#so many people have reached out to me in the last decade saying how I've helped them since I've come out in 2014/2015 and just

[oh-archivist]

happy tdov <3 non binary transmasculine (they/he) <3

spent 6 years on t and been off for since ‘21 and 7 years post op ! I had older TDOV posts if you want to see me through the years

[lokischocolatefountain]

Warning || Men Like Me

Masterlist

Fandom: The Last of Us Pairing: Joel Miller x Virgin!Reader Rating: 18+ Warnings: girth age gap, virgin!reader, eventual loss of virginity (not in this chapter), gratuitous descriptions of Joel Miller's body, somewhat creepy!Joel, fetishization of youth, dom!Joel, breaking and entering, playboy magazine, objectification, fingering, sexual discoveries. Word count: 6.2k Summary: Joel's warnings about what men like him would do to girls like you only makes you want him more. A/N: Back in the depths of hell again, you guys. Now this isn't the most depraved thing I've written by any means but it's up there. Come say hi in my chat or inbox, I'd love to talk. Keep a look out for follow up parts and pleeeeease give me comments. I am very very desperate.

Joel Miller was a bad man. That much he knew. 

Even as he fixed taps and renovated houses that were falling apart, he could see the blood on his hands. The very hands that packed lunches for Ellie snapped necks, pistol whipped men, stole from a starving child so he could feed his grown brother. But there were lows even he didn’t stoop down to. 

Not that he didn’t have the opportunity. Men always did. And in this world, opportunities had only tripled. Even the Boston QZ, as strict as it was, had an underground brothel. He knew Tess to frequent it and never asked questions. Sometimes she needed to bury her face between a good pair of thighs and wrap her lips around a pretty pussy, and this wasn’t something he could give her. There was a lot he couldn’t give her.

Being in Jackson should’ve civilized him. It did in many ways. He’d reverted to the southern gentleman with table manners. ‘Yes, Ma’am’ spilled out of his lips effortlessly when he spoke to women. He held the door for anyone walking in after him. He even went to Church– sorry, the multifaith house of worship–to help renovate. 

That was where his troubles began. 

There was no point in him going where people prayed. Being back in civilization did not erase his decades of disbelief in a cruel God who would take his baby and keep him on this accursed Earth. But he did because he was back to being a contractor and Tommy asked him to go fix up the pews instead of him. He didn’t have much time, being a new dad and all.

He was on his knees checking out the rotting wood and evaluating how much wood he’d need for building new ones when he was confronted by a pair of legs and a sweet voice. Yours. 

“Lemonade, Mister Miller?” 

He looked up, his eyes traveling up your legs, bare until he got to your knees where the hem of your flowery skirt sat. Pure, unblemished knees, never taken a fall, didn’t fucking creak, and never knelt before anyone but God. You looked down sweetly, eyes wide and innocent like a newborn cow. Everyone had a kind of darkness about them in this world. Everyone except the kids who didn’t know a world outside the insular walls of Jackson. And you, it turned out, even though you weren’t a kid.

He wiped his sweat off with the greasy rag he carried and looked up at you once again. You had a pitcher and an empty glass in your hands. A sweet smile on your lips and hair falling down your shoulders and reaching your breasts. A yellow ribbon sat in a bow where your neckline dipped between your breasts, adding to the innocence of your look.

“Yes please, Ma’am. Thank you,” he said, giving you a nod. Your pretty plush lips curled up, a giggle escaping them as you poured him a glass of lemonade. 

His hand brushed against yours as he accepted the glass, his hand too large to curl around it without making contact with you. You giggled again before retracting your hand and occupying it with adjusting your hair. 

“I’m younger than you, you know? Don’t have to call me Ma’am.” 

“Just being polite. Ma’am.” He took the glass to his lips, mindful to take only a small sip instead of downing it in desperation. Another adjustment to make when food was no longer a scarcity. Sweet, sour, and salty danced on his tongue before it glided down his throat. Just a sip refreshed him. And the sight of a nice girl didn’t hurt the cause either. 

It’d been so long since he had a nice refreshing glass of lemonade. Summers meant worse infestations of infected, not the barbecues, lemonades, and swimming of past. When surviving each hour was under threat, small luxuries like this became out of reach of even one’s dreams.

“Well, guess I should call you Sir then,” you said, leaning against the wall. You held the pitcher up to your chest and the tails of the ribbon on your chest dipped into it, the soft shiny yellow turning dark, tainted.

His mouth watered and fucking hell, it wasn’t the lemonade you just gave him. He took a sip of the drink and licked his lips, imagining how you’d taste if he wrapped his large hand around your neck and pressed his chapped lips to your plush ones. Better yet, if he held your legs apart and devoured you other pair of lips until you were leaking down his mouth. Would you call him Sir then? His cock twitched in his jeans as he pictured you bent over one of these pews, your skirt pushed up and his hand in your hair as he slid his cock in your hole. 

Jesus fucking Christ! What the fuck was wrong with him? 

“Made the lemonade yourself?” He asked,  groaning as he managed to get himself back up on his feet. His knees creaked like the floorboards of the houses he renovated, but ultimately supported him as he stood. He towered over you, making you appear smaller, more fragile. 

“Depends. Do you like it?” 

“It’s wonderful, of course. Hot summer day like this…I really needed it,” he said, raising the glass up a little before taking another sip. 

“Well then yes, I did make it.”

He chuckled, feeling himself pulled in by your easy charisma. It was nice to have normal conversations like this once again. No agenda, no need for establishing himself as someone who wouldn’t hesitate to beat someone up if even mildly threatened. It was just…normal. 

“It’s very sweet, Ma’am. Like you I assume,” he added, mentally dusting off the part of his brain where he stored skills for conversing with pretty girls.

You laughed, holding your free hand up to your mouth to cover your lips that widened and revealed your teeth. 

“Is that the southern charm that I hear our townspeople talk about?” 

“They talk about my charm? I didn’t hear.” 

“Oh yes, they do… Joel Miller, charming pants off of everyone in town.”

“Pants? Well that’s disappointing. I was hoping I’d charmed some pretty skirts off.” 

“Lots of experience with that, Mister Miller?” you asked, sliding your hand over the soft fabric of the skirt of your dress. Such delicate fabric. He could fist the hem and give it one tug and it’d rip right off.

“More ‘n what you got for sure,” he said, loath to hint at how infrequent his encounters had become in the recent past. Tess died, he did a cross country hike with an annoying kid, he needed to maintain a good reputation in his new town. One buried after the other. Enough to leave a man with nothing but his fist and his imagination. He would kill for a fucking Playboy magazine. Literally. He’d killed for less.

“What do you know about how experienced I am?” 

“Been experiencing longer than you’ve been alive, Ma’am.” 

“Oh well. Nothing I can’t learn.” 

He laughed nervously and stuck his hand in his jeans pocket. Surely you couldn’t be flirting… Why would a young thing like this flirt with him? He was in his late fifties looking like mid sixties and you were… He didn’t know. Young.

“If you could teach me, Mister Miller. Give a girl some experience?”

“I’m sure you can find someone else.” 

“Oh. Not your type, am I?” you asked, and he deluded himself thinking you sounded disappointed. No chance. 

He didn’t have a type. Long time since he thought of frivolous shit like that. But you shouldn’t be his type. 

“There’s much more eligible men in town is what I’m saying,” he said, suddenly hesitant to lie. Lying had never been an issue for him. The right thing was to lie, say you weren’t his type so he wouldn’t cross lines. It’d been a long time since he did the right thing.

“I’ll be the decider of that,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder before taking the empty glass from him. “Have a good rest of the work day, Mister Miller.”

Later that night, he wrapped his fist around his cock in the privacy of his room. His mind flooded with images of you spread out for him, sweet lips and a sweeter pussy milking him. He couldn’t even recall the last time he was with a woman. It was Tess, of course. Sometime before she got thrown in FEDRA jail for the last time. Too fucking long ago.

Surely it was only because it’d been a long time since he got his dick wet. He’d never, in his entire life, pictured a woman so much younger spreading her legs for him. Sucking his cock. Crying out his name. How old was she even? Not past mid twenties for sure.

It was wrong, he knew, as white hot spend spurted out of his cock and covered his hand. A sour tang took over his mouth as the fog of unadulterated lust cleared up to reveal the ugliness in his head. He shuddered, feeling like something had crawled under his flesh. He hadn’t felt guilt like this in so long. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

You weren’t even as old as his kid would be had she been alive. 

He’d known men like that back in the day. Grays in their hair and skin like old leather, but pretty young things old enough to be their daughter hanging off their arm. It was obvious that none of them kept these girls around for love or for their personality. It was always sex and the feeling of self-importance when a sweet young thing paid attention to balding heads, beer bellies and limp dicks that needed a blue pill to get up. 

Fucking disgusting. 

He began avoiding you whenever you happened to be in the same space. At the house of worship, the town clinic where you interned, trading days when people exchanged what they had for what they wanted. His eyes never met yours and he always quickly looked away when they stared too long at your uh…feminine features– pretty legs, cute ass, round tits. Where the fuck did you get sundresses anyway? Who kept that shit around in this world? 

He didn’t know that when he avoided you, you took note of him. When he took glances of your features, you memorized his for later in the night when you buried your head in your pillow and pushed your fingers inside your pussy to simulate what it must be like to be with a man. 

He was older. That much you knew from his grey hair, sun-damaged skin, and gait that exuded bone-deep weariness. You knew Tommy had just turned fifty. Hard to miss occasions that meant a free slice of cake from the canteen. Joel had to be in his mid-fifties at the very least. At first glance, he wasn’t what you’d consider handsome. There were younger men in town. Fit and muscular. Didn’t groan and scrunch up their faces when they got up. Didn’t have lines on their foreheads. No bags under their eyes. 

Yet there was something about Joel that was more entrancing. 

After your first meeting when you offered him lemonade, you made sure to visit under the guise of worship. You didn’t know much about religion and were conflicted about embracing a god. The only faith you had rested in your medical instruments and the medicines the town’s chemist concocted. But it was a nice place to meet people, to check on healing patients.

The visits were worth it for a glimpse of Joel’s large hands wrapped around his carpentry tools. When the sun was the hottest, he sometimes stripped down to his tank top, giving you a show better than any film played in the community theater. His broad back looked masculine enough in his flannel shirts. But you didn’t know desire like the first time you saw him in a white tank, showing off his muscular arms as sweat dripped down his tan skin.

When you pleasured yourself in your room, it took time, imagination, your fingers, and a lot of effort to make slick pool in your pussy. That day, all it took was the sight of Joel Miller working. You sat with your thighs pressed together, rubbing them against each other in the most inconspicuous little movements. 

Could it be blasphemy if the God who was supposedly orchestrating everything made this man take his shirt off in front of you?

It made no fucking sense. Joel was old. He looked like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed every goddamn day. He had been chewed up and spat out by whatever the fuck was outside Jackson these days. Hardened expressions, graying patchy beard, hands calloused from carpentry and decades of using weaponry. Features that only indicated a long life lived, not attractiveness.

You were supposed to be attracted to the soft, sweet ones like the guys in the worn out copies of romance stories that the previous inhabitant of your house stashed in the basement. Even his little brother would be a more reasonable target for your lust. Younger, taller, softer, head full of dark, silky hair with few grays. But you wanted Joel Miller with his rough graying beard that would prick your skin were you to cup his cheek like the women on the novel covers. 

Something about him just screamed Man. Something that none of the other guys in town had. There was nothing wrong with any of the other Jackson men, but none of them made you want to take the plunge and lose your virginity. It wasn’t the lack of offers, per se. You’d gotten looks from many eligible Jackson bachelors. You had drinks with a few of them. Dinner with fewer and shared a kiss with more than one. Alright, two. But anything beyond that had you trembling in anxiety. 

It wasn’t anything precious to you, virginity. But you’d waited so long. Focused so long only on survival and then helping to build this town and now training to become a doctor. Whatever passed for doctor these days. With all your life dedicated to everything but your love life, you simply had no experience. What if you messed up and they laughed? You knew anatomy, but that didn’t translate to practical stuff. What if you couldn’t make them feel good? You’d have to see the guy all the damn time in the small town. There would be no escaping the awkwardness.

Sure it was counterintuitive to keep pushing away sexual encounters because you had no experience. But you didn’t know what else to do. You were too old already to not have done anything. But each day that passed with you rejecting perfectly nice men meant you were getting even older for your first time. 

You didn’t know where Joel fit into your need for exploring your sexuality, but it didn’t hurt to stare. God knew everyone else in Jackson did. 

So you stared. Work with his carpentry tools. Riding on horseback into Jackson after patrol. Helping with the fucking sheep. Walking around with Tommy. Carrying his nephew around town. It should be inappropriate to be fantasizing about a man when he was doing something as innocent as carrying a baby. But seeing his large hand cradling the baby’s little head made you want to scream into your pillow and kick your legs. 

“You alright, sweetheart?” 

Your heart fluttered and you let out a nervous laugh at being caught. You smoothed out the wrinkles on your clothes just to make it look like you were alright. Unfortunately you were wearing a pair of fucking jeans. You didn’t even want to know how awkward you looked. 

“‘m alright, Mister Miller.” 

“Joel’s fine,” he said, rocking his nephew in his arms.

Oh fuck, his fucking arms!

“Oh I don’t know,” you said, fidgeting with a belt loop on your jeans. “Wouldn’t want to be impolite addressing you by your first name like that.”

He smiled, recalling your conversation from the house of worship when you called him Sir and had him fucking himself in the shower to the memory. “Ah. ‘cause I’m an old man,” he said, more as a reminder to himself to fucking behave. 

“You’re not that old…” you trailed, looking him over in a way that set fire to every inch of skin that you laid eyes on.

Behave, Miller. You’re out with your nephew. 

“That so?” he asked, eyebrow raised. 

“Mhmm. You don’t look a day over seventy.” 

He snorted, making Miles stir in his arms just a little. That stung a little. It shouldn’t. Your estimation of his age, whether you were serious or not, was reminder enough that he was too old to be lusting after you.

“Thanks. I’m actually eighty-two.” 

You giggled your pretty little giggle, lowering your gaze to the ground and looking back up only when it had turned into a wide grin. “How old are you actually?”

“Old. Fifty six.” 

“Fifty-six isn’t that old…” you trailed as you brought a hand up to his bicep. Joel gulped, praying to the non-existent God that you would stop before praying to the same God that you would keep your hand right there. God answered his second prayer. You squeezed, licked your lips and looked up at him with your doe eyes.

“Checking if the hardware is still working, Doctor?” 

“I’m not a doctor yet.” 

“When do you become one then? Ain’t no Harvard handing out medical degrees in this town.”

“Howard?” you asked, squinting at him. Ah, of course you didn’t know. Harvard didn’t mean the same thing to you. Now it was just like every other building in Boston. Run over by infected. These ones were just the nerdy kind with glasses on.

“That was a thing, too. But I said Harvard. They were big universities back then.”

“Ah. Did you go there?” You asked, with no malice or bite. Oh, bless your heart. No one expected a dummy like him to have gone to university at all, much less Harvard. No one in his family had gone. Sarah was meant to be the first.

“Yeah. Traded some oxy and threw molotovs at clickers in the campus.” 

You rewarded him with a giggle and that was incentive enough for him to keep going. “Guys like me didn’t get into Harvard. Or Howard. Didn’t even go to community college. I finished high school and got a job in construction.” 

“You didn’t go to uh…construction college?” You asked, cocking your head and raising an eyebrow as though testing out the term.

“No such thing. Well, there were civil engineering programs, but I just learned on the job.” 

“Like me.” 

“Guess so. I see you reading from all those fat medical books. But there’s no need to study any books in construction. ‘cept if you wanna be an engineer or architect or something, which I’m not.” 

“Maybe you should write one. We could all do with some knowledge from before. It’s important to document it, pass it on to Ellie and little Miles over there.” 

“I ain’t writing books, sweetheart. Don’t think I even remember how to write much. I’ll just keep to fixing things up in this town. So, if you need some help with your place…I’m happy to help.” It was the least he could do. Maybe as some kind of penance for having impure thoughts about you. Or as a fucked up trade for starring in the mental images he conjured to jack off in the shower.

“There is something, actually. But I don’t have anything to trade for, so I’ll wait until I do,” you said, clasping your hands behind your back and swaying in place in an endearing manner.

“Nonsense. You patched me up just last week. You’ve done enough for the town’s health to not have to trade for anything ever again.” 

“Well, no. That’s not how it should be… It’s people’s health. Can’t put a price on that.”

“Believe it or not, health had a steep price back in the day. Cost four thousand something just to give birth. Double that if they had to cut you open.” And that was just how much it cost when Sarah was born. He was sure it had only gone up by 2003. If he hadn’t worked his ass off, there was no way he could’ve escaped debt. It helped that his Ma and his then wife’s parents helped with childcare. Would’ve been even more expensive without that.

“Damn. I don’t know how much that is, since…y’know we don’t have money now. But that sounds like a big number. It shouldn’t cost anything just to be born.” 

“Tell me about it,” he said, shaking his head. “But listen. Anything you want fixed, I’ll help out. You can give me something later if you’re worried. I know Ellie’s always on the look for new books to read and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“Nothing Ellie would like. Not like the special limited edition of Savage Starlight or anything. Just medical textbooks and romance novels.” 

“We could trade for the lemonade from that afternoon,” he insisted, desperate to do something for you. Take care of you as you took care of everyone who walked into the clinic be it papercuts or a fucking knife in their abdomen. 

“Alright. Trade for the lemonade it is then,” you said, giving in to his pressure.

“Now tell me. What d’ya need fixed?” 

⌘⌘⌘

It had been a few days since Joel promised to fix your shower for you. Each time he came by and rang your doorbell, you hid somewhere away from your windows. When he caught sight of you in public, you quickly walked away or engaged in conversation with someone else. You didn’t need shit fixed. Everything in your house was perfectly alright. Tommy and his guys had given the place a complete makeover just a couple months before Joel and Ellie arrived. 

You were no paragon of honesty, but you didn’t make lying a habit. There were a few white lies here and there and this was meant to be one of them. It just didn’t fucking hit you that if you lied to a contractor that your shower was broken, he would eventually come over to fucking fix it. All your desperate sex starved brain wanted that day was for Joel Miller to come use his tools in your room and flex those muscles while at it.

So invested were you in that particular fantasy that as you unwound after a long shift at the clinic, it was with Joel’s beefy arms in mind. You stood in front of your mirror, taking in your reflection. One of the magazines you’d found in a box under your bed laid open on the dressing table. Playboy. Entertainment for Men. Each had a scantily clad woman on the cover. And many more inside. 

You made comparisons to yourself and the woman in the center page of the issue.

She stood in front of a dressing table too, but much different from how you stood. Her legs were on either side of her dressing table chair and her hands on the top of it. Between her arms were breasts, big and round and with smooth skin. They didn’t have any marks on them like yours. No moles, no stretch marks. Just plain. And she just stood there, soft brown hair down, tickling the top of her breasts and her lips parted as she gazed at you. No, at the men she was meant to entertain in this men’s entertainment magazine. All she had on was panties that went high up to her flat belly that connected to high transparent socks.

You reached behind your back and unclasped your bra, wishing that you had something nicer like the woman on the cover of another one of the magazines. Bright red and showing off her breasts wonderfully, but pulled down to reveal almost everything. What was the point of a bra then if it didn’t cover or support anything? Entertainment, you decided. Men seemed to be very entertained by breasts. 

Many a man had stared at yours even though you had them behind layers of fabric unlike the naked women of the magazines. Many had conversations with them instead of your face. Some brushed up against them ‘accidentally’. Joel thought he was being covert, but you felt his brown eyes rove all over them. You thought maybe that he too would brush up against it sometime, but he never did. Maybe entertainment stopped at just looking, as in the magazines. 

You wondered if Joel sought out men’s entertainment magazines like this. He was from before everything went to shit, so it was very possible that he did. Did he like the women in these pages, sticking their asses out and looking through the pages at him? Would he be entertained if he saw you like this? 

You didn’t know that if you turned your head to your bedroom door, you would have your answer. Joel’s cock strained against his already tight jeans as he stood awestruck by your figure. He swallowed as you held on to the top of the chair and lifted your knees, one after the other and placed them on the plush seat. You arched your back, a little too much at first before reducing the curve. Your ass stuck out enticingly and he didn’t know whether to grab, squeeze, slap, or spread your cheeks apart and fuck your ass. 

He should leave. 

It was stupid of him to walk into your house with a box of plumbing tools to fix your shower when you hadn’t yet given him a date or time for it. Plus you were avoiding him. Running away with your little friends and picking up stuff to hide your face from his view. He was plenty sure that when he’d rung your doorbell, you weren’t always away from home. 

He should leave. 

Fixing the shower could wait. He could confront you some other day. 

But you were putting on such a pretty little show in nothing but your panties and he was only a man. A bad one. 

His boots stayed put on your hardwood floors as you enjoyed yourself in front of the mirror. You spread your knees and let your fingers between your thighs, eyes closed, lips parted and low whines escaping your lips in just a few minutes. He palmed his growing erection over his jeans, consequences of being caught be damned. He was a foul beast already. What bad was another sin on the list? Besides, you were the one who’d left the fucking door open. 

Your soft whimpers grew into moans as you brought yourself closer and he forced his feet to stay put despite their urge to walk up to you and give you something to really moan about. 

“Fuu– mmm Joel, pleeease.”

He let out a gasp, all his restraint flying out the window as soon as he heard his name from your lips. You couldn’t actually be doing this… There had to be another Joel in town. Younger, better looking, smarter.

Your voice grew needy and the pitch higher as you kept at it. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Gimme it, Sir.” 

No, it couldn’t be anyone else. 

Joel toed his boots off and took quiet steps towards you, emboldened by the filth that spilled from your lips. If this old man was what you wanted, he wouldn’t stop himself from reaping the benefits. He wasn’t a goddamn saint. Never was. 

He stopped in front of you, surprised you still hadn’t sensed his presence. As though the universe heard his thoughts, it had you open your eyes. You gasped as soon as you saw him and buckled off the chair, but Joel caught you. You shuddered, unable to cope with the sudden touch. 

“J-Joel?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said, touching your cheek with the back of his hand. You whined, your body molding itself against his chest. You brought a hand to his arm, feeling the rock hard muscles underneath his sleeves and your other hand worked between your legs.  

Your fingers no longer felt adequate as you felt his large fingers on your cheek. “Want you, please,” you whined, desperate to return to the edge where you had been right before you saw him. 

“You don’t know what you’re asking of me…” he spoke dangerously, soft brown eyes clouded with a kind of desire you had longed to see in him for weeks. 

“Want you…want you to be with me,” you repeated stupidly, your desperation clouding your senses too much for you to say anything else. While in the past you only wanted to get rid of your virginity, your goals had become more specific with his arrival. You wanted him. You wanted his big hands and broad shoulders, to hold on to them as you rode him. To watch his grumpy expressions turn to ecstasy under you. 

“Tell me not to touch you,” he said, his tone low and almost threatening. Any other threat from him, you would’ve heeded. But not this one. 

“Touch me!” 

It was as though something in him snapped at your words. While darkness only loomed over him before, it now completely took over.The hand that previously only caressed your cheek now wrapped itself around your neck. Before you could completely process the move, his other hand slapped yours away. He replaced two of your puny fingers with his middle finger, eliciting a strained moan from you. 

“Touching yourself to a Playboy magazine, huh?” 

You only nodded, unable to form words now that a fantasy of yours had finally come to life.

“Dirty little thing…Thought you were a nice girl and all. Helpin’ out at the clinic, head buried in books all the time. Turns out you actually got your head in dirty magazines.” 

You whined, your pussy clenching and gushing around his finger at the way he was speaking to you. The same man who insisted on calling you Ma’am despite your protests was calling you a dirty girl now. The veil of respectability seemed to have floated away at the sight of you naked and pleasuring yourself. Had you known that this was all you needed to get Joel Miller to touch you, you would’ve done it much sooner.

He added another finger, the girth of him enough to stretch you more than you had done for yourself. You brought a hand up to his shoulder and fisted his shirt, needing something to anchor yourself to. 

“You ever been taken by a man, sweetheart?” He asked, his tone too cool and casual for what he was doing to you. You shuddered, partly from his phrasing– taken, he said. Taken. Like you were a thing. Like the women in the magazines positioned so uncomfortably just so their breasts could look a certain way for the picture. Printed on the cover page with the words Entertainment for Men written on top. You shook your head, feeling small as you confessed it for the first time. 

“Any man?” 

“N-no,” you managed to breathe out, whimpering at the way the bulge beneath his jeans twitched at your simple answer. He took a step to position himself behind you, letting you lean your back against his chest. The angle at which he touched your pussy changed, opening your world up to a wonderful new kind of pleasure. 

“A virgin. Pretty young things like you ain’t for men like me,” he whispered in your neck, making you shiver. His thumb roamed between your legs as far as they could reach, caressed you gently, his softness with you contradicting his warning about men like him. The hand around your neck slithered down your torso, cold air forcing you to face your new desire of having your breath kept hostage. 

He took your left breast in hand, squeezing the flesh like someone starved would hold on to a piece of bread. It felt more like a punctuation to the warning he issued than a part of sex. Just then, his thumb between your legs stopped its search, stopping a little above the fingers inside you.

A moan you didn’t recognize as yours at first filled the room and you buckled forward. Blunt nails sunk into the flesh of your breast as he saved you before you could fall. He hauled you back up, making you collide against his chest. 

You gasped and quickly grabbed the hand between your legs, the sensation too intense for you to know what to do with. His thumb kept on, rolling over something there that set your person on fire. 

“Fuuuck! Joel– I– I– hnnng–”

“I know, sweetheart,” he crooned, keeping at whatever the hell he was doing to make you feel this way. 

“Please… I don’t– what was that?” 

You felt his chest rumble before you heard his laughter. Heat rose to your face and your throat felt strained though there was no hand around it anymore. 

“Never touched your clit? Do you even know what that is?” He mocked, the cruelty somehow not repelling you from him. He forced you to look up at him. Your heart lurched at how close you were to his face. You could see every gray hair, every minute blemish and line.

“Don’t know your own fucking body but you want a man? You don’t know what you’re handing me on a silver platter. I ain’t like the other guys in town. I walked across the fucking country and lemme tell ya, there’s no pretty things like you out there. I’m starved.” 

“Take me, then,” you begged, using his own words from earlier. “Please. Whatever you– a-aaah!” 

He ramped up the pressure on that spot– your clit– and with it, took your ability to speak coherently. It was as though he’d done it on purpose. You hated it. To be so bereft of control. To be a puppet in someone’s hand. For someone to acquaint themselves with parts of you that you didn’t know of. But it was too much to fight, so you let go. Let him play with you. Take you. Like a thing.

You renounced control of your lips too, his name slipping out effortlessly like it did when he caught you. Then you renounced what was left of your dignity and began begging relentlessly. For what, you didn’t know. In his hand, you’d gone from woman to pupper, your strings pulled by a man, your voice now his. Sounds that would be indiscernible from that of a wounded animal emanated from somewhere deep within you. 

Perhaps none of this was real. Why else did your own voice grow so distant from you? Why did your vision become blurry? Your thighs shook uncontrollably and your heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Your eyes clenched shut, depriving you of your blurred vision. Your toes curled. You wanted to shrink into yourself, shrink away from all this goodness. You went higher and higher, soaring like a bird. Every nerve ending in your body felt electrified, awoken like one switch turned on every light on last winter’s Christmas tree. 

You let out a loud cry, the soaring bird in you reaching its peak before beginning its fall to the ground. You could hear your breaths again, labored but doing everything to stabilize itself. Your thighs still shook. Your chest rose and fell. A hand caressed your hand. Behind you, something strong supported your back. Kept you from falling backward. 

“Joel…” 

“I know, I know…” he whispered into your head. You opened your eyes and looked up at him, surprised to see a softer visage. He picked you up off the chair like you’d seen him lift giant logs before. With ease. You didn’t protest as he carried you. Didn’t protest when he laid you out on your bed. 

He bent down and picked something up. No questions, no instructions. He simply spread your leg away from the other. Cold air touched the gushing mess dripping out of you and you shivered, feeling a sudden need to cover yourself but unable to defy him. His hand was on your pussy again. His hardened, calloused fingers behind a soft fabric this time. He wiped upwards, collecting the mess he made out of you. When he lifted the fabric up, you realized it was your panties. 

He tucked it into the pocket of his jeans and then looked back at your face, the intensity of his gaze making you want to run. Problem was your weak legs wouldn’t take you anywhere. You didn’t screw your eyes shut. You didn’t pull your blanket to conceal yourself. You looked back at him, defiant. Like you were trying to prove something. I can handle a man like you. 

“Be a good girl from now.” 

That and a condescending pat on your pussy and he was gone.

⌘

Part 2

[not-poignant]

Stupid question, but I remembered seeing you mention having monthly minimum wordcounts on one of your previous posts and I wanted to ask if you're a professional writer? Because at first I was like "that sounds so stressful"* and then I realized that it makes a lot more sense if you're doing it for a living.

*Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.

I am a professional writer!

My original serials are my job, basically, and they're supported by generous folks at Patreon and Ream. That, in turn, allows me to do this in a more professional and focused way, vs. say just as a hobbyist who doesn't update for 9 months at a time. It also lets me share my works for free, in a fandom friendly manner, which lets me keep doing something I love in a way I love to do it, but in a way which is like...I guess more reliable than you'd necessarily be if you were only doing it for fun.

I can instead pledge high fidelity/loyalty to my main serials through thick and thin (hence my wild author's notes), which means folks following WIPs get to know they'll be finished, and I get to enjoy doing this for a living! It's hard, but it's a good hard. Except for taxes.

As for my monthly minimum, that actually started as a way to break out of the very ableist 'you should write every day' (as a professional writer) which is literally impossible for me and my chronic illnesses. I sometimes have big chunks of time where I can't write, sometimes weeks! And where it would be unhealthy for me to make myself.

(More about my writing process beneath the Read More!)

Alongside that, I have quite severe dyscalculia (think dyslexia but with numbers and directions and left and right lol) so I can't keep a 'running wordcount' because the numbers confuse me too much. Luckily, because my writing life is defined by chapters completed (and not novels), I count the wordcount of every finished chapter only. Unfinished chapters don't count! My growing wordcount per month grows only when that draft is finished (my drafts are clean, so chapters only tend to grow or shrink by about 100-150 words per edit, so give or take it all evens out).

It's not how any other author I know does it, but it works so well for me that I've been doing it for nearly a decade now.

I started the monthly minimum (which currently is 25k words per month) because I tend towards being a workaholic, and so my therapist and I established a minimum not as an unreachable goal that's hard to meet, but as an easy goal that's generally effortless for me to reach in good months, and average months, and even many bad ones. After I hit 25k words per month, if I crash, feel burnt out, feel awful, or life gets Life-y in a bad way, I have permission to stop writing. I can just stop. Everything else is gravy. (Though secretly I always want to hit 30-35k but shhh).

When I hit 50k words, I also have to stop immediately and take a mandatory 3-5 day break from writing even if I want to keep writing. Because I don't know it yet, but I'm probably exhausted on at least some level, lol.

I didn't hit 50k at all last year and there is at least one therapist who would be really proud of me about that even though I feel kind of guilty about it, lol.

Here's an example of my tracking:

You can see the chapters I've written, which dates I've written them. They're colour coded, so I can see at a glance if I'm writing enough of a story or not. And then on the far right is an addition of every month's wordcount.

April was so low because I took an intentional writing holiday (which I'll be doing again ideally in March this year). December was so low because December sucks.

And then I erase it all at the end of the year and start again. The blank whiteboard is actually very motivating to write that first chapter because I always feel like I haven't done anything until then.

This whiteboard is two feet away from where I write quite literally, and is never moved etc. so I have a yearly tracker basically that's extremely visible (super helpful to my ADHD brain, because if I put this in a spreadsheet I'll stop updating it after 3 weeks and then forget it exists). The colour coding gives me dopamine, so does adding chapters.

Also acknowledging that people are different from each other and what is stressful for one person might be productive and useful for another.

This is true! This is actually the least stressful way of doing things for me.

That being said, anon, it's still super stressful. Being a serial writer is one of the most stressful things you do, because you have constant and never-ending deadlines for years. Novelists can kind of escape this, in a way, because they can't release novels as often as I release chapters. But I have to be mentally switched on at least 8 times a month, re: putting work out there, making sure it's at least semi-polished, making sure I let everyone know, and tracking responses because obviously, unlike a novel, if you lose interest you can't just "skip ahead" you simply lose your readers. A lot of novelists couldn't live or work this way, a) because they couldn't write a hooky serial and b) because many realise that having to update all the time is really exhausting actually. There's a kind of social labour to updating a serial, and getting it Right every single time. One of my greatest fears that I have nightmares about

Serial writing is the most stressful kind of writing I've ever done (and I've done a few different kinds), I just happen to like the adrenaline rush of this kind of writing, and I happen to work well under a controlled level of stress! I know that, because I've been doing this for over 10 years, refining it, figuring out how to make it healthier (it was really unhealthy at first), getting better at it, figuring out my weak points (some of them are still weak points) etc. I actually think I'm pretty good at it now!

I'm also getting better at not thinking my entire career is over if I take 2 weeks off.

I went from being entirely dependent on a Disability Pension, and like, sometimes having to skip meals and doctor's appointments and even medication due to money issues (the Disability Pension is ironically not enough if you have mental health issues because our subsidised healthcare doesn't cover mental health adequately and Australia has no food stamps system), to being able to live a bit more freely and support my chronic health stuff a bit more because of writing this way!

For the first time ever through these stories I was able to afford a psychiatrist, and a few other things I really desperately have needed since I was a teenager. So being able to write like this, even when it's really hard and I'm really tired, feels still like a miracle to me. I've never been well or healthy enough to work a full-time job with typical 9-5 hours, and always kind of was stuck imagining a life where I'm just...never knowing how to afford certain things, to being in a position where I'm fairly confident I can get my meds every month, or pay for my dog's pet food, etc. It's really nice.

But yeah honestly serial writing is the most stressful form of serial writing there is as soon as you lock it in as a professional job where you must meet nearly 10 deadlines every month and you happen to have pretty intense ADHD so deadlines make you scream a little.

Sometimes what is extremely stressful and sometimes even distressing for someone is also extremely productive and rewarding for them too. We probably wouldn't have a lot of emergency surgeons if that were the bar for how we decide what we do!

[willymontana]

2024 has been quite a challenging year for me, from academic pressures to relationship screw-ups to frightful new beginnings. As I look back on the year as a whole, through all the treacherous paths and burned bridges, there was one aspect that stayed by my side the entire ride. The entertainment medium has brought me joy, empathy, and a shoulder to cry on during dark times. Whether I was looking for escapism in a far distant land, an isolated hill to scream my lungs out, a community of laughter and embrace, or a stage to let my freak flag fly. There was always something to accommodate my complicated emotional needs in the form of a book, a TV show, a movie, or a song. As the year is coming to a close, I want to take a moment to revisit my favorite projects and elaborate on my feelings about them.

Starting off in the TV show department, this year sadly didn't see me start or finish that many series. Being a high school senior meant that I was constantly snowed under with rigorous revisions. Even after that ordeal, I didn't find many shows that instantly got me in a tight grip. With that being said, one old series managed to hook me in so deeply that I was left feeling hollow for weeks after finishing. Desperate Housewives is a popular comedic drama that ran from 2004 to 2012. The plot revolves around a group of suburban housewives dealing with their domestic issues while an overarching mystery looms over the neighborhood.

What made this program stand out so much to me was how they could effortlessly switch between comedic to down-right absurd scenarios and highly intensive tear-jerking situations. The 4 main characters all fall into a typical housewife stereotype popular in American culture and throughout the series, you'll laugh your arse off watching them land themselves in all kinds of ridiculous circumstances. However, the show doesn't want you to assume that's just how they are, behind each housewife is a unique story that led to their characterization. With each new season, they all go on their own path of self-improvement and after a while, I stopped liking their satirical portrayal and started enjoying them as fully fleshed-out characters (Yes, even Susan). And of course, I can't leave out the mystery element with a touch of thriller. When I praise this show, the mystery element is usually the last thing I touch upon. But without it, the show wouldn't have been as zany and captivating. The aspect gives each season a definitive goal to reach while also testing the characters' growth and ability to make the best decisions under difficult circumstances. This leads me to my final point, one of the series' prominent ideologies I really love is how different circumstances can change people. Throughout 180 episodes, I've seen protagonists falter morally and antagonists rise above their demeanor because of the situation they're in and the people surrounding them. All of this is to say that you shouldn't immediately judge people or label them as good or bad purely based on first glance. The world is a messy place that has blurred the fine line between good and bad, so it's always best to be decently informed before making an opinion. Overall, I highly recommend this show if you're a fan of drama and comedy. It completely saddens me how this show has fallen so deep into the niche pop culture category since its airing days. Sure, there are still dedicated fans but it's rarely brought up in mainstream conversations. I guess you could say it is to be expected when every project comes to a close.

Next, let's talk about movies. I've actually watched more films since in my mind, they are mostly a one-time thing and don't take as much time to enjoy a story as opposed to a series. The year officially started with my mini-obsession with the 1980 decade. As I've said, I was in a state of burnout from school and in desperate need of reality escapism. The mini-hyperfixation of everything 80s honestly couldn't have come at a better time. One standout movie is The Breakfast Club which sees 5 distinctive personalities locked up in detention at school for an entire day. The film did a great job exploring how students are usually more than how they appear while also criticizing the tendency of a few adults to look down on them. I've seen teachers underestimating students' ability to read the room, thinking that we would follow everything sprung on to us no questions asked. Then, when we dare to stand up for ourselves, they chastise us as being naughty, stepping out of the line, and punishing us. It saddens me how a film all the way from '85 could still hold up so well in '24, we could only hope for the ignorance to finally go away someday.

Jumping to late summer when I had officially bid my goodbyes to high school, there are 2 enjoyable movies I would like to highlight. The first one is Deadpool & Wolverine, the long-awaited sequel of the Deadpool franchise. As a long-time fan of the character, I had a blast watching him return to the big screen in such an epic and glorious way. The action was packed, the jokes were stacked, and the dynamic Hugh Jackman brought to the third movie was just the perfect cherry on top.

The second film that has blessed my eyes this summer is Inside Out 2. Pixar did a great job expanding on the established concept from the first movie as well as constructing a realistic and relatable puberty tale. They truly captured that juvenile intensity that every 13-year-old felt when they started to see the world differently.

During the last few months of the year, I found myself engaging with more horror feature-length films thanks to The Substance. I love how this body-horror gem isn't afraid to really go bonkers, especially with the blood scene at the end. The satirical details help enhance the message that calls out unrealistic beauty standards set by the entertainment industry. The harsh caliber has not only closed the door on many talents, both old and new but also caused many to feel self-loathness. This eventually led them to desperately find ways to modify their body through whatever means necessary.

The final movie that really made a mark on me this year is none other than the highly-praised Wicked. Let me start out by saying aesthetically, the film is absolutely beautiful. So much love and hard work went into the set design to bring the dreamy and dazzling look of Oz to life. Ariana and Jonathan 100% nailed their role respectively, which came as a no surprise to me. That is why most of my attention was placed on Cynthia Erivo since I wasn't familiar with her. She truly gave it her all to the role of Elphaba and her vocal range is just insane. I remember experiencing extreme goosebumps listening to her belt out the final note of Defying Gravity. And speaking of songs, the music is, hands down, fantastic. I have my own personal favorites that I listen to from time to time but the overall soundtrack is solid. Finally, the story being told here is an absolute tear-jerker. With a strong theme of ostracize, I can see why many, especially from the LGBT community, would identify with Elphaba's journey. All in all, this is frankly one of the best projects to come out of 2024, at least in my opinion.

In the reading department, I sadly also faced the same issue with watching series. There was never enough time for me to really sit and really enjoy many books from start to finish. So I refrain from picking them up for fear of inconveniently having to stop midway past the story and losing the drive to continue afterward. Luckily, my country's annual Tet holiday tradition gave me just enough time to squeeze in 2 incredible stories. TJ Klune is an author recommended by so many for his heartfelt tales and diverse casting. I finally got the chance to check him out when one of my local bookstores imported a Vietnamese-translated copy of Under the Whispering Doors. The book follows a dead lawyer temporarily residing in a coffee shop which also acts as a portal leading to the afterlife. Over time, the residing staff help him make peace with his passing and prepare him to cross over. TJ has created such a compelling story with a dynamic cast of characters. The journey our main character goes through, from being a stubborn, career-obsessed jerk to a lovable, selfless dork, is satisfying to witness. The only real downside to this book is some of the humor of the original language got lost in translation. There are many instances where a joke would've definitely landed in English, but in Vietnamese, I just found it to be forced and cringy. That is why I was so happy to have stumbled across one of his novels in English on sale right here in Vietnam. Wolfsong is an emotional found-family tale about Ox, who was piled on for most of his life, finding solidarity and love in a family of werewolves. While Whispering Door leans more on therapeutic vibes, Wolfsong is an angsty rollercoaster ride from start to finish. Everything the characters go through is so severe at some points that I have to take a breather every once in a while. However, it is through these traumatic events that TJ's writing truly shines bright. He goes into specific details to flesh out Ox's intuition, making the story so much more heartbreaking to go through. It has been months since the day I finished Wolfsong but Ox's journey still plagues my mind from time to time. TJ Klune has now become my favorite author and I seriously can't wait to dive deeper into his works.

Finally, we have arrived at my greatest supporting mechanism of 2024, music. Whether I'm feeling joyful, confident, upset, messed up, isolated, etc., there's always a soundtrack to accompany my side. As stated, there was an 80s renaissance in my head at the start of the year and it was largely contributed by Kylie Minogue. I started exploring Kylie's discography, searching for fun pop songs to take my mind off my problems. While highly energetic bops such as Fever and Aphrodite definitely took me on an euphoric ride, it was Enjoy Yourself that stayed long after the thrill expired. This 80s synth-pop record invites you into the world of teenage love. Those summer nights longing after that special someone, wishing that they would burst right through your bedroom window and say those 3 special words. Maybe hope is a juvenile thing, and this teenage dream would crumble into a nightmare. Whatever the future holds, the important thing is to enjoy yourself and cherish the memories being made. That was what this obscure album from 1989 made me feel and it was a push I needed to keep on forward with my study.

The second album that gave me a huge dose of adrenaline was brat by Charli XCX. This was one of my most anticipated releases of the year ‘cause I knew Charli would deliver something truly sickening. While brat is certainly a Bad B record, perfect to club the house down, the album also explores a more vulnerable side. Below the neon lights and sparkling glitter stands a dysfunctional personality. Whether it was insecurities, peer misunderstandings, or familial trauma, the confident persona was created as a coping mechanism, a reminder to keep on pushing even when the odds aren’t on your side. This message really resonates well with me ‘cause, during my revision journey for finals, there were many moments when I felt like giving it all up. This album and its vibe reminded me to always put on my A game, and even if it doesn’t work out, at least I would look fabulous trying.

The final album that touched me so deeply this year is The Great Impersonator by Halsey. After a 3-year-long hiatus, Halsey came back with such an ambitious project. Taking inspiration from stars of past decades, listeners are invited on a vulnerable journey of self-reflection spanning across multiple genres. Not shying away from anything she’s gone through, Halsey lays all of her cards on the table in such a raw and emotional way. This confessional record has a little bit of something for everyone, from the raging fire of rock to the delicate sound of piano. When all the elements come together, they form a cohesively diverse body of work that will rip your heart straight out of your chest. To sum things up, in a year full of chaotic shenanigans, music was my biggest guide to peaceful stability

While 2024 didn’t go the way I would've wanted to, everything I’ve gone through represents a value lesson that will forever be ingrained into my mind. And of course, I couldn’t have made it through the year without the tremendous help of many entertainment mediums I’ve interacted with. Here’s to a great 2025 with many joyful memories to come❤️

[an-indecisive-nerd]

Alright so for some reason the world y'all were most interested in... was Earth???

Don't get me wrong, I'm actually pretty happy about it. Getting to talk about how my world differs from our Earth is pretty fun. It's also the most developed of the worlds (since I didn’t technically have to do anything), so it's the easiest for me to talk about.

So, history and culture were tied for the subject most people wanted me to talk about, so we'll start with history.

As far as world history goes, like the stuff you'd learn in class, not much differs other than the fact that I added a war that started in 1786 and ended around 1793.

Why did I add a war there?

Vibes mostly.

Also because I'm ever so slightly illiterate.

Anyway, that's it for the known/common history, now on to the stuff you have to be some brand of special to learn about.

Let's start with why Earth was created.

Little bit of background that I've mentioned but not gone into detail about: Each world was created by a specific god. The other gods helped, but the concept and breath of life that went into the world belongs to one god and one god alone.

Earth was created by Darkness. It was created shortly after Eorianor was destroyed. Ordinarily Darkness would have been last in line to create a new world, but since Eorianor was created by Sun, and Darkness is seen as Sun's opposite (shocker), it seemed natural that he try. Because obviously Eorianor didn't go well.

In actuality Eorianor was not at all Sun's fault, and Darkness and Sun are quite similar, at least personality wise. Their perceived differences were enough to reassure people that things will go better this time though, so they went with it.

Now then, last but not least, the history of the Order of the Universe, the group that's mainly being focused on on earth.

The Order of the Universe was created by Melantha Tollemache when the gods asked her to get them more followers on Earth. (The reason they didn't have many will be mentioned in the religion post for earth)

So Mel created the Order of the Universe, also known simply as the Order. It's pretty much a cult, but don't tell her that (she gets it enough from her little sister).

I'll admit I'm still a little hazy on my timelines, but the Order began sometime in the 1810-20s, and has slowly grown since then. It's founder drops by every few decades or so to check in, take over again, stamp out any corruption, make important adjustments, etc. But over all it's pretty self sufficient.

Nowadays the Order of the Universe exists as a town with a population of 8,577. It rests on the edge of a forest in the middle of nowhere. It's a very peaceful town, you wouldn't know it's in the middle of a war by looking at it.

Did I say war? It seems I did.

The Order is currently engaged in a war against the Organization. The town is their safe haven, a place the Organization can't reach.

Yet.

@thelovelymachinery @unforgettable-sensations @littleladymab @megamijadeheart @my-bright-legacy

@ominous-feychild @thecomfywriter @wyked-ao3 @anamelessfacelessnerd @differentnighttale

@mysticstarlightduck @leahnardo-da-veggie @the-letterbox-archives @paeliae-occasionally @tr4sh-p4nd4-404

@lovey-dovey-wovey @sidon0isnt0here @damonk13 @aalinaaaaaa @sm-writes-chaos

[eisforeidolon]

Question: So Jared you've been in so many amazing things, I loved you in, obviously, Supernatural, but Gilmore Girls -

[Jensen frantically claps with the audience while Jared tries to stop him, then Jensen makes an exaggerated face of excitement and heart hands]

Question: Jensen, you've been amazing in everything as well, The Boys, I cannot wait for the next season -

[Jared makes a face of exaggerated excitement and also does heart hands]

Question: I've been wanting to let you know that, because I've never been called up before. So I wanted to ask in all of your different roles and all your different experiences, how do you pick your next project? Like is there a specific line or a new challenge you want, like how do you say yes or no I'm not doing this. What sparks your interest in that next project?

Jared: That's a great question. I'll start. Usually it starts with an email from my accountant. [laughs]

Jensen: I was gonna say, we get an email from our agent that says, uh, they have a budget and they wanna hire you. Alright, where do I start?

Jared: It's like what did we spend on the credit cards last month? Okay, I'm taking jobs. Just kidding. That's a great question and I think - I'll say this flat out, just having been on Supernatural - or Gilmore, then Super, then Walker? And not having really signed on to anything officially until Fire Country? That was - and I spoke for many years, and I think people thought I was kidding? But I think the way I would love the [finger quotes] structure of my career if I can - you know, man plans, god laughs? But like working with people I enjoy? Max has been a buddy, Max Thieriot, has been a buddy of ours for damn near a decade, he's awesome. Great [?] guy, great actor. And he was down in Austin, he and his family were down in Austin for the Country Music Awards and they were gonna leave the night of and they were like, wait, you're in town? And I was like yeah, so they stayed an extra day to come hang out. And we talked about, like, working together. At the time, Walker had not yet not been picked up? So it was still kinda like, uh, I mean we've had those conversations with Max for years? Like dude, it would be fun to work together! It would be fun to work together! And so when Walker did not get picked up, Max reached out, he was like, dude I'm so sorry, you wanna come play in Vancouver? And I was like, hell yes, I'd love to come play in Vancouver. Or like Kripke with me and the - with Ackles, obviously, Soldier Boy is a giant role. Yeah, bravo. For me, I'm not gonna play a Soldier Boy style character where I have that much to do, but Kripke was like, hey dude, sorry about Walker, like you wanna come play in Toronto? Like I'd love to get you and Ackles and Jeffrey Dean together on screen again. And I was like - so [crosses his fingers] I don't know what he's writing yet, or if it's gonna work out, but I was like -

Jensen: [makes face of exaggerated apprehension]

Jared: [laughs]

Jensen: Careful what you wish for!

Jared: Yeah, he goes, you know that scene with, uh, Rob? I was like ... yes? He's like, okay, I'll go write. And I was like, don't write that, don't write that! Yeah, so I think right now I'm currently in a place where I'd love to work with - I think through to Monk's point, who we met earlier, well, who y'all met earlier? For the last twenty years of my life, I've worked with people that I enjoy and love. That I would gladly hang out with in the mornings or in the nights or during the day at work or at play and I think it'd be a really tough pill to swallow to just go be on some show with somebody that's not the best person or the happiest person on set or off and so I hope I get to work with people that I really enjoy telling fun and new stories. Yeah.

Jensen: Yeah, not entirely dissimilar from what Jared said, that we've been very fortunate enough in our careers to get to a point now where we do kind of get to - not pick and choose, and certainly not dictate - but just have a little bit more kind of say in maybe what comes next. And we are fortunately enough getting options to do, you know, maybe a couple of things or - so, you know for me now it is really about finding projects that sound like they can be successful? You know, like you don't wanna put a whole bunch of energy and time and away from your family into something that just is gonna go [makes dismissive noise and thumbs down gesture]. And so that's kind of the first thing is just making sure that the story and the writing of the characters and stuff all like really line up to be, to have a shot at doing something great? And then, the people. It really for me, it is so much about the people and the personalities and the tone on a set? Because I've been on toxic sets and it's - I don't wanna go to work. I don't wanna do that. And I feel like I've gotten to a point now in my career where I don't have to do that. And now I get to find these projects or go work on projects with people that I know and I trust and I have a really good rapport with or a great relationship with or [gestures at Jared] a great friendship with? And that's even more satisfying than just going and doing a job. And so very, very blessed to be in that position, he and I both are, and I think that it is now kinda starting to come to fruition, what all of that work has been for, and getting us to that point. Because now we're getting to work with people like getting to go up and work with our friends. I just got back from doing an episode of Tracker with my buddy Justin Hartley. You know that came about by me just texting him during the Superbowl and saying hey, get your ugly face off the tv, I'm tryin to watch the show, or I'm trying to watch the game. And he was like, hey, you wanna come up and play my brother? And I was like, let's go! Let's do it, that sounds awesome! And it was. And I happened to know the showrunner of the show, because he was the showrunner on Big Sky. Which was another reason why I went and did Big Sky, that was one of the reasons I did Big Sky. Because I met with Elwood and he and I just hit it off immediately and he was a fan of my work and I quickly became a fan of his, and he pitched me his ideas and I was like, yes. And it just sounded like a really fun environment to be a part of and so I went and did that, had a great experience, Elwood is now running Tracker. He was like, come on up. I was like, you know, when and where, pal? This new show Countdown? I got to spend some time and we've had a lot of phone calls, a lot of interactions back and forth with Derek who is running the show, created the show, Derek Haas. And a fantastic guy, a Dallas native, another Texas boy up there, so a lot of connections and just is just a really good person. He's a father, and he's - he just - we vibed really, really quickly and so again, like, had that not happened and had those relationships not been built and had, I think, the reputation of us not have been established over the period of time that it has? We might be in a different position. But I'm proud of where we are, I'm proud of what we get to do, and I'm proud of the opportunities that are coming our way now because of it.

[meluiloth]

Tauriel Rewrite, pt 1.

As I've been delving into Mirkwood and Silvan Elves, my mind keeps drifting to Tauriel; I've mentioned before how I've had a conflicted opinion of her (do I dislike her, or do I dislike the writers' decisions, or is it a mix of both?), and recently, I've had a few ideas of how her story could have gone so differently. So, I've decided to compile my thoughts into a brief outline, a rewrite of her arc in The Hobbit movies. Mostly, I'm working to get rid of her love triangle with Legolas and Kili (instead developing a sibling bond between her and Legolas and a friendship between her and Kili), develop a mentor-mentee / father-daughter relationship between her and Thranduil, and make her a more independent character in her own arc. Her desire to help Mirkwood by reaching outwards, conflicting with her peoples' isolationist views, could have been really interesting, since she is both loyal and determined.

Despite my numerous problems with the movies' story choices (and the changes they made from the book) this rewrite will follow the plotline of the films. This outline got way longer than I thought it would, so I'll be dividing it into separate parts! Let me know what you think of it!

Tauriel is a young but highly skilled huntress and warrior, and one of the youngest Captains of the Guard Mirkwood has ever seen; some say it is mostly due to favoritism from the King (being his adopted daughter really makes life easy, doesn't it?) but they cannot deny that she is worthy of the title. For her part, she earned the position on her own, refusing any help from Thranduil.

She is a few decades younger than Legolas, born shortly before the War of the Last Alliance, which claimed the lives of her parents; she grew up with Legolas as his adopted sister, watching the decline of Mirkwood, but unlike many of her people, she is curious and hopeful and wants to seek outward for help for her kingdom. Despite being told many times that the other lands have no interest in Mirkwood's concerns, and she should focus on her own home, Tauriel is not convinced.

Imagine her surprise when, after clearing out a nest of Spiders, she discovers a group of Dwarves among them. She regards them with stoic hostility and follows Legolas's orders to take them to the Elven fortress as prisoners, but inside, she can't keep from feeling curious about them.

She watches them carefully, taking note of every move and word, trying to figure out why they are in Mirkwood and if they're as awful as the rumors said; she's noticing that they are loud and very rude to the Elves, refusing to answer any of their questions with anything other than insults and demands, but they are also hungry and exhausted. She brings this up to Legolas, who orders that they are to be given food and water, and that they are not to be harmed.

When the Dwarves are put into their cells, she notices that the smallest of them was wounded by the Spiders; she gives him a small handful of athelas and tells him what to do with it before leaving. She is not as skilled at healing as she is at fighting, but she knows a little; her mother was a healer.

Tauriel goes to report to Thranduil, they are both concerned about the growing threat of the Spiders. Tauriel suggests that they investigate Dol Guldur, but Thranduil warns her that Dol Guldur is too dangerous, and that it lies beyond the borders of their forest. Tauriel argues that if they don't stop the Spiders at their source, then they will continue to grow in Mirkwood and spread to other lands. Thranduil hesitates, then says that other lands are not his concern, and that protecting their own domain is the priority. He compliments her on her fighting that day - Legolas has said her skill is unmatched - and says that Mirkwood is lucky to have so competent a protector, but Tauriel is dissatisfied. She bows and leaves in disappointment.

A few days pass, and she volunteers to take the most shifts guarding the Dwarves; her curiosity in them is growing, and she realizes this might be her only chance to learn about the outside world. Most of the Dwarves regard her with disdain and say nothing, but Kili, the one she gave the athelas to, is far easier to get along with; he is young, and doesn't even have a full beard yet, so he doesn't have the deep-rooted dislike of Elves that his companions do. They become friends, and he tells her about what the world is like - after all, he's had to be a traveler since he was a child - and also shares a little about his own culture. Tauriel is intrigued, and she sympathizes with him when he explains that his home was overtaken by a great evil; after all, that is what's happening to her own home. She compliments Kili for doing what it takes to take back his land, prompting him to urge her to release him; she is conflicted, and even considers it for a moment, but in the end, she reluctantly shakes her head. She is loyal to her own people first and foremost.

She switches with another guard so she can leave the Dwarves and go feast with the rest to distract herself, but Legolas catches up to her; he confesses he was watching her, since he's noticed she has been acting differently since they brought the Dwarves in, and he's worried. She is indignant about being spied on, and even moreso when he says it isn't a good idea for her to be making friends with Dwarves. She argues with him about how the Dwarves aren't nearly as bad as she's been told - what else could the Elves be wrong about? Perhaps if they helped the Dwarves, they would gain a powerful ally in combatting the evil in their own land. Legolas takes his father's side on the matter, but he can't deny his frustration about Mirkwood's state. He says he is doing everything he can in the best way he knows how, which softens Tauriel a little, and she admits she's just tired and worried. Legolas smiles and says she could use some song and drink, and that she should stop swooning over Dwarves. Tauriel smirks and says she's not swooning, and that she can handle more wine than he can anyways. But Legolas says his singing voice is better.

The next morning, she goes to check on the Dwarves, but finds that they have escaped somehow - the butler and guard she left are both drunk, and there's no sign of the prisoners anywhere. She is outraged (and feels a little betrayed, too), and orders the sentries to search for them. Legolas finds them floating down the river in barrels, pursued by Orcs. The Elves kill all of the Orcs - leaving one alive to be questioned - and return to the kingdom. Tauriel regards the battle as a severe loss. Her first thought is to go after them, but Legolas stops her, saying that the river the Dwarves were following would lead them outside the boundary of Mirkwood. Tauriel is obligated to return, but she swears that this isn't over.

That concludes part 1 of my Tauriel rewrite! If you have any thoughts, let me know!

part 2 part 3

tagging @sotwk, @lawyernovelist, @acornsandoaktrees

[doobnnoob-tf2]

Hey, guys.

So I think it's about time I just sit down and accept something.

I'm just not as into TF2 as I used to be. I have a new hyperfixation and I've realized it's kinda scratching that itch that I've just not been able to reach in a long, long, long time.

TF2 has been my biggest hyperfixation since it's initial release. I feel so old admitting that, but it's not like I haven't said it so many times before lol. But it's been over a decade, and I never really thought I'd ever get over it. I'd laugh and say I'd be the only person still thinking about that game once it inevitably met it's neglected end.

But the truth is, I'm not going to be.

I think my lack of having anyone to talk to about TF2 combined with a very unfortunate set of events last year that led me to hyperfixate on another game has led me to this. I still love the game, I still will forever hold it near and dear to my heart. But I think it's time I officially say it: I probably won't be updating this blog or my side one ( @ask-the-tf2-mercs ) anymore unless I just really feel inspired.

Is this a stupid, pointless post to make about a couple of stupid, pointless Tumblr blogs? Sure. But this game has been an integral part of my life for a VERY very long time. And I also didn't want to leave anyone waiting for me to get out of this denial phase.

These two blogs have been a help on my mental health for the admittedly short time I was active on them. And seeing how happy they've made people have made me happy. So thank you. For giving me this outlet, and for enjoying what I did.

I may pop in from time to time to still make posts, but for now if anyone would like to still keep up with me, I have @hey-doobnnoob as a personal blog and @doobnnoob as an art blog. Unfortunately the personal one is a side blog attached to this one here, but I'll figure it out lol.

Have a good one. - Daniel

[theoxenfree]

I think I'm on the verge of a panic attack

because, because, my abuser — my own brother — reached out to ask if I was coming home for thanksgiving. and, initially, I just said no and was gonna leave it. but I'm so fucking angry at so many things right now that I just fucking erupted.

I completely went off on him. I can't believe I did that. "can't believe" in a "I've dreamed of doing this for almost twenty years!" sort of disbelief.

I'm waiting for him to deny it. I'm waiting for him to tell my family I'm a fucking cunt and trash and an addict and a failure

I'm waiting for my parents to ask what's going on, and it makes me sick at the thought of my mom finding out bc she's never been the same since a psychotic break she had years ago

but my dad???? he knew he knew he knew

he caught my brother and what was happening, and he kept it quiet. just told my brother never to touch me qgain

but he never told mom, or my sister. neither did my brother. and neither did I bc I was told not to, and I thought it'd be right bc saying anything would "hurt people"

it hurt me it hurt me that I suffered for 20+ years. I can't experience normal ranges of emotions, I can't keep friendships, I can't have relationships, I can't handle intimacy without flashbacks and disgust

but, I absolutely lost it. and he read it

I told him to never talk to me again, and if he tries, I'll just block him. but I can't believe it

I'm proud of what I said. the child in me is weeping from being scared of what will happen. the teenager in me is crying because someone finally stood up for her, her feelings, and believed her. the young adult in me has fallen to her knees and is thanking me for all the things she wanted to say but never could

here's what I said, because I want you to know that I'm shaking, and I'm fucking terrified, but I finally... finally feel closer to freedom

huge tw; childhood molestation, guilt tripping (I'm sorry, I got caught up in what I was saying but it isn't a lie), suicidal ideation, it's extremely vulgar I'm sorry, very raw

And I'm already in a shit enough mood, so I'm going to tell you part of the reason why.

I want you to understand just how ROYALLY you've fucked up my life. After everything you did to me as a kid. I need you to understand that I've NEVER forgotten, not ONCE. not ONE DAY in my entire time. I need you to understand what you did me and how I was raised in that family made it IMPOSSIBLE for me to survive my 20s without debt and sitting in psychiatric instructions and have to take fucking meds so I didn't goddamn OFF myself.

And do you know just how many times I've actually come close to actually doing it? Because dying would've been better than living with the reality and the memories and everything I felt day in and day out.

I need you to understand that I CANNOT have regular friendships or relationships. That any sort of closeness from people fucking disgusts me. I don't let people touch me. I don't let people in.

I need you to understand that whenever someone has ever TRIED to touch me, I think of my childhood and what happened and I become nauseous, I shake, I breakdown, and have panic attacks. And I can't stand the idea.

I've been severely depressed almost my ENTIRE life, but nobody ever took me seriously. I couldn't talk to anyone about it. And it took me until almost 30 to be able to get anywhere in my life where I'm even borderline stable.

My last straw back then before I left what WHATEVER that fiasco with Mom was at the time.

I've had to work my ass off to get any sort of decent, comfortable scraps that I get now. And coming home. Seeing you. Seeing anyone in that family will undo A DECADE of hard fucking work I've had to do to be able to function on a level where I could have a semblance of comfort and normalcy.

So, no, I'm not coming home for Thanksgiving or probably any other holiday. It's a shame, because the kids? I think about them constantly, and I worry about them constantly.

And I genuinely hope you didn't wreck those fucking kids like you did me. I don't know you. I've never known you. And I don't want to.

But just know, you're seared in my goddamn memory in the worst way anyone could possibly be. If you've forgotten all of that, well, good for you and I'm glad you can live with yourself everyday of your life.

I will never forgive you. So, you can tell everyone whatever you want to. You can make up a reason why I'm not coming back, you can call me the worst person in existence and that's fine with me.

But, I'm asking you this politely and as a final kindness: Never contact me again. And this is the ONLY time I'm saying it. Tell everyone what you want, I don't really care at this point in my life.

I've never forgotten, (brothers name). And, honestly, I hope it haunts you.

and jsyk, I do keep an open line with my older sister and the kids. they know they can always reach out to me and I'll take them seriously. I was going to write something else completely different, but that man reacts badly to threats—so, for my safety, I said what I did there.

[fountainpenguin]

"You're on your own- So what? Have you gone blind? Have you forgotten what you have and what is yours?" (x)

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For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)

❤️ Read on AO3

💛 Complete! - 7/7 chapters - 37k words

💚 More Neighborhood Watch AU

I just finished a chill, T-rated found family 'fic from my "Life Series but it's a single timeline" AU project. Check it out!

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Synopsis: When Grian Ties’g was 16, the last Totem of Undying in the known world swapped his soul with the Grian one universe to the left… sparing him a perma-death, but at what cost?

An overwhelmed Grian Xelqua - who did not sign up for this, thank you very much - jolts awake in a world where Red Names are no joke and stealing someone’s life is fair play.

And a very Red Tango now has a sword at his throat. ❤️

(First 1,300 words under the cut)

---

For Sale: Bird Wings (Never Worn)

Those Who Came Before

🖤  🖤  ❤️

The first Totem of Undying in the Four Lands passed through the wrinkled hands of many wealthy folks in Crimson City before falling into possession of a princess who went Red young and fled her home. She kept it all her life, but when the time came to breathe her last, she unwound it from its place at her bosom and clasped it around the neck of her only son.

"I've lived enough," she simply said. "I've led so long and you've been faithful. Go now and do as you see fit with your given lives."

Steve Wandering watched his mother die as he had watched his father, burying the memories of both with shovel and silence. He'd always been a silent man. He took up his sword and from then on traveled decade after decade, sharing food with the needy and braving the hissing creatures of the night. He invented many things, discovered many treasures, and died glorious in a fight against the Dragon That Ends All.

And lived.

And lost those memories like the wind.

The second Totem of Undying in the Four Lands belonged to Alex Wolftamer in the east, who claimed to care not for the treasure passed down through her ancestral line of Wolf Kings and Queens. They had no palace, but called themselves such titles in their stand against Kingdom Crimson. Rather than flaunt that totem around her own neck, she wrapped it like a collar at the throat of her dog. Across the years, far too many people of sinister desire fought sword and pick to win her hand or win the hunting hound. It's with a shout and diamond axe that she lunged at the cloaked stranger who ventured through the valley forest. With cheery, bellyaching laugh, Herobrine caught her hand and spun her dangerously near the mountain drop.

"Why should I take from your beloved she-wolf?" he asked, and dangled a totem from his own wrist where she could see. "I've already got one. I did not come to take what loved ones gave unto you, but to inquire of your wisdom… for I have no one I love as much as you care for your dear wolf. I am but a cowardly man who's worn the totem for himself for security and peace. I cannot imagine surrendering it. Tell me, warrior… How did you find such inner peace?"

"Who says I have?"

"What ails you, then?"

"I fear the encroach of the Red Army. Their farms extend ever nearer to our forests. Their high-ranking officers, bearing the Hand mark upon their chests, come demanding tribute and insist we raise their banner. So many from our village have sought the safety of their walls. I wish for nothing but food for my dogs, repairs for my roof, and safe passage through the land."

"Ah… What have you done to incite their displeasure?"

"I haven't raised hand against them unless they've come directly in conflict with me."

"How frequent are their conflicts?"

"They've claimed our cows. They flood the roads to market with lava and have taken two lives- nearly three. They harass the trades I make with my own neighbors of my own free will."

"Let us go secretly, then, and burn the walls that have reached your valley's edge."

They married two years later, and it was four after that that Alex fell from a great height, one arm wrapped around her canine companion and the other reaching for a husband who lunged and missed her hand vanishing from the cliff. Alex hit the ground a block away from the rushing river that saved her dog.

And lived.

And lost those memories like rain. Not even the dog recognized her then, growling and nipping when Alex rose to her feet, and Snowflake followed Herobrine when they parted ways. They say he never took Snowflake's totem from her collar, but that Snowflake wriggled out of it the day after Alex died, took the chain in her teeth, and presented it to him with grief in her dark eyes. It may be just a story - a personification of a ragged beast - but it's a prettier tale than the alternative way this tale could end.

That third Totem of Undying, the one that Herobrine Mapcrafter wore on his wrist for much of his life, originated from the North. It tumbled through the hands of wizards and they say Herobrine was gifted it for his proven mastery in breaching the Nether dimension- the secrets of which had only been held by the Westlands until now.

Prior his apprenticeship beneath the wizards' eyes, he'd been raised a cartographer. Following the death of Alex, he took up mapmaking again with Snowflake by his side. He entered the Nether dimension for what he knew would be his final time. They never came out again and no record survives depicting full details. People speak often that he perhaps saved a community of Netherborn folks from a hissing, snarling Wither Boss that clawed its way out of the ground. Others whisper he released that Wither himself out of grief and wished for death. Witnesses claim he leapt before the beast, taking the hit on Snowflake's behalf.

And lived.

And lost those memories like they'd been scorched alive. They say he went mad, never the same again. Some claim they've seen Snowflake's white fur dashing through the Nether even now, her howl weeping for her masters and the moon and the feel of grass beneath her paws.

The last Totem of Undying in the Four Lands (rumor claimed) lay hidden in the Southlands. For three decades since the rise of the Dragon That Ends All, the unremarkable little thing drifted and tumbled and snagged or… something of the sort. Details unknown. It passed into the sewers at some undefinable point, where it floated until it didn't. It caught and clung to the sewer's edge year after year after year.

There it stayed until a ragtag tangle of friends - a trio - sought shelter in the tunnels after their brotherhood of Bad Boys split and turned against each other. They trekked without hesitation into the grime, for they were Red of name and disgust could graze them not. The youngest, with his gray and yellow wings, sat down near the entrance to clean an open wound. The eldest began to organize their meager food supply. The middle child, aged only 16, waded deeper through the passageway, wandering with little purpose but to scout for things to have; things to take. Red Lives, as a rule, are very, very greedy.

The totem lasted exactly 4 minutes and 36 seconds in Grian Ties'g's possession. He found it tangled among the filth and wasted no time taking it for himself. To prevent his fellow Bad Boys from sniping it away, he scrambled up a dirty shaft to the surface like an eel gifted flight. His wings were soaked from sewage water, so he did not fly. He bolted across the open field, laughing like a madman.

"Yes! YESSSS!"

His foot crossed a boundary line he never could have seen. Grian charged straight into a shrieker trap laced with TNT. Set them all off. He died to the gasping cheers of a Red who'd only just finished all the set-up. The last thing he ever heard was the "OH-hoh-hoh-ohhh!" of a shrieking onlooker. He blew up instantly, scarlet feathers and blobs of purple soul energy scattered in all directions. The central core melted free from flesh and dribbled to the ground in a gooey heap.

In a word? Perma-killed. The totem vaporized before anyone ever confirmed he had it, so people seek it in the Southlands even now (It might be right here; it's been hiding right here).

This story is not about that Grian. Not anymore. It's about the one who lived… whose memories do not match this world at all.

[ Full 'fic up on AO3 ]

[contentment-of-cats]

WIP bit: Reckoning

It gave him something to do. Kallus and Zeb left, Hera and Jacen looked about to go anywhere but Coruscant. Ezra collected retroactive combat pay and - in a move that unsettled him deeply - a bonus for his actions at Lothal. Not so much his actions, but his kill count. He tried to explain the last decade with Thrawn and failed miserably to bring anyone around to more than, "Hurhurhur, blue man smart and bad."

One chucklehead publicly proposed invading the Ascendancy, but Chancellor Organa shut it down fast. She wanted him to meet with her brother, with other Jedi, but Ezra was hesitant. Everyone moved on, except him.

"I want to go talk to Pyrondi." He didn't know he intended to say it. It just fell out of his mouth and stirred a thunderwasps' nest. Oops. "We go back a long way."

She's tried to kill him, though they never met.

"Ilyana Pyrondi will as soon shoot you as look at you - and that's if you're lucky. She's one of Thrawn's proteges, part of the corps that left the Seventh with Faro minutes before the Purgill showed up." Hera didn't shout, exactly. She had to speak loudly over Chopper's cursing. "Could you not get yourself killed within a month of getting back, Ezra?"

"I want to ask why she's the most classified person I've ever seen." Mothma kept her face smooth, a politician's mask. "Since nobody here's handing out anything more than a runaround."

Chancellor Organa looked right at Mothma. "Her file was sealed by the Senate."

"The Chancellor has the authority to unseal it, right? No? Why? You're the Chancellor!" Ezra threw up his hands, anger coming quickly. "Why in the hell is everyone avoiding knowing the enemy? What the hell did the Senate do that they're so ashamed of that they don't want anyone to know for six centuries?"

"It's not that simple. There has to be a quorum before I can unseal it - and I don't have one."

Ezra looked that word up and snorted. "Then I want to ask Pyro herself."

"She... may not be able to talk about it." The older man was a clone representative named Sevs and while Ezra might be a bonehead, he did have some empathy. "The Senate could have ordered the survivors chipped."

"The survivors of what? Why happened to turn her into someone who could talk a whole fleet into mass suicide?" Ezra was alarmed when the man's hand went to his head. "Ser Sevs? Are you all right?"

"Genocide. It was genocide." Sevs gasped, eyes rolling and wide with agony, shoulder spasming. "Gerrera did it. We covered it up. They ch-ch-ch-"

"Get a kriffing medic! What the hell is wrong with you people?" Ezra's heart sees Rex, Gregor, and Wollfe. He bolted out of his chair, reaching for the old man. "Easy. I've got you. I'll get the chip."

"Always... slaves... We are... always...slaves."

Ezra saw it in his heart, hooked into the body's neural net like a parasite. A guard reached for him, telling him to move away.

"Touch me, touch him, and I will kill you. I've killed so many that you'll just be one more." His hand rested over the chip and in the Force he started to unravel the web of pain and compulsion.

"Touch him and I kill you." Hera. Bless Mom. "Medics are on the way."

"General Syndulla, it's not that easy." The Bothan guy. His signature in the Force was like greasy food that gave you a bellyache. "There are nuances to consider, and consequences. Please believe that no harm is intended."

"Harm doesn't have to be intentional to happen. The term is 'collateral damage' if I remember correctly."

There. That's it. Filaments only particles thick start retracting, withdrawing into the chip, Ezra fumbles to soothe the damage left behind. Sevs grips his arm, eyes wide in wonder.

"I want him in protective custody. Call my brother. I also want to know why a prohibited control device is implanted in an elected representative to the Senate - and how many others there are."

"Chancellor Organa. Leia. Please-"

"Senator Mothma, if you and others want to start explaining, now's the time. Tell me things I don't know. Start with Senator Sevs."

[transmutationisms]

How do you find the time to read all your book recs?? Also would you mind talking about your process for researching specific topics :)

i generally only make rec lists for things i have enough familiarity with to navigate the literature so, you have to keep in mind those lists are sometimes literally a decade+ of cumulative reading on my end. i do also sometimes include texts i haven't read in their entirety, or occasionally even ones i've only come across in footnotes but still think are foundational or relevant enough to warrant a rec.

as to my research process: there's no single answer here because the sort of research i do will depend on what questions i'm trying to answer. usually if i'm starting to look at a topic completely from scratch, i'll ask someone who publishes in that area what the major recent works are, then scan a few of them. i might 'snowball' those texts (read the works they cite in their footnotes) but, that strategy has limited utility because it only goes backward in time and sometimes a recent or uncited text can be incredibly valuable. so there's a fair amount of bumbling around in the secondary literature at this point. some academic journals maintain bibliographies for their subfields, which are not comprehensive but can be useful; i usually also do a certain amount of keyword fuckery in my library's database. sometimes i waste a lot of time at this point chasing leads that turn out to be irrelevant, or i discover that a question i was chasing is really better tackled from an entirely different direction. shit happens.

at some point i usually reach a stage where i need to look at some primary sources, because i'm oriented enough in the major issues to identify spots where previous researchers haven't made full use of historical records, or may be interpreting them in a way i disagree with. so, what exactly i'm looking for now really varies. sometimes i just want to read the primary texts that another historian is commenting on: for example, the last few months i was trawling through the french national library's archives to see what people were saying in print about a specific historical figure between about 1778 and 1862. other times i might want population data or land records: births, deaths, cholera infections, records of church property sales, &c. depending on, again, what sorts of questions you're asking, anything might have useful information to you: postmortem personal auction catalogues have given me some mileage, along with wills and personal correspondance. i have a committee member who collects and analyses postcards often being sold for pennies at flea markets out of people's grandparents' attics, and another who has an ongoing project looking at a zillion editions of a specific children's book printed in the late 19th century. along the way, as i look at primary sources, i will typically go back and forth to more secondary literature, as i find new topics that might be relevant or help me contextualise what i'm looking at. i can't ever really plan these things out systematically; i just follow what looks promising and interesting and see where it leads me.

another thing to consider is that the primary sources sometimes tell me useful information directly in their capacity as material objects. what type of paper is used, what personal or library stamps appear on the cover, who's the publisher, how many editions did it go through, are the print and typeset jobs sloppy, where was this copy found or preserved? these sorts of details tell me about how people reacted to the text, its author, and the ideas within, which can be a valuable part of whatever investigation i'm trying to conduct. sometimes i end up chasing down information on a publisher or the owner whose personal library a book or piece of ephemera came out of; there are people who research processes of preservation, printing, &c in themselves, which has yielded some fascinating studies in recent decades.

at some point, if it's a research project i'm trying to communicate to other people, i will switch to writing mode, where i try to organise ^^ all of that in my head, and form a coherent narrative or argument that i think is worth making. this might be revisionist in nature ('people have argued before that such and such was x way or historical actors thought about it like y, but what i have here indicates we should actually understand it in the context of z') or it might be more like, "hey, i found this thing i don't think anyone knows about!" or anything else. again, the way you put together a research project will vary so widely depending on what you're researching, and why, and why you think it matters and to whom.

also, i should emphasise that what i've written here isn't necessarily something that happens on a strict or compressed timeline. i'm working on a dissertation, so for that topic, i do have reasons i want to complete parts at certain times, unfortunately. but i also have research projects that i just chip away at for fun, that i've had on various backburners for literally years, that i might sometimes write about (eg, on here) without necessarily ever planning to subject them to the hegemon of academic publishing. i think knowledge dissemination is great and to that end i love to talk to people about what i'm researching and hear about their stuff as well. but, i also think research projects can be fun / rewarding / &c when they're completely for your own purposes, untimed, unpublished, &c &c. i guess i'm just saying, publishing and research conventions and rules sometimes have purposes (like "make it possible to publish this as a book in the next 5 years") but don't get so hung up on those rules that they prevent you from just researching something for any number of other reasons. there are so many ways to skin a cat 📝

[hannahssimblr]

For Simblr Gratitude Day!

This year, 2023 has been a really really amazing year for me creatively. I wrote over 270K words, I started and finished both parts 2 and 3 of Lucky Girl and I started Lucky Boy! When I began writing last year I really didn't see myself at this point, having written so much, having improved so much, and most importantly, having falling completely head over heels for this amazing community

Without the support and amazing feedback from so many people I would have quit a long time ago, but coming here and talking to you guys and being so incredibly inspired by other work is what really pushed me past the finish line. I want to express my gratitude for every single person who engaged with me this year, for those who liked and commented and shared and left me questions and anon asks, and even those who didn't, and just read along in silence - I see you there! You can't hide! Thank you so much.

This graph only shows my top 10, but I reached over 50 countries this year! that's pure mad.

You can see that it's the Americans and the British who really came through for me, and I'm sorry for poking gentle fun at you in my story - I know you are more than semi-automatic machine guns, UFOs & undesirable tourists, you know how it is, we're like the ignored middle child between you two and I'd be going against my cultural heritage if I didn't act up a little bit.

Most importantly I want to thank specific people today! Starting with @armoricaroyalty for making this day happen, and @daniigh0ul for coming up with the idea. I'm really excited to get to know you both much better in the new year & finally find the time to start reading your stuff - I've heard only good things.

to @sirianasims for poking me to join the writers group that has now absolutely swallowed up my free time (in a good way lmao) and for being hilarious and fun and just generally a gorgeous, open and supportive person. I've been reading Siri's story lately and I INSIST you check it out - I'm on gen 3 and completely obsessed by the thought that goes into this, the complexity of the relationships and really sensitive exploration of difficult material.

to @lynzishell for always being so positive and engaged, always taking the time to leave thoughtful comments and get genuinely excited over everyone's work! I'm DUG INTO her legacy, which is still on gen 1 and it makes my day better every single time I see an update from her - and I'm not even just saying that to be nice. It's an honest to god thrill for me to get to read about her characters. I'm beyond excited for what she's going to do in the new year

@mannylikessims deserves a shout out too for writing some of the best and funniest simlit I've had the pleasure of reading in a long time. Those Villarreal kids (and Jacques, obviously) have me on the edge of my seat. I feel insatiable for this story, like, give me more, all of the time. Just shovel it into my mouth. Manny has also brought me to literal tears with her comments. It's rare enough that you meet a reader that seems to truly understand what you're trying to say in your work - like, right to the heart of it, and Manny is one of those people.

I've just recently started reading @rebouks Somnium and Forever In Between (Don't do what I did if you haven't read yet - start with Somnium) and when I say I am HOOKED I mean it. The visuals alone are enough to make me want to burst into tears with the knowledge that I will never wrangle something so beautiful from the game, but you know what, that's okay, because I can come here and sob over Becca's work instead. I'm not even halfway through and I'm already bowled over by the character development, the dialogue, the humour, everything. The only thing I wish is that I had unlimited free time and 0 commitments so I could absolutely consume this work in one sitting, but I guess savoring it is good too.. Thank you Becca for pure inspiration <3

@pixelnrd for The Langston Legacy, a decades challenge which was actually the first sims 4 legacy I ever read - I stumbled across it on my very first day on simblr and I've loved loved loved it every since. The visuals are gorgeous, the story lines are always engaging, and just about every topic under the sun has been covered now. The dedication to accuracy is really admirable, and now that we've reached the 80s I'm genuinely beginning to feel nostalgic. I always find myself wanting more. I'm so much looking forward to the 90s! (And I can't believe you've made it this far, that's an achievement and a half)

Other storytellers and creators I want to shout out are @simstrashkingdom, @bakersimmer @simmysunset @igglemouse @simsstuph - You guys have created some really great stories this year, and I so long forward to reading more!

To @nexility-sims for creating our wonderful writing group (and for pairing with me) I'm dying to start reading your work properly, because even the small bits I've read have been so beautiful.

And to everyone else in the writing group! I know I have so many stories to catch up on, and I'm very intimidated by that fact, but I know that it means that 2024 holds a lot of exciting times! I want to learn from you all and be inspired and support you, so this is the year I'm going to do it <3

[newtafterdark]

It's weird having reached the point in my life that I know that the family who "adopted" me never saw me as part of their family. There's still a small part of me that is heartbroken over that - because the small child that needed them was denied love and care it needed… to the point where it had to find it elsewhere completely on its own throughout the years, getting traumatized so many times.

But the adult part of me pities them. I have had many meet-ups and phone calls with them… and while most of them never made the effort to get to know me as a person, some do know more about me than others… but are not interested in hearing anything about my life.

None of them want to listen when I tell them with delight about the plants I've nurtured back to health. I can hear them mentally tuning out when I talk about trying out some of my late mom's old recipes. They consider my carefully put together stone collection trash. My art is worth nothing to them. My struggles are either not real or simply my own fault. They are firm on that any friends I have made online throughout the years are not real. My laughter is evil and ugly to them. To them, I am too emotional… something I realized with therapy recently to be so false that I still feel nauseous about the damage it left me with. Do not get me started on the queerphobia.

So I stand there now, knowing that they still only see me as a sad little thing void of anything they deem human. They do not see an adult human being.

Here is a whole-ass man who has been healing and growing far away from them. I gained so much happiness and love and kindness through my friends, learned to freely laugh again and am starting to fully believe my friends when they say they love me… and I have become a genuinely loving being without any of that family's input.

They are angry at me for "pushing them away", for not sharing myself with them - but at the same time they only demand things from me now, to stop loving the things I love, being the person I am, to put them first and me always last, attacking everything about how I present myself - from weight, to clothes, hair, my smile, my body language, my voice…

And I simply pity people who are this cruel and void of emphathy... and who can not tell that their attempts at total control no longer work on me.

I hope they continue to tear eachother apart behind their backs as they have been for decades every damn holiday. Be miserable in your little disgusting circle.

I'm finally choosing happiness.

[shockpulse]

Demon HRT

A story by Shockpulse, inspired by countless amazing artists and authors.

"I've thought about it for a long time." she had told the doctor, "Years, decades, in fact. Since I was 5 or 6. Maybe it's just unhealthy coping mechanisms that caused me to have violent thoughts about those around me, but whatever the case, I was stuck with these 'sinful' urges."

"And how did that make you feel?" he had inquired.

"Alienated. Unlike those around me. My upbringing told me that my thoughts were evil, and I was supposed to feel ashamed of them. But.... I didn't. I embraced them. I labeled myself a 'demon' because of them, and I finally felt happy with who I was supposed to be. Well, I still felt like I didn't belong in this body for gender reasons, but now I had two transition goals to reach for."

"You say 'I', but your system had a different host back then, right?"

"Well, yes, but I'm sort of a.... mixture. Of the two previous hosts, I mean. I share a lot of their feelings and memories, while being a unique person. All three of us have shared these thoughts. Jonathan's agender and Melissa sees herself as a cis girl, so it's no wonder I'd be trans, too." she stated, knowing it was obvious to her, but not to someone outside her own head, "Oh. You meant the demon part, didn't you? Melissa even used to call herself 'Princess of Demons' online, and Jonathan still feels distanced from humanity. It's a strong feeling that we've shared throughout the years, and our newest alter, Zephaniah, doesn't even have a 'humanoid' shape. Even if most of us don't feel like demons, it's a strong enough feeling for me to seek out your help. I really, really want my outside to match my insides. I mean, even better if you could give us the ability to shapeshift at will, but I'll take what I can get, heh."

---

She looked at the pills in her hand, three oblong tablets of deep purple, not unlike the blue-green ones she already took for her gender HRT. She was nervous. Changing biochemistry was one thing, but these pills were going to change her in ways it would almost seem like magic.

"What are a few more pills? I take so many already...." she murmered, before quickly popping them into her mouth and swallowing them with a gulp of soda, the soft drink's fizz doing wonders to override the disgusting taste in her mouth.

At first, there were no outward changes, though within a few days she started feeling overheated and nauseous, as her insides began the slow process of changing her body in ways more dramatic than regular HRT had ever done. Within a month, the nubs of horns had sprouted from her forehead, her nails had started to become long claws, and she had to stop wearing shoes as her feet had elongated and become digitgrade. Over the following years, the pain was unimaginable, far worse than any she had or would experience in her soon-to-be-immortal lifespan. Once, she couldn't sleep for a week straight due to her tail forming, growing new bones one by one. However, she told herself that it would all be worth it in the end, and her spouse did all they could to support her through this difficult time.

Eventually, she finally felt like herself in her body. Ram-like horns curled around the sides of her face, framing her short, bright pink hair and pitch-black eyes. Her teeth had changed, pushed out by a sharper set of replacements, and she had grown accustomed to her sharp claws and other new anatomy. Although people would stop and stare at her, she new that she was comfortable in her own skin at last, and that was what really mattered.

[actuallylorelaigilmore]

almost-birthday thoughts

i'll turn 40 in a few days, on thursday. i've always loved presents and reasons to celebrate, round numbers, enthusiasm...reasons to be excited, i guess. but this birthday matters way more to me than the others; it feels deeper. i don't look to 50 or 60 (if i'm lucky enough to get there) and feel any particular way, but i felt this one coming. i needed this one to matter.

my mom was 32 when she had me, and her 40th birthday is the first birthday i remember witnessing of hers. the family teasing her, the 'lordy lordy looks who's forty' rhymes. her hair was already gray, and welfare hadn't forced her back into the workforce yet. she was happier than i would ever see her be, again.

and i honestly don't remember much else about her birthday party, or that year specifically. big, terrible things happened a year later, but when i was only 8? she was just 40, we all celebrated like we celebrated every birthday of everybody--and the number didn't mean anything to me.

now, i'm about to be 40, and the last time i saw my mom, i was 21. she turned 72 this year, which is the age my grandmother was when she died. i reached out, because of that. i get my spine from my grandmother and my stubbornness from my mother, but i yielded, just enough. i know i won't see her again while she's alive. i'm at peace with that, as much as i can be.

but it still makes 40 feel more important, somehow. like i've hit the inbetween. i've survived the rock and the hard place and somehow i'm still alive and i'm going to be 40 years old, older than my mother was when i entered the world, while she's older than her mother was when she left it.

i've never cared much about age in the way some people do: i don't worry about how wrinkles make me look, or how quickly silver began streaking through my brown hair. i'm not lamenting (or celebrating) what i've accomplished as i approach a real mile marker. until i started writing this, it didn't even occur to me that depending on how long i live, i may actually be entering middle age now.

that can't be true, right? whatever middle-aged is, it doesn't feel like me reblogging tumblr gifs and rambling about the movies i've watched or sharing my cat stories. my health issues have existed for so long they seem entirely divorced from the passage of time, so i can't even say i feel like i'm getting old because i have pain, or sleep trouble--whatever the cliches are.

anyway, being the many things that i am (autistic, bipolar, anxious, vibrating at a high ADHD frequency even while medicated), i'm probably always going to be one of those 'i don't feel my age' people. so that doesn't surprise me. it's more the principle of this year, that matters to me. it has mattered all year as i felt my birthday approaching.

so both intentionally and coincidentally, i made this one of my biggest birthdays ever. because of the timing of thanksgiving and school holidays and other stuff outside my control, my family celebrating started early. last week alone was intense, in the best way.

i found out earlier this year, with much surprise and delight, that hadestown was not only touring, but coming literally to our downtown theater. a ticket to that was my gift to myself. i'd never seen any musical i love onstage--and definitely not a broadway one, touring or otherwise. and i didn't think about, when i purchased the ticket, how the show would be happening only a week after the election. but it was perfect, even more so because of that. i needed it.

and then, @actuallylukedanes made it possible for me to see suzy eddie izzard, performing live. they're the one who first introduced me to her comedy, literally decades ago now, and her bits are embedded in the fabric of our family (who all went together). getting to actually be in her presence wasn't on my bucket list, much like i didn't actually expect to see a musical i loved until i did--i'm still a little in shock that we were really there. it really happened. and in addition to being funny, she was very sincerely trying to give us all hope. it made me cry.

before the show, we got something to eat nearby, and it's been years since i had such a good milkshake. i want to go back there and try their sandwiches (i enjoyed the fries and their natural orange soda). the theater smelled like history, and i love all the memories i made with my family just on that one day, including the hour i spent reading in the car before i ran out of sunlight while music blasted all around us. and the singalong on the ride home. i think it was nearly 4 hours of driving, to get there and back that day, but for me at least, it was worth it.

i've already gotten one of my birthday presents (besides the suzy eddie izzard show of course), because @actuallyrorygilmore had to visit early and leave yesterday, thanks to the schedules etc i mentioned above. she got me a book i really wanted, and can't wait to read, once i've made a dent in my giant partially-read pile of paperbacks and hardcovers from my distracted era. (i'm nearly done with two! i'm making actual progress!)

i also got a cupcake and a box of caramels i love...and all of that was before my birthday has even happened!

i've still got some kind of unwrappable gift coming to mark the day, and the wicked movie coming out, 20 years after i was first belting along to the soundtrack in my college dorm room, alone over thanksgiving break. (i won't be seeing wicked on my birthday, but because regal sometimes opens movies here a day early on thursdays, it will premiere on my birthday. i love that.)

a lot about this year, heading into turning 40, has been really hard. i lost my little ghost cat, bailey, in january--and mellie's son sebastian, who brought bailey to us in the first place...we lost him right before halloween. pretty horrible bookends to 2024. and now, bonus fascism! that's just hovering, a january storm cloud i'm ignoring until it's here.

so, i can't say 40 is gonna be fantastic. or, 2025 will be my best year yet! or anything else silly, like the hopeful things i remember proclaiming as we were heading into 2020. i'm sure i believed them at the time, very sincerely--but the universe gave us a pandemic instead, among so much else. that was not a year of joy.

what i can say, and be grateful for, is that i'm about to be 40 years old. and when i was a child, and i tried to imagine my life someday, it was a big expanse of nothingness. it wasn't that i was pessimistic about my future, or even that i didn't know what i wanted. i literally couldn't imagine myself as an adult, living in the world, having any life different from the way things had always been for me, growing up. i couldn't see it.

so i genuinely, fiercely, painfully believed that meant that i must not be fated to live to see adulthood. to have any kind of future. i was very much an anne shirley kind of child, and i blame my fanciful imagination for that sense of certain doom, but i did believe it. i never expected to make it this far.

despite that, despite everything, here i am. raising kittens and seeing musicals and being celebrated by a chosen family who both love and like me, for who i actually am. i have a room of my own and the choice of how i spend my time, and i'm needed in the world. i'll never run out of things to learn, and make, and new friends to meet. no matter what's coming, i still do love my small, valuable life.

a lot can happen in 40 years, i now know from experience. i'm going to try and keep making mine better.