#(that's more or less on their side at least)

[toovaeloe]

post-nut munchies

Satoru doesn’t get post sex clarity shame or guilt. He gets hungry.

pairing: satoru gojo x gn!reader

mdni•18+

content: small minific, gn penetration, established relationship, dumbification if you squint, mating press but again: only if you’re looking through a foggy window, mostly aftercare and a gojo being goofy (being a FATASS) ((he’s my fave fatty))

wc: 826

Clarity. That might as well be the universally defined antonym of Satoru Gojo.

Because if there’s one thing Gojo doesn’t own and his fat paycheck can’t buy, it’s shame.

“fuuuckkk,” 

He’d groan a guttural draw as he pistoned into your tight heat, before alternating into slow, powerful grinding of his hips that had your brain vacating the premises to make space for his dumb fucking dick. He knew it, too; could see it in the way your your eyes struggled to stay in focus and the way your back bowed off the sheets you were gripping with white-knuckle intensity— he’s fucked all the thoughts out of your pretty little head. And the bastard couldn’t be cheesing any harder about it.

“My pretty baby,” He’s muse, somehow finding it in himself to giggle breathily as one of his large palms slips away from where he was squeezing the underside of your thigh. He smooths up towards your abdomen, featherlight fingers grazing up your chest and over a pert nipple before traveling back down to splay over your hip, all with deliberate gentleness. “so beautiful like this.”

“feel me right there, yeah? That deep?” The husk of his voice rumbles just above you, the pad of his thumb skimming over the skin below your belly button, eyes crinkling at the way you whimper out soft frantic mhm!’s when he adds pressure. His grin is from ear to ear, the sigh he lets out dreamy and adoring. “yeaahhh.”

He’s only smug for so long, however, with the way your eager hole was sucking him in, milking him like you wanted to siphon his soul out his body via cock. Satoru leans down as a string of curses tumbles from his lips with a groan, sweat-slick chest meeting yours as his hands scramble to find your legs once more. Blunt nails dig into your flesh as he forces them up next to either side of your head, effectively folding you in half like a goddamn lawn chair. The change in angle has you keening as he rammed into that gummy spot inside you, with no less accuracy the other 6 times he’s made you cum tonight.

“shit, shit, yer so… mmh’fuck ‘can’t think— needa cum s’bad,” He quite literally whines as you barrel over that peak, his mouth latching to yours to share your muffled moans as he follows suit. His hips stutter against yours as he spills inside of you, before he goes still entirely, the both of you riding the waves of the ebbing high until he collapses atop you- and with how exhausted you both are, it’s undoubtedly the last one tonight.

Or at least one of you is bone-tired. After a few minutes of Satoru floating in the afterglow, he’s littering affectionate wet kisses all across your face, offering you praise of what a good job you did for him as he eases your legs back down and kneads your hips- having the audacity to tease you with the idea of juuuust one more round. HELL no. He gets the memo when you weakly kick at him, but it doesn’t stop him from chuckling at your incredulous expression as he slides his softening shaft out of you.

His snowy bangs still stick to his brow as he rises from the bed with a grunt, making a show of stretching, cracking stiff joints, and flexing muscles before returning to your side with a warm washcloth. He’s still all smiles and chipper beaming as he tenderly cleans in between your legs, biting his lip to stifle himself from blabbing out about how much pride he felt seeing you like this- it’d probably fluster you into chiding him if you saw the goofy ass expression he was making. Not that you were really paying any mind; your eyelids fluttering closed every other minute and about ready to conk out.

“Y’know what sounds good right now though?” Satoru chirped out of the blue, yanking you back from the cusp of slumber.

“Some fro-yo. Maybe strawberry- with chocolate chips, gummy bears, marshmallows, cookie dough, and a fuckton of rainbow sprinkles. Cherry on top, of course,” He’d ramble off his abominable go-to order as his hand absentmindedly wandered to trace soothing patterns against one of your knees. You’re just dumbfounded at how he could possibly be fantasizing about frozen yogurt right now; limp-dicked and in his birthday suit after he just fucked you into next Tuesday. “God, my mouth’s watering just thinkin’ about it.”

“I know a 24 hour fro-yo spot. It’s only, like…a 20-ish minute drive?” He’d muse, sapphire eyes redirecting from the ceiling and back to you. When he caught your flabbergasted expression he’d coyly duck his head and bat his frosty lashes at you, as if that was about to convince you. You wondered if you could even walk, or if maybe you’d need at least 5-8 business days to recuperate.

“Doesn’t that sound good, hm? You up for it, angel?”

a/n: craving a ben&jerry’s cherry garcia🤤 also i hate him a lot today. like so much 😒 but i gotta finish writing this Ino thing for a diff thing so im forcing myself to resist writing Gojo. Instead i will say, “i hate him”;

I hate him.

have a wonderful day and do something nice for yourself! 🫶🏽

[narfin-frood]

i've been itching to share my swap au since i thought it up, but i think i now finally have an actual baseline to introduce it with!!

the idea isn't that it's a personality swap, but a role swap, with wander and sylvia as antagonists and hater and peepers as the protags, and i have a whole lot to say about it so im gonna go ahead and infodump below the cut

so i've renamed these two, at least, since hater's story has become less about getting over himself and more about how he sees the world Now That He's Gotten Over Himself. i'm calling him The Great (and absent) Lord Lackadaisical right now, but i don't think that's what he'd like to be called, since he's an absent ruler who doesn't really care to be in a position of so much power and would rather fuck off to all the planets with really nice hot tubs. he and Sir Peepers (his loyal knight who cannot be convinced to leave his side) travel the galaxy with hater's sweet ride (i'm not too good at designing motorcycles yet. pending).

i haven't thought of new names/titles for wander and sylvia just yet (i cannot just call him Sitter Over Therer) but i do know what their deal is, and it's the main reason i made this au (i feel like if wander were a villain he would not in fact be a villain like lord hater or dominator because i think that kinda disregards wander's whole Shit, he'd be like screwball, and even then he'd have very strong convictions that he's doing the right thing): wander has a cult (a hivemind, kinda) and sylvia is his priest.

i think wander comes along this mushroom during a time in his life when everything seems to have been torn asunder, and instead of continuing his adventures and learning and growing as a person, the mushroom offers a solution that doesn't require much effort on his behalf. the mushroom links people together borg-style, makes them share a brain and a purpose. wander not only thinks it's super neat, but he's in such a poor state of mind when he finds it, he convinces himself it's the only way to make the galaxy a better place.

sylvia is the only person in his Ring of Friends who isn't hooked up to the mushroom, because she's actually wander's friend, and she's his ride or die. she does the things she does out of free will and dedication to her best friend, including preaching and fisticuffs.

^^^ here's some more of my initial concept art. originally the mushroom was gonna be a tree, but i had a vision of an upside down mushroom (or several, to take the place of watchdogs) scuttling around and by god is it easy to make that look like his hat.

the thing that really really pushes wander over the edge is the sheer boredom of it all. when he's connected to the mushroom, he's very little more than the brain they all share. he can't move around, and that KILLS him (see: the hole lotta nuthin). so when hater (name pending) comes along and refuses to join him and annoys him enough, he gets suuuuper stoked about having something to really DO for once.

anyway. this is what i've got for now. do you like it. you can be honest if you dont like it

[lilietsblog]

Important addition: replace "minorities" with "minorities AND foreigners", and replace "nebulous glorious patriarchal past" with "nebulous glorious communist future" and you have the Soviet Union's entire party line.

Like, every single one of those is a check. A mythic other time period that is soo much better than the present that we must strive for, check. Legally mandated propaganda, check. Science evaluated on the basis of whether it serves the party line and devaluation of expertise in favor of confirmity, check. Deliberately enforced lack of knowledge about the outside world (the famous "iron curtain"), check. Fostering divisions, check (though this one was less deliberate policy and more natural result of the rest of it) (this is the only one that is a side effect rather than explicitly party line). Victimhood of how we are the poor oppressed working class and everyone else is the evil bourgoisie (working class including the high level party functionaries and evil bourgoisie including literally anyone they wanted to point a finger to), check. Praising police and conformity, check (notably police was renamed "militia" to imply that they are the citizen force and against those evil policemen of the oppressive regimes, while serving the exact same function - Ukraine renamed its police back to police to at least be honest about it, and good riddance). There's no sex in the Soviet Union, check. "Workers and peasants" against "bourgoisie" (literally 'city-dweller') check (even though rural folk were p much kept in serfdom II, now you belong to the state and not to a specific person).

And of course, the glorious *working class* against the horrible, pathetic and society destroying "parasites" (тунеядцы, a word that specifically means anyone not currently employed by the state but stretchable as far as you can imagine. Creatives absolutely, children eagerly, sick/disabled people on request, you know how it goes).

Please understand: the Soviet Union was fascist by every ideological definition that didn't include self-identification. It was fascist and communist, and the communist part was necessarily predicated on the fascist part - because the relaxation on restrictions on free speech, information exchange etc, led very quickly to its dissolution and transition of all constituent states to capitalism, because its take on communism sucked so hard economically that even wild unchecked early capitalism was better.

TANKIES ARE NOT IDEOLOGICALLY ANTI-FASCIST

The Ten Pillars of Fascist Politics by Jason Stanley

This July 6, 2021 twitter thread by Yale philosophy professor Jason Stanley, PhD outlining the 10 pillars of fascist politics shows just how fascist most of the Republican Party has become under Trump’s leadership. The current MAGA GQP has incorporated each of the above 10 pillars into its talking points and philosophy. 

This is why the GQP has been up in arms about Biden accurately calling their Trumpist political ideology “semi-fascism.” 

Feel free to share this with your relatives and friends who want to defend the direction the GQP has been going in. [Just be prepared when they counterattack to explain why the Democratic Party is not “communist” or “socialist” but a center left political party with its most extreme members being just social democrats (even Bernie Sanders and AOC aren’t really democratic socialists).

_______________________

Note: The visual formatting of how the original tweet in the thread appears, as well as the visual formatting of pillars number 2 - 9 were modified from their source; furthermore, the translation of “ARBEIT MACH FREI” AS “WORK MAKES ONE FREE” was added to pillar #10.

[junethestudent]

Object of Obsession

» Murderer Kim Minjeong x Investigator F! Reader

Word Count: 5.6K

Content Warning: Discussion of murder, descriptions of dead bodies, reader is drugged, violence, dubcon / noncon, and swearing. [Y/N’s L/N is Choi.]

A/N: This will be divided into two parts, I am not positive on when part two will be released.

I would also like to say that I do not condone violent behaviors.

10:00PM - Cho Industries, Abandoned Warehouse

The darkness of the warehouse shadows Minjeong as she works, her gloves covered in the sticky blood of her last victim. She wipes away the sweat collecting on her brow and breathes in the musty air of the warehouse. On the cold floor blood pools at her feet and coats the skin of her body, painting it a crimson red. 

The smell of blood is worse this time, with a sickeningly ripe, metallic scent. It has a pungence that smothers her other senses, distracting her as she works to clean up her mess. But frustration seems to override her mind, irritating her to the fullest as she stares at the lifeless body in front of her. 

She would not be under so much pressure if someone had not called in a noise disturbance. Unfortunately, leaving the body and the weapon is her only option. As seconds pass by she has little to no time to waste anymore. 

“Fucking hell.. if that door wasn’t so loud..” She mutters under her breath, the only other sound audible being the police radio blaring from her phone in the background. Surely she would have been caught by now if she wasn’t aware of the every move of those idiotic policemen.

As the sirens grow closer Minjeong’s anxiety only grows, making her heart pound erratically. Through the few glass windows of the building Minjeong can see the glare of red and blue lights. She takes a step back, tripping over the sledgehammer that lay behind her. Her ankle bends to the side as she catches herself, a surge of pain rushing up her leg, evoking a string of curse words. 

She hurriedly pulls her body up, gritting her teeth as the aching pain settles in her leg, leaving her taking deep swallows as if there were no air at all. Steadying herself on the uninjured foot, Minjeong hobbles to the back door, leaning on the broken handle for support. 

One last time she looks back, eyes surveying the damage of her actions. To many her work is morbid and against standard morals, but she views it as art. The bloodied sledgehammer that was used to cut so many lives short, and her last victim’s mangled body. 

The perfect execution of murder - at least in her eyes. She knows that eventually she’ll be sentenced to prison, left to rot alone in a cell. Or maybe karma will completely end her, leaving her cold and dead the same as all of her victims. But not now, right now she still has purpose. 

-

10:45PM - Cho Industries, Abandoned Warehouse

You grasp the cold plastic of your radio, putting it to your mouth.

“Choi, 10-97.”

“Copy.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and close your eyes in exhaustion. Sleep is what you’ve been aiming to prioritize, but within the last few weeks a spree of murders has erased any means of a semi-normal sleep schedule. The only reason you were still functioning was due to energy drinks and an unhealthy amount of double shot coffees.  

Opening the door of the car you are immediately hit with the feeling of chilling air biting at you, making you shiver in response. Down the gravel road of the warehouse are numerous cop cars, the familiar flashing of blue and red lights reflecting off of every surface. Officers are sprinkled around the property, some examining objects while others search the perimeter. 

It reminded you of your days as an officer - not that you enjoyed them. You were much more reserved as of now, preferring to keep to yourself. Even going as far as to have an unmarked black car to draw less attention to yourself as you worked, keeping the gaze of others off of you. Working alone has always been your strong suit, it allows you more freedom.

After a few moments you decide to finally rise out of the car, slamming the door behind you. Your shoes scrape against the pavement as you walk up the driveway, only stopping once you reach the chief of police, Hwan. 

“Detective Choi, nice of you to join us.” He speaks in a thick gravelly tone, each sentence sounding as if he were struggling with his words. He runs his fingers through the bulk of his hair, a flurry of gray and white strands showing as he ruffles it. Based on his expression you can tell that the investigation has been rough.

It is to be expected of the police. Even when you were low in the ranks, an officer yourself, you never thought too highly of them. In your mind policemen were like the brute force of all emergency services, never often using their heads.

Hwan was different though, he had an old type of wisdom to him. 

Speaking of Hwan, he raises his hand over his shoulder, signaling you to follow him inside of the warehouse. The strong smell of fresh blood causes you to gag as you both walk to the center of the room. 

In the back corner of the room you could see a singular policeman puking his dinner out - must be a newbie. Although it was hard for you to adjust to the smell, you had never thrown up before. It was understandable though, as the mangled body in the center of the room was enough to permanently scar the mind of any normal civilian. 

You were shocked by the sight of the body too, honestly. Half of his head had caved in and the other side was crusted in blood, his face completely unrecognizable with the damage inflicted upon him. The thought of dying in such a gruesome way made you shudder, to think of the pain that the victim had to endure before finally dying. 

Next to him lay a sledgehammer, worn through and clearly used multiple times. In fact, with the amount of wear, there was a chance that this weapon was used on the previous victims. 

“After we investigate the rest of the scene, the sledgehammer will need to be sent to the lab for DNA analysis.” Hwan rubs his face with both hands, adjusting the rim of his glasses, his eyes shut tightly. He clearly felt burdened by the case. When it came to those who commit mass killings, they were usually so caught up in the thrill of the hunt that they unknowingly left evidence. 

However, this person was clearly intelligent, and if they had not been rushed this time they likely would have fled with the body again. “You would think,” you pause for a second, “ that some clue would have been found now that would tell us something about the killer. Considering they were in a rush, there must be something else.”

“Any reason you suspect the killer was in a rush? It’s unlike you.. I mean to make assumptions so lightly,” he grumbles, taking a step forward, his eyes darting around the emptiness of the warehouse. 

“The previous victims were all murdered at abandoned areas, and then taken to secondary locations to be dumped. Every body beforehand was found in open fields about fifteen miles from the original killing site.” 

“We know that all of the victims were murdered with sledgehammers, which somewhat confirms that one person has carried out all of the killings. Regarding the previous cases, the murderer never left a weapon behind because they were never in a rush. You can’t just lug a sledgehammer around in a hurry.”

The words fell from your mouth so easily, it all made perfect sense to you, like clicking in another puzzle piece. Considering all of the cases you had solved before, this was a walk in the park for you. 

Your eyes meet with Hwan’s for a second, a hint of admiration in his eye as he processes your words. You adjust the collar of your shirt, waiting for his response when something catches your attention.

‘That door, the one near the exit. Was it forced open when you arrived?” Your footsteps become heavy as you rush to the doorway, the sound echoing off of the walls. Hwan follows quickly in pursuit, his breathing all huffy as he tries to keep up.

“I had asked when I arrived on the scene.. they never spoke much of it. I guess they figured that it was due to the building being so old.” He clears his throat, his gaze focused on the broken push handle. 

“Your team often overlooks these things, you know that Hwan?” Your annoyance is clear as you rummage through your coat pocket for a flashlight, gripping it in your hand as you force the door open. As you peak outside and shine the flashlight down you notice small footsteps caked into the mud, the trail ending just a few feet away.

“Some small footsteps those are,” Hwan towers over you from behind, the smell of cologne and cheap cigarettes wafting into your nose. 

“I think I prefer the smell of dead bodies over your.. funk.” You snap at him, leaning back inside the building, the door still ajar as you walk back to the center of the room. Hwan follows behind you, chuckling uncontrollably at your outburst, high laugh heavy and throaty - likely due to those cheap ass gas station cigarettes.

“Well what now, Choi?”

“The body needs to be covered and the body removal team should be called in to transport the victim to the morgue, the rest of the evidence needs to be photographed and collected, and I’ll write my report soon after,” you flex your shoulders, feeling the deep ache in all of your joints. 

Hwan nods and works his way to the rookie while you make your way over to the body, pulling out a sleek black camera to capture an image. You repeat this process multiple times, starting with the body, then the sledgehammer, and the blood trails.

The last area that needs photographing is the back door and trail of footsteps. As you make your way back to the door you find the mini flashlight in your pocket, gripping it hard as you step outside. The brightness of the light reveals the footprints once again. On your other hand you hold the camera steadily, clicking on the button. 

The first flash shoots out, lighting the space a few inches in front of you. When the camera flashes the final and second time, you notice a shadow darting back hurriedly. It catches you off guard, your heart dropping as you listen for any indicator that someone is present. 

You hesitate for sometime but decide to brush it off, figuring that your lack of sleep is causing slight hallucinations. If Hwan saw you right now he’d be enjoying the sight of your skittish behavior.

Speaking of Hwan, as you walk back into the warehouse there he is, smoking another one of those cigarettes. “I think this qualifies as tampering with evidence,” you eye him closely, watching his face, eyebrows furrowing like they always do, the primary cause of the crease in between them. 

“Mm.. possibly,” he grunts out, blowing a plume of smoke out towards you. Asshole.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, unfortunately. I’ll send my report out to you after the autopsy results come in, hopefully tomorrow. If anything happens before then, make sure to call me.” And with that you exit the building, the cold air blowing against you as you walk towards your car.

The thought of rest becomes so tempting as you get into your car, buckling your seatbelt and jerking the key into the ignition. All you want is some nourishment and a place to sleep, but with being so far away from home you’ll have to make do with a motel and whatever is open at this time.

You switch the gear on the car, the sound of the radio playing faintly in the background - Seoul Drift. You finally feel at ease as you drive down the empty streets, the only downside being the lack of food options. Nothing really catches your eye until you pass a relatively empty diner. 

You turn on your blinker and pull into the parking lot, away from the other two cars. Most likely the employees who want to be anywhere but at work. The dashboard clock reads 12:32AM. You’re surprised they’re even open at such a time.. desperate for business maybe. 

Letting the previous song fade out you turn the car off, the safety light darkening as you exit the car. It’s eerily quiet outside, the only other sound being the chirping of crickets in the distant bushes.

“There’s no need for me to be nervous..” you say it out loud, reassuring yourself that there was no chance of anyone harmful being nearby. It doesn’t help that the street lights are out though, one singular light flickering near the curb of the street. Disregarding those thoughts you walk inside, looking around at the interior of the diner. 

The lights were warm but dim, and the place was somewhat rundown; the seats peeling, the wooden tables with minor blemishes, and the heavy clutter near the bar area. At this point, you paid no attention to it, messy bars were the least of your worries tonight. 

Deciding to seat yourself due to the lack of staff, you choose the booth nearest to the back. Only then do you notice the other lone customer situated in the booth opposite from you. She stares at the seats across from her, her fork poking at the small portioning of dumplings in front of her. Her general attire was odd.. a black trenchcoat with a white cropped tank top and shorts to match.

Despite that, she was really pretty, handsome even. With pale, ghost-like skin she looked like a vampire almost, her paleness complimenting the color of her hair. She had a few gashes near her lips and nose -  from a scuffle possibly? You were in no mood to ask, not that you would anyway.

Seconds later the kitchen door swings open, a middle-aged woman with a notepad approaching you. She smiles, more energetic than you expected her to be at such a time. 

“What can I get’cha? We’re still serving dinner right about now.. but if you’d like coffee we can still make that!” What a sweet woman, so full of life. You were so caught up in watching the girl that you had not even browsed the menu. “Uhh do you guys have any soups? Maybe just some water for a drink..”

“We have miso soup, you can have it warm or cold. We also have vegetable soup and rice soup.” She watches you intently, probably focused on the dark circles lining your eyes. 

“Ah, I’ll have the miso soup.. uhh warm. Please.” You shut the menu and nod at her as she walks off, hand still scribbling in her mini notepad. That’s when you notice the girl watching you now, her face expressionless as her eyes sweep you up and down, almost as if she recognizes you. 

It’s weird, yes. But she could be any stoner or freak hanging around, it had nothing to do with you. You were in no mood to interrogate someone over their manners. And anyway, your main concern was finding the bathroom in this place, you hadn’t gone since before arriving on scene. 

You jump up from the booth, spotting the bathroom and making your way inside, the lights way brighter inside the bathroom than the little diner. Choosing the nearest stall you quickly handle your business and step back out, watching yourself in the mirror. You were a mess, it was easier to see that as you washed your hands.

Groaning you run your fingers through your hair, giving it a quick fix and washing your face with the cool water from the sink. You looked more presentable now, not that you cared. Okay, you kind of cared..

Yawning, you walk back to your booth to find your food piping hot at the table. It might be the most appetizing food you’ve seen in weeks. Slipping into the booth you drink a spoonful of the soup, the rich broth feeling warm in your mouth. Out of the corner of your eye you can see the girl watching you carefully, waiting for something. 

Choosing to ignore her you continue to eat your soup, occasionally taking a drink of your water to balance out the hotness of the soup. With each bite you can feel sleep creeping up on you, but not in a comforting way. You feel sick, your head racing but your body still. 

You drop your head against the table, spoon falling to the floor as you rest silently. Not wanting to move another inch out of fear of throwing up. You breathe heavily, eyes blinking slowly, as you watch the girl approach you, bending down to your level and stroking your cheek. 

The next few minutes are a blur as she pulls you from the booth, forcing your arm around her neck and guiding you out the door of the restaurant. Her other hand works around your waist, digging into your pocket until she finds your car keys. She’s firm but gentle with you as she drops you down into the passenger seat of your own car, shutting the door as quietly as possible.

You feel dizzy as you watch her get into the driver’s seat. She turns to face you, an amused smirk plastered to her face as she leans over, buckling you into the car. You can almost smell her as she leans into you, her arms grabbing the buckle and strapping you inside. 

“From now on you’ll be my upper hand on those pigs.”

-

1:55AM - Song Motel, Room 127

Your head feels fuzzy and warm as you stare up at the ceiling. The woman is above you, naked, watching you carefully as you struggle to move. She brushes her hair from out of her face, the red gashes that once marked her lips and nose now gone. “You.. you wanted that.. did it..” your words are slurred and you can tell that she honestly feels a bit guilty as she watches you, her eyes narrowing slightly. 

“Maybe I overdid it a bit..” She pulls you by your legs until your ass is pressed against her. You turn your head to the side, focused on the cheap A/C blowing at you. You’ve retained the feeling in your arms but you still find it difficult to move anywhere. “You’re not..” Your mouth feels like rubber, the words at the tip of your tongue, but somehow stuck.

“Minjeong. You call me Minjeong. Do you understand?” Her tone is serious, like she’s daring you to run your mouth back to her. And you don’t. You physically cannot talk, coherently anyway. So you nod instead, pleading with your eyes for her mercy.

Minjeong ignores it, her strong hands spreading your legs open. You understand why you feel so cold now, the clothes once on your body were thrown askew halfway across the room, your body completely exposed and vulnerable to her. Who would have thought that the weirdo across from you at the restaurant was this fucked in the head? You knew that she was odd, but you never suspected she would have been a creep.. not like this. 

“Come here. Give me your hand..” She pulls your hand with her own, fingers intertwined for a moment before she presses the palm of your hand against her dick. She grunts softly as she positions your fingers around it, making you lightly pump against it, her dick growing in size with each slow stroke. 

Minjeong drops her head back, her hips thrusting faster, so desperate to get her cock wet in your hand. Her labored breaths grow heavier each time your hand touches her tip, precum dripping from the tip of it. She wasn’t even trying to make much of an effort at this point, just mindlessly thrusting like an animal in heat. 

You could feel yourself becoming wetter just by watching her, and you knew that was wrong. The fact that you wanted her more than anything else, the fact that you were going to, no, willing to let her do what she wanted to you, it was all wrong. Minjeong was aware of that, she was aware that her charm was too much for someone like you to handle. Someone who never had time for sexual encounters, someone who was dripping wet just from getting her off. You’d be her little toy. 

Eventually she grows tired of your thrusting, wanting something more than the pressure of your hand. She rests her head in between the crook of your neck, teasing the skin with the suction of her mouth, purple marks forming on the surface of your skin. She whines a bit as she holds her dick, smacking it against her own hand causing the precum to smear on her palm. 

“Fuck.. so good..” she whispers into your ear, her hands on your shoulders as she struggles to find your entrance. She misses a few times, cursing as she does so, but after three tries she manages to push herself inside, stretching your tight cunt out.

It almost immediately draws a reaction from you, as if the drug within your bloodstream had never been there at all. Wrapping your arms around her back you begin to claw, leaving red marks on her snow white skin, but it only makes her pump faster. The warmth of your pussy gripping around her cock is like heaven, her eyes rolling back as your slick pours onto her length, making her cock a big wet mess. 

Every few seconds she pulls out her slick coated cock and rubs it against your clit, a sadistic look on her face as your moans fill the room. But just as quickly as her cock comes out, she jams it back inside, watching the bulge from her thick cock form in your tummy. 

You try to regain your bearings, to focus, but the hot tingling feeling and the sound of her balls slapping against your ass only confuses you even more. You’re both so desperate at this point, you don’t even struggle when she forces your legs up, allowing her to go balls deep inside of your pussy.

“Hold still.. stay there.. be a good girl for me.” Her thrusts are slower but way harder now, causing some pain as she thrusts, but it never replaces how fucking good she feels in you, your entire cunt filled to the brim with her cock. You can feel it now, her balls pulsing as she comes closer to filling you with her seed. 

“Minjeong.. Jeong- Jeongie!” That was the final straw for her. She bottoms out inside of you, thick ropes of cum shooting deep into you. It makes you clench each time, as if you were milking her cock for every single ounce of cum. 

You’re yelping now, even as she pulls out of you. Her seed spilling out of your pussy as she pulls out, cock wet and now semi-soft. You have little to no energy now, your body giving out with those last few thrusts of hers. She rises from the bed searching for something in the nightstand near you, and then you see it, duct tape. 

You no longer feel like fighting her anymore. You’d rather sleep, you’d rather accept your losses and dream. She knows that, you know that she knows that. 

-

2:35AM - Song Motel, Room 127

Minjeong sits on the bed next to you, watching you intently as you doze off into sleep. Even to someone like her you look adorable with your head turned to the side, and your arms sprawled out above your head. 

She takes a deep breath, finding some sense of calm again. Showing her emotions, even if you weren’t conscious, was considered a sign of weakness to her.

The sound of the aircon turning off quickly pulls her from her thoughts again, her attention back to you. You look cold to her, goosebumps forming on your arms, your body curling up to preserve some warmth. Minjeong tries to ignore it, to rid herself of any sympathy, but her stubbornness lasts no longer than a few seconds. She rises from the bed, cautious to not wake you from your slumber as she covers you with the bulky comforter. 

She drops to her knees near the edge of the bed, observing the sound of your breathing. “I hope you’ll come to understand me..” Her words are directed at you, even though she knows you cannot hear her. But she needs to speak her mind, to justify herself.

To be truthful she really had no intent of harming you, not until you showed up at the diner. Without a lead detective the case will slow, completely halt even. Right now you’re her prized possession, her wild card.

Her eyes were on you from the moment you had stepped onto the crime scene. She had never actually left. She was eager to see who had been pursuing her, who had been trying so hard to take her down. It was even better that you had no idea she was the one who had been killing. 

-

4:45AM - Song Motel, Room 127

You wake up suddenly, the sound of your ringtone buzzing in the distance. Instantly you go up to grab it but are stopped by your restraints. Everything comes rushing back then, the restaurant, the kidnapping, the sex, the.. Minjeong. The girl from the restaurant.. Minjeong. 

You pull against the tape, praying that the friction will be enough to wear it out. It hurts as it digs against your skin, but it begins to stretch, your wrists slipping out of your confines. Rushing to your phone you pick it up and tap the return call button - all twenty calls from Hwan. ‘

The second he picks up you go into a tyrant, desperately explaining yourself - kind of.

“I’m sorry, I was sleeping! I mean.. heavily y’know the case has been.. a lot!”

“I don’t have time for your explanations Choi. Get down here, the abandoned YG parking lot, now.” He hangs up, leaving you silent on the other end. 

Groaning you look around the room for your clothing, butt ass naked as you walk near the entertainment center and dig through your pile of clothes, putting each piece on hurriedly.

The second your clothes are on you ram into the motel door, the hinges squeaking as it opens. Your eyes search through the lot, eyes stopping on your black car left in the corner. 

“Hey, you should keep it down and be mindful of others,” an older man spits out, cigarette halfway out of his mouth as he approaches you. 

“God.. fuck off!” Is what you were thinking, but accidentally said. It didn’t matter to you, not at this point in time. You pull at the handle and almost fall back as the door opens, your keys still left in the ignition. 

It was sheer luck that she left the keys inside of the car, but that means she could still be around somewhere. And between dealing with Hwan or Minjeong, you’d choose Hwan any day. 

You start the car, almost jerking that bitch back into another car as you pull out, the man watching you in pure shock as you speed off. 

With your right hand clutching the steering wheel you type the destination into the car's touchscreen, foot pressed heavily against the pedal as you speed down the streets. You’re scared of Hwan, of facing off with a murderer, everything. But it’s part of your job and you carry that on your chest.

-

5:35AM - YG Parking Garage, Entrance

You rush out of the door, barely even stopping the car as you open the door, the headlights brightly shining onto the building.

Hwan stands on his lonesome, back facing you as he stares up at the abandoned parking garage, his shoulders tense and flexed back. 

“The killer is in there,” he says it so surely, no doubt showing in his deep voice. He keeps his back turned to you and trains his eyes on the concrete below his shoes. 

You join his side and stare straight into the main entrance of the lot, mentally preparing yourself for whatever may come. Nothing has happened and yet you already feel a deep dread all throughout your body.

“There was a disturbance call again. Reports of an unknown person wandering the perimeter. I’ve instructed other units to be prepared on nearby streets. I figured the killer would be alerted if we all showed up with our sirens blaring.. or our headlights on the building.” 

Hwan begins to step forward, drawing his gun out in front of him, his finger close against the trigger. He looks back at you finally, a willful but scared look in his dark brown eyes. It was all routine to you both, constantly being forced to face life and death.

You join him at his side, drawing your own gun and clicking the safety off. Without further exchange in words you both make your way inside the building, clearing the first corner and working your way up the garage. 

The only sound to be heard is the echoing of your footsteps and the ever so faint breathing of Hwan. You wondered if someone as calm and collected as him could really be so nervous. He always seemed so strong, like a father you could follow around and count on to protect you. So if even he was on edge, then how should you feel? 

Both of you wrap around the second floor of the garage, whipping yourselves around the pillars and empty custodial rooms inside the building. With each step you grow closer to third floor, and your anticipation only eats away at you more than before. 

Both you and Hwan reach the third floor now, knuckles white with how hard you both grip at your own pistols. Hwan takes the lead, moving his gun as he checks behind each singular pillar.

There were only so many floors, only so many pillars that the killer could hide behind. There were limited custodial rooms, one on each floor near every ramp. So with each one successfully cleared you only felt sicker for what was to come. 

Hwan turns back to look at you, his body moving towards the next pillar when a shot rings out. 

His eyes widen as the bullet makes impact, piercing the skin on his shoulder and sending him crashing onto the ground, blood spattering as he drops. 

Fear sweeps through your body, freezing you in place right before the pillar where this murderer stands. You wait, pistol aimed near the pillar but eyes focused on Hwan bleeding out.

He grits his teeth, head lolled back as he lets out a string off curses, his hand clutched hard around his shoulder, warm blood seeping out and painting his hand. 

“Get her,” he blurts out through cries of pain, tears forming in the crevices of his eyes. “Fucking go now!” His voice is loud this time, ushering you out of your pathetic state and into action. 

And you do, but not quick enough as the suspect darts out past you to the previous pillar, catching you off guard. You turn on your heel, following the killer and weaving around each pillar for protection. 

A shot wizzes past you and embeds itself into the pillar behind you, causing you to jump back and behind for cover. You can hear the fading footsteps of the suspect, your heavy breathing, the sound of the radio blaring from your walkie-talkie. A swirl of emotion taunting you in the back of your mind.

Hwan speaks into the mic, his words a slur of cussing and explanations. “Shots fired, I’m hit. Choi is..” his voice fades out and returns. “Down the ramps!” 

You duck out from behind the pillar and continue your chase with the killer, both of you racing to the final floor. You can see the body of the killer growing closer as you reach the last ramp. 

The familiar trench coat and the now bloodstained white shirt and shorts that lay under. Before you can fully react, both of your arms reach out, grabbing the sides of the coat, sending you both tumbling down the ramp.

A struggle for dominance ensues as you both fight against each other, arms flailing about. You drop back onto the floor, gun drawn and face severely scraped up. 

As your eyes survey your surroundings, only then do you notice. 

Minjeong stands above you, eyes widened and just as shocked as you are. She steps back, her gun that was just pointed at you now hanging lightly from her fingers. She looks terrified, like a deer in headlights - ashamed even. 

Your hand instinctively reaches for your radio, your hand gripping the cold plastic the same as many times before. You speak into the radio, mimicking a voice of true terror. 

“All units to the front entrance!” 

She understands your intentions now. 

So why don’t you? 

Why are you helping someone who hurts?

Minjeong steps back, legs weak as she turns for the back exit. Her eyes are studying you for an explanation as to why, why you would spare the life of someone as undeserving as her. 

Eventually she turns fully, but guilt washes over her, making her look back one last time. 

 She obviously wants to say something, anything to break the silence. Her eyes look pitiful, cheeks flushed bright red. But when the shouts of policemen become louder she turns away, shrouding herself from view and disappearing into the night.

A/N: I did proof read it a few times, if I missed anything then I apologize in advance. :/

[tofics]

You Owe Me - Part 1

Pairing: Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Forced through circumstances out of your control to rely on Joel Miller, you end up traversing the country with him. You're not particularly enthralled with him, and neither is he with you - or so you think, until your period strikes, and you're practically bed-ridden. Or: Joel can't stop jerking off to you after he accidentally got a taste of your lips.

Warnings/tags: canon typical show/game violence, sort of dubious consent (reader gets kissed without being asked and only later agrees), age gap (reader is about ~25 years younger), enemies to lovers kind of, awful period + period cramps, jerking off, fluff

Word count: ~7.4k

Periods are not fun to begin with.

They're even less fun in a post-apocalyptic world, where sanitary products are hard to come by and more of a luxurious rarity than a given staple item in your average survivor's backpack.

You knew you were bound to begin your cycle eventually, and had you had more time, you'd probably have prepared yourself some way or the other. But, with the way things had gone in the past two weeks, you had not had any time to think about bodily functions beyond what your every day efforts demanded of you, and even that was hard to care for.

Ever since the night that you fled Boston's QZ, you hadn't had a proper night's rest, let alone a hearty meal to replenish your energy with. Your escape had been 'spontaneous' to say the least, a necessity brought upon by circumstances that you'd stumbled into rather than purposefully involved yourself in, and before you knew it, you were pointing your finger at Joel Miller, of all people in the world, hissing threats through gritted teeth about how he at least owed you this much if he was going to get you involved in his business without your consent and how you weren't gonna get hanged just because he'd dragged you into his bullshit.

Joel, of course, was not a man you could just point your finger at and demand things of, much less in a hissed tone, even less in the form of threats.

And yet, he'd smuggled you out of the city in a cloak-and-dagger-operation that same night, despite his hard glares and hushed warnings to keep your mouth shut. You'd been anything but prepared when he'd appeared at your side like a magician out of thin air. He'd laid his arm around your neck like a lover might on an evening stroll, but the gesture hadn't been kind, his arm too tight around your throat, pressing on your airway as he'd instructed you - commanded you - to follow him, like you'd have had any other choice with his arm wrapped around your neck like a boa constrictor, all the while a smile on his face that feigned nonchalance to possible onlookers. Nothing to see here, just two lovebirds on their way home after another long, hard day of work.

You'd shaken him off once the two of you were out of sight, ripped his arm off of your throat as you swiveled out of his headlock. "What the fuck, Joel," you'd hissed and he'd stared back at you with that same cold and hard look you knew him by. "Do you want out of the city or not?" His arms were crossed in front of his chest, his tone matching the iciness of his eyes. Your jaw tensed. The nerves of this guy. "The hell are you talking about?"

He scoffed like you were being dense. "Out. Flee the nest. Hit the damn road-" You cut him off with another pointed finger. "Don't be cute. I know what you mean. What I'm asking is, now?!" He eyed your finger like he was debating cutting it off if you jabbed it into his face one more time. His jaw ticked. "Yes, sweetheart, now." Your nostrils flared at the sarcastic tone of the nickname, but he gave you no time to interject. "Got tipped off. They're gonna do a raid tonight, hit everyone they know I'm involved with. Since you got all flustered about my - 'involvement' of yours-" "Oh, is that what you call that? Grabbing and kissing me out of the blue?" "-I figured I'd do you a solid by giving you a heads up," he talked over you, ignoring your comment entirely. You were seething. "Ever heard of a thing called 'consent', Joel?" He flicked his tongue, rolled his eyes. Clearly, he had no time to entertain your attitude. You didn't care. "It's when you ask someone if they wanna do something, and then only do it if they say yes. Now I know that concept might be a little hard to grasp for you-" You were slowly advancing on him, getting up all in his face, when his hand closed around your arm tightly. Your gaze fell down to his grip, your lower jaw pushing out slightly. His eyes flicked over your face like he was waiting for your next outburst. "Are you quite done? Cause we gotta go. Unless you'd like to stay and be questioned by FEDRA officers? I'm sure they'd be very interested in your lecture about consent." Joel's upper lip curled back in an ugly sarcastic smile.

And so you'd let him lead you through the city, begrudgingly at first and then bewildered when you realized you were heading in the opposite direction of your apartment. "What about my stuff?" He'd only shaken his head. "No time for that. We gotta go now. Got some backpacks waiting for us a couple blocks ahead."

He only realized you'd stopped walking when he was at least ten steps ahead. "You comin' or what?" You could tell by the tone in his voice that he was nearing the end of his patience, but as far as you were concerned, you were already at the end of yours. You didn't budge, just stared him down from where you stood, shooting icy daggers out of your eyes and your pursed lips quivering as insults swarmed in your head, all fighting to be let out at once. He looked back at you with dull disinterest in his eyes. "By all means, take your time. Ain't like we're on a clock here or somethin'."

"Oh, you son-of-a-bitch, you ignorant little cock-sucker, you absolute blithering idiot-" The stream of affronts sputtered out of you. Joel quickly closed the distance between the two of you and forcefully grabbed you by the arm, dragging you with him once more. "Walk and talk, yeah?," he said over your flood of offences, the jabs seemingly rolling off of him like water droplets against plastic. You kept up your clamor all the way down the next block, until he dragged you into yet another side-alley to avoid a group of FEDRA soldiers marching past.

The two of you stood closer together than both you and him would have liked. If it hadn't been for the parade of soldiers walking past you, you might've scratched his eyes out, something you made sure to convey with your eyes as you stared him down in silence. His indifference only fueled your rage. "Do you have any idea what you're asking of me?" You hissed at him when most of the parade had passed by. Joel wondered if he'd ever hear your normal tone-of-voice. "Come again?" He cocked his head. "The way I recall it, you asked me to get you out of the city, not the other way around. Now who's imposin' on who?"

He saw it coming before it was looming in his face again. That damn finger of yours, pointed right at his nose once more. His lips pursed, his hand twitched on the handle of the blade he kept concealed on his waist. Just one quick swipe. Your howls would likely attract the guards. Not worth it. Yet.

"We're only in this predicament because you couldn't keep your damn hands off of me!" You almost spat in his face, your voice all hoarse from trying to keep your shout down to a whisper. Your head looked like it was about to implode. Joel flicked his tongue again.

"You wanna discuss bygones again or you wanna get goin'? Time's not waitin' on us, sweetheart."

"Oufff." You growled in response, your finger so close to his face you'd take out an eye if he moved an inch in the wrong direction. "Get that thing out of my face," he finally snapped and smacked your hand down. "Now quit whinin'. You wanted out of the city, you're gettin' out of the city. Giddy up. Time's a' wastin'."

Without another look to check if you were following, he dipped out of the alleyway and marched down in the direction of his - your - first pit stop. You stood between the tight walls for another moment, breathing heavily. If FEDRA hadn't been breathing down your neck, you would've turned around on your heels and sent Joel off to whatever miserable adventure he was about to embark on, but alas, he'd made his miserable adventure yours against your will. You cursed under your breath, then hurried after him.

"All I'm saying is, what about my shit? You think I don't have any sentimentals at home? Necessities? Stuff I wanted to bring when I left?" You whispered to him as you kept up with his pace beside him. It could've been your imagination, but the people out on the street looked more hurried than usual. Something was definitely in the air. Joel's tip-off likely had been right. Something was brewing.

"You win some, you lose some," came his sullen reply, paired with a shrug. You had to stuff your comeback back down your throat as the two of you filed into the crowd of people heading home, hurried steps and hard, concerned faces all around you.

Escaping hadn't been easy. Every single guard had been on high-alert. It seemed that the tip-off must've come out - the number of guards had been tripled, and you and Joel had a hard time going by undetected, despite the added benefit of nighttime and the rain that had picked up, muffling your steps as you hurried from dark corner to dark corner.

The Firefly attack took him as much by surprise as it did you and the soldiers. The booming sound of an explosion just a few hundred feet ahead made you flinch and Joel instinctively pulled you down with him. Rubble rained down on the two of you, crashing into the muddied floor just inches besides you. You gasped and flinched away, losing your halt on all fours, but a strong arm caught you around the middle before you could slump to the ground. "Let's go," Joel urged in your ear and dragged you up to your feet in one swift motion.

Shouts erupted around you from all sides, then got droned out as FEDRA's sirens kicked up. You scrambled after Joel as he evaded spotlights that swiveled across the floor from all directions, keeping the two of you safely tucked away in the few shadows that remained. Smoke burned in your nose and lungs as you sprinted from safe haven to safe haven. Loud cracks cut through the uproar of your surroundings, accompanied by deep thudding sounds as more rubble fell to the floor. The fire from the explosion site was now spreading out, slowly licking at buildings in its path. Many of the decrepit structures quickly crumbled away under the heat, porous and unstable to begin with.

It was disorienting, frightening. For the first time in over a week, you were glad for Joel Miller. If it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have made it out of the chaos alive.

Granted, if it hadn't been for him, you wouldn't have been in this mess in the first place, but he kept his word and got you out.

You'd never meant to stay with him, but as things would have it, you weren't presented with much of a choice in that either. You made it out of the city just fine, save for a few jump scares along the road, but then ran into a hoard of infected that had been attracted by the ruckus of the explosion, just a few miles outside of the quarantine zone.

How you made it through that encounter alive, you didn't know, you just knew that Joel was a more-than-worthy asset in that debacle, as much as you hated to admit it. As if that hadn't been enough, you barely had one peaceful night before a group of raiders pulled through the section of outskirts where you and Joel had holed up for the night. It was an 'out of the frying pan and into the fire' kind of turn of events that kept you and Joel running and fighting for your lives for almost two weeks straight, stumbling from one disaster into the next, until finally, finally, you seemed to leave your losing streak behind.

It had now been three whole days since the two of you had found yourselves in mortal danger last, and though it felt almost wrong to be hopeful for a peaceful stretch of days, you couldn't help but be just that.

Until, of course, you felt that familiar sharp pull in your abdomen.

Crap.

"You didn't happen to pack anything female-related when you packed this, did you?," you asked as you rifled through the contents of your backpack. Well, Joel's backpack really, since it was the one he'd bestowed upon you the night of your escape. Your own backpack was still back in Boston, probably picked apart by FEDRA by now, along with all of your other belongings.

"Like what?" Joel was poking at the fire he'd set out to build. The flames wouldn't quite take, a few feeble blue streaks dancing between the twigs he'd collected.

"Like, I don't know, a pad, maybe? Tampons, if I'm allowed to dream?" You had almost emptied out the entire backpack now, and even though the contents you were bringing to light were certainly useful, none of them were what you were looking for.

Joel looked up, a kind of perplexed look on his face. You took in his facial expression and sighed. "I'll take that as a no. Crap." You slumped down on your butt in defeat. "That's gonna be a problem."

Joel scratched behind his ear, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "Yeah. Sorry, kiddo. Wasn't on my radar when I was packing." It could've been the dim light of the barely lit fire playing a trick on your eyes, but you could've sworn that some color rose in his cheeks. You just sighed once more and shrugged. "Eh, can't blame ya. Not something I'd expect to be on the mind of a..." You looked at him, eyebrow raised. "...something year old man."

He snorted. Sparks flew up from the twigs as he kept poking around. "Fifty-six," he said after a little while. "If you must know."

"Huh."

"What." He eyed you over the now growing flames. It looked like he was ready for you to pounce on him.

"Nothing." You raised your arms in defense. "Just... wouldn't have thought so. I just mean," you quickly added when you saw the expression on his face, "you've held up better than I would've thought. Jeez, relax. I'm not coming for your age."

"Right. Cause you ain't been jabbin' at me for just about anythin' else. S'cuse me if I'm just prepared."

"Cause you been jabbin' at me for just about anything else," you mocked under your breath. "And I got a right to. Need I remind you, I wouldn't be in this mess if-"

"-I hadn't dragged you into it." He interrupted you with a groan. "Yeah, yeah, I heard you the first trillion times. You ever gonna let it go?"

You scowled at him over the flames. "No." He quirked an eyebrow at you, and the exhausted apprehension on his face made you crack up. "Fine. Maybe. The jury's still out on that."

A day later, the sharp pull in your abdomen had grown into full-sized cramps, one of the four horsemen of your period riding in in full stride. You tried to ignore it as best as you could, but your period pains had always been on the worse side, sometimes leaving you crumpled into a ball on the floor. Your cramps could be debilitating, and a gnawing pit of worry formed in your stomach as the day went along.

Back in the QZ, you had your ways of coping: hot water bottles or hot potatoes wrapped in tinfoil tucked into a sweater so that their warmth radiated throughout your belly. There was even a bottle of emergency ibuprofen tucked away in a little secret corner of your bedroom. You longed for it now as the cramps begin to grow in intensity and longevity. You'd certainly planned to bring them along for your escape, but alas...

A groan escaped your lips as another cramp pulled on you from the inside. Your steps faltered and you leaned over for a moment with a hand pressed to your lower belly.

"Hey. You good?" Joel had been a few steps ahead of you, but he'd turned around at your groan. You'd been a trooper for the last two weeks, making him think more than once that getting you out hadn't been such a bad bet after all. You fought like hell, and when you weren't busy being mad at him, you followed orders quite well, especially when yours (or his) life depended on it.

Of course, he'd never say that out loud. You were still routinely giving him an earful about how he'd made you leave everything you owned behind, how you'd have had more time to properly prepare if he hadn't just dragged you into his mess, if he hadn't just kissed you that night-

You never missed a chance to remind him of all his wrongdoings, bickering on and on and on about the predicament you now found yourself in. As if he hadn't been the one to get you out. Sure, yeah, he did owe you as much after... having dragged you into his mess (his jaw clenched at the thought), but he'd paid his dues in full, as far as he was concerned. Hell, not only had he gotten you out in one piece, he'd even packed a whole get-away bag for you, survival essentials included. Had you thanked him for it? Certainly not. You hadn't complained about it either though, that was for sure, and Joel was certain that was about as much of a thanks as he was going to get from you.

You straightened, a somber and tight expression on your face as you nodded, but Joel could tell you were in more pain that you were letting on. Two weeks of fighting like crazy and just minutes of sleep to go on for days, and he hadn't heard a peep outta you. He had to give it to ya - you were tough, a fighter through and through. When you complained, it had nothing to do with where you slept, what you ate, who you fought. You just did it. He appreciated that quality in you. It made you a decent travel companion - if it wasn't for your bickering about everything else. That, he'd had decidedly enough of.

Today, though, you had been unusually quiet. You had yet to point an accusing finger at him, and though he could do without another finger pointed at his face for the rest of his life, he couldn't help but notice the change in your demeanor. Your pace was slower than the weeks before, even though you were now eating and sleeping better than you'd had in all previous fourteen days combined. Your movements seemed sluggish, almost lethargic, and you were hanging behind more often than not. This wasn't the first time you'd stopped either.

"We can rest for a moment, if you want." Joel gestured towards some trees on the side of the road. "Sit a moment in the shade. Catch our breath."

You looked like you were about to throw a snarky remark his way, but then you just nodded and trotted over to the patchy area of shade.

He sat down beside you with a groan, then stretched his aching legs out on the ground. Even if you thought he'd held up just fine, his legs certainly disagreed. If anything, they felt older than fifty-six. More like bordering on sixty.

Joel took a sip of his water, then nudged you with his elbow. You looked at him through hooded lids, exhaustion written all over your face. "Drink. Gotta stay hydrated."

Another wordless nod from you. No snarky comment. You got your own bottle out and gulped down a few sips.

"You sure you're good?" He eyed you carefully. There was a light sheen of sweat above your upper lip, some more pearls glistening on your forehead.

"I said as much, didn't I?"

Ah. There it was. Joel nodded. "There we go. Thought you were dyin' on me or somethin'."

You shot him a quizzical look.

"You haven't talked back to me all day. Was startin' to get worried," he shrugged with half a smile on his lips.

Your eyes narrowed at him. Joel Miller? Worried about you? Yeah, right. "What, you sweet on me or something, Miller?" A low chuckle rumbled through his chest. "Uh-huh. Glad to see you still got your wits about ya. C'mon." He got to his feet and dusted the dirt off his pants. "If you can jab, you can walk. Let's go."

You knew you had a couple of hours, maybe less, until hell's gates would open and the floods would come raining down your legs. Literally.

At least your periods were dependable that way, always following the same pattern.

Evening was fast approaching, and so was a town in the distance, just down the hill that you and Joel had just reached the top of. He raised a hand to his eyes, shielding his view from the evening sun that hung low on the horizon.

"Best bet is to go around it," he assessed, one hand on his hip. "No way to tell what's waitin' down there. Easier if we don't find out."

"Yeah, umh, about that."

He turned to you, a golden glow around the outline of his head. He looked like an angel. You blinked, cleared your throat.

"I need to find some cloth. Preferably clean, but anything will do, really. I know there's a spare shirt in my backpack, but I really don't want to cut it up..."

Joel frowned at you, visibly not understanding what you were getting at.

"Pads, Joel. I need to make pads. I'm about to start bleeding like a slit throat. I'm talkin' Niagara Falls."

He blinked, scratched behind his ear. "...right. Yeah. Okay."

It irked him that he hadn't thought of anything for your period. Granted, he hadn't had to deal with the topic in a long time, no woman in his life sticking around long enough (he made sure of that) that the topic could even come up. Still, he was a man who prided himself on being prepared, and he felt anything but as he helped you rummage through open and broken drawers to look for anything that might be useful.

You were tensing up more frequently now, pausing in whatever you were doing with shut eyes and a tight expression on your face. He knew what that meant, even if it had been a long time. You were cramping, and by the looks of it, quite hard.

Joel was irritated to find that he felt sorry for you. Though, no, that wasn't what irritated him. He may have been gruff and closed off on the outside, but he was still human after all, capable of empathy. What irritated him was the need he felt to alleviate your pain. More than once, he felt the urge to reach out and stroke your face, or worse even, to pull you into his arms into a comforting hug. Once, when your back was turned to him, he even saw his arm lifting on its own accord, and he had to bring it back down with his other hand before it made contact with you.

What the hell are you thinkin', he scolded himself. This ain't no more than a cargo run. She's cargo. Quit daydreamin'.

He scolded himself and then moved on, once, twice, thrice, until he had to tell himself off for the fourth time and he was beginning to get seriously pissed with himself. What was it with you that he kept thinkin' about touchin' you?

You were oblivious to his ordeal, having your own problems to deal with. You'd found some cloth that looked (and smelled) clean enough to be used as makeshift pads. Your hands made quick work of the fabric as you tore the old shirt into strips, then braided them into wider pieces until they roughly matched the length of the strip of fabric that connected the front of your panties to the back. Once that was done, you wrapped the braided piece fully around the bottom of a fresh pair of underwear, tying off the excess fabric when you had done so. It wasn't pretty, it was knobby and bound to be uncomfortable, but it was better than just wrapping pieces around the middle and hoping for the best. This way, you had a couple of layers underneath you, and if you didn't shuffle too much, the makeshift pad would perhaps stay in place. You sighed, inspecting your finished work. Behind you, Joel whistled. He sauntered over to inspect your work.

"Don't look too bad. You think this'll do?"

You eyed your handful of makeshift pads, a sorrowful look on your face. "It'll have to. But knowing my flow, I'll go through these in just a day - two, if I'm lucky..." Another wave of cramps tightened in your lower belly. You winced and leaned forward, one arm across your abdomen. A warm hand appeared on your shoulder.

"Tell you what. This town don't seem too dangerous. How 'bout we try and find a place here for tonight? Hm? Sleep in a real bed for a change?"

Joel didn't need to ask twice. You seemed more than relieved that your journey today would go no further than a couple of houses down the street, which was where you found a suitable candidate to spend the night in.

It had probably been a beautiful townhouse once, back in the day, complete with a white picket fence and a front- and backyard to show for. Now, though, the garden was overgrown, the fence was hanging in pieces, paint littering off its remaining poles, and the house itself looked sad and empty, as if it was mourning the loss of its previous inhabitants.

Unlike the rest of the houses on the street though, this building seemed to have all its walls intact. That, and the fact that your steps were getting slower by the minute, was enough for Joel to declare this house as your designated sleeping spot for the night.

The two of you did a quick sweep of each room, making sure everything was safe and sound. It was strange how quickly a routine could settle between two people who'd been nothing but strangers just barely three weeks ago. It wasn't the first time this thought occurred to you either: yours and Joel's movements seemed to almost flow into one another as you cleared the house from bottom to top. It felt a little like you could anticipate his next move before he announced it, and vice versa. He'd even said as much to you after the first week of the two of you fighting for y'all's asses, talking about how maybe you weren't as much of a princess as he'd initially thought. You'd just rolled your eyes at the comment, but there had also been a feeling of pride settling in your chest that you'd been unable to ignore.

It came like you'd said it would. Not long after you had dropped yourself on one of the worn-out sofas in the living room, you felt a particularly harsh cramp cutting through your abdomen, before something warm trickled out of you. You groaned silently to yourself. So it had begun.

Joel watched you from the armchair next to the couch. He was using the last couple of hours of decent daylight to take stock of his backpack, checking it for tears and what not, taking inventory of his ammo and cleaning and sharpening his weapons. Besides the fact that it had to be done, it gave him something to do. Made him feel like he was doing something sensible, practical.

He didn't like to admit it to himself, but watching you writhe in pain on the couch beside him didn't sit right with him. Even though it had nothing to do with a lack of care on his side, he somehow, against all logic, felt responsible for how crappy you were feelin'. It didn't help either that kept tellin' himself off for it. Ain't none of yer business, he kept repeating in his head and re-focused on sharpening the blade in his hand, right before glancing back at you when you'd moan again in pain.

You were definitely going through it. Once the dam had broken, so to say, there was nothing you could do but lay on the couch and wallow in self-pity. By now, the cramps had settled into a steady churning pain that had settled in your abdomen like a straight line, going from one of your tubes to the other. Your lower back felt like something was trying to break through it from both sides, forming an immense pressure that spread up the rest of your back. As if that wasn't enough, your neck was tense, rock hard and unforgiving, uncomfortable in whatever position you brought yourself into. And then of course, there was the bleeding itself, and the occasional harsher cramp that pulled through your entire abdomen.

You were certainly going through it, and the last two weeks had been too demanding. When a cramp cursed through you, you didn't hold back your whimpers. You just didn't have it in you to care. Joel could think whatever he wanted - no uterus, no opinion, that was as far as your thinking went in regards to him as you laid on the couch and wallowed in pain.

You had to give it to him, though. He was being remarkably quiet about your whole ordeal. You'd expected some dry comments, something about pulling yourself together, woman, you're not dying, but so far, there had been none of that, not even a distasteful scoff at your moans. You did see him looking at you from time to time, and it must've been your hazy mind, but you could've sworn he looked almost sorry for you. Almost.

Hours passed, and your pain didn't let up, if anything, it only intensified. While darkness slowly settled over everything outside, you did anything but on the couch. You turned and tossed with every new wave of pain, trying with all your might to find at least one position that alleviated your pain, but nothing helped. You had just flipped yourself over on your stomach with a groan, burying your face in one of the cushions when Joel spoke up behind you.

"Alright, enough. C'mon."

There was a light tap on your leg, then a more determined nudge when you didn't move. "Hey, c'mon. Move."

You just groaned into your pillow. I ain't movin' nowhere, it meant, but then your legs were being picked up and slowly lowered, until your knees touched the ground. Begrudgingly, and with a very fed-up expression on your face, you lifted your head from the pillow to shoot icy daggers at Joel, who was now kneeling beside you.

"Don't gimme that look," he grumbled. "Just tryin' to help ya. C'mon." He motioned at the sofa cushion. "Put your head down, get comfortable. N' put your knees a bit more together, so I can fit behind you. There you go." He instructed you until you were kneeling in front of the couch how he wanted to, your head resting on your arms on the sofa cushion. Attagirl. He shimmied behind you with some difficulty, his old knees not cooperating with him as fast as they once did, but then he finally sat behind you in a position similar to yours.

"What'cha doin," he heard you murmur into the cushion and promptly shushed you. "Shh. You about to see. Now don't freak, but you about to feel my hands on you."

You had no idea what the hell he was getting up to, but you didn't have the strength to care. For all you cared, he could've taken you off the chessboard in this very moment, and you wouldn't have minded. Everything hurt too much. It was all you could focus on.

You felt Joel's large hands on your waist, then your shirt being lightly pulled up. "Hey! What-"

You did turn around at that, furrowed brows and all, only to be met with Joel's fed-up stare. "You trust me or not?"

It took a moment, but eventually you put your head back down, not without your lips drawing into a pout. Course, you trusted him by now. Even if you didn't like it very much.

Joel waited until your head was settled on the cushion again, then he brought up your top a bit, folding it over once so it'd stay up over your tailbone. It had been a while, since he'd done this - hell, a long, long while - but he couldn't sit by no more and watch you toss and turn in pain. He'd had about enough of that.

He laid his palms flat on your waist, letting you get acclimated to his touch first so you wouldn't turn around and bite his head off once more in a second. Then, when he felt like a good enough time had passed, he lightly lifted his thumbs and pressed them down on your lower back, your tailbone right in the middle of them. Carefully, he brought his thumbs upwards, drawing two straight lines into your skin while keeping his pressure firm.

Your response was almost immediate. Joel could see your tense shoulders going down just a smidge, your back relaxing as you let out an elongated 'oh' sound, accompanied by a deep sigh. "Attagirl," he murmured, one corner of his lips slightly quirking up. "Just relax into it. I got you." He kept repeating the motion, digging his thumbs into your lower back to bring you some relief. A picture of how he'd once done the same for Sarah's mother flit across his brain. He quickly shook his head, dismissing the memory as quickly as it had appeared.

It felt like heaven, how Joel was working his thumbs over your aching back. It did nothing to alleviate your pain in the front, but it still felt a million times better than tossing and turning on the worn out cushions of this dusty couch. Just like you hadn't held back with your moans of pain, you were now not holding back your moans of enjoyment. You'd never felt anything quite like it before. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

You heard Joel chuckle quietly behind you. "I know a thing or two, kiddo. Been around the block once or twice."

You just hummed in agreement, then let out a load moan once more as his fingers dug into a specifically delicate spot. "Fuck, Joel. Yeah. Right there."

Joel was just glad you had your head buried in the cushions of the sofa. Otherwise you would've seen what your moans were doing to him, and boy, were they doing a number on him. He'd been able to ignore your first few moans of pleasure, biting down hard on his tongue and closing his eyes to focus, but then his mind started projecting pictures onto his closed lids of you, below instead in front of him, making those same sweet sounds of pleasure while he touched you elsewhere -

His eyes flew open and he grunted, willing the pictures away with all his might. He tried staring at his hands instead, but that was a dumb idea, seeing as how he could see your delicate skin being worked underneath his thumbs then, his fingers drawing out another moan from your lips -

Next was the wall. He could've drilled holes into the flaky wallpaper, with how hard he was staring at it. He could feel the tips of his ears burning with embarrassment and he could only hope, pray that you wouldn't turn around anytime soon to see how your moans were visibly affecting him, specifically in his crotch area.

"Fuck, oh my god, right there, Joel." Your voice was breathy and needy, and Joel's eye twitched. The hell had he gotten himself into with this?!

He prodded your back, trying to find the spot you'd just referred to. "Right here, sweetheart?"

He saw your head bob as you nodded, a satisfied hum vibrating through you. "Mhh, yeah. That's - oof - that's the spot."

He was digging himself his own grave, that much was for certain right now. He knew he should've stopped, should've went back to his armchair and returned to working on his gun, but he couldn't. It was like he was transfixed, glued in position like a fly to a trap. The whimpers falling from your mouth were too good to pass up, to sweet to resist. He hadn't had anything sweet in such a long time. And Joel was dying for a treat.

But he also knew it wasn't right. He knew it now and he knew it then, those few weeks ago when he'd grabbed you outside of your apartment and had kissed you out of the blue. You'd been shocked to say the least. The FEDRA guards had been on his heels and he'd needed to find a way to disperse of them quickly, and there you were, conveniently placed in his path like a lucky find, and his brain had snapped and he'd just gone for it. Pulled you into a kiss like you were his, hands flying up to your face to hold you in place. Your eyes had grown wide in shock and he'd briefly pulled his lips from yours to whisper to you. Work with me, please, I'll make it worth your while. His heart had drummed in his chest, a million silent prayers tumbling from his lips in the milli-second that it took you to subtly nod. A brief grin had flit over his lips before he'd crashed them back down on yours, kissing you like he'd been waiting to do so all day. And my god, had you worked with him. Your own hands had flown up to his head, one curling around the base of his neck and the other digging into his hair. He'd backed you up against the wall behind you, slowly walking you backwards until your back collided with the weathered bricks, and you had actually moaned into his mouth, much like you were doing now. It had sent his head reeling, and though Joel was not a man of faith, he'd briefly thanked whatever God he had seemingly pleased enough to allow him this sweet of a distraction.

The guards had trampled around the corner then, their heavy footsteps a stark contrast to the sweet moans falling from your lips. They'd cleared their throat - ahem - and Joel had unwillingly detangled himself from you enough to cast a look at them over his shoulder. What? A man can't make out with his girl in the street? Their eyes had wandered from you to him, and he saw then what they were seeing: a man in his mid-fifties pressing a what, late twenties? Early thirties? woman to the wall, her face all flustered, hair disheveled from where Joel's hands had dug into it. He'd seen the envy plastered on their faces, heard the murmurs. Lucky bastard. A triumphant grin had played around his lips, even though he knew he was treading on thin fucking ice. That he was indeed, a lucky bastard.

His luck had only lasted so long, though. When the guards had disappeared, he all but saw lucky stars in his eyes when you invited him up to your apartment. Was he really going to get that lucky?

Heavens, no. He'd been brought down back to earth swiftly when you had stood in front of him, crossed arms and expectant look on your face. So? What was that? He shrugged nonchalantly. What was what?

You, though, as he quickly came to learn, were not to be underestimated. You made him tell you in detail why the guards had been after him, then practically foamed at the mouth when he reluctantly explained what he'd been up to that afternoon.

It hadn't even been that big of a deal, just a casual, run-of-the-mill drug run, but you didn't seem to share his sentiment. Casual? Run-of-the-mill? He'd had to shush you from how loud you were screeching. Didn't you know the damn walls had ears?

My god, you could talk. Bicker, was the more fitting term. Or nag, really. You went on and on about how he'd went and done it now, how he'd fucked up your life, all because he had to go and get you involved in something that you had absolutely no interest in -

That was the first time your finger had flown into his face, all accusing and threatening, like you could do him any harm with just the tip of your index finger. Boy, had he been tempted to smack it out of his face. But he didn't. As much as he hated to admit it - you had a point. By putting you on the map as his lover, he had likely put you in a lot more danger than you were even realizing at the moment.

He'd tried to put you out of his mind. Even after you had made him promise to get you out of the QZ as a 'reward' - You owe me, Joel Miller - he'd tried not to think about you, not until his next run out of the city at least, which is when he planned to make good on his promise. Until then, he wouldn't think about you. You'd just turn into another headache, another problem he'd have to deal with, and he had enough of those as it was. Not to mention that he was almost twice your senior. He didn't have many principles anymore, but he still had some. And hell if he didn't at least stick to those anymore.

He kept his resolve up for all but two hours, when he was back in his apartment, laying in his bed and unable to sleep. You kept drifting through his mind, bickering and foaming at the mouth and red in the face, telling him how he'd went and fucked up your life, but more than that how your lips had felt on his, how sweet your mouth had tasted, how delicious your moans had sounded in his ear -

Fuck it. Joel growled and shoved his hand into his boxers. He'd rub one out to you, just once. Surely that would get you off his mind.

Well, it did, sort of. Until he was in bed again the next night, and he found himself with his cock in his hand once more, thinking about your lips and how they'd felt on him, and how they'd feel wrapped around his cock instead of his own hand -

He groaned as his release painted over his stomach, white silken strands mixing with the soft curls on his belly as he silently cursed you, then himself. The hell had he gotten himself into?

So of course he'd had no choice but to come and get you when he got intel that he was the subject of the upcoming raid, that very night. He barely had time to prepare two backpacks with the bare necessities before he went out to find you.

How all of that had brought him here, kneeling behind you as the sweetest moans fell from your mouth once more - he didn't know. Joel couldn't tell whether you were a blessing or a curse, if you were the price he had to pay or the price he received. Seeing as how his life had gone though, it was unlikely that you were the latter.

And yet he couldn't help but feel like he'd won when he brought his thumbs down on on the sides of your lower spine and earned a low moan in return, long and elongated and putting all kinds of pictures into his mind that his head momentarily fell to his chest, a pained expression painted across it.

No, no. You were both. A blessing and a curse.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Credits: plant divider by @strangergraphics

A/N: Well, here we are. Like I said, the idea for this was born while needing comfort on my own period, and then this monstrosity flowed from my fingertips and eventually I realized that perhaps, 9.3k words were perhaps a bit too much for a oneshot, especially when said oneshot wasn't complete yet. Ahem. So! Here you have the first half of what is undoubtedly going to turn into a filthy, filthy second part. 🙃 I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did, I was kicking my feet giggling while writing this, lol.

No pressure taglist:

@peekyourinterest @vickie5446 @noisynightmarepoetry @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @picketniffler

@frogsdeservelovetoo @orcasoul @ashleyfilm @elli3williams @missladym1981

@spotty-boo90 @iamsherlocked-1998 @axshadows @justajoelsreader @oldmenenthusiast

[suzukiblu]

Day seven of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. tw: implications of past grooming/abuse and the inherent problems in someone who was in that situation trying to flirt with someone actually age-appropriate. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“. . . ‘fast’,” Kon echoes awkwardly, glancing down at their hands. Tim tries not to wince. He definitely sounds like an idiot or a prude or–whatever. Just incredibly, incredibly uncool. 

He has actually never felt less like a prude since getting to know Kon well enough to notice things like how good the bastard looks soaked in Kool-Aid, but now is just . . . really not the time for thoughts like those, yeah. 

“I, uh–I’ve never actually, um . . . with anyone, actually. Guy or not,” Tim half-admits, though it feels stupid that being a virgin is something to admit instead of just a statement of fact. Normally it wouldn’t be, is the thing, but he just really doesn’t want Kon to think he sounds lame or antisocial or . . . whatever, exactly. “I actually would literally not even know how to, uh . . . give you ‘tips’ or anything. Unless I had like, the prep time to do some research, I mean. It’s just, uh–I don't date much, to be honest. Or, uh. Pretty much at all? Like, you're definitely more experienced than I am either, uh, either way, like that's just–I don't do much of this stuff. Any of it. I have in fact gone out with exactly two girls in my life and they both were definitely, um–also the ones who were making the moves and all.” 

It's not that he never want to make a move, just usually he's too busy being way too in his own head about it or something else entirely or–

God, he is rambling so much, Tim realizes, repressing a cringe when he realizes how blankly Kon’s currently staring at him. Because it is very, very blankly, that Kon is staring at him. 

Crap. 

“Uh,” Tim says with a grimace. “Sorry. Um. If you were expecting something . . . faster, I mean.” 

Kon should definitely not have anything that fast if he’s thinking of himself as a product, Tim’s basically positive, but also that’s actually not any of his damn business, but also he definitely needs to look into Kon’s dating history just to add a few names to his list for when he finally goes supervillain and just maybe look into–

. . . Kon is still just staring blankly at him. 

Tim fails to repress the cringe this time. 

“Uh,” he attempts again. “Kon? Are you . . .?” 

Kon turns literally crimson and ducks his head, but also doesn’t actually stop staring at him. 

. . . alright then, Tim thinks. 

“I do like you. I like you a lot. Like–I like-like you a lot, if I have somehow managed to not be embarrassingly obvious about that at this point,” he tries, borderline flailing in the conversation now since Kon is apparently no longer willing to use his words and he was already not doing that great with it when Kon was using his words, and he can’t even talk with his hands or anything because he’s holding Kon’s hands like an actual grade schooler, except probably no one ever has held Kon’s hands like–no, no, he is not far enough down the supervillain pipeline to be able to finish that thought process and deal with the psychological consequences of having to not burn down the system about it, he really cannot do that at any point in the next ten to fifteen years whatsoever. “This isn't–I'm just–it's not me not wanting to . . . take some pictures, eventually. Just . . . maybe we could wait a bit on it. Stick with the streets and buildings for a little while longer, maybe?” 

He tries for a smile and also tries not to cringe again over how weak an attempt it feels like, and then has the uneasy and uncomfortable thought that actually doing anything like that isn’t even really–is that ethical, even? Even the idea of doing something like that? Kon doesn’t really know Robin all that well, no, but they’re on the same team and the same side, and they’re teammates and at least arguably friends, and Kon also doesn’t know he is Robin, and– 

“Um,” Kon says, his hands tightening just a bit around Tim’s and his face still blazingly and borderline inhumanly red as his head ducks a little lower and his mouth curves into what is, in fact, the most unfairly soft smile that Tim has ever seen on the bastard’s face. “We could do that, yeah.” 

Tim was thinking about something, probably? Which hopefully wasn’t something important, considering just how ruthlessly Kon just fried his brain out of his head. Which is not even reasonable or logical, because all Kon did was . . . well, imply he was fine taking things at Tim’s pace and not actually going to get immediately bored if he didn’t put out and was actually interested in just being together, and also did it while smiling at him like that. 

Alright, fine, Tim knows exactly why his stupid brain got itself fried. He’s still apparently embarrassingly easy, though. 

Well, that’s not exactly new information in regards to Kon anyway. 

[thelindenpapers]

"who taught you that suffering in silence was noble, and how would you shutting up have benefited them?"

It's often something you learn when you're in an abusive or oppressive situation.

Especially long-term.

And especially if those long-term situations occur multiple times throughout life.

I grew up in an extremely racist/misogynist community.

They learned that they couldn't bully or intimidate me ...but they would pick on anyone who tried to defend me.

And that later expanded into them shunning or bullying anyone who I let on that I liked, or even worse, was crushing on.

I grew up with an abusive, fascist father.

He killed our dog. Why? Because it kept angrily and loudly barking every time he was trying to hurt Mom and me.

More than that: in my childhood community, anyone I tried to talk to would either ignore me like I was a ghost, or, shout slurs and death threats in my face. I'm talking early on in life: Before kindergarten, Kindergarten to at LEAST thru 3rd grade.

So:

You learn that anyone you like gets punished for the grevious faux pas of being liked by you.

You learn that anyone who tries to help you, gets hurt or even killed.

You learn that almost nobody comes to help when you cry for help.

You learn that even trying to talk or say 'Hi' to people, results in them suddenly appearing harmed or troubled or annoyed or angry, somehow.

...And why wouldn't I be silent?

As a feral kid, no one was going to listen to me anyway, no one was going to care how I felt about anything or about how anything was affecting me.

And if I did tell?

People frequently took the abuser's side.

Just as the cops did, the very first time I was finally old enough to threaten dad right back!

Don't even get me started on my marriage.

How long are you supposed to keep on telling a person, 'Hey, these are my needs, and I need your help to get something done about it please.

Hey, I should probably see a doctor, why aren't you letting me have access?

Hey, we really need to talk about our relationship. I don't know why you don't want to spend bonding time together.

Why are you making it so difficult for me to try to get a job or an education?

Why are you sabotaging my writing efforts?

Why do you get so upset at my physical activities?

What is with the panic when you see I'm trying to advance my tech skills?

Why does it anger you so much when I try to be proactive and vigilant in making us a comfortable and clean and helpful home?'.....

He actually complained to me:

"Why can't you just LIE?"

About being happy.

About being well.

So yeah.

Why would I want to ask his (or his parents) help in anything. I can't trust them at all.

Why would I allow someone to help if it might get them hurt or killed in the attempt?

Why would I bother to let anyone know? When, after SO many years of being stuck in a deep pit of a life, to help me would probably cause WAY more stress and take WAY more effort and resources, than any one person could possibly offer or endure?

Why would I do that?

When someone might decide to try and help, start the process -- decide partway through that it's all too much, and abandon the process: leaving me in a position that is less safe than where I started?

( Hell, sometimes that is an on-purpose thing. When a person feels bad, and knows they can't or don't want to help, but they'll make a gesture to make themselves feel good, not caring whether what they try to do is actually helpful or effective. )

And why would I tell people exactly what I'm going through, when so many around me would instead:

Victim-blame me.

Call me a liar.

Assume I was crazy.

Nod sympathetically and then use it as a way for them to feel much better about how they're doing in their own lives.

Say it's too much, say it's not so bad, or say others have it way worse.

Enjoy my explanation and my existence as a form of entertainment like I'm their personal IRL soap opera.

Or, use the information that I've given them about me as a way to hurt me further -- since they now seem to think that I'm some easy target, or that, in some twisted sense, abusing me further is somehow less morally bad, and more acceptable: because I've been abused before.....

So in their eyes, I'm 'Already soiled'?

'Already hopeless'?

'Already nothing'?

It's nothing to do with moral superiority.

It's survival.

...And I'm not saying it's right.

In an ideal situation, absolutely: being helped at any point in my life would have been great!

A healthier social structure would allow for this.

In a world where care was offered by the Community rather than by the individual, I wouldn't worry about speaking, just to find myself in worse trouble than when the 'helping' process started...

But this ain't a healthy world yet.

^^;

You asked why people feel that way.

So I've told you all the reasons why they might.

YMMV. 🤷🏾‍♀️

who taught you that suffering in silence was noble, and how would you shutting up have benefited them?

[cumbunnywitch]

I've seen at least one, but posts saying not to blame the people who didn't vote for Harris because whatever are fully in the wrong and they always will be.

You chose moral high grounding and purity culture over the possibility that our protests would work. You chose "she leaned too right in her campaign" over "Trump and the people who want to puppeteer him are going to get a lot of people killed." You chose the democrats being idiots over the republicans want a racist rapist.

You didn't choose? No, you had a choice. You used yours. If you chose not to vote because you wanted to use your non-vote as a voice to show the democrats that they have to win your vote, you're still going to get your face eaten by the leopards. They aren't going to hear you anyway.

Protests work on the left side of our shit-ass two party system because they at least pretend to care.

Here's just, off the top of my head, the things you decided were less important than telling the democratic party "No you have to be good enough":

Student Loan Forgiveness or Relief

Healthcare

Trans Rights

LGBTQIA Safety

Abortion rights

Palestine/Gaza

Ukraine

Industry Regulation(notice all those recalls on food lately?)

Cost of Living

Police Reform

Taxes

There's no such thing as a single-issue voter, not anymore. The right is diametrically opposed to making any of the above better for anyone, whether or not they voted for that shitstain, unless you're very rich, and very white, and a very straight man.

Honestly, if you voted for Jill Stein, at least you fucking voted. Her numbers won her absolutely nothing but at least you voted.

But no. "Don't vote for Harris because she's not good enough! She's running a campaign to secure moderate republicans!" Yea no fucking shit. That's what they've been doing for the last forever. Yea, it still sucks. But most moderate liberals who actually vote still struggle with that list up there. There's literally a democrat trans woman who just got voted in who wants to support Israel's genocidal campaign of murdering every Palestinian.

And you know what? If she sees that line, she might actually stop and think and move a little bit over to my perspective. Every conservative sees that line and immediately thinks "Yea kill the fuckin' brown people!" because they don't consider them fucking people.

If you didn't vote because you saw people saying Harris wasn't leftist enough, not liberal enough, she was a former prosecutor or the democrats haven't done enough for you in the last 4 years, you fell for the Russian psyop. You fell for the propaganda.

Does it suck that Harris wanted to court the swing states and their moderately conservative voting base over to vote for the first woman president? Yea, it's been a shitty idea for decades and they've been doing it for as long as I've been voting. Obama was the center-ist centerist ever, and he still got healthcare reform passed. He also drone striked a lot of people and gave banks billions of dollars when the financial sector faceplanted after trying to balance on a pin for the longest time.

I was gonna add a read-more or chop this up better but no. You get to read the whole thing. If you didn't vote, or you voted for trump, I want you gone. Unfollow me, block me, because you clearly either don't care enough to prevent our slide into authoritarianism and a fixed court for the next 60 years, or you actively hate me.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: in your hands

authors note: welp. here i am, once again. we're back with yet another 'what if' scenario, prompted by you lovely people in an ask that i can't seem to find to link right now. smh.

words: 3.3k

warnings: none. just sam being sam.

song inspo: in your hands by halle

Roman should have stuck with his first mind. Stayed home. Texted her some excuse about being caught up with work. She would have never found out the truth, and even if she did, he wouldn’t have given two fucks. 

Because this shit doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

This dating thing. 

It’s gotta be at least the fifth or sixth one he’s taken her on, and each one has been just as miserable up until the point where he gets her on her knees, gagging or bouncing on his dick the minute they get back to his penthouse. Anything before that has been irksome, borderline miserable. 

Samantha is stunning. Has been since they were kids, and her body is the most desirable of the women he has on his roster. She leans on the thinner side of what he prefers, but the tits and ass are decent, regardless. She’s also just as kinky as him, which is why they’ve worked all these years.

But, the more “dates” Roman forces himself to power through, the more he’s starting to feel like bedroom activities is where it stops for them. 

Technically, he’s always known this. Even if he did have some level of desire to be in a real relationship with someone, which he doesn't, it would never be her. She’s vain, condescending, and seems to think she’s somehow better than the other women he fucks with.

If only she realized he views her just like he views the rest of the women. A warm body with a wet cunt to help him get his dick wet. 

“Roman!” Her voice cuts through his inner dialogue as he focuses on her cleavage. The dress she wore, short and tight, doesn’t help his desire to skip to the fucking part of this evening. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No.” Roman sees no sense in lying to her. “I probably don’t care either.”

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to continue like he literally didn’t just tell her he doesn’t care. “I was saying we should go somewhere.”

He’s partially intrigued now. Mostly because he’ll probably need to set her ass straight. “Where?”

She smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know. I was thinking Bora Bora.”

He shakes his head. “So go.”

She frowns, clarifying. “I said we should go, Roman.”

He scoffs, looking off at the ice sculpture in the middle of the upscale restaurant. A waste of money, in his opinion. “What the hell makes you think I have time to go to fucking Bora Bora with you?” He really wants to ask her what makes her think he would want to in the first place, but he’s trying to be somewhat less of an asshole to see if maybe this could work.

His Wise Man’s nervous voice balanced out with sage wisdom returning to the front of his mind.

“If the Elders are to force you into a marriage, why not with someone you already know? Especially someone who you know would have no issue in giving you an heir.”

If only Samantha wasn’t so fucking annoying.

She leans back in the chair. “You make time for these dates.”

Out of obligation. But, he won’t say that. “Yeah, but I can get my nut and send your ass packing in the same night. Can't do that if we're out of the fucking country.”

“You’re suck a di—”

“I’m so sorry.”

Soft. It’s the first thing that comes to mind hearing her voice. Light, almost. Kind. Even with just three words being spoken. And that’s just based off audio. Visually, Roman’s thoughts take an entirely different direction.

Stunning. 

Roman’s seen, entertained, and done a lot more with some beautiful women in his time, but the one standing at their table seems to have something more than all of them put together. She’s beautiful, easily one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever laid eyes on. And her smile, small but genuine makes him pause. As does her body.

She’s wearing the same uniform he’s noticed on the other waitresses, but none of them fill them out like she does. The white, long sleeved shirt that’s tucked into the knee length black pencil skirt can’t hide the curves he can practically see through the bland outfit. Nice, heavy breast. Curvy hips, thick thighs and an ass he can partially see from the front. 

This. This is his preferred body type. A woman who has something he can grab onto when he’s fucking her from behind. And Roman can only imagine what it would be like to be holding onto those luscious hips of hers while he—

“Oh my god, are you stupid?” Samantha’s annoying voice once again pulls him from his carnal fantasies. She gestures between herself and him. “Can you not see we’re in the middle of something?”

The girl, who Roman would guess is in her late twenties, early thirties at most, immediately looks repentant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I was just going to apologize for your wa—”

“Whatever.” Samantha lifts her hand, silencing the girl who’s now looking down at her shoes, clearly embarrassed. “What’s the special for this evening?”

“What’s your name?” Roman’s question comes out at the same time as Samantha’s inquiry. However, his voice clearly presents with more of a commanding nature. 

She swallows. “S–Solana.”

Pretty. Just like her. 

Samantha notices the way Roman is looking at her and is fully confused as to why he’s asking this fat troll for her name. She cuts in again, in that same nasty tone. “Hello? I asked you a question.” 

Solana is clearly struggling with Samantha’s aggressiveness, Roman wondering why this bitch is directing whatever unresolved feelings she has onto this innocent girl. “Umm, I think—”

Samantha scoffs, nose turned up. “You’re our waitress, and you don’t even know what the evening special is?”

“No ma’am, I do. I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s been a long day.” There’s a weight to her words, a sadness in her voice and in her pretty brown eyes. Roman notices all of these things and finds himself wondering what the story is. Everyone has one, and hers is suddenly of interest to him. For reasons he cannot understand. 

“Pretty unprofessional to bring up your personal life, don’t you think?”

Solana closes her eyes, pausing before answering. She looks exhausted. Mentally and physically. “It’s Squab. That’s the main co—”

“I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.” Roman rolls his eyes. This hoe has been saying that since they were in high school, yet every so often she goes back to having a normal fucking diet only to switch back to that salad shit. “What’s on your—”

“I’ll do us both a favor and get her to shut the fuck up.” Roman has had enough, both of Samantha’s grating voice but mostly her being a bitch to this girl for no reason. He’s a dick on the regular. He knows this. But, never has he come across someone like this Solana woman who, with just her presence alone, exudes such softness. Like, she doesn’t have a mean bone in her fine ass body. And she clearly doesn’t because anyone else would have probably lost their job by cussing Samantha out. Not that it wouldn’t be deserved.

Roman catches the faintest hint of a smile on Solana’s face as she redirects her attention to him. “Give her the salmon. I’ll take your best steak. For wine, you carry Madeira?” 

She’s pulled out her notepad and finishes taking down the order before answering with a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Roman’s jaw clenches at that sir bit. He could ruin this girl. “What do you recommend?”

She’s visibly taken back by his question, probably by the fact that he’s asking her for her opinion. “Umm—”

“Roman, I can rec—”

“I didn’t ask you,” he cuts that bitch off with the quickness, eyes never leaving the pretty girl before him. “I asked Solana.”

Her smiles widens as she answers in a more confident tone. “Julio Barros…..1950.”

Roman smirks. 

Exactly what he was going to order.

“I’ll take it.”

Their gazes linger on each other a second too long for Samantha’s liking as she cuts in once once more. “You can go now.”

Solana’s smile drops again, Roman suddenly finding himself all annoyed. Her smile is something pretty that he wouldn’t mind seeing more of, though that irritation is waned as he’s granted the view of her nice, round ass and curvy hips swaying as she walks to the back to turn in their order.

Samantha reaches over and touches his hand, Roman snatching it back and sneering at her. “What?”

She sighs. “Baby, I’m trying to talk about us.”

And just like that, he’s annoyed all over again. “There is no us.”

Samantha looks sad only for a brief second. “Roman, I’m not stupid. I know what these dates have been for. You’re trying to see if it could work.”

“If what could work?”

“Us.” She goes on to share. “There’s rumors that the Elders have been putting more pressure on you to settle down and make an heir.” Sam leans over the table, intentionally trying to emphasize her cleavage. It’s nice. He’ll give her that. But, he’s certain it’s nothing compared to Solana though and those big breast of her hers. “I can do that for you. Be that for you. Be your wife. The mother of your children.”

Not a damn thing she’s saying sounds even the least bit desirable. At all. 

“I mean, we’ve been fucking around since we were kids. Why not make it official?”

For a lot of reasons. All the reasons. The main one being Roman don’t like this bitch unless she’s choking on or riding his dick. 

What he does like, however, and finds solace in is the interactions with Ms. Solana as the evening goes on. They’re not very often outside of her bringing the bottle of wine and their food when it’s ready as well as a check-in here or there on how they’re doing.

Each time Samantha sending her the dirtiest look or just being an ol’e nasty bitch, to which Roman shuts down, cutting her off and even telling her to shut the fuck up.

The girl is just trying to do her damn job. And as his eyes locate and land on her on several different occasions, he can see that she works hard. Moving from table to table, almost saddened facial expression indicates she’s on the receiving end of more verbal lashings from people like Samantha.

That actually pisses him off, Roman having to control and stop himself from doing some out of pocket shit. 

Again, for what reason, he hasn’t the slightest clue. He just knows those brief glimpses of her actually smiling, usually when she’s chatting with a coworker, do something for him. 

Maybe even to him. 

And unbeknownst to him, the intrigue goes both ways, because as shitty a day Solana Miller was having, the handsome stranger with the rude girlfriend or wife or whatever has somehow, someway made this day just a little bit better.

It’s been some time, if ever, Solana has come across someone with such a presence about them. Him dining at this uppity restaurant she was able to score a job at tells her that he’s wealthy. His disposition and the fact that he somehow secured it to where the surrounding tables of where he sits have been marked as unavailable tells her that he has pull. But, the way he interacts with her, a literal nobody, she’s not sure what that means.

Especially with the beautiful woman he’s with, because while Solana thinks she’s every bit a bitch as most of the women who come into this place, she’s a stunning bitch. 

Which is why Solana can’t allow herself to believe that that equally beautiful looking man is looking at her in any sort of capacity. 

There’s no way in he—

“Solana.”

And just like that, she's frowning again. “Mami?”

The last thing she expected to see this evening was the sight of her mother, already dressed in her scrubs, baby in her arms. 

Solana’s baby. 

Her 11-month–old daughter, Soraya. 

The shock wears off as Nina gets closer, Solana shaking her head, “what are you—”

Nina shakes her head, face apologetic and tone contrite. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I got called into work. I can’t watch Raya.”

Shit

It's inconvenient, but Solana understands it. She remembers the countless times Nina had no other option but to leave her with a neighbor after being called into work at all kinds of hours. She’s always worked so hard to take care of the two of them when Solana was growing up. 

“It’s okay, mama.” Solana easily reaches for her daughter, a wave of relief and happiness washing over her as she holds and kisses her baby. The source of all her joy. All of the struggle, every bit of it, is worth it as long as she has her daughter. She’d do anything for her. “How was she?”

Nina gives a small chuckle. “She’s like you were and still are. An easy child.” Solana kisses Soraya’s temple. “Sol…..” And just like that, Solana already knows she’s probably not going to like what she’s about to hear. “I know you’ve said you don’t want to go after him for child support, but it’s not fair for you to be out here working two jobs while putting yourself through school to take care of his child.”

Solana holds Soraya just a smidge tighter. “She’s my baby, mami.” 

Nina counters. “She’s his biological child.” Solana looks away, hopeful her manager, Aldis, doesn’t come out and scold her for this little interaction. She’s scheduled to clock out in another half hour anyway. “He should be paying you child support.”

Her mom is right. Solana knows this, knows that it’s not fair for her to have to be the sole provider for her baby girl, while Cruz lives his best life as an absentee, deadbeat dad. And she’s considered on several occasions going to the courthouse to see what she needs to do to get that ball rolling. 

But, every time, she’s haunted by something he said the last time they spoke, not even a month after her daughter was born. 

“Don’t you get it? We were fine before she came in the picture! We could be fine again if she wasn’t.”

Solana’s never been more disturbed than she was to hear those words leave his mouth. That’s why she’s glad he’s gone, that he wants nothing to do with her or his child. Because she would never trust to leave her baby girl with him in the first place.

And if that means she does it without him contributing financially, that’s exactly what she’ll do. 

Solana shifts Soraya from one hip to the other. “I don’t need him, mami.” And she doesn’t. Because if Solana had to resort to sex work to take care of herself and her daughter, it’s exactly what she’d do.

Nina gives a heavy sigh. “Mija, you know I help you when I can.”

“I know.” Because she does. But, the same way that times are hard for her. They’re hard for her mom, too. Everyone’s struggling these days, it seems. Everyone except the rich people who wine and dine without a care in the world around them. “I’ll be okay.”

Always will be.

Nina gives a knowing nod, hugging her daughter and gently taking her granddaughter’s hand, kissing it, speaking in Spanish. “I’ll see you later, okay? Abuela loves you.”

Solana smiles. “Thanks, mama.”

“Always, baby.” 

Nina reaches Solana the diaper bag, Solana placing it on the bar stool, knowing it’s bound to be left alone. These rich ass people would never bother with the Ross purchase. With a final parting smile, Nina is off to the hospital, leaving Solana with her daughter who’s just now waking up.

“Hi, baby girl,” Solana giggles at the almost cranky expression on her baby’s face. Raya is definitely not the happiest camper when being woken up. 

A glance at the time reminds Solana that she technically is still on the clock and really shouldn’t have her child with her. But, with no other option, she accepts she’ll just have to clock out early and take whatever those consequences are.

But before that, the least she can do is grab the bill from the table where the handsome stranger and his girlfriend sat. She’s briefly disappointed to see the table empty, even if she remembers his deep voice thanking her for her assistance this evening as she brought them that same check earlier. 

It’s a silly thing, really. And she tries to push away the disappointment at not properly telling him goodbye. A stranger. 

Silly.

Soraya grasps at the collar of her shirt while Solana walks over to the table, pausing as she gets close enough to see that there’s more than just a bill with a signature. There’s cash. A stack of it. Money in hand, she’s confused, because this man paid with a black card, so what—

“Good.” 

Solana gaps and spins around, her eyes widening as she looks up. He’s a lot taller than she realized, burly body nearly eclipsing her view of anything else, silky black hair in such a neat, perfect bun. “Wanted to make sure you got it.”

Brows furrowed, it’s hard for her to speak for a lot of reasons. One of which is the fact that this man cannot be real. A man cannot be this handsome. But, he is real, and he’s looking at her.

And Soraya. 

“I—” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Is this—you already paid—”

“That’s not for the bill,” his voice is so velvety, smooth, and deep. “It’s your tip.”

Eyes widening, her gaze snaps to the wad of cash as Soraya continues to grasp and squeeze her shirt. She doesn’t even need to count to know that this is a nice amount of money. 

Too much.

“I can’t—it’s too much.” 

He chuckles, “do I look like I can’t afford it?” Her eyes roam over his big, muscular build dressed in fine, expensive looking clothes. He just oozes wealth. 

And power. 

“N–no.”

“Dealing with Samantha, trust me, you earned it.” Solana looks down, wanting to hide her small smile. His gaze redirects to the child in her arm. “Who is this?”

And just like that, Solana’s proud smile returns. “My daughter, Soraya.” It’s like Soraya knows she’s being discussed, lifting her little head to look at Roman. A big grin on her face before she buries her face into Solana’s neck. 

Roman makes a sound, and she can almost swear she sees the smallest smile on his handsome face. “She looks like you.”

That creates such a warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach, “thank you…..”

He looks at her a bit confused, like her unspoken question surprises him, before answering. “Roman.” Roman. “Roman Reigns.”

Roman Reigns. Even his name is powerful.

It fits him.

Solana shifts Soraya around as she starts to get wiggly in her arms. “Well, thank you, Mr. Reigns.” She’s certain the shock of just how much money this random, rich stranger has given her hasn’t truly set in. Because if it had, she’d have a much more visceral response. 

A lot more.

“Roman,” he corrects. “Call me Roman.” 

“Roman….” 

Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes, something that makes her feel a bit unnerved under his intense stare. It’s broken, however, by her now irritated daughter.

“Mama.” Soraya makes her dissatisfaction at being still for too long known by punching her tiny fist against Solana’s chest. “Mama!”

“Shhhhh,” Solana kisses her temple, trying to quiet her down before someone makes Aldis aware of her presence. She looks at Roman, eyes softening, “thank you again.”

Truly. Honestly. He hasn’t the slightest clue how much this will help her. It’s why she can stand here without anxiety and concern about making it to the bus stop on time. Tonight.....tonight she’ll treat herself and her baby with calling an Uber instead. 

Might even stop and pick up dinner.

Roman nods, eyes briefly glancing at her daughter again, the smallest smile on his face. “I’ll see you later, Solana.” His head dips a bit in acknowledgment towards her baby. “Soraya.”

The smile is plastered on her face even as he walks off without another word. And it’s only a good two minutes later that she catches onto what he said. A certain word in particular standing out the most. 

What did he mean by later?

[eff-plays]

I got a party banter between Bellara and Taash about how the Lords of Fortune steal elven artifacts. And then Taash clarifies later that they have a Dalish expert on the team so they can check to make sure the Lords don't sell something culturally important and instead return it to the elves.

Like. I get it. You want the Lords to be fun swashbuckler Disney pirates and Robin Hoods instead of actual pirates who steal and plunder. Because we're only now in Western society realizing that stealing from indigenous groups is, uh, bad. But like. Writing really uninteresting factions for your "dark" fantasy (tho lbr Dragon Age hasn't been dark fantasy since DA2) isn't gonna solve real-world neo-colonialism, ya know? The Lords not stealing priceless elven artifacts and returning them to the elves doesn't signal to me that the Lords are total rascally good guys, it signals to me that BioWare itself is trying really hard to seem morally conscious. "See? We know stealing from other cultures is bad!!!"

And man. Not to be a "political correctness has poisoned media" grifter on main (tbh it's less political correctness itself and more the commodification of real-world activism) but I couldn't help but imagine how this convo would've played out in earlier games, potentially even Inquisition.

You could've so EASILY made this interesting while giving the Lords and Taash and Bellara a lot more depth, while also making it clear that stealing from indigenous groups is wrong.

Just have the Lords, yeah, actually sell those artifacts. But also establish that the Lords take in and help elves from all walks of life. That they free slaves, or collaborate with alienages. Then you could have Taash defend the practice by saying to Bellara that little orphaned elf kids being sold as slaves probably don't give a flying fuck about some artifacts they're never gonna see, but the money from selling those artifacts goes to buying them food. And have Bellara fire back that preserving elven culture is also part of its survival, and that there are Dalish clans that would be willing to pay for them or offer something in return. Or have her say that the Lords are doing charity for the sake of recruitment rather than actual altruism. And then Taash responds that those high and mighty Dalish elves don't do shit to help abandoned city elves, just because those aren't part of their correct elven subculture, and they care more about reclaiming old glory than helping the people that exist here and now.

Then you could have side missions or at least codex entries that describe maybe some Lord recruit being conflicted about what they're doing. Maybe a few of them are collaborating to hijack a deal or steal back an artifact. Have implications that some high-ranking Lords are, in fact, using those artifacts for their own gain, despite claiming otherwise. Have some Lords genuinely trying to help, and believing that gold and trinkets don't matter as much as people's lives, so they sell them in exchange for safety for refugees or slaves or some other helpless group.

But no. Instead it's "hey do you steal from my people?" "nah lmao we have a cultural advisor don't even worry about it" "oh wow so cool and woke of you!" And then that's it. No need for any further discussion. No conflict and no complexity. No bad actors and moral quandaries.

Weh.

[di-42]

Adding what have recently become my go-to comfort fics:

The Bookseller And The Garden, rated T, 13k

Fluff, fluff, fluff! Canon divergent fiction where Crowley is a demon stationed on earth, Aziraphale is an angel stationed on earth, but they have never met until present day. There's no end of the world in sight, only an angel and a demon falling in love and not knowing how to break it to the other that they're not human. I laughed all the way through.

The Anon Before Christmas, rated E, 66k

Ah. Where to begin. Every now and then, you read a fiction that just makes you feel at home. Makes you feel like you’re in safe hands. Like you’re in for a real treat. This absolute gem has very quickly become my favourite human AU. For several reasons.  The characterisation of the two main characters is absolutely spot on. I could hear Crowley talking in DT’s Crowley voice and see him moving in DT’s Crowley way, and I could hear Aziraphale talking in MS’s Aziraphale voice and see him moving in MS’s Aziraphale way. The pace of the development of their relationship from enemies to lovers is just perfect. It’s told from Crowley’s POV and you can see how his perspective changes as the story progresses, but the writer is so good that Aziraphale’s change of perspective shows perfectly through Crowley’s POV too. The array of side characters is so good that it actually pains me to call them side characters. I wrote in one of my comments to the fiction that I will forever adore this story’s Bee, and I meant it, but Newt and Ana are equally fantastic (and I loved the other cameos too!). Also, and this is especially important to me, this story is as much a love story between Crowley and Aziraphale as it is a story of true friendship among all the characters. They look after each other, they have each other’s back, they support each other. I am so lucky and privileged to be able to see myself represented in that aspect of the story. Last but not least, this fiction doesn't overstay its welcome one bit. You are happy about how everyone ended up, but still could read more. It’s like you are part of the gang and want to know what your friends are up to. Everything in this story was perfect. I realise I haven’t mentioned what the plot is about, but hopefully by now you might want to find out for yourself!

Wrong Turn, rated T, 37k

Honestly, I don't know why this fiction touched me so much. I just couldn't stop thinking about it for days after I finished it. It's a post season 1 fiction where Crowley suddenly finds himself in a parallel universe at the time the apocalypse is just about to happen. The Crowley and Aziraphale in that universe have a different history to our Crowley and Aziraphale. All our Crowley wants to do is to go back to his universe and his very own angel, but how? As you follow the main plot and focus on Crowley's thoughts and actions, you'll start slowly feeling the other story get hold of you, and it won't let go until the very end and beyond.

Happiness, More Or Less, rated M, 21k

If you read only one story out of this list, make it this one. This human AU moved me so very much I cried. Crowley moves into his new flat in Soho, only to discover the flat in haunted by the ghost of the owner of the bookshop downstairs. I won't tell anything else about the plot other than it does have a very sweet happy ending, and it gets there via a rollercoaster of emotions. This is really one of those fictions that leave me in awe of the fandom's talent and creativity. Read it, read it, read it!

Wavelengths & Frequencies, WIP, rated E, chapters 14/?

If you feel like you're going through one of those phases where you need to curl up on a sofa with a cup of hot chocolate and something good to read, something safe and reassuring, then this fantastic fiction is for you. It's a human AU enemies-to-lovers fiction where Aziraphale and Crowley can't stand each other, but work for the same media corporation as radio DJs and have to attend charity events together. The characterisation is spot on and the humour great. And what an incredible soundtrack! I honestly can't tell you how happy each notification of a new chapter of this story makes me!

Plus my own one shots:

Angel! Angel! They're At It Again! Rated M, 5k

It's the year 2030. The world never ended. Aziraphale and Crowley are living happily and safely together as a married couple. Everything would be well, if it wasn't that lately Aziraphale has been a bit busy. A bit distracted. Now, Crowley can't have that, can he? He seeks the advice of his girlfriends, who unwittingly give him an idea on how to liven up his marriage.

A fluffy story about how we get to a certain cottage.

In Vino Ludus, rated E, 3k

It's the year 2030. Crowley comes to the bookshop drunk, and Aziraphale can finally put all those years of eye-rolling practice to good use.

An as of yet canon divergent fluffy night in the life of an angel and a demon.

Do you have any go to Good Omens comfort fics?

i got u ❤️

stockholm’s other syndrome (T, 5k): aziraphale lets himself get ‘kidnapped’ by a demon. very cute and romcommy

sit tight take hold (E, 150k): formula 1 au that got me totally into f1 while i am not even a car person. the type of au that becomes its own thing and you love escaping to it again

where a canvas blooms (T, 3k): cuddle arrangement au with SUCH gorgeous art too it’ll make you feel so warm inside

manual handling (E, 8k): massage fic. ummm can an e rated fic be a comfort fic? sure why not. definite rereading material so

let me care for you (M, 1.7k) literal comfort — crowley gets cared for

big name feelings (E, 103k): fandom au and SO well done including the art. i followed this while it posted and it was so exciting

the gift (T, 3k): short & sweet they talk about the elephant in the room

my mind holds the key (T, 3k): aziraphale wants to know who the ‘best friend’ was that crowley supposedly lost. superbly written

one night in bangor (E, 17k): a classic and great on every reread. there’s a heaven-hell mixer and omg…. the careful, exciting, fluttering flirtation

slow show (E, 95k): i know i know it’s such an obvious one to rec bc it’s so famous but genuinely one of thee best fics and a lovely reread each time. actors au

empirical study on the principles of snake care (T, 2k): sorry to be that guy but sometimes i reread my own fics and i laugh with the little jokes bc i’ve forgotten them. aziraphale tries out some snake care tips on crowley

as always: begging people to add (self) recs to this post because i’d love to know what people’s comfort fics are. please share the joy

[phillycheesesteakcore]

So there's this famous quote from Trevor Noah:

“The way my mother always explained it, the traditional man wants a woman to be subservient, but he never falls in love with subservient women. He's attracted to independent women. "He's like an exotic bird collector," she said. "He only wants a woman who is free because his dream is to put her in a cage.”

And if that isn't Trucker Trout to a T.

Trudy was studying physical education, she wanted to start women's sports teams. That is not a traditional woman, especially for the time. By their standards she was probably very much a tomboy, maybe even to the extent of being described as mannish. But that's the woman Tucker decided he wanted, the woman he had have, to own. To beat (figuratively, as far as we know) into submission and mold into the perfect housewife. Why? Well to prove he could I suppose.

And when she left him, oh that had to hurt. The woman that he had so meticulously chained to his side deciding he wasn't worth being with and having the nerve to do something about it. Even the son he gave her, the son that, according to her (or at least the part of her that is Rosie), was her crowing achievement, wasn't enough to keep her with him.

She leaves him, and she shouldn't survive. A single woman all on her own with no friends or family to speak of in the 1950's? She should've come crawling back to him within days, throwing herself at his mercy, begging him to take her back. But she doesn't — she flourishes. She makes her way to California, gets a job, starts a relationship, makes a life for herself, leaves him in the dust.

Tucker could have just counted his losses, made the best of the situation and moved on. He's a strong man, strong enough to carry a robot in his arms up a hiking path and into a mine. He's incredibly intelligent and has a steady government job. He's a catch. He could easily find himself a new woman eager to fulfill the role of doting wife and stepmother. But he doesn't want just any woman, he wants Trudy.

So he tracks her down, gets all the way to California. He lures her back to his hotel, not even for him, but with the promise of info on the son she left behind, likely another blow to his ego. And he kidnaps her. Drags her all the way back to Peachyville. Takes her apart. Literally molds her into his perfect bride. Less of a modern day Prometheus and more of a modern day Pygmalion with his Galatea. She is made of steel rather marble, and he calls on science rather than the goddess Aphrodite to bring her to life. But it's the same idea, isn't it?

He didn't need to do that, did he? We've seen Lil' Tuck and Tiffany, he can clearly create near-perfect facsimiles of life. He could have just as easily made himself a new Trudy from scratch, without all the messiness of kidnapping the original and actually using her brain. He could have made a version of her that would never truly gain sentience, never disobey, never step out of line, always love and care and nurture. If anything, he'd at last never have to risk anything as potentially scandalous as being seen dropping his wife down a mineshaft.

But it wouldn't be the same, would it? It wouldn't be the woman he once conquered, the woman he caged, the woman bested him and did in the end manage to escape. She got the last laugh.

And Tucker Trout strikes me as a sore loser.

[k-hippie]

RAVENWOOD ( LIFE & DEATH ) K-303 & K-606 BASEGAME ( ALMOST ) MANDATORY K-505 UPDATE

Hello people :)

Halloween has arrived, and with it, the Life & Death expansion ! We’ve been working hard to make sure Ravenwood is a hauntingly beautiful place for your Sims to visit … or haunt, depending on their mood. Here’s what’s new :

For once, we are going to make 2 posts related to the new town of Life & Death expansion : Ravenwood ...

Of course, this not the first time maxis includes base game stuff in expansions worlds, but this time, it's not about stuff but it's all about terrains ;)

So, except the Afterlife side of Ravenwood which has its own dark rocks, Ravenwood countryside is made of its own cliffs and ... Oasis Spring Rocks/Mountains ( a desert town, just as a reminder ) ... Why Oasis Spring ? it would be more logical to create specific new rocks or at least, choose the more grayish rocks from Willow Creek but well ... ea / maxis / logic <- not the best combo :D

So, after some tests, we decided to modify the rocks/mountains of Oasis Spring, which is only based on a choice of our own. Curiously, now they are not orange anymore, they give a less flat aspect to the town ...

Then, we modified "small" things & stuff of the base game we should have done a long time ago, but not mandatory such as the stone street planter and public lavatories. They are all over Ravenwood now, and their original look seems more ugly than before :D so, we modified them ;) idem with the base short stone fence ... ( yes we know, we have to make more fences )

-> Well, you see the point ;)

Related to the other k-303, the ones included in Ravenwood ( both sides ) we made few ones in order to get a similar look & feel than the k-505 urban :) And we modified a bit the debug town banners ( mostly sharpening, colour ) and streetlamps ... well, you'll discover it, or not :D your choice of course :)

The k-303 isn’t mandatory, but it adds just the right touch to elevate Ravenwood’s atmosphere. Here’s what’s been updated:

Gravesites – Some of the graves in Ravenwood had a mix of grass and dirt that didn’t quite fit the mood. We’ve refreshed these textures to blend seamlessly with the k-505 for that true cemetery feel.

Portal & Soul Bowl – Over in the Netherworld, the portal and soul bowl were looking a little… underwhelming. Now, with enhanced textures, they bring just the right level of mystique and “cool” factor to the other side.

Solicitor Rug – Our lovely public service solicitor has a new set of rugs that better reflect the status and vibe of Ravenwood. A touch of style for the gentleman who offers advice to all ( living or dead )

Street Decor – The town square banners, street lamps, and other decorative touches around Ravenwood have gotten a glow-up.

So, dive into and see how these textures and additions bring new life ( or un-life ) to this chilling town.

About the k-606 : roofs and foundation + 3 series of fences are re-made :) One is still under work and will be released very soon.

Ravenwood has so many fences we couldn’t just leave them plain and un-haunted. These additions help set the mood perfectly for any mysterious, eerie Sim wandering through town ;)

Because the large part of grass included in some other graves, we included them directly into the Ravenwood k-505 mod :)

And now, the links !

Download here the k-505 Basegame UPDATE

Download here the k-606 for Ravenwood

Download here the k-303 Ravenwood replacements

PLEASE, do not forget : delete the existing k-505 BASEGAME files and replace them with these new ones ( date : 11112024 ). Do not panic, the grassy and groundy parts are still dated 08082024 because untouched since this time :)

-> NEXT POST : RAVENWOOD K-505 MOD

...

[intrepidacious]

hi bestie 😖 can i ask for some post shower comfort with steve?

after the storm

pairing: steve rogers x f!reader

word count: 407

warnings: complete fluff; implied hurt/comfort. please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: we all deserve a steve like this after this week tbh

—

The door creaks open after a very long time, and Steve looks up from the book he hasn’t been reading.

You emerge from the bathroom in a steam cloud of body lotion and hair oil, wrapped in your comfiest bathrobe. You still look a little drowsy, but not as completely miserable as you did when you got home. The worried crease in his brow eases a little as he takes you in.

"How’re you feeling, honey?"

You make a miserable sound, shuffling towards him and flopping down on the bed with a heaving sigh. Steve gently pokes your side and you wrinkle your nose.

"Today was no good," you declare, pressing the palms of your hands against your eyes.

Steve scoots down to lie on his side next to you, pushing up on one elbow. For a minute or two, he just lets you settle into the silence, waiting until your shoulders release some of the tension you’ve been carrying around all day.

After a while, you stir a little, moving closer towards him until your head rests on his shoulder, breathing him in. He puts his other arm around you to hold you there, feeling your heartbeat against his own.

"You smell nice," he murmurs, and you huff a tired laugh.

"Thanks." A little sniffle. "It’s that ridiculously expensive moisturizer Nat got me for my birthday."

"Worth every penny." He rubs his thumb against your spine and you let out another sigh, this one blessedly less bone-heavy. "Do you need anything?"

"Just stay right there," you mumble, snuggling closer still.

"I can order us dinner if you want," he suggests, holding you right there. "Get a couple of snacks while we wait, make some tea. We can watch that show you keep telling me ab—"

Your lips find his, once, twice, softly lingering, another thank you left sweetly unsaid. "You’re incredible," you whisper, not moving an inch away from his surprised smile. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"Just trying to match you," he replies, rubbing his nose against yours.

"I don’t know about that," you say with a nervous chuckle.

"I do," Steve says. "You got through today. That’s pretty incredible."

He kisses you again until a little more of your weariness melts away, leaving gentle exhaustion in its wake. Maybe this day was pretty awful overall, but he’d do his damn best to take your mind off it at least for a little while.

[shytastemakerthing]

I saw that requests are open and read through the requests rules post, so I hope this is okay!

Could I ask for Pomefiore + Lillia (or any characters you think would be best) with a reader that has cubital tunnel? To put it simply, cubital tunnel is a nerve condition where a nerve running through one's elbow is inflamed or irritated. The condition acts up when writing, typing, or really anything where you bend your elbows. You can usually tell it's about to when the area from your elbiw down starts to tingle. Flares usually present as a shooting pain running from your elbow to hand, numbness from elbow to hand, or both. When it's agitated for a prolonged period of time (like typing an essay or something) it can lead to the inability to properly move your fingers. Thet get stuck in a claw like position and moving them is like operating a jerky pulley system. (This is just personal experience, so it may be different for others)

Sorry this is so long! I just throught I'd try and save you the long confusing research. I've been seeing more fafics/hc/etc. with disabled readers but mostly just the more severe conditions. I think any representation is great, I just wish there was more for the less severe and lesser acknowledged ones.

Please feel free to just delete this if you don't want to do it! Hope you're doing well <3

Hello and thank you for this request! I happen to have a friend who has cubital tunnel, and as someone who has carpal tunnel (recent diagnosis as we finally found out what was going on, on top of a cyst having formed within the same wrist XD), it is well known that it is not at all fun.

Tw: None

Prompt: Pomefioren trio + Lilia with s/o who has cubital tunnel

Vil is someone who knows all about taking care of yourself, especially when you have physical limitations that actively cause you pain daily that limits what you can and cannot do throughout your day

He knew of this condition of yours long before the two of you got together, he does notice things, after all (he also has Rook)

As he grew more interested in you, he took much more notice in just when this pain flares up, especially through such simple tasks that most wouldn't struggle with

And once together? The man is a God sent.

The second that he notices that wince coming to your face, knowing that the pain is flaring once again, he is at your side (he knows better than to touch the area in pain knowing that it could be made worse through such actions)

You are taken to his room (away from the prying eyes of others), and would begin to help you to relax as much as possible. Ice packs, heating pads, gentle massages, maybe even a numbing potion here and there to help the pain (as much as he would love to always have you take the numbing potion, as he hates to see you in such pain), he does not want you to grow too dependent on them)

Whatever it is that you need, he is there. If you happen to be in class when this happens and he is there with you? He will casually help you with the writing. Now, he isn't giving you all the answers either, you still do that part on your own, but as it is less stressful for the afflicted limb, you have no complaints

All that matters, is that he is the hero in your eyes

Also knew of the affliction before he ever actually met you..... it's Rook, of course he already knew

Even if he believes that there is beauty in pain, there is no beauty in seeing the one you have grown rather fond of being in such a state, that renders even the most simplest tasks as nearly impossible

Once together, if it had been possible, he was with you or at least watching you every step of your day. He merely wishes to know what makes the pain worse and what may seem to help

At one point, a rare time where he wasn't able to keep an eye on you, Rook even used his own UM to be able to locate you (as you somehow, even he doesn't know how, manage to know how to stay hidden from the hunter), and it was safe to say no one had seen him move so fast

When he found you, safe within the confines of his room (how did he not think to check there? It had become a favored place for you to visit), your face was dried with tears, giving small hiccups in your sleep as he saw how your afflicted limb was tenderly wrapped within a heating pad

The pain must have been rather bad today if you came here to avoid being anywhere else as well as being away from everyone (honestly, who would ever willingly come to his room??)

Not wanting to disturb your slumber, Rook merely slid off his jacket, removed his hat, and would reside on the floor next to you

He would be here the moment that you woke up and needed him

Honestly had no idea as to what this condition was. Working on orchards for as long as he could remember, Epel had seen all types of pain and injuries. It came with the work, but this was certainly new to him

As to better help you, this man certainly did his research. He wanted to show that he could protect and care for you, after all

Learning that pretty much anything so simple can become virtually impossible without severe pain certainly made his chest tighten. Something so simple as writing or just brushing your teeth could cause the pain to flare

Also learned to not touch anywhere that the pain is currently residing as that could easily make it so much worse

The last thing he wants to do is cause you more pain

Once the two of you are together, he carried a backpack with him, aside from his school supplies being in it, it also holds anti-inflammatory medication, a brace, and anything else that could help

While some may mock or ridicule him, he sees it as him being a great partner for the one he loves

Vil praised him for this and it honestly felt really nice to hear. While Epel wasn't looking for such praise, it was nice to be recognized, especially when he was taking care of you

If there is anything that you need, anything at all that could help when the pain begins to flare once again, or even something simple, just let him know and he will get it for you

With how long that this fae has been around, it would honestly be a surprise if he had yet to hear of a condition such as this. Chances are, he has encountered many people in his time who suffer from this affliction

And now that he knows that you also suffer from such affliction, knowing just how hard it makes things, how much pain that it puts you in everyday?

If you thought he was doting then, this is a whole new level

As much as he really is wanting to help, it does seem a bit much (never eat anything he brings to you, just in case)

If it gets to be too much, just let him know what you really do need, and he will listen

When you show up in the middle of the night, eyes red from tears, Lilia automatically knows what is going on and ushers you gently into his room

He quickly leaves a message on his game, turns everything off, and climbs into bed next to you

Holding you carefully in his arms, he summons whatever magic he can to help numb wherever the pain is located

When you finally fall asleep, the pain now decreases to more of a dull throb, all he wishes, when he looks at those stars, is that this pain be taken away from you. It absolutely shatters his heart.

It takes him another good hour before he finally falls asleep next to you, after gently placing a kiss to the top of your head

Thank you for your request!! Have a wonderful day/night!

[anoant-haikyuu-dump]

More Nekoma hcs

• One time after an intense match Kuroo makes the mistake of taking the whole team out for hot pot, his treat. Never again. His wallet is in SHAMBLES, especially after the menaces that are Inuoka, Tora, Fukunaga, and Yaku get their hands on the meat menu. At least Kai helped with the bill

• Yaku is secretly super sappy— he gets emotional when reminiscing about the past, he loves romance manga, he tears up at sad movies, etc etc. Kai and Kuroo know about it and love teasing him in private but would never expose his softer side to the rest of the team. He totally bawls at graduation though and no one's suprised (they all knew)

• Shibayama and Inuoka are little gossips, they're always whispering to each other and giggling behind their hands (kinda like Tsuki and Yamaguchi but less bitchy lmao). They're the types to have conversations entirely made of inside jokes so if you hear them in passing it sounds like incoherent gibberish

• Thinking about that panel of Fukunaga holding an entire bunch of bananas, I think he'd bring whole-ass watermelons to school and scoop them out with a spoon for lunch. At first Tora’s appalled by it— as he is with most things Fukunaga does— but eventually he joins in. You’ll often find them hunched over a melon in the courtyard shoveling away like maniacs and spitting seeds into the air. Kenma thinks its the most disgusting thing he’s ever seen

• While we're talking about manga panels look at Inuoka swinging his tie around in the bg. He never ties it right, it drives Shibayama insane so he fixes it for him.

• One thing I like about stage play Kai is that he kinda has a short fuse and is a bit more sarcastic. I think he deserves a good scream in the club room at least once a week (Kuroo and Yaku guard the door so he can do it in peace)

• The third years are kinda like the Date Tech Alums in that they just show up to random practice games and heckle the team from the stands. Yaku's screaming at Lev about his form, Kuroo's teasing Kenma and Tora, Kai made a bingo sheet.

• Fukunaga has the kind of ADHD where he picks up a new hobby every week. Sometimes he's in the club room crocheting, sometimes he's learning yo-yo tricks, folding intricate paper cranes, rubix cubes, cup stacking, card shuffling, juggling, you name it. His favorite will always be cooking though, he uses the team as a test audience for new recipies.