#and for everyone else please for the love of god be kind to survivors

[insinirate]

you did this to yourself

me when i victim blame

[fyeahaudiodrama]

Happy @podcastgirlsweek to all who celebrate! While I haven't had the time to properly work on fics (and probably won't this week because oops, hurt my hands yesterday) I still wanted to take the time to highlight some favorite podcast girlies along with everyone else!

The prompt for Monday is highlighting podcasts with women in the leading roles, so here's a few of mine (and hopefully, some new ones of yours if you don't know them yet):

Back Again, Back Again: Ilyaas, you absolutely fantastic disaster of a fantasy ace, never stop trying.

Breathing Space: While the show is anthology with a rotating cast, some of my favorites from across its run include:

Evie Yuriskin

Amity Archer

Any characters who were introduced one episode and then started referring to each other as "my wife" by the end or by their next appearance

Camlann: Some apocalypse survivors interpret dangerous dreams about dark magic to cope. Some knit sweaters. Both are valid and should kiss.

City of Ghosts: Featuring the grungy, disgruntled, tormented-by-visions LADY detective of your dreams.

Desperado: Take note - give your ladies knives. And god powers. And witchcraft. And a sniper rifle, for good measure.

Do You Copy?: I think [REDACTED] deserves three weeks of paid vacation

Fawx & Stallion: Madge Stallion is THE moment. She's six feet tall. She can't stop making innuendos. She's not your fucking Mrs. Hudson (although, she is - no, I shan't say).

Hi Nay: Mari & Laura are my everything - the loving and self-sacrificing hero and the newfound friend who chooses to stand by her side (fire axe and all).

Inn Between: Oh, my Inn Between girlies, where do I start? Fina and Betty, the OGs and life partners that even death couldn't stall? Rosie and Zara, the new best pals who chose to stay together? Phoebe, just one step at a time learning what she deserves and what she doesn't? All impeccable, A+.

It Makes A Sound: Any show focused on music is going to be a slam dunk for me, but Deirdre's quest to reclaim her memories as well as those that tied her to her mother is so damn real and compelling.

The Kingmaker Histories: No female character in this show has ever done anything wrong. Colette gets a migraine pass. Ariadne can turn people inside out. Daphne is owed this for working in a theme park.

Life With LEO(h): Janiiiiiine, so messy and smart and dedicated and she cares so much, I love yoooooou.

Me and AU: Kate's worries and desires and doubts are some of the realest out of any audio drama so when do I find an Ella too

Palimpsest: My faaaaavorite gothic horror anthology, each one fresh with a different brand of haunted, tormented, secret-keeping (and quite frequently gay) gothic protagonist

The Pasithea Powder: Jane and Sophie. Sophie and Jane. What more could you need? <3

The Silt Verses: Women who start cults/leave cults/seek an end to the endless cycle of meaningless sacrifice as so valid. For all your wet cat(fish) woman needs.

Second Star to the Left: Because I always love a good Ishani performance. Hi Gwen, please tell Boots I love them.

Small Victories: You want sad wet cat women? How about one that literally can't stop self-sabotaging (but at least manages to draw the line at sabotaging others...occasionally). She even gets stabbed!

Starfall: I mean, kind of a given, but anyway, Leona definitely exists because she's the kind of action protagonist woman I always wanted - one that could be unapologetically powerful, but still full of flaws and desires (especially ones that weren't about falling in love and minimizing her own strengths). She's even autistic!

Stories From Ylelmore: Keryth! Keryth, Keryth, Keryth! She reminds me so much of the kinds of characters I would make up when I was younger - I love her and her small magic so dearly.

The Strange Case of Starship Iris: Hi queer space pirates <3

Unseen: Another anthology show, but Harry Winters and Never-Ending Circles remains one of the most perfect premiere episodes I've ever heard in audio drama.

The Way We Haunt Now: Get your podcast ladies here, dead or alive!

We Fix Space Junk: My favorite type of repairman is a woman who could kick my ass.

Wolf 359: I don't think I need say much more here - y'all know and love 'em just as much as I do.

[dontlikeconflict]

Silence Over Coffee (short destiel drabble)

Cas take a moment to look at Dean Winchester. He’s holding this tenseness about him that he never seems to quite get rid of, a stance of masculinity that he grips with both hands to get through every day. Right now he’s pouring creamer in his coffee, and haphazardly tipping in sugar, not seeming to care if he uses too much. “I love you” Cas thinks, and Dean looks up almost as if he hears. Cas thinks about saying it like he’s thought so many times before, but the moment passes. Dean makes a joke, Cas doesn't get it. He laughs anyway.

Dean makes a joke, Cas laughs, and Dean hopes he can always make Cas laugh, it seemed like he was always the only one who could. He wants to spend his life, gently pulling laughs from Cas, a substitute for all the things he truly wants to say, a substitute for the kind of honesty that would shatter Dean.

Sometimes a part of Cas (maybe the part that's an angel, maybe the part that defied his angelic side) wants to take control of Dean's life. Play God in the most blasphemous way. He would steer Dean away from all that harms him, make sure he is warm and safe and loved, even if that love was facilitated by distance (as God or a father’s love always seems to be). But Cas isn't God, or a father. He is a messy excuse of a creature, and all he wants is to be up close. To run his eyes over every part of Dean, as if they were hands, and know him more every day.

Cas stares so much. It makes Dean uncomfortable at times, not because it's bad (not really) but because he doesn't know what to do with it. He can't look back for too long, the intensity burns him, but he can't say a word. He looks at his coffee cup instead, giving it all his misplaced attention as he takes a sip (its too sweet)....

When he looks up Cas is still looking, he’s so obvious it hurts. Truly it is not Cas’ gaze that bothers him, but the forever-watching eyes of everyone else. He’ll never be allowed to enjoy love, there are too many anchors, too many eyes, too many claws. Dean is a survivor, but he does not get to live. 

The waitress comes over, one of the men is bold, flirty, nothing she hasn't seen before, but the other guy is unreadable, looking at the bold man with a look that could be love or hatred, depending on the angle. Neither of them orders food, just more coffee. 

Cas watches Dean flirt with the waitress and wonders if his vessel is a barrier. If he forced his Grace into a beautiful woman would this be easier? It would. But for a long time now, this body has become Cas’ home. It isn't Jimmy Novak, it isn't a vessel, this is Castiel’s body. This is his home, and god (please), he wants Dean to love it as it is. He wants to beg for it, but he knows that's not what Dean needs, knows it wouldn't work. Maybe Cas should do it anyway, just to be honest. Just for something real between them.

I love you, I would go with you anywhere, even if it's just this diner, right now, drinking coffee.

[megamindsecretlair]

Be My Little Darling - Chapter 6

Chapter 5 Chapter 7

Pairing: Loki x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Angst/Smut. Unresolved sexual tension. Fingering (fem receiving), spanking (fem receiving) Dom Loki. Mentions of survivor's guilt.

Summary: Loki is the exclusive owner of the hottest club in New Asgard. Dubbed the Nine Realms, each of the nine rooms represent a different realm. You are his second in command, working the floors and ensuring everyone is having fun. When a shipment goes missing, you have a tiny breakdown.

Word Count: 4,206k

Masterlist

A/N: Excuse me while I go cry my eyes out. This was too fun to write! I love, love writing Loki's dialogue. I'm deadass breaking my own heart while I write this! LOL. Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers!

Taglist: @cantstayawaycani @braverthanthenewworld @monaeesstuff @headcannonxgalore @chaos-4baby @dayjlovesromance @theeblackmedusa @soft-persephone

You sat in your office with the door closed for once. Though, office was the nicest way of putting it. It was a glorified broom closet. With the size of the club, you ought to have an office like Loki’s. But the office suited you. It was yours. No one else’s. 

The silence of the room should have been annoying, but it was the only bit of peace you got. The guided meditation on your Earth phone told you to breathe. You were already breathing. Your sister had recommended that you use it since you’ve been so “testy” lately. 

It wasn’t your fault that she snuck up on you while you were chopping up spinach. She definitely shouldn’t have gotten that close. You didn’t mean to read her the riot act. She was out of her room for once and you yelled until she went right back in. 

You scowled at the little device and the soft ocean sounds it played in the background. So far, this thing was only making you more restless and irritated. Something had to give. It was impossible to do anything. 

The damn thing told you to pay attention to where you felt your breath. Whatever the hell that meant. You turned it off and rubbed your neck. Tension weaved a knot in your shoulder and you rolled it around trying to get some relief. 

Speaking of relief…you felt like you had ants in your veins. On more than one occasion, you had half a mind to march into Loki’s office and demand that he fuck you right then and there. Pride be damned. It had been a few short weeks of torture. Cruel and unusual punishment. 

Surely, the god had to have some kind of mercy right? You scoffed. He wouldn’t know mercy if it slapped him in his gorgeous face. Sure, he let you come but you needed more. You needed him inside of you. And that was the scariest thought of all. You didn’t need anyone. 

Least of all him. Pride was a poor substitute for warming your bed, but it was easier than relying on someone else to always be there. It was convenient to say that you weren’t like this when you were on Asgard. But you’d always been stubborn and did things in your own time. And nothing short of a miracle would move you.

Once you decided to plant your feet, it would take an act of the All Father to get you to move an inch. And even then…

It was too quiet. You were in your office, alone just like you wanted, and yet all you wanted to do was be surrounded by people. Okay, fine, you wanted to be around him. He made you so angry sometimes but there were rare moments when he made you smile or laugh. 

You rubbed your face. You didn’t know what you were going to do about Loki. You didn’t know what you were going to do about your wayward brother. He was disappearing more often and earlier than usual, not returning home until late at night. The last time you had told him about his behavior, he yelled that you weren’t his mom. It took every ounce of willpower not to smack him.

You did everything for that little weasel. You found them a place, you got a job, you put them through school. A little fucking gratitude would be nice. 

You blew out a breath and turned the meditation thing back on. Once more, from the top.

A loud knocking on your door caused you to jump. “Go away!” You had a sign up for lunch. For thirty minutes, you didn’t exist. There was no club, no employees, and no responsibilities. 

The knocking persisted until you stood up with a growl. You opened the door. “This better be fuckin’--”

“I can’t find the ale for tonight!” Justin, one of the kitchen staff, stood outside your door. He was short, about 5’6, with soft copper skin and dark, curly hair. He wore the white uniform of the kitchen staff, but he had his hat in his hands and wrung it out so badly, it had wrinkles. 

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” You asked. You went to your desk and flipped through your calendar. In it, the shipment was scheduled to arrive at 12pm. It gave the crew enough time to stock up before the doors opened. You went to your file cabinet and flipped through the receipts. “I signed for it,” you said.

“I know. I turned for just a second! It’s gone,” Justin said. His voice got smaller the more he talked. Palpable fear sloughed off of him in waves. You were about to ask him what his problem was. But there was only one thing that inspired that much fear. 

You walked to the door and pulled him in. You made him sit in the only other chair in the place. Would it have killed Loki to find a better space for you? 

“Calm down. Tell me what happened,” you said.

Justin shook as he ran through what happened. He told you how after you left for lunch, he went to the stockroom to check on how much space he had to store the ale. He checked on the bar to check inventory. When he got back, the entire shipment was gone from the back and no one had seen a thing. 

You nodded and listened. The ale was not easy to move. You half wondered if it was those guys again. They were big enough to move the ale. But that required a truck and someone seeing them. Justin had only been gone for roughly fifteen minutes. No one could move a shipment like that in fifteen minutes. 

“Okay. Okay, we’ll figure this out. I’ll check the security cameras. You check with anyone who was scheduled back there today. Someone saw something, right?” You asked.

Justin looked at you as if you were a frost giant that grew three more heads. His lack of confidence stung a bit, but whatever. You were used to being underestimated. You sent Justin on his way and you went to the security room. 

The tips of your ears burned as you thought about the last time you were here, but there was no time for that. With Loki’s extra scrutiny, you were no longer able to move around like a phantom. Sometimes, it seemed like he was there in whatever room you were but you couldn’t see him. He could be in disguise, but you hadn’t been able to see through his illusions. He could be standing right next to you and you’d never know it. Somehow, you were sure he had better things to do than watch you all day.

The guard opened the door after you knocked. You smiled sweetly at him and told him that you needed his help. Ten minutes later, the security footage showed absolutely nothing useful. The shipment was there one minute, gone the next.

You stared at the footage and panic clawed up your throat. No, no, you won’t panic. Clearly, your saboteur was at it again. Stealing a shipment was a little mundane. Especially after the mind control trick. But it was still gone and it was supposed to get you through the week. No ale meant angry customers. Angry customers meant word of mouth would spread. Bad press meant people would stop coming. And if people stopped coming, the club would be deserted. And if the club were deserted, there would be no reason to keep your job. 

You took one deep breath in, allowed the panic its moment, and then breathed it all out. There’s a reason for this. The saboteur was fucking with you all, but so far it had been harmless. Okay, Angel going through the floor wasn’t harmless and if those meatheads had been successful, they’d have taken your head off. But you were able to handle it all. You were fine. Absolutely fine. 

The guard cast furtive glances your way. You probably looked silly standing there, staring at the paused video. You thanked him and headed out. So far, you haven't run into Loki. But he was out visiting his brother. If you could just solve this quickly, there would be no reason to worry him. 

Okay, honesty time. You wanted to be competent. You wanted to be indispensable to him. You wanted him to know that he could leave for the day and he could trust you to run the club. You didn’t know why his approval meant so much to you. And you didn’t want to analyze it. 

You searched. You searched everywhere you could think of that a psychopath would hide ale. You searched top to bottom, front to back, but it was gone. Poof. Justin had recruited the other kitchen staff to search around discreetly. The last thing you needed was Honey or Sweetie coming by. They were your biggest gossip. You didn’t need this news reaching Loki. Oh hell, these people had you fearing Loki’s wrath as well. 

You went out the back of the club for the hundredth time. Your eyes burned as you adjusted to the brightness of the outside. In a few hours, people would start arriving. Some of them would order ale and what were you going to tell them? Sorry, none tonight. Try back tomorrow! 

You rubbed your neck as you stared at the loading bay. The cameras covered everything. Every angle. And the footage showed that the shipment was there one minute, gone the next. You didn’t know what you would find. You had already searched this area. 

Tears pricked your eyes. This was so pathetic. How hard was it to find one shipment? You massaged your forehead, willing the tears to go away. Before they had a chance to drop, you swiped them away. You will not break down in front of these people. 

The bay was empty. Sunlight beamed down, warming your dark skin. Birds flew overhead and in the distance, there was the cityscape. On the other side of the club, there was the ocean. A faint salty sea breeze blew by every now and then. You were alone. And it was okay to cry.

You faced away from any cameras and allowed a few drops of tears to stream down your face. You didn’t cry often. Certainly not in public. Your mom always told you to never let people see you break down. In the house, you could slump over, fall out, or pass out all you wanted to. But outside, you were to square your shoulders and never give anyone a reason to look at you sideways.

Your heart cracked in two. You missed that stubborn old lady so much, sometimes you couldn’t breathe. She was always snapping at you about something. But you knew it was out of love. And you knew that your dad would come right behind her, kiss her, and tell her to loosen up. You missed your grandparents. Your family was always close. 

You missed your cousins. You missed shopping with them or traveling from tavern to tavern drinking more than everyone. You missed being free. You missed Asgard. Gods you missed Asgard. 

Tears fell in fat drops from your eyes, down your cheeks, and dripping onto your outfit. You had taken to wearing more skirts. You chuckled as you stood there. As if the skirts were the barrier to Loki fucking you. 

Your mind was a mess. It was a beautiful day outside and you were standing there in all black, crying. It was like you were attending a funeral of one. Your own funeral. 

You sniffled. Snot leaked out of your nose. You were not an attractive crier. The pressure in your chest eased as you finally allowed yourself this moment of weakness. You knew you needed this. But this should have been done at home. 

You conjured a tissue and started to wipe your eyes and blow your nose. 

“Darling?” 

You gasped and turned to see Loki standing near the back entrance. How scowled as he looked at you. Oh gods. You turned from him and frantically wiped your face. He did not need to see you like this.

“One second!” You said. Your voice warbled and you coughed a few times to cover it up. The more you wiped your nose, the more snot seemed to shoot out. You sniffled, but really it needed to be blown out. And there was no way to blow your nose and hide that you had been crying. 

“What’s happened?” He was right beside you. You jumped with a little shriek and moved away from him, keeping him at your back. It was the worst thing to do as a fighter. Never turn your back on someone. Friend or foe. But you’d live with a knife in the back if it meant that Loki didn’t see you fall apart. 

Loki grabbed you by the shoulders and flipped you around. Still, you looked everywhere but at him. He didn’t need to see this. It was so embarrassing. 

Loki held your face in his hands and forced your eyes to meet his. You blinked up into his crystal blue eyes. Your tears still fell, over his long fingers and down the sides of his hands and onto your cheeks. 

“What happened?” His voice was soft. Too soft. He didn’t do soft. There was nothing soft about Loki. You hated it.

“Nothing. I stubbed my toe,” you said. You tried to jerk from his grasp but his grip was iron tight. He wouldn’t let you budge. 

“We don’t lie to each other,” he said. 

“Yeah? How was your visit with Thor?” You asked. 

Loki reared back and his lips thinned into a near perfect line. “He’s fine.” His voice was clipped. Almost angry. 

“We don’t lie to each other,” you said. 

“We’re not discussing Thor. We’re talking about you. Who made you cry?” 

A bubble of laughter welled up but you held it back. There was nothing funny about your boss finding you crying like a little girl who lost her puppy. You looked skyward, willing the tears away. 

“I’m handling it,” you said. 

Fury. Loki’s eyes darkened to the color of the sky before a storm. He gripped your arm and pulled you off to the side, where there were a few desks. No one really worked out in the bay, but it was easier to keep a desk there for signing for packages and the like. There was a storage room to the side, locked, for keeping the non-perishable overstock. You liked to be prepared, oh well. 

Loki pushed you down onto the desk, bent over and your ass in the air. You tried to stand but he kept a firm hand on your lower back. 

“Every time you lie or don’t tell me what I want to hear, I’ll spank you,” he said.

“What?” You tried to stand up again, but you heard the smack before you felt it. In the position that you were in, your skirt didn’t stand a chance. You wore panties, but you were still exposed to him. The sting vibrated and radiated. You were too stunned to do anything but stand there and feel it. 

“Why were you crying?” He asked.

“I told you, I’m handling–” You knew the smack was coming and yet you were still surprised by it. You rocked from foot to foot trying to get away. Loki kicked your legs until he spread them. Your pussy clenched around nothing. You were at his mercy and he was spanking you. And you were so turned on, you almost begged him to take you right then and there. 

This was it. This was how you finally went insane and buckled under all the pressure you were under. 

“Why were you crying, Darling?” He asked. 

You licked your lips. You could tell him what was going on with the shipment. But it was too close to feeling like a failure. You haven't failed yet. The shipment was temporarily housed somewhere else. 

His next smack was harder, causing you to buck against the desk. The edge dug into your belly but it was nothing in comparison to the heat and pain spreading around your ass cheeks. 

“I didn’t say anything!” You yelled.

“I’m aware,” he said. 

“I’m allowed to cry, you know!” You said. 

Smack. You cried out. But it was also so fucked up and erotic that you found yourself arching your back and silently asking for more. You flopped your forehead onto the desk. It was cool to the touch and helped stamp out the heat rushing over you. 

Loki touched your ass and you jerked. You had expected another smack. This was worse. The heat of his palm made the stinging bloom. It made fresh arousal leak out of you and soaked your panties.

“I won’t ask again, Darling.” His voice had gone low, deep, and furious. You wished you could see his face. 

“There was a tiny problem with a shipment today. That’s all,” you told him. You expected a smack, tensed for it, but he continued to lightly rub your booty. You slowly relaxed as it was clear he wasn’t going to hit you. More’s the pity. 

“What kind of problem?” He asked.

You took a deep breath. Every word was painful. You’d rather stick a hot poker against your skin than admit you couldn’t do something. But you wanted his hands on you so you played along.

“I signed for our shipment of ale. I put the receipt in my office and left the kitchen staff to stock it. It’s missing,” you said. You sounded robotic, even to your own ears. 

“What do you mean, missing?” He asked. His hands had stilled and you wiggled, trying to get him to move.

You told him everything, in as little detail as possible. You kept your emotions out of it. It was no big deal. A huge shipment had gone missing and you would find it. It was your specialty. Only, it wasn’t. Hand you a knife, you knew what to do with it. Corralling a bunch of employees was a walk in the park. But how did someone fight an unknowable enemy? You couldn’t see the saboteur. They walked around as if they were invisible. They slipped in and out of the club at whim. 

You might as well try to fight a ghost. It’d probably be easier to capture and kill. A hard smack to your ass brought you out of your thoughts. “I told you what happened! What was that for?!” 

“Why were you crying about a shipment of ale?” He asked. 

You bit your cheek and refused to speak. He didn’t get to have everything. “How is it fair that I can’t have secrets, but you can? You demand that I spill my guts every time we speak. Yet I, merely gum beneath your boot, isn’t fit to know anything about you?” 

Loki smacked your ass three times. Hard. You cried after each smack. Yet your ass rose to meet his hand each time. 

“Do you not see all of my secrets? Have I not made it clear that you are what consumes me? I have no hobby, save for you. I have no dreams, save to see you smile. I yearn to hear every word from your lips, every sigh from your mouth, and see every scathing look you give me.” 

His words shredded you down to your bones. You hated that you couldn’t see his face. You couldn’t read him. You could only go off of your instinct. And it was telling you that he meant every word he said. 

He moved your panties to the side and slipped a finger inside of you. You moaned. You were dripping wet and he slid in easily. He sighed. He started to pump his fingers into you. 

“You are mine, Darling. I want your every syllable. Every utterance. I want your anger. Your curses. Your laughs. Your pleasure. All of it. Why were you crying?” 

You moaned as he added a second finger, stretching you. Your legs shook. Your hands were splayed on the desk. The fake wood under your hand was all you had to anchor yourself. Your breath was shaky and ended on a tiny whine. 

“I’m overwhelmed,” you admitted. Loki hummed and continued to fuck you with his fingers. 

“I’m so fucking tired all the time. There is always a fire to put out around here. But that’s okay, I’m good at that. I thrive at that. That’s just what I do. But when I go home…the house here is nothing like Asgard. That house is frigid and desolate. I hate climbing the stairs knowing that my family is gone and I don’t know what happened to them. Thanos could have snapped them away. They could be on another planet. They could be here. I just don’t know. And I can’t help my siblings. My sister won’t come out of her room, she’s so depressed. And my brother is so angry all the time. I don’t know what to do anymore,” you choked on your words even as you ground your hips on his fingers. 

You were weary. Bone-deep, weary. And there was a part of you that just wanted to lay down and not get back up. You were tired of saving everyone and no one came to save you. There. You said it. You wanted someone to save you. You wanted someone to swoop in, save the day, and give you a break for once. 

But you also knew that you wouldn’t trust it. As soon as you relied on someone, they would disappear. Leaving you to pick up the pieces. 

“You don’t have to be alone, Darling. I’m right here,” he said softly. He leaned down and kissed both of your ass cheeks. It still stung from his spanking and you hissed as his cool lips touched them. “We’re stronger together. You know it. I know it.” 

You were so fucking close, you could taste it. You trembled at his words and with how gentle he was being. In all the years that you’d known him, gentle was not in his vocabulary. But here he was. Not shaming you for your weakness, but offering to help. 

He straightened up and removed his fingers. You heard him moan as he presumably sucked on his fingers. 

“Hey!” You moved to stand up but he gave another hard smack to your ass. If you thought the previous ones were tough, this one robbed you of all breath. He stepped away, finally letting you straighten up. 

He crowded your space, grabbed your face and kissed you. It was consuming and overwhelming. You leaned in for more but he pulled away and kissed your forehead. 

“We will find the traitor in our midst. But it must be together. Don’t hide from me,” he said. 

You looked at him. Really looked into his mesmerizing eyes. There was a swirl of emotions you couldn’t even try to puzzle out. He was still unknowable to you. And you feared that there was always going to be a part of him you couldn’t touch. A hidden depth that seemed to recognize a kindred spirit in yourself. But your pain was not his. He carried his pain in the set of his jaw, the amused smirk he wore like a mask, and his bright eyes that saw more than anyone in existence. Except for maybe Heimdall. 

“It’s not in my nature to open up. But I’ll try,” you said.

He kissed you again. Reverently, softly, like the rainbow kissing the sky after it rained. 

“I will have more than that, but that will suffice for now.” He smirked at you.

“Well? You can’t just leave me like this,” you said. You weren’t going to attempt to sit. Just hovering your ass close to the desk made you want to cry. In fact, your skirt was too sensitive right now. The mesh frills rubbed against your butt and you fought tensing up and hissing. 

It paled next to your desperate need to cum. It was just out of reach. If he kept going, you were sure it wouldn’t take you any time at all. 

Loki smirked. “Consider it your punishment. If spanking only turns you on, then you’ll get no relief from me right now,” he said. 

“You’re insane,” you huffed. 

“I’ll teach you this lesson a thousand times, my Darling,” he said and nuzzled your cheek, your jaw, and your neck. He licked your neck, right over your pulse point. You whined as a tingle shot through you. 

“I’ll do whatever I see fit with you. Now come along. We have a shipment to find and a traitor to punish.” 

He withdrew from you and started walking backwards towards the door. You gaped at him. He couldn’t be fucking serious. He grinned as he turned and walked into the club. You contemplated all the ways you could kill him and hide the body as you followed him inside.

Masterlist | Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

[she-is-juniper]

temptation greets you like your naughty friend (joel miller x reader) // chapter one

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader chapter title: the arrangement summary: joel miller likes to be made to feel in control; reader like to be made to feel helpless. thus, an arrangement is born, no strings attached. but there’s more than meets the eye to this gruff survivor.... This story takes place in the Boston QZ roughly 10 years after the outbreak begins, and Reader and Joel are business partners in the illegal smuggling trade. word count: 5K rating: E (Explicit) ***18+ only. minors DNI or you will be blocked. content/warnings: there’s a lot…. dom!Joel, no use of y/n, unprotected sex, established relationship, age gap (reader is in her 20s, Joel in his late 40s), oral s*x (f receiving), squ*rting, some degradation/humiliation but in a lighthearted way, some begging, a splash of a “sir” kink, some angst and resolution, porn with a bit of a plot, spanking, power play (all of this is consensual). Also Tess exists but she and Joel are not together a/n: ah, yes, the fanfic to end a hiatus... ♡ I recommend reading this one before bed so you can, yknow, have nice wet dreams about it while you sleep. to my long time readers/fans: hiii i missed y'all! to my new readers/fans: enjoyyy and please reach out to introduce yourself! i’m always looking to make new friends ◡̈ ((I do not claim to own the last of us or any other affiliated names or fictional events. Other details, such as names, locations, and events, are also fictionalized. Please note that the representations of body types in my moodboard are not intended to exclude anybody of any race, ethnicity, or body shape. And please, for the love of all that is holy, comment/reblog/send asks if you want to see more of my writing—it’s the only form of repayment i ask for!!! thank you in advance!))

———

A hardened man like Joel Miller has a lot to offer a woman like you. Particularly in the form of desperate, mind-numbing sex.

The kind of sex that makes you forget your own name. Makes you forget the sting of whatever injuries you’d suffered this week at the hands of thugs and hunters. Not to mention, makes you forget, even if just for an hour or two, the fact that you’re living in the aftermath of the apocalypse in a world savaged by infected monsters.

That’s the kind of sex you and Joel both crave. The kind that takes away the crushing weight of repressed memories and feelings. The kind of sex where there’s nothing left to think about but the way his cock fills you up and his lips steal the breath from your lungs. The kind of sex that, after a day’s worth of decision fatigue as Tess’s right-hand woman as a contraband smuggler in the Boston QZ, you finally don’t have to make a single decision for yourself, as your pleasure is entirely in Joel’s expert hands.

Just sex, nothing else. Plain and simple. That’s the arrangement as you know it. No cuddling in bed after, no exchanging tender kisses, no talking about your feelings or any bullshit like that. Just rough, dirty sex to get your minds off the shittiness of your lives.

No shame. Everyone who’s survived the pandemic thus far has found their own unique means of self-medication. For some, it’s drugs, or alcohol, or murder. For you and Joel, it’s fucking.

As for when the encounters would take place, it depends on the day or week. Today, after a particularly shitty week for the both of you, all it takes is a mutual look shared from across the room in the rations distribution center.

You’re near the front of the rations line when you spot him coming in toward the back. Joel surveys the crowded hall, the line of his brows furrowed into his signature harsh scowl. You meet the man’s gaze with glassy eyes of your own. In that moment you swear you notice his frown soften as he looks at you, although a tendon tightens on his temple. It’s a look that confirms he’s had just as god awful a week as you had, although there’s something more there today that you can’t quite put your finger on. 

You look away and sigh, wincing a little at the pain from a bruised rib that’s only just started to heal. Your injury’s pretty mild, though, and nothing compared to the state you’d left the other guy in. Oh, well. At least you got a few extra ration cards out of it, which you now hand to the FEDRA officer in exchange for a box of supplies and provisions. Mostly non-perishable food, but there’s also some medicines, toiletries, socks, soap—thank fuck, more soap.

On your way out of the hall, you meet Joel’s gaze once more. Not a word is exchanged, but with an almost imperceptible nod of his chin, you know you’ll be hearing his knock at your door at 2300 sharp. God knows you need his specific methods of distraction right now.

– – –

Three raps of his knuckles against your apartment door at 2300 exactly, and Joel’s all over you.

It happens so fast. As soon as you open the door, Joel seizes you by the arms and spins your body with his, slamming your body to the door with his own momentum to close it shut. Your sore rib burns from the impact and you hiss, “Ouch, asshole.”

“Toughen up, princess,” he growls. There’s nothing endearing about the pet name, it’s not like that. In fact, he says it almost demeaningly, which is on par for your relationship with the smuggler. But there’s a primal sort of desperation in the tone of his voice, and your arousal at that prospect spreads over your whole body and finds a home right in between your legs.

Joel’s hands wrench your arms above your head and pin them there as his mouth attacks yours, effectively muffling the surprised squeal that emits from your throat. His mouth is hot, his grown-out stubble scratching the delicate skin of your face in a delicious contrast, his breath faintly spiced from whiskey. You melt into him, arching your body into his, and a surly grunt resonates from his throat. He gathers your wrists in one hand pinned to the door and brings his free hand down to the nape of your neck, not so gently pulling at the base of your hair. He pulls away from the kiss and regards your exposed neck, where you swear he can see your pulse thumping in your throat. You wish he would kiss you there, but he holds back.

“Still on the mend?” he asks, bringing his hand down to your ribcage and barely brushing against the bruise. 

“Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

“Tell me if you want me to be gentler,” he says.

You almost scoff. The name “Joel Miller” and the word “gentle” don’t go together. Nothing about that man is gentle. And nothing about what you and he do together behind closed doors has ever been or will ever be gentle. Part of you wonders if Joel would rather go on home than fuck you gently.

Besides, you don’t want it to be gentle. Not one bit.

You slip one of your arms out from where he’s pinning them against the door. You grab his hand and slide it from your rib under your shirt to your breast, squeezing yourself with his palm. “I’m tougher than you think, Miller,” you purr.

It’s your way of giving him permission to do with you what he wants.

“Are you, now?” he drawls. He takes your initiative and runs with it, pinching your nipple between his calloused thumb and forefinger, just a little at first, and then much harder. You gasp, heat flooding your lower stomach. “You think you can handle me tonight, huh, darlin’?”

You reach for his crotch, feeling the erection you know he’s probably had all night, and smile at the strained breath he releases. “Should be asking you the same question, don’t you think?” you say. 

It’s a thoroughly bratty response, not to mention completely loaded, and you and Joel both seem to know it. Joel calls the shots in these encounters, not you. Which is exactly how you both like it.

Joel hitches your leg up and situates his hips in between your legs. You can feel his dick pressed against your inner thigh now. He tangles his hands in your hair and kisses you fiercely again. The only time Joel ever kisses you is before he fucks you. Never after. You’re sure that somewhere, buried deep down inside you, you secretly wish Joel would kiss you after sex, too. But that simply isn’t what this arrangement is about. 

You hang onto the moment as long as possible, lacing your fingers behind his neck and pulling him even closer. His once neatly slicked back hair now mussed from your fingers, and his skin smells like firewood and soap.

Outside, the female military voice recording announcing the strict enforcement of curfew echoes through the QZ, but you and Joel barely notice. You’re lost in him, the feel of his body, the touch of his rough hands, and allow yourself to fall into the mindless, primal motions of sex.

You and Joel have done this many times over the past few months. Sometimes, when all was quiet and going relatively well in the QZ, you didn’t feel the need to visit him quite as often. But your need to see each other only increasing in frequency when things seemed to get worse… and things surely have gotten a lot fucking worse lately. FEDRA cracking down on everyday civilian freedoms. Rising animosity between the factions of smugglers within the QZ, causing many of Tess’s deals for ammo and pills going south more often than not. Firefly attacks within the city walls with no regard for innocent lives. Oh, and not to mention the ever-present problem of the growing number of infected just outside the city… 

All of which to say, you and Joel have been seeing a lot of each other as of late. 

Clothes fall to the floor. Joel’s new shirt that must have come with his set of provisions today, your favorite holey sweater you can’t bear to toss, his pants, your pants, shoes and socks. The next thing you know, you’re flat on your bed beneath him. 

In your past life, would you have been with someone like Joel if you knew of all the bad things he’s done? Would it have overpowered the intense attraction you felt toward him, causing you to be repulsed by him? Probably then.

But not now. You don’t care what he’s done in the name of survival. You both have committed your fair share of inhumanities. But this is just how your lives turned out. Neither you nor Joel had chosen the life of smugglers, but the perseverance to survive takes over one way or another. 

But none of that matters right now. All that matters is the need to eliminate any space and barrier between your hot, needy body and his. 

He’s a menacing sight with his intimidatingly large muscles, the result of nearly five decades worth of manual labor, and the numerous scars peppered over his skin from countless tussles. He looms above you like a thundercloud, like a predatory cat prowling for its meal. You think to yourself how lucky you are to be on his side as an ally in your nefarious affairs—and not just an ally, but a business partner of all things. Because someone like Joel Miller would be a scary as fuck to have as an enemy.

Joel hooks his thumbs under the hems of your underwear and wastes no time to yank them down and off your legs. He pries your legs apart as far as you’ll let him, nearly drooling at the sight of you completely naked for him. You almost feel self-conscious, but you know if you try to shy away or close your legs now, it would do absolutely no good. Joel’s a very single-minded man. When he puts his mind to something, there’s absolutely no stopping him.

It always takes you aback when Joel doesn’t immediately penetrate you, especially with that glint in his eyes like the one he has now. But he never rushes that part, not even when you really wish he would. Instead, as per usual, he dips down and buries his face in your pussy.

“Joel,” you whine out his name, your body lurching—away from him? Closer toward him? You can’t be sure. All you know is that his mouth on your pussy like this feels so intense that it would be impossible not to squirm. You wonder if he does this for himself or for you. “You really don’t have to,” you manage to get out.

The look of sheer wrath he gives you…it’s as if you’d just told him you’d given away all the contraband he’d smuggled to FEDRA. “You think I only do this for you?” he rasps.

“I don’t know," you squeak out with a nervous laugh. "I mean, I know you do it every time, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t feel obligated—”

“Obligated?” Joel barks a laugh. “Don’t be so naive. You think I would eat your pussy if I didn’t want to?” 

Wetness pooled at your core. “Fuck, Joel.”

“I wanna make you squirm first,” he growls. “Wanna make you so needy and wet for me that you don’t think about anything else.” His breath fanned out over your pussy, and you shivered, your thighs squeezing together. He pries them apart again. “You say some bullshit like that again, I’ll tie your ankles to the goddamn bedposts so you can’t even think about closing your legs. You hear me?”

Your eyes widen and your stomach flutters. Does he not know how much the idea of that turns you on? “Yes,” you croak.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir,” you correct yourself.

“Good girl.”

He doesn’t need to tie your ankles to the bedposts when he’s got the leverage of his body weight to press your legs apart. His mouth is on you again in an instant and you gasp embarrassingly loudly, falling flat against the mattress.

He eats you out with the fervor and desperation of a parched man finding water, pressing his entire face into you as though he couldn’t possibly get close enough. Joel’s lips trap your clit in a tight suction, his tongue swirling in practiced circles in a way that makes your hairline break out in a sweat. You moan too loudly again, reaching for the nearest pillow to stifle the sound for the sake of your poor neighbors. 

Just when he’s gotten into a groove, Joel releases the suction of his mouth with a pop and buries his whole face even lower, his tongue drawing a lavish line up your entrance before moving inside you, his nose pressed against your clit. He’s absolutely ravenous, and you have no semblance of control left in your body. Your legs jolt, and he presses them even further apart in response. The sparks at the pit of your stomach bloom and bloom.

“Fuck, baby, you taste so good,” he moans into you. You moan in response, tangling your hands in his silvering hair. Baby, that one is new. Baby’s almost too sweet coming from a man like Joel’s lips. A little red flag goes up in your mind but you quickly forget all about it as he continues to lap at you.

Joel breaks away only to wet his finger with his saliva and you watch in awe as he pushes it into you. You see stars as he curls his adept middle finger up toward your belly button. You dig your nails into his arms and keen his name again.

The waves of pleasure grow and grow, like a tsunami on the horizon approaching fast and sure, and your breathing grows erratic. Joel is relentless, tireless, his lips finding your clit again, and it’s as if he knows he’s found the sweet spot, knows the exact speed and intensity to stay at to push you over the edge. His eyes close as if in total bliss, seemingly motionless, and only you as the recipient of this unholy worship could ever know just how expertly fast his tongue is moving against your clit. The combination of that with his digit curling up into you over and over breaks you of any resolve you might have had left.

You should warn him you're going to come. You have before. But you know how well he knows you now. He knows you're right on the edge. So he presses his palm to the soft part of your stomach, just below your belly button, and that does it. He knows me so goddamn well.

You come completely undone, the waves of your orgasm furiously overtaking your whole body. You arch your back and clench your walls around Joel’s finger, unable to keep from writhing in pleasure, unable to hold back the choked moans from your throat.

“That’s right, ride it out, darlin’,” Joel praises you. “Love feeling you squeeze my finger so tight. Good girl.” He sits up and watches your body come down from the high, gently coaxing about what’s left of your convulsions with his finger. But even once they subside, he doesn’t pull it out, instead continuing to curling it into you again over and over. You weren’t expecting a break—Joel never needs one, never gives one unless you ask—but you wonder how on earth you’re going to survive this. With a desperate, pleading sound, you peer up at him in disbelief.

“It’s too much,” you whimper. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

You shake your head furiously. Joel almost smiles at that, almost as though he knew your response already. He repositions himself so he’s propped up on his elbow beside your body, his other hand still at your slippery entrance. His finger slides in and out with each movement, the pad of his finger gliding against precisely the right place inside you. It’s a sensation only another person could satisfy in you, and you find yourself silently thanking your lucky stars that Joel knows how to do it so well. He knows your body so well after just a few months, knows exactly what you need is a break from the clitoral stimulation, yet added stimulation elsewhere. 

Pressure builds in your pelvis, a different kind of pressure than before. Your jaw falls open when his tempo picks up. Joel presses his forehead to yours, sharing your breaths, before he moves to your ear and starts whispering.

“Takin’ my finger so well,” he breathes, and goosebumps erupt across your whole body. “Wanna see if you can handle another one?”

You nod breathlessly and he slides his ring finger in with the middle finger. A jolt of energy overtakes your body. Oh, fuck, oh, fuck. The last time he fingered you like this, you had completely soaked the mattress. You had luckily remembered to lay a couple of towels down under the sheets this time, just in case, but still. You’d been humiliated. You hadn’t said anything about it last time, but you knew what had happened, and you knew that he knew.

And now he’s going to make you squirt again. Which means that he likes it. 

Joel sets into a relentless pace and the dreaded pressure grows and grows. “That’s my good little slut,” he growls. “Want you to let go for me, make my fingers wet.”

You can’t help it. The pressure in your core explodes. A slick wetness seeps all over Joel’s fingers and into the sheets around your hips. Joel moans into your neck. You feel yourself turning so hot you break a sweat.

“Oh god,” you moan, suddenly lightheaded, and you cover your face. You feel him wrench your hands away and he stares at you in astonishment.

“Are you…embarrassed?” he gapes.

“Yes,” you respond, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

His face shifts slightly from disbelief into an almost sinister expression. “Look at you. All humiliated at the mess I made you make for me.”

The fact that he takes pleasure in your humiliation turns you on more than you’re willing to admit. “Fuck you, Joel,” you bark back, but there’s no energy left in your voice for malice.

Joel grips your chin harshly, forcing you to look at him. “You don’t call the shots here. If I want you to make a fuckin’ mess for me, then you will.”

If he hadn’t been manhandling you before, he’s manhandling you now, pulling your limp body into the exact position he wants: on your stomach, your thighs pressed together, your ass pointed up at him perfectly.

You realize then that he’s been touching himself for quite some time through his boxers, only now he’s sliding them off his body, revealing his dick, weeping and swollen and angry red. If you had any ounce of energy left in your body, you’d flip yourself over so you were on top and wrap your mouth around it. But he’s faster than you can replenish your energy, and in one feverish motion, he’s mounting you from behind, his dick pressed against the base of your ass.

“Tell me how bad you want me to fuck you raw into these sheets.”

You know Joel, know what he’s doing. He’s playing up the moment, building the anticipation, but he’s also gauging your consent. He’s asking your permission.

“Please,” you mewl. “Please fuck me, sir. I want you so bad.”

“Good,” he responds. “Good girl.” And then he’s plowing his dick into you.

Holy fuck. The momentum of his first thrust pushes you several inches up the bed and you cry out, inviting the mix of pain and pleasure with eagerness. He’s so much fucking bigger than his fingers, even though his fingers are nothing short of girthy themselves.

He pulls out unbearably slow, almost all the way out, until just the ridge of his head remains inside you, before he grips your hips with a fervor and thrusts back into you with a grunt. And again, and again. A rush of emotions floods through you at the feeling…among them, a sense of security, a total trust in him, the reassurance at the knowledge that Joel would stop if you told him you wanted to. 

God, you don’t want him to stop.

“Mine,” he growls, gathering your arms behind your back, and your muscles burn. “You hear me? Your pussy’s fucking mine, sweetheart.”

You have no coherent response, only his name.

Joel uses your bended arms locked behind you as leverage, gripping them with desperation as he rams into you over and over again, taking what’s his. His dick feels unreal inside you, slipping in and out like it’s made for you. The position of your arms plays tricks on your mind, makes you feel trapped in the best way possible, like there’s no escape from this. Which, of course, there is an escape—the simple phrase stop, something you and Joel had agreed upon weeks prior—and yet, the false sense of helplessness is exactly what you’re going for. 

And what is it for Joel that gets him going about this, you wonder briefly? Is it the false sense of control, something he’s felt devoid of in real life for years now? Is it the fact that for just one night, everything that happens will have been something that Joel had direct influence over? Did he need that catharsis of complete control as much as you needed the catharsis of being out of control? You wonder if maybe you and Joel were made to find each other in these awful, bleak times, if maybe though you fight day in and day out about business, if you were made for each other in this way.

A strange sensation along the spine of your back. It’s Joel’s lips, soft and wet along with the scratch of his beard. Juxtaposed with the unforgiving force of his hips crashing into your ass, you melt into him. He's never done that while he fucks you before. Joel releases your arms and kisses your back again, seeming to soak in the feel of your skin on his lips. He moves up to your neck, still mounted on top of you, still sliding in and out of you with a vigor, but his mouth comes to rest by your ear.

“You feel so good, baby,” he whispers. “You’re so beautiful. The most beautiful girl I've ever seen.”

Oh, god. That was tender. You didn’t hate it, but talk about uncharacteristic for Joel Miller. Red flag goes up again. You squash it down, not wanting to kill the moment. You reach behind and comb your fingers through his hair. “Joel, oh my god, Joel.”

Maybe it’s as if he realized he’d breached some unspoken protocol with that lapse in his tough-guy persona, but Joel seems to snap to reality. With a new intensity, he pulls out of you to draw your hips up, propping you up on your knees and elbows. A much less tender, much more primal position. He kneels behind you and brings your hips back to meet his dick again, bottoming out in one motion.

You cry out and arch your back. This new angle is intense. Tender Joel Miller is gone, at least for now. He seals that notion with a hard slap of his palm on your ass.

He fucks you hard and fast and it’s precisely what you want. Waves of desire start to ebb and flow in your pelvis once again. You wince in surprise as you feel Joel bring his head down to bite your shoulder lightly. Nope, nothing tender about this.

“Oh my god, Joel, I’m— you’re gonna make me—”

“Make you what?” Joel demands. “Make you come again, pretty girl?”

You can’t make another sound; you feel so fucked out you could only nod as he brought you closer and closer. But Joel wanted more.

“You heard me, tell me how good I make you feel,” he growled and bit down on your shoulder harder this time. “Tell me you’re gonna come all over my dick.”

Telling Joel anything would be a little hard to do considering he’s fucking you so hard you could hardly breathe let alone speak, but Joel was now hell bent on hearing you. He slaps your ass again, even harder, and your knees nearly buckle. But you manage to locate your voice.

“You feel so good,” you sob out, falling forward onto your elbows while Joel keeps a tight grip on your hips. “I'm gonna come again.”

“You want that?” Joel says in almost a sneer from behind you. “You wanna come for me again, my dirty little slut?”

“Yes, sir,” you say, your voice hitching each time he rams into you, “please, please.”

“Love it when you beg like that for me. So desperate, it’s pitiful. Fuck,” he groans, seeming to somehow swell inside of you even more. Droplets of wetness roll down your thighs, your pleasure mixed with his precum. “You better not come until I say so.”

His request may or may not be plausible, given how fast approaching your orgasm was coming over you. You had no choice but to take him how he wanted you to and try to hold off your orgasm as long as you could. Joel keeps a firm grip on your sides as he snaps his hips, and the explicit slapping sounds of skin on skin fill your bedroom.

“Oh-oh-my-g-god,” you gasp out, moaning with each perfectly angled thrust, nearly in tears from how deep he is. You’re teetering right on the edge, dangerously close to the edge, but you realize then, so is he, if his heavy breathing and moaning is any indication.

“Come on, Joel, baby, cum deep in my pussy, make me yours…” The pet name had just slipped out of your mouth again. Reservations be fucked. If you wanted to be tender and intimate right now, so fucking be it.

Sure enough, Joel gasps and grunts with more bravado than you’d ever heard from him before, as if hearing you call him baby had made him come on command. You feel a flood of warmth gush inside you, filling you up as he stills and drops his head to your shoulder. The final bucking of his hips and the visceral, shuddering whimper that comes from his throat set you off as well. You can’t hold back the cry that comes from somewhere deep in your body. “I’m coming, Joel, I can’t help it—”

“It’s okay, sweetheart, come for me now. I got you. It’s okay.”

You come hard and keep coming for longer than you thought was possible. Explosions of pleasure wrack your body and were it not for Joel holding you up, you’d have collapsed into the mattress. You’re clenching so hard around Joel’s dick that you wonder if it might hurt him, but he doesn’t protest, just moans right along with you.

You’re still trembling from the aftershocks as Joel pulls you up so your back is pressed against his chest and you both take a moment to catch your breath. Joel cups your breasts and kneads them in his hands as he comes down from his high, and in your daze you were dimly aware that he’s peppering several soft kisses along your shoulder blades, humming against your skin.

Again with the intimacy. What is going on?

“Joel?”

“Mmm?”

“Are you...dying or something?”

“What?”

“Or, like, secretly infected or some shit you don’t wanna tell me?”

He huffs, peeling himself off of you. You ignore the feeling of his cum dribbling out of you and turn to look at him. He’s scowling now, to no one’s surprise. 

“What the hell are you talking about?” he barks. Aggravated, yet again. Oh, well, it's not like you were going to get any aftercare from him anyway—not part of the arrangement.

But nor was all that other shit he'd done.

“You’re acting…weird,” you accuse, your heart still pounding from before. 

“I’m not acting weird,” he snaps back, defensive.

“You’re not acting like yourself, is all I mean,” you respond, crossing your arms and legs.

He watches you, that same tendon in his temple tensing up. “I have no idea what the devil you’re talking about,” he mutters, looking away.

“You have no idea what—” you repeat, shaking your head before explaining, “Joel, that was different.”

“What was different?” he asks, his voice gruff. 

“That! The whole…” you say uselessly, gesturing between you and him.

He just stares at you. If he’s catching your drift, he must just be playing dumb now. “I’m gonna go,” he grumbles, standing to slip back on his boxers. “Come find me again when you start makin’ sense and stop drabblin’ on about nonsense.”

“Wait, stop, stop. Stop it, Joel,” you say, gripping his arm. “Jesus, will you let me talk? Why are you trying to run away?”

He glares down at you, his jaw rigid. A few tense seconds pass. “Go ahead,” he says at last, in response to the first question. As for the second question, you figure he’s trying to work that one out himself.

Now that you have his attention, you’re stunned. What exactly was the issue you were trying to bring up? He was being too sweet to you? 

As if you can feel your own defenses coming up around you, you look around for your sweater and underwear, not wanting to be the only one unclothed here. Joel watches you wordlessly as you pull on your clothes, and your resolve grows stronger. 

“That felt different,” you repeat, looking into his eyes for some sign that he agrees with you. “Didn’t it?”

Joel says nothing. In the silent space, your words come spilling out.

“Like… I don’t know, I just feel like something changed tonight. You felt different this time.”

Joel frowns in confusion and looks down at his crotch.

“No, not like that.” You sigh and run a hand through your hair. “It’s the things you…did. And said. It just felt different to me.”

“Like what?” Joel said, still playing dumb. You sigh again in exasperation. Is he really going to make you bring up specific examples?

“I mean, like…the kisses. And…and why’d you call me beautiful?” you insist.

He glowers. “What, so I can’t call you beautiful?”

“No, I—I mean, you can, I just… You’ve never said anything like that to me before,” you respond. He truly hasn't. He's called you sexy, called your pussy pretty, things like that. But he's never leaned down to whisper in your ear that he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the world while railing the fuck out of you.

"Well, I did now. But I wouldn’t have said anything if I knew you were gonna get all weird about it.”

Jesus, he could be so fucking immature for a man in his late 40s. “It just took me off guard, that’s all.”

“Well, if that’s all, I don’t understand what’s the big problem.”

Why isn’t he understanding? You can’t help it, you explode. “That isn’t what we agreed on, Joel,” you say, your voice more insistent.

“What isn’t?”

“The...kissing, and the calling each other pet names, and the exchanging niceties,” you say emphatically. “Shit like that. That’s not what this arrangement is supposed to be about.” You started this with Joel to avoid your feelings…

Not to catch them for each other.

Joel leans down closer to you, cynicism in his voice as he says, “And what is it that this arrangement’s supposed to be about, then?”

“Sex!” you shout, raising your arms in exasperation. “Just sex!”

Right?

Joel says nothing. He stands and silently puts on the rest of his clothes before giving you the hardest stare you’ve ever seen from him since you met him half a year ago.

“Maybe for you.”

Your mouth goes dry. But before you can think of a response, Joel slips his shoes on and mutters. “I’m gonna go. Don’t come after me tonight.” Without another word, he leaves your dingy apartment, leaving you alone with your jaw on the floor. And in that moment, you realize, you had Joel Miller all wrong.

———

a/n: …i’m kind of embarrassed to put this on the internet but hey at least no one i know follows me so!!! hopefully at least! hahahahah 😭

Thank you so much for reading! I’m dying to hear your thoughts about it! Please note that I write fanfiction for free; my only request for repayment is a genuine expression of your thoughts, opinions, likes/dislikes, and predictions about the story. Whether it’s simply a “Wow, I loved it!”, a keyboard smash, a series of convoluted thoughts in the tags, or even a full-out review, please know that any and all feedback is welcome! 

For real though. Leaving feedback is just the common courtesy thing to do when you consume free, unpaid creative works online. Like I promise i do write for myself hehe but it really helps give me momentum to keep writing when i know that people genuinely liked my work!

For fanfic, blurb, or headcanon requests about TLOU, please send me asks!

Much love ❤︎ from Juniper

Taglist: y'all didn’t explicitly ask to be tagged but you did like my last post gauging interest in this fic so i went ahead and tagged y'all!

@amazonabxtch @katluverxd @bowie-frommars @tasmbestspdrman @ka-x-in @mouseymagines​ @fandom-queen67​ @bfences @rosegoldarti​ @xlengueterax​ @lol-im-done​ @aanie-lg @toobsessedsstuff​ @theangstypioneer​ @leonkennedyslefthand @lizajane2​ @typingcorgi​ @julietamidala​ @floralcyanide​ @bilualien @austinnpowerss​ 

[web-novel-polls]

Web Novel Women Tournament 

[Please be kind and respectful in the notes. Anti-Propaganda is NOT allowed.]

Han Sooyoung / Han Suyeong from ORV / Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint

Submission 1: I can't even begin to explain the real reason so I'll just. She's everything. Consumes my every waking thought. Someone else please take the lead and add propaganda for me

Submission 2: 

Han Suyeong is a writer. She is cunning, self-serving and confident. Her avatar skill allows her to divide herself into as many copies as she pleases, and each copy can look like anyone. Her only weakness is that if she loses the copies, she loses memories. She initially starts as an antagonist who is not afraid to murder some people on her way to the top. She gradually bonds with the main character due to their shared knowledge and shared love of stories. *MAJOR spoilers for manhwa readers* She gradually becomes one of the three main characters. She is one of the two people from the main cast to become a constellation (god-like beings living off stories). She spearheads the attempts to rescue the one person who matters most to her, even when it is impossible. Even when everyone else has given up years ago. She dooms whole universes and all their people for her one person. She sacrifices everything.

Wiki Link

Lee Jihye from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint / ORV

Submission: 

Lee Jihye is boisterous, a little childish and even abrasive. She brags, jokes around, gets into teenage hijinks. But under the surface there is a great deal of survivor's guilt, self-loathing and insecurity. She is a traumatized teenager who killed her best friend to live, and has to live with that for the rest of her life. She is an incredibly talented swordsman and a general capable of turning a battle around all on her own. And a girl just trying to learn how to survive.

Wiki Link

[revolutionarygold]

If you cannot tell from my comment I ADORED mirror-finish, what a brilliant story! In case I can tempt you, I would love to hear/read about what life might look like for them, if they ever manage to return to England? And does James ever feed on Francis? 👀

EEEE thank you so much for all your kind words I'm really glad it spoke to you that much!!

I do have Thoughts about a post-rescue-vampire-verse but we'll see if they ever get turned into something Workable. The one where they go back and the one where they don't. If they do go back, it'd be after Silna helps feed the people who survive (and James turns the people who don't) and then JCR or a whaling vessel or what have you pick them up and take them home and then you've got Early Victorian Vampire James Fitzjames What Crimes Will He Commit (gay ones) which is always a fun time.

But of course All Those Guys Are Still Dying A Lot and so you could also get either James as the solo survivor or (more likely, because I am a sap) James and Francis as a surviving duo. Silna isn't exiled because Tuunbaq isn't dead, so she's like "Hey guys. Yeah, these are my...white boys? I dunno. Yeah they're rescues. I feel obligated to them for deeply unknown reasons. I wish I could leave them to die but. I can't. So. Will you make room in your heart for two aging sailors. One of them is a freak of nature. Yeah I dunno either." and gets to pass them off. Maybe Goodsir also survives, because Silna throws him over her shoulder and takes him home when she sees shit's breaking bad with the main group, in which case she's like "My husband won't stop crying until we rehome them. Someone, anyone, please god anyone but me, teach these guys how to feed themselves."

The Secret Third Option is the one where the main group does survive and they do get picked up by JCR or a whaling vessel or what have you, but James can't go back to England because he can't cross running water. Ice is a gray area: it's water, but not running water, so he can be in the Arctic but he can't ever be anywhere else. In this situation, I think James and Francis send the survivors back to England and tell Little to tell everyone that they both died (we are dead and gone etc) and then they rock up to the Netsilik like "heyyyyyyyy :)" and Silna (who still threw Goodsir over her shoulder) is like Sorry We Don't Accept Solicitors. But they end up integrating into the Netsilik tribe and playing hide and seek with any other European explorers over the years (while also maybe acting as guardian angel type situations insofar as they drop off fresh food or give them warnings about ice and the creatures that live on it) much like Francis's canon show ending.

In any scenario, I think like, within a year of whatever their ending ends up looking like, Francis looks in a mirror (or water reflection etc) and is like "Hm. I was already more than a decade older than him. That will only ever keep being true." and asks James to turn him so he won't have to Live Forever Alone. This is treated like a wedding. In my heart.

Yes of course James feeds off Francis >:)

[kiwibongos]

im back thinking again. regarding my last post with how i interpreted ibuki and fuyuhiko's friendship im heavily thinking abt him and hiyoko. hiyoko more specifically tbh. its hiyoko appreciation time. will contain spoilers

imo she should have lived. also tbh kazuichi shouldve died, not her. thats a whole other sauce tho (again) but like. i feel like hiyoko deserved to survive way more, in general. her potential was really there man

i used to hate hiyoko, i still kind of dislike her in a certain way but its because all of that points blame to the writers of sdr2, for the god awful pacing they thought was good, and how they just didn't really bother to show a lot of growth from her before her time was wrapped up? i enjoy how she was the mean character bc there's always gotta be That One Bitch, but i really would've loved for her to survive, for her to heal and live on for mahiru and even to grow close with fuyuhiko, ibuki, hajime and sonia, and she would perhaps even express sadness towards ibuki and mikan's deaths

its like everything that had happened in the game, and all the time they spent focused on hiyoko and what she was going through just went to waste, and they spent the rest on weaker material or scenes. hiyoko should have been given the same character arc fuyuhiko lived to see. and both of them have so much in common already, they'd make a pretty good duo. e.g., they both lost someone they loved (mahiru & peko), they're both mean, stubborn, and quippy but secretly soft around the right people, also hello they literally look related anyway ... the blonde hair and the rosy cheeks . come on. someone on spike chunsoft saw them. but it didnt work out. anyway i feel like they would bond amazingly, albeit very slowly, but they're definitely the duo to just gossip all the time about other people LOL, and fuyuhiko would try to comfort her as well, because he's lost two people

hiyoko wouldn't just easily forgive him of course, i dont think she ever could, hence why i emphasized they'd slowly bond because the tension would be agonizing. she was furious, and still mourning mahiru when she had just died, but she would at least understand him and grow to accept his company and genuine kindness overtime (and she had almost seemed to near the very end??). if she lived to see his genuine growth and saw that he actually cared and that he would do anything to make it up to her, she'd be way less cautious of him. and she'd realize that the fact that they're both stuck on an island in a killing game, and fuyuhiko genuinely seems to be the only one who seems to bother, and the only one who actually sees her. so if not him, who else does she really have, you know. at least, at that moment

afterwards, hiyoko would just calm down and be more cooperative and helpful overtime, she's not dumb at all and she knows what to say, though she might butt her head in at the worst times, she also doesn't put up with bullshit, the same way sonia doesn't, they both act thoroughly bc they're smart. she'd also be really helpful in the trials tbh, i think she'd be the kind to spot out little details

later on she'd have sonia and hajime to support her too! someone has to help her with her kimono.... fuck it they'd all collectively just tolerate her but also encourage her. compared to fuyuhiko she hadn't really done anything bad, she was just hurt. she just needs someone, now that her own someone was gone

of course id love if she stayed hotheaded but just not call everyone a skank or a pig every two seconds, keep her mean side i love a bad bitch, she just wouldn't have kept that mask up, and she'd learn like, "Oh Shit, these people are all i have, and i need them". if she stuck around, hiyoko wouldve been such a good help as a survivor. and just generally more interesting to see, she woulda stuck out to me more in general. wouldve LOVED to see her shine in chapter three, or the final two chapters

hiyoko fans please rise with me. i love her and her dumb pigtails. tldr im MAD she didn't get her redemption like she deserved she was so cool despite also being nasty but she had a CHANCE dude the potential was shining bright in front of our eyes

[welcome-tothe-madness]

So upset I have yet to see a kuroshitsuji edit to Brutus, like, ARE YOU KIDDING ME.

That song is SOOOO O!Ciel coded.

I could literally do a lyrics breakdown analysis of how each verse correlates with his backstory.

I've been watching him for my entire life

I hate the air he breathes, his foolish decrees

His words so contrived

And I hate the way the townspeople gather outside

They hang on every breath, cling to his chest

Home to his heart full of pride

Obviously, O!Ciel has been forced into his brother’s shadow, and watch how everyone adores his brother while he stays inside alone with a dog

The oracle told him to beware the Ides

And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't wishing

For untimely death or demise

Or am I just wishing I could be like you?

That the people would see me too as a poet

And not just the muse

The oracle could be Undertaker meeting the twins when they were young, foreboding a terrible fate to come. Also, O!Ciel had to face some pretty complicated feelings of being in R!Ciel’s shadow.

Oh, it's not true, I don't wish harm upon you

From birth we've been like brothers of different mothers

Within the spirit of the same womb

May the gods strike me down if I forsake you

Frater meus, you're beautifully made

And to you I'm forever grateful

O!Ciel does not actually wish harm upon his brother, but he does feel immense envy for being born as his sickly spare. But he is grateful to him for being his protector and light

I'll never forget that you showed me to make art

And I know the love you showed me came

From a pure and noble heart

I love you, and if you want, I'll call you King

But why do I lie awake each night thinking

"Instead of you, it should be me"?

O!Ciel knows his brother is kind, noble, and pure, but he cannot help but believe he is the one deserving Earldom

Something wicked this way comes

And as I set to face it, I'm unsure

Should I embrace it, should I run?

What motivates me? Hatred? Is it love?

What's more wrong; that I too wish to be great

Or my mother wished she'd had a son?

And even if I can't be the one

Maybe I could at least help make way for him

Until the day that he comes

Maybe my name could also be known

That I helped return good to the people

And restored greatness to Rome

I believe this could be where Sebastian is introduced and O!Ciel begins to grapple with survivors guilt, his own selfishness, and him forever being changed by what happened. He wants to be the one remembered.

My name is Brutus and my name means heavy

So with a heavy heart

I'll guide this dagger into the heart of my enemy

My whole life, you were a teacher and friend to me

Please know my actions are not motivated only by envy

I, too, have a destiny

This death will be art

The people will speak of this day from near and afar

This event will be history, and I'll be great too

I don't want what you have, I want to be you

I believe these lyrics for the most part are self explanatory, but I think this would be a cool part to bring back O!Ciel witnessing R!Ciel’s death (by a dagger), and him reclaiming his dead brother’s name and family ring

I always knew I could be the one

Though I feel the endless pain of being

And I am scorched by the Sun

Of humble origins and born of the cursed sex

My name is Brutus, but the people will call me Rex

That last lyric is the one that feels like the cherry on top for me. “My name is ___ but the people will call me Ciel” is a good alternative for a potential black butler animatic/edit whatever.

Idk, I’m an artist so I could def be the one to make this happen, but GRRRR I think this song fits him so well it drives me insane I haven’t seen anybody else make the connection

[dirt-apple-productions]

I can say with certainty that you're going to dismiss this entire anon because I'm "not being nice," but your entire account disparages me, my rights, and my community, so I'm not going to be fucking nice to someone who doesn't think I deserve to be treated decently.

Fuck right the hell off for telling people they should be ashamed for wanting suicide after this election. You're WHITE, and clearly straight and abled, so you have literally no idea how Trump's policies affected any marginalized groups because they've never targeted you.

People want to commit because they have no other options. Because Trump has shown VISIBLE signs that he's going to ACTIVELY make life hell for queer people, disabled people, poor people, and people of color or with a uterus, and you have the gall to act like everyone has the ability and the resources to just "deal with it"?

Moreover, the FIRST post I see on your page is this stupid "well if you don't want pregnancy just don't have sex!!!!1!!1!" bullshit.

Hey, fuckface. I'm a CSA survivor.

Look me in the eyes and tell me that rape victims should "just not have sex!!"

The next one I see is "people who are mad about others prioritizing groceries over OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES are privileged!!!"

I should not have to explain how fucking deplorable that is.

"Why are the people I love most posting the ugliest political shit on their blogs???"

BECAUSE PEOPLE SUFFER UNDER REPUBLICAN POLICIES.

You cannot possibly call other people privileged when you get to sit on your fucking high horse and not worry about how the next election is going to affect YOUR FUCKING HUMAN RIGHTS.

Your worst case scenario in this election is oh god FORBID queer people love who they love and marginalized people be safe.

Mine is that Trump and most of his followers want me DEAD and I'm not fucking kidding. It would take me thirty seconds to find five examples of someone spouting bullshit about how queers should die.

"Never forget that children are people!!!!!!!" But you're comfortable with them giving birth, apparently?

"Pro-choicers are spreading dangerous DIY abortion methods!!!!!" BECAUSE YOU CUNTS BANNED ABORTION AND ABORTIONS NEED TO HAPPEN.

"And you choose DANGEROUS & ILLEGAL!!!!"

YOU FUCKING CHOSE IT FOR US.

There is no way you don't realize how unbelievably fucking stupid you sound when you complain "oh well NOW there's UNSAFE abortions!!!!!!!!!!!!!" after BANNING SAFE ONES.

You want to fucking bitch and moan about "oh please be kind to white cis abled people!!!!!!!" when literally no one is attacking your rights like you're attacking others'.

Wanna call people shameful for not knowing what else to do? Okay, I'll match your energy. You are a fucking disgraceful example of a Christian and a completely heartless person. You obviously don't think about anyone but yourself, because literally any amount of empathy would mean this blog wouldn't be how it is.

You are genuinely cruel to the extent that I have to wonder if you've been touched by Satan, and I mean that with all of my heart. I truly hope that maybe God leads you to actually think about other people and their struggles rather than calling yourself a Christian.

Have the day you deserve and I fucking hope you never have to experience the dehumanization that me and my loved ones face on the daily from people like you. How disgusting.

sir this is a wendy’s

[ntls-24722]

God please, I want to marry all your DJ designs

That question for all of the DJs

Will you merry me Mr music man ?💍

Not:(LOVE YEAR ART)

#DJ MM LOVER FOR LIFE

THANK YOU BOOK AGARGARGAGH🦀

but as for the proposal...

this is an ambitious ask to answer, because of right now, there are 62.5 DJMMs out of the list of 86 Music Men and counting i have

and i am going to personally go on the mission to draw... each of their responses.

But I should probably eliminate the ones that are taken just to make this easier since it'll just be a hard "no,I'm taken" and Deejay Memento Mori + Meeboop are kids, so they're also eliminated, which leaves us with.... 44.

like... slightly more manageable.

I haven't talked about a lot of these guys, So I'll put a little desc for each!

Without further ado

"Will you marry me?"

1. Clavier! Sorry, it's a little hard for her to imagine marrying anyone after she killed her girlfriend on the day said girlfriend was going to propose to her. That's what being a religious fanatic drove her to do, not out of a devotion to a god, but in order to ensure herself an afterlife. The concept of a soul and a supposed afterlife for everything with a soul for someone without a soul and has seen nothing after her death, is very troubling

2. Lieutenant Armadillum is a requested MM based off of the prompt of just. "rolly polly." So I made her a part of security. With all those armored plates I wasn't sure what else she could be. She can be nice, but she takes everything literally, or as an order, and has a problem with volume control. Congrats to you and your new, loud wife

3. Walbergi/The Entertainer Piece... um. Hmm. I was almost not going to put him here because I would think he's more similar to MM than DJMM but him alongside the next two are actually just pieces of DJMM, all his jobs just assigned to their own Music Men. Walbergi (and the eliminated singer duo Lovebugz, which namely are taken) Are composers/musicians, but Walbergi is specifically a mantis entertainer that has the entire dancefloor as his wings. He is also really arrogant and feels superior to everyone around him... including you. Sorry.

4. The Security piece is, to some degree, also arrogant. At least he's quieter. He's the bouncer, and he has accepted your request, but with his constant desire and and usually ready opprotunity to beat the tar out of things he's around, I'm not entirely sure if that's a good thing.

5. Custodian Piece! He's the janitor and he's very lonely since he spends most of his time in the tunnels and slithering across the floor to clean it, he's kind of a people pleaser and would be over the moon to be proposed to. I'm not sure if he's good for hugs considering his entire underside is a mop. he recplaces it often, he showers yes, but he is also a full time custodian... i'm not sure if the feeling of hugging a damp wet mop would ideal

6. Polybius. um. Not sure what to say? He's haunted, he's enourmous, and he's single, and ready to mingle (htough, take caution, because he might be trying to trick you into playing a game and hypnotising you. or something.) Gamer bf?

Blood and organ exposure (more like an organ diagram, ish) below the cut!

7. The masquerader. Now we're getting into the SOS lore section of the list. This guy was the first success in shapeshifting, and could've been a lot more if he didn't try to escape by killing and taking the identity of a researcher. It almost worked, but he messed up the eyes. Typically, you only have 1 pupil in each, not 3. He was shot dead the moment his back was turned, and totally died. He doesn't like humans... at all. Sorry.

8. The entertainer does, though! He's the one survivor of the brain surgery done to instill robotic motions and an "algorithm" for their behavior. He died not due to surgery, but being left to starve to death, but in his lifetime he was able to figure out that the scientists in the Oort Cloud are not there on their own will, and he convinced the Vanessa of SOS to do something about it. Nonetheless, he doesn't have the same resentment, and he accepts your proposal, mostly due to having no idea what marriage is.

9. In SOS, the mastering of shapeshifting was a detrimental time for the creations of the Oort cloud, as now they could make living concept art. While some were whimsical re-imaginings of what the final product could be, like a more welcoming and humanoid "bee" design, some were made for shits and giggles, which is a horrifying concept when someone has to live through being a living product of "shits and giggles." Nonetheless, this bee is a queen bee, made her own hive, and does not want any other royalty around, especially not human royalty.

10. Dolomedes is another weird concept, less based off an idea but from a pre-designed mask - a fisherman... who has no idea what a fish is. His head is in the clouds, and he accepts the proposal.

11. Lucorum is not just any member of the queen's hive, but the queen's personal guard and is the loud and proud bestie of Dolomedes. That being said, she cares few for any other people. Sorry.

12. This is just one individual from a massive colony of asexually reproducting failures for shapeshifting - instead of exhibiting changes to themselves, they literally have a new person grow out of them that instead exhibits those changes. Most of them don't feel romantic attraction - And due to human trauma like 99% of anything from the Oortcloud, none of them would accept the offer.

13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18. Volupe's polycule may be a very open relationship, but none of them at least even know you. The council has decided not to accept the proposal.

This will be continued soon. I just need a while to draw + write the rest (ToT)

[songsofnightingales]

Khaire, my friend! I'm Two, and this is my primary sideblog for exploring hellenic polytheism. I am very new to all this, so please be patient with me and do correct me if I make a mistake, I'm learning and doing my best!

Small intro - I'm an adult in my 20s (so minors please keep a respectful distance), agender/nonbinary and use they/them pronouns. I'm mentally and physically disabled (AuDHD and depression, as well as joint weakness due to hypermobility that went undiagnosed for too long) and an abuse survivor, all of which I'm open about. I'm also very aroace and much prefer animals to people, especially my beautiful 19 year old cat who is the love of my life (I will take any excuse I can get to gush about her).

I've been agnostic all my life (ha!) until someone I've met got me interested in greek mythology, and it just spiraled from there. Looking back, the Gods have been with me all my life, and I just didn't have the knowledge to see it or the words to express what I felt. I do now, and it feels so right ❤️

The ones I feel most connected to are Thanatos and Ares, who I can feel watching over me, as well as Hephaestus. Possibly also Hypnos and Dionysus, on a lesser scale - there's something there, but I've yet to explore it. I will reblog content for all others too, because I'm fond of them all and I of course want to honor and respect them; my poor little brain just isn't big enough to worship everyone properly. Also I have adhd so have mercy I just KNOW i'm gonna hyperfixate on someone else every 2 weeks.

Thanatos content will mainly be on my other sideblog @callthenightingale which is dedicated to him specifically because I love him so much!! 💜

I also practice the ancient art of Do No Harm - Take No Shit. I'm very much a pacifist and want life to be filled with kindness and love. I love life, both being alive and all the forms life can take, and am eternally fascinated by all living things. Yes, I see the irony with the Gods I love. It makes sense to me, somehow.

In the same vein, everyone is welcome here as long as they are kind. I love you all, and there is no room in my heart for hatred, only please show me and each other the same respect ❤️ (I'm not interested in fighting. I block liberally. I am free and at peace.)

adding the lil banner thingamajigs because I love these things woo!

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

abuse , victim blaming

just need to vent, thank you

i hate hate HATE it when people being kind towards abuse survivors are called babying them. i hate hate HATE it when people tell survivors to fight back and say it's our own fault if we're stuck because we're unwilling to work towards our own freedom. i HATE it when they are praised and even proud of themselves for making us face the harsh truth. YOU DONT!!! i find it very very VERYYY victim blamey to even inisuate we are somehow in the wrong for what? not trying even harder to escape? i always feel insulted each time someone tell me to try to escape and "get out of my comfort zone". like, why did you assume i never tried to fight back or escape? why did you think i even have any comfort zone at all? i hate it even more when it comes to fellow abuse survivor who escaped on their own. like, okay??? just because you could finally escape doesnt mean everyone else can do it too??? do i understand that sometimes, there are no outsiders who can magically save us? of course i do! i've known since early age that nobody will side with me! do i desperately wish to be able to escape myself since nobody from outside would be able to or willing to help me! OF COURSE!!!! I'VE TRIED FOR YEARS!!! SO WHY THE ASSUMPTION THAT BECAUSE I'M STILL STUCK THEN CLEARLY I HAVEN'T TRIED HARD ENOUGH????!!!!

gods. i understand if people who never experience abuse say that. but fellow abuse survivors??? hello???? do you seriously think escaping abusive situation is just a matter of mindset change wtf. i know staying in an abusive situation is bad!!!! i know it's highly unlikely any outside party will help me!!! i also know that escaping will bring negative consequences because i have tried and experienced it myself!!! even if i do escape i dont even know where to go!!!! i will die either way!!! like holy shit just because my exterior personality is calm and friendly doesnt mean im just tolerating bullshit while denying reality wtf

Hi anon,

I hear you. Unfortunately there are a lot of people out there with backwards ideas about abuse survivors, and the rhetoric that they perpetuate is so hurtful and damaging to our recovery. It's frustrating to deal with people who are simply ignorant to how abuse actually works. By perpetuating victim-blaming in these ways, they are protecting abusers.

I think it's important to be reminded that you didn't deserve what happened, regardless of whether or not you fought back. You still deserve kindness and it's not your fault if you didn't fight back. The only person whose fault it is, is the person who caused the abuse in the first place (the abuser). Just because it may have taken you longer to leave, or because perhaps you're not out of it yet, doesn't make you weak or unworthy of love, kindness, and safety. You have been and are doing your best.

I also just want you to consider that these people, while they will unfortunately exist, they don't deserve your time, energy, and emotion. You are worth so much more than to give them space they don't deserve in your mind and heart. You know your truth, you know what really happened and how abuse really works, and they cannot take that away from you with their ignorance. It can be exhausting to challenge these kinds of people and the rhetoric they spout, especially because it hits you right in the trauma. So for your own mental health and self care, while it is important to acknowledge the effect these comments have on you, it's also important to, not let it go necessarily, but know that you're worth more than spending your energy and emotion arguing with ridiculous statements.

I hope I could help. Please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[purplemoonfox]

Captain Obvious is Obvious...and Star Wars thoughts overall

So, in mythology, Sköll and Hati are the two wolves that chase the sun and the moon. K cool I love Baylan Skoll and Shin Hati.

Only, when they catch their prey and devour it, that day marks the beginning of Ragnarök, the end of the world of gods and men, buuuuuuut, apparently, after that, the gods and the evil die, and the world is repopulated by two people...and the surviving gods make a new pantheon. Cue a new era ig.

In any case it's not like the Christian Apocalypse; many traditions focus more on cyclical time rather than linear time with an endpoint (Mayans, for example, reaching back to another Apocalypse scare in 2012), and it's become such an assumption in Western society that time and progress HAS an end, and an ultimate goal to which it's building up, that it's pretty much an assumption everyone in it makes. But it's not the only thought on the matter.

The thing I find so interesting about Baylan is that he seems embittered by the past, and thinks that somehow he's going to end the cycle? By starting another war? I mean the New Republic does suck. They're a weird combination of toothless and autocratic. Then again Baylan and Shin are mercenaries...?

Yeah I'm just going to sit here and read TS Eliot's The Wasteland about another "war to end all wars" and wait to see how this goes.

I'm so sad Ray Stevenson passed; he's been absolutely excellent.

On a side note, at this point, I need a dedicated show about the post-Order 66 Jedi that survived. Episode 6 of Ahsoka brought up "Bokken-Jedi," a bokken irl being a wooden practice katana. I beg your pardon, it's enough of a concept that there's an in-universe term for it?

I want to see the Service Corps go into hiding. I want to see networks of survivors being created. I want to see people finding some kind of peace in the galaxy...or not being able to do that. We got a hint of it in Obi-Wan and I'm getting cheated out of it right now.

Look, if Filoni wants to torture us with more Order 66, that's his golden opportunity. Please, Filoni.

But anyway--

General thoughts about this buildup of para-sequel-era shows, like The Mandalorian, The Book of Boba Fett, Ahsoka, and the upcoming Skeleton Crew. That don't really build up a goddamn thing, really, with the exception of Ahsoka.

The more it's created, and the more Thrawn and the whole plot of Ahsoka creates a whole conflict (while skirting addressing the issues of the New Republic) the more marginalized the ST actually is. They already felt like a rump mop-up of a larger conflict, or else something that just didn't involve the rest of the galaxy at large, and that was a criticism leveled at it even at the time.

Problem is, while the movies are seen as the crowning purpose of the Star Wars universe, we're moving away from them as being the central focus and I'm not sure that's being very well communicated or very well perceived. And I'm also kind of miffed that we're getting a short Haydennaissance only to be told we're moving away from the Skywalker story.

And it's fine that we're moving away from the Skywalker story (they literally said they would be doing that) and I'm alright with it, but that's not a reason to ignore Luke or Leia's characters when it makes sense to be involved with the overall plan.

Shit man, I'd be up for a somewhat Andor-style show about Leia's activities in the Senate, putting her in a similar position as what Mon Mothma occupies in Andor. The contrast of having Mon Mothma in one role in Andor and in a different one in that show would be a fascinating one. You could catch similarities and differences in the Empire, the New Republic, and even the pre-Imperial Republic; you'd even the perspectives of the people, like Mon Mothma, who lived through all three. It would be a damn good introduction to the political landscape of the sequel trilogies, and add a lot of depth to any attempts to get into sequel-era time periods.

Side note when the fuck is Andor season 2 being released I need more. Top 3 SW shows for me, that one.

Anyway, to sum up, what I think they ought to do is build up a plot line through shows, and use the opening crawls in the movies to bring movie-watchers up to speed, making it possible for them to have sufficient context, kind of like what they're doing with the MCU, but with more explanation. That way you double dip: people watch the shows but casuals are still willing to watch a Star Wars movie in theaters and know they're going to be watchable.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

Wigfrid Characterization: Attitude Towards Maxwell

Ok. I've been seeing this trend time and time again for years now and I'm finally bringing it up bc. idk I do what I want.

While it is understandable to assume from an outward perspective that Wigfrid- a morals-obsessed, overly heroic, walking monologue of a norse angel- would hold an intense amount of spite and hatred towards Maxwell after all he's done... canonically, that simply. isn't the case.

And it's strange! It's certainly strange! But it's also fascinating! And I think it harps on a very interesting part of her character that no one thinks as frequently about: so long as Wigfrid considers you a friend, she will hold an astronomical fondness for you. Wigfrid loves her friends, and Maxwell is her friend.

In regards to Maxwell's old statues- by far the easiest way to compare the cast's opinions on him- almost none of the other survivors have anything nice to say about him (Woodie claims he'll use it as fodder to poke fun, Willow just flat out insults him, WX implies his ineptitude, you get the point).

There are only three characters out of the expansive cast of 17 who have anything genuinely good to say about them- even despite the circumstances and the statue's previous associations: - Wickerbottom, who has a pre-established relationship with Maxwell, both being magic wielders who seem interested in each others' crafts - Wolfgang, who- while not as obviously as Wicker- has a fondness and relationship with Maxwell that surpasses that of the other survivors - And guess who else. Wigfrid.

And I see far more interpretations that harp on the first two's bonds with the magician (though admittedly not as much with Wolfgang as he probably deserves) than I've ever seen with Wigfrid! I think because it's so easy to assume that she wouldn't ever give him a second chance. But really when you take a step back and look at what she has to say, she's incredibly generous with him.

Maxwell is the only survivor in the game she will specifically greet with the title of 'ally'. Almost as if she's trying to convince him that she's being genuine. She makes a constant and noticeable effort to remind him that she's a friend to him. An asset. An ally.

When he does something that isn't morally abhorrent, and when she speaks of his goodness, she phrases it in such a specific way. The kindness buried within his heart. As if to imply she believes it's been there from the start- that she or anyone else could simply help dig it out into the open again.

Even when she's playfully ribbing at him (which, lets be honest, everyone should to do because it's fun and he deserves it), she still keeps his health and wellness in mind. Of all people to make stronger- to trust with physical power and fighting prowess- she's willing to bestow it to Maxwell. The same Maxwell who kept her trapped in that place, gloating and sneering and sending hoard after hoard of mind numbingly horrifying beasts to kill her in indescribable ways.

She trusts him. She likes him. She wants to bring out the good in him. She's here for his redemption arc. She's actively making an effort for him. Its unhealthy to pit theater kids against each other for the love of god please they're the only two left in the Constant* let them have this-

[web-novel-polls]

WN Women Bonus Polls #3: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint

[Propaganda below] - Major Spoilers Warning!

Han Sooyoung / Han Suyeong from ORV / Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint

Submission 1: I can't even begin to explain the real reason so I'll just. She's everything. Consumes my every waking thought. Someone else please take the lead and add propaganda for me

Submission 2: 

Han Suyeong is a writer. She is cunning, self-serving and confident. Her avatar skill allows her to divide herself into as many copies as she pleases, and each copy can look like anyone. Her only weakness is that if she loses the copies, she loses memories. She initially starts as an antagonist who is not afraid to murder some people on her way to the top. She gradually bonds with the main character due to their shared knowledge and shared love of stories. *MAJOR spoilers for manhwa readers* She gradually becomes one of the three main characters. She is one of the two people from the main cast to become a constellation (god-like beings living off stories). She spearheads the attempts to rescue the one person who matters most to her, even when it is impossible. Even when everyone else has given up years ago. She dooms whole universes and all their people for her one person. She sacrifices everything.

Wiki Link

Jang Hayoung from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint / ORV

[No Propaganda prepared]

Wiki Link 

Additional Propaganda: 

Propaganda for Jang Hayoung: Transwoman, universe-hopper, canonically the prettiest character. Personifies one of the themes of the book. You can't know anyone just by looking from the outside; or more spesifically - you can't ever know anyone fully. The inside of their heads will always be a mystery for you. You can't ever know if they receive the words you say and the actions you do as you intended them. You can't ever know how the things you do affect another person. You can't ever know them.   But it's worthwhile to try anyway. 

Jung Heewon from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint / ORV

“Just because I am a murderer doesn’t mean I want to keep killing. I don’t want to be a monster.” - Jung Heewon, Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, Chapter 31 

Jung Heewon rights forever and ever. She’s so funny and cool and witty and funny and good and kind. I’m not far enough or eloquent enough to explain why she’s the best, so here’s another quote: 

“They lived their whole lives inside the cages of their worldview, only to be used by the invaders from the outside. Demanding such people to be brave was the very act of violence itself. Jung Heewon wanted to tell them; tell them that they didn’t have to fight, that she’d do something to resolve this by herself, somehow.” - Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint, Chapter 395 (Tumblr)

Wiki Link 

Lee Jihye from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint / ORV

Submission: 

Lee Jihye is boisterous, a little childish and even abrasive. She brags, jokes around, gets into teenage hijinks. But under the surface there is a great deal of survivor's guilt, self-loathing and insecurity. She is a traumatized teenager who killed her best friend to live, and has to live with that for the rest of her life. She is an incredibly talented swordsman and a general capable of turning a battle around all on her own. And a girl just trying to learn how to survive.

Wiki Link

Lee Sookyung from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint / ORV

[No propaganda prepared]

Wiki Link 

Uriel from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint / ORV

[No propaganda prepared]

Wiki Link 

Additional Propaganda 1: Cheerful and kind personality, amazing powers for smiting evil, huge rpf shipper. Think fujoshi but for people you actually know in real life 😂

Additional Propaganda 2: Member of the Absolute Good constellations, ships the main character with the protagonist. About to bankrupt her constellation paying for new content for her ship 😉

Yu Sangah / Yoo Sangah from Omniscient Reader’s Viewpoint

Submission: 

Yu Sangah is a intelligent and hardworking woman with a vast array of skills, which are sadly not optimized for surviving the apocalypse. But there is nothing she can't learn if she puts her mind into it, and soon enough she is a powerful force to be reckoned with.  She has the best interpersonal skills of the main cast and a vast array of knowledge. Her fighting style is graceful, athletic and utterly brutal. She wields dual daggers and threads.  All the while she remains the moral heart of the group, a steadfast support to her friends, and a capable leader in her own right.