#tw: everything

[toxicanonymity]

midnight tow (slasher!Joel)

3.6k / slasher!Joel x fem!reader / master

Slasher masterlist | art by @bonezone44 💙

Req: Serial killer from @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog WARNINGS: Horror, DARK(serial killer)!Joel, near murder by strangulation, manhandling, dubious consent, choking, unsafe PIV sex, reader can sit on Joel's lap. unedited. I8 plus. Reader survives! ♥️

Your breath hitches when you see the bright lights, then relief floods your chest as the tow truck comes into view. The driver parks his unmarked truck, hops down out of it, and walks to your car.  He gets just a couple of feet away before he stops to face you and spreads his boots, crunching the loose asphalt beneath them. The truck lights illuminate him. He's wearing a blue working man’s jumpsuit that stretches over his biceps as he crosses his arms.  The name on his uniform is Joel.  

Joel's dark eyes scan you, then he scratches one side of his salt-and-pepper beard. “Got anyone to come get ya, sweetheart?” He rubs the back of his neck, exposing a dark patch of sweat under his arm.  "Real dangerous out here at night. . . Nothin' good happens this late.” 

His voice has a calming effect, despite his unnerving words.  For a moment, you admire his nice head of hair instead of facing the reality of his question. 

Your car broke down in the worst possible area.  Nothing within walking distance. You drained your phone battery trying to get a signal and finally managed to call for a tow, but you weren’t able to reach anyone to help you get home. Waiting for the tow felt like forever, especially without a phone or watch. It felt like something or someone was going to pop out at any minute. It's a humid night, and even the clouds have refused to cooperate, dimming the light of the nearly-full moon. 

This is not the guy you talked to on the phone. His voice would’ve made an impression on you.

You tell him you weren’t able to get a hold of anyone. 

“Anyone know you’re out here, might see the missed call and come lookin’?” 

Maybe, but you don’t think so. 

“Hmmm,” he says. “Well, lemme load your car up, then we’ll figure it out.  Sit tight for me, sugar,” he says with a wink. He has a disarming energy.  "Gonna take me a minute."  The clouds begin to clear away from the moon, affording more light.    You begin to feel better all around. 

You carefully sit down on the grass near the cab of the tow truck with your knees to the side and behind you since you’re wearing a short dress.   Not a single car has passed by the whole time you’ve been broken down, at least an hour. You wait as he uses some wire to secure a loose part on your car, then loads it up onto the bed.   

His biceps and quads stretch his uniform as he crouches on the bed of the truck and secures the straps around your car’s wheels.  He gets hot and unzips his jumpsuit for air,  exposing a dirty t-shirt.  Then he opens the passenger door to the cab of his truck and it's piled high with scrap.  No seat. He reaches behind the driver's seat and grabs an enormous wrench.  His forearm flexes as he carries it off to tighten something on the back of the towing platform.  When he’s done, he comes to talk to you again. 

-

“Whew. Been a looong day," he says as he wipes his brow with a rag then throws it over his shoulder. "How ‘bout you, sweetheart? Couldn’ta been that good."

You agree as he takes off the sleeves of his jumpsuit and ties them loosely around his waist. When you follow his large, veiny hands to his waist, it's impossible not to notice the crotch of his uniform is tight enough to see he's well-endowed. You yank your eyes back up and he crosses his arms again. His muscles are hard and he has the slightest paunch. The way his biceps and pecs stretch his t-shirt is a welcome distraction from the rock bottom situation. Looks like a guy who works with his hands, lifting very heavy things, and enjoys a few beers at the end of the day. Or night. It feels like a miracle you could get a truck at this hour, especially in this desolate area.  

His phone doesn’t have service for you to call anyone.  Since the service is so bad, he just has a radio to receive dispatch instructions.  Since he doesn’t have a passenger seat, and that space is instead occupied by scrap, the only thing he can offer is for you to sit in his lap. Unless he leaves you by the side of the road. 

You choose his lap.  

He gets in first, puts the big wrench in the back, and empties his pockets.  He puts a switchblade near the gear shifter and hangs some spare wire around the rearview mirror before he sits down.  Then he settles in and unties his sleeves, letting them hang off the seat.   He extends his massive hand to you. His bicep flexes as he helps you into the cab of the truck.  You sit down on him ass-first, but it’s a precarious position and you could get hurt. You jostle around trying a few different things. You get butterflies from being so close to him, touching him, smelling him, feeling his body against yours. 

“Alright, let’s try this,” he says.  “Turn around an’ face me, then hug me like we're on a motorcycle.  Safer.” 

-

Hard to believe this is happening, especially in your short dress. Of all the nights to wear one.  You hesitantly straddle him, and when you’re face to face a few inches away, his features are even more striking.  He has a perfect nose. His brow is furled and casts a shadow over his eyes like he has a sexy secret.  He has a dimple perfectly nestled in a patch of skin within his beard. Looking him in the eye is too intense at this distance.  

You tug pointlessly at your dress but there’s no way to be modest in this situation. He reads your mind.  “It’s okay, sweetheart,” he reassures you. "Don't worry 'bout it."  He pulls you in closer so your crotch meets his and your heart skips a beat when you feel his warm, ample package.  “Hang on tight, now.”  You put your head over his shoulder, facing the back of the truck .  

The smell of his sweat is intoxicating. He starts the engine and pulls back onto the road. It’s not long before you feel him hardening under you.  He lifts his hips, sending a rush of arousal through your body.  

You shift shyly and he pulls you back into him, then lifts his hips again and clears his throat.  “Can’t help it, sugar.  Sexy little thing like you wrapped around me.  Damn.” 

Your face burns.   There’s a long silence and his arousal is digging into your panties the whole time.  He turns his head ever so slightly to inhale your hair.  The next thing you know, his lips are pressed against your neck.  Lightly enough to be accidental at first.  But then they drag an inch without him pulling away.  He opens his mouth against your dewy skin then closes it, like he’s eating something invisible off you. A chill goes down your spine and your nipples harden.  

“Bother you?” he asks, subtly thrusting his hips up again. No, it doesn't. You’re hot for him. It bothers you a little that it doesn't bother you.  Like you know it should.  But what could you say anyway?  You’re at his mercy.  You might be dead on the side of the road without him.  

“Guess not." 

“Good girl.”  He adds his tongue and full on kisses the crook of your neck as he drives, then gives it a nibble and a suck.  You’re so wet.  With the pathetic thong you're wearing, it must be no secret from him.   

His voice gets horny and low.  “Good thing you're down,” he says, “or this wouldn’t be any fun.”  He drags his nose up  your neck to your ear and adds "Yeah, you're into it. . .I can feel it."

-

By the time he pulls into a gated property, he's turned you alllll the way on.  Between his voice, and his mouth on your neck, and his clothed arousal against you, you’re a wet mess. You're trying desperately not to hump him as he slowly traverses what seems to be a gravel yard of cars. 

When the truck slows way down, he rests a hand on your ass and gives it a squeeze as he says, "What a ride. . ." with an upward thrust.  "Ain't over yet, though." Your cunt flutters at those words.  Then he clears his throat and adds, "We're goin' through the back gate to another lot." You scold yourself for being disappointed in what he meant, but you can't imagine he'd deny you if you made a move right now. 

You wait, though.  You'd rather figure out how you're going to get home first. 

-

Joel drives deeper into the lot.  It's dark, but you try to look around. There's no back gate or other lot that you can see.  All you see are the skeletons of cars that have been picked over for scraps. A pit forms in your stomach.  You start to scoot back from his crotch.  He notices and parks the truck.  There’s a look in his eyes, and something makes you reach for the door.  His large, veiny hand gently covers yours before you can open it.  

“Whoa, sugar. Where ya goin'?" Your heart rate quickens and your gut feeling intensifies.  You try to get out of his lap, lunging for the door. 

"What the hell are ya doin, sweetheart?" He firmly grabs your arm. You stare at him, your chest heaving, heart racing.  He glances at your neck and you imagine he must see your jugular vein pulsing a mile a minute.

"Too dark out there, sugar.”  You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself.  “Lotta sharp stuff.”  He looks at you skeptically.  “Lemme turn on some lights first.” 

You exhale in relief. He was just protecting you.  

He hits a button on his dashboard and it illuminates the surrounding area with the yellow siren lights on the top of his truck. He gazes at you through wounded eyes, looks down between you, where you're no longer covering his hard, swollen package with your crotch.  He must feel so cold. He swallows.  

"Damnit," he says.  His eyes glisten.  "Thought we were havin' fun."  He sighs solemnly. "Wait here a sec." You feel bad.  He’s gone above and beyond to help you.  Maybe he deserves the benefit of the doubt.    

So you wait in the truck, catching glimpses of vehicular carcasses as the amber light dances over them.  Nothing drivable.  

Then it hits you like a punch in the gut that you still can't see a back gate, even with the added light.  It's just a fence. That’s all there is to it.  There’s nowhere a gate would even be.  No other lot in sight.  Your heart races even faster than it was a moment ago.  

You jump in your seat as a machine rumbles to life, followed by the sound of metal in distress. You look in the direction of the noise and the yellow lights pour over a big, industrial dumpster.  Your stomach turns.  

You're still processing your fear when the truck door opens, making you jump again.  Joel climbs up into the cab and nudges you up so he can get under you.  You freeze and do it in a daze. Then he starts the truck and coaxes you back into straddling him.  You feel like you have no control, you have no idea what’s going to happen, no idea what to do. 

-

Joel reaches behind you to the rearview mirror and sighs lazily like he's about to do a chore. 

“Been a while since I shredded a car this new.  Damn shame, wasn't plannin' on it tonight."  

Your heart drops through your feet. “What? –why are you-” 

A cool, thin wire presses against the top of your spine, then he wraps it around your neck like a scarf. His face goes dark and serious, and his voice goes flat.  

“Real dangerous out here, sweetheart.”  

He takes a deep breath and his cock swells harder against you.  He holds the wire in one hand and tightens his other arm around your back.  He slowly begins to twist the wire against itself.  You grab at it and beg him to stop.  To your surprise, he pauses.  

You try to slow your breathing.  You can’t get out, you can’t fight.  He just looks at you with dead eyes, waiting for you to say something else.  It hits you there's only one thing left to do to buy you some time. And you need to make him forget you tried to leave the truck. 

“Wait,” you say as calmly as you can. "Weren’t we in the middle of something?" You reach down and grab the hard bulge in his jumpsuit. To your horror, a stab of desire slices through your clit. You spread your palm and press it into him, massaging his cock.  You're throbbing for him.  You're genuinely dying to fuck this sicko.  He makes you sweat out a long moment of silence.

“Now that might get ya somewhere,” he says, low and gravely, thrusting into your hand.  He lets the wire hang from your neck. One strong arm tilts you up against him while he urgently pulls his jumpsuit's zipper down more. He grunts as he frees himself from his boxers. The next thing you feel is his stiff, warm, naked cock against your inner thigh.  He slips a finger into your thong and sucks in a sharp breath when he feels how wet you are.  

He murmurs, “Damn, you really do want it.” He looks you in the eyes hornily, then seductively as though to say he likes where this is going.  Like he didn't just loop a ligature around your neck. 

He takes a deep breath.  "Maybe I took it the wrong way," he says in self-reflection.

"What?"

"When you tried to open the door. . ." 

He's nuts. 

"I was . . . embarrassed I was getting you wet." 

"That's the least of your worries."

He pushes your thong aside, then the large head of his cock finds your warm, wet little hole.  He wraps both arms around you and pulls you down with a low grunt that turns into a sigh as he impales you on his shaft.  You don't suppress your moan as his girth parts your core and you sink down on his cock.  He fills you to the brim and stretches you wide, making you grateful for how wet you are. 

"God damn, you're tight." He pulls you down even more with a lift of his hips and a vocal sigh. "This what you wanted?"

You nod and try to move your hips, but he holds you still. "Use your words."

"Yes," you say.  "God, yes." 

He still doesn't let you move. "What did you want?"

"Your cock"

"Yeah,” he nods.  “And what do you want now?"

It feels like a trick question. "Whatever you'll give me."

You're sitting there for a moment and he studies your face like he's wondering if it's a trick. The car shredding machine roars menacingly. 

Your cunt twitches and he inhales sharply.  

You break the silence.  "Fuck me, Joel.”  He wants to be wanted.  “You feel how much I want you."  Then you rock your hips gently - very gently.  He must want to be in control.  And you don't want him to come too fast before you’ve decided what to do next.  

"Please," you beg.  “Fuck me,” you mouth silently with the horniest eyes you can muster. 

"There she is."  He lifts his hips in return. 

"Please, Joel."  He pulls back, then plunges into you again, holding your hips down on him.  He retreats, filling his chest with air, then lifts his hips slowly again, bottoming out deep inside you with a sigh. He fills you all the way up.  And when your bodies are flush, the pressure on your clit is just right.  The noise of the car shredder becomes part of the background. 

He gets into a rhythm, and this man knows how to fuck. He's so smooth, and your cunt squeezes his cock so tight, there are brief moments you forget what you’re supposed to be thinking about.  Instead you’re just marveling at the motion of his hips and the sounds of his breath and the perfect shape of his cock dragging against your walls. 

You need to access whatever part of him doesn’t want to kill you.  But god, it’s hard to think with his cock inside you and your life on the line.  His lower belly grinds into your mound, and his massive hands scan your back.  The wire bounces around your neck. 

"God, you feel good," you gush.  "So good."  As you ride him, you weigh the options. You could seduce him into the idea of fucking you again later then run when he's asleep, or you could fight for your life right now.  Your lips graze his neck and you consider biting his jugular as hard as you can.  A powerful thrust upward shakes you out of the thought and nudges your g-spot. He grunts each time your warmth sheathes him. 

The window is completely fogged over.  You moan, then say, "you knew it would turn me on, didn’t you?" You lightly touch the wire around your neck without removing it.  You caress it.  "You could tell I wanted it."  You roll your hips harder into him and feel a climax building.  He breathes heavily as your cunt pulls him back in each time. 

"Shit," he pants.  "Little sex kitten like you?" His cock twitches deep inside you and he slows down. "Course you wanted it." 

"Yeah," you breathe, rolling your hips into him slowly.  "Oh god," you pant.  He holds your hips and gradually speeds up again, moaning and sighing. 

"Lucky you're so fuckin' hot," he snarls. 

"It's hot you had the balls to scare me like that," you say.  "just to turn me on even more." 

There’s no doubt in your mind this man is a killer, but you need him to believe you don't think he is.  It’s the only way he can let you live. 

"Musta worked," he pants. He fingers the cord around your neck and the rough pads of his large digits brush your delicate skin.

"Do it," you tell him. "Choke me." 

He grunts "Mm" with an emphatic thrust.  

You cover his hand on your neck with yours.  "God I love these hands," you gush truthfully, tracing the veins as you ride him and feel something building more and more in your gut.  

His hand wraps more than halfway around your throat as you bob up and down in his lap and he tightens his grip. His thumb digs into your jaw.  Your hips buck into him hard as your head fills with pressure and your throat croaks. He loosens his grip enough for you to moan. 

"God I wanna suck your cock," you tell him, knowing he'll come too soon before you can.  

“Maybe later, sugar.”  You try to suppress your excitement.  You might get out of this alive.  “If you’re good.” 

He bites his lip, and his thrusts intensify.  He wraps both arms around you and firmly cradles the back of your head with one hand, his beard prickling your cheek.  He pistons into you and you let yourself come, choking his cock with your climax.  You don’t hold back at all, you let it all out, almost crying as you convulse in his lap.  Then he holds you down and groans, powerfully shoving his cock into you as he erupts.  He empties his balls into you with a long sigh. 

He rests his head back and breathes. Your climax wanes, and the next few moments feel like an eternity.  The car shredder sounds louder than ever at the forefront of your mind.  You have no idea whether he’s more or less likely to kill you now that he’s come.  If it brings him clarity, is it going to be clear that you have to die now or clear that he never should have thought about it? 

-

Finally, he reaches his hand to your neck and your heart skips a beat.  He takes the wire and puts it back around the rearview mirror.   

“Just a minute, sugar.”  He nudges you up and tucks himself away in his jumpsuit.  He gets out, and you stay put, his cum trickling out of you and onto the chair.  It’s a delicate moment, not worth the risk of trying to run.  Where would you run, anyway? 

The car shredder turns off, and you relax back into the seat, ready to cry tears of joy.  

Joel comes back and opens the door to the truck.  He stands there for a second, looks you up and down.  You must be a hot mess, and he seems to like it. 

He moves his tongue in his cheek like he’s thinking.  Then he says, “You really wanna suck my cock, don’t you?” 

You smile.  “After that? Fuck, yes.  What a rush.” 

He looks proud, like that really was his intent all along. 

“Alright.” He climbs back into the truck with you and you get out of his way while he sits.   “You’re comin’ home with me tonight.” His hands slide over your thighs, looking at you with new admiration as he pulls you in to straddle him again. “Figure out your car in the mornin’.” 

-

If you want another one mention it in the RBs or comments. Thank you all so much for your support and engagement. Your reblogs and comments mean so much for me. Best readers out there!!

-

All joel: @ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose  @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @lokanda @blackvelveteen1339   @manazo @wolvesandvampires  @taeslarityy @str84pedro @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy

#joel miller x reader #dark!joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal fic #joel miller fic #creepy!joel miller #serial killer!joel miller #slasher!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️ #slasher!joel☠️ #tw dubcon #tw: everything #tw strangling #tw murder #slasher!joel #content label

[kneelingshadowsalome]

#DOG König moodboard :( #dog fic memes #stalker!könig #tw: everything #dog fic

[ryubyers]

YALL THERES SUCH A BIG MIKE HATE TRAIN ON STWT RN THEYRE CALLING HIM

MISOGYNIST

RACIST

HOMOPHOBIC

and ABLEIST?

these are bylers btw

#byler #tw: everything

[historia-vitae-magistras]

It's the 120th anniversary of the entente cordiale today, so I was wondering if Arthur and Francis would ever buy each other an anniversary present

A box of wine and some lube on their way to Norman invasion 1069 until the bed breaks and their backs are blown out.

#the ask box || probis pateo #tw: everything #Arthur and Francois || our most dear enemy

[aurumacadicus]

More serial killer Bucky I guess. 😒 Tw: blood and gore and self harm and depression and suicidal thoughts and beloveds this man is a serial killer. This is past revenge he gets too much pleasure out of it. He chooses not to hurt Tony much but that’s an exception not the rule. He once tried to strangle Steve for getting in his way and Steve almost broke his neck in response these men went to sleep and woke up WRONG. They are not nice people.

Also I’m saying this so no one gets on my ass: The illnesses Bucky mentions are in quotations because until he actually researches them, Bucky thinks they’re fake. They didn’t have that shit back before he fell from the train and he is ASTOUNDED to know that he and Steve probably have some form of PTSD. But that’s future Bucky’s problem. He’s got Hydra to kill.

Watch out for under the cut.

—

“You need to go check on Tony,” Steve says. “I’ve got too many enemies on my tail. I can’t go. He’s not answering his phone.”

Bucky takes a deep breath and lets it back out. “I’m on my own job.”

“He’s not answering his phone and I can’t get to him,” Steve says flatly. “If he’s dead when I get back, that’s your fucking problem.” He hangs up before Bucky can say anything in response. The dial tone sounds judgmental.

Bucky looks at his phone for a moment, sighing, then crushes the Hydra goon’s throat in his metal fist, not caring about the blood splattering over him. He would have preferred to draw it out, but he hadn’t started his homicidal bender just to watch the kid who got him out of it die. His phone rings again. He answers it.

“I told him you killed his parents, by the way,” Steve says, voice clipped. “So he might try to shoot you. I don’t know,” he adds, sounding frustrated. “He might hand the gun to you to finish the job, too. He’s taking this medicine. I think sometimes it helps and sometimes it doesn’t.” He sighs angrily. “I kinda thought they’d be able to fix this by now. The human body is a mistake. Have you heard of AIM?”

"No," Bucky says simply. He’s been hyper-focused on Hydra.

“Fucking piece of shit future things were supposed to be better without me--” Steve says, and then there’s the sound of shooting, and then he hangs up again.

Bucky considers looking into AIM, then decides he can deal with them if and when he runs out of Nazis to kill.

Tony’s front door is unlocked. It irritates him. Most people are scared off by locked doors, go looking for easier targets then. A locked door would at least buy someone time to protect themselves if the invader was intent on getting in.

“Are you here to kill me?” Tony asks where he’s sprawled out on the couch. “Finish the Stark family off forever?” His head lolls forward, and he blinks at him slowly, bruises under his eyes, greasy hair sticking to his damp forehead.

Bucky walks over to grab him by the front of the shirt with his metal hand. Tony doesn’t stand up when he tugs on it, so he shrugs, dragging him over to where he assumes the bedroom is. That seems to warrant a reaction, apparently, because he scrabbles uselessly with his grip. He makes his way through the bedroom to the bathroom.

“What is this?” Tony finally asks. “Is this a prosthetic? Why is it made out of metal?”

“To torture me,” Bucky answers. It could be a joke. It mostly isn’t. He opens the shower door and thrusts Tony inside. He means to draw his hand back, but Tony had a grip on him, so he slides a few inches before Bucky stops. “You’re gross.”

“It’s not gonna kill me to stay gross a little longer,” Tony huffs, twisting his arm this way and that. “This is sloppy. They really were trying to torture you, huh?”

“Chronic pain makes you tired. When you’re tired, you’re easy to control,” Bucky says. He sounds like he’s repeating it. He doesn’t know where he’s heard it before. One of the Hydra scientists, probably. It makes sense.

Tony’s face twitches, but whatever was there, it’s gone before Bucky can parse it. “I could do better,” he says, wrinkling his nose in disdain.

“You can’t even bathe yourself regularly,” Bucky says flatly. “Melding metal with a nervous system? Please.”

Tony jerks his head up to glare at him, and it’s the most emotion he’s seen on his face. “Oh yeah? Fucking watch me.”

He pulls his shirt over his head and throws it at him, and Bucky ducks on instinct. He stoops to pick it up and wonders why, remembers someone yelling at a bunch of little girls to pick their clothes up after they bathe. It sounds like his voice, maybe. He decides not to think about it. It wouldn’t help. He takes a moment to examine Tony’s arms. All he sees is the faded pink lines, he notices with approval. The scars will probably always be visible, but at least it doesn’t look like he’s got any new marks.

Tony throws his pants at him. He catches them and can’t help but think he aimed them at his head on purpose. His aim isn’t very good. But then, his everything isn’t very good right now. His ribs are too visible. He could use a few good meals.

Tony shoves his boxers down, and Bucky can’t help the noise he makes when he sees the wounds inside of his thighs. Razor marks in two rows from mid thigh up to the crease almost up to where thigh met pelvis.

Bucky has his flesh hand around Tony’s throat before he even realizes, shoving him up against the tiles with a snarl. He feels Tony’s throat work beneath his hand, but there’s no pleasure in it--there’s no fear in Tony’s wide eyes, no anxiety. He doesn’t even struggle. Bucky drops him, disgusted, and Tony drops to the floor with a gasp as he spits, “You’d be happy if I killed you, wouldn’t you?”

Tony clutches at his throat, as he continues sucking in air, but he doesn’t answer, staring up at him from under his lashes with what might be disappointment, if Bucky was generous, except that he mostly looks like he feels nothing at all.

It’s wrong. People shouldn’t want to... What had Steve said? Medicine. Tony was sick. Something was making him feel like this.

“Shower,” Bucky tells him sharply, catches sight of the razor on the shower shelf, and reaches in to snatch it.

Tony looks like he wants to complain, but thinks better of it in response to Bucky’s sharp glare.

Bucky waits for the shower to start before he goes through the bathroom cupboards and drawers, then out into the bedroom. He finds a couple more razors. Takes those too. Finds a couple orange bottles and examines them. Googles the names to figure out what they are. Doesn’t understand any of the words, really.

“What’s serotonin?” Bucky asks when Tony comes out of the bathroom, and Tony lets out a startled bark of laughter. “They didn’t have that when I was in the army,” he continues defensively, and Tony laughs harder.

Tony gets dressed, and Bucky googles what the fuck a dopamine is. Doesn’t care that Tony’s getting close until his hands are on his metal wrist. “This really is garbage,” he huffs, unimpressed. “I know I could do better.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Bucky says flatly. “You’re still trying to die. You don’t even lock your door.” He slants Tony a sharp look. “Is that because you’re hoping someone will come in and hurt you?”

“Maybe, but so far it’s just been your contrarian ass,” Tony grumbles. “Saved my life twice even though you regularly kill people. Even my own parents. So unfair.”

Bucky turns his judgmental slant to a full-on glare, outraged. Tony doesn’t even notice, making him turn his arm so he can examine the elbow joints in motion. “Do you have any self-preservation in that emaciated body of yours?”

“Celebrities are supposed to be thin,” Tony scoffs.

“I don’t know what that means,” Bucky tells him, unimpressed, and then jerks his arm free and stands. “Answer your fucking phone.”

“I was mugged,” Tony says with a blase shrug, and then snaps, “Don’t fucking choke me if you’re not gonna finish the job,” when Bucky reaches out for him again.

Bucky pauses to consider this. Maybe a good slap would help?

Tony tips his head back to look up at him, purring, “Or unless you’re gonna finish the job, if you know what I mean. I like when my daddy chokes me while I’m riding him.”

“Gross. I knew your dad,” Bucky says. Remembers the way Howard looked up at him, blood dripping down his face, and asked, “Sergeant Barnes?” before he beat him to death. “Don’t call me that. You’re twelve.”

“I’m twenty-two,” Tony exclaims, offended.

It's the most emotion Bucky has seen on him, even more than in the bathroom. “Answer your fucking phone,” he says, instead of ‘sounds fake’ or ‘no way.’ “I had to leave in the middle of a job. If I have to do that again, I’ll be very angry.”

“I don’t fucking care,” Tony says, and Bucky has to credit him for being honest.

“Maybe you can fix my arm,” Bucky says, instead of telling him he’s annoying. “If you live long enough.”

Tony’s eyes immediately go to his arm again. Speculative. Interested.

Bucky leaves. Takes a few days to do a deep dive on “depression” and “bipolar” and “anxiety” and wonders when they started existing outside of shell shock, except apparently that isn’t a thing anymore. Takes another few days to research the medication he’d found and texts Steve that he doesn’t think what Tony’s taking is helpful. Suggests different options.

The only response he gets is “why is Tony taking my blood????” and “WHY IS TONY DRAWING ARMS??????? ARE YOU GETTING A NEW ARM????? I’m gonna tell him to put a smiley face on where the star is now.”

#ideas #winteriron #tw: everything

[firespirited]

Here’s my review of Border 2018: the short story is available in the book: Let The Old Dreams Die and the movie is available on hulu and disney free and others at $4 - spoilers under the cut.

It’s a lovely story about Tina, a brilliant customs officer who can sense people’s emotions. She discovers that she’s not ugly and broken she’s just different. I recommend the story, it took me just over an hour to read, the movie is stunning too but has a secondary plot that undermines the core message. Tina’s story will resonate and ache with you if you’re deemed different or damaged, don’t fit western gender ideals... basically anyone who’s felt uncomfortable with eugenics talk because hey that could be you and people you love. Both the book and the film have graphic but tender sex scenes between unusual bodies and a bunch of the reviews seem to be more distressed by “uggos getting laid” than some really disturbing history that’s a lot like our own.

Tina is a troll, there are very few left: a genocide program in the 70s saw them placed in institutions or labs where they died, it’s been covered up and followed by cultural genocide as the few remaining trolls have been raised in adoptive or foster families, their tails cut off and told they are humans with a chromosomal disorder. Tina was raised by a father who would be considered loving if he hadn’t kept his daughter’s heritage from her and stood up for her. She would have known to avoid storms (a lightening strike left her badly hurt) and spend more time in nature which is where she’s healthiest and happiest.

She has a naf boyfriend that she keeps around for the company, they don’t have sex because they tried once and it hurt, she accidentally gave him licence to cheat when she secretly hoped he’d say “no: there will only be you”. He’s a bit of a freeloader but it’s not abusive and it gives her a sense of normalcy so she’s ok with this arrangement.

She gradually uncovers her identity and her family history as she meets a male troll called Vore who falls for her, he’s hiding something she can’t figure out and experiences her own new desires and some hidden anatomy. Both the book and the film end with her happy, living the life she wants to live and having something she’s long wanted.

Here’s the thing, Vore, as a male troll makes unfertilized embryos every few months and they die within a few days. These “eggs” can be moulded into looking like exact replicas of any given human baby. Vore who lives constantly on the run as he doesn’t fit in human society makes a living using his eggs to steal babies and sell them. This isn’t great obviously, but in the book there’s no malicious reason: he has no family, no community but it’s something he can do so he does it. At the end of the book, he’s never going to do it again.

So “humans have every reason to hate trolls because they’re baby snatchers” doesn’t work, Vore became a monster because he’s without any guidance or community, he gives it up because Tina shows him that humans aren’t all genocidal trash.

But big spoiler alert and sickening addition, in the movie, there’s child sexual abuse material being smuggled that Tina is investigating due to her work in customs. Vore knowingly sold a baby to a paedophile and stole babies because he’s getting revenge on the humans for his parents’ death and his abuse in care. This not only feeds the myth of the victim turned perpetrator (which is only backed by paedophiles’ dodgy testimony not any actual data btw), it also feeds the “minorities doing a reverse racism” revenge fantasies common among racists especially the benevolent/ignorant types that we have here in europe.

There is a HUGE difference between baby theft because you don’t know better and baby theft because you know how much it’ll hurt. Adding this not just anti-social but actively cruel dimension to Vore takes away from the horror of what was done to the trolls.

“1 minority bad guy doesn’t represent all” applies to real life where there are 100 others who would never, not a fantasy story where Vore is our sole other representative of the troll race, where Tina got a childhood without too much violence and is very kind and Vore's implied to be a product of cruelty. The subtlety given to the rest of the story falls apart for some shock value. It’s absurd. I am so mad: this story is undermined by this stupid addition.

There is a place for stories about how foster care and bigotry messes you up, how generational trauma echoes down the family line even as each generation does their best to do better by their kids. Border 2018 was NOT that place and the book knew how to keep Tina and her racial trauma front and centre.

The film does a very tactful job of showing terrible things: a graveyard with simple unmarked stones as a marker of the disrespect in death and horrible secrecy. The CSAM is people reacting to the light of a small screen and the sound of a baby crying. But it has no grace for Vore to be more than the angry retelling of horrific violence inflicted on his people and his “humans are worse and deserve worse” reasons. Tina is betrayed by her choice of lover in so many ways. This ends up being a trash retelling of an important story and makes Tina look like a chump.

Again, child molestation is not cyclical and it’s not because the perps have trauma. If you’re reading this and were hurt as a kid: the people who may have hurt you in childhood don’t have excuses and you don’t have to live in fear of being a bad adult yourself. Any media that plays into this myth is harmful to survivors and gives stupid ideas to the people around them. Some narratives stick in our culture like serial killers being smart instead of cops being biased and generally terrible at solving crime. You will hear stories about abuse within minority groups like it isn’t in all spheres of society: it’s a lie to make the majority think they’re good and they’re safe.

Full list of trigger warnings if you’d like to watch the movie (it helps to read the story and keep that as “the canon”) and know the extent of it. I’ve tagged a bunch of stuff i personally didn’t find disturbing because we’re all different.

You see, I sat in dread as this film is classified on wikipedia under “films about CSA” and instead got blindsided by the eugenics-genocide done to the trolls who look and sound like people I know and myself when i’m not verbal and unkempt. I kept flashing back to the canadian first nations residential schools, the covid ‘quality of life’ triage orders, the people I love who wouldn’t have been born if genetic testing had been around (my stance is complicated), the indigenous tribes of scandinavia who are more hairy with larger brows or monolids. It’s all very close and all very still sore.

9.20 a man has a SD card removed from his mouth, there’s some spittle and he makes gagging sounds. Dread about what’s on the card begins here.

28.50-30.30: Tina’s boyfriend gets into bed with her, attempts some grabbing, wants to have sex, she’s half asleep and unbothered, she straight up one arm throws him out of bed onto the floor where he whinges. Make sure to tune back in at minute 31 for the disney princess magic.

46.00-46.30: male troll has his version of a period, an embryo birthing, there’s screaming. {I wish I could go out in the woods for my periods and scream it out in 30 seconds}.

49.36-50.30 CSAM investigation, a small camera screen is seen reflected on a man’s face as a baby is heard crying in the video. This happens again in the interrogation room.

57-1.00 make out and consensual sex with unusual bodies and loud growling. they cry during sex and there’s a lot of tongue kissing. She has an ovipositor looking appendage she’s never seen before but they aren’t human so i’m uncomfortable labelling anything. They’re both happy in their gender which is why I’ve used male and female pronouns.

There is happy naked running in the woods and bathing, not going to bother with time stamps for that if you’re offended by non skinny happy bodies that’s a you problem, please never visit the swimming pool or art museums. They also eat insects as part of their diet, this happens several times and it’s not meant to be gross.

1.05.20-1.07 Vore does his “humans should fear us” vengeance and recounts his parents’ and his pain, Tina talks about catching paedophiles who seemed very ordinary people. His childhood pain feels cheapened by this flattening: humans were bad to trolls but just in case that wasn’t upsetting enough, humans suck because they’ll hurt their own human children /s.

1.09-1.10.20 Tina’s dad is playing up his dementia to avoid questions and Tina feels the weight of her grief.

1.17-1.17.35 close up on the squishy unfertilized embryo

1.19.25 man is grabbed out of police car and 3 punched (literally) to death barely off-screen culminating in 1.19.33-39 close up on a dead man’s fresh head wound and 1.19.56 dead body and blood pool seen at a slight distance

1.21 More Vore explaining why humans are pervs

1.22 feeding the not!embryo

1.23-1.24.30 “they took us, I take their children” Tina’s sense of betrayal is agonizing to watch.

1.26.10 the neighbours’ baby is sick and dying, we know it’s not a baby. He didn’t love her enough to stop his crusade.

1.34-36 Tina finds out her true name and her parents’ graveyard, there is joy and grief and power and pain all intermingled. I’m putting this here so you can take a moment to breathe but it would be a disservice to skip it as intense as it may be.

There is a happy ending. Also a 3 wolf hoodie over a silky mint night gown is both terrible and fabulous fashion.

What I take from the film is the euphoria of self discovery and setting boundaries, the beautiful images of nature that’ll stick with me but I choose to believe in the original story.

#saf #long long post #tw: everything #tw: csa #tw: genocide #tw: eugenics #border 2018

[xoxo-eros]

 I was showing my friend twisted wonderland characters

And she said Sebek looks like a mouldy cracker and Ace looks like he doesn’t wipe his ass

I can’t wait to show her the rest 😭😂

#sebek zigvolt #twisted wonderland #tw: everything #lotsofchaosandthunder #outofthehat

[amischievouscat]

TW for a bunch of stuff. This is about the boyinaband controversy. Don't click if you don't wanna hear it.

I just heard about this today but apparently boyinaband is an abuser. I took it upon myself to read the original Reddit post and look at every screenshot linked in that post. Here is the Reddit post, and these are the screenshots.

I don't believe a word of it.

Before you eat me alive, let me explain why I don't believe the post.

Reading through the Reddit post it comes off as someone who simply doesn't like that Dave is polyamorous, and the entire post is absolutely full of weasel words. Read the post. Here's a quote:

"He coerced multiple young girls into being polyamorous, even if it was something they had never considered before him. He advertises it as a superior way of living which is highly inappropriate if not abusive." First of all, you can't force someone into polyamory. It doesn't work like that. Polyamory is consentual. If you do not state that your relationship is a poly one, it's not polyamory, it's cheating. Second of all, I've had monogamous people pander to me about how I'm evil and disgusting for being poly and that monogamy is the only valid relationship structure. On multiple seperate occasions. Of course you're going to say your relationship structure is the best one. It's what you're used to.

"Depression cannot be used as an excuse to treat people this way." There is a very big difference between an excuse and a reason. I have diagnosed depression. I am chronically exhausted to the point where talking to people or starting conversations leaves me completely drained. Is this an excuse? No. I am not trying to say that my behavior is okay, I'm trying to explain why I preform that behavior.

"As you know, he once dated Rachel, who was 17 when he was 23." Yeah, which is legal in the UK where both of them live. Whether or not it's legal elsewhere is completely irrelevant. Whether or not it's moral is up to interpretation, but it is NOT illegal or pedophilia. In the UK the age of consent is 16. He committed no crime.

I'd also like to point out that the screenshots are not at all the "proof" the OP is claiming. None of them are verified, they're all heavily cropped and censored, and none of them sound serious. To me they come off as someone pissed off at an ex. Plus, this is disgusting. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this looks like it's referring to polyamory. Someone isn't "mentally ill" because they're polyamorous. And yeah, if someone doesn't like my relationship structure, I'd leave too. It's called having a boundary. I just wouldn't be comfortable in a monogamous relationship in most circumstances. That's not calling someone "replaceable".

I'm not saying the accusations are completely invalid, I'm saying they're just that; accusations. People will see that someone might have been a bad person and run for the hills with that information. Look into it yourself first.

#boyinaband #serious #talk #fenn talks #discussion #accusations #tw: everything #tw: long post #long post

[peterthepark]

i see a butt plug and immediately get horny what is wrong with me!!!!!!

#reign talks #tw: everything

[anterocash]

poker night.

tw: a lot of mess so no one has to read this i just needed to get it written down.

Friday’s reunion festivities were less awkward than he was expecting. He’d never admit that he was nervous or something. Just unsure of how the crowd would take him, Min hadn’t seen some of these people in ten years. He finished the day unscathed though much to Cash’s relief. Cash made his way to Peter’s house. Peter was the only one out of their friend group that stayed in the state after graduation, moving an hour away to New Haven to attend Yale, graduate, and work at a top hedge fund in Greenwich so they naturally decided to meet up there. Peter is unmarried and in a long-distance relationship (she lives in Manhattan) and lives alone with his cat, Lindstrom. Apparently, he still holds poker nights with his friends and clients so he has a room in his house he uses to host in.

Cash is the first to arrive, dapping Peter up, they make themselves a drink each and sit on the back patio. Cash lights up his joint with Peter’s cigar lighter, a burning Ashton cigar between Peter’s lips as he scrolls through his phone, blindly ashing it, glancing at Cash. “What’s on your mind?” He asks, finally looking back at Peter.

“Do you want to deal tonight?” Peter suggested. Cash exhales through his nose, “I brought something with me for the pot but sure.” That catches Peter’s interest as he takes another puff of his cigar, looking at Cash expectantly. He was on the fence about bringing it but he had a feeling his offering wouldn’t go unappreciated.

Joint perched between his lips Cash shifts in his seat to reach into his pants pocket, pulling the tiny baggie out, holding it out between them, seeing it doesn’t make Cash feel the indescribable swoop in his belly anymore, he had it on him for a few hours and didn’t attempt to do ‘quality control’ and make sure it was good, he would let the boys find that out for themselves, Cash figured it anything would make things interesting it would be blow. Min vividly remembers meeting up with Peter and Gideon to party when they would meet up during their university days in the city, bumps of coke and tequila shots all night. Those were the best years of Min’s life were when things were how they were supposed to be, with the people meant to be there.

Being back in Connecticut has forced Min to confront the loss of his best friend head-on and that was one of the main reasons why he was so hesitant to come back but something told him he needed to make the trip and bite the snake’s head off for once and for all. It’s the only thing that truly holds Min back from moving forward with his life, confronting the fact that his long time best friend died while he was behind the wheel, it wasn’t Min’s fault, they were hit but the survivor’s guilt has dragged behind Min for three years now, a ball and chain latched to his ankle, slowing his stride.

Peter takes the small bag from Cash’s fingertips, nodding, impressed after knocking the ash off of his cigar once more. “Oh, the fun is here.” He mumbles as he inspects the product. “Did you…”

Cash shakes his head vehemently. “No –”

“...alright, you know I wouldn’t look at you any differently –” Peter starts and Cash stops him, snatching the 8 ball back, slipping the tiny baggie into his breast pocket. “And why would you? So shut the fuck up.” The venom in Cash’s voice makes Peter’s face darken, he wasn’t seventeen anymore and he wasn’t afraid of Min and he wasn’t going to let him talk to him any way he wanted. “You need to chill the hell out, dude. It’s not that big of a deal – “ The doorbell chimes out and their potential argument is cut short. Someone else has arrived.

Cash and Peter greet Huxley and Tripp, they rode there together in Huck’s Panamera, it was his graduation gift from his parents when they left Hotchkiss and he still drove it, something Cash doesn’t blame him for, it’s a nice car, no matter the age. A Porsche is a Porsche at the end of the day.

“The Man, The Myth, The Motherfuckin’ legend himself, Mr. Cash Shon.” Huxley starts with a grin too big for his face, Cash shakes his head, shoving him lightly on the shoulder, the last time they were in the same room, neither one of them had beards. Huxley was still sun-kissed and pizza-faced with a mohawk he cut himself, a pink seersucker tie wrapped around his head and he was a newly Clemson graduate, he’s still that guy from all those years ago who wanted to make everyone laugh, just a little bit more aged in the face. “Hey, this might sound weird but you look like a guy I went to high school with, his name is Min. And that’s not me being racist either.”

“Oh come on…” Cash groans but he’s amused, Huck will always be the life of the party. “Fuck you, dude.”

“He couldn’t wait to get here to say that,” Tripp says as he shakes Cash’s hand, one pump, firm like they just finished a business transaction, and once again, his quiet intensity doesn’t surprise the writer. Cash rolls his eyes as they make their way to the kitchen for the pair to get drinks and catch up with Peter and Cash. “Andy is the only one left?” Peter says as he pours them all a glass of bourbon. “He’s probably on Facetime with his kids so they’ll go to sleep,” Tripp suggests after a sip. Cash’s mind goes to Ken for a second as he takes a sip for himself, he wonders what the baby is doing and makes the mental note to check on him before the night is over if the timezones let him.

Something else nags at Cash’s mind when it comes to Anderson’s tardiness and he steps back outside to the patio to smoke, looking out into the night. Peter’s backyard is perfect for entertaining: well-lit and the chairs were comfortable, the sound of the men’s voices in the kitchen stop as Cash zones out as he stares out into the woods.

“Pete said you’d be out here.”

Anderson leans on the patio, and Cash stares at the back of his head, he didn’t hear when Anderson arrived, in his own world — thinking about him. He takes a gulp of bourbon to wet his mouth, giving himself some time to figure out what to say. The cherry in his joint has long gone out and he knocks the ash off, large hand cupping his face as he lights it again, inhaling deeply as he stands, letting smoke dissipate into the night sky as he leans on the patio next to Anderson. Cash doesn’t remember everything about his time after he woke up from his coma but one event will always stick out to him; Anderson crying silently at his bedside while he pretended to be asleep. He was an unexpected visitor and Cash didn’t know how to talk to him. He still doesn’t know how to even now, years later.

“Twins, huh?”

Nailed it. Anderson laughs quietly, nodding before taking a sip of his beer. “That’s… that’s a lot, man,” Cash says with a small laugh of his own, it’s a little awkward but he can make it work, they have plenty of booze and everything else the guys use to let their (thinning) hair down. Cash doesn’t know if they should have this conversation before they start the game but he opens his mouth to start it when Tripp sticks his head out of the door. “Pete said you had some? The game is about to start.” Anderson and Cash stand straight at the same time, the former looking at Cash curiously before turning around and heading inside, Cash trailing behind him.

Maybe later. Maybe after the weekend ends.  Maybe never.

–

Cash lays halfway on the couch, playing with his fingers as he watches the others do lines. As expected, the boys were extremely appreciative of Cash’s ‘gift’ at the exchange that he plays dealer (they still think Huck cheats.) And wasted no time breaking it down and diving it up between the four of them; Min doesn’t feel weird at the sight of it anymore, something he’s grateful for because if he looked the slightest bit uncomfortable they would make things weird and that was the last thing he wanted or needed. Things seem to be going well though and he stands, his drink in hand as he walks over to the poker table. It’s the real deal, casino level with cup holders and everything. Placing his glass down, he picks up the stack of playing cards, shuffling them.

“I thought I saw Elliot the other day when I was dropping Mia off at the airport the other day,” Peter says as he walks over, a couple of drinks in and the line has gone, his pupils are dilated, forehead shiny with the starting sheen of sweat along his hairline. “I wonder if he’ll be at the dinner tomorrow.” He claps Cash over the shoulder when he’s close enough to do so, taking a seat in the chair he always sits in when he plays poker there. The other men begin to walk over slowly, talking quietly, their conversation dies as they pick their own seats.

“There was a betting pool on whether you’d show up or not, Cash,” Huxley admits with a laugh, lighting his cigar he had received from Peter back when they were in the kitchen, smoke fills the room as they all fall in line, lighting their cigars, Cash watching them as he shuffles the cards in different ways. He fans them out on the table, Cash hasn’t been a card dealer in a long time but he remembers for the most part how things are supposed to go.

“Yeah? I almost didn’t order any tickets,” he admits before taking a sip of his drink. “But the principal wanted to talk to me, wants me to help deepen the school’s endowment, talk to an AP English class as well.” Cash informs them with a roll of his eyes. “Ah… yes, the show pony has a show,” Anderson snipes what he thought was underneath his breath, except everyone heard him and he laughs it off, avoiding Cash’s inquisitive gaze. Huxley burps, loosening the tension in typical Huck fashion and Cash clears his throat.

“Shall we begin, gentlemen?”

–

A stack of chips sits in the middle of the table. It’s been an intense game so far but they’ve taken the time to properly catch up and trade stories from their high school days. A lull in conversation happens, everyone sporting their best poker face as Cash begins a new hand. Anderson is loud, growling as he tilts his head back, brushing his thumb against his nostrils as he sniffs, picking his head back up, his eyes finding Cash as he takes cards from the others.

Pupils dark and blown, “I don’t get it,” Anderson says with a disbelieving laugh as he sits back in seat, crossing his arms against his chest as he stares Cash down.

Cash rolls his eyes and doesn’t bother to look up as he gives out more cards. They’re all drunk and high, he doesn’t put any stock into Anderson’s words at first, Tripp sucking his teeth but he won’t intervene until he feels like he absolutely has to, it all depends on how Cash reacts.

“You know, I’m thinking about buying a house in the Bahamas, or I’ll buy a yacht and go back and forth between Miami and the Bahamas.” He suggests, wanting to change the subject as a precaution.

“Andy, it’s your turn,” Cash says in his usual drone, shuffling the cards as he looks at the guy across from him. Waiting for his next move.

“How did you get so fucking lucky? I don’t get it, at all.”

Huxley groans underneath his breath as he organizes his chips.

“No, I don't understand, you came near the end of the school year and still managed to get everyone underneath your thumb, Gideon told me what you did to Mr. Street before graduation.” Min can’t help but to grin at the memory of the former teacher being dragged off of campus in handcuffs. Shouldn’t have given him a C “…you were behind the wheel except it’s my boyfriend that’s six feet under —“

“Okay, that’s enough Andy,” Tripp interjects, looking at Peter for help. “Yeah… this is supposed to be a fun weekend, there’s a time and a place for everything and that discussion should be tomorrow when we’re sober or something.”

Huck looks at Anderson with confusion because who was his boyfriend? He thinks about who was in the car with Cash and his eyes go wide, “Gideon was gay? He didn’t tell me? And Gideon and Anderson were dating? When did this happen?”

“We started dating junior year.”

Min chuckles at Huxley’s reaction, “if it makes you feel any better, Huck, I wasn’t supposed to find out either. I should have caught on sooner, the study nights that Gideon kicked me out of our room for him and Anderson. One night I left my charger and went back to get it and caught them sucking face. They begged me not to tell anyone and Gid was my best friend…”

“Yet you’re here and he is not. You know something?” Anderson starts, standing up with someone ugly in his eyes as he looks down at Cash and the others look on warily, Cash hasn’t broken eye contact with Anderson yet; a indescribable look on his face as he puts the cards down neatly. The game is officially on pause. “I asked Gideon to stay home, told him that you could see the movie the next day –”

“I don’t necessarily feel lucky, Anderson. If you think I wanted any of this, you’re absolutely wrong.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m serious –”

“Then why haven’t you spoken to his parents!” Anderson yells and Min finally looks down at the dark green felt on the table. He hasn’t spoken to Gideon’s parents since 2018 before life all went to hell and he’s not here, Min’s best friend of basically a decade was dead how can he look Gideon’s parents in the face after that?

“I… I don’t know what I would say,” Cash answers honestly and stands up so they can be close to level during this discussion (if you could even call it that.) “Every day I wake up knowing that I should be dead, Andy. I know this, I have to live with it. You think I truly think I wanted this?”

“You didn’t go to his funer –”  Cash cuts him off with a barking laugh, clapping his hands, he leans back into it before stand straight again. “You’re so fuckin’ funny, because I’m supposed to roll up to the church asleep on a goddamn gurney? So much shit is out of my control –”

“Cash, Andy, sit down. Both of you. You’re ruining the vibe, dude, fuck” Huck interjects, “tomorrow is the last day of the reunion and god knows when we’ll all be in the same state or country –” he looks at Cash pointedly, “so let’s not get ahead of ourselves and say something we might regret.” He knew how Min liked to argue and he didn’t want to break up a fight, he wonders if other friend groups either have this much drama as theirs, he thought it was only on TV that people lead the messiest lives until he sat down and thought about everything.

Tripp nods as he drinks, “hm, Huck is right, we’re all drunk let’s just drop it for now.”

“You’re such a fucking narcissist and you yanked Gideon whichever way you wanted and what did he get out of it? Death.” Anderson begins to pace back and forth, glancing up at Cash occasionally. “You play this oh woe is me act when you love the attention, you’ve always loved it when people listened to you read your stupid poetry and you only care about yourself, never in those stupid interviews do you even say his name once! It’s like Gideon never existed to you or something!” He stops pacing, shrugging. “Everyone wants to walk on eggshells around you about but they agree with me, they just don’t want to admit it because you’ll be of use to either one of them in the future and they’d rather not ruin the friendship but we talked about it, it’s not right.”

Cash looks to the other three men and their silence is so loud, there is so much Cash has to do but hasn’t yet when it comes to his recovery and he can’t help how other events play out in the meantime. Losing Gideon devastated Min when he found out, it was like losing a brother, the closest thing he could say one was. Min was still in denial. Min, the accident, his life before 2019 was all in a box within a box in the corner of Cash’s mind, he wasn’t Min anymore no matter much he tries to rattle his kennel. Huxley relents under Cash’s gaze first and sighs, scrubbing his face.

“We didn’t hate you for it, we just thought it was weird but we were never going to say anything!”

“I hate him for it,” Anderson snaps looking Cash straight in the face.

“Anderson, no.”

“C’mon, Andy, don’t do this right now.

“Anderson, let it go, man. Things were going so well, let’s go back to playing the game.”

Cash blinks at Anderson, the beginnings of a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as his shoulders jump slightly from the laughter he’s trying to contain. He shakes his head, lighting his joint, between his lips, smoke puffing into the air.

“All this energy for a man who was going to leave you.”

It’s the quick falter in Anderson’s face that tells Cash that he knew things were heading in that direction before the accident, Cash wasn’t upset with any of them – Anderson included but that doesn’t mean he can let things like this slide. Anderson hates Cash? News to him and he doesn’t want to make Anderson out to be a liar so he decides to twist the knife that statement pierced into Anderson’s chest.

“Cash, stop.” Tripp all but begs, growing tired of the situation.

“No… no he wasn’t.” Anderson mumbled as he shook his head.

Cash laughs as he walks over, “yeah, you were always so jealous of me because you thought Gideon put our friendship above your relationship. I always thought it was hilarious because he was nuts about you, Andy.” Cash pauses to take a sip, finishing off what’s in his glass. “Until he wasn’t anymore and things were turning to shit, weren’t they? And don’t lie, remember Gideon was my best friend, he’s told me things he would never dare to tell you. But yeah, he was over it. Over you. Said it was a high school relationship and that’s where it should stay… in high schoo–”

Cash doesn’t get to finish his sentence when Anderson punches him in the face and Tripp is the first one to stand up, separating them before Cash could retaliate.

“That is enough!” He yells as Anderson fights against Tripp’s hold.

Cash holds onto his face in shock, the pain slowly making itself apparent and he quickly takes his glasses off, the force of the hit bent them in half in the middle, cutting the bridge of Cash’s nose, breaking the skin, he blinks rapidly, groaning in pain. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?! You punched me in the face? What the fuck? I’ll kick your ass –” Peter steps in front of Cash when he says that, not wanting his mancave to be turned into an MMA octagon. “Okay, none of that. Let’s go get you some ice and let Andy cool down. Come on – “ He turns Cash around, walking him forward and out of the room.

–

“What the fuck –” Cash paces back and forth in Peter’s kitchen, ice pack wrapped in a paper towel against his left eye, things did not go according to plan. Not that he really had a plan to begin with, if he had one though, it wouldn’t end with Anderson sucker punching him in the face. “Did that really just happen? The guy who was afraid of bees punched me in the face –” he starts to laugh again, putting the ice pack down, his vision sucks without his glasses but he looks in the general direction of the outline of Peter. “Jesus Christ.”

Cash isn’t even upset about it anymore, they always had drama but they got through it quickly as it usually came but he wasn’t sure if Anderson could let this go. This isn’t the first time Cash has been hit in the face and it probably won’t be the last. They both went below the belt, he didn’t think Anderson would crack so fast though. Cash doesn’t feel guilty about anything he said, it was all the truth.

“I haven’t really thought about what happened to me at length…” he begins, putting the ice pack back on his left eye. “I didn’t want to, talking about it would make it real. So I didn’t like to bring it up when I talked about my book but people still would mention it and it would take over the discussion.”

Peter nods as he listens.

“It really sucks and I don’t like to talk about it out loud but that doesn’t mean I don’t miss Gideon every single damn day, he was my brother,” emotion takes over Min’s voice, and he sighs, willing himself not to cry. Is this working? Does it seem like Cash cares? “And if you guys felt the way you did. Why not say something to me ? Why gossip behind my back some like teenage girls —“ 

“We aren’t really talking that much anymore, remember?” Peter tries to excuse and Min shakes his head, putting the ice pack down once more. His face is throbbing and he isn’t sure if the ice is actually working or not. “No, but the way you asked me to come here for the game you could have asked me what the fuck was up.” 

“What was Andy talking about with Mr. Street?” Peter asks curiously, wanting to take away from any of his missteps regarding Min and the aftermath of the accident. 

Cash makes himself another drink, wetting the inside of his mouth to have the conversation. “He taught what? Chemistry and AP Chemistry?” 

“Yeah, it was one of the harder AP courses offered at Hotch, that’s why barely anyone ever signed up for it, except for your crazy ass.” 

“Bastard ruined my GPA so I ruined his life.” Min shrugs, bringing his glass up to his lips.

“Min, what the fuck, you’re why he got arrested before graduation? Why?”

“He gave me a C –” 

“Everyone gets a C in that class! That’s why no one takes it! You can’t ruin someone’s life every time they piss you off!” Peter says throwing his hands up in the air. Tonight has not gone as he expected, he shouldn’t have expected anything to go right but he held on some small shred of hope. 

Cash squints at Peter, “Yes I can.” He glares at Peter in confusion, his words sound ridiculous in Cash’s ears. 

Tripp and Huxley flank Anderson as they walk into the kitchen, “we’re going to take Andy back to his hotel,” Huck informs the pair standing on either side of the island, they turn and look at the other three at the same time. “Oh, you guys can crash here if you want, I’ve got the the space,” Peter offers, he doesn’t need another accident fracturing their friend group even more.

“Nah, it’s alright, my wife keeps texting me from the hotel anyways,” Tripp adds and Cash nods in understanding. “Duty calls,” he quips and Tripp nods. “See you all tomorrow?” “Duty calls,” he quips and Tripp nods. “See you all tomorrow?”

Anderson stays silent the whole exchange, looking down at the floor ashen-faced, eyes rimmed red and all Min can think is ‘shouldn’t have fucked with me.’ If someone goes low? He’ll go lower, every single time. It’s only a matter of whether the other person can keep up with him or fold and resort to their fists. It’s not Cash’s fault Anderson lacks the brainpower to hold a heated conversation with him. “If we all wake up at a reasonable hour, we should meet up and pre-game before the party tomorrow night,” Cash suggests and a couple heads nod in agreement. 

Peter and Cash walk with them to the front door, watching Huxley’s Porsche get smaller and smaller the farther away he got until they sit down outside on the patio with their drinks. 

“You’re a mess, Cash.” Peter mumbles, rattling the ice in his glass. 

“Is he though?” Min asked as he twirled his lighter between his fingers. 

Peter confused, glances over at Cash, “huh?” It’s a been a long night, they aren’t 20 and as spry as they used to be. It doesn’t take much for Peter to wake up with a raging hangover in his later twenties. 

“Nothing.” 

“Listen Min… what happened in the past, is the past, this weekend is supposed to be fun, where we relink and shit, I miss my friends, yeah?” He admitted with a sincerity he normally wouldn’t express in front of the other man, or any other man at all, actually. Tonight was supposed to be fun.

Cash looks at Peter for a moment and he feels weird underneath his gaze, he didn’t want to make things weird but he wanted to be honest. 

“Are you done?” Cash deadpans with a blank face. Peter sucks his teeth, “fuck you, dude,” he grumbles with no real bite. 

– 

Cash eventually got back to his room after sticking around Peter’s a little bit longer before turning in, he was always the last to leave and the first to show up to anything. The party isn’t over for Cash and he turns some music on as he makes himself another drink at the makeshift mini bar he created with some airport bottles of liquor and a bucket of ice, some sodas for chasers sitting on the desk. He hums to himself as he uses a coffee stirrer, singing underneath his breath as he licks the stick, taste testing his drink when pain hits the side of his head and he groans, taking his glasses off as he holds onto the side of his head. 

It feels like an ice pick has been shoved into his left temple, and he groans, stumbling as nausea takes over him, feeling light headed at the same time he stumbles to the bathroom, pushing his glasses off, he turns the facet on, splashing water onto his face. Another wave of pain takes over his head and he groans, vomiting into the sink. Large hands ball into fist on the bathroom counter. In the nose, out of the mouth, in the nose, out of the mouth. He tries to get his breathing under control needing his heart to slow the hell down. Gasping, he glances up at his reflection – what he could see of it with his blurry vision. 

Something flickers across his face and he flinches, taking a couple startled steps backward. Cash’s back hits the wall and he slides down, his long legs coming out from beneath him. In the nose, out of the mouth. He figured it was his brain fucking with him, being punched in the face triggering whatever residual brain issues he had from his accident, but it hurt so much. He lets out a strangled noise as he squeezes his eyes shut, blinking out tears as he yells out in pain once more, he catches his reflection in the mirrored door and doesn’t recognize who he sees. He wants whatever is inside of his head giving this pain to stop and begins to slam the back of his head against the tilted wall behind him, grunting with each collision. 

getoutgetoutgetout

A deep knock against the room door shakes Cash out of his stupor, scrambling to stand up on shaky legs he limps to the door and peers through the peephole, he doesn’t recognize the person on the other side but unlocks the door anyways, wiping his mouth before he opens it halfway, “hey, can I help you?” he tries to sound casual, trying to clear his vision with a squint; he hadn’t put his glasses back on before getting to the door.

“Whatever the fuck you’re doing? Stop it before I knock you out and tell reception. Got it?” An irate middle-aged man in pajamas snaps with a wagging finger, turning on his slippered heel to walk back to his hotel room before Cash can even open his mouth to retort. 

His body aches something fierce as he walks back into his room after locking the door once more. Cash walks over to his phone that still played music and pauses it, he always gets two beds when he gets a hotel room, good thing when he flops down on the bed he slept in the night before, his head hits the pillow and he hisses at the sensation, reaching behind to feel a familiar wetness that only comes with blood, a particular consistency. He sighs deeply and gets up, ignoring the blood now on the pillow case as he strips his clothes and turns all the lights off, he’ll deal with all of that in the morning. Not the first time he’s had an episode and it won’t be the last. Cash climbs into the spare bed after wrapping a towel around his head and quickly falls asleep.

#// it took me a week to write something that might have been three hours tops #drabble #tw: everything

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Uncaring

#original art #schoolwork #comic #cartoon #bugs tw #house centipede #goes for other bugs and animals too tbh #snake's art #Maybe it's ironic that I think everything has something pleasing about it if you look hard enough #For house centipedes it's their silly little faces

[toxicanonymity]

Hey love your work could you please do a Joel story where reader is virgin/ naive and they are on patrol or something similar. They get cold and Joel convinces/ tricks the reader to strip for warmth and starts touching her saying he just wants to keep her warm and she can keep him warm by using her mouth on him…. dubcon/noncon. Please? Thank you? ily?

Patrol

1.3k | CREEPY!Joel x naive virgin f!reader

joel master list

NSFW 18+ Dubcon/noncon nudity & sex acts: dry humping, vaginal fingering, oral sex; manipulation; idk what else to tag, but cannot stress enough what a creep he is or how naive reader is.

You’re relieved when Joel is your patrol partner.   You’re new to the job and he’s more than capable of protecting you if it comes down to it.  You’re posted at the top of a hill near a shack.  Joel has a sniper rifle set up, but in all the times he’s been posted there, nothing has ever happened.  Each of you has a blanket, but it’s not enough to stay warm.  Your ass is freezing against the cold ground.  

A bitter gust of wind hits, and Joel scoots over, wrapping you both in his blanket.  He smells like pine, whiskey, and dried sweat.  He rubs your arms, then starts to get behind you.  

“Come on now, don’t be shy,” he says.  “Can’t get warm keepin’ to yourself like that.” 

He persuades you between his legs, and you have to admit you’re much warmer that way.  Your ass especially benefits from the heat of his loins.  He offers you a swig of whiskey. You’re of legal age to drink, but you’ve never really done it.  He says it’ll help warm you up. He hooks his arm around you and holds the bottle up to your lips.  It tastes awful and burns your throat, but he’s right, you get a little warmer.  

You sit like that for a while.  He hugs you close and his pants harden against you, which makes you tingle between the legs.  You’re a little ashamed at how your body is reacting when he’s just being a nice guy, trying to keep you warm.  Joel looks at his watch.  

“We’ve got about an hour break now.  Why don’t we go up in the shack to get a little warmer.”  You didn’t know both people could break at the same time on a patrol.

-

Inside the shack, there’s a decrepit sofa facing a window in the same direction you’re supposed to patrol.  Without the wind, you’re already much less cold.  You sit down on the couch.  Joel suggests it’ll be better if you double up the blankets so you can both get under two layers.  Makes sense to you.  You snuggle up to him under both blankets.  

“Still cold?” he asks.  

“A little.” 

“Here, lemme show you somethin’.  Trust me for a second?”   

“Okay.”  He’s so capable and protective, of course you trust him.  

He takes off his jacket and lifts his shirt up a few inches.  Then, he lifts your shirt up, too, and your breath hitches.  You swallow and don’t say anything.  He pulls you up against him and his skin is so warm against yours, it feels like heaven. Your heart races.

“How’s that feel?”

“Warm,” you say.  It also stirs something in your core, but you don’t tell him that part.  

“That’s right.  That’s why people take their clothes off and get really close when they’re cold.” 

You don’t know what to say. You get a whiff of the whiskey on his breath.  

He continues, “Might sound like a silly idea, takin’ your clothes off when it’s cold, but you feel it workin’ already don’t ya?” 

“I guess so. . .” You’re embarrassed.  Something about this feels strange, but you also don't want to seem even less worldly than you are if it's something people really do.

“It’s alright now, darlin,” he says softly as he unbuckles his belt.  “We’ll just give it a try, see if it helps.” 

He smiles kindly and reaches over to help you unbutton your pants.  “Your core right here, that’s the warmest part of the body.  This and your mouth,” he says, running his hands over your stomach and the front of your pants.  “It’s like a furnace.”  He pats your zipper, then unzips it. Your cheeks burn.  “And your heart, here,” he pats your chest, “it’s important for heat, too.”  

A small nod is all you can muster.  “I’m just a little shy, to, uh-”

“Oh it’s okay darlin, it’s okay. I won't look.  You just come on back under here when you’re all set, okay?”

“Okay.”  You breathe a sigh of relief.    The room is cold as you hesitantly disrobe.

-

A minute later, you’re naked under the blanket except your bra and underwear.

“There ya go, darlin.” 

You settle in against his naked body, curled up shyly as a small spoon.  His arousal presses between your thighs.  His hand comes to your underwear.  “Whoops. Don’t forget, this is one of our furnaces.”  He starts to pull them down.  

“Want me to show you another trick real quick?” You don’t answer. 

“I can give you a real strong burst of heat.”  You freeze and say nothing as his hand slides into your panties.  Several fingers wedge between your thighs, engulf your whole front in a hug, massaging you in a circular motion.  Then, two fingers glide further, rubbing against your warm, wet folds.  He pulls down the back of your underwear and nestles his hard package in your crack, rolling it into you and breathing heavily as he massages your throbbing clit.  Tension coils in your core.  

You don’t know what to make of any of this.  You aren't stupid You aren't a child. It’s clearly turned into something sexual.  But he’s so nurturing and protective, you feel like he has the best intentions. 

His middle finger enters you and he whispers, “warmest part, right here,” then adds another finger with a sigh.  His hardness moves against your crack and he grunts softly.  Your hips slightly rock into his hand. “There ya go,” he says.  “You’ve got the right idea.”  He returns his fingers to your clit, trying different strokes, and when you softly moan, he stays with that one.  He pets you faster and faster until the tension bursts and your body jerks.  You’re not cold at all as your clit pulses, releasing the blood back into your body.  

He pulls your panties back up.  “It’s okay if you don’t wanna take these off,” he says.  You’re relieved.  His big, hard cock intimidates you.  It’s uncomfortably close to your holes.  “There’s another way you can get me warm.”   You gulp. 

“Here, turn over for a sec,” he says.  Your ears burn and you can hardly make eye contact as you face him.  He takes your hand and puts it on his hard cock.  

“Feel this?  Why don’t you wrap your warm little mouth around it, see if that helps me?” he asks.  You feel obligated since he made you come, even if you never wanted him to.  

“Um, okay.  I mean, i’ve never. . .”

“It’s okay, darlin’, it’s all about stayin’ warm.  Nothin fancy. You stay under the blankets too, okay?  Don’t let that heat out.”  

You get between his legs and take his stiff cock in your hand.  You’ve felt a few guys harden against you while making out, but you’ve never held a naked one.  It's smoother than you expect, and when he thrusts into your hand, the skin moves on the shaft.

You take him into your mouth and he moans softly.  “There ya go,” he says.  You seal your lips and suck like you think you’re supposed to, and he twitches in your mouth.  “You’re doin’ great, darlin’.”  

His hips begin to lift rhythmically, and you gag but keep your mouth sealed.  His hands come to your head, pushing you down, making your eyes water as you gag more.  You want it to be over as soon as possible, so you don’t complain.  You try to do a really good job.  Finally, he pulses inside you and his cum hits the back of your throat.  You choke a little, then swallow it down.  

“You alright?” He asks.  You don’t answer.  “C’mere, darlin.���  He opens his arms and you lie on top of him for a few minutes.  Then, he says the break time is over and it’s probably best to get back on the hill.  You're uncomfortable, but you remind yourself he'd probably save your life in a heartbeat, so it's a small price to pay.

-

Tag List @tonysterco

#joel miller x reader #creepy!joel #dark!joel #dark!joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fic #toxicanonymity ☠️ #ask box #perv!joel #perv!joel miller #tw: everything #patrol!joel

[kneelingshadowsalome]

omg I'd love to know anything about DOG (this is ceil), even the barest bones of the plot

Ceil!!! 💕✨️ Ok so DOG is a horrible horrible fic (you might like it!), the premise of the plot is can you fall in love with a mentally ill mercenary who has decided that you’d make a great girlfriend. So yeah, not a comfort read (to some :D)

König is very crazy and rotten in this fic, just awful when it comes to women and has his screws a little loose. Sends the usual cavalcade of unsolicited dick pics and masturbation videos and lovebombs her and before long starts to talk to her like she’s his girlfriend already. Threatens to kill people if she doesn’t answer him, the police won't help, eventually König appears at her door and says he wants to “take care of her” (starts by dicking her down 🫡). Also our girl develops an obsession of her own when she finds out her stalker is rather hot even with that crooked smile and a broken nose, so she’s not entirely sane either...

Here’s an excerpt (aftermath of the masturbation video):

And this fic is not very poetic, the first few chapters look mostly like this because they’re constantly bickering in her dm’s:

#like these are the cute bits... #dark content #yandere könig #cw: stalking #tw: everything #upcoming works

[ruporas]

dragon meat, you, and me

#marcille donato #falin touden #farcille #dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #tw blood #tw body horror #tw gore #as a normal farcille fan this revival has been on my mind since i first read it and getting to watch it is like yippee!! #like messy revivals are everything - the consequences that will haunt u for the rest of the time they are alive #the initial hopeful moments where it all seemed well but quickly descend to That not being the case - losing not only the bit of evidence #evidence that your dream may work out but also someone you deeply care about in the process… marcille my Beloved #ofc wholly thruout the journey - at the forefront of it - getting falin back was the most crucial point but so wuickly :(( it was lost #on the other end its crazy to think about the compoments of falin now - human - dragon (dungeon) - marcille’s magic and desperation #the food the crew cooked (digested) - she is made of many parts!! #also i did not realize how medical it feels to draw smth like this. i dont usually explore the inner parts or use a lot of blood #in my work so rendering everything and looking up refs it felt quite magical (?) #ruporas art

[historia-vitae-magistras]

speaking of cannibalism, you think if any human decided to eat the eldritch personifications, they’d get poisoned. flesh of the country seems inherently dangerous idk

Yeah this blog does not endorse cannibalism in a historic, fantastical or any other context 😂. And personally, I don't dwell on it and I keep their death cycles to about 6 hours (the max before rigour mortis sets in) or less before revival to prevent that.

#tw: everything #the ask box || probis pateo

[xoxo-eros]

Malleus is now emo daddy ✨

#tw: everything #twisted wonderland #outofthehat #Malleus #malleus draconia