#become less desirable past a certain age

[klanced]

i understand why it didnt happen. but i do legitimately think that the voltron fandom would have been better if shiro/coran was more popular. i was a #shirantruther from the start but imagine if some dude and his dilf bf was a cornerstone of the fandom

YOU ARE SO REAL FOR THIS‼️🗣️🔥💯💯

im not even joking like. can you imagine the neutralizing impact shiran would have had on the fandom dynamic. like imagine if it was as uncontested as a well-established fanfavorite het ship. like sure people would still ship them with other characters but there would have been like a mutually understood starting point. we could have had peace

also the dynamic of shiro being allura’s step-dad/step-uncle would have been so Peak

[morning-star-joy]

honey don't feed it, it will come back (Joel x F!Reader)

Pairing: Bodyguard!Joel x Sex Worker F!Reader

Summary: You run a brothel in the Boston QZ, devoting yourself to taking care of your girls. When the safety of one is threatened, you hire a bodyguard in the form of the surly Joel Miller to protect them. Little did you know that you were going to become his new favorite vice, and him your favorite addiction.

Warnings: MDNI Explicit Smut (oral f receiving, v fingering, Joel jacks off while going down on Reader, dirty talk, bit of a sir kink, bit of a brat tamer dynamic). Pet names (baby, darlin’, sweetheart). Alcohol/drug use. Sex work (Joel listens to Reader). Age gap (20 years). Mentions of physical assault (towards minor characters, never from Joel. Not stated to be sexual assault but it can be inferred as such, so please take care of yourselves).

Wordcount: 9.6k (how the fuck)

joel miller masterlist

The world was fucked to all hell and back, and so what did men do in those circumstances?

“Oh fuck,” your customer was grunting as he fucked into you from behind, your hands on the headboard as it rocked against the wall to keep yourself up, breathy moans expertly leaving your lips to spur them on, even if you hadn’t felt an inkling of desire in years.

Yeah.

They fucked.

Fight or flight were often referred to in the first years following the Outbreak, a default of survival instinct that most everybody resorted to in order to survive.

But fucking was the much less talked about, incredibly prevalent third option.

It became clear in the Quarantine Zones that there was a need to be filled here, a way to satisfy that urge in a way that wouldn’t cause a barely held-together society inside high walls to erupt into chaos.

From this need, brothels made an appearance. While FEDRA had nothing to do with the establishments officially, they turned a very convenient blind eye to the street corners where women trying to make some kind of a living in the QZ took up their stations, tempting any lonely man who may wander by into a night of needed release.

It was a dangerous profession, in its own way. Contraceptives were long expired twenty years after the society collapsed, and even if a client pulled out at the best time and you were keeping track of your cycle, there was always the risk of being put out of work for around 9 months if you were unlucky.

And then came the obsession.

Clients could become far too eager far too quickly, addicted to the touch and feeling of a certain girl, mistaking lust for affection and lurking around those street corners before the night even came or, worse, outside the brothel doors.

You’d experienced it first-hand and through other girls, but it wasn’t until one of the younger ones came to you with a black eye and bruised jaw that you had had enough.

“Who did it?” you said in a low tone, breathing deeply in and out through your nose as you tried to control yourself, reigning yourself back in from the need to grab the gun you kept tucked in the top drawer of your rickety old nightstand and find who the fuck had laid their hands on one of your girls in such a way.

After years of being in the business, you had gone from only taking clients to keeping a watchful eye over the other women who made the same living you did. Your glory days were mostly behind you, but you still had your reputation, even after the incident that left you with a jagged scar that stretched vertically across the right side of your face, from above your eyebrow, down across your eye to just below your cheekbone.

Those clients you did still have preferred to fuck you with you facing away from them now, but you weren’t complaining. Not seeing their ugly faces as they used you to cum helped you dissociate, focus your thoughts on how well you were going to eat the next few days because of a few minutes of sacrifice.

The young woman whose lip was trembling as you held her hands gently in yours now was hardly past her early twenties, a sweet young thing who you had taken under your wing when she confessed needing a way to get some extra ration cards for her little brother who had gotten sick recently.

You had snuck Isabel some of your own ration cards with each of her payments, not caring that you had a bit less to eat each night, especially when she had come to you a couple weeks later with a bright smile and the news that her brother’s health had improved.

Now that smile that could light up the whole goddamn QZ was nowhere to be seen, an abject horror darkening her gaze, making her angelic face gaunt as you reached up to gently hold it, tilting it so you could assess the extent of the damage.

Her eyes, a deep honeyed brown that had drawn in the most clients your brothel had seen in years, were avoiding yours as you searched for her gaze, and you gently directed her face back towards you, voice softer as you implored her, “Isabel. Please, talk to me, babygirl.”

A choked sob was the first sound to leave her mouth then at the sound of your genuine affection. The world may be fucked, but protecting these girls was your purpose. And the thought of not being enough to protect them, for one of them to come to you like this…

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you whispered as her petite form collapsed against yours, holding her close as you smoothed a hand over the tangles in her hair, gently combing them out with your fingers as your other hand rubbed at her back. “It’ll be okay, love. You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

Even as you assured her, a fear was creating pressure in the back of your mind, causing the first of many sleepless nights as you tried to figure out how to make sure this could never happen again.

You sat at your little makeshift desk in your tiny room on the top floor of the brothel, a cheap cigarette you had just gotten from a couple smugglers perched between your fingers as you slowly exhaled the smoke, staring down at your incoherent scribbled notes.

With a groan, you pushed yourself away from the desk, standing to cross over to the small window on the wall, gazing out in paranoia to make sure there were no dark shadows lingering nearby, waiting to get a hold of one of your girls if they didn’t want it.

Glancing back down at the lit cigarette, you pondered your few options.

FEDRA was not a viable source for protection. Yes, they turned a blind eye on your activities, but they would never risk their image by offering guards for your girls. Besides, you didn’t trust anybody in one of those uniforms within an inch of your life.

Fireflies weren’t a fucking option either. Those jackasses were so far up the proverbial ass of justice that they couldn’t see the actual struggles of the real people around them, subjecting them to be collateral in whatever useless statement they were making lately.

The cigarette was raised halfway to your lip when you paused, staring down at it as you suddenly had a small epiphany.

Who did you know that had not an ounce of a moral code, but a strong work ethic and determination to get the job done for a good deal that promised a stack of ration cards?

A smirk curled onto your lips then as you brought the cigarette back to them, placing it in your mouth as you took a long drag, exhaling it towards the window and watching it fog up the glass as you realized exactly who you were heading to.

“We don’t do protection,” your smuggling contact was saying, her voice as gruff and no-nonsense as always, and you sighed, meeting her sharp green eyes straight on as you shifted to cross your legs.

“Don’t bullshit me, Tess,” you said flatly back, your voice not harsh, but definitely firm, calling her out on her bluff even as you saw her ever-present guard dog shift a ways behind her at your tone. “You’ll do anything for a good trade. And I have that.”

“I don’t wanna fuck your girls,” Tess dismissed, waving her hand as if to brush the thought away, and you rolled your eyes, even as you couldn’t help a smirk, glancing at your associate with a small hint of mirth that matched her own.

“I’m not offering that,” you replied honestly, slowly drumming your fingers at the small table you were both seated at in one of the back alleys where these deals tended to go down. Public enough to avoid a shootout, but private enough to avoid FEDRA breathing down your backs. “My girls get paid for their work. So would you.”

Tess raised an eyebrow then, leaning in just a fraction, and you knew that you had captured just a fraction of her attention.

Good. You could work with that.

“What are we talking?” she asked in a low tone, voice still disinterested, gaze still closed off, but you knew that would change when you laid out the conditions of the deal.

When you did—offering a heft of ration cards (that they didn’t need to know was almost your entire cut of the brothel’s proceeds) for an able body to keep watch at your brothel during active business hours—Tess leaned back again, eyes flickering over your face as she processed the information.

“You know I’m good for it, Tess,” you implored, allowing a bit of emotion to creep into your tone now as you meet her gaze, hoping she would hear what you were asking for, woman to woman. “And these girls…they need it.”

She frowned then, sympathy flashing over her face as she glanced over yours, hearing what went unsaid.

Tess began to turn her head slightly over her shoulder, though she didn’t bother sparing a glance back as she called, “Joel.”

That was the first time you think you’d heard the name of her silent, watchful companion.

You knew that they were a package deal, but whenever you met with Tess, he lingered in the background, making sure you didn’t lay a hand on her.

Good, you thought to yourself, glancing over at him as he pushed himself off the wall and strolled over just at the unspoken order she gave for him to approach. If he’s who she has in mind, hopefully he does the same for the girls.

It was also the first time you really got a look at the man who Tess finally introduced you, explaining to the both of you how this was going to work at the same moment.

With those thick arms that could be around your neck as fast as you could blink, hardened dark eyes that were already measuring you up and calculating at least six ways to take you out before you could even open your mouth to say hello, you knew that just the sight of him in your brothel would strike fear into the depraved hearts of meeker, cowardly men.

He was older, too. Maybe had twenty years on you, and if somebody had lived that long in the apocalypse, they had to know how to get their hands fucking dirty if they needed to.

“I’ll take him,” you said back to Tess after appraising the man who would be your brothel’s bodyguard, your attention only pulled back to the hunk of muscles when you heard him scoff at your words. “There a problem?”

“I’m not a piece of meat,” he grunted, expression flat as he stared at you, and you arched an eyebrow, unamused by his comment that came right after you and Tess had agreed to the terms of the deal.

“Hate to break it to you, but a bodyguard is nothing but that,” you replied as you gracefully uncrossed your legs, rising to your feet as Tess collected their first payment from you off the table, pushing it into her front pocket as she rose from her own seat as well. “Muscle that can drop a man at a moment’s notice.”

You watched as Joel’s strong jaw ticked, your other eyebrow rising with the first as you stepped around the table, getting closer to the man than you probably should, watching as his tense shoulders bunched up even more around his ears when you approached. 

“And now, you’re my muscle, Mr. Miller,” you said in a perfectly conversational tone, a practiced smile pulling onto your lips as Joel glanced down at them briefly before looking back into your eyes, his gaze narrowing as you added, “Pleasure to be doing business with you.”

Spinning on your heel, you strolled away from the smugglers towards the exit to the alley, but not without saying back over your shoulder before you got too far, “First shift’s an hour after curfew. Don’t be late.”

There was the sound of low grumbling behind you, followed by the smooth low tones of Tess’ voice, and you didn’t know why you felt the urge to laugh at that moment.

You didn’t know why, because you hadn’t laughed in years.

But you brushed that feeling aside, heading back towards your establishment to ready your girls for the change that would be coming in their worlds tonight, hoping that it would give them the peace of mind you all so desperately needed.

Whether you would be able to relax all depended on if Joel Miller could actually do his job.

He could.

One of the very first nights Joel had taken up station in the main hallway in the brothel that led off to private rooms, he had proven his worth, and then some.

You had been down the staircase in an instant when you heard the loud crash, heart racing in your chest, breath quickened from panic as you rounded down to see what had caused the loud sound.

Some thumps and bumps were common in an establishment like yours, but that sounded very much like a body not only hitting the ground, but being thrown down onto it.

What you saw then was an image that etched itself deep into your brain for the rest of your days.

Joel, your brand new, stoic bodyguard who hardly gave so much as a grunt to you or any of the girls he was hired to protect, had a half-naked man pressed to the old floorboards, knee digging right into his back to pin him down, a large hand keeping a tight grip on his neck to stop him from moving.

But what got your attention even more than the struggling client who Joel was snarling at as he roughly kept them down, was the girl who was standing behind him, arms wrapped around herself and subconsciously shifting to stay behind the bodyguard, eyes wide and relieved at the sight of him catching the out of hand customer.

You walked towards the scene that had drawn spectators in the form of clients and workers alike, peeking their heads out into the hallway to watch as you slowly knelt down in front of where the bastard was pinned so roughly to the ground that you weren’t sure he could even breathe.

Good.

You glanced up at Joel then, meeting his hard gaze with one of your own, and you gestured with a jerk of your chin towards the staircase leading down and out of your establishment that he could throw them out.

After rising to your feet, you paused next to Joel, watching from the corner of your eye as he grabbed the man roughly, yanking them to their feet and halting in his task only when you briefly laid your hand on his shoulder.

“Let him know not to come back,” you muttered under your breath, sending a sidelong glance full of unspoken things towards Joel, a tiny smirk curling onto your lips as the whimper of fear from the sick bastard and your bodyguard’s short nod let you know you’d been heard.

You walked straight towards your girl who had nearly been treated in a way you would not tolerate towards any of your women, wrapping your arm around her shoulder and pulling her against you, letting her sink into your warmth as you addressed the rest of the brothel that everything was fine, to resume their activities while Joel shoved the guy down the stairs as they started to beg for mercy.

Luckily, there weren’t many similar incidents after that one, letting you know the investment into a well-abled bodyguard for your girls had been more than worth it.

Because more than the concrete evidence of their safety, it was the palpable shift in energy at the brothel that reassured you that you had made the right choice not only in having a bodyguard, but in who you hired.

Joel never really warmed up to anybody, but all the girls had certainly grown fond of him. There were more than a few crushes on the emotionally unavailable older man who stood like a statue in the halls, ranging from innocent love to lustful fantasies.

There were a handful of times one of your girls had offered their services to him, some even trying to get him into a room free of charge, but Joel turned down every one—interestingly enough, it was never without kindness. Each time a proposition was offered, the detached bodyguard would give a slight shake of his head, mumbling a “no thank you, ma’am” in that deep Southern drawl that soon made almost every girl in that building buckle at the knees.

The fondness your girls had for Joel Miller became ingrained in the way the brothel functioned, and you knew that you couldn’t get rid of him even if you wanted to, even if that meant continuing to share a large portion of your personal livelihood with him.

And maybe you were crazy, but you thought that maybe Joel had a bit of warmth in that tiny, shriveled up heart for your girls, too. Sometimes he’d eye a client up and down before giving the girl with them a respectful nod and a polite murmur of their name as a greeting, and you didn’t know why the familiarity of the stoic man warmed your own barbed wire heart, but it did.

Maybe it was because after all the shit they’d gone through to survive long enough to reach this point, they deserved to experience an ounce of genuine kindness from a man, without having to think about what they had to offer him.

Still, Joel irritated you. Any hint of kindness he had for your girls was never shown towards you, but you didn’t let it get to you. You were his employer, and the only times you ever really interacted with each other were the few short seconds it took him to head up the stairs to your office, collect his payment with you and leave.

Besides, you weren’t exactly the most gentle with him either.

You’d taken up a habit of poking fun at your bodyguard, a little teasing here and there about things like his face getting stuck if he never unfurrowed his brow, a comment that only made him scowl further, the sight pulling forward again that urge from deep within your bones to laugh.

But you never laughed, even as you smirked up at him before turning on your heel and going on about your work keeping the place running smoothly.

That work mainly involved management and finances, but when you began to realize you soon wouldn’t be able to keep supporting yourself with keeping Joel on as a bodyguard, you knew you’d have to start doing something a little extra.

Time to go back to your roots.

For all his time working at the brothel, Joel had never seen you take a client.

In fact, he could probably count on one hand the amount of times he had seen you in the hallways, only to check on a few of the girls from time to time.

But most of the time you were holed up in that small office upstairs, the one he entered for a minute or two at a time, long enough for you to gather his payment and give it to him so he could be out of your hair—or, more accurately, to get you out of his.

Because fuck, you were irritating. You knew exactly how to get on his nerves, and Joel suspected you actually enjoyed doing so, for whatever goddamned reason.

Still, the job paid well. He was living with a bit more comfort in the QZ than he ever had before with those cushy extra ration cards.

And besides, he was actually, maybe a little bit attached to the girls who worked these streets. They were kind, just making a living in the best way they could, and needed somebody to protect them.

Maybe there was also a part of Joel that needed somebody to protect.

He had to admit though, for all his aggravation towards your mere existence, Joel did respect you. You were the person who kept this place up and running, the one who looked after every need of each woman, the lady who had cared for them enough to search for a protector to keep them safe.

Joel had honestly assumed that you didn’t do sex work at all, just judging from how you were never in one of those rooms.

But tonight, you were walking up the staircase from the base floor instead of down from your office, drawing Joel’s attention and subsequent confusion when he saw what you were wearing.

Gone were the baggy jeans you usually wore around the brothel, replaced by thigh-highs that enveloped soft skin he had never seen before. There were just hints of lace at the top of the hosiery from where the tight black dress hugging your curves rode up with each step you took.

It had to have been one of the least scantily clad outfits he’d seen down these halls, but something about the sight of you wearing it caused a lump to form in Joel’s throat, an itch curling inside his veins that needed to be scratched when you turned your head back, offering a sly smile different from any you had sent him towards somebody behind you.

When you ascended to the top of the stairs, Joel saw the man following you, his back stiffening for more than one reason.

The first reason was that he knew this man. Not personally, but he had seen them around—on wanted posters, specifically. They were a higher up in the Fireflies, one who had their eyes on every covert deal around the city, a puppet master pulling the strings.

But it was clear now that you were pulling his, a coy batting of your cunning eyes tugging him after you down the hallway, your body turned slightly towards him in a way that accentuated every curve of your body in its side profile, illuminated in the lowlights of the hall.

When you passed by Joel, eyes meeting his as they shifted into something darker—not lustful, but with clear intent—he knew the other reason he had suddenly snapped to attention.

This man was your customer.

That look you had given Joel, it was an unspoken order to keep you safe in case anything went south with this considerably more…“exclusive” customer, for lack of a better term.

You didn’t spare another glance back as you moved to a door at the end of the hall, one Joel didn’t think he had ever seen another girl enter, slipping into the room as the man followed behind you, and the door quietly clicked shut.

Joel stared at the spot where you had just been in the hallway, feet frozen to the ground until he slowly stepped forward, moving down to lean against the wall next to the room you had entered, following your silent order to stay close and keep an eye out for trouble.

All his time working in a building full of the sounds and smell of sex at every moment, Joel had been unbothered. The moans, the grunts, the cries of “oh fuck” and “I’m coming!” that would echo through the halls, the overpowering scents of sweat and cum when a door next to him would open and a satisfied client would walk out—he couldn’t give less of a fuck. It neither bothered him, nor turned him on to any degree.

But at the very first soft, breathy moan of yours that drifted through the thin wall his back was pressed to, Joel’s breath was catching in his throat, entire body stiffening at the alluring sound.

A few seconds later, there was another moan, longer than the first, and Joel’s head tilted back, resting against the wall as his jaw clenched to the point where it was almost painful.

He didn’t care, he told himself.

Joel had never cared before, he didn’t care now.

But it had never been you before.

You, the stalwart image of the establishment, all business and no pleasure, putting every other person’s needs before your own.

So at the thought of you giving into pleasure now, satisfying your own needs as the sounds of slow, rhythmic squeaking of a bedframe carried towards him through the door, your whimpering echoing the steady echo of skin slapping against skin—

“Fuck,” Joel whispered under his breath, eyes fluttering shut at a particularly loud moan of yours that reached his ears that had tuned in through the walls, and he snapped his eyes back open, straightening back up and realizing with a quiet groan from the movement how painfully hard he had grown in his jeans at the sounds of you being fucked.

He reminded himself then that this was your job. There was no guarantee you derived any real pleasure from it—to think that you did was a delusional male fantasy, and made him no better than the rest.

But his dick wasn’t listening to logic, only growing harder in his pants with the more lewd sounds that you made, and Joel sucked in a deep breath, rubbing a large palm over his face and shaking his head to himself.

You were no different from the others.

Just another girl to protect.

Joel didn’t want you.

“Oh, god, yes!” you were gasping in between keening moans now, and Joel bit down hard on his lower lip, feeling the chapped skin break and bleed a bit as his hand twitched at his side, the urge to do something about the erection straining against his pants so incredibly strong.

He could do it. None of the other girls were close to finishing with their clients. Joel could pull his cock from his pants right now and fuck into his own hand as he listened to you having sex, get himself off from the sounds you were making, imagining he was thrusting into you instead of his palm as you—

“Yes,” you whimpered, the sounds of skin slapping against skin rapid now, the bedframe inside your room slamming against the wall as you repeated yourself louder and louder, higher and higher, “Yes, yes, yes!”

Then you were crying out at the same time your client did, and Joel grunted, hips bucking up into his palm at the same moment he realized his hand had drifted there, subconsciously seeking relief from the ache of burning desire before he snapped his hand away.

“Fuck,” he huffed, shaking his head sharply and cursing himself at how he had nearly jacked himself off at the sound of you having sex without even realizing what he was doing. “Get it the fuck together.”

But his erection hardly eased up even as the minutes passed, and Joel had to fold his hands together, trying to casually hold them in front of the obvious bulge constrained by his jeans when your door opened.

The client walked out first, and Joel stared straight ahead at the wall opposite him, jaw clenching painfully once more as the man walked down the hallway, glancing back to send you a wave as you leaned against the doorframe, bending forward out of it to wiggle your fingers back towards him in goodbye.

Joel’s eyes snapped from how relaxed the gait of the man now was before looking over at you, sucking in a sharp breath at the tattered silk robe you were wearing, seeing the dip of your collarbone down to the soft curves of your cleavage, nearly catching a glimpse of the tempting pillows of your tits from the way you were leaning forward before he forced his gaze away.

You were watching him now—he could feel the familiar intensity of your gaze on him, and Joel resisted the urge to swallow thickly, struggling against the lump in his throat as you pushed yourself off the doorframe.

He expected you to head back up towards your office, preparing himself to keep his gaze off you when you walked past him in that temptation of thin fabric, when you surprised him by speaking.

“Want a smoke?”

Joel froze, his head tilting towards the sound of your voice subconsciously before your words even dawned on him.

When they did, he glanced towards you from the corner of his eye, seeing you were watching him with a thumb pointing back over your shoulder towards the room behind you.

The room you had just fucked a client in.

Oh fuck.

Joel cleared his throat, brows furrowed deeply as he looked back at you, and he half-expected you to make a comment about it like usual, but you were simply watching him with an impassive look, not a hint of emotion or motive he could try to decipher.

Before he knew what he was doing, Joel nodded, feet automatically moving after yours when you walked into the room.

“You can close it,” you said over your shoulder as you walked towards a nightstand next to the bed where—

Joel spun around, trying to control how rapidly he was breathing as he grabbed the door handle, pulling it shut behind him before slowly turning back to face the room again.

He had never actually been in one of them before, but he still should have expected the smell to be so much stronger in one—especially right after it had been occupied.

Still, the scent of sex pulled his attention right back to the bed you stood next to as you perched a cigarette between your lips—one he thinks Tess got you, he realized somewhere in the back of his mind—and Joel’s eyes lingered on dark spots on the mattress, forgetting how to breathe for a moment before your voice brought him back.

“Mr. Miller?”

His head snapped forward, eyes meeting yours to see you looking at him in a question he didn’t know that you were asking.

“Huh?” he mumbled so eloquently, wincing internally as your lips twitched into a small smirk around the cigarette in your mouth before you pulled it out, blowing it into the heady air of the room, nicotine joining the smells of sex and making the space tighter, hotter, before you paced towards a window on one wall.

“I asked if you wanted one,” you said slowly, and Joel just then noticed how scratchy your voice was—from the cigarette, the moans you were making not that long before, or maybe both.

“Uh—no,” Joel shook his head, watching with bated breath as your smirk towards him grew. “No thank you.”

His heart skipped a beat in his chest as you beckoned with the cigarette held delicately between your fingers for him to join you at the window. 

Joel did, almost automatically, cursing himself internally at his blunt eagerness to be beside you while you lifted the window to let some fresh air in, and he turned, resting his back against the open window pane, arms crossing over his chest as he watched you instead of observing the room any longer.

Not all that fresh, considering the perpetual staleness of the QZ air, but it did cut down on how overwhelming the aroma of sex currently was in that room.

If somebody was going to break the tense silence that had fallen between the two of you, Joel had expected it to be you, so he was surprised when the quiet words fell from his lips, “Didn’t know you took clients.”

You huffed out a laugh then, the stream of cigarette smoke leaving your plump lips in puffs with the action.

“The Mistress has to earn her keep somehow,” you muttered, pulling in another drag of nicotine to blow back out the open window, and Joel’s gaze snapped back towards you.

“The Mistress?” he repeated, eyes flickering over your face as he recognized that name in an instant.

Being a man in the Boston QZ, it was impossible not to hear about The Mistress. An elusive sex worker who was very selective about her clientele, but even still, the stories about her stretched far, the name representing the countless fantasies of every horny man who dreamed of a chance to get their cock wet with her.

His recognition must have been noticeable in the tone of his voice, because you lazily rolled your head back to look up at him, smirk growing fully across your lips, swollen from whatever you had been up to, and Joel nearly swore under his breath as he felt his cock stirring in his jeans again.

“You act like you’ve heard of me,” you murmured, tongue darting out to wet your lips before you placed the cigarette between them again, and Joel’s brain short-circuited for a moment before he could find the words to reply to you.

“I just—” Joel cut off, brows furrowed as he shook his head, as if trying to jumpstart his mind, get it to string coherent thoughts together again but Jesus fuck why were you looking at him like that, with dark hooded eyes he’d never seen from you before. “I mean, I’ve heard about her, but I didn’t think—”

“Why not?” you interrupted him before he could finish. The cigarette was back between your fingers, gesturing with it up towards the scar that stretched down one side of your face. “Because of this?”

Joel frowned then because, to his own surprise, he was offended that you would think he’d care about such a thing. That he’d judge your attractiveness off something as inconsequential as a scar, especially in such a time where such marks on your skin were proof of hard-earned survival.

Attractiveness. 

No, no, oh, fuck.

“Just didn’t know it was you,” Joel muttered gruffly, shrugging in a way that he knew must have looked incredibly stupid as he turned his face away from you, only to see the mess of shabby sheets on the bed, and those same dark stains on the fabric.

“Oh, so you have heard of me,” you were nearly goddamn purring the words now, in the same moment his mind was recalling those sweet, sweet moans you were making, the ones that had left your lips and resulted in the cum stains he was now staring at. “What have you heard?”

“They say you have the ti—” Joel cuts himself off again, feeling blood rushing towards his cheeks and somewhere lower, somewhere he should not be feeling any heat as he realized what he was about to say without thinking.

That you have the tightest, hottest cunt you could get in the whole QZ.

“They say I…?” you trailed off as you quietly repeated his words, and Joel’s attention flashed back to you to see you drifting closer to him, one arm crossed over your chest to prop up your elbow as you smoked your cigarette.

The way your arm pressed to yourself pushed your cleavage together to make an alluring dip, lifting your tits so they were almost spilling out of the open collar of the silk robe. Although the fabric was faded and tattered from the years it had survived, it may as well have been the richest texture in the world with the way it caressed your soft skin, taunting Joel as he struggled to look away.

When you shifted just an inch closer, one of the sleeves of the robe tumbled down your shoulder, and Joel sucked in an audible breath as more of your body was revealed, tempting him with how bare you were under that flimsy fabric.

He tried to look back up towards your eyes then, he really did, but the sleeve slipping down to hook around your elbow nearly revealed half of your chest to him. The only thing keeping him from seeing one of your tits completely was the way your forearm was pressed against your nipple.

Was it a peak right now? Were you as aroused as he was? Did you need him like he needed you?

Joel finally pulled his eyes up to yours, and when he saw the smug, knowing look in the heat of them, his desire flared into a fever pitch.

“They say you make sex an art,” his voice rumbled out from deep within his chest, and Joel hardly recognized it with the way his every word was coated in a thick need. “That your body feels like heaven, and you taste even better.”

You laughed at that, head tilting back with the action, and Joel was as distracted at the gentle, husky cadence that left your soft lips—how soft exactly, he wondered—as he was focused on the curve of your exposed neck as it led his eyes down your collarbone to the valley of your breasts.

There was a thin layer of sweat there, he just realized, and he wanted to dip his tongue between the soft pillows of flesh, tasting and tracing you, when your words pulled him out of his fantasizing that was quickly spiraling out of control the longer he was in this sex-tainted room with you.

“Those men don’t know a single fucking thing about how I taste,” you muttered, not bitterly, but simply matter-of-fact as you gazed out the window towards the dark lit streets of the QZ, taking another long drag of the cigarette.

Joel’s brow lifted, glancing over your side profile, noticing the way the deep red lipstick you had been wearing was almost completely faded, smeared a little at the corner of your mouth and down your chin, and coupled with the confession you had just made, he struggled with a sudden surge of an emotion he couldn’t name—or didn't want to, as it would surely become dangerous if he dared to entertain it.

“Seriously?” Joel found himself saying, and you turned back to him, your own eyebrows arching at the odd tone of his voice—almost appalled, but not towards you. “None of them?”

Your lips pulled back then, showing teeth in a grin that was nearly predatory, and Joel’s pulse raced as you answered with your own question, “You really think any man still alive wants to pay to go down on a woman?”

“I would,” Joel said in a heartbeat, and you blinked, surprise flashing through your eyes, and Joel hated the way his stomach flipped at the knowledge of catching you off-guard, as you were usually the one doing so to him.

“You’d pay for sex,” you repeated slowly, and although it was a question, you said it in a flat tone, disbelieving as you glanced up and down his body. “You. Mr. ‘I hate everybody and wish they were all fucking dead’ Miller?”

What surprised him the most out of everything tonight was the way you just made him laugh.

The sound was pulled from him so easily, tugged from his lungs towards you, and he sucked in a breath, as if trying to pull the sound back in as a dark look twinkled in your eyes from where they had fixed on the front of his jeans.

“Maybe you would pay for it, Mr. Miller,” you murmured, and Joel stiffened, his mind filling with a variety of curses in every language he still knew as you surely noticed his erection that still hadn’t fucking gone away.

Your eyes flashed back up to his, long eyelashes fluttering as you leaned forward, and Joel struggled to breathe as the forearm still covering the nipple of your almost completely revealed breast grazed against his chest.

“How would you prefer to take me, sir?” you asked breathily, and Joel’s chest began to rise and fall rapidly, brushing with your own nearly exposed chest with every fast breath he took as he tried to reign himself in, even as you started fucking seducing him. “Are you a fan of foreplay? Would you take your time and go slow with me?”

Your head tilts oh so slightly, hair tumbling down in a way that begged Joel to wrap it around his fist, as you continued to mercilessly tease, “No, I don’t think you’re one for taking it slow. Are you, Mr. Miller?”

Fuck, if you kept calling him that, he was going to lose his goddamn mind and take you right against that window sill if you would let him. He’d pay you all the fucking food rations in the world for a taste, just a taste of how sweet you’d drip for him when you came.

Because if Joel was fucking you, you were going to come.

“You like it hard and fast,” you whispered, your arm finally dropping from your chest, and Joel swallowed down a strangled sound as he finally saw half of your chest completely, your nipple hardened in the air before you pressed it against him and fuck, oh Jesus fuck, “I bet you’re rough too. Big man like you, you like to be in control. Probably gets off on taming brats, hm?”

Goddammit if you didn’t shut up he was about to show you just how well he could tame you, shutting up that pretty mouth by making you come again, again, and again, until all you knew to do was cry out for him every time he wracked your body with pleasure.

“But you’re not a missionary man,” you shook your head as it tilted the other way, bringing your face to hover inches away from his neck, and Joel shivered, actually fucking shivered when he felt your breath caress his skin as you teased, “You like a cowgirl, don’t you, Joel?”

That was the first time his name fell from your lips.

And at the sound of it, Joel lost any ounce of self-control.

His hands were on you in an instant, enveloping your waist in his large palms as he pulled you flush against him at the same moment he turned to push you against the wall.

You gasped, the dwindling cigarette falling from your fingers, and Joel lifted a foot to stomp it out, using his knee to nudge your legs apart with the motion. When his hips nudged against yours, erection pressing against the spot between your open thighs, he moaned at the feeling of your heat against the impossibly tight fabric.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the robe you wore was completely open now, and your exposed cunt was pressed right up against his clothed erection, but his entire mind was focused on the way you also moaned at the same time he did.

“You keep running your mouth like that, I’ll show you how fucking good I can tame a brat,” he growled into your ear, one of his hands easily lifting your hip, dragging your folds across the bulge in his jeans, and he sighed as he felt wetness seep against the fabric. “Fuck, you this wet for me already, baby? Just from talking about how I’d fuck you?”

“I-I–”

Suddenly, no words were falling from your lips other than incoherent stuttering, and Joel smirked as he ducked his face against your neck, licking a path along the curve of it, groaning in need and irritation at the salt of sweat from your previous sex that still clung to it.

“Did you come for him?” Joel growled the question against your jaw, now directing your hips to grind against him in a way that put pressure to your clit, his eyes fluttering shut at the soft moan that left your lips—it sounded different than the ones he heard you make before, quieter, a bit huskier as opposed to so high-pitched—before he nipped at the skin just below your chin. “Answer me.”

“No,” you gasped, and Joel loosened his grip on your waist just a bit, wanting to see if you still chased that friction he had been providing against your clit.

When you did, grinding yourself against his clothed erection, Joel smirked against your jaw before asking his next question, “When’s the last time a man made you come, sweetheart?”

A shuddering breath fell from your lips to fan across his face, and Joel pulled back, looking down at how blown-wide your pupils were, his thumb brushing a strand of hair from your face as you muttered, “I—long. Too long.”

Joel wanted to smile at how you were already struggling to form full sentences before he had even started with you, but the anger he felt at you going so long without feeling an ounce of pleasure from being with a man made his jaw tick as he frowned deeply instead.

“Do you wanna come tonight, darlin’?” Joel murmured, his calloused thumb finding your bottom lip to gently pull it out, caressing the wet inner part of your lip while he searched your gaze. “I need you to answer me, sweetheart. I’m not doing anything unless you want me to.”

“Yes, Joel,” your voice nearly broke with the husky whisper, head bobbing in an eager nod, but Joel still waited to hear you say it clearly before he began. “I want you. Want you to make me come, please.”

A shuddering breath left Joel then, and he returned your nod, brushing his thumb across your lip again before pulling it back and leaning down to replace the digit with his own lips.

You were both moaning from the first moment your lips touched, kissing in a way that was much like how you always acted around each other—a battle for dominance, adding gasoline to the fire, but with an underlying respect that neither of you could shake even if you wanted to try.

“Fuck,” Joel mumbled when you allowed him access to slip his tongue inside your mouth, exploring every inch of it with a quiet moan that you echoed with your own. “Taste so good already, sweetheart.”

Every time he tried to pull away, you brought him back in with your lips chasing his, trapping him in another hot kiss, passion he didn’t think he could ever feel again building between you until he needed to taste more.

Joel finally tore himself away from your mouth fully, hands finding the opening of your robe to make sure it was pushed open completely, giving him access to every inch of your soft skin as he pressed kisses down your neck towards the perfect, perky tits that had been taunting him since you leaned out into the hallway.

His large palms cupped them, fingers stroking the soft flesh as he pressed them around his face, groaning into your skin at the feeling of being surrounded by them before turning his face to lap a path up the curve of one with his tongue until he reached that goddamn nipple that had been pure torture to nearly catch a glimpse of during your entire conversation.

Joel flicked his tongue over it, hips nearly bucking up as you gasped at the sensation, back arching to press further against his tongue when he flattened it against the stiffened peak. When he sucked it into his hot mouth, your fingers found his hair, tangling in the strands as you pushed his face further against you, and he moaned through a mouth full of your breast, teeth grazing against the sensitive peak before he pulled back to quickly do the same to the other.

Despite your teasing, he would take his time with you eventually. But tonight he was desperate, a drowning man gasping for air—but no, even that wasn’t accurate.

You were not the air Joel needed, but rather the unfathomable depths that he was drowning in.

He dropped to his knees between your spread legs, grunting quietly at the pain that ricocheted through his old bones at the action, but he couldn’t care less as he found himself facing your hot, dripping cunt.

Joel leaned forward, letting his breath fan across your sensitive folds as he lifted two fingers to run across your wet entrance, dragging the digits up to where you clit was already swollen with the need to be touched, to be pleased by him, and he smiled to himself at the sigh you exhaled above him from the sensation of his touch.

His fingers slid back to your entrance, dipping the rough pads of his fingertips into you just enough to collect more of your desire, spreading it along the lengths of his thick fingers as he swiped them up to your clit and began to rub in slow, tight circles.

You gasped quietly, hips rolling into his gentle ministrations, and Joel smiled against your skin when he ducked his face forward to press soft kisses along your inner thigh and up.

“Gonna take care of you, darlin’, don’t you worry,” Joel murmured against the mound of trimmed hair above where his fingers were slowly working at you, his lips moving down to replace them as he added breathlessly, “Gonna make you feel so good.”

Your hips bucked against his face when his tongue found your clit, a louder, breathless moan tearing from your throat at the heady sensation of his hot, wet mouth sucking around the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Joel,” you gasped, nails scraping against his scalp as you grabbed his hair tighter, and he groaned around your clit at the feeling, pulling a delicious whine that sounded so much more real, more feral, more needy than the perfect, practiced ones you had made through the wall. “I—oh, fuck, that’s so good…”

He hummed around your clit before flattening his tongue against it, alternating motions until he found the rhythm that made you grind yourself against his face, and his palms found your hips to pull you up against him further, encouraging you to ride his tongue until you found your high.

“Come on, baby,” he murmured in between the moments when he’d suckle your clit, teeth gently grazing it as he resisted the urge to palm himself at the steady stream of moans and muffled curses that were echoing above him. “You can do it, come on. Soak my face, wanna taste your sweet cum.”

When you did just as he told you, Joel thought he really did see the gates of heaven, a sight he was convinced would never grace him after the lifetime of hell he had lived and caused.

He lapped up every gush of wetness that dripped from your folds in your release, dipping his tongue inside your entrance to drink you up, his thumb replacing his tongue on your clit, rubbing gently to prolong the waves of your pleasure.

Once the gyrations of your hips against his lapping tongue slowed, Joel pulled back from your cunt, your release glistening on his mouth and down his chin as he gazed up at your slack-jawed expression.

Your head tilted down, gaze meeting his as a lazy smile curled onto your lips, and Joel tried to ignore the way his heart lurched in his chest at the sight combined with the feeling of your grip loosening on his hair, fingers combing gently through the strands.

“Good?” Joel mumbled, turning his face to press a soft kiss on your inner thigh, and your head dipped down in a nod, humming in satisfaction as Joel smirked against your skin. “Good.”

His mouth opened, teeth gently nipping at your soft flesh, pulling an endearing squeak of surprise from you as he rasped, “Not done with you yet, though, sweetheart.”

When his tongue found its way back to your clit, his fingers went back to your entrance. This time, when he dipped one fingertip in, he didn’t stop, sinking into your tight, wet heat until the first knuckle, smiling against your swollen bundle of nerves as you rolled your hips into him at the sensation of his digit slowly filling you.

He gave a few slow pumps of his finger when he had sunk it in completely before pulling it out, chuckling around where he had sucked your clit back into his mouth at your whine at the loss of his finger before he added it back in with another.

“Fuck, can you feel you squeezing my fingers, darlin’,” Joel grunted against your cunt, lapping desperate licks against your clit, eating you out with increased fervor as his fingers pumped you faster at every mewling moan that left your lips, encouraged by the rolling of your hips to curl his fingers until he found the spot that nearly made your knees buckle.

His other arm wrapped around your waist, giving you support to stand while keeping you pressed to his face, not allowing you a moment of peace as his tongue worked mercilessly at you until you were coming around his fingers this time.

“Oh, fuck,” Joel was whimpering against your cunt this time as he continued to fingerfuck you through your high, sucking at your clit and drawing out every aftershock, his arm around your waist the only thing keeping you up now as the pleasure overwhelmed you.

“Joel,” you whispered hoarsely, fingers tugging at his hair again, and he pulled back to look up at you, his fingers stilling inside your cunt, but not sliding out of you just yet.

“What is it, darlin’?” he rasped, breath trembling as you stroked his lips with your thumb, collecting your own release combined with his saliva on it before raising it to your mouth to suck on, pulling a moan from Joel’s throat at the sight.

“Want you to touch yourself, sir,” you murmured, and Joel’s eyes widened, his fingers finally slipping out of your heat, reaching down to fumble with the button of his jeans at your permission he didn’t even know he was desperate for. “Make yourself cum just from the taste of me.”

“Jesus—” Joel couldn’t even finish whatever he was going to groan out as his hand wrapped around his cock once he pulled it out of its fabric constraints, eyes rolling back into his head at the relief of finally, finally doing something about the erection that had plagued him since he guarded you outside the room while you worked.

“Mouth on my pussy, Joel,” you ordered, and he was diving back into your folds without a second thought, sloppily thrusting his tongue inside your wet heat as his hand pumped his cock, your release still coating his fingers spreading across his length as he felt himself already rapidly approaching climax. “That’s it. You like the taste? You wanna come because I taste so good?”

Joel was nodding against your pussy, groaning into your folds as he lost any rhythm towards making you feel good now, but you didn’t seem to care, your hand in his hair still keeping him pressed to your cunt as you encouraged him this time around, “Do it then, Joel. I want to watch you cum for me.”

If you said anything else at that point, Joel couldn’t hear it through the blood rushing through his head as he came harder than he had in years.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he had felt an orgasm so intense, his vision darkening at the edges as he sucked mindlessly at your wet folds, hips bucking up into his fist as his cum shot out to paint the wall behind you before leaking out steadily over his hand.

You loosened your grip on his hair, allowing him to pull back with a gasp, sucking in air he needed to not black out as Joel’s blurry vision focused back in on your face above him.

There was a small smile on your face, satisfied in more ways than one, and Joel couldn’t help but match it with his own half-smirk as he focused on catching his breath before slowly pushing himself back up to his feet.

“Mm,” Joel moaned quietly as his lips met yours in a lazy kiss, one he wasn’t sure who initiated as he mumbled against your mouth, “Heavenly.”

You laughed then, and he felt himself brighten at the sound, though he tried to ignore it as you gently pushed him away from you.

“Come on,” you sighed, straying away from the wall towards the door on shaky legs while you tied your robe back up, making yourself decent enough as he tucked his dick away and zipped up his jeans. “I’ll get you your payment for today.”

There was a brief moment where you made sure nobody was lingering in the hallway before beckoning him out, and you both made your way towards the staircase towards your office while Joel tried to ignore the foreign thrill at the chance of being caught with you after what you had done together.

When you passed his payment to him, he counted out a generous portion before holding it right back out, earning a scoff from you at the offer.

“You’re not paying me for making me come, Mr. Miller,” you said with a sly smirk, and Joel tried to ignore how oddly disappointing it felt for you to resort to calling him that after tonight. “That wasn’t work.”

Joel slowly arched his brow, but nodded at your insistence, tucking his payment in his back pocket before rumbling out a quiet question of, “One-time thing?”

It wasn’t an offer, nor was he insisting that you did or didn’t do it again.

In fact, he was secretly hoping it would happen again, and Joel felt the treacherous anticipation for even more of you when your exhilarated gaze met his.

“Guess we’ll have to find out.”

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @dinsdjrn @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @sinsofsummers

[tarotwithdanise]

WHAT MAKES YOU THE MAIN CHARACTER IN THE CROWD?

꒰⠀from left to right ; intuitively choose the pile your mind, heart and soul desire for. if you are having trouble choosing the right pile for you, here’s some tips you can do ; (1) take a deep breath (2) close your eyes (3) ask guidance from your guides (4) finally open your eyes and you can choose the right pile for you by the guidance you ask from your guides. if you are still having trouble by choosing the right pile for you let me know because i am willing to help and guide you.

send your donations here

PILE ONE

AoW, Temperance, 6oW.

you are the protagonist when you inspire people. when you become someone who lives actively and someone who became an inspiration to people with it's loving nature and unique ideas. you are the type of person who works for what you want instead of just waiting around the corner. you are the main character if you speak with some body movements or in short when you use have a body languages.

when you put much effort into your appearance for example to be well neat looking. you know what you are doing, you know your damn thing and you how to hype and warm yourself up. when you remain silent and calm when there's an argument, downfall or chaotic moment you are experiencing perhaps it can also determine as a reading for as you are someone who is quite influence people. well, maybe you have a sigma aura within you that's why.

when you talk, or if you put everything into how you look or look to people, and you can also know how to take care of yourself or when to warm up for you. others. if you stay calm even in such chaotic moments of life and if you are patient about something you want to achieve. It can also mean that you influence people's lives quietly or speak too quietly. You make yourself. you seem to enlighten them in a simple but calm way. and you can also be the kind of person who reminds someone not to judge others when they determine their future, like reminding them that just because a certain person has less education doesn't mean they can't achieve high goals in life . you can also be someone who is balanced in his life, someone who treats people with balance, like not rich or poor, but equally. it was also your mindset that makes you the main character. you are a person who achieves a lot in certain areas or wherever; you are talented and people may envy you for it. you are a protagonist when you show how you can communicate well or how you respond to people and their negative opinions about you like you simply know how to burn them without actually hurting them.

PILE TWO

6oC rx, 9oC, Judgement.

shocks, you got an alluring aura that may remain a lifetime for people. you are powerful, anyone you pass by turns their heads. you are hard to let go, it's not simple for people for you to forget even though you interact with them for only once. you were also matured and grew up that fast in such a very young age due to your past mostly childhood issues perhaps you are learning and openly willing to resolve this issues. you also know how to pleasure yourself in this world, you know what you deserve like you know how to spoil yourself in small and huge things.

you are aware in your dreams and are about to attain them, you are content from what you already have and you know to yourself that you are born lucky despite these past issues ruining you inside. people perceive you as someone who often changes their physical appearance, someone who puts a lot of effort in their outlook. you also know how to defend yourself in the crowd, you fear no one.

PILE THREE

High Priestess, Death, KoW.

you got a psychic ability and you were aware about that. most people may find you as mysterious and well kept, you are mindful about people who can do bad and harm things to you. you are the protagonist as well because due to your high energy, you are easily able to get comfortable with new people and places perhaps maybe sometimes it can take your energy but overall you enjoy new beginnings. you also love to learn and learn and learn a lot, learning new is a part of your everyday life and you may call them new experiences or lessons that you can use on your near future.

i also see here that many people may have crushes or you may be secret admirers, after all, many people perceive you as an attractive and charming individual. you are also focused and serious when we talk about studies and work, you don't want to disappoint yourself because you know you are the best. people view as light and dark, some may have good opinions about while others don't.

you are a knowledgeable person but you prefer to share this knowledge with those people who are worthy of receiving for you. you are quite picky about that because you know that not all this information can be shared to anyone that easily. you are an observant individual, you rather sit back and observe what is happening in your surroundings rather than be a center of attention but as i said you enjoy meeting new people and visiting new places. i describe you as someone who is naturally introvert but selectively extrovert as a protagonist here.

[tarotofhope]

PAC: 「What's your working style?」

(Please Read My Pinned post *IMPORTANT NOTE* before selecting a Pile)

Pick an Image by meditating and selecting the image you feel called to. You can be attracted towards more than 1 image. If you are not able to select maybe this reading isn't for you.

Pile 1

Cards: The Devil, The Star, Death, The Empress Reversed, Wheel of Fortune and The Magician.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 1. You are married to your work and you're a hard worker. You're very goal oriented and ambitious. Whatever you're working towards is not only work for you but much greater than that. Your work is your passion, your religion, your God. You even have good leadership qualities. You know how to give and earn respect. Even when you guys retire, you would still do some or the other thing as work. You just can't sit idle. You value money and you use your money wisely. I can also see one more thing here, you guys have this drive for becoming something in this world, doing something effective, having an impact, leaving a legacy. You guys are like a magnet for power and money just because you have a strong drive for work and you strive hard to achieve your goals. For a few of you, this could be the case that you had to take responsibilities at an early age because one of your parent passed away or you were stripped off of your financial support by your parents/guardian. You have good businessmanship and a lot of creative abilities. You want to become independent in your life and stand on your own two feet.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 1. Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 2

Cards: Queen of Swords, The Hermit, The Tower, The Fool, Ace of Pentacles and 9 of Pentacles.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 2. You do your own thing and you don't like to follow any set rules or regulations. You might appear cold and tough and you somehow also know how to get other people to work for you if you want to. You have a lot of experience in life and you could be a street smart too. There could be a phase in your life(this could be your past, present or future because many people are reading this) where you had a huge financial loss and then you had to start from scratch and earn for your living and then become financially stable and satisfied. Yes, financial stability and satisfaction with material possessions is there but it will come after a lot of struggle. Whatever I said in the starting 2-3 sentences about your nature of work could be something which came after your struggle. You have learnt a lot from your struggles and that has shaped you the way you are. You are someone who would take the leap of faith, manifest a tower moment(sudden and drastic ups and downs) so that change can enter your life. You are not afraid of changes, you invite them..😉

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 2. Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 3

Cards: The Hierophant, Temperance, 5 of Swords, 7 of Wands, King of Cups and Knight of Wands.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 3. You have a great desire to follow your passion or maybe you wish you had more talents and choices in your life because you look stuck in a traditional work environment. You think you'd have your own working style if you had the opportunity to work on your own but somehow you're trapped in a normal office type job or traditional work style where there is less to no scope for creativity and personal growth and you have to follow certain rules and fulfil certain criterias. Maybe you feel stuck in a boring 9 to 5 job. This is also because of necessity, you need to pay bills and this and that, so what else you could have done? But there is this strong desire to do your dream job which is not like your normal office job. Either you are doing something as a side hustle but you earn very little from it and you want to make big in it but you also have a main job which gives you good enough money to pay your bills but you're not happy with it. There's this constant struggle to strike a balance. You don't get much time with your family due to this job and also very less holidays/vacations. There's a lot of judgement and competition at your workplace, ranks, scores and a hierarchical management which you're tired of. You don't want any of this. You want to reach at a level where you're emotionally satisfied in your work, where there is less stress and pressure.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 3. Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 4

Cards: The High Priestess, The Sun, Page of Swords, The Magician, Empress and Knight of Cups.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 4. Looks like you're doing what your heart desires and something which pile 3 dreams of. You're very fortunate and blessed, pile 4. Your job has that proper balance of work and relaxation, work and creativity. I'm not saying that your job is easy or you don't work hard or work enough, it's just that your work is so full of creativity and enjoyment that you'd happily put more hard work in it. You'd happily and willingly struggle in it. You might feel very independent and free because of your work. You might also be very protective of your job, I mean to say that people get jealous of your job easily, whether or not you earn much from it, whether or not you're successful in it, I can see that people just couldn't digest your enjoyment and excitement which is associated with your work because they don't get to do the same. So, you could be wearing some evil eye protection talisman or bracelet/ring. The best part of your job is that you don't have to follow strict rules and regulations, you're mostly free to do your own thing. You could be into creative fields of work and you're doing this because people are known by the kind of job they're into and you want to attract like-minded people or you want to help other people who are less fortunate in regards to creative work.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 4. Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Pile 5

Cards: 9 of Swords, 9 of Pentacles, King of Wands, King of Pentacles, King of Cups and 6 of Pentacles.

Welcome to your reading, Pile 5. You could be into service related jobs mostly which involves doing a lot of charity and helping the needy. You don't want to see people struggling like you did in your past. Your job gets a lot of criticism by people because maybe you get to earn very little from it or because people don't understand your job, but you're happy and people don't see this. For some of you, this work could make you successful in future but it's a very slow and steady process so again people don't see any value in your work. You might be doing something unconventional and different, so you might not be supported at home too, so you're very protective of this job. Whatever you're doing is either within a community or a one man show, nothing in between. You serve a variety of people/customers involving foreigners too. You're very satisfied and content with this job and nobody can change your mind with their worldly philosophies. There is 9 of pentacles after the 9 of swords which can indicate that you got this job after a lot of struggle and bad experiences, this could be something very unattainable to you earlier, but you fought for it, worked hard for it and now you're not going to leave it. Maybe you're constantly trying to prove your worth and the value of your work, pile 5. You don't have to. The right people will admire you for your work and will also understand and respect your work choice.

That's all I got for you, my dear Pile 5. Love, light, peace and hope to you..🌸🍁🌻🌼

Thank you so much for being here. I post PAC readings every Tuesday and Friday. Do love and support by reblogging, liking or following.

——————————— ♡ ♡ ♡ ———————————

[hedgehogoftime]

Dragon Age Origins Companions react to Gandalf the Gray joining their company (and his sacrifice in not!Moria (the Deep Roads) against a Balrog)

Alistair: At first Alistair is reminded far too strongly of old tutors, harsh of tongue and sharp of wit, seeing Alistair in every way that he lacks, his flaws and shortcomings. But there is a compassion in the strange old wizard that was not present in those others. A desire to see Alistair to become more, to grow beyond or with hiss flaws. Alistair comes to regard Gandalf well, a friend, even. And, secretly, a grandfatherly figure, though he's certain the old man would wallop him upside the head if he ever said it aloud. It's Gandalf who makes him think that, yeah, maybe he could be a king after all.

After Gandalf's sacrifice: There's a hole in his heart, Alistair realizes. An aching part of him where Gandalf and all his gruff compassion used to be. He hardly realized how much he'd come to rely on the old wizard, on his wisdom and council until now that he is gone. Sacrificed against a monster older even than the archdemons. But Alistair has no time for weeping. At last, he takes Gandalf's words to heart. Enough sitting around. Enough waiting. It's time to set aside the Grey Warden, and become who he was born to be. It's time to be the King of Ferelden.

Morrigan: At first she detests the old man. His cutting eyes, too perceptive by half. His high and grating words, too close to truth. His REFUSAL to leave her in peace. And yet, she comes to look forward to their verbal sparring. She is a proud creature, Morrigan, and she will not be held to judgement of any little old man who think he knows better than her. And yet... there's a respect she feels for him. And it feels reciprocated in turn. Their words become less barbed in time. Not friendly, but there's a certain... give there. A camaraderie that she... doesn't mind. And... she supposes he has some good ideas at times. Feh, what a bother.

After Gandalf's sacrifice: Heh. Funny. She never expected to feel this... weight on her from losing the old man. This heaviness of heart and spirit. Is this grief? She likes it not. It feels hollow, in her. An inconvenience. And yet, she cannot shake it. This feeling that she has lost something dear. And it is only now she realizes she considered Gandalf a friend, of sorts. She finds herself missing him, their verbal spars, even his advice. she refuses to show it to the others, but in private, or perhaps with the Warden if they romanced her, she allows a scant few tears to fall.

Leliana: She finds him delightful, truly! A little poorly dressed, perhaps, but a joy to be around. He's wise and kind and never seems to judge her for her past when its revealed, merely proud that she has chosen a better path. And his stories! The tales he tells. She loves them all. She would love to set them down in song if only she could find the words for them. But ugh, it's hard to find the right words, the right notes. Gandalf laughs at her anger, and promises to introduce her to a friend help her. Whoever this Bilbo is, he must be a supreme wordsmith to receive Gandalf's support.

After Gandalf's Sacrifice: She weeps. Openly. It's wrong. It's all wrong. This- this isn't how it should go. It isn't right that such a man should disappear like this. Claimed by some ancient evil to buy his friends a precious few seconds of escape. Her heart feels scarred by it, in a way it hasn't since Marjorline's betrayal. And yet... she refuses to allow it to harden. It would be a disgrace to her friend's memory. So instead, she takes up her harp, and begins to play a tune, with melody to break the heart. She hopes... hopes it might be worthy of what her friend meant to her.

Zevran: When Zevran joins the party, he at first doesn't know what to think of the strange old wizard who advocated for mercy in his name. He's strange, and Zevran's flattery and attempts to worm his way into his good graces fall on deaf ears. He feels dismissed. But then he finds, its when he's honest in his words and thoughts that Gandalf pays him heed. the two strike up a cordial relationship of sorts. They swap stories. Zevran his wild tales of his storied life, and Gandalf ancient tales of ancient people. Men who tried and failed, but mattered in the trying. He gets the feeling Gandalf is trying to tell him something.

After Gandalf's sacrifice: Well, isn't this a thing? It always seems to go this way, in the end. Men like Gandalf do last long in his life. Those with some mercy in their heart. It feels wrong that the wizard leave like this. Their time together cut short. But perhaps... perhaps its time he puzzled through those stories. Those tales Gandalf told. Perhaps its time he figured out who he should be.

Wynne: She like the old man. They develop a fast friendship, quicker than the others. She senses a kinship with the old wizard, not simply because of their age. And she has endless questions about his magic?! Since her... incident in the Fade, she's been more aware of its presence... and yet Gandalf does not seem to use it. It makes her suspicious at first. What is the Secret Fire he refers to? But it doesn't stop their early morning meet-up and the joy it brings. Though sometimes... she gets the feeling she's talking to someone else. That he sees through her to the Spirit of Faith within her. And one day, he tells her its name. She wonders, vaguely, who this Gil-Galad might have been.

After Gandalf's Sacrifice: Wynne, alone does not grieve, for she feels, in her heart of hearts, that Gandalf is not gone. Not truly. Maybe its the spirit in her. Maybe it's something else. But she knows that Gandalf has not left them. And yet, she knows what must be done. It's Wynne who holds the party together after Gandalf's fall. After all, things must be kept together, shan't they?

Sten: Of all of them, Sten most easily sense the command with Gandalf. the capacity for leadership and even rulership, though he thinks that the man would reject such dominion. Despite him being a mage, one of the Saarebas, Sten feels no danger from Gandalf. He stands... apart. So Sten defers to him and the Warden alike. They exchange few words, but there is a powerful understanding between them. Even when Sten's crime is revealed, Gandalf seems not to judge him. and yet, Gandalf also seems to defer to Sten. He once refers to Sten as Arishok, something Sten is quick to correct. Gandalf apologizes, but his smile is knowing.

After Gandalf's sacrifice: He grieves in the Qunari way, quietly and grimly, but he does not let it slow him. It would not do to stand and tarry in grief. There are things to do. Sten, along with Wynne, carry the group during the immediate aftermath. But despite it, Sten's heart grieves. Qunari discipline keeps him in line, and yet it grieves him all the same. Let the past fall where it may.

Oghren: The dwarf doesn't know Gandalf long, and at first they do not care for each other. The wizard seems too high and mighty for Oghren's liking. Andd yet, he knows another soldier when he sees it. And the way he slings that sword around! Heh, might be worth something after all. They come to like each other, somewhat, and Oghren's willing to share a drink with the old wizard, though he finds himself developing a love of that pipe-weed the old man shares. Hah! Maybe he's alright after all.

After Gandalf's Sacrifice: Well if that don't sod all. Just as he was starting to like the old codger. Still... he sees how hard the others are hit, and does his best to keep it together. Gandalf seemed a good guy. And, when they finally make camp, Oghren pours one out for the old man. He resolves to do his best by this little group, if the old wizard isn't around to.

Shale: Gandalf is more tolerable than the other fleshy things, at least. It doesn't poke and pry and attempt to make Shale feel more human, at least. Rather it seems content to talk of things that interest Shale. Their conversations are pleasant, and Shale finds themself lacking a desire to crush the head of the old wizard. But it's in Gandalf's presence that shale first recalls the name of Shayale of Cadash. It feels... strange.

After Gandalf's sacrifice: Ah. Well, that's they way it goes with squishy things isn't it. They break. And yet, against that nightmare of shadow and flame, Shale felt fear for the first time in their memory. And Gandalf... Gandalf stopped it. Shale finds themself grieving for the first time. Grieving for the strange wizard who helped them remember. It's odd... but it feel nice, almost. To love a friend so, and then mourn them. Heh, strange.

Dog: He loves the strange not-human! They always smell nice, and share treats with dog! Dog decides they have to protect the strange not-human from harm. They're pack, after all.

After Gandalf's sacrifce: Dog isn't worried. Not really. the not-human with bushy brows and funny hat will come back. Dog knows, in that strange doggy-way, that he will. In the meantime, dog's people are unhappy! They need love and kisses. And dog will give all they can.

[frozenjokes]

literally did not have room for his civillian alter ego ‘Micah’ so I’m just gonna describe him. Micah looks somewhat similar though he has more visible scars, darker, longer hair with a few gray streaks (often pulled back in a tiny ponytail), and generally looks a bit older. In the fic Grian mistakes him and HotGuy for brothers, though does not suspect anything otherwise because Micah is a complete freak in ways that are not the same as HotGuy. Micah also has to pretend not to be disabled, something very stressful given his legs and parts of his back are very Gone. (replaced by realistic looking prosthetics, and a lot of very unethical genetic experimentation, but look close enough and it’s relatively clear something is up.) Micah only tends to go out at night for this reason.

fic has shipping (cubscar, grub, eventually cubscarian) but if you’re interested here is the link. Most fics can be read without context of the others, so if you’re only interested in specific ships or characters then there is also that. here’s your food

As for backstory, Scar comes from a very wealthy family and was happily setting off to go to college in the big city when at the ripe age of 18, a bomb went off on campus, killing and injuring several students, including him. In an effort to save Scar’s life, his parents had his take part in several extremely unethical and extremely experimental procedures that lasted the course of years, altering the make-up of his body to such extremes that he is extraordinarily physically sturdy, and while he gets injured similarly to how normal people do, he remains unaffected by the damage, only needing to be stitched back together by doctors before he’s back in working order. It’s difficult for him to feel most physical sensations, and he longs to be close to people he doesn’t feel threatened by.

His venture into the work of a superhero was spurred on by a strong desire to prevent the things that happened to him from happening to others, and because of the circumstances of his disability and past, as well as his charisma and confidence, he ended up becoming famous relatively quickly, and has been working as a superhero ever since.

In a world of fantastical humanoid species where your only power is Not Easy To Kill, HotGuy doesn’t exceed at his job, but he does damn well for himself most of the time, and is an excellent entertainer. He often latches on to certain people and villains, dreaming of different approaches to improve lives and make the world he lives in just a tad less shitty.

btw if you have any questions or asked me anything about this au whether you’ve read the fic or not it would make my day <3 I love to talk about my ocs goodtimeswithscar, cubfan135, and grian

[liamthemailman]

♠️♥️House of Cards♣️♦️

♦️Jack of Diamonds♦️

Private Kyle 'Jack' Harper's Bio

- Information -

Name : Kyle Harper

Codename : Jack

Status : Alive

Rank : Private

Citizenship : American

Bit of a wild card, no?

- Physical Profile -

Height: 5'7 feet

Gender : ? [he/her/they]

Age : 21 years old

Blood type: AB Pos

Eye color: Light Brown

Hair color: Light Blond

Tattoos : Right forearm

Additional Notes : Ear piercings to be removed as ordered

- Personality -

Jack is easily the most outgoing person in any room. He seems to always have energy despite having gone through rigorous training or having just returned from a week long operation. It's easy for Jack to spread this positive influence among his friends but people can find Jack annoying when his energy is misplaced.

Jack is cocky. She thinks she's hot shit. While she is performing quite well for her little experience, Jack is far from the best. Jack lives by the motto of 'Fake it till you make it'.

In addition to their cocky behavior, Jack is not the easiest recruit to deal with. Jack does follow orders when required of them, but that is about as far as they would go. Jack is purposefully leaving in their piercings or generally being a bit of a brat, all trivial matters, and giving his superiors headaches.

This however, does not stop Jack from being the most loyal recruit to his team. Jack always has an eye out for her fellow soldiers, even helping out her superiors when their hour of need arises. Jack always tries to make it even with anyone who's helped them.

- Skill Set -

Weapon(s) : Jack relies on questionable gadgets to help him out in fights, ranging from dummy grenades to dupe his enemies to flat out thermal weapons like Molotov cocktails. Now, Jack isn't able to use fire in battle, so he turns to bombs.

Combat Style : The skills Jack picked up are skills taught to her by her mentor(s). This means he's learning marksmanship and close combat.

Specialized skill : While Jack has no solid specialized skill as of yet, they have a really good pair of legs, being able to outrun and outjump nearly everyone.

- Background -

Jack had always known he wanted to protect the community. That and she really didn't see herself at a boring job till she retires. Originally, Jack had planned on becoming a firefighter, but soon Jack learned that her passion lied with fires, not putting them out. So, Jack opted for the military when he reached of age right after his family relocated to Britain.

In the military however, Jack found themselves in a less than desirable situation of being underestimated. For being so short and unfamiliar with the local customs. Jack vowed not to let this weigh him down, using is as fuel to pass selection.

Jack's loud persona soon caught the attention of a certain Lieutenant Ace. Jack doesn't understand that Ace saw a bit of his past self in them. Causing trouble and diving head first into problems without a second thought. Jack continued to train under Ace until he was told that she had been recommended into joining Task Force Cards. Jack would grow attached to Ace, thinking of him as a good friend and lowkey father figure to herself.

There, Jack met King. King doubted him from the get-go, but seeing it was Ace who insisted that Jack is a strapping young man with lots of potential to grow into a good soldier, Jack was them welcomed into the team. King would then learn that Jack was reckless, needlessly loud and outright rebellious. They both keep it barely civil, but don't interact outside of work.

Jack met Queen right after meeting King. King had assigned Queen to mentor Jack, not knowing Ace was already guiding Jack in his own ways. Jack takes in stride, weighing out that the two had valuable skills they could pick up. Despite Queen obviously trying to straighten out Jack, he didn't get shaped according to her norm. Jack didn't find himself liking Queen, but she was loyal to her despite it all.

- Additional Information -

Jack carries around a rope everywhere, being able to utilize this piece of material in many scenarios. Jack is looking to use it in fights after seeing the use of the Punjab Lasso in Phantom of the Opera. Though, Jack doesn't like to admit they found inspiration for it through theatre

Jack doesn't bother to hide his love for fire. Jack would carry at least one source of fire on himself, be it a lighter or a box of matches. Jack also makes her own bombs, building for a more fiery reaction when set off. Her goal is to one day be able to roast an enemy with fire instead of a bomb. Just your local arsonist fighting against the Geneva convention.

Jack is the easiest person, and often the go-to for companionship. Jack cracks the best jokes and laughs at his own lame jokes and funny shenanigans. Jack smiling widely is also very cute, which says even more when all their teeth are jagged and sharp. Jack is also the recruit the called Ace's smile weird. She stands by what she says.

- Favourites -

Drink: Monster Mango Loco

Food: Strawberry Cake

Animal: Jackrabbits

Hobby: Going for jogs or walks along the beach, collecting lighters

Weather: Sunny beaches and clear blue skies

Song: Bad Boy - Yung Bae, bbno$, Billy Marchiafave

Colour: Neon pink

Flower: White Rose

Moodboard :

[voxaholic]

More Details About Heaven

Decide to compile a bit of misc worldbuilding info and relevant character information for The Heaven Ending of @randomly--accessed--memories

Heaven as Vox Enters It:

Over the century Vox spent with Velvette, Heaven has undergone a lot of changes and is now a much more authentic and less corrupt place. It’s as perfect as a place can get while still allowing both winners and heaven-born to have free will.

Ex-sinners are more or less fully integrated into Heaven society. There are still people that aren’t exactly comfortable with the fact that ex-sinners are here but they’re in the minority and most of them have semi-reasonable concerns.

There have been efforts to address the genuine safety concerns people may have about letting sinners into Heaven. Family of ex-sinners are immediately notified upon their relative’s ascension, so they can either meet up at the intake center or make arrangements to ensure that they never run into said relative. 

If the sinner one wants to avoid isn’t a relative, the winner can send in a request that said sinner be kept away from them in the event they do ascend.

Alcohol and certain other recreational substances still exist in Heaven but they are free of the risks/negative physiological impact that are associated with such substances on Earth and Hell. There’s a bit of a stigma around indulging in such among heaven-born specifically because bringing such substances to Heaven was a controversial decision born of winner’s desire that the seraphim reluctantly gave into.

A slim majority of ex-sinners manage to fully integrate into Heaven’s society, but there are a not insignificant amount who have more trouble.

As a result, pocket communities of ex-sinners who feel more comfortable interacting with other ex-sinners have popped up all over Heaven. In these communities going by your sinner name is almost expected as in much of Heaven an ex-sinner is expected to start going by their “real” name again, which can be hard for some to adjust to.

The small bar Vox frequents is one of those communities. Vox gets a lot of weird looks at first by choosing to go by “Vaughn” which is obviously his real name, but people quickly get used to it.

He frequents the bar for like a few years before he actually manages to become fully integrated into the small friend group his failed hookup adopted him into.

Three ex-sinners make up that group.

Sinner Name: Pyrite 

Real Name: August Murphy

Gender: Male

Age of Death: 23

How’d They Die: Murder

Why Was He In Hell?: He grew up wealthy and generally threw his money around and paid his way out of many sticky situations. He was more passively awful than anything, just someone who coasted through life taking advantage of the privilege he’d been born into.

A vaguely reptilian, dragon-like winner with golden scales and bright green eyes. Pyrite’s a one-night-stand turned casual drinking buddy. He’s charming, extroverted, and prone to oversharing. He’s just pushy enough to get past Vox’s initial refusal to ever acknowledge any of his one-night-stands outside of their one night together and reaches the status of casual acquaintance probably as fast as it’s possible to with Vox.

Comes off as kind of ditzy but is a lot smarter than he lets on. He was in college for pre-law when he died and was doing unfairly well for someone who spent most of his freetime partying and sleeping around. Ascended pretty soon after Valentino’s death, so he’s been in Heaven awhile. He’s one of the first to suspect Vox’s true identity but doesn’t really care aside from being curious about how exactly he ended up in Heaven. 

He’s the main driver of Vox’s integration into the friend group. They have a decent amount in common and Pyrite’s good at reading people and to him— Vox seemed lost and lonely. He also felt bad about accidentally triggering him during their ill-fated attempted hookup.

Sinner Name: Birdie 

Real Name: Robin Carmichael 

Gender: Male

Age of Death: 35

How’d They Die: Suicide by hanging

Why Was He In Hell?: His estranged abusive father showed up at his door one day begging for forgiveness and he beat him to death with his bare hands.

A mild-mannered and self-efacing bluebird winner. Birdie also started as a one-night-stand. He ended up staying in Vox’s orbit because he was friends with Pyrite, so when Pyrite started trying to befriend Vox, Birdie was sort of along for the ride.

He had an extremely troubled childhood and young adulthood (which he’s pretty tight lipped about) but with the help of a man who would become a father figure to him was able to turn his life around and was on track to probably getting into Heaven until the day his father showed up on his doorstep.

He was a third grade teacher while alive and has kept a lot of the mannerisms that come with that. He’s the type of selfless that’s born from severely low self-esteem and generally allows himself to be walked all over. He’s got a surprisingly wry and pretty dark sense of humor that he occasionally lets slip when people least expect it. 

He’s the one who starts organizing get-togethers outside of the bar. It’s very “elementary school field trip energy” but it’s good for everyone to hang out in places that aren’t bars.

Sinner Name: Stratus

Real Name: Lacey Anne Mullen

Gender: Female

Age of Death: 41

How’d They Die?: Skydiving accident

Why Was She In Hell?: Child abandonment, infidelity, being a pathological kkm liar, and a consistent pattern of running away from any and all responsibility

A human-like winner with hair like clouds. They change shape and color according to her mood. She’s a tall and curvy woman with medium toned skin and a penchant for bright colors and eccentric outfits.

She’s the one Vox takes the longest to warm up to because for the longest time, he’s convinced she’s fucking with him. She still lies, a lot, but mostly about harmless things that don’t negatively impact anyone but to Vox it felt too similar to how Alastor would sometimes purposefully feed him false information just to mess with him. Eventually he realizes that it’s not something she’s doing out of malice.

Eventually they’re able to bond over the extremely awkward process of reconnecting with your adult children in Heaven when you were a shitty parent (or not there at all in her case.)

She also feels like she hasn’t changed enough to really deserve Heaven. She went through all the motions but it never really felt like she became any better internally.

[grey-sorcery]

Getting into witchcraft can be nerve wracking and scary. Here are some tips that I think will be invaluable for online research. Even if you’ve been at it for a while.

Understand that social norms exist within online communities and cultures. Sometimes concepts and practices become common place, but that doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re true or effective. A good example of this is New Age practices.

Aesthetics aren’t everything, nor should they be. Like visualization, aesthetics can be a tool to amplify, maintain, and/or hone headspace. Relying on aesthetics alone will cause your practice to stagnate. Magic is less about the objects and herbs involved than it is about the energetic processes, conceptualizations, and representations.

Intent is not magic. It is an element of magic, but it isn’t everything. Magic is not wishing. Magic is not about vibes and attracting or repelling what you think. Magic is a focused and controlled release and manipulation of specific energy and variables in order to reach a certain goal or desire. Intent, willpower/passion, focus/headspace, action, and awareness are all equally important.

Until you have more experience with the online community and research, stay away from studying crystals and herbs (within a magical context) The internet is wrought with diluted or inaccurate information on these subjects. Correspondences and energetic properties cannot be summed up in floral language. Be weary and alert when studying correspondences, and remember that you can create your own.

Do not just research. It can be difficult to gain the confidence to jump into something like witchcraft, but so long as you aren’t dealing with Spiritwork you’ll be fine. Start making your own stuff while researching. Create your own foundation and then let everything else inspire you or give you cause to readjust.

Take notes. When recording information, make sure to note the source. This way, when you come back to it, you’ll be able to go back and check to see if you missed anything or verify the that information/source. You can do this easily with digital notes by just copy pasting the URL.

Grimoires and magical texts from history are fascinating, but remember that we lack the historical and cultural context to accurately understand them. A lot of them are religious-coded or straight up religious practices. Because of these, they should never be a primary source of information.

Regardless of what media may portray, magic isn’t flashy. It’s quiet and personal. It’s an extension of your psyche and awareness. Blood is hardly ever used in real witchcraft because it is self-binding. DNA is the most potent taglock that exists.

Don’t start with divination. I know that it seems easiest because it has all those beautiful products and artwork and has a well defined process; but, it can become a rabbit hole that is difficult to climb out of. Beyond that, divinatory practices are much more accurate when you’ve gained a foundational understanding in magic.

You do not have to jump into any theological practices. In fact, I would recommend obstaining from it entirely unless you were religious beforehand. Mythos-based pantheons are a deep web of information and lore. Like divination it can be a rabbit hole that’s difficult to escape. If you feel a call from the divine, be aware and alert that it isn’t coming from exposure via the internet. A lot of pantheon related content is very aesthetic and attractive. Be sure your faith is formed for the right reasons.

While researching, find what is sacred to you. A lot of media is disconnected from portraying sanctity in a realistic sense. Figure out what it means for something to be sacred to you. How would you express it and interact with it? How do you feel is a show of respect and reverence. This is different for everyone, even if there are a lot of commonalities.

Magic is as much conceptual and analytical as it is emotional and headspace. Critical thinking is crucial. Look for underlying patterns, experiment, be skeptical. There isn’t any “One True Way”, but not everything works or is effective.

Realize that no spell you find online will function the same for you as it did for the creator. Pretty much every spell you’ll come across in any form of media will lack the circumstances, details, and nuance that is necessary for accurate reproduction. Rather than using a spell you find, construct one for yourself towards the same end using your practice.

Start a book for magic. Keep a book for information, correspondences, etc that is separate. Start creating spells, sigils, and rituals. Make them yourself. Try them out. Feel around for what feels right until it clicks. Don’t wait until you think you’ve researched enough. So long as you aren’t jumping into Spiritwork, you’ll be safe. Create your own protection spells. Create spells that fit practically into your life.

Everything is fair game, Anything can be magical. You aren’t limited by pre-existing practices. The only limitations that exist are the laws of nature and your imagination. Go wild.

Other recommended reading:

Researching witchcraft

Visualization

What to avoid

Everything that a beginner witch could want to know.

Fundamentals of energy work

Spell design

[darkfictionjude]

About Taboo in IFs:

I think, as if often happens in most media, non sexual violence is incredibly common. There are some IFs were MC is experimented on, tortured, scarred, abused, etc. And there are IFs were MC is a murderer, a soldier, a villain, etc.

When it comes to sexual related taboos is where things get less and less present. Incest, which is probably the tamest one (after adultery and age gaps between adults), is rather rare. I often find it in IFs based on certain source material that includes it (mainly Arthuriana), and sometimes the MC is able to partake in incestual practices. The only RO I have seen as a proper romantic route of this kind, however, is just a cousin (although, technically, could count as a brother since the parents were identical twins). And even in that case, it could be justified with a fantasy/old timey setting focused on nobility. But nothing like ASOIAF where you have siblings marrying/ commiting adultery with each other (at least as an official romantic route, just as a one night stand), nor set in modern times (and there is fanfiction/original works of literature, as well as games, that do include siblings commiting incest in modern times).

In the case of Arthuriana, specifically, is rather impossible to avoid if Mordred is given any relevancy. And in Bastard of Camelot you play as Mordred, so incest (and rape) is unavoidable. Your character only exist because of it.

As for sexual abuse/rape, is never something I see as an option for the player as a thing they can do (understandably so), nor as something they can be a victim of. It may be suggested as something that could happen to MC, or that happened in the past (and in most cases is completely optional). And I understand this happening, since even the games set on dark fantasy settings try to evade this topics. And, as you said in your post, is most likely due to the level of identification between MC and player. But, I think there is also that aspect of IFs needing to be shared in social media like Tumblr and Reddit, where the inclusion of this topics is often met with disapproval or with the desire to exclude entirely from fiction.

But I think most artistic mediums with any level of interactivity would do their best to evade rape/sexual abuse. Not that it cannot be included, but is very unlikely you'll find anything that does it in the way you would be able to find in fanfiction. Simply due to that level of identification IFs have compared to the distance a fanfic has with the reader.

About the sharing on Twitter and Reddit that is true but there is a big space for those topics especially incest in fanfic like ao3. I have friends who are into those things and although they do clash with antis it’s becoming much less shocking to have incest and age gaps within fiction, humans adapt so quickly to what seems impossible at first huh? It’s kind of like how the term “daddy” in sexual sense was for so long seen as something incestuous but now has become kind of mainstream

Personally I would find it interesting to have an mc that might’ve experienced that type of abuse in their past but not have it there for drama or plot device but as an actual theme to be respected like for example if the mc is a sex worker. I also think identification with the mc depends on each individual story and author. Some authors are fine with self inserts, others like me are not and that’s why my mc does have a certain personality. So far none of my readers have ever complained to me to do this or that with the mc because they feel it’s right, there is a clear distance there. In that case I think it can be done. And ultimately each reader must play at their discretion, at their own personal boundaries

[femmefatalevibe]

Hi Femme Fatale,

I hope your day has been great. I’m 25 and

I have a very traumatized past of DA in the household from a young age. This unfortunately kept me from being with a man of value/or just making the first move to date. I don’t understand the “signals,” that men may send to women if they’re interested. I get nervous when I see a man I find attractive and/or my standard and I walk right past them or avoid them. It even happens when I see the men showing interest in me while passing: eyes widen, eyebrows go up, they’re eyes linger on me. I dress well AT times.

But idk. I’m single, I would like to date but I don’t see it happening for me at any point rn. I’m also awkward and I blurt out things. I don’t feel “sexy” or secure— I’m constantly apologizing to a guy (I’m interested in) about little things I may have done on accident. I feel like I have to change my wholleeee self, I usually am makeup less and I wear pretty good clothing but I’m saving up to redo my wardrobe. I don’t feel like the woman I aspire to be like: dream hair, clothes, makeup etc.

I have to save up for that type of woman I want to be.

I’m just overwhelmed and saddened that I am self sabotaging myself from dating.

I don’t mind being single but I do feel like it’s time for me, and I’m ready. But with the abuse I experienced and me running from men and only being friends with “unattractive” men as my safety.

I hope that makes sense

Thanks !

Hi love! I'm sorry that you've had to go through these traumatic events and that these experiences have left you with (understandable!) self-image issues. While the art of socializing and flirting is definitely helpful and is a learnable skill set, from what you've told me, it seems like the most pivotal thing you can do for yourself is to begin seeing yourself as desirable and finding ways to feel desirable in your daily life. You don't need to change your whole self if that doesn't align with who you feel you are, but your life is your canvas, so change any aspects of yourself that you see fit to align with the person you aspire to be.

I'm glad you're able to work towards dressing like your best and most authentic self – this practice is so helpful for self-confidence! If you want to experiment with a little makeup, try something subtle (like a tinted lip balm or gloss, a cheek tint, tinted moisturizer, or mascara) or wear a certain scented lotion/perfume/body bronzing lotion, etc. to see how it makes you feel.

However, your most valuable and priceless asset is your self-perception and confidence. Certain ways to enhance these aspects of your life are completely free:

Posture: Standing up straight, getting comfortable with direct eye contact and smiling (short bursts to build up to tension-creating glances), laughing and allowing your personality to show through in conversations, and maintaining open, relaxed body language

Self-talk: Engage in positive self-talk – whether that's through affirmations or simply telling yourself that the other person will love you before entering a room/conversation. Remind yourself that you're worthy and desirable until it becomes your default narrative. This one takes a lot of inner work and some time, but you can get there if you believe you can/let your emotions run their course throughout your journey

Self-pleasure: Having a consistent, effective, and fun self-pleasure practice is key for sexual confidence, which can only elevate your flirtatious energy in general and allow you to reclaim ownership over your body/sexuality. Consider trying an orgasm manifestation/ affirmation ritual to help reclaim both your sense of self-confidence and sexuality through one practice

Once you get reclaim your sense of self and sexuality, the external parts of the dating puzzle will come considerably more naturally to you as you will have the confidence and instinctive gut training available to help guide you along the way.

Hope this helps xx

[phantomato]

Tom Riddle and the Circuitous Path

A friend recently wrote a wonderful reflection on The Charioteer and Pnin and the trope of a character taking a “circuitous path” through life in order to reach their desired endpoint: lifestyle, career, romance. To excerpt:

There is a trope that I love to read in fiction and especially in fanfiction: characters living the life they were meant to live… but via a completely new (and often more circuitous) route. This happy realization is accompanied by a profound grief over the more direct path not taken.

(“profound grief”! @mademoiselle-red you speak my language 💖)

And I was shocked on two counts when I read this:

(1) It made me excited to think about Voldemort again, because (2) This is the theme which underpins so much of my Voldemort fic!

I started thinking about these ideas earlier this year, when I stumbled across a few comments on the trope of reunions within romance. I love reunions—spot them in my fics across fandoms—and particularly the sense of finding someone again at a better time in life. It could not have worked out in the first go round because circumstances were against them. For Tom Riddle and Thoros Nott, this usually takes the form of Tom’s insecurity (financial, societal, emotional), and Thoros’ hesitance (shyness, shame, prejudice). When I make them reconnect, I try to show how they’ve individually overcome at least a few of these roadblocks during the intervening years, and how they’ve made progress on others. The reunion works because neither man is the other’s project, and they can make a relationship work given those improvements in their situation.

But I’ve also often considered myself a writer of grief, and that’s the element missing from the “reunion” trope as I’ve otherwise seen it defined. Because it is not purely a happy reunion which tickles my fancy—I want to see the sorrow of those lost years apart, of knowing that this happiness together was hard-won and wishing it might have come about more easily. If only, if only. Knowing that it could not have! That the time was necessary, even as it means less to spend together. But not so that the grief is thrust in a reader’s face, taking up space as the forefront of the story. I want the grief as a texture in the background of the entire piece, so that every bit of beauty is slightly colored by it, so that there isn’t anything straightforwardly and uncomplicatedly happy in the story.

Enter the profound grief of the circuitous path! And along with it, my awareness of this beyond a shipping context.

I’ve talked in the past about viewing my fic as in conversation with the wider fandom, and that remains true, where a fandom exists. For Voldemort, one of the earliest tropes I felt compelled to push against was that of the young, powerful Tom Riddle, Dark Lord: Tom at 20, fresh out of school, with a circle of devoted (and Marked, sometimes!) followers. The Knights of Walpurgis becoming the Death Eaters—hell, the Knights of Walpurgis existing. I hated all of this because it wasn’t how I saw Tom’s early life. Eventually, I sat down and worked out the timeline which we get from the series so as to explain why my middle-aged Voldemort wasn’t merely headcanon but rather textually-supported, but the bones of that intuition had been in place from the first time I tackled a fic about Tom Riddle.

But textual support only means so much (not much) in fandom, and rightly so. It’s not an argument for why certain types of stories are emotionally satisfying to me and why others are not. The emotions result from the journey, and what the journey of those Dark-Lord-at-twenty fics lacked was the set of obstacles and the time and the self-reflective grief of taking decades to begin working on your life’s goal. I titled that post “44, starting a war,” after all.

What middle-aged Voldemort offers is an opportunity to dig into the parts of his character that I love. If he doesn’t have success until later in life, if his campaign for personal power doesn’t begin until the 1970s, then we have so much to look at in the lead-up:

His childhood, of course, and the difficulties of being raised at Wool’s, of being a child raised without magical awareness before 11, of being an outsider at school for his name, his (presumed) heritage, his finances, his (lack of) social graces, and more, which ends in the ultimate embarrassment of not securing his dream job teaching at Hogwarts

His young adulthood working as a shop clerk at what might be the most respectable store on Knockturn Alley, but is still a secondhand shop—something between an antiques dealer and a pawn shop—in what is clearly an under-resourced and socioeconomically challenged district within magical London

His lost decade spent away from Britain, without known support from any friends or acquaintances, very probably including difficulties supporting himself as he had left his job in order to pursue it

His return to Britain and the efforts spent gathering his earliest followers, trying and failing a second time to achieve an appointment as a Hogwarts instructor, and whatever stresses marked the rising first war

These form canon Voldemort’s circuitous path to becoming the Dark Lord we know and fear. They’re what I most enjoy reproducing, reconstructing, and recontextualizing in fic. I’ve hit each of these periods at least once (Sieidi, my primary take on the lost decade, was the hardest—I find that era difficult to access in part for research reasons), and they each offer rich veins of possibility for examining the obstacles in Voldemort’s life and asking what it would take for him to reach some kind of happiness, contentedness, satisfaction. What would he grieve if he quit his pursuit of power partway into his travels abroad, or before murdering Hepzibah Smith, or after he’d gathered the initial core of his Death Eaters? What might trigger him to question his choice to kill his father? What might a growing romance, or a self-destructive sexual relationship, reveal to him about relationships past? What contrasts might he see between the spaces occupied by Tom Riddle and by Voldemort? Can these parts of himself be reconciled—does he want them to be?

I want the characters that I love to be content at the end of my stories, for the most part. I want Voldemort to find centeredness, to forgive himself some of his mistakes, to commit to not reproducing the worst of them, for his own sake. This is what defines a compelling character arc for me. So the language of the circuitous path allows me to access this desire in a new way, by asking myself about the endpoint someone has been striving towards, and what circumstances forced them to find this uneven road towards it, and what they will mourn when they reach their goal. For Voldemort, I will change my answers to these in every fic—it’s the joy of having a favorite character, getting to write them over and over again in new ways—but rarely have I wanted him to have a straightforward path to recognition. There is no teenaged gang leader or young-adult Dark Lord in my heart. Now I can put it into words: for me, the charm of Voldemort is that he fails, repeatedly, and readjusts, in response to many mundane challenges resulting from the context into which he is born; he is so often older when he reaches any sort of endpoint; I write to see his success tinged with grief, and his obstacles to lead him to unexpected forms of happiness.

[vincord]

I really love you TordMatt drawings! Do you have any headcaons for them?

I think that in my texts, which I published here from time 2 time, it was possible to discern my thoughts about them. But yeah! I think it will be interesting to write something else about them, given that there are thoughts in my head that I couldn’t find the right moment to voice :] ___

They are very tactile. Physical, touch, movement > abstract and non-physical, words, promises and so on. Even if in the early years one of them could be talkative, the main emphasis was still on the physical expression of feelings.

I like to think that Tord acts as support for Matt at times when it comes to looks. In adolescence, they would hardly communicate, because Matt would try to stay away from all people in general due to his worries about appearance. Later, this will turn into irritation, anger, aggression and misunderstanding. "Why do others live happily while I have to go through something like this"

I think he and Tord had a rather strained relationship at first, and Matt would probably have killed him at night, if only he had not had to report to Edd later and explain all this. But after a while, they still managed to find a common language. Like, desire for power or control over someone, "treasure?" which they once said. They sit on the porch or on the roof and smoke. The clock shows midnight and it's deep night outside. Both are dressed in black.

Tord really likes to watch anime, and Matt at this time sits next to him with an unhappy face, because he does not understand at all how someone can like this (he himself will become interested in anime as soon as he sees a lonely and gloomy character on the screen, which extols themself above and better than everyone, pushing everyone else away from themself, but in fact they are very afraid of loneliness and wants to be loved, but crushes these feelings in themself. Matt never admits this to Tord)

OOOOOOOOOOH AND WTFUTURE WTFUTURE YAAYYY!!!

In the future, they talk even less than they used to. I mentioned in one of my texts that this is due to Matt's artificial jaw, as because of it, he can no longer speak clearly and clearly, emitting something incoherent instead. I mean, it's just a metal artificial part from the skull. There is no skin or muscles there, which means that he will not be able to pronounce letters that require a certain position of the lips either. Therefore, the manifestation of feelings in a physical way began to be much more important for them than in their youth. Now it is almost literally their only way to interact.

And maybe Matt would slowly learn sign language so he could interact with other people without using speech.....

It can be said that Matt would return to the state in which he was at a young age (even before Tord left for the first time). He moves away from the outside world and bad thoughts into paperwork, spreadsheets, physical training and so on, which Tord, who remembers the past, doesn’t like at all. And if Tord is busy and cannot stop Matt in time by sending him to sleep, he asks Paul, Patryck or Tom (he doesn’t have the best relationship with Matt, but this post is not about that) to do it instead of him.

And, ofc, Matt is very clingy when he and Tord are alone. He just clings to his arm or hugs him tightly, snuggling up, afraid that he will be left alone.

Tord showers kisses on Matt's face while holding his hands, because those are Matt's most vulnerable spots. He just wants Matt to feel loved again.

And i would like to talk about cute nicknames/pet names too! They just don't use it :) Tord uses the full form of Matt's name in particularly private and intimate moments, or when trying to calm him down, or to show his affection. This is enough for Matt, because, as I wrote earlier, words mean little to him in wtfuture.

Tord is just happy when Matt calls him by his name, instead of "Sir" or "Red Leader". Matt tries to maintain an exclusively working relationship because of all his traumas, fears and worries that he is so desperately trying to suppress and ignore. He has gone so far from the outside world and himself into work that the moments when he himself breaks this wall between him and Tord a little, Tord appreciates incredibly much. ___

I didn't write anything about TordMatt in the "legacy" because I didn't think much of it. Nevertheless, according to the canon, Matt erased his memory and doesn't remember Tord at all, so Tord is forced not only to start everything from scratch (he sits on the bed, hunched over and covering his face with his hands, and thinks whether it is worth starting everything from scratch at all), but and start from scratch with a completely different person, because this is not the Matt he once left. I mean, Tord is trying and he's glad that Matt confided in him so easily, feeling comfortable around him, but he keeps hoping to hear at least something sarcastic from the redhead.

At times I like to think that they are married in the future, but let's face it, it's TOO sweet. They just aren't ready for something like that yet </3

Thank you very much for asking me about headcanons!!!!!

[mistyheartrbs]

Please explain the Glee Vriska theory I want to know more

i'm so glad my glee vriska theory has sparked discussion amidst the mistyheartrbs tumblr community. this is what @battleofthevriskas is really about.

so character by character it's as such:

RACHEL BERRY: she actually feels the Most vriska to me because people hate her mostly for being a woman who dares to be ambitious and you can’t have a vriska without the fandom being divided over them. she’s definitely not a good person a lot of the time but within glee’s insane framework she’s really not that bad, yet people either love her or hate her while having much less negativity towards. say, noah puckerman, who is actually objectively horrible. and also rachel sent someone to a crackhouse.

QUINN FABRAY: gay. sad. tried to steal a baby. she has that certain combination of the worst plans you’ve ever heard of and the desperate desire to still be a kid while being forced to grow up.

SANTANA LOPEZ: while rachel is the most vriska in terms of her role in the narrative i think santana is the closest to vriska (vriska) in terms of actual personality. which is to say she’s mean and sardonic and yet she also loves a certain few people very deeply.

SUE SYLVESTER: married herself and then got divorced from herself. can’t die? also just like. she’s textually the villain but is The fan-favorite character who’s basically become synonymous with the show which is what vriska is also.

but overall - on a more meta level - glee and homestuck are surprisingly similar beasts. they both turned expectations of their respective mediums (high school tv drama and webcomic) on their heads. they both started in 2009 and ended within about a year of each other (glee in march 2015, homestuck in april 2016 excluding the epilogues and homestuck 2); in other terms, squarely within the obama era. this comes through in the optimism and genuine belief in the young people they center around - these kids can change the world. things are turning around for the better, and they're different.

and on a narrative level there are also a lot of similarities - they're both coming-of-age stories, obviously, but they're also the rare coming-of-age stories that let their teenage characters be unabashedly kind of awful, without a lot of judgment from the narrative. they both tap into what it feels like to be a teenager, rather than trying to tell a "realistic" story about being one. in glee's case, the musical format does this - doesn't every breakup or rocky friendship or crush feel worthy of an elaborate musical number? aren't you the star of the show? for homestuck, it's the world literally exploding when john turns thirteen - none of these kids know what the hell they're doing, but they're expected to inherit a legacy they only barely signed up for.

and i don't think it's a coincidence, then, that they're both projects with massive queer followings and unprecedented queer representation. characters like santana and kurt and rose and kanaya were new and exciting and they got to be the center of the story, instead of side characters there to support the straight leads. glee and homestuck both queered their mediums; they let these people who would have otherwise been snappy sidekicks be the ones to have the big end-of-story romance, to save the world.

which brings me back to vriska! in the past few years tumblr dot com has definitely become much kinder towards female characters - largely, i think, because its userbase is now mostly in their twenties and they've developed critical thinking skills and so there's less instinctive hatred of any vaguely complex woman in a tv show if she commits the heinous crime of Being Girl. getting into glee as an adult instead of as a teenager has given me a sort of. opportunity to learn this through praxis - i love rachel berry, she's my favorite character in the whole show, but i look through old glee detritus and i know that even with faberry as one of the most popular shows there were (and are) people who unabashedly hated her, who called her the worst character on television. vriska wasn't ever subject to that much hate, i think in part because she is an antagonist for much of homestuck and so it's easier to view her actions through that lens while there's admittedly some dissonance when rachel sends a girl to a crackhouse and then gets the solo a few episodes later, but people still couldn't stand her as if equius didn't force aradia into a blue-blood robot body so she wouldn't be "inferior" anymore and then make that robot body fall in love with him. did anyone remember that. why doesn't anyone remember that it's like the scariest thing in homestuck. "oh vriska killed people" she had her reasons.

but anyway there's been sort of a reckoning as tumblr adults look back at their favorite childhood/teenhood media. and everyone loves vriska now, and while rachel is still pretty divisive (understandably so) people love glee's other two vriskas (quinn and santana) and think their unpleasantries are compelling and shouldn't be sanded over. and bringing it back to the bigger picture, glee and homestuck were both seen for a while after they ended as "cringe," as things that were already aging badly, as unfortunate crap we only liked as teenagers because there wasn't anything better. but they were both good, at the end of the day, warts and all. they were weird and funny and they spoke to that peculiar loneliness that comes with being a kid. and people are starting, finally, to remember that. in other words,

thank you for coming to my vriskanalysis!

[wayward40k]

:: ALETEHA CRESCERE :: THE INQUISITOR

:: BASIC INFORMATION :: Nicknames / Aliases : Thea (close relations & squadmates only) Gender / Pronouns : Female / She / Her Age : 24 Species : Human [Perpetual, Psyker]

:: APPEARANCE :: Hair : Brownish-red, mid-back length and usually tied up in a short ponytail or braid. Skin : Fair, freckled across the face and chest. Eyes : Emerald green. Height : 5’ // 132 cm Markings (scars, tattoos, etc) : Visible scar perpendicular to her jaw on her left cheek. Multiple scars from death-injuries. Build / Physique : Lithe, athletically muscled.

:: PERSONAL INFORMATION :: Occupation : Inquisitor [Ordo Malleus], former Tempestus Scion [151st Zetic Eagles] Alliance : Imperium of Man Homeworld : Toriskon [ Imperial Death World ] Social Level : Socially awkward, not used to casual interactions. Likes : Recaf, being physically active, not sleeping, psyber-raven companion. Dislikes : The Dreams, personal questions, people that don’t mind their own business. Romantic / Sexual Orientation : Demiromantic / pansexual Relationship Status : Single (ships happen in their own AUs)

:: ABILITIES & SKILLS :: Physical Skills : Trained as a Tempestus Scion in both melee and ranged combat, keeps physically fit. Hardier than baseline humans should be, increased healing speed. Mental Skills : Increased resistance to mental intrusion, highly increased resistance to daemonic influence. Increased resistance to pain. Remains calm and focus under intense pressure. Stubborn. Psyker Abilities : Can see and repair Warp rifts and fluctuations. Can ‘unmake’ Warp entities in the Materium, may outright erase weaker daemons. Can encourage the rapid healing of fresh injuries. Often has a psyber-raven companion that can be used to scout the area. Other Notes : Alethea has a series of unusual psychic limiters that seem to have been implanted at some point in her spine. These limiters choke her power, and cause intense agony while and after using her psychic abilities. Her potential is undefined, though even with her power presently limited, she is capable of holding her own against most general and lesser daemons.

:: STORY INFORMATION :: Daemonhunting Inquisitor : As an agent of the Ordo Malleus, Alethea is primarily skilled in hunting down and destroying daemons. She is not prone to trusting agents of Chaos, or most Xenos. It’s not, however, impossible to change her opinion on beliefs that she’d otherwise be willing to defend with her life - you just need to be smart and subtle about it. Her Lord Inquisitor, meanwhile, has a reputation for being an angry, sadistic man. Incognito : Being awkward as she is, Alethea doesn’t enjoy most people knowing she’s an Inquisitor, and she’s not prone to using the rank to get her way. If it’s possible, she’ll hide among her Tempestus Scions, wearing her own set of identical armor, and the group as a whole will be acting on orders of Inquisitor Crescere as relayed through their squadmate, Thea. Watched Over : Alethea and Serge are siblings, in a sense, and becoming a daemon hasn’t hindered his desire to try to protect her. He secretly entrusted her with a fragment of his soul, and now she’s his only hope of potentially returning to being human. He may show up out of the blue to chat and make sure no one is going to disrupt his plans. She doesn’t know he’s ‘alive’. Hunted by Shadows : There’s dark truths hidden in her past, Alethea just doesn’t know it. Her personal records are largely redacted and would require a higher level of clearance than she presently has to read them uncensored. Certain actors have less than pleasant intentions for her if she happens to earn their ire, intentionally or otherwise. Forever Fighting : Being fairly young, Alethea is still unaware of her nature as a perpetual. If she dies, the memories of the death tend to fade before her body repairs itself and she wakes up. However, the more she dies, the faster she revives, and eventually those memories will be kept. It’s only a matter of time before someone witnesses her apparently immortal nature…

:: LORE TAG :: - :: POST TAG :: - :: POST TAG ::

[astranite]

Blue, Pink, White, Pink, Blue.

Trans Penelope! A little late for @thunder-pride, but here none the less!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48267592

Happy Rest of Year Pride for the end of Pride Month!

Minor warning for mentioned transphobia and homophobia. ----

From a young age, Penelope had been very insistent about who she was and what she wanted. The petal pink for the decorations in her room, not the lilac. Real tea should be served in her toy tea set, complete with matching cups and saucers. She couldn't possibly go to sleep without at least one more story.

She was a girl and her name was Penelope Creighton-Ward.

Penelope grew up into a woman who still has strong opinions about decor and tea— English breakfast with one sugar and a dash of milk of course, and a number of other things powerful people would rather she didn't.

Neither wealth nor fame nor status made you more valuable than anybody else. Human beings always mattered more than money, or possessions or any form of material goods. There were some in the circles she dealt with who could stand to learn this.

People should be able to love who they pleased openly, without fear or shame or condemnation. Everyone should have the freedom to be their truest self without having to hide.

The world had come a long way by 2060, but there were still a few dinosaurs clinging to their bigotry.

Penelope was vocally defensive of LGBTQIA+ rights. The British nobility wasn't historically known for its progressiveness, but it was her duty to use her status and wealth, which she’d had the good fortune of being born into, to take action and show support. When she had a platform where her voice was heard, it was her duty to amplify other’s voices.

Penelope stood by her word and morals, because standing up what she believed in was more than worth any attacks that came her way. Suggestions her actions were for appearances rather than a genuine desire to help. Comments from opponents about the validity of her womanhood, taunting remarks about the fact she also loved women, using any ammunition to attempt to bring her down when they felt threatened. Those individuals were torn apart as that sort of speech wasn't tolerated in these times.

She never flinched in public, because all the world is a stage and everyone is always watching. Any private hurt was hers alone.

Back in their university days, Penelope remembered snide whispers calling John, her John who loved so quietly and fiercely, heartless because he didn't desire a romantic relationship with anyone. Certain individuals found themselves in some, shall we say, difficulties after that.

She’d learnt so many things over the years. As a spy, sometimes secret meant safe and there was no less honor in that. As a diplomat, how honeyed words held daggers and the worst, most hateful ideas were always presented as reasonable, justifiable and a ‘nice’ option.

There were people in the world who wanted to make you small, who didn't like how you had opinions, how your existence was inconvenient to them. The school yard bullies who had the status to become boardroom corporate billionaires exploiting their workers. She learnt to deal with them, to show others how to stand up, be loud, to take up space because its yours, you deserve it just as much as anyone else.

Penelope remembered a quote from an old movie, which captured her so completely as a young girl. “Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right. Even if the whole world is telling you to move, it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move'.” She did her best to live up to Peggy Carter’s example to this day.

Being queer, being trans, the past was a story of pain and triumph, blood and tears. Their victories in the fight to have rights, and the sorrowful fact they had to fight for them in the first place. Atrocities and hate left marks, but so do love and hope, survival and joy. Their shared history was a rebellion, the first Pride a riot, but they lived on because of community who built each other up, love that chose to endure and so many people who, even quietly, even alone, refused to give up.

She was out and proud for both herself and everyone who was watching. This was who she is, she wasn’t ashamed, she celebrated it.

Penelope wondered what her younger self would say if she could see her now. To see who she had become, through all her uncertainty which had lurked below the surface, not as to who she was but as to who she could be.

Now, she held her head high: she could be that person for other little girls like her. For any people who needed her, a role model and an example to stand before the world for who you could be, especially for those who were lost and unsure, not knowing that this was a way you could be and it wasn't wrong.

There were so many ways to be a woman and this was hers.