here you are, this fragile and yet unbreakable thing in his bed who he worries wouldn’t run away no matter how much he growled and bared his teeth. And god dammit, that scares him. Joel had thought he was done being scared, that he had left that feeling behind before you were even born, probably. And yet, here it is creeping up on him again, grabbing him by the throat and suffocating him. You’ve got real talent and beauty, with a promising future and blossoming career ahead of you, and you’d probably give it all up and follow him into the darkness if he promised to call you a good girl once you did.

Joel has never been a very good man, but something about you makes him really have to stare down the barrel of it now. He can’t do this to you, he can’t let you in, and he knows that. He’d poison you, if he hasn’t already. And he can’t give to you what you seem to think this is, what it could be, if he wasn’t so fucking damaged. So he decides it then, as he doesn’t stop his hand from brushing a stray strand of your halo out of your delicate face, that he has to put a stop to this first thing in the morning. And he has to be cold and concise about it, so that you’re perfectly clear on what the two of you are going to be from now on, even if it hurts you. You’re a big girl, and he trusts that you’ll get over it somehow, because letting this continue would hurt you a hell of a lot worse, in the end.

And you seemed to have taken it well, all things considered. He didn’t tell you the whole truth, the real reason why he decided to yank the arrow out of your heart when he was the one who shot it in there in the first place. Because then you’d know that he’s a broken man who also breaks things, and he can only shatter so many of your illusions about him in one morning. He knows this is his fault, and he was at least man enough to take the blame, he can give himself that. He had decided to paint himself as an actually respectable person who knows when he’s taken something too far, who definitely does have a conscience. Maybe you’re the one who lured it out of the dark cave it was hiding in, but he still can’t risk anything, on the off chance that he still is the same mangled man he always was and the one he will continue to be. So he lies to you, just a little bit, because what you don’t know won’t hurt you, and he can’t let you come any closer for fear of causing even more pain than he already has. 

Joel watched as your bare legs carried you out of the living area and off of his bus, the tops of your thighs just barely concealed by his shirt he had lent you the night before. He didn’t react when you slammed the door on your way out, he had expected you to do as much. But he did half-expect you to turn around and spit a fuck you, Joel at him the way he would have deserved. It might have hurt less if you did, that way you would have left a sour taste in his mouth to replace the still-lingering flavor of your pussy mixed with the cum he had spilled inside you last night. 

God, he is so fucked.

—

You had made sure to thank the audio technicians before you disappeared from the venue after your sound check, but otherwise avoided looking at or speaking to anyone on your way out. Especially him. You had held Angel close as you swiftly made your way back to your bus before Death’s Head had a chance to take the stage for their turn, not wanting to hear any more of Joel’s voice than you’ve had to today. Besides, it’s already been looping like a skipping record in your mind since this morning, refusing to let up no matter how hard you try to drown it out. 

Mistake, respect, and professional are the choice words that are chanting themselves over and over again, so many times that they almost don’t sound real anymore, just a random sequence of letters and noises that you can’t make sense of. What happened last night didn’t feel like a mistake to you, especially not when he was so gentle in cleaning you up afterwards, when he brought you a glass of water, when he let you curl up against him in his bed, wearing his clothes. He sure as hell had plenty of time to decide that you were worthy of respect before he had you act like a whore on stage in front of tens of thousands of people for his own sick pleasure. (And apparently yours, but that’s not the point.) And now you’re supposed to believe that he suddenly had a change of heart overnight, that splitting you open on his cock and using your body to get what he wanted made him finally develop a moral compass and decide that he wants to start acting like a professional? Damn, maybe you are more powerful than you thought. 

You just can’t believe you were stupid enough to let yourself feel something for him. He was just playing you like his guitar this entire fucking time, a pretty instrument that he can pluck and strum and draw pretty noises from, then put away without a second thought. He’s a celebrity, a rockstar, for fuck’s sake. Half of his songs are about sex, and if the rumors are true, he recorded the original intro to Kiss it Better while he was hooking up with some groupie in a bathroom. Just like you, he had probably used her to get what he wanted, then dropped her like it was nothing. Of course he never fucking cared about you. 

You should burn the clothes that he sent you scurrying back to your bus wearing this morning. They’re currently shoved into the bottom of your plain-looking laundry bag in the corner of your room, though you’re half tempted to just toss the whole thing into the dumpster behind the venue and set it ablaze. But you know he doesn’t care about material things as much as he does his ego, and it’s going to be much more satisfying to set that on fire than some worn-out pieces of clothing, anyway. Destroying them also wouldn’t do anything about the way you keep catching an inhale of his cologne every once in a while, the masculine smell of it wafting from his t-shirt and carving out an undesired space for itself in your brain. You try to ignore the way your cunt flutters against your will at the scent, at the memories it conjures, and hope that she doesn’t develop a habit of betraying you like this when it comes to him. She almost gets the better of you, tempting you to second guess your plan to perform your scathing new song at the end of your set tonight.

Almost.

You’re feeling good about what you wrote, and you’d be even more upset with yourself if you backed out now, if you gave in to Joel once again, without him even knowing it this time. He seems to think that he knows you better than you know yourself, that he can make decisions for you and that he always knows just what to say to get you to do as he asks. For once, you want him to be fucking wrong about you.

The show starts in just under an hour, and you’re dedicating your last bit of quiet solitude to solidifying the new words and the motions of your fingers in your memory. While you were scribbling in your notepad earlier today, you had tried to ride the fine line between calling him out so blatantly and using descriptions that were too clichéd, and you’re happy with the in-between that you landed on. The song could be about anyone, but it isn’t, and if the shoe fits when he tries it on, oh fucking well. Plenty of men wear the same size, and if he wants to make yet another thing about himself, that’s not your problem.

Ideally, you had wanted to include the song in your sound check so that your band would be prepared for tonight, until you had let your eyes drift to the side of the stage and saw Joel observing in the darkness, just like he had done while you were performing the night before. You suppose it wouldn’t be very professional of him to avoid you like the plague the way you’re trying to do with him, but still. You had averted your eyes as quickly as you had spotted him, and decided that the song was just going to have to be a surprise for everyone, not just Joel. Your band members are smart enough guys, you’re sure they’ll be able to catch on and back you up when it’s time to unveil what you had been working on all day. But if they don’t, you’re prepared for it to just be you and Angel up there, the same way it has been for as long as you’ve been making music. Until recently, at least.

You’ve opted to get yourself dressed and ready in the safety of your bus, attempting to avoid a repeat of last night’s pre-show interactions with Joel by minimizing the amount of time you actually have to spend inside the venue. You doubt he’ll try anything, but considering how unafraid he was to volunteer himself as a witness to your sound check, you’d rather not risk it. So, you do your best to keep your distance as you make your way off the bus and to the side of the stage with Angel in tow, hoping that your viscous aura alone will be enough to keep him away. 

Your band members are already waiting for you in the wings when you get there, and you tuck yourself safely behind the group of them as you wait for the lights to go down. You ghost your fingers along Angel’s strings one last time, just to make sure that your muscle memory is securely locked into place—it is, because you’re fucking good at this. You don’t need Joel’s whispered praises and soothing touches to know that you’re a star, and you don’t want them. You don’t. You fucking killed it last night, and you knew it before he told you so, because your ears were still ringing long after the audience had finished applauding and screaming for you. For your own performance, not for the on-stage degradation you endured because of a dumb teenage crush you couldn’t seem to shake off.

If your timing is right, you should’ve gone on a few minutes ago now. Each passing minute has you gnawing at your bottom lip and picking at your nails with increasing intensity as you and the audience both become more restless. You aren’t sure what the hold up is, but you just want to get out there and safely away from the possibility of Joel before you make one of your goddamn fingers bleed. You’re so consumed in your destructive self-soothing that you don’t hear the sound of jingling chains and creaking leather approaching you where you stand, followed by a clearing throat and the last voice you want to fucking hear right now.

“Tommy told me they’re jus’ tryin’ to fix a light or somethin’. Shouldn’t be too much longer now,” Joel says, and you stiffen as he speaks. He sounds earnest in the way he addresses the group of you, but the feeling of his gaze lingering on your skin tells you his true intentions.

Your bandmates hum in acknowledgement as they maintain their casual demeanors, while you shift your jaw and remain steadfast in your stoicism. Your face is calm and concentrated, but your fidgeting hands tell a different story, and the telltale habit is most of what prompted Joel to come over here against his better judgment. He so badly wants to take your hands in his so that you’ll stop tearing at your skin, to massage the worry right out of your palms and tell you there’s nothing to be nervous about, just like he did last night. Though, you’d probably bite his goddamn fingers clean off if he even so much as reached out a hand in your direction, and he wouldn’t entirely blame you if you did, considering that he’s more than likely the reason for your agitation.

Instead, he settles for asking, in as neutral of a tone as possible, “You okay, darlin’?”

Your gaze remains focused on the stage, on the mic you should be standing behind right now, if it weren’t for some stupid fucking light. After a pointed beat, you answer him with a short, “I’m fine.”

You can see in your peripheral vision that Joel nods and shifts his weight, moving a little further behind your band and closer to you. He lets a matching bit of silence pass, for some reason not using the opportunity to just turn around and walk away, before speaking again. “Quit messin’ with your fingers.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” you snap, whipping your head to finally face him. You peer up at Joel from under your eyebrows, putting on a stony face and doing your best to look intimidating even as he towers over you. Despite your efforts, your heart still flutters for just a second when your eyes meet, before he drops his own gaze to the floor and takes a step back from you.

“That how this is gonna be?” Joel asks, and you could swear he sounds a little defeated.

“Yeah, it is.”

You turn yourself back to the stage again, and he takes a deep breath, like he’s trying to steady himself and suppress a reaction to your attitude that he might regret.

“Look, can we–” he starts, but a sudden burst of screams and hollers cuts him off as the venue lights finally dim. You push past your bandmates and stomp your way towards the stage, feeling volatile and as determined as you’ve ever fucking been to give a killer performance tonight. You could’ve spit some real fire at him, told him to leave you the fuck alone like you had been so tempted to, but you didn’t want to scare him off. You don’t even need to check to know that he’s still standing exactly where you left him, and that he’ll probably stay there and watch you the whole time because he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants, apparently. Maybe you should bring him onstage for his public humiliation the same way he did to you, see how he likes it. But you have a little more humanity than he does, and if it all works out, he’ll have to watch you tear him down surrounded by his own bandmates and brother, and that’s gratifying enough for you.

When you and your band have all taken your places, you introduce yourself to tonight’s crowd with a newfound vigor, and begin your set with a chord so resonant it vibrates your bones. The sound surrounds you, grabbing you by the shoulders and shaking loose the wallflower version of you who performed these same songs just last night. It feels like a metamorphosis, like the moths that adorn the strap slung around your body and the one etched into your skin finally belong to you instead of him.

—

You sail through your set, never stumbling over a chord or missing a lyric, even in your anticipation to reach the end. While you thank the crowd and wait for their roaring cheers to die down, you finally chance a look at the side of the stage. Just as you had predicted before you went on, Joel’s silver-tipped boots are still planted in the same place they were thirty minutes ago. Perfect.

“Y’all have been amazing tonight, this was so much fun,” you pant into the mic. “I, uh… I actually have one more song before I go, if that’s alright. Just wrote it this morning.”

Another wave of whistles and applause engulfs you as you turn to check on your bandmates, who all wear confused expressions as expected. You step back from the mic to tell each of the guys the key and tempo of what you wrote, and ask if they can maintain something steady and follow along while you carry the melody. When they’ve all gotten the plan, they look at each other and wordlessly communicate a final decision, seeming to be up to the challenge. 

You resume your place at the front of the stage, taking one last look at your victim before beginning to strum the song’s now-familiar echoing intro. The tone is a little Western, and you wrote it that way on purpose, just as an extra hidden jab toward the obnoxious midnight cowboy persona Joel had first lured you in with. Your haunting voice comes in a few measures later, singing lyrics that are unlike anything you’ve written before. They’re darker, more graphic, and they tell the story of a girl and a cold-blooded man covered in leather and tattoos, who got her alone one night and ripped her clothes off and whispered things he didn’t mean while he fucked her. And after everything was said and done, the girl had lied to herself, replaying everything that had happened between her and the cold-blooded man that night, convincing herself that because it felt good, because he was good to her, that it had meant something. She had bared her body and soul to him, only to find out that he had also been lying to her that night, playing with her like a doll who didn’t know any better, who was just happy to get looked at and touched and praised by someone she had once held on such a high pedestal. You let the lights embrace you and warm your skin as you bare yourself once again, trusting this time that it won’t end in shame or hurt or tears. 

When the buildup of your lyrics and chords finally culminate in the song’s cathartic crash, the first thing you feel is relief, like a crushing weight has been lifted off your heart. The crowd’s enthusiastic response to your creation surrounds you, filling your ears and infiltrating your soul, and you can’t help but laugh at the overwhelming feeling. You gesture behind you for your band to meet you at the front of the stage, and you all bow together to another round of raucous cheering before making your way offstage. This time, you do remember to leave Angel behind, satisfied in what the two of you accomplished tonight.

You’re still reveling in the rush of your performance by the time you’re shrouded in the backstage darkness once again, so caught up in the feeling that you nearly forget what your moment of spontaneity was for in the first place. Or rather, who it was for. You didn’t have enough wherewithal to check if Joel would still be lying in wait once you exited the stage, mostly assuming that his ego would get the best of him and he’d just huff his way out to the buses for a smoke once he realized what you were doing.

You assumed wrong.

Before your eyes even have a chance to adjust to the change in lighting, a calloused hand is gripped tight onto your upper arm, dragging you deeper backstage as you exclaim in protest and try to snatch your arm out of the iron hold that traps it.

“What the—Joel?! Get the fuck off me! What are you–”

“Will you fuckin’ quiet down?” Joel hisses next to your ear. “Quit makin’ a goddamn scene, already made enough of one as it is.”

Despite your struggle against him, his size and strength overpower you, and before you know it you’re being shoved into a dressing room, the door getting slammed shut and locked behind you in a second.

“What the fuck, Joel?” you shout up at him as he backs you into the door, finally letting go of your arm to loom over you and brace one of his hands next to your head.

“I can ask you the same goddamn thing. What the fuck was that out there, hm?” He spits back at you.

You massage the aching finger-shaped marks on your skin where he had gripped you, eyeing him with an annoyed expression. “It was just a song, what is your fucking problem?”

He scoffs, rolling his neck as his brows twitch in disbelief. “Just a song, right. Everybody knew that shit was about me.”

Your heart hammers in your chest, both from the anxiety of being confronted like this and the aggravation caused by his egomaniacal tendencies. “You are so fucking self-centered, it’s insane. It could’ve been about anyone—”

“But it wasn’t, huh?” Joel interrupts. “Who else do they know that has a filthy title inked into his hand, as you put it. Gimme a break, sweetheart. As if that same title didn’t have you soakin’ your fuckin’ panties for me last night.”

You hate that you can feel your cunt flutter in response to his words. “Whatever, will you just let me go? This isn’t very professional of you, locking me in your goddamn dressing room just so you can throw a fit,” you retort.

Realization flashes across his face as he steps back from you, breathing a heavy sigh. “Professional…” he speaks quietly, testing out the word, searching for the meaning behind why you had used it so pointedly. “Jesus Christ, is that what this is about? You are such a goddamn child, you know that?”

Now it’s your turn to laugh, crossing your arms now that he’s given you the room to do so. “Didn’t seem to think of me that way last night. I’m a big girl, I can do what I want, why do you care so much if I wrote a stupid song about you?”

Joel shuts his eyes, scrunching up his face like he’s fighting against what he wants to say next. “Because, fuck—This ain’t what I wanted, okay? Said I wanted to keep it professional between us, not that I wanted you to make a goddamn fool outta me in front’a God and everybody.”

“Well, what do you want?” You push, stepping into his space as your blood begins to boil over. “Because I thought you fucking cared about me, and then you just told me to get lost this morning, like none of it meant anything to you—”

“Of course it fuckin’ meant somethin’ to me, Jesus Christ.” Joel says, so breathlessly it’s like the words escape his mouth before he can catch them. “Did this for your own goddamn good—”

“Oh, for my own good?”

“Yes, for your own good. Because I know what you want this to be, and I can’t give that to you, I can’t.”

“Why not?”

Joel doesn’t answer, but he shifts his jaw like he considers it, and lets your angered breathing fill the silence.

“Huh?” You provoke, hitting your palms against his broad chest once. Your push hardly does anything to knock him off his balance, but you swear it makes his eyes darken. “Why not?” You demand a second time.

You can tell he wants to bite back, but he suppresses the instinct, instead backing away from you as he shakes his head in disbelief. “Y’ know what, I ain’t gonna do this with you right now. We can talk about this later.”

Joel makes for the exit, but you dart in front of the door handle, feet planted firmly on the ground as you block his only way out. You grit your teeth as you stare up at him, daring him to either do something about it or finish what he started.

He takes another steadying breath. “Really ain’t helpin’ your case much right about now. I suggest you move, sweetheart.” His voice registers a somewhat eerie calm, the kind that a storm usually follows.

“You don’t get to back out of this.”

“Ain’t backin’ out. Said we’re gonna talk about it later. Move.”

You stare at each other in strained silence for a few moments, neither of you in the mood to give in to the other. You doubt that you’re about to bear witness to the first time Joel has ever submitted to someone else, so you slide away from the door, making a vow to yourself to find him after the show and force him to make good on his word.

“‘S what I thought,” he huffs, unlocking the door and slinking out into the hallway. He holds his head a little too high for someone too scared to tell you how he feels, like it’ll eat him alive if he admits to anyone that he really does have a heart.

You step out of the room and watch him walk, waiting until he gets a few paces away from you to grumble under your breath, “Self-centered and a fucking coward.”

Either Joel wasn’t as far out of earshot as you had thought, or the angry thudding of your pulse inside your head had made it difficult to tell just how loud you had said your little dig. He stops in his tracks, giving you a second to sweat before turning around to face you. “What was that?” he asks, but you already know he had heard you loud and clear. He begins to stalk towards you, and that predatory sway of his shoulders has you suddenly feeling meek.

“N-nothing,” you lie, backing into the dressing room as he continues his prowl.

“Nah, go ahead. You wanna do this right now, we’ll do it right now. What’d you say, baby? C’mon.” Joel’s movement forces you backward until the base of your spine hits the edge of the vanity table in the room. You wince at the impact and the sound of the door slamming shut again, and then he’s bracing both of his hands on either side of your hips, caging you in. Joel’s hot breath ghosts against your face as his eyes seem to glow a fiery shade you’ve never seen before. “Say it again.”

You swallow hard, nervous eyes flitting around his face, unsure of the safest place to land, or if there even is one. “Called you a coward…” you admit softly, voice trembling.

“Yeah? I’m a fuckin’ coward? What else, hm? Why don’t you use your big girl words and say to my face what you really wanted to say about me out there instead o’ that bullshit lil’ poem you wrote.” He’s just being mean now, lashing out because you hit him where it hurts. But god fucking dammit, there’s something about the way he’s standing over you, how he’s using his size to intimidate you and how the smell of his cologne mingles with the fading aroma of his last cigarette, that begins to cloud your judgment. You can’t help the way a dampness begins to bloom between your thighs as a result of his demeaning words and close proximity.

You figure you don’t have much of a reason to hold anything back anymore, already having pissed him off by threatening his ego twice in one night. “I hate you,” you rasp, which is pretty much what the lyrics of your song boil down to. You do hate him, for saying all the right things and touching you all the right ways to make you think he wanted the two of you to be something, only to throw your naivety in your face, tell you that you’re acting like a child when he’s the one who tried to give up and walk out when something became more complicated than he could handle.

“Yeah, I bet you do. Think you can do better than that, though, huh? Sure had plenty to say earlier, don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He spits the pet name at you like it’s an insult, coated in the venom dripping from his sharp canines.

“Fuck you,” you snap, eyes welling up and threatening to spill over despite yourself.

Joel spins you around as soon as the words leave your lips, pinning your wrists behind your back with just one of his hands, using the other one to grip your jaw and make you face your own reflection in the vanity mirror. You shut your eyes tightly, not wanting to confront what he’s reduced you to, and he allows you to keep them that way for now.

“You want me to? That why you’re all fired up, ‘cause you need Daddy to fuck this bratty ass attitude outta you?” Joel rumbles next to your ear.

You struggle to shake your head in his hold, mumbling, “No, I don’t.”

“No? So if I reach my hand under this lil’ dress, I ain’t gonna feel that pretty pussy drippin’ for me?”

You aren’t sure why you bother lying to him again, humming an mm-mm that sounds more like a whimper.

“Hmm, let’s see about that, then,” Joel muses, releasing your face from his hold to bend you forward and flip up the skirt of your dress. “Would you look at that… panties are ‘bout fuckin’ soaked through, ain’t they?” You whine as he begins to rub your folds over your underwear, pulling back the crotch of them and letting it go so that you can feel the damp snap of the fabric against your sensitive skin. “Thought you were such a good girl… you like it a lil’ mean, hm? ‘S that why you pulled that stunt tonight, to get Daddy all worked up so he’d treat you the way you really been wantin’?”

You feel a stinging smack on your ass before you’ve even finished muttering a complete No. Joel’s rough hand does nothing to soothe the burn as he rubs it around your smarted flesh, squeezing at the plush of your ass with a possessive grip. “Had just about enough of you lyin’ to me tonight. Why don’t you tell me the goddamn truth and I’ll give you what you want, hm? Gonna ask one more time. You want Daddy to beat up this lil’ brat pussy?” He asks, moving his hand back to the wet fabric of your panties, circling your clit over the material with the pad of his finger.

You can’t help but moan at his crude language, releasing another pulse of wetness in response. “Mmh, yes, please—” you mewl.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes,” Joel barks, and it startles you into obedience. “Yes, who?” he challenges, making eye contact with your reflection in the mirror.

He continues his ministrations over your covered clit, and you force your brain to work through the distraction, to give him what he wants and not earn yourself another spank.

“Y-yes, Daddy, I want it,” you admit, your voice drenched in a pathetic need. 

Joel swiftly yanks your panties to the side, practically tearing them clean off your body with one hand in an effort to expose your swollen core to him, not daring to release your aching wrists from the other one’s hold. He circles your dripping entrance with the rough tips of two of his fingers, not pushing all the way inside just yet.

“Think you owe me a goddamn apology first, hm?” he taunts, using his fingers to smear your ashamed slick around your entrance.

“Sorry, ‘m sorry–” you whine, pushing back into him impatiently.

Smack. “For what, baby? What’re you sorry for?” Joel presses, his harsh spank telling you to stay fuckin’ still. 

“For… for writing that song… for calling you a c-coward… ‘m sorry, Daddy, I’m sorry–” you cry. He shoves both of his thick fingers inside you as your reward, carving out space for them inside your little hole as he starts up a bruising pace, the obscene wet sounds of his movements filling the room and mingling with your broken little wails. It shouldn’t feel as good as it does, getting ordered around and talked down to and used like this by someone you said you hated only a few minutes ago, but you don’t really care to unpack that right now. Or ever. Maybe you were naive and immature in thinking that this thing you’ve gotten yourself into could ever pan out like what you’ve seen in the movies, but you think you could learn to be content with what he is willing to offer you—praise doled out as easily as he deprives you of it, a firm hand and fingers that can strum along your clit as expertly as he does the strings of his guitar, and a cock that makes you feel like someone else entirely, that can send you somewhere far away and bring you back down to earth at the same time. You let him use his fingers to pound all that angst and fire and attitude out of you as your eyelids flutter shut again, losing yourself in the feeling of him.

“How many times I gotta tell you, huh? Keep ‘em open, look, baby,” Joel commands, letting go of your wrists to deliver a light smack to the side of your face. You fall forward at the sudden release of his hold, catching yourself on the vanity table and digging your nails into the hard surface to ground yourself. His punishing hand forces your gaze straight ahead with a claw-like grip on your jaw, and your eyelids still feel so heavy, everything moving slowly as you look at yourself in the mirror. Your parted lips, smeared mascara, and unfocused gaze paint a debauched version of yourself that you don’t recognize, blurred by the sleepy submissive state he seems to be able to plunge you into so easily. “Take a good goddamn look in the mirror, at what I’m doin’ to you, and you tell me if you really want this.”

Every sharp thrust of his hand against your cunt knocks loose more and more of your ability to think, let alone speak. But you know by now that if Joel demands a response from you, he’ll get one, coherent or not. He seems to like it when your words come out a ruined mess of whines and slurred syllables, anyway, getting off on how hard and fast he can knock down those walls you attempt to put up and turn you into something so servile and saccharine.

“Want it, please, Daddy,” you beg, struggling to hold yourself up as his fingers get you closer and closer to your release.

“You sure about that? ‘Cause this is what you’re gonna get, sweetheart,” Joel grunts, the exaggerated word punctuated by the stretch of a third finger joining the other two inside your already fucked-out cunt.

“D-don’t care, just want you—ah—” you’re cut off by the sudden stroking of Joel’s curled fingers against a particularly tender and unfamiliar spot inside you. You begin to unravel at the overwhelming feeling, letting out little wanton pleases and Daddys as you continue to soak his tattooed hand.

“Fuck, gonna be the goddamn death o’ me, lil’ songbird, you know that? Tried to stop this shit before it could get started, tried to keep you away from me, but I just can’t seem to fuckin’ help myself, can I? We’d be nothin’ but bad for each other, but—shit—been thinkin’ ‘bout this tight cunt all goddamn day, couldn’t get the taste o’ you outta my mouth. Reckon I never will… In fact—” Joel pulls his fingers out of you in an instant, and you cry out from the sudden loss as you watch him suck them clean in the mirror. You feel dizzy, letting him manhandle you as he spins you around to face him and hoists you on top of the vanity table with little effort. He groans as he crouches, pulling your drenched panties down your legs and tossing them somewhere behind him. With your raw-looking cunt now fully exposed to him, he spreads your legs wide and curses under his breath, “Should’a done this shit last night, fuck—” before diving in between your thighs and licking a long stripe from your entrance to your swollen clit. He latches onto the sensitive nub, closing his eyes and sucking hard as his large hands force your legs to stay open. You let your upper back rest against the mirror as he works you over, and the cool glass sends a shiver down your spine as your hips tilt upward, allowing him better access.

He drinks from you as if you taste like his favorite top-shelf whiskey, growling into your flesh as he’s surely leaving fingertip-shaped bruises on the softness of your thighs. He alternates between swirling his tongue around your clit and fucking it in and out of your hole, beckoning you to spill yourself into his mouth. He savors every wave of slick that pours from you, each of your little cries and whimpers making his cock strain harder against the confines of his jeans. 

You can’t help but let one of your hands drift to his hair, and he doesn’t stop you from grabbing onto his messy curls as you buck pathetically against his tongue. 

“Such a sweet lil’ cunt, got me fuckin’ addicted to it, I swear…” Joel half-whispers, rubbing his thumb in circles around your clit to make up for the absence of his tongue as he speaks, your hips still desperately chasing after his movements. He spits onto your folds once, watching it drip between the curves of them for a moment before lapping up your combined juices and picking up where he left off. Your eyes are shut tight, brows peaked with need as you beg him to keep going, please, Daddy, gonna come.

Joel pulls away again just enough to tease, “Always come for me so easily, don’t you? Sing for me, songbird, c’mon.” A few more rough strums of his thumb and pulses of his tongue have you crying out, shaking where you sit on the table as you gush into his waiting mouth. Joel works you through it as you practically ride his face, your hips twitching with each overstimulating flick of his tongue over your sensitive clit.

He doesn’t wait very long for you to come back into yourself, the impatient bastard that he is, before he’s commanding you to open and using his strong fingers to yank your jaw downward. Your eyes blink open just in time to watch him spit a mouthful of your own release onto your waiting tongue, and then he’s pressing his lips to yours in a sloppy kiss, tongues twisting around each other as he forces you to taste yourself. So immersed in the distraction of finally feeling his lips against your own, you don’t notice when he loosens his grip on your face to grab one of your hands instead, placing it on his still-clothed bulge and growling into your mouth as you massage the hard shape of him.

“Feel what you do to me, babygirl?” Joel breaks the kiss to ask, voice low and eyes dark. “Even if I kept you away from me, wouldn’t fuckin’ matter. Still have to take care o’ myself one way or another, would just be pretendin’ it was your perfect cunt squeezin’ me instead o’ my hand, anyway. Might as well stick to the real thing, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you agree, lashes fluttering at his filthy words.

“Yeah? You want it? Want Daddy to split you open again?”

Your skin is burning hot, every one of your nerve endings on fire with need, and you don’t care how pitiful you sound when you answer with, “Please, Daddy.”

“Good girl,” Joel praises. He makes quick work of ridding himself of his belt, tossing it aside to join your discarded panties on the floor with a metallic thud before freeing his leaking cock from his jeans. He prods the thick head at your entrance, still so wet and stretched out from the earlier efforts of his fingers and tongue that he slides inside with hardly any resistance. “Greedy thing…” he hisses, holding onto your hips as he watches his thick length begin to slide in and out of you. A flash of silver catches his attention from the edge of his vision, and he focuses there instead, on the cross shaped charm dangling from your neck and resting between your breasts. He picks it up between his large thumb and forefinger, rubbing the pads of them along the smooth metal. “Probably shouldn’t be wearin’ such a thing anymore, hm? Now that I know how much of a whore you really are.”

“Not… ‘m not a whore,” you counter, but it’s so futile, meaning nothing at all when you really take a look at where you are now, how it all began, and how your voice cracks in your poor attempt to prove him wrong.

“Y’ are, though, songbird. ‘S okay that you are. Only for me though, huh? Jus’ Daddy’s whore? All mine?” Joel drops the cross in favor of cradling your cheek, hurrying his pace as he taunts you. There’s no use in denying it, not when his degrading words prompt your cunt to squeeze around him and provide more slick aid for his quickening thrusts, an involuntary whine escaping your throat. You’re seeing such a different side to him now than the one he showed you the night before, and you begin to wonder which one is the real Joel, or if either of them are, or if both of them are, somehow. Or if he even knows. You’re willing to take whichever one he decides to let you have, you think.

“Y-your whore, Daddy… wanna be yours, please,” you babble, his cock hitting you deep and hard as you let him fuck you so dumb you allow yourself to just give in and agree to whatever he says you are, whatever he wants you to be, just the way he likes.

“Fuck,” Joel curses through gritted teeth, removing his hand from your face and to grip onto the plush of your hip again. Your pliant state and filthy admission combined with that sinful symbol around your neck spur him on, and he uses his hold on your skin to fuck into you with abandon. “Really would just let me ruin you, huh? Tried to be a decent man for once in my goddamn life, but you just had to be a fuckin’ brat about it and start some shit, didn’t you? If you don’t want me decent, tha’s fine by me, baby. But lemme make somethin’ real goddamn clear to you,” he rambles, each slam of his hips into yours getting you closer to release for the second time. He delivers another sharp slap to your cheek with a You listenin’? and you nod to the best of your ability, finding it impossible to focus your eyes on him as that knot in your stomach begins to tighten.

“You want this, you wanna be mine, you can be mine, babygirl. Lord knows I’d find my way right back inside this sinful lil’ cunt, anyway. But this ain’t gonna be a fuckin’ relationship, you understand? Take it or leave it, songbird.” He slows his thrusts as he spells out his ultimatum, but they still make you ache, all the same. His fiery gaze bores a hole straight through your skull as he awaits your response.

“Take it, w-wanna take it, Daddy.” The desperation in your voice and painted across your expression have him returning to his punitive pace, grunting and swearing into the warm skin of your neck as your hands scramble across his back, pulling yourself into him and burying your face into his shoulder. His thick leather jacket helps to muffle your cries as he loses all control, using your body to chase after his own high.

“Course you’re gonna take it, filthy thing. Made to fuckin’ take it, Christ,” Joel rambles, your vocalizations increasing in pitch as you squeeze around him, whole body tensing as your sore pussy prepares to drench him one more time. “So goddamn desperate… Just take whatever I give you, however I wanna give it to you, always have you comin’ on my cock just the same, huh? Go on, babygirl, come for Daddy again, tha’s right…”

With his permission, and a few more just-right strokes of his tip against that sweet spot deep inside your walls, you’re spasming in his hold, whining that filthy title you had just used against him less than an hour ago. He spills his release into you at the same time, and despite the way he’s treated you and the words he’s spat at you tonight, it makes you feel whole again.

You breathe heavily against each other for a few minutes, neither of you wanting to let go as you both struggle to process what the hell just happened, what it will mean for the remainder of the tour. 

A sudden knock at the door quickly yanks you out of your thoughts, offering a taste of what the future may hold much earlier than you were expecting.

“Joel? You in there?” a voice asks from outside the dressing room.

“Huh…? Yeah, just gimme a–”

The door opens before Joel can finish answering, and you can see clear as day over his shoulder that it’s Jesse.

He claps his hand over his eyes when he notices you, but you can still see how his cheeks burn red under his fingers as he shifts where he stands, undoubtedly trying to come up with the least mortifying way to get himself out of this situation.

“Jesus, kid–” Joel grumbles, finally pulling out of you and shoving his still-slick cock back into his briefs. He zips himself up as you tug the skirt of your dress back down to cover yourself, still feeling much more exposed than you’d like as you eye your forgotten panties laying just a few feet from where Jesse stands.

“Sorry! Sorry, Joel. It’s just, uh—”

Joel turns to face him as he finishes adjusting himself, and you’re thankful that he doesn’t walk away from you completely, using his broad form to provide you with what little modesty he can afford under the circumstances. “What, Jess?” he barks, exasperated.

“Um… The guys asked me to come find you, we’re on in like a minute—” 

“Well, tell ‘em to hold their fuckin’ horses. I’m comin,” Joel orders.

“A-alright, I will, man. I’ll, uh… I’ll see you out there.” 

Jesse leaves the room as hurriedly as he had entered, nervously fumbling with the handle as he shuts the door on his way out. “That kid ever learn how to fuckin’ knock?” Joel mutters to himself, picking his belt up off the floor and looping it back around his waist. He retrieves your ruined panties when he’s done and casually tosses them over to you, a stark contrast from the attentive aftercare he had provided last night. You slide off the vanity table and tug them back on over your legs, shivering at the feeling of the cool, damp fabric against where you’re so sensitive and sore, still leaking Joel’s spend. You fidget with the hem of your dress and try to ignore the way your heart sinks into your stomach, wondering what Jesse must think of you now. You haven’t really spoken to him at all since this whole thing started, and you doubt you ever will after what happened tonight. Of course, he’d had a front row seat to your obscene little performance during Kiss it Better, but it was all just an act, as far as he knew. But he has more than enough confirmation now to know that it very much wasn’t, and the humiliation of it all makes your anxious imagination begin to run wild. Your bottom lip quivers at the thought of Jesse running straight back to the guys with a shit-eating look on his face, eager to tell them all about how he just saw their opening act with her legs spread for Joel in his dressing room. Images flash through your mind of the band you’ve looked up to for so long now shooting you dirty looks backstage and whispering about you amongst themselves, sharing their doubts about if you really deserve to be touring with them at all. Maybe they’d call you easy, say that you’re just another dumb slut who gave it up for the first rockstar who asked, that your career will be doomed unless you grow up and learn to respect yourself a little more. And maybe they’d be right.

You can’t stop a few hot tears from rolling down your cheek at your catastrophizing, but you wipe them away quickly. This is what you asked for, isn’t it? Joel had given you an opportunity to leave this where he had ended it, and you were the one who had begged to be his, even after he showed you what it would look like, and told you explicitly what it would never be. You pull your shoulders back and make an effort to stand up a little straighter as he addresses you again, not wanting to look like some pathetic, defeated thing.

“You good? Need anythin’?” Joel asks, and it would be kind of sweet if he weren’t halfway out the door already. 

You sniffle a little, but try to feign nonchalance as you shake your head and reply, “No, ‘m fine.”

You must not do a very good job of it, because he’s craning his neck to look down the hallway as soon as you finish your sentence, like he knows exactly what’s on your mind. “Don’t worry ‘bout him,” Joel says to you, giving an annoyed shake of his head. “If he knows what’s good for him he’ll go to his grave swearin’ he didn’t see anything. Kid knows better,” he reassures, and it does help to slow the unspooling of your thoughts some. 

“Okay,” is all you offer, along with a small smile.

Joel nods curtly, “Okay.” And after another beat and a rake of his eyes along your form, “I’ll see ya, songbird.”

He’s gone before you can reply, and you let the sound of the door closing ring out in your ears until you’re left in total silence, save for the sound of your own unsteady breathing. More than anything else, you just want to head back to your bus and scrub yourself clean of him, to put on unstained clothes and remove your ruined makeup so that you have a better chance of recognizing yourself in the mirror if you’re unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of your reflection. Maybe if you hurry the pace of your walk of shame, you can outrun the feeling altogether, you think, swinging the dressing room door open and letting it slam behind you as you make a swift exit, heading straight for the one place that even slightly resembles a home to you right now. You keep your head low as you wander the unfamiliar backstage halls, and hold the skirt of your dress down against the breeze that threatens to expose you yet again when you push open the venue’s back door. More tears begin to fall as your boots carry you up the steps of your bus and lead you to your private little room in the back, and you don’t wipe them away this time, although you can’t put your finger on why they stream down your skin so impatiently, one stinging droplet after another.

You sit down heavily on the edge of your bed, although you have a strange urge to kneel at the foot of it instead. Your fingers find their way to your crucifix as you contemplate the idea, and it hits you all at once how very lost you feel. You miss… something. Your mother? Perhaps not, but maybe the idea of having a caregiver, someone to turn to when you feel the way you do now, to help you sort through the tangled knot of emotions unraveling itself in your heart and attempt to make some kind of sense of it. She wasn’t the perfect mother, by any means, but she tried, and it was her first time being a woman too, after all. You are following in her footsteps, as many daughters aspire to do with their mothers, but you don’t think she would be very proud of the particular path of hers you’ve begun to find yourself stumbling down—the one that leads you to a man who won’t change himself, who can’t, but who you’ve somehow convinced yourself that you deserve, because you’ve never known a man who’s told you otherwise. 

And now here you sit, alone, in the dark cave of your too-big bus on the second night of a career-changing national tour, crying girlish tears and missing something you can’t place but that you know you can’t go back to, wishing someone could just wipe your mind clean and tell you that you’re good and that you’re not a disappointment to your mother and God even though you don’t really care what they think of you anymore, anyway. You need someone to tell you who you are, and Joel seems to know the answer—a good girl, a whore, his songbird. You shift at the memories of when those names for you have spilled from his mouth, and you’re reminded of the wet fabric still pressed against your core. It feels good when he tells you who you are, after all, when he slots himself inside of you and makes you feel like something he owns, when he makes you feel perfect and floaty and beautiful and like he knows you better than you’ve ever known yourself.

And how could something that feels so good ever be bad for you?

—

The whiskey burns as it slides down the back of Joel’s throat, but it still isn’t strong enough. All it does is remind him of the igniting spark that led to the blaze now engulfing him—when you’d both had a few glasses of the stuff swimming around in your blood streams in the green room of last night’s venue, when he’d lured you onto his lap and teased the wet spot on your panties and asked if you’d let him touch you. He knew you were going to say yes, but it was still the respectable thing to do, and he had liked hearing you beg for it all pretty and polite. He fears that’s the last he may have seen of that version of you, that what he did this morning had stomped out the little delicate, glimmering light that had drawn him to you in the first place. And if it wasn’t snuffed out then, it’s surely nothing but a wisp of smoke now.

Joel had recognized when everything had started to become too real too fast, in the dark of his bus last night when even in your sleep, you had seemed to consider him as something warm and comforting and safe, instead of the beast that he knows himself to be, with too sharp of claws and too loud of a roar. He had tried to do the right thing for once in his goddamn life by finally thinking about someone other than himself, so why didn’t you take the opportunity to get out of this while you had the chance? What is it that you see in him that he knows for a fact isn’t there, has never been there? You had retaliated because you had wanted this to work, because he had hurt you when he shoved you away, but he can’t possibly fathom why you’ve chosen to fight so hard for this. And he’d only gone and proved himself right when he responded to your reprisal the only way he knows how, especially when you’d used that word against him that he’s always been avoidant to admit about himself—coward.

And you were right, weren’t you? Joel is a fucking coward. He does everything in his power to pretend otherwise, to show his fans and the world a version of himself who’s never for a second thought of himself as anything less than God incarnate. And maybe except for Tommy, no one has ever been the wiser to his ruse, until you. And it scares him, to be seen so clearly. Because then he might actually have to try to understand where all these defense mechanisms came from in the first place, and he can’t have that. 

Coward.

Joel tosses back the last of the amber liquid in his glass, releasing his white-knuckled grip on it and slamming it back down onto the green room’s bar cart. He knows that his band and about twenty thousand people are waiting for him to buck up and emerge from yet another hiding place, and he realizes that this is becoming a pattern with you—you awaken some long-dormant feeling from deep inside of him, it makes him feel threatened, and he retreats until it goes away and he remembers how to paint his mask back on. And the one time you didn’t allow him to run away, he lashed out like a caged animal and undoubtedly gave you a pretty solid idea of what he meant by “for your own good”. And yet, you were so desperate to be allowed any part of him at all that even in his most volatile and beastly state, with his talons out and his teeth bared, you didn’t run away. You didn’t even try. You didn’t want to. You took everything he had given you like it was a privilege to do so, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever understand why. 

Joel shakes himself out, hitting a solid hand against his cheek once in order to bring himself back from the depths of another unwanted episode of introspection and self-loathing, and lets the burn of the whiskey dissipate as he makes his way to where the rest of Death’s Head is waiting for him. He can feel their eyes on him without even needing to look, and snaps out a defensive I don’t wanna hear it before any of the guys get a chance to say anything. 

Tommy shrugs, stepping up to Joel with his arms crossed. “Wasn’t gonna say nothin’.” 

Joel finally turns to face the group, giving each member a scrutinizing once-over in an attempt to read their body language, to suss out if they’re just pissed because he left them waiting, or if Jesse ran his mouth while he was gone. When Joel’s examining eyes land on the dark-haired guitarist, Jesse’s quick to shake his head, mouthing the words they don’t know. Satisfied, Joel nods once in understanding, adjusting his jacket and cracking his neck before turning toward the stage again.

“Y’all ready, or what?” he mutters rhetorically, not bothering to wait for an answer before he marches his way into the spotlights and allows them to enshroud him, burning up what remains of that cowardly version of him, if only for the remainder of the night. Joel picks up his guitar, swinging the strap around his chest before fiddling with his mic stand as the deafening sound of the crowd reminds him of who the fuck he is, or at least, who they think he is. Who he pretends to be. And he gets to believe it for the next two hours. If he plays the part well enough, maybe he can lose himself in it entirely. But then, hasn’t he been trying to do that for the past couple of decades? It hasn’t seemed to work yet, but it doesn’t hurt to keep trying. 

Or maybe it does.

—

You feel a little better now, more at ease, now that you’ve had some time to focus on taking care of yourself. It’s easy to forget the wonders that a hot shower can do for a girl, especially when you have to fight against your own brain just to get up and take the ten or so steps towards the bathroom, when you’d much rather stay curled up in the same position on your bed until your skin adheres to the sheets. Now having scrubbed away the tears and the sweat and the tacky dampness between your thighs, you emerge from a cloud of rose-scented humidity as someone you think you understand a little better now, who deserves to be taken care of instead of reprimanded for only doing her best with what she’s been given.

With clean hair and skin and a comfortable change of sleep-ready attire, you decide to finally make some efforts to unpack your suitcase and make your little room feel more like a home. You hang your dresses up on the rack, set your shoes into a somewhat orderly line on the carpet below them, and place your jewelry neatly onto the antique tray you had carefully packed away to bring along with you. You had found it in a little thrift store downtown, when you had first left home and decided you needed something that was only yours, something pretty and special that you could look at everyday and know that it was the very first step in building the life that you had always wanted for yourself. The brass needs a little polishing, but it’s still one of the most beautiful objects you’ve ever seen, and the way the ceiling lights glint off the metal brightens up your space just enough that it feels a little more familiar to you now. 

Your earrings and other necklaces fill the blank space in the center of the neatly carved filigree, and you make the decision to add your crucifix to the pile of silver studs and chains. It’s strange how such a simple charm can make things feel so complicated. You haven’t taken it off in so long that you fear the guilt that might come with removing it, but you figure it will still be there for you if you ever feel like clipping it around your neck again. And if that feeling never comes, then you’ll deal with that then, too.

For now, you breathe a little deeper without the weight of the thing resting against your chest, and smile to yourself when you hear a small group of excitable-sounding male voices approaching your bus. Your bandmates file through the door a second later, though you’re suddenly shy to greet them as you emerge from your bedroom, worried that they might be pissed at you for what you sprung on them earlier in the night. You lean against the doorframe as they each collapse onto the living area couches, cracking open beers from the minifridge and passing them around to each other.

“Hey, you,” greets your floppy-haired drummer, Max, patting the cushion next to him. If any of the guys were to be easy going about what you put them through tonight, it would be him. You’re happy to see that he doesn’t seem to hold any animosity towards you. “You want me to crack one open for you?” he offers.

“Um… sure,” you agree, approaching the group and relaxing into the open seat next to him as he hands you a bottle. You take a few swigs while the guys begin to talk amongst themselves, waiting for an opportune lull in their conversation for you to chime in.

It comes about halfway through your beer. “So, listen,” you start, setting the sweating bottle on the table in front of you as you feel their gazes shift in your direction. “I’m sorry for pulling that on you guys tonight. This whole thing is just as big for y’all as it is for me and… I guess I forgot about that, for a second,” you say, although the end of your sentence kind of sounds like a question. “I really appreciate how you backed me up out there, that’s all.”

It’s rare that the four of you get sincere with each other like this, and your apology lingers in the air for a moment before someone else speaks up. 

“It’s alright, kid.” The comforting voice comes from Scott, your quiet and kind-eyed bassist. “We’re all professionals here, yeah? We’d be some sad fuckin’ musicians if we couldn’t improvise every once in a while.” You laugh at that, and his lopsided smile warms you when you meet his soft expression.

“I mean, I kinda fucked up a little bit,” says Joey, your rhythm guitarist, ever-reliable for lightening the mood. “You sounded badass though, so whatever. Nothin’ you need to apologize for.” When you turn your head to look at him, he looks slightly uncomfortable with the way Max has him pressed up against the wall, but his gaze is sincere. “You wanna talk about it, though? Some pretty heavy shit you wrote.”

You do consider it, but shake your head, having reflected on it quite enough for one night. “Not right now,” you reply, and he gives you a sympathetic smile in return. “One of you have a smoke, though? Think I’m just gonna get some air and call it a night.” 

“Now, how are you gonna ‘get some air’ with all that smoke in your lungs?” Scott jests, and you give him a look before standing up and holding your palm out flat to him, making a hand it over gesture with your fingers. 

“Don’t give me shit, dude, I know you have one. That’s why I asked.”

Despite his protest, he digs the pack out of his pocket and slides one out, playfully holding it hostage against his chest. “Still shouldn’t smoke ‘em, though. Gonna ruin your voice one of these days.”

You roll your eyes at him, but laugh, anyway. “Fine, tonight’s my last one, I promise. Just gimme.”

Scott extends his hand out to you, and you snatch the cigarette out of his hold. “Light, too?” he asks, and you nod, leaning down to him with it in your mouth already.

You make a quick exit when the tobacco begins to burn, trying to fill the bus with as little smoke as possible, but not before making your appreciation known to the guys one last time. When you step out into the chilly night air, you wish you’d brought a sweater to wrap around you, but figure the flame between your lips will warm you up soon enough. 

The Death’s Head bus is parked just up ahead, and you can make out Jesse’s silhouette in the moonlight, his back leaned against the idling vehicle as he puffs his own cloud into the sky. The sound of your bus’s door shutting behind you draws his attention your way, and you give each other a friendly nod as you each burn through your cigarettes.

“Can I join you?” he asks, having to shout in order for his voice to reach you over the rumbling engines.

The fears you were ruminating on a few hours ago all come rushing back to you in an instant, but his inquiry seems casual enough for you to let your guard back down a little. It would be rude of you to decline, and it might be nice to get to know him a bit more if he’s offering, you suppose.

“Yeah, okay,” you reply, nodding for good measure in case your voice didn’t come out loud enough. His long legs close the short distance between you in just a few seconds, and you shove your unoccupied hand into your pocket in an effort to come across more relaxed than you feel. You’ve never been great at small talk, or meeting new people, especially ones who’ve walked in on you after having just been fucked by the lead singer of his band. 

You’re grateful that Jesse decides to break the silence first. “So, uh… you two, huh?”

“Mhm,” is all you offer, kicking a rock around the asphalt with the toe of your shoe.

“Yeah… Well, I don’t want you to feel weird around me, or anything. We can just forget it ever happened.”

You can’t help but release a puff of smoke through an awkward giggle. “Sounds good to me.”

“And I didn’t tell the other two, just so you know.”

His admission makes you pause, trapping the rock underneath your shoe as you peer up at him. “You didn’t? So… they don’t know?”

Jesse shakes his head. “Don’t think so. Well, Tommy might, just ‘cause he knows Joel better than anybody, but Eugene’s probably clueless. They’re all good guys, they won’t give you shit for it even if they do find out… I might, though, just for fun.” He nudges your shoulder with his as he jokes, and it makes you laugh a little more earnestly this time. “Just… be careful, that’s all. And I want you to know you have a friend in me, if you ever feel like you need one.”

His kindness is nearly enough to bring you to tears. You feel so relieved that everything the worst parts of your brain had conjured up had all been a lie, that Jesse isn’t who you feared he’d be, and that he’s offering you his friendship, even after he’d seen you in such an embarrassing and compromising state tonight. 

“Jess!” Joel yells from the doorway of his bus, and the harsh gravel voice startles both of you out of the moment you’d been sharing. “Finish up, kid. Takin’ off in a few.”

Jesse nods, raising the end of his cigarette in acknowledgement before stomping it out on the pavement. “It was nice talking to you. Remember what I said, okay?” 

“Okay,” you nod, and he’s handsome and boyish when he smiles back at you before following his orders and jogging back to his own bus, sliding through the door past Joel’s broad form.

Joel’s expression is hard, but otherwise unreadable as he juts his chin at you, wordlessly suggesting the same direction he’d just barked at Jesse. He shuts the door behind him as he steps inside, and you think on Jesse’s words as you finish puffing your smoke down to a nub. Be careful, he’d cautioned, and it’s like he had been waiting outside for you to make sure he had a chance to tell you that. Remember what I said, like it was important to him that you took his words to heart. You finally toss the end of your own cigarette onto the ground, letting it sizzle out before heading back inside and carefully passing the now-occupied bunks as you make your way to your own little sanctuary. 

You’re still buzzing from the tobacco as you close yourself into your room and crawl into bed, and you can’t decide if the emptiness of it makes you feel comforted or afraid. You don’t necessarily wish you had Joel’s heavy, lumbering form tucked in beside you, but you hadn’t anticipated how having a bed to yourself would leave you with only the company of your own thoughts. You try not to dwell too much on Jesse’s warning, instead trying to snuff it out like the smoldering end of your cigarette so that it doesn’t prevent you from getting some much needed rest.

Even for being a bed inside of a tour bus, you have to admit that it’s one of the most comfortable, luxurious things you’ve ever slept on, especially compared to the lumpy double bed from back in your apartment. You don’t fight it when sleep begins to pull heavily on your eyelids, the incoming wave of it washing away any lingering anxieties as you allow yourself to relax into the plush mattress.

You hardly rouse even as the bus heaves forward on its trip out of the parking lot, leaving everything that happened tonight exactly where you left it, the ghost of it now left to wander the halls of the venue instead of haunting you as you travel to the next one. And there’s something comforting in that, you think, in the idea that nothing on this tour is permanent, that your life begins anew every 24 hours in a city you’ve never been to that doesn’t know your name yet. 

And maybe that’s how you’ll figure this whole thing out, by taking it one day at a time, fluttering as close to the flame as possible without touching it, because you kind of like feeling the heat on your wings. As long as you’re careful when you dance around the fire, then there’s really nothing to be afraid of.

But only time will tell.

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

message/comment/ask if you'd like to be added!!

[inkmonster21]

Sing for Me

10. The Revenge

Cooper Howard × Fem!Reader / The Ghoul × Fem!Reader

She's a singer the nation adores. He's the actor everyone respects. What happens when these two get entangled in a heated affair? Passion, regret, rage, and even murder will commence.

From before the bombs drop to the vast wasteland, these two souls live for one another.

Previous Chapter

Series Masterlist

Tagged: @fallout-girl219 @harmfulb1tch @themadhattersqueen @one-of-thewalkingdead

Seconds before I’m about to walk out the door, Miss Williams's warning rings in my head. I allow the madness to take hold of me. I retrieved the small listing device from all those months ago. Something in me wouldn’t allow me to throw it away the first time.

The drive was no less frustrating. The closer I got the more I wondered about the warning. Vault Tech was indeed crooked, but killers? I couldn’t wrap my mind around such a theory.

I’m escorted to Barb’s office. The meeting is running late. Such a surprise. As I sit alone in the silent space. The darkness creeps in once more. I dig into my pocket and grasp the listening device placing it inside my ear. The static clears and voices can be heard.

“Mr. Howard, would you mind if Barb’s assistant pops in for a quick hello? He’s a big fan.” I nod with the practiced actor's smile, “of course.”

She dips back behind the doorway leaving me to listen to the conversations in the meeting room. “Our sales are fine. Sure, rumors of the peace negotiations have set us back a bit, but we're here to offer you an opportunity. We'd like to collaborate on some of our vaults.”

“I-I don't get the vaults. When it's time to come out, what if people are still alive on the surface?

They'll be Stone Age creatures. Probably eat whoever steps out of your vaults.”

“That isn't an issue. Our vaults have the resources to survive for centuries. Meanwhile, our competitors... you know, every other human

who isn't us... will be dead on the surface. Because after all, what is the ultimate weapon of mass destruction?”

“Time is the apex predator. And in the event of an incident, time is the weapon with which we will defeat all of our enemies. That is how we will win the great game of capitalism. Not by outfighting anyone, but by outliving them.”

“Even if you outlive all external threats, here's my problem with the vaults. You confine a bunch of rats in a nest for a long time, they end up eating each other. So who's to say your rats are gonna survive better than those animals on the surface?”

Everyone overlaps each other bickering back and forth to no end. “If I could refocus the discussion.” Barb's voice pipes up, “When I think about the future, I think about my daughter... Janey. How do I provide her with a better future? That's what we've invited you here to discuss.” They agree in the room. “And how do we design our vault societies so our children have that better future? I suggest we hedge our bets. Bud here has an idea for three interconnected vaults. But we need more ideas. We need your ideas. Because it was the spirit of competition that made our companies great, and I propose we bring that same spirit of competition to our solution.”

“We have over a hundred vaults spread across America. Enough for each of you to claim several, where you can play out your own ideas for how to create the perfect conditions for humanity. Whatever you want to do, no one needs to know. And may the best idea win.”

I can’t believe what I am hearing. Humans are viewed as nothing more than experiments.

“So what's Vault 32 and 33? Just people to be controlled?”

“What? No! When you put it like that, it sounds downright morally questionable. They're our breeding pool, the ultimate expression of HR R&D. Genetically selected to breed with my Buds to create a class of super managers. People with positivity, people who make lemonade. People who will inherit the Earth after we've wiped the surface clean. I have our first test subject lined up for freezing in the upcoming months.”

“We could intentionally overcrowd a vault so people have to compete to survive inside it.

We have been developing a Synthetic humanoid bot replicating (y/n) (l/n). It has a memory hard drive the size of a large computer. I would like to see a vault governed by it.”

“What about using a vault to develop a super-mutant soldier using illegal immigrants?”

“We could pump psychotropic drugs into the air supply.”

“We could separate parents and children, and only the smartest kids reach adulthood.”

“There's a lot of earning potential with the end of the world. But we're talking about making a significant investment based on a hypothetical. How can you guarantee results?”

Silence resumes before my heart clenches and my mouth falls agape at the words I hear ring in my head. Barb's chilling voice speaks, “By dropping the bomb ourselves.”

“Mr. Howard? Everything all right, Mr. Howard?” I shake my head, in shock, I get to compose myself but just remain a shell of a man. They are going to kill her…

“Uh, fine. I'm-I'm... I'm-I'm fine, Betty.” She opens the door further, “He is so excited to meet you.” A young skinny man walks through the door. He grasps my hand, “Mr. Howard.

Huge fan. I'm Henry, but, uh, everyone calls me Hank. Wow. I played for (y/n) at the wrap party.”

Did he? Poor soul of a boy was so unrememberable. I shake his hand with a ghostly smile. “You know, that scene? That scene where you shoot Joey Toro in the face? Feo, fuerte y formal.” He stumbles over his words, “I was just wondering, if-if... if you don't mind, um, I hate to be that guy, but, do you think you could give me an autograph?” As requested he gets what he wants. A quick scratch of my signature on a slip of paper.

Barb slipped into her office just as I passed Hank the paper. “Oh, Cooper. I didn’t know you’d be here this early. Sorry, you had to wait.” I shake my head, begging myself to remain calm. “Did you sign them?” I rush her, trying to leave this building full of sorry excuses of Americans' work.

She opens up a folder and examines the contents inside. With a nod of her head, Barb shuts it with a grin, passing it to me. Lo and behold she did sign it. I leave the building feeling my heart beat out of my chest. I have to get home to my love. This all could’ve been a ploy to get her alone.

I rush home, bursting through the door, and go right to the living room. Empty. I walk to the kitchen. Empty. Bedroom? Empty. Basement? Empty.

“(Y/n)?” I double-check the entire house twice. And still no sign of her. “(Y/n)!” Screaming and tracking my steps backward. I run out the back and into the barn. Sugarfoot remains as happy as could be, but no (y/n) inside. “Where are you at, honey? (Y/n)!” My head begins spinning. She’s gone…

“Cooper?” I spin around at the speed of lightning. There at the entrance of the barn stood (y/n) safe and sound. I rush for her, gathering her frame in my arms. “Are you okay?” She asks, running her delicate finger through my hair. I hold her close, a firm grip on her. She was mine to protect and that I would do until I was sent to my grave.

~

“What is this?” Cooper asks holding up a check from Vault Tech. “Oh, I got a call a few weeks ago. They told me I was needed back in the lab because they had to do a remodel on the bots. I'm assuming that’s the check.” I return to my notebook trying to compose.

“You didn’t tell me.” “Did I need to?” He stares at me, an unreadable expression covering his face. “I would’ve appreciated it.” I nod, “Okay. I’ll make sure to let you know in the future.” Once again I return to the notebook.

“Did anyone say anything to you?” I look up at him, “like what?” “Like… out of line, or unprofessional.” I shake my head, furrowing my brows. “No. Everyone was very nice.” “What did you do there?” “I picked out wigs for the bot out of the choices they had made and I picked out the makeup that would be applied.” He stays silent, his foot tapping as he thinks. I close my notebook and adjust my body to face him, “Is there something wrong?”

“No, no. Just… didn’t expect you to do any more business with them.” I narrow my eyes at him in confusion. “It’s money, Coop. We’ve got bills. I don’t tour for another 6 months. Is it that big of a deal?”

He runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah it is.” A nervous sweat engulfed him. “You… we shouldn’t do any business with them. Not anymore.” He practically pleads as he grabs my hand. Tracing the lines on my palm, memorizing their curves. “Okay, if that’s what you want.” Confused and slightly worried. I comfort him in the presence of my arms. He relaxed at the touch.

~

Cooper was gone filming, and I lazily lay on the couch having a day for myself. Cheese plate on the coffee table and a glass of wine in hand. The phone rings causing me to roll my eyes.

“Hello, (y/n) speaking.”

“(Y/n)! Henry here.”

I furrow my brows. “Hi, what can I help you with?” He gulps on the other side of the line, “Listen, we need you to come down to the labs in 31. We’ve got some remodels to get your approval of.” I bite my lip. “Oh, Henry I wish I could, but-“ he interrupted with haste, “it will only take a few minutes. Promise.” I sigh looking at the clock. Cooper was busy on set, and I had no way of reaching him.

“Only a few minutes,” I say in a firm tone. “Yes, yes, of course! Just meet me outside the building and I’ll escort you to 31.”

~

The large metal door closed behind me with a loud mechanical hum. "Geez." I laugh awkwardly. It's so quiet in here. "I've never been down this far before." Henry leads the way silently. "They're just around the corner, here." I look behind me, my nerves growing. Something doesn't sit right. "Where is everyone?" He doesn't answer, instead, he walks over to a number pad and types away. To my right sits rows of large glass pods. One individual opens with a hiss. The freezing vapor seeps from the pod quickly. "What’s going on?" Before I can turn around I feel a sharp prick in my neck. "Ouch!" I grab my neck and force myself to turn around, my muscle’s already losing functionality.

There she stands with an empty injection needle and a stone-cold expression. "Barb?" I ask in shock, "What did you do to me?" I feel myself sway, my legs losing the ability to hold myself up. "We needed a test subject, and well, you didn't read the fine print in your contract." I fall the the ground, grasping the edges of her dress. "Barb, please." She glares at me, "You want me to take pity on you? After everything you did to me, you're lucky this is as far as I am going to go. Have a nice nap, (y/n)." I collapse fully onto the metal floor completely unconscious.

~

While (y/n) was frozen, her home was ransacked, her belongings torn into, and valuables gathered. Random items such as photo books, jewelry, clothing, makeup, and random items were taken and put into boxes. Samples of her blood scattered about the home. A knife lay on the kitchen floor with her fingertips. A home invasion turned wrong in the worst ways possible.

The worst sight for Cooper Howard to return home to. Their home is broken into, furniture and belongings broken, and his songbird missing from the cage. Her blood painting the grounds of the property.

Calling the police did nothing. Cooper was looked at as the main suspect. Struggle actor with a young successful beauty on his arm? Why not marry her in haste and claim her fortune? They were wrong in every part. The only reason he got off was because they were unable to find a body. No body no crime.

However, the public didn’t view it as such. If his reputation wasn’t ruined before it was now. Half the people blamed him, calling him a murderer as he walked down the street, and then some souls would take pity on him. The only thing to do was drown himself in drinks and other questionable substances. Cooper Howard was struggling more day by day.

[rmbunnie]

Red Hood Characterization

This is really long so I'm putting a cut here, I've been thinking about Jason Todd's character motivations and the question of whether or not his actions are based in a Moral Code (I don't think so, not to say he's without any morality) and I talk about that in more depth here.

I saw someone say on here that Titans: Beast World: Gotham City was some of the best Jason Todd internal writing they'd seen in a while, and I've been a Red Hood fan for 8 years or so now? pretty much since I read comics for the first time, so I went and checked out and I thought it was good! The way the person I saw talking about it as if it was rare and unusual made me wonder though, because as well-written as i thought his stances on crime were, there wasn't really anything in it that went against the way I conceptualize Jason?

This kinda plays into a larger question I've been thinking about for a while with Jason though, which is that, do people think that the killing is part of a fundamental worldview that motivates him a la batman, and that worldview is the reason he does the things he does?? Because 8 years ago i was a middle schooler engaging with fiction on the level that a middle schooler does, so I simply did not put much thought into it beyond "poor guy :(" but ever since I actually started trying to understand consistent characterization, I don't really see Jason as someone who's motivated by a moral code in his actions the way batman or superman is!

tbh my personal read is that he's a very socially-motivated guy, his actions from resurrection to his Joker-Batman ultimatum in utrh always seemed to me like every choice made leading up to his identity reveal was either a. to give him the leverage and skill necessary to pull off his identity reveal successfully, or b. to twist the knife that little bit more when he does let Bruce find out who he is. Like iirc there's a Judd Winick tweet like "yeah tldr he chose Red Hood as his identity because it's the lowest blow he could think of." And I think that's awesome, I think character motivations rooted so deeply in character's relationships and emotions are really fun to read! I also think it's where the stagnation/flatness of his character comes from in certain comics, because if his main motivation is one event in one relationship that passes, and he is not particularly attached to anything in his life or the world by the time that comes to pass, it's a little harder to come up with a direction to go with the character after that, because there isn't much of a direction that aligns with something the character would reasonably want? But I do think solving this by saying "all of the morally-off emotionally driven cruelty he did on his way to spite Batman was actually reflective of his own version of Batman's stance that's exactly the same except he thinks it's GOOD to kill people" isn't ideal. To be fully honest, it seems to me like he never particularly cared one way or the other about killing people to "clean Gotham of crime," he just did everything he could to get the power necessary to pull off his personal plans, and took out any particularly heinous people he encountered along the way (like in Lost Days.) Not to say I think the fact he killed people keeps him up at night anymore than everything else in his life events, I just never really thought he was out there wholeheartedly kneecapping some dude selling weed or random guy robbing a tv store for justice.

Looping wayyy back to my question, Is this (^) contradictory to the way he's written/the overall average perception of the character? Because like I enjoyed his writing in Beast World i have zero significant issue with anything there, I just didn't believe it would be a hot take, like yeah, that is Jason. It's been a while since I've read utrh and lost days, but I don't think my takeaway directly contradicts either of those too bad iirc. Idk all this to say I think Jason killing and being alright with killing is an obvious and objective fact, but i guess i've always seen it as more of a practical tactic than a moral belief, and I think taking the actions made during the lowest points of a character's life where he is obsessively focused on this ONEEEE thing and trying to apply it as a Motivating Stance to everything he's done after that, doesn't really follow logically for me.

[agnesandhilda]

a cartoon about a boy growing up in a hyperfundamentalist protestant town and his abusive father who shoots him and gets away with it because of that same culture of silence/of men having control over women and children is something that can be so lingua ignota-coded

[noodle-shenaniganery]

can we stop trying to bully people into advocacy, please?

can we stop making people feel personally responsible for issues they only just heard of and may not even understand?

can we stop yelling and berating people who aren’t putting all of their (probably limited) energy into researching something that has almost nothing to do with them and which may stress them out?

can we stop pressuring people who are already struggling to survive to limit their options on how they can live, what they can eat?

please?

please

can we stop

[timeisacephalopod]

The type of Christian who asks atheists how they don't like, murder people on the reg are so funny to me because they seem to think their religion makes them the Peak of Morality when statements like "if you don't believe in God how comes you don't do X thing" all but outright state they have no idea why shit like murder and rape is bad except that God doesn't like it lmao. Like way to admit you have no intrinsic sense of morality and need to be afraid of a higher power to be a decent person, but I promise if you're not a piece of shit it's actually very natural not to want to do heinous evil shit all the time potential punishment from a higher power or not 🤷🏻‍♀️🤷🏻‍♀️

[lostryu]

every time someone bitches about how i MUST be transphobic because i (a lesbian) think that 'bi lesbians' are a lesbophobic and biphobic identity, needs to acknowledge that:

A.) saying 'bi lesbian' is not a real identity has nothing to do with being against trans people. you are derailing the conversation and hiding from the issue at hand.

B.) needs to donate money to my Top Surgery fund right fucking now.