Deaddovedecember2024 - Blog Posts

Dead Dove December: The Deepest Cut

Thanks @romana-after-dark for the cool event! Pedge is feeling dark this December and wants to join in on the fun! Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, or DDDNE has its origins from a meme referencing "Arrested Development". The character Michael Bluth opens a paper bag labeled "DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT" and, upon discovering that there is a dead dove inside the bag, says, deadpan, "I don't know what I expected." - fanlore.org

Triggers: Ideation, SH, little smut, spiritual concepts, profanity, PTSD, reference to scars/violence/gun/death, post-apocalyptic world with Joel, implied domme, nakedness, anxiety attack, hurt/care trope...truthfully, we just gotta get through some sh@t before we get to the light...

@toomanystoriessolittletime has a great prompt, "He lifted your chin with two fingers brushing the tears from your cheek asking, 'Who did this to you?' trembling with a nearly feral rage". I wanted to turn it on its head a bit...

The end of the world was filled with so much more Love than you were anticipating. Not the frilly, inconsequential or meandering love of your youth. A darker, deeper, more translucent death than you had ever imagined. And with it, so many other endings had begun to rebirth themselves into a new hesitant light. Joel was the prism through which you had started viewing yourself, and with that blurry and enigmatic nuance your personhood had begun to focus. Within those shadows a burning ember of your own light had re-emerged, not in contrast, but in intimate synergy. You just didn’t understand any of it.  

Gazing down at your body in the sudsy film of a long awaited bath, your fingertips feathered over the many scars covering your body. Pre-apocalypse had afforded you the luxury of only interacting with your body as an instrument. As circumstances plodded along in repetitious doldrum, your emotional life cascaded in opposition. In the internal landscape of emotional chaos, self harm was the treasure that afforded the illusion of control. A sort of subterranean analgesic. You never really understood it, but sacredly knew it by name. It was dark, lush and seductive and it was yours. A way to announce, if to no one other than yourself; this body is mine. MINE. I hurt her as I please. You will not break me, if I constantly break and rebuild myself.

And then…the end. In one searing moment your life had been plunged into an apocalyptic quest for survival. All of sudden, you weren’t the only one bent on your self-destruction, and within you something had begun to solidify. A raging desire. A longing. A yearning…for life. It was like a molten lava, primal and ancient and even more delightedly terrifying than whatever small deaths you had previously endured. And it was all yours. 

Until Joel. He was the flame that seemed to replenish the oxygen within you. Within Joel seethed a depth of suffering and even depravity that graced the periphery of his existence, seemingly holding hands with yours. There was an animalistic magnetism that transcended words, and it crackled in the atmosphere the more you experienced him. That had been five years ago, and since that time, Joel had tenderly invaded every territory you had previously partitioned off, even to yourself. Circumstances might now rage out of control, but your inner demons had begun to quiet in relative submission. Because of Joel.

You couldn’t remember the last time the word relaxation had permeated your consciousness. But it had incrementally, and in sloth-like fashion begun to wrap its lazy tentacles around your pulsing heart. A home (beat). A bathtub (beat). A book (beat). A community of support (beat) And Joel (beat). But could you accept what had so long eluded you in the past? Could light and dark exist in the same space? Could you somehow let it wash over you, rather than attempting to contain it? 

Joel had never pushed the conversation. Already a man of few words, both of you were covered in enough physical and emotional scars to last a lifetime. But you had caught more than a few concerned glances, as his hands delicately fingered the unique patterned scars littering your forearms and quads. Different, but the same. And now, after so many years of evolution, you wondered if this new end was on the horizon. A way to finally say goodbye, not to life, but to death. Your eyes flickered to the small pocket knife you had laid on the bathtub rim. Your pupils were blown wide with anticipation and lust, biting at your lower lip in frenzied tumult. The darkest part of your self that you wanted to submerge into oblivion, trembled on the brink of acknowledgement. If death had been your former lover, couldn’t you impale it on itself? Couldn’t you once again, ask death to die?

You flicked the pocket knife open lazily, feigning nonchalance and gazing at your forearms appraisingly. You felt like an alcoholic, considering that final drink. Not much new territory to explore, you chastised yourself, remembering routines of long ago. Not too low, don’t nick a vein. Not too deep, to avoid suspicion. Symmetrical for the aesthetic. Your breath hitched in your throat momentarily, paralyzed with years of abstinence. Were you really going to do this again, after so many years of control? Self harm was never really about punishment or death at all, but even control had its limits. You needed to know if you had finally stepped into an existence that could include someone else; with intimacy and freedom. A darkness that understood your own, and cancelled one another out. You had given your body to Joel more times than you could count, but could you really give something you un-assuredly possessed? Biting down on your lip you made a quick, skilled cut to your upper arm, feather light and barely pricking the surface.

You held your breath awaiting the numbing relief or the conflicted tears of release, but found a joyful, humming laughter emanating from your sternum instead. Nothing. You dropped the pocket knife to the floor, gazing at the lone bead of blood dripping slowly down your forearm and licking it away tenderly. No. You didn’t want this anymore. You didn’t need it. It hurt. It actually hurt, you smiled. You could experience the scars you already had, without generating new ones. They were ALL yours. Your own story carved into the recesses of your heart, and sharing them with Joel had been the best decision you ever made. You reached over for a washcloth, pressing it firmly to your arm, the flow of blood already stopping. No more. A death to death itself. Only life remained, and it blazed in bright red as a testament to your new covenant of self. A life that included Joel. Holding your arm aloft you dropped the washcloth to the ground, content with your small victory and submerging your face and body in the warm water. Never again. Only life.

Joel tiredly crossed the threshold of your shared home, kicking his boots to the side. No point in dragging mud into the house. It had been an uneventful patrol, and he had spent the entirety of the day thinking about you. Smelling your sweet fragrance. Kneading your plush skin. Basking in the glow of your loving gaze. I’m gettin’ soft in my old age, he reasoned, somehow happy for the unexpected transition.

“Darlin’?” his deep voice bounced off the cavernous living room which was strangely quiet. You usually had already prepared dinner and Joel licked his lips with anticipation. No matter. He WAS home early. He lumbered up the stairs, achingly slowly and rubbing at his lower back. He could use a bath. He caught sight of the sliver of light piercing the upstairs darkness from the bathroom. Caught ya. Joel knocked tentatively on the door, nudging it open hesitantly.

Joel’s stomach dropped with a sickening fervor, quickly taking in the myriad of sights. Knife. Blood. Washcloth. You. You. You. He nearly wretched, dropping to his knees, immediately ignoring every ache in his body, grasping you around the waist and neck and pulling you abruptly from the languid womb of sudsy water. Your eyes flew open in surprise, splashing water and soap sloppily over the rim of the bathtub and dousing Joel’s flannel and jeans.

“J-Joel!…” you sputtered helplessly, looking into his face that was stained with pain, betrayal and confusion.

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YA DOIN’????!!!!” Joel nearly screamed, his eyes a dark black of terror and misunderstanding, roughly running his hands over the totality of your body looking for bruises and lacerations and finding none.

“Oh God, honey I’m sorry, I’m sorry…” you sobbed immediately, grasping at the forearms of his flannel and wiping the soap suds out of your eyes. “This….this is NOT what it looks like…” you hiccuped, eyes darting wildly to his face, taking any purchase of him you could find. You were gripping fiercely at his neck, his face, his arms, his chest. If you could explain, if you just had a moment to explain…

Joel paused as a feverish cry escaped his lips unbidden, smashing your body roughly against his chest and collapsing on the floor in a heap beside the tub. He was rocking you silently like a small child, so you let your body hang loosely over the tub, against him for what felt like an eternity. Your skin began to prune and goose-bump, but you held your breath timidly, willing Joel to understand. You would MAKE him understand. You bit back your own sobs thinking on Sarah….Ellie….the gun. You had NEVER intended him to see you like this. Things finally quieted down as the water sloshed coldly against your knees. Feeling your light shivers, Joel pulled back slightly gazing into your eyes fixedly and drawing his fingers across your forehead. Circling his thumbs at your whitened complexion, he lifted your chin with two fingers brushing the tears from your cheek.

“Who did this to you?” Joel asked, trembling with a nearly feral rage, willing the answer to be different than his expectation.

“M-me” you whispered, furrowing your brow with intensity, terrified at Joel’s next reaction. You felt like you were negotiating with a wounded animal. Watching Joel’s body sag with exhaustion he released you slightly to drag his hand over his face in confusion. He closed his eyes, willing himself to breathe slowly, his thumb grazing the light pinkish mark on your upper arm.

“How m’I gonna protect you from yourself?” his voice cracked in defeat, turning his head away from you in pent up anger. Anger at his helplessness. Anger at you, FOR you, WITH you…he couldn’t steel himself against the barrage.

“You don’t have to” you sat up on your knees, cooling water now cascading over the lip of the bathtub and taking his face in your hands, scratching at his patchy beard. “Let me explain…”

“Do you wanna die?” Joel pleaded, absentmindedly scratching at the scar on his own temple and feeling that familiar tightening sensation in his chest. No. Not another panic attack. Not now. He desperately needed to understand. He needed an enemy to fight.

“Joel…” you took his hand in your own drawing it to your chest and gripping the back of his neck with the other. “I’m. NOT. Going. Anywhere…” you pressed your forehead to his, breathing intently and fixedly slowing his. Joel took a deep shuddering breath, grateful for a chance. A second chance. A chance to catch his breath and LIVE, with you, even just for one more moment.

A few minutes passed before Joel tentatively asked, “Is it me?”

You pulled back, your eyes widening in distress. HOW could you possibly answer that question? Was it him? Well, of course it was him. HE was your continued reason for life, you just desperately wanted to add yourself to the equation. Seeing Joel’s love for you, had only inspired your own. Not to live just for the purpose of someone else but for YOU. For Love itself.

“It’s ME, honey. I’m the reason. I’m saving myself…” you swallowed dryly, unsure how to articulate the answer that had eluded you for so long, and desperately hoping that Joel could somehow divine what you meant. You needed him, even more than before. And now you felt you could bring your whole self to the relationship. Everything dark would draw out the light, and Joel might be the only person who could truly understand that.

He looked at you intently, searching for any hesitancy, and finding none. “You’re not trying to kill yourself?” his eyes hovered about your face appraisingly.

“No” you smiled tenderly, feeling the emotional tides begin to shift.

“Are you going to…do this again?” he asked, a pained expression flashing across his face darkly.

“Absolutely not. Never again” your whole self finally answering back. Joel waited. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for. He knew he could trust you, but his heart was still thumping dully in his chest. “I swear” you nodded, lacing your fingers through the graying tendrils of his hair. Joel finally closed his eyes in relief, slumping against the bathroom wall. You sighed heavily, shaking your head in amazement. This wasn’t the triumphant moment of victory you had planned, but the end of the world had been so much more unexpected than you predicted. Now Joel knew everything, and you were still in one piece. Love had prevailed. Bumpily. Messily. Painfully. But prevailing nonetheless. You stood up shakily, happy to emerge from the cooling soap suds, a new version of yourself. Towering precariously and dripping on the wooden floor, you kicked Joel’s foot good-naturedly.

Joel squinted up at you, finally relaxing into a tender smile, admiring your dripping form. “Help me up, darlin’” he almost teased, hooking his hand around the back of your knee and beginning to prop himself against the wall. You smirked, attempting to hoist Joel’s broad figure without slipping and sliding as he rested his hands loosely on the curvature of your backside, drawing you to him securely. “You’re all wet…” he intoned, swaying from side to side and reaching behind him for a towel, drawing it comfortingly around you. “Tell me more…” he whispered quietly, stroking your cheek. How could you articulate what you were only beginning to understand yourself?

“I didn’t really…accept myself before…” you haltingly began, looking into Joel’s penetrative eyes and shivering. He gripped you tightly, tucking you further still into the warmth of the towel and his body heat. “But after…the fall…it helped me to regain the sense of balance I needed.  Losing control helped me to find my own. It’s like my survival instinct finally kicked into gear…”.

He held your gaze, nodding his head once in determination. He trusted you, the way you trusted him, and nothing was going to break that. You rested your head on his chest delicately, mumbling into his sternum. “What do you want for dinner?” you sighed, planting feather-light kisses between flannel buttons and drawing away timidly.

“You know what I want” Joel smirked, the oft repeated joke tantalizing his lips, which he hungrily licked. You blushed with immediate acknowledgement, happy to be enjoying your easy rapport once again. “What do YOU want?” he countered, pinching your lower lip between two calloused fingers. You furrowed your brow in consternation, perplexed at his meaning. You didn't want for ANYTHING. You finally had it. You had each other.

“What if I could give it to you?” he ventured, pursing his lips mischievously. 

“Give me what?” you questioned, curiosity peaked.

“Control”. 

A gasp quivered in your throat as arousal pulsed between your legs heatedly. “What?”

“You heard me. I can give you control…” he swallowed dryly starting to walk you backwards to the bedroom.

“Joel…” you didn’t get out any more words before he smashed his lips to yours roughly, kicking the door shut behind him.

*Resources for Anyone Struggling

WIP Friday?

So...now I'm just following my own chaotic rules...but that's how Tumblr do. I'm working on some fun projects, ramping up Pike's Place, starting Pedge Tweets and finishing up Pedro's Holiday Feast!

I've got a dark submission for "Dead Dove December 2024" and am "pessimistically" excited about Queen Beef's Festive Failures. I mean, really, what could possibly go wrong? This has been a fun year of Tumblr, and as I near my first little milestone, I couldn't help but wonder...