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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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savior complex - joel miller x f!reader

masterlist | song inspo | gif: @joelmjller

All the skeletons that you hide Show me yours, I'll show you mine

summary: Joel shows up at your doorstep, battered and bruised. Despite the bad blood between you, do you have the heart to turn him away? Enemies to lovers. Takes place pre-television series/game. Was written as a companion piece/prequel to my other joel fic, but can be read on it's own. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 7k warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, minors DNI. porn w/ plot, unprotected sex, dirty talk, implied age gap. Enemies to lovers. Heavy angst, multiple POVs, implied drug abuse, alcohol use, implied death of a family member, canon-typical suffering! Descriptions of injuries, blood, stitches (please dm for specifics if you have any questions). a/n: I haven't seen the enemies to lovers trope written for joel yet, and I'm also obsessed with the trope of a character showing up at their enemies house because they don't have any place to go. So maybe this is a little self-indulgent. Special shoutout to @ay0nha for letting me talk to you about this fic! Please enjoy, I'm really proud of/excited about this one. ♥

“What do you want?”

The ice in your own voice comes as a surprise. You weren’t sure you were even capable of sounding so cold, but it’s probably a good skill to have nowadays. Plus, he’s probably the last person you expect to see, and certainly the last person you want to see standing in your doorway.

“I need your help,” he says.

You snort, lips pressing together in a bitter smile. “Uh-huh.”

It’s so dark in the hallway, you can barely see his face, but you can imagine what Joel might look like, lines etched in his face from the permanent frown he’s always wearing, particularly when dealing with you. You’ve known him a handful of years, here and there, and you’re pretty sure you’ve never seen him smile….or laugh…or display any emotion other than irritation, or indifference.

The breeze from your open window shifts your curtains to the side, lets a sliver of light from the full moon pan over him, and you can see him clearly, just for a second.

He’s covered in blood.

It’s hard to see exactly how much, but it’s all over his face, his shirt, and accompanied by dirt and grime. One of his hands hangs limp at his side, his opposite clenched into a tight fist. The breeze dies down, the curtain falls back into place, and he’s cast once more in shadow.

Crossing your arms, you lean against the doorframe. Anyone else, you’d help without question. At one point, you would’ve let him in willingly. But it had been months since you’d last spoken, and you had no intentions of ever seeing him again.

“Why should I help you?”

He lowers his eyes, looks at the floor. When he answers, his voice is strained.

“Because I have nowhere else to go.”

The more your eyes adjust in the dim light, the more you can see. Tattered clothes, rain dripping from the tips of his salt-and-pepper curls, his eyes dull. You wonder if he’s trying to make himself look like a kicked puppy, petulant and pathetic, but it doesn’t really seem like something Joel would do.

“Please?”

He’s in pain, you can read it on his face, and you wonder if it’s because of his injuries, or because of how horrible it must be for him to beg you for help. Historically, it’s always been you in his place, needing something – and if it didn’t serve his interests, he’d leave you in the dust. Joel never made exceptions, no matter the circumstances, despite how long you’d known one another. With that to consider, you have every right to turn him away. You should feel satisfied, seeing him so desperate. You wished you could feel satisfied, but you didn’t.

“Fine.” You let him in. What is it about him that always makes you cave?

Pulling a chair away from your small kitchen table, he staggers behind you, favoring his right foot, bracing himself on any surface he walks past – the doorframe, the countertop, the table, until he finally lowers himself into the chair.

You cross the room. It takes most of your bodyweight to shift the couch in the corner of the room away from the vent behind it, and you kneel down. Air conditioning and heat are a thing of the past, but it’s got other purposes now. Using a blade of the knife you always keep handy, you’rable to pry the metal grate away from the wall, to pull out a tin tackle box that you haven’t had to touch in awhile.

Joel’s still at the table when you return to him, breathing labored, and you flick on the lights. He blinks, his eyes are on you, you can feel the way his body is pinched with nervous energy – like a starving feral cat that’s been trapped in a cage, and still can’t decide if it trusts you yet. As if you’d ever done anything to hurt him. If anything, you should be scared.

“Alright,” you say. “Let me take a look at you.”

His eyes have shifted away from your face, but, too proud to cast them down, he’s glaring at some fixed point behind you, glazing over. He doesn’t want to register what is actually going on. It doesn’t stop you from the task at hand, and you begin to take inventory of his injuries.

“So what happened?” you ask. He’s got a black eye forming, several small cuts all over his face, one of which is slicing through his bottom lip, causing it to swell.

“It’s none of your business,” he quips.

“It’s precisely my business, if you want me to be able to actually help you.”

“A deal went wrong,” he said. “I was in someone else’s territory. They said rather than turning me into FEDRA, they’d let me off easy.”

“This is being let off easy?” you ask, then cluck your tongue.

Joel doesn’t answer.

“And that?” you eye the bump forming on his opposite temple.

“It’s nothing,” he says, even though, when you graze a thumb over it, he swallows hard.

“You’re gonna need to be more specific.”

“Got uh, shoved into a brick wall.”

You slide two fingers underneath his chin, using light pressure to tilt his face towards you. “Look at me.” When you’re staring at him like this, studying him closely, you’re forced to acknowledge how handsome he is. Even battered and bruised, it’s the dark, sad eyes, sharp jawline, long lashes that draw you in. He’s hardened by the world he’s been surviving in for twenty years, like everyone is, but he wears it well. You’d never tell him that.

“Any blurry vision, dizziness?” You aim your flashlight in his eyes, and his pupils constrict.

“No,” he says. You study him a moment more, and know what to look for. But you don’t find anything of concern.

“Well, I don’t think you have a concussion,” you say. “But I’ll keep an eye on it…..What else happened?”

“Got me with a knife.” That is what you’ve been the most concerned with since he’s stepped inside. There’s a dark stain blooming on his shirt, just below his left ribcage

“I see,” you say, stepping back. “Take your shirt off.” You open the tin that you left on the table.

It’s full of medical supplies, ones you’d pocketed from the QZ hospital the last few years working there. It’s not easy to sneak them out, nor is it entirely ethical, but you’ve gotten pretty good at it, and now have a decent sized stash built up in case of any emergencies. You’re still deciding if Joel Miller’s well-being is worth the waste of supplies it’s going to be.

When you turn back to him, he has unbuttoned his shirt, but is struggling to shrug it off his right shoulder, where his arm hangs limp at his side.

“I….” he manages….”I can’t move my arm.”

“Sit up,” you instruct, and he does, which gives you room to slide the rest of his shirt off his shoulder. You immediately notice the obvious deformity. “Looks dislocated.”

He nods, looking at the floor. “I was trying to defend myself.”

The idea of him, outnumbered and outmaneuvered, a position he’s so rarely in, is unpleasant. He might be an asshole, but because of it, he always comes out on top. There’s something almost comforting about that kind of consistency these days, and it’s tough to stomach the idea that he doesn’t have superpowers, he’s just another person. You’re not sure why you still hold him in such high regard.

You can’t dwell on it. Especially because what’s more pressing is the cut below his ribs, a few inches in length. It’s still bleeding, but not severely. It’s not a stab wound either, even though it’s deeper than you’d expected, but there’s no internal organ damage.

You take a clean cloth and place it over the wound, guiding his left hand overtop it. “You’ll need stitches.” You slide your hand from underneath his, ignoring the warm weight of his touch. “But we need to stop the bleeding. Apply pressure.” He does, and winces.

“You don’t have anything for the pain?” you ask, raising your eyebrow.

“Front pocket of my shirt,” he says. You fish out a pill. Oxys. You’re not sure how strong they are, and you don’t want to encourage the habit, but this might be a case where he actually needs one.

There’s a glass of water already sitting on the table, and you grab it, standing over him. Neither of his arms are free to accept the offering.

“Open up.”

He glowers at you like a defiant child.

“Are you serious?” you tilt your head. “Come on.”

Reluctantly, he opens his mouth, and you tilt your hand to drop the pill in and lift the glass of water to his lips.

When you’re done with that, it’s time to work on his shoulder. You had done this a few times before, even once to your mother, who had also been a doctor. Med schools didn’t exist anymore, but you didn’t need a degree now to provide care, at least not in this QZ…just experience. And your mother had taught you everything she knew. Before your part of town fell to the virus, she’d even had you reading her old textbooks. So you felt like you were only missing the degree.

You pull up a chair to face him, so close it’s touching the corner of his own, and sit, carefully taking his injured arm and bending it upwards with one of your thumbs in the crease of his elbow, your opposite hand wrapped around his wrist until his forearm is resting against your chest.

It’s way more intimate than you want it to be, but you don’t have much of a choice. His jaw is set so hard you think he might crack a tooth. “So sometimes, if you relax your muscles enough, you can actually get the shoulder back into place that way.”

You release his wrist and reach out to knead the muscles around the problem area - his chest, his shoulder, in between his shoulder blades. He tilts his head back in the chair, his face pinched.

“It’s okay,” you say softly. “Just don’t hold your breath, that makes it worse.”

Joel hates this, you can tell. How often does he have to rely on someone so much to help him, that he lets them touch you like you are, lets them see him vulnerable?

As much as you can, you avoid eye contact, looking down. You didn’t need to see him shirtless before to know that he’s muscular – not perfectly cut, but that isn’t really your thing, anyways. He looks good enough that your eyes are being drawn to places they shouldn’t be, down his torso to the v-lines dipping into the waistband of his jeans. He clears his throat, and you turn to find him watching you. You hope he can’t feel the way your heart is hammering against the back of his hand.

It’s been a few minutes that you’re trying to get him to relax, but he can’t seem to. You should’ve known that this method wasn’t going to work for him of all people.

“Okay, I’m just going to try to move your arm a bit, see if that’ll work instead.”

He nods.

“Just keep breathing,” you instruct. “In through your nose, out through your mouth.” you slowly guide his elbow forward, still keeping traction.

He hisses. “Relax,” you soothe. It’s hard, despite the bad blood between you, to resist the urge to be warm, gentle. To reassure. It’s in your nature, it’s part of your job.

Eventually, and with a little patience, you’re able to get the joint to move back into place, and you check to be sure Joel is able to move it on his own. He can, even though it’s sore. You fashion him a sling made out of an ace bandage.

“You’re probably gonna be a little sore for a while, so take it easy.” It’s probably a useless instruction to give because you know he won’t take it easy.

He has a sprained ankle, and you wrap it up, elevate it. There’s a near-perfect footprint left behind in dirt on the skin there. Like someone had stomped on his leg hoping to break it. You’re glad they failed.

Next is the stitches. There’s a few cuts on his body that need one or two, but you start with the big one. The wound has stopped bleeding, so you disinfect it, pull out your tools, and begin working, bent over him. Every time the needle pierces his skin, he tenses. You wonder if the one oxy was enough, or if it hardly touched the pain because he’s using them so often.

The entire time you’re treating him, you’re trying to be as clinical as possible. You’ve got to focus because if you think too much about him, you think about the last interaction you shared, and how pathetic you’d been. And the fact that he’d thought to come to you of all people for this makes your head spin. It’s not supposed to. You aren’t supposed to feel these things for him. You aren’t supposed to owe him anything.

Joel’s fist curls so tightly into itself that his knuckles turn white, fingernails leaving crescents in the skin of his palms. “Kind of feels like you’re making this as painful as possible.”

You smirk slightly. “Don’t give me any ideas.”

He sniffs, and you glance up to see him looking down at you, the ice that had been in his gaze before has thawed.

You squint at him, try to act indifferent, and turn your attention back to the stitches. “Don’t worry, I’m almost done.”

“Thank fucking-”

“Shhh, you’re distracting me.”

His hand relaxes slightly as you keep working, slow and methodical, silence casting like a spell.

“Why me?” you ask, finally.

“What?”

“Why did you come here? To me?” you pause. “It’s been forever. You’ve got Tess, right? Couldn’t she help you?”

Joel rubs his aching shoulder. “I didn’t want to scare her,” he answers. “And…I know you’re used to handling this kind of thing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say. “I am.”

One of you should probably acknowledge what had happened. But it won’t be me, you think.

“There,” you tie off the last stitch, and cover the wound with some gauze and a waterproof bandage. “You’ll probably need antibiotics. I’ll try to snag some from the hospital tomorrow.”

Once you’ve fixed the most pressing issues, you focus on cleaning all the cuts and bruises on his face, his torso, cleaning and wrapping his bloodied knuckles. It’s probably been at least two hours since he arrived when you finally draw away from him, your surgical gloves snapping as you pull them inside-out, and off your hands, discarding them on the table, which is now littered with bloodied gauze, bandage wrappers, and medical supplies. You wish you had more ice packs than just the one for his shoulder and ankle, since he could use them just about everywhere, but it’ll have to do.

“Could use a drink after all that,” Joel says, looking at his hands, flexing his fingers.

“Don’t push it,” you answer, scraping the mess off your kitchen table into a bin. It dawns on you that you do have a half-empty bottle of bourbon sitting in your cabinet that’s surprisingly good. “But now that you mention it….”

He snorts, the closest thing to a laugh you’ve ever heard.

You pour a few fingers of whiskey into two glasses, sliding one across the table to him. Neither of you clink glasses, but you do eye each other over the rims of your cups as you take the drink in one go.

Joel places his empty on the table. “I should get out of here.”

“In your shape, it might be better to wait for light.” As much as he won’t admit it, you know he’s still weak, not in his right mind, and vulnerable to any FEDRA agents working the streets. “But I have to sleep, I’ve got work in the morning.”

Surprisingly, he doesn’t fight you.

You curl yourself up on the couch, that is old and worn but still surprisingly comfortable. Joel sits at the table awhile more, and has one more drink. After all the activity of the night, you’re out within minutes.

Joel drags himself over to the bed, which you’d never offered him directly, but he assumed to take since you were on the couch. He doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he can’t sit upright in your uncomfortable kitchen chair anymore. Every part of his body aches. Your bed is in the corner, neatly made, even though it’s just threadbare sheets and a blanket. His never is, and he finds it ridiculous you must waste the time at the beginning of your day for something like that.

He sprawls across it, surprised at its comfort. A breeze coming through the open window drifts your curtains to the side, and he catches a glimpse of the full moon. Between the liquor, and the pills, the pain has subsided enough that he’s able to relax a little. The sun will be up soon. He just has to wait…

— — — — — —

The next thing Joel hears is your voice, muffled by the buffer of your front door. He looks at the clock next to your bed, it’s early in the evening. The sunlight trickling through the gaps of your curtains is golden, a slanting orange glow in the corner of the room. The window is closed. Fuck. Did he really sleep all day? He uses his good arm to shield his eyes from the offending light before stretching.

Sheets on top of him rustle, he must have climbed under them at some point the night before.

It feels like he’s been hit by a freight train, and he groans. Pain drips through him, settles in his shoulder, his side, his head. His mouth is dry, and he sees a full glass of water next to him, two white pills. He couldn’t remember you leaving that morning, but it had to have been you who left them there. Who else would it have been? Without thinking, he indulges.

There’s a note scrawled on a scrap of paper underneath the pills. He picks it up with his free arm, the other one still wrapped in a sling.

– Take pain meds

– Ice shoulder, eye, temple, ankle

– Change dressing

– LEAVE

The last word is underlined twice. He exhales, letting his head drop back against the pillows, until it snaps to attention….you’re still outside, but your voice has gotten louder, more animated. You’re talking to someone….no…..you’re raising your voice at someone. He can’t make it out through the door, and for all the bad things he could say based on the nature of your relationship, he knows that you don’t often lose your temper.

‘I think you should leave,’ he catches the end of what you’re saying and is immediately jolted out of the fog of discomfort, leaving your note on the bedside table.

He’s crosses the room, ignoring the protest of pain from his ankle, hears a man’s voice respond, but just a snippet – ‘stupid fucking bitch’ – and he’s throwing open the door, nearly trampling you, since you’re pressed against the threshold with your arms around your backpack, eyes wide.

When Joel follows your gaze, he spots a man about your age standing a few feet away, chest puffed out and chin up.

“Joel,” you say, and he’s taken aback by your tone – relief. He’s never heard you say his name like that. Somewhere, in a small part of his brain he doesn’t want to acknowledge, he thinks he might like to hear you say it again.

“You didn’t tell me you had a boyfriend,” the guy tilts his head back to look up at Joel, giving him a once over, and steps backward in consideration.

Instead of correcting him, you say nothing.

“What’s going on here?” Joel asks, and you lower your arms, move your shoulders back, standing up straighter as you turn to look at him.

“Ben was just leaving,” you say.

“Sounds like a good idea,” Joel answers. His hand instinctively comes to rest on your shoulder – reverent, protective. He knows he’s in no shape to get into a fight right now, but he’s significantly larger than the other man, and figures that alone will be enough of a deterrent.

Ben notices, and nose curls into a snarl, rolling his eyes. “Fine, whatever. He’s like…old enough to be your dad,” he mumbles under his breath.

You don’t answer, just stare with contempt as he retreats down the hallway. Once Ben has turned the corner, you step into your place, Joel’s hand falling from your shoulder.

“Who was that?”

“Just some guy from work,” you say, sounding uninterested, dropping your backpack onto your kitchen table.

“How often does he–?”

“Let’s not get into it,” you shake your head as you pull open the curtains, sunlight casting warmth all over the room, specks of dust glittering in the air. But he wants to know more. He’s tried to ignore all the suffering that isn’t his own since the world went to shit, but he’s at least aware of how dangerous it is to be a woman, living on her own.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here, did you sleep all day?”

Joel doesn’t answer.

“You probably needed it.”

You disappear into the bathroom, and Joel sees a rush of light through that door, the creak of a window opening. “I brought the antibiotics, they’re in my bag,” you say when you exit, hands on your hips. “You’re not feeling feverish, are you?”

Joel shakes his head no, and sits back down on the bed.

“Well that’s good,” you go to the counter. “Hey, if you need to shower here, it’s probably better because I can dress your wound before you go. I was actually thinking today about how you would definitely fuck it up if you tried to do it youself.”

He rolls his eyes at the insult, but answers. “That’s fine.”

You’re making yourself something to eat. He notices a polaroid on your bedside table. It’s two kids – a girl and a younger boy, her arms around him – their lips curled into identical smiles. When he looks closer, he realizes the girl is you.

Please? My brother is sick, he’s in a lot of pain, you had said, on your knees in front of him, swallowing hard. Your fingers were curled in his belt loops, the cold steel button of his jeans pressed into your chin, so close he thought it might leave a permanent mark. In one of your hands was a wad of credits, only a couple short of what he’d asked you for in exchange for the pills. I’ll do anything you want me to.

Of course he wanted you, how could he not? He wondered if you knew that already, and were just trying to take advantage of his weakness. Or maybe you were just that desperate. It didn’t matter either way. He can’t do it. Not like this, he thought.

No, is his answer.

He stepped backwards, away and you still tried to cling to him. Sensing his reluctance, you continued to talk. Joel, whatever you want. I’ll do whatever, please…it’s nothing. Eventually, he slipped from your grasp, and you fell back to your heels. He left you there, and he didn’t look back.

The memory is burned into his brain, and has followed him to sleep more times than he’d be willing to admit. He swallows hard, and you’re standing in front of him with an opened jar of applesauce and a spoon against your lips. “Are you looking through my shit?” you ask.

“It was sitting out.”

You snatch the photo from his hand so quickly that one of your nails knicks his thumb, shoving it in your back pocket and jerking your head towards the bathroom. “Hurry, I can’t be up late like last night.”

The shower feels nice, even if the pressure is shit and the water is cold. He still has blood caked under his fingernails that he can’t seem to fully eradicate even after scrubbing them against his palms. He slips back into his jeans when he’s done, and he notices a clean shirt has been left on the bed when he exits.

“You done?” your voice calls. There’s the sound of a book snapping shut, your weight shifting on the couch. “I want my bed back.”

Joel grunts an affirmation, and you round the corner with the tin of medical supplies from the night before, discarding what you were reading on the foot of the bed. “This’ll take two minutes. Let me see.” Pausing in front of him, you press your fingers, a little experimentally, along his ribs, peering closer to examine your work. “Oh, this looks good. It should heal nicely.”

“It doesn’t feel good.”

“Uh-huh, but it’ll get better. Give it time.”

He sits down while you shimmy out of your flannel shirt. You begin to work, quietly, quickly, and at first, he tries to look away, at the top of the bedside table where you’ve placed a bag of antibiotics and a fresh glass of water. The note that was there earlier, with instructions on how to take care of himself in your absence, that also told him to LEAVE, is gone. He gives in and turns back to you, knelt between his legs like it’s nothing, pressing an adhesive bandage across the wound.

He’s not sure why he had expected you to be cruel. You should be cruel, he knows that, but you aren’t. Your touch is confident, firm, and surprisingly tender. It must be muscle memory, he thinks, because he’s never known you to be sweet. Maybe he hadn’t been paying close enough attention.

“There,” you say, pulling away. “Now, I’d recommend changing that once a day at least, if you can. Take an antibiotic once a day, and make sure you do the full course. Ice your elbow, eye, ankle, all that every couple hours. Also, you should really use a sling for at least a month-”

“No.” He knows he won’t do any of those things, can’t really afford to between work, life, and resources.

“Suit yourself.”

“I will.”

You don’t scoff or roll your eyes at him or try to convince him why he should, and it’s like a peace offering. I could fight you on this, because I’m smart, but I won’t. It’s everything you’re saying, but you’re silent, and you sit on the edge of your bed a foot or two away, poking your fingers into the laces of your boots, untying them.

“I’m sorry.”

Joel says it before he can stop himself. He can’t remember the last time he’s said those two words.

You balk at him. “For what?”

Everything. “Your brother.”

“Oh,” you say, focusing back on your feet, pulling them out of your boots and pressing your thumbs into each arch. You shrug, shake your head. “Yeah, well….I’m just glad he’s not in pain anymore.”

“Yeah.”

“...And at least it wasn’t….you know…” The infection.

He nods, takes a beat.

“I should get going,” Joel says, his hands on his knees. “The next time you need something-”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off tersely. “Right.”

“All I’m saying is that I owe you one.”

“You really think I believe that, coming from you?” You snort, shake your head, and reach to pat his leg in a patronizing way, until his hand lands atop your own. He thinks it might make him feel better, to see if your reaction to his touch gives anything away. But it doesn’t. Everything about you is rigid, cool.

“I’m sorry….about that night,” he decides, purposely changing the subject. “But I don’t make exceptions.”

“Right. Then, I guess I’m a fool for doing this,” you gesture towards him, with your free hand - all the work you’d done.

Joel shakes his head no, fingers tightening around your hand, clasping it hard. He’s sure, or at least he hopes, somehow, you can see it. That this isn’t a jab, that he means it.

I’m sorry.

You look down at where his hand is squeezing yours, and he watches your throat work once.

“No,” he begins. “You just have every reason to hate me.”

A wistful smile crosses your face, but it’s hard to decipher what it means. To him, you’re still unreadable, even staring right at him. Most people avoid Joel’s eyes at all costs, but not you. You slide your hand out from underneath his, and he thinks for a second you’re going to retaliate. His body is facing yours, his hair is still damp, dripping onto his bare skin. It doesn’t stop you from placing your hands on either one of his shoulders, and learning forward.

The white tank top you’re wearing clings to every curve of your body, except where it’s shifted off your shoulder, revealing a black bra strap. It’s intoxicating to have you this close. You must be able to hear the way his heart picks up, thuds heavy against his ribs, being so close to him.

“You think I hate you…” you say quietly, voice a low murmur, tilting your head, studying him. “That’s why you want me, isn’t it?”

This is why he’s never liked you. That uncanny ability to stare right through him, crack open the camera, spool out the film.

“Isn’t it?” you prompt, when all he can offer is silence.

Of course it is. It is always easier when hate is involved. Hate bolds the blurry lines, boils everything down to its simplest point – that’s all that this would be, just two people trying to escape, if only for a little bit. And you, he’s sure, would make it so easy.

“Yes,” he answers, though he’s not sure if he believes it. In this case, hate is just another medium to channel energy through. Passionate energy. True hate, maybe, would be your indifference. And neither of you are indifferent.

“Well….” you lean forward, your lips are nearly touching. He’s still frozen. “Maybe I do hate you.”

It’s a beat before anything happens, a few seconds of uninterrupted eye contact, your eyes have darkened, pupils wide.

He pounces on you, ignoring the scream of soreness through his body as he cups both sides of your face, his tongue already scraping on your teeth, swallowing the surprised noise you make, which he finds ridiculous because what did you think was going to happen, talking to him like that?

But you can’t be that shocked, because your arms have tightened around his shoulders, you’re pulling him closer, he’s pulling you closer. A tightrope, about to snap.

He wraps himself around you protectively, you feel so small there, he’s aware how easily he could break you, but he won’t. Or at least…he’ll try not to.

You break away first. “Fuck.”

Your lips are full, wet, flush, parted, and you’re panting. He pulls you back against him, and you oblige, much more pliant this time, letting him claim you. Two sets of hands fumbling for purchase.

“I do want you.”

“Then have me.”

He pulls you onto his lap, still sitting on the edge of the bed, and it’s shameful how easily you move there, settle your weight across his hips. You’re warm, so warm…too warm. His skin pricks.

Your hands thread into his hair and tug, it’s heavenly. He’s not used to being touched like this.. Grinding down, you find him already already rock hard – he has been since you were knelt in front of him cleaning his stitches, but he’d been trying to ignore it – and he moans. “You like that?”

He hums into your mouth, agreeable. Yes.

Joel wants to touch you, won’t be satisfied if he can’t, and he tugs at the hem of your shirt. You pull back, just for a split second to pull it over your head. It takes him a moment, but he still remembers how to unclasp a bra with one hand, and you’re bare before him. All he has to do is run a calloused palm up your spine and you’re arching your body closer, until he can mouth at your breasts.

You sigh as he cups, squeezes, pinches. Latches onto one of your nipples and grazes his teeth over it, watching you closely….your eyes closed, head falling back, murmuring. Yes.

What he wants to do is to lift you up, spin you around, and press your back against the mattress. He wants to spread you open across the bed, put his head between your thighs and lave at you like a man starved. He wants to hear every way you can cry, moan, whimper his name as his tongue works your clit, fingers in your cunt, washing over him. Of course, he’d go gentle at first – not too gentle – but gentle enough, work you up. He wants to dangle you over the ledge, hold you there until you’re begging to be let go. And after you finally come, pulsing around his fingers, he’d wrap your legs around his hips and fuck you into the mattress until you do it again. After the first time, he thinks, it’d be even easier to get you to do it again. And again. Would you face his steely gaze head on, eyes fluttering? Would your nails scrape track marks down his back? Would you stifle a moan by sinking your teeth into the pulse point on his neck? He wants to- no, needs to know.

But he’s weak right now, and can’t do any of that. He’ll settle for what he can get.

Your fingers are twisting the button on his pants. “Come on,” you murmur.

“You shouldn’t want me,” he warns.

“I know.” But I still do.

Your hand is down his pants, and he shifts his weight backwards to wiggle further out of them. It’s far more hurried than either of you deserve. You don’t even attempt to tease him through his boxers first, your hand wrapping around him in one swift and confident movement.

Hissing, Joel sees you duck your head, feels the press your lips against his neck, his cock jumping in your grip as you run your thumb over the head, pump him once.

“You’re so big,” your voice is all breathy and soft, the sound of it has him growing even more frantic. He tugs at the loops on the side of your jeans.

“Take these off.”

Yes. There’s no protest.

It’s torture when you leave his lap, for the brief time you do, his gaze tracing the curve of your ass as you wriggle out of your pants, then your panties, and when your return to him, he holds you closer.

“I knew you’d be so fucking good for me.”

“Did you?” It's playful, breathless, your arms around his neck. The lightest he’s ever heard you.

You’re wet, already dripping onto him, and he dips a finger between your thighs, sliding it through your slickness, dipping into you just so, enjoying the noises you make before withdrawing. It’s a shame he can’t take his time. He’s too impatient. One of his hands he uses to guide his cock to your cunt, and the other he uses to steady your hips. His head drops to watch himself sink into you.

The stretch of him inside you makes your toes curl, you’re already pulsing around him and he hasn’t even given you everything.

“Fuck,” Joel whispers your name when he feels you around him, all-encompassing and overwhelming. “So fucking good.”

You’re whining, but it’s unintelligible, your head bobbing into an enthusiastic nod, teeth snagging your lower lip. When he’s reached the hilt, you pause only for a moment before you begin to move on your own accord. Experimental rolls of your hips, not drawing back far at all, keeping him deep inside you, rutting and writhing with no reprieve. He thinks he might come right then and there, it’s been so long, and it’s you. This young, pretty thing who – if this whole fucking world hadn’t gone to shit – wouldn’t have looked twice at him before. It’s just another injustice – that you’re going to let someone like him ruin you.

You begin to bounce on him, dragging yourself along his length. “That’s a good fucking girl,” he groans. “Just like that.”

“It’s so…fuck, Joel, you feel-”

“I know.” He answers, partially in agreement, and partially to shut you up. If you keep saying his name like that, it’s not going to end well.

He tries as best as he can to answer your hips with ruts of his own, but it’s sloppy, erratic. The whole thing is, and he wants to curse himself because it really shouldn’t be, just like he shouldn’t be thinking about what he’ll do differently next time.

It’s the first time he’s been with you, so he doesn’t know what it feels like when you’re getting close, but you’re throbbing and pulsing around him, your breathy pants and soft sighs start sounding more desperate.

You’re so fucking wet he can hear it, can feel it seeping out, dripping down his balls onto the mattress. He realizes one of his hands is just clenched into a fist, nails digging into his palm, trying his hardest not to come before you do. All he wants is to give you something, a chance to make up for everything that he’s taken.

“More,” you murmur, you don’t even seem to remember, or care, that he’s hurt. That you’d spent hours the night before after he’d been torn apart, putting him back together. “More, please.”

His lips quirk into a boyish smile, something you’ve never seen before. He likes you like this, begging, desperate, sweet. “Don’t laugh,” but your lips are quirking, too, and you fucking nuzzle against his beard to hide it.

“I’m not - fuck.”

The shower was useless, he’s already sweating again, but so are you, and he trails his tongue across your neck to taste it, then unclenches his fist, moving it between your legs. He takes your clit between his knuckles, circling it carefully, steadily, while his cock keeps hitting the same, soft spot over and over again.

You can’t get enough. “Harder, Joel…please.”

Of course, he obliges. And he’s lucky, because he doesn’t have to do much more. You slow, legs shaking, and you’re suddenly so tight around him he can’t move. “That’s it, baby, come on, so fucking good…” he would, is, saying anything to feel you. His name is a mewl on your lips, the rubber-band snaps, and you come around him, pressing every part of yourself against the hard line of his torso. He aches, it’s the sweetest torture he’s ever known.

He knows, because he’s going to fuck you through it, has to, that he will not last any longer.

“Where?” he pants, and you’re still peaking, gasping, grabbing.

“Inside me,” you answer. “Please, inside me.”

He’s too lost in the moment to consider the consequences. Doesn’t care about them at all. When he comes, you groan at the feeling of him fucking you full, cunt still squeezing him, not as tightly as before, but still apparent.

The last bit of arousal is still waning, and he leans back to lie on the bed, pulling you with him. You fall to his chest, hands pressing lightly to adjust your position, suddenly aware again of the wound beneath his ribs, the bruises on his shoulder, settling so you’re pressed against his side, his arm still loose around your waist.

Neither of you say anything for a long time, and he notices your legs are trembling.

We shouldn’t have done that, he wants you to say, as you should. But you show no signs of remorse.

Before all this, when he was a different man, he would’ve helped clean you up after. He would have soothed you in the aftermath; stroked your hair, peppered kisses along your neck, your cheeks, pulled you close so you could fall asleep in his arms. He can’t now, because you’re smart and you’d know what it means, but the guilt gnaws at him.

When you sit up, pulling your shirt back over your head, sliding on your panties, and walking towards the bathroom, he imagines you think you’re doing him a favor. You are, in a way. Or maybe, you’re resisting the same impulse that he is.

You return a few minutes later, wrapped in a tattered robe, and climb next to him on the bed, propping yourself up on your elbows, then looking down at him. Between the combination of being tired, stiff, and fucked-out, he still hasn’t moved.

“Don’t you think Tess is worried about where you are?” You bend your knees back and cross your ankles.

“She knows I can take care of myself.”

Your eyebrow quirks. Can you? Joel turns away and stares up at the water-damaged ceiling panels.

“You should probably go.”

His head snaps back towards you. He thinks of every person over the last twenty years he’d said the equivalent to after sex, and wonders if it made them feel as nauseous as he does hearing those words from your mouth.

The feeling fades – only a little – when you reach over to press your palm to the side of his face, cupping his cheek, before tenderly moving a piece of damp hair off his forehead, nails scraping against his scalp.

He lets his eyes close just for a beat, before nodding and sitting up. “Thank you,” he says, and he’s not sure what for. All of it, he supposes.

“Uh-huh,” you roll over, reaching to grab your book that had fallen to the floor at some point during your coupling, while he pulls on his clothes, laces up his boots, and takes the antibiotics from your bedside table.

Joel takes one last look at you, already engrossed in your reading, and then walks to the door.

“You know where to find me, if you need anything.”

You look up, nod, and he’s gone.

— — — — — —

part ii

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #the last of us #the last of us fanfiction #enemies to lovers #tlou #tlou hbo #pedro pascal #tlou fanfiction #tlou imagine

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owlight · 1 year

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Hello hello! I’ve been really enjoying reading your writing and saw that your requests were open! (:

May I request Zoro, Usopp + a character of your choice (even if it’s nobody) with a gn! s/o who has no sense of danger? They just enjoy the excitement of adventure and rush into things with no thought ~

Thank you in advance if you decide to take my request !

Thank you for requesting 💖😚 I love this request fr,been in my draft for few months I'm sorry for that

Tags: not proof read, fluff, reckless behaviors,making up plots as I write

Zoro & Usopp & Trafalgar law with a gn!s/o with no sense of danger

Zoro

You're like Luffy but worse because unlike Luffy you're smart and still choose to walk right through the danger of life without a blink of an eye

But lucky for you ! Zoro is built different (kinda himbo ngl) and he will walk through danger with you with no thought too because someone gotta keep you safe while you walk into the most obvious death trap ever

He will always keep an eye on you ,just to make sure you don't get yourself into trouble,but just like Luffy you wander off on your own ,he goes after you (he get lost in his way to find you) and then he find you fighting some marine captain at a bar for some animal crackers

He so chill with you because years of begin with Luffy had made him immune to no sense of danger (he is also like you too so he doesn't mind it much)

He really like your fearless side ,you could get into the wildest most dangerous situation and you would still have your smile ,he admire that about you a lot

"(y/n) nami told us to stay low" Zoro grumble as he carry you under his arm and run from the marine troops running after you two "yeah but he was a dick to the waitress AND tried hitting on me" you defend yourself, Zoro shakes his head "...you got yourself a point but I'm not taking the blame when we reach the ship,you will !" Zoro says as he run down some alleyway to hide from the Marines,he can't help but smile at the fact you still trying to get free to fight the Marines...ah yeah he is a bit more in love with you because he want to do that too but for once he gotta put your safety before his hunger for a good fight...

He will try his best to let you be doing your adventures safely,he is strong and can protect you well but eh if only he wasn't so bad at actually stopping you from doing reckless things

He will agree to anything reckless you want to do because he Is just...he think it's a good idea? Why not fight a whole troop on your own with him? Both of you are capable???? He doesn't see why everyone think that's dangerous

He is your ride or die for real,he would go down with you with anything without a thought usually,he might argue for like one minute then he would give in Because he think you got a valid point

he might be Stern with you sometimes to make sure you don't harm yourself though , putting yourself in harm is his last thing on his list (still on the list tho)

He enjoys your spirit, quality time with you always lead to him learning new things about himself like he could fight five crocodiles to grab you from an untimely death

He is a 10/10 boyfriend, would help you invade a country if you asked enough

Law

Law sometimes wonder how you both Ended up together, you are the complete opposite from him ,you rush into things ,you are reckless,you don't care for danger

But again you're the reason why he is able to do so many new things ,explore new island and get into some questionable situations

"(y/n)-ya....where were you..and why are you holding a Capybara?" Law asks as he stand on the deck of the Polar Tang,you are standing on the sand as you look at the decked submarine ship "oh yeah,see I went to explore the island with bepo and then I have seen some guy,see the guy called himself the capybara king and he was terrorizing the people of the island,turning them into capybara and I had to fight him and yeah I kinda lost the fight..... and I need your help" you tell him and law rub his temple,so tiredly "we shouldn't care it's not our business,we should leave,get Bepo and let's leave the island" law says sternly and you smiles sheepishly "ahhhh..this is Bepo though,he turned him into a Capybara cuz he took the fall instead of me..."

Law left eye twitch slightly as he grab his sword ".....alright show me where is that bastard ,I will deal with him and then we are leaving and you are grounded for the next month"

You are the reason why he partly have anxiety from new places ,please stop getting into dangerous situation the moment your foot hit an island

He is this close ".." on just starting to put you on those kid leashes before going anywhere,just so you don't wander off somewhere and end up liberating some island by accident

He appreciates your fearlessness yet it make him worry so much about you,please Just stop trying to have some new adventure he know you're a Pirate but You are not immune to injuries

He patch you up after every adventure you end injured from ,he is always glued to you after that ,making sure you don't leave his sight

The crew have a chart for watching (baby sitting) you duty ,they all trying to help law not get grey hair before his thirties by watching over you before you end up somewhere you are not supposed to be

Law still loves you though,your energy is a fresh breath of air in his life even if you always acting so recklessly ,he still adores you

Will try to explore with you sometimes in hope to keep you entertained and safe (you end up finding the one piece I swear)

6.4/10 boyfriend , would stop you from doing a lot of dangerous things ,but sometimes he will watches you do dumb reckless things just to see you come to ask him for help ,it's his favorite routine in a way

Usopp

Every night ,he pray to god that you stop trying to do these dangerous adventures because you always end up dragging him with you ,bless your heart your idea of fun is like active suicide activities in his eyes

He loves you truly but he can so much play brave in face of death,you are like Luffy (but without the plot armor) and he worry sick for you whenever he sees you wander off to your new adventure whenever you reach a new island ,and so much against his own self preservation..he follows you

"my love... I'm pretty I saw Marines camping nearby" Usopp mumble as he hold your hand, walking with you,you have no care in the world as you walk " oh yeah I know,I already burnt Thier camp, they won't bother us for a while while we gather what we need " Usopp felt his eyes jump from his skull '' YOU DID WHAT?"

" oh damn is that judgement??? Uso! I was keeping us safe,beside I made sure no one was inside ya know,it will be more calm for us to walk!" You explains to him and he sighs deeply,your intentions are pure yet your action was what he could describe,a crackhead level plan "we will have to deal with angry marines when they discover what you did ,they will probably call for backup"

You shake your head with a little mischievous grin " they won't be able to,I took all Thier den den mushi mushi " you tell him as you show him your bag,and it was true it was filled with transport snails different shapes and looks very relaxed as they eat a.. cabbage? Do you keep cabbages in your backbag?

"....alright I guess you...really thought this out" Usopp mumble nervously,failing to see that one of the snails look like it belonged to a certain golden suit admiral...he trust you enough to not be that foolish..but you are unfortunately and he is in love with you..

Always have a mini heart attack because of you,have mercy on his soul he will have a heart condition because of reckless you can be combined with Luffy own recklessness,how did he end up having to be with two reckless people in the same crew???

He tries his best to district you off any dangerous situation,so you don't jump at it ,just like with Luffy ,he would gaslight you into NOT going to the dangerous Island because no we didn't just go pass it please don't tell Luffy about it

You are Chaotic good,which he appreciates you are not doing all that out of idiocy (like Luffy) but sheer curiosity and wanting to explore ,it's cute

He singlehandedly saved you 68836 times by begin the voice of reason for you and you listen to him because you love him

He would save you if you need saving ,he would man up for you just to save you and you would appreciate him and love him-at least that what he thinks he want to do, usually you end up saving him ngl

You and him are the polar opposite yet mash together so well,you still listen to him when things get serious and he still let you go apeshit when he notices you needing to let your energy out

He still adores you anyway, because after you get tired from getting into so much adventures ,you cuddle to him like a little cat and he goes through 7737 stage of happiness while biting his hand to not wake you up

You're so precious to him in general even if he is pretty sure he is getting white hair because of you

10/10 boyfriend ngl , would try to stop you but fails miserably and end up joining you,is good at lying his ass and getting you both out of trouble so good for you ngl

#one piece #one piece headcanons #one piece x reader #zoro x you #zoro x reader #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #trafalgar law x you #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #trafalgar d. water law #Trafalgar law #usopp x reader #god ussop #usopp x you #usopp x y/n #one piece imagine

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kienava · 1 year

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So someone asked me to make a post about Blake’s development so far in order to discuss the question of where Blake’s character can progress at this point in RWBY given that her arc with Adam wrapped up in V6 and she didn’t really carry a plot line in V7-8. I do media and story things for a living, but I’m also an intimate partner abuse survivor - needless to say, Blake’s story is important to me. Hopefully my perspective helps answer concerns about Blake’s story being “over,” because I think it’s very much the opposite.

(Continued below the cut because this turned into an entire essay.)

I want to preface this by saying I understand why it might be difficult to picture what Blake’s story looks like going forward. I largely credit this to the relative dearth of compassionate, healing-oriented narratives about abuse survivors in media. A lot of what we see is either revenge fantasies or stories about facing the abuser and arriving at a point of ultimate catharsis. In some sense, this is a broader fault in the standards of western storytelling, which is oriented around that singular, climactic catharsis, but that’s another essay. In truth, a mostly linear progression towards a pivotal point of recovery isn’t how healing from abuse works. It’s a messy process, and life is rarely as linear as in fiction. I think RWBY incorporates that nonlinearity into Blake’s arc very well.

Speaking of Blake’s arc, let’s look at that.

When we first meet her in volume 1, she’s introduced as an aloof, independent loner who’s very resistant to getting closer to people. Most of her classmates perceive her as mysterious and alluring at best, callous and cold at worst. Once we start to understand more of her history, it’s easier to see her attitude as the defense mechanism it is. She wants to keep people at arm’s length because she doesn’t trust them not to hurt her – but she also believes that she will harm people she gets close to just because of who she is. That whole Beauty and the Beast dichotomy, you know? Adam told her that she ruins things. It doesn’t help that he groomed her into a terrorist organization and thus her surrounding community has also labeled her a threat. She’s got a few overlapping layers of distorted thinking to work through when it comes to her image of herself and others. The way she perceives people is, at first, overwhelmingly informed by her traumatic experiences with Adam and the White Fang.

It’s pretty strongly implied that Blake bent the rules in the forest and intentionally selected Yang as her partner. When we first see Blake dashing around in the shadows, Yang is taking down a Grimm while sassing it to death. Blake talks later about how Adam’s charisma drew her to him initially, so it’s no surprise that when she was choosing her next partner, she gravitated to the same superficial qualities. During the first White Fang arc, after her self-destructive spiral, Blake starts to genuinely trust her teammates for the first time. That trust is tested when Yang fights Mercury. In this moment, Blake is confronted with the possibility that a pattern might be repeating itself: what if she was drawn to Yang for reasons beyond the superficial? What if Yang doesn’t just share Adam’s positive qualities, but his negative ones, too? The impulsiveness, the violence, the abuse – but Blake stops herself. She chooses to trust that Yang isn’t Adam, and she says as much. She’s accepting that Adam is in her past and electing to move forward. How perfectly, neatly linear.

Then the end of volume 3 happens.

For an abuse survivor, the idea that an abuser you’ve gotten away from might come crashing back into your life is possibly the scariest thing in the entire world. This is exactly what happens when Adam shows up, and Blake’s worst fears come true. He makes a point of hurting someone she cares about simply because he can to prove that he still has power over her. Blake runs because she thinks the only way she can protect the people she cares about is to be away from them. That paradoxical duality of (1) fearing harm will be done to her by others and (2) doing harm to others herself rears its head.

One specific question I was asked is why Blake talks about Yang so little in volumes 4 and 5. If Blake isn’t talking about the people she left behind, is she even thinking about them? I say, well of course she is. It’s coloring her entire attitude.

When Blake returns to Menagerie, she’s back in the place where she met her abuser. She’s at her parents’ house, a place that has been a symbol of everything she left behind when she ran away the first time. Now she’s run from another home. Menagerie is riddled with traumatic memories for her, both interpersonally and on a structural, systemic level. Everywhere she goes could be a place where Adam said something awful to her, made her obey him in some way, asserted control. She also has to confront him in person again, too.

With Adam around, of course she’s not going to risk mentioning Yang. He got one inkling that Blake cared about someone else and cut their fucking arm off. The one time Blake mentions Yang by name, her voice cracks so obviously it’s like she’s forcing herself to get the word out. Through both of these volumes, Blake has other external goals, but she’s still trying to protect someone she cares about. At this point, she’s constantly struggling with two motivations: hope and fear. She wants to make the world a better place, but she’s terrified of what she’ll have to confront in order to do it because of what she’s already lost. Her choice to reunite with her team and fight shows that ultimately hope wins out.

In Volume 6, Blake and Yang facing Adam is essentially the B plot of the whole volume. He appears in flashes before the major confrontation at the end, but the damage he’s done to both of them is intrinsically tied into Blake and Yang’s relationship throughout.

The end of this volume offers the climactic moment of confronting and overcoming the abuser. Afterwards, Blake collapses and cries. Catharsis! Yay! We’re done now, right? This may be why, to some people, defeating Adam is the obvious “end” of Blake’s character arc. Again, I’d argue that this perception comes from how abuse is often depicted in media, but there’s also a very intense pressure in the real world for survivors not to speak out and share their stories. Even people who are abuse survivors might not publicly claim that label for a multitude of reasons. Namely, it fucking hurts to think about it, and also sometimes people are real weird about it. I don’t blame anyone who doesn’t want to carry that weight around all the time. We can see some inklings of Blake dealing with this challenge over the course of the show, though they’re subtle. Early on, she explicitly avoids talking about Adam until she absolutely has to, and even when she does start to unpack what he did, she often talks about it with visible shame (averting her eyes, etc). Unfortunately, shame is a very common sentiment for abuse survivors to carry, and addressing it is a major part of Blake’s journey as she starts to heal in volume 6.

Another point of interest posed was to look at Blake’s role in volumes 7 and 8. There’s an argument that she doesn’t really do anything or that her role is as a somewhat generic support figure within the group. I wholeheartedly disagree.

While Blake doesn’t carry a plotline herself during the Atlas arc, she and Yang embody polarized attitudes towards the global conflict the group is facing, and that contrast serves the larger narrative very well. Because she was raised by activists in a context where she was constantly thinking about civil rights, Blake wants to address the broader ideological conflict at play. Yang, whose childhood consisted of raising her younger sister, wants to help people in a practical, immediate way. Blake is an abstract, big-picture thinker, and Yang is more focused on what’s right in front of her. This isn’t a dig at either of them; it’s just a difference in prioritites. At first, Yang worries that these differing priorities will be a source of tension between them, but when she and Blake talk things through they’re able to understand each other without judgment. Blake is learning to reconnect with the idealist she used to be in her early youth, someone who fought for a cause purely because she wanted to make the world a better place. She’s able to embrace that side of herself around Yang even though they have different priorities, and they’re still able to support each other’s goals.

Furthermore, on a purely interpersonal level in V7-8, Blake has interactions with other characters that speak specifically to the healing journey she’s been on. Yes, these are significantly quieter moments than a fight to the death on a bridge over a waterfall, but that doesn’t mean they should be written off. Quiet and peace are part of healing, and that doesn’t have to undermine the story’s integrity. Dramatic tension is still possible amidst this, as we saw in Blake’s talks with Yang where they discuss their team’s split strategic approaches. When Blake talks to Nora about the importance of not losing yourself in someone else, that’s her speaking from experience. She’s lost herself in a relationship before, and she knows how hard it is to come back from that, but she survived. She healed. The asserted importance of self-compassion in relationships has a unique gravity coming from Blake. She has a strongly developed ability to balance interpersonal empathy with community- and global-level stakes, which we’re already seeing glimmers of at the beginning of V9 as she steps up to come up with a plan on the island.

In summary, Blake’s arc isn’t just about that final showdown with Adam. She faces her abuser, runs away, faces him again, and again, finally evicts him from her life for good - and after that, her story continues.

She goes on to find ways to heal from her past. That process involves renewing compassion for her loved ones, her community, and the world as a whole; learning how to love without fear; and reconnecting with who she was before she was forced to become aloof and detached to protect herself. Although the circumstances of abuse convinced her that she was a coward, she is, and has always been, an incredibly brave character. She’s finally recognizing that at the current point in the story. Ultimately, I think this is the thing connects her to Yang and the rest of team RWBY so strongly: they’re brave enough to love and have hope even when forces of adversity tell them they shouldn’t dare to. Blake is a courageous idealist with a heart full of compassion, and ultimately not even Adam could destroy that about her.

My serious answer to the question of where Blake’s character will go now is that I think she’ll be a sort of de facto leader on the island as Ruby spirals into existential depression. Hopefully that arc resolves in a way that’s consistent with the show’s overall message about hope winning out, and past this volume Blake will still carry that optimistic but grounded revolutionary spirit and continue to be a center of compassion and hope.

My catharsis-oriented answer is this: aside from being trapped on a magical fairy tale island, Blake is free for the first time in a very long time, and she can go wherever the fuck she wants.

#it's time for KIE'S OPINION #blake belladonna #rwby v9 #rwby spoilers #cw: abuse #tw: abuse mention #i have a lot of thoughts about blake. if you couldn't tell.#i went full english lit minor #anyway if anyone starts clowning on this post i will not hesitate to block your ass

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crepes-suzette-373 · 5 months

Text

Germa and French references

(Plus bonus Star Wars mention at the end)

Sanji's iron mask in the flashbacks immediately made me think of Dumas's works, but when I saw it I didn't think much about it. It's just like, "Oh I guess it's just part of the Sanji = French thing". Plus in one of the cover arts Sanji was drawn in a classic Musketeer outfit, so I thought it was just for fun.

But Twitter user Marudoro-san made this thread that pointed out a bunch of the same references I'd caught and said "Hey, maybe this is actually important to the plot later", and I think they have a point. So I figured I'd share what I'd already noticed, and I will highlight the input that I got from Marudoro-san in red here in this post.

Iron Mask

The man in the iron mask is a French prisoner whose identity is never truly known in history. In his novel, Alexandre Dumas invented a plot where the iron masked prisoner is the twin brother of King Louis XIV, and the plot involves the famous Musketeers from the previous novels in a conspiracy of switching the king for the twin brother.

At a glance, it might be just a literary Easter egg, but when I look at it again, I do start to have questions. Within the One Piece scenario context, this is unnecessary. In the Dumas novel, the mask seems to be needed to hide the prisoner's identity. But there's no need to hide Sanji's identity, and it's not to prevent him from shouting for help because he can still talk even with the mask. What is it for? Is it a clue that the Man in the Iron Mask novel is relevant to this story?

For one, the fact that the iron masked prisoner being the king's twin is noteworthy. Sanji is one of 4 quadruplets, but still. Marudoro said that maybe this is a sign that Sanji and Ichiji will have a confrontation later. This makes sense, because of the other Vinsmokes, the one most likely to represent a "king" would be Ichiji.

This is something I myself had considered before, that Ichiji specifically might later have a role as "Sanji's opposite". I don't know how yet, but the imagery and themes that I've seen so far seems to point that way.

Marudoro also points out that if you look into the Musketeer novels, Sanji has vibes similar to Aramis, who is described as something of a womaniser. Aramis happens to be the mastermind behind the twin conspiracy in the Iron Mask novel.

The correlation is vague, and it's hard to tell how is this going to be relevant, besides maybe "there might be other French history/literature references in Germa's storyline".

Les Misérables, Revolution, the French Royalty

The only two Germa servants who actually has proper names, head chef Cosette and Sora's personal servant Eponi, seem to be references to the Les Misérables characters Cosette and Eponine. Part of the narrative of Les Mis is the June Rebellion, an uprising of the anti-monarchists.

In the Soul Pocus song that serves as the outro of the WCI arc, the "lyrics" specifically has the exact word "guillotine". For many people, guillotine is very closely linked to the image of the French Revolution and the execution of King Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette.

Speaking of guillotine... Yonji's attack, translated as "Winch Guillotine" in the official translation, is actually called "Winch Danton" in the raw. This is possibly a reference to Georges Danton, and important figure of French Revolution, who is curiously executed by guillotine.

Sensei clearly knows the word guillotine, so why not just flat out call it "Winch Guillotine" like the translation?

For whatever it's worth, Danton was someone who was executed for opposing the new government after the first revolution. The revolutionaries got so bad that it was called the "Reign of Terror", so Danton turned against them and was trying to oppose this cruelty.

Yonji is rather visibly the least "bad" of the brothers and his reactions are almost like a "normal person" in a lot of ways, so maybe this is significant?

Marudoro-san said that the Nyasha/cat carriage the Vinsmokes were riding when they were about to meet Big Mum was incredibly similar to the funerary carriage of King Louis XVIII. While there are some differences, they do have a point.

Again, it's still unclear about what significance all of this stuff will have. Maybe the imagery of "revolution" and "King's funeral" indicate that Germa will be undergoing a lot of changes. Something that's beyond just the formation of Neo MADS.

The Knights Hospitaller... and Napoleon?

Marudoro-san says there's an interesting parallel between Germa and the Knights Hospitaller. This is a chivalric order that has privileges that puts them equal to a sovereign power. They have minimal land holdings, but has the standing almost on par with that of a nation. It's like the landless Germa, who is still recognised as a kingdom by WG up until their privileges were taken away after the mess in WCI.

The Knights has lost a lot of its power and territories in Europe through history, and finally, its headquarters in Malta was sacked by Napoleon. Marudoro-san highlighted that Big Mum's hat and sword was called Napoleon.

Marudoro-san took this analysis elsewhere, but for my part, I'm wondering if Germa almost being destroyed at WCI is a parallel of this attack of the Knights in Malta, with Big Mum being the parallel to Napoleon.

The possible proof of the Napoleon parallel is Law. Law was heavily instrumental in Big Mum's defeat in Wano, and his name are connected to events related to Napoleon's downfall.

Napoleon suffered a major defeat at the Battle of Trafalgar, and the man who was his jailer to the point of his death was a surgeon's son named Hudson Lowe. Law and Lowe looks different in English, but in Japanese both are spelled the same: ロー.

[Edit: Napoleon was also famously defeated in the Battle of Waterloo. In Japanese, Waterloo is spelled like this: ワーテルロー. It contains the same "ロー" as in Law's name.]

Marudoro-san said that Napoleon's invasion of Malta involved tricking the Knights to letting him dock under false pretences. I don't know how true this is, but at the very least this is a narrative that is accessible to the Japanese. One could argue that this is parallel to the conspiracy in Whole Cake.

If this parallel is really correct, then, this could be a hint of "Good Germa".

The Knights Hospitaller surrendered and survived that Napoleon encounter, with its status being even more diminished. Eventually it restructured as the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, which still has its sovereign authorities (Wikipedia says they can even issue passports and currency), but is now an organisation whose activities are focused on charity.

Bonus: The Jedi and Clone Wars?? (Star Wars)

Marudoro-san also mentioned that the 66 of Germa reminds them of Order 66 from Star Wars, which ended the Jedi order and enabled the Sith to rise to power.

I only understand Star Wars very minimally myself, but a fan I talked to on Twitter confirmed to me that they think so as well. Especially because there's the specific focus on Germa soldiers being clones, and it's reminiscent of the whole clone plotline in Star Wars.

Order 66 ended the Jedi. The 66 of Germa is in reference to the destruction of the old Germa Empire.

If this parallel is true, then this might confirm the theory that "Germa is not actually evil before". If we read that the "Sith" is World Government, and the old Germa is "Jedi", then maybe it's hinting that all the story about them being evil in the past is a lie? They may be awful now because Judge is so driven by revenge, but maybe they were actually not evil before.

#one piece #vinsmoke family #germa 66 #conspiracy theory #analysis #theory #literary reference

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oneshotnewbie · 3 months

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(Tw, eating disorders)

hiyaa, could you do a fic with NCIS (the whole team or just a few characters) and reader who had been struggling with an ed?? i will leave the details to you xx

⚠️Trigger Warning⚠️ This one-shot includes the topic of an eating disorder (anorexia) and the plot is presented. If this triggers you too easily or you just can´t handle the subject, I urge you NOT to read this work. I am NOT embellishing this topic under any circumstance. Read at your own risk.

ᕚ---ᕘ

You sat alone in the darkened kitchen of your apartment. The plate in front of you was empty, the remains of a meager salad that you had tossed around several times. Your gaze was blank as you stared at the plate, as if searching for answers that might be hiding in the dried lettuce leaves.

The last few weeks have been a challenge for you. The relentless cases and high stress levels at NCIS had taken their toll on you. The originally secret battle against the numbers on the scales had long since become an open war that you were waging against yourself.

Your colleagues started to notice your changes. Special Agent Ellie Bishop, your best friend, was one of the first to notice a certain distance in your eyes while you were working on a case. Gibbs, who could read his team's moods like no other, had also picked up on the subtle clues- the tired eyes, the emaciated appearance, and the color that had drained from your face.

After a discussion about the latest case and your lack of sympathy, Ellie and he exchanged worried glances before silently agreeing that it was time to talk to you. Together they decided to bring in Jack Sloane, the team's experienced psychologist and agent.

Just a few hours later, after gathering informally, Gibbs, Ellie, and Jack found themselves in her office. The tension in the air was palpable as they patiently waited for you to walk in the door unsuspectingly. “Sit down, Y/n.” The older man spoke calmly, pointing to the couch opposite.

You hesitated with a questioning and slightly confused look before sitting down. The gazes of your colleagues literally pierced you and made you nervous.

"We're worried about you, sweetheart," Ellie began gently, her arms wrapped around her body as her lower back dug into the blonde's desk. "You seem so different lately and we want to understand what's going on."

Jack eventually continued, bringing out her expertise, enhancing the expression of her words by readjusting her glasses. "There's no reason to walk alone in the dark."

It was hard to miss the tension on your face as you tried to control her emotions. Gibbs looked at you seriously, a hint of concern and sensitivity shining in his eyes. "Y/n, we are your team. If you have problems, you don't have to fight it alone. Talk to us."

"It's nothing. I'm fine." You spoke after listening to your colleagues' words, literally feeling the pressure inside you as a lump formed in your throat. You hesitated for a moment before standing up and abruptly leaving the room without saying another word. The look on your face told the three of them a mix of anger and shame as they realized there was a deeper reason for your change.

The door closed behind you with a muffled bang and Gibbs sighed heavily, keeping his eyes on the closed door. "Damn," he muttered. "She won't let anyone talk to her."

Ellie cast a worried glance in the direction you had just been sitting and furrowed her brow in frustration. "We can't just let her go through this alone. She needs help."

Jack Sloane nodded in agreement, her emotions contained as she considered what to do next with you. "I agree, but she also has to be willing to accept help. We can't force her."

In the next few days the atmosphere in the team remained tense. You tried to appear as normal as possible, but the tension between you, Ellie, and Gibbs was palpable. The usual jokes with Dinozzo, the shared breaks with Ellie and the feeling of togetherness with Gibbs seemed to have faded into the background.

Until the senior agent's team received an urgent mission that required your full attention and teamwork. A suspicious package with a bomb inside appeared in a public building. When you arrived on site, the situation quickly became aggravated by memories of 9/11. The building was evacuated and the team took control of the entire situation.

This effort that brought you back onto the field was actually intended to provide distraction and focus for you. However, the tensions in the team were obvious. You avoided all eye contact with your colleagues, the images of the failed conversation echoing in your head, and the pressure you were trying to hide weighed heavily on you.

While you were concentrating on your tasks, you suddenly felt a wave of dizziness. Your heart was pounding fast, the world around you was spinning, and your legs suddenly felt like they were made of rubber. Your vision blurred. Instinctively you reached for the closest thing possible to hold on to, which at that exact moment was Ellie, but your knees gave way and you sank to the ground next to her. The colors blurred before your eyes and you lost consciousness.

Ellie noticed the suddenly tight grip on her forearm. Gibbs, who was standing right behind you, reacted quickly and caught you before your head hit the paving stone. “Y/n!” He called as he gently laid you on the ground and Ellie called emergency services while Dinozzo and McGee continued to focus on the case. You were pale and breathing shallowly, the older agent trying to wake you up while Ellie looked for signs of acute medical distress and checked your pulse, all while talking to the emergency dispatcher.

Gibbs watched worriedly as you slowly came to. When your eyes opened, they showed a mix of embarrassment and weakness. "What happened?" You mumbled, still dazed.

"We'll sort that out later," he replied calmly, brushing some stray strands of hair that had gotten lost in it out of your face. "Right now we need to make sure you get medical attention."

Even as the paramedics arrived and took care of you, the two exchanged a meaningful look. The events of the last few minutes had exposed a reality that they could no longer ignore and it became clear to everyone that this was not just about the case and the hot summer days that drove everyone into a corner - this was about the well-being of an agent who not only fought against external threats in everyday life, but also against her own demons.

ᕚ---ᕘ

In the hospital room, surrounded by dim lights and the hum of medical equipment, you sat up straight in bed. Gibbs and Ellie had alerted Jack to come to the hospital, where all three of them gathered around you, each of them with a serious but caring look.

"Y/n, it's time we talk about this," Jack began in a soft voice, sitting on the edge of the bed, her hand tentatively running over your still-shaky forearm, skillfully ignoring the intravenous access for medication. "We really care about you. This fainting is a symptom of something bigger. You need to tell us what's going on so we can help you."

You looked down, fingers folding nervously in your lap. The walls you had so stubbornly built seemed to be crumbling. Gibbs took a step closer to you. His eyes met yours, intense and fatherly at the same time. "You're part of my team, y/n. If you're having trouble, I'm here for you."

Ellie also wanted to join in the conversation, adding something that completely grounded your walls. "We are not only colleagues, but also friends and family. You can trust us. We will help you." You took a deep breath and nodded, a lone, slow tear rolling down your cheeks. "It's not easy for me to talk about it. It feels like I'm losing control."

Gibbs placed a protective hand on your shoulder, letting you know that it was okay to let them in and accept their help. "Sometimes it's okay to let go of control. You are not alone and together we will help you get back on your feet."

"I fell into something that I didn't think I would ever fall into again. An eating disorder that I actually left behind a long time ago," you began to say, many more tears following. Ellie had immediately moved to your side, wrapping you in a big hug to help you tell them everything they needed to know.

The following weeks were characterized by intensive discussions with Jack, supported by professional help from another psychologist outside of working hours. The entire team was there to support you every step of the way, enveloping you in care as they ate with you and brought you small snacks.

Gibbs, who was otherwise known for his strictness, became a protective father figure who lost his strictness on you when it wasn't work related. He constantly reminded you that there was no shame in showing weakness and that you didn't have to fight alone if you suffered a setback for the day.

The team became a supportive unit that not only solved crimes but also looked after each other. Through your courage to defy and confront your own demons, the connection between you all became significantly stronger. Everyone in the family had learned that true strength often came from accepting help and going through the darkness together, rather than isolating yourself and taking the rocky road alone.

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writingquestionsanswered · 7 months

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I've seen across the web multiples tips for outlining/plotting when you have ADHD, however, I feel like I kinda have the opposite problem: I'm autistic and I always feel a big need of minimum surprises, doing things methodically and planning ahead of time, but my stories don't quite flow and I may need to work a non-forced pantser mindset, so if you gave me any advice on how to embrace a less outlined writing, I'd be eternally grateful.

Middle Ground Between Planning and Pantsing

It sounds like you need a middle ground between planning and pantsing, but it may take some trial and error to find one that works for you. Here are some possibilities, though:

1 - Do a Beginning to End Summary - Most of the time when people talk about outlining a story, this is what they're talking about. Just doing an in-depth beginning to end summary. However, you can adjust the depth of your summary to suit your needs, which makes it a great tool for when you need something with just the right balance of planning and spontaneity to fit your unique set of needs. Try free writing a summary of the story as though you were explaining it to someone else. Talk about as much of what's going to happen as you know or can flesh out as you go. Just having this in hand when you write can be helpful. If you find you need more structure, you can go into more detail. If you find you need less, you can pull back.

2 - Use a Story Structure Template - I've found that 90% of the time when writers struggle with planning vs pantsing and/or outlining, it's because they don't have a good understanding of how stories work and how they're generally structured. How stories work and how they're structured does depend on the type of story you're writing, but outside of experimental or deeply literary stories, most stories do have some sort of structure. You can learn more about plot and story structure, along with suggestions for story structure templates, in my Plot & Story Structure master list of posts.

3 - Do a Scene List - I'm mostly a planner, but I have to be careful not to let myself get bogged down with too much planning and too many details. So, for me, the best middle ground between planning and pantsing has been scene lists. I love scene lists because they're such a straightforward road map to your story, while at the same time having the depth flexibility of a beginning to end summary. You can put in as much or as little detail as you want. A scene list can be a just a list of scene titles that just let you know what's going on in the scene, like: Scene 1 - Hunting with Gale. Scene 2 - The Reaping. Or, you can do a brief or in-depth summary of what happens in each scene. Or you can even do what I do, which is a fairly extensive data table containing things like when and where the scene takes place, who's in it, plot point, summary, etc.

4 - Do Chapter Summaries - If you prefer not to break your story down into scenes, you can do chapter summaries instead. Like a scene list, this can be as light or in-depth as a scene list, from a list of chapter titles or working titles that suggest what happens, to in-depth summaries of what happens in each chapter.

5 - Do a Timeline - Timelines are kind of like scene lists in that they break your story down into important events/moments, and you can choose how deep to go. There are a also a lot of different formats you can use for a timeline, but you might want to start out by doing an old-fashioned line drawn on paper, then mark in the most important events. From there, you can start filling in the next most important events, then the slightly less most important, zooming in as much as you want to.

I hope something here will work for you!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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strwberri-milk · 11 months

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Could I request Childe learning his sweet and gentle gardener s/o who's got a Hydro delusion in addition to a Dendro vision due to being a former Fatui agent?

S/O was forced into joining the Fatui against her will as a young girl after they saw her potential as a fighter. She wanted to run but they told her that even if she ran, they'll keep on looking for her.

After years of witnessing violence and bloodshed, she couldn't take it anymore. She wanted it all to end, so escaped after faking her death during a nasty fight.

You had never expected to be caught, ever. Your death was impeccable - you did everything you could, even providing a perfect look-alike as your dummy corpse. Attending your own funeral was one of the strangest things you'd ever done before, but it was also incredibly symbolic at the same time. It was the only way you knew how to create that clean break with your history, breathing your first sigh of relief ever.

When you met Childe, you were a little terrified. He practically openly admitted that he was a Harbinger, which of course was one of the worst people you could ever run into after running away from the Fatui. However, his friendly outward demeanor made you feel safe.

That doesn't mean that you told him everything right away. More like the opposite, really. You kept your own history buried deep in your chest, wanting to avoid even touching on your life before around him. He never seemed to mind, loving you all the same despite your secrets. He knows the feeling, so he won't hold it against you.

He loved watching how you tended to your gardens so gently. To him, he could never see your soft touch do anything but bring life. He was determined to do all he can to protect you, holding you so tightly some nights you thought you would suffocate but you'd also never felt so safe.

One day you asked him to run inside and grab you some seed packets. You were busy out in the garden preparing the plots for those plants, trying to explain where he can find them in your room. He's rooting around a little, trying not to touch anything that might be too personal.

As he looks around, he accidentally brushes his fingers against something, feeling a notch click in place. The sharp sound of a surface pulling back startles him a little but not as much as the delusion sitting atop a pile of letters with official Fatuus letterheads does. He takes it out of the drawer, trying to understand what's happening as you come into the room.

The two of you meet eyes, your jaw dropping as you realise what he has. You don't dare reaching over to take it out of his hands, fiddling nervously with your fingers as you wait for him to say something to you. He doesn't seem to know what to say, just looking to you expectantly as you tell him everything.

He can't help but understand what you're going through. Unfortunately, with the way he is he doesn't exactly feel sympathy for you being forced to fight so young as he was in exactly the same situation and to him, it feels more like a fact of life. However, that doesn't mean that he doesn't understand why it is that you wanted to run away.

Despite knowing what the protocol should be, he decides that if you've lasted this long then clearly you know what you're doing. He puts your delusion back, closing up the drawer before asking you to show him where you were trying to point him to with the flowers.

You'd never wanted that life for you, and clearly, this life suits you so much better. He'll support you in this life however he can, even if that means killing any agents who come too close to realising the truth. If that means he can protect your smile, he'll do it no matter what.

#childe x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #tartaglia x reader #ajax x reader

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thebiballerina · 1 month

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Suggestions for More Varied Polyamorous Ship Tournaments

For me, half the fun of fandom-focused brackets is to learn about media that people are passionate about, maybe even ones that you are totally unfamiliar with. While I love Leverage (2008) with all my heart, it has gotten a little repetitive to see Hardison/Parker/Eliot win or place in so many OT3 or polyamory poll tournaments (at least five that I know of—see footnote), when I know there are so many interesting polyamorous ships out there. Since I understand the appeal of the H/P/E OT3 and I know Leverage fans will be dedicated no matter what, I propose that it could be helpful (and fun) to see a wider variety in types of polyamory poll tournaments. After all, there are many different ways that fans might consider a ship to be "best".

Thus I have developed a list of suggestions (thank you @doctorbeverlycrusher and @mary-louise4760 for your assistance here). This includes a mix of aspects that a ship can be ranked as "best" in, and specific ship dynamics. Feel free to ask for clarification or examples of any of the list items, add your own suggestions, and use these as inspiration for poll tournaments. (Some of these might need to be combined/altered to get enough potential contestants.)

Aspects/Dynamics to Rank Polycules By

"Do not separate them.": It is difficult to imagine any relationship within the group without the whole set being involved, whether romantically or queerplatonically. e.g. Many fans say this is why they would favor the Leverage OT3 over other polyamorous ships.

"Please do separate them.": Two or more partners should keep other partners firmly in-between them at all times. Keeping the polycule together is essential to continued civil interaction.

Rejection of canon love triangle/infidelity: Fandom took one look at that plotline and said, "No way. They have two hands." Or whatever the equivalent statement is when one runs out of hands for applicable partners.

Shipping Wars: The best resolution. Fixes many things.

Shipping Wars: The best non-resolution. Fixes nothing, but is good anyway.

Shipping Wars: Worst but technically effective resolution. Fixes the war, but creates new issues.

Shipping Wars: The funniest resolution. May overlap with some of the above three.

In-Universe Wars (or Conflict/Politics): The best resolution. Diplomatic!

In-Universe Wars: The best non-resolution. Undiplomatic!

In-Universe Wars: Worst but technically effective resolution. Diplomatic with respect to this issue, but also creates new ones.

Unexpected package deal: Essentially, the opposite of the identity porn trope where someone has feelings for multiple people that turn out to be a single person.

Seduction plans rapid-pivot: e.g. Sometimes your plans require seducing someone that turns out to be happily in a relationship, so clearly the only choice is to seduce both them and their partner.

Jealousy plot rapid-resolution: Sometimes you think someone will be angry or jealous about you having feelings for or ending up in an encounter with someone they also have feelings for, but they are very much not upset. Maybe even the opposite of upset.

Fake relationship rapid-resolution: Life hack! Turn the fake/arranged partner(s) into additional real partner(s). Often a subset of the above bullet point.

Hands-on instruction: So dedicated to helping their friend with romance/sex that they end up demonstrating. Thoroughly.

Couples (or established polycule) bonding exercise: We can fix them. Or make them worse. Or just seduce them.

Couples (or established polycule) unbonding exercise: Have you ever seen a couple mildly argue about how one of them caught up on a TV show alone when they were supposed to be watching it together? This, but with seduction.

Organization/scheduling proficiency: Have you ever tried to handle finding overlaps between multiple schedules? It's difficult. So I think there should be a competition for polycules that handle that best.

Sneak attack potential: "What's this? It's their third, with the steel chair!"

Heist crew

Band: This one can work for many different sizes of polycules, if you are flexible with the type of music group.

Ship^2: The ship crew. Works for ocean ships, starships, airships, and any other varieties.

Witch coven or assorted magical circle

Supernatural leaders: e.g. vampire colony, fairy council, werewolf pack where the alpha wolf only exists as much as it does in real wolves, etc.

Competition champions: The ideal team. Could be sports. Could be trivia night. Could be that they are just killing it at karaoke.

Competition contestants that somehow make everyone lose

Accidental legal polygamy: They weren't trying to all end up legally intertwined, but untangling that seems more effort than it is worth.

Canon co-parents: A canon plot means a kid has 3+ parents or parental figures. The ship writes itself.

"It takes a village," ("and the village takes each other"): One child (or set of children) takes so much wrangling that the polycule is just efficient.

Most awkward stepparent(s) configuration

Most chaotic potential family gatherings: e.g. In-laws who have to awkwardly try to get along when they hate each other, now with even more in-laws!

Best pet owners: Sometimes joint custody of a pet is a lot of work, and consolidation is ideal.

Using These Suggestions

All are welcome to use these ideas, altered or unaltered, in your own poll tournaments/games. No additional permission is required, though I would appreciate it if you linked this post somewhere on the poll blog, so others can find it. Also, if you let me know you have a tournament along these lines (whether directly inspired by this list or not), I will be happy to give you a shout out in the notes.

Footnote

Here are the poll tournaments I'm referencing when I say Leverage's H/P/E has won or placed in five that I know of.

Champions

@powerpolyculeshowdown (2023-03-09): Won in the final against Yoo Jonghyuk/Han Sooyoung/Kim Dokja from Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint.

@polyam-ship-showdown (2023-02-28): Won in the final against Ninth Doctor/Rose Tyler/Jack Harkness from Doctor Who.

@throuple-tournament (2024-04-04): Won in the final against Thanatos/Zagreus/Megaera from Hades and Nathan/Vlad/Ursula from Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites.

Placed

@ot3showdown (2023-05-12): Runner-up, lost in the final 49%-51% to Kirk/McCoy/Spock.

Ongoing

@bestpolyshipbracket: Currently in the final round, so H/P/E will either be in second or first place.

#poll tournament #poll tournament ideas #polyamory #polyamorous shipping #poll game #poll meta #leverage us tv 2008

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nocturnowlette · 8 days

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Hypnotic Visuals #1: Ocean Waves

If you'd like, this post is accompanied with a backing track of waves to help better understand and feel the points being made. It is not necessary, though.

...

When it comes to the choice of hypnotic visuals, some consideration should be made towards each one's specifics.

Hypnosis can be a tricky thing in many aspects, but one large reason is just how context-dependent it is. Each person's mind is its own individual landscape of biases and perceptions and strengths and weaknesses, and each one might have a different effect on how one receives trance. However, this variation is also extended outwards, towards the choice of visuals themselves.

Each visual, of which there are essentially infinite, comes with their own common aesthetic associations, so I'd like to make a series talking about various hypnotic visuals and how you can tailor your sessions around them most effectively. Let's start with one of the simplest, and a classic: the ocean and its waves.

The first thing about the ocean is a very important lesson about pre-talk. If you do not get to know your subject and use this visual, there is a chance they have thalassaphobia or some trauma regarding the sea, and have a violent abreaction. Talking with your subject is important for hundreds of reasons, but one is avoiding exactly this. Even a mention of the word "ocean" in an extra vulnerable state like trance could be a complete shock to the system that disrupts trances with you and your subject in the future. Even if unintentional, it's a betrayal of trust and the mind can be slow to mend that.

As for those who do not fear the ocean, they likely find it the opposite, quite relaxing. Relaxation, while not strictly necessary for trance, is almost always a part of it because relaxation frees up perceptive "room", so to speak. You only have so much focus and the mind normally spreads it out to everything around you. Relaxation takes the focus away from everything else, and allows that focus to be pinpointed on me and my words. Some visuals deal with a more active focus, this takes the opposite path.

As such, you want to also pepper in suggestions to focus in on your voice, either through another visual, or just direct "Focus" commands or suggestions.

If you don't take advantage of the relaxation, there's wasted potency just washing away in the waves.

The ocean is something interlinked with the most steady functions of our entire planet. As steadily as the sun rising in the sky, so too does the moon, and with every moment it exists, our tides continue in a steady motion.

Rhythm is very natural to both us and the tides. If one spends long enough near the ocean, they might find their mind get accustomed to that steady rhythm.

The tides going,

Back, and Forth,

This rhythm is useful for trance. When you define one quality of the visual you're using, something natural to that visual, you've essentially defined a plot device. This is the thing you attach suggestions to.

Going back, and forth,

and back, and forth,

This rhythm of the tides has multiple routes one could take. My personal favorite is the kinetic angle. That's to say, the motion of it.

Rocking back,

and forth,

and back,

and forth,

We have a tendency to make unconscious movements when thinking about things. It's so natural to us that it's one of the easiest things to be suggested to someone. It's a way to assert some subtle control immediately. Rocking is also an especially calming motion, in combination with the ocean visual itself.

Back,

and forth,

and back,

and forth,

can even start to serve the form of a mantra.

Mantras serve multiple purposes, but the most useful practically is to fill up the empty space in the subject's mind when you're not actively suggesting them. Relaxation can easily be paired with suggestions of dulling thoughts, and this is a way to start heading in that direction.

Water in itself is a visual, and can also be applied here. Whether it's the water consuming you, submerging you, or filling you, that unmistakable sound of being submerged in water has a very visceral sensory effect on people. You can point out the specifics, of that slight pressure on the skin, of requiring so much more effort to move, of everything being duller and even needing to close your eyes.

When combining dulling visuals with suggestions of your voice being the only thing perfectly clear, you can amplify the strength of your words on both ends.

When you have multiple plot devices, say, the swaying of the tides and being submerged in water, you can intertwine the two and amplify both, as well. When you're submerged in water, you're at the mercy of the tides, being pulled in looong, drawn out motions, tapping into a lack of control. I can tell you that my voice is an anchor, the only thing keeping you steady, that you need to hold on.

Every little detail is another plot point in the narrative, and each one is much more effective than plainly stating what thing you want the person to feel. Stories draw us in, immerse us, and this is not something that should be ignored. These were only a few examples of what you can do, as with the amount of visuals, the amount of qualities and routes to take with each are also wide and varied.

If you want to really give your subjects an unforgettable experience, you need to learn how to weave a story. Visuals are the key.

If anyone has any specific visual they want given extra detail and options for, feel free to ask.

That all being said, I hope you enjoyed reading, and happy hypnotizing.

#owlette #hypnosis #hypno advice #hypnosis advice #hypnoposting #hypnokink #hypnok1nk #hypnosub #hypno fantasy #hypno sub #hypnotized #text hypnosis #hypnotic #hypnosis script #creative writing

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runesandmoons · 2 years

Text

Who She Listens To

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Summary: In which Y/N enters a forbidden room and Tommy must make sure she knows her place.

Warnings: 18+, smut with a little plot, dom!Tommy, RAGING SIR KINK, impact play (belting, spanking), face slaps, light choking, degradation, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up!)

A/N: So this is the one shot I wanted to write based off of my dream I had a few weeks ago. This was totally self indulgent, but I thought other people might enjoy this besides me 🤪😉 Also, this is in no way a building the Blinders own, but it was a part of my dream and the main reason for the smut, so I had to add it in there. Just vibe with me on the location of it 😂 This is the first smut I’ve written in months, so if it’s bad, please ignore it 🥺

Word Count: 3072

Hearing loud noises on her way to visit Tommy didn’t faze her anymore, but when she rounded the corner to find his brothers throwing another man to the ground, she couldn’t help but stop to listen.

“Tell Tommy I’m sorry, yeah?” She didn’t recognize the voice, but she did register the fear in it. This was greeted with a scoff and John’s laugh. “I think it’s a bit too late for that.” Quick “nos” fell from the lips of the other man.

Y/N jumped when she heard the man yelp, and she quickly ducked around the corner, trying to remain hidden. Arthur’s voice chimed in, “You tell your boss he owes us twice the money he stole from us.” John laughed again, though this time his laugh was much crueler. “You give ‘em this message for us too.”

She didn’t have to see it to know what was happening. With the whimpers and groans the man was letting out, Y/N knew the Shelby brothers were delivering their message. She heard rustling on the ground, forced grunts from John and Arthur, the squelching of blood, and brutal hits. When a loud clang sounded off, she cringed. That certainly didn’t sound good.

“Alright, John boy. That’s enough. Let’s load ‘em up.” Y/N ducked further around the corner when she heard them dragging the man’s body to the car that was parked in front of the building. She listened as they roughly placed him in the car. After hearing their doors slam shut and the car begin to drive off, she emerged from the corner.

Curiosity pulled at her as she looked at the building where the violent scene had just occurred. Tommy had told her to meet him at his office, but being a few minutes late wouldn’t matter, right?

She took a few steps toward the front entrance, looking down as she saw blood on the door frame. Her heart felt like it was in her stomach. This must have been where John busted the man’s head. Eyes flitting up, she turned the handle of the door. She was cautious as she entered the building, Tommy’s words echoing in her mind: “You are not to enter this place, understand?”

A large staircase stood before her, rooms on either side of it. Though she was interested in what was in the rooms, the staircase beckoned her forward. She tiptoed up the stairs, looking over each shoulder as she moved further up. When she reached the point of the railing where she could see the second floor, she slowed to a stop, looking through the railing to see if she could see anyone. The building was strangely quiet, and it looked like no one was there. She went further up, eventually reaching the top. After another scan of the room, she walked forward, deciding to explore the left side of the room first.

“What are you doing here?”

She jumped, a tiny yelp escaping her lips. Quickly turning around, she saw Tommy standing on the opposite side of the room. He must have come from another room because she could have sworn no one else was there. Hands in his pockets, he clenched his jaw as he stared at the woman before him. She could tell by the tone of his voice that he was displeased. She opened her mouth to reply, but her words failed her.

“I asked you a question.”

She swallowed. “I- I heard John and Arthur with another man outside. I stopped to listen, and when they drove off I walked to where they were.” Hands crossed in front of her waist, she was already squirming under his gaze. She knew she wasn’t meant to be here, so his anger was justified.

Tommy simply stared at her for a moment before humming in response. Taking a step toward her, he responded, “So that gave you the right to come inside?” He lowered his head as he continued walking in her direction.

“No.”

He abruptly stopped moving, his eyes shooting up. One of his eyebrows was raised, and his mouth was slightly agape. If he wasn’t so angry at her, she would comment on how picturesque he looked. “Excuse me?”

Y/N shifted her weight, rubbing her thighs together in the process. She knew exactly what he wanted her to say, signaling what she was in for. “No, sir.” He hummed again, satisfied.

“So, why the fuck are you here, pet?” He stopped a few feet from her, arms crossed. She swallowed thickly. None of her answers would satisfy him, but she knew she had to speak.

“I- I was on m- my way to see you.”

“Oh, you found me.” Tommy chuckled under his breath, a dark look glazing over his eyes. “In the wrong place.”

Y/N found herself speaking before her brain could stop her. “But no one is here! I don’t see what the fuss is about this place.” Her eyes widen, realizing what she had just said.

In an instant, Tommy was in front of her. He smacked her face lightly before grabbing it roughly, his other hand pointing a finger in her face. He gripped her cheeks so tight that her lips pursed. “You don’t fucking speak to me like that.”

After what felt like five minutes of him intensely staring at her, he let her go, cheeks snapping back in place. He then wrapped his hand around her arm, dragging her toward the room he had appeared in. His grip on her arm was tight, sure to leave a bruise. “Bad things happen here because bad men work for me.” He spoke as he walked.

“Well where are they?” He shot a quick glance of annoyance in her direction before looking ahead again, jaw clenching.

“I had business to take care of, so I let them do another job for me elsewhere.” He let go of her arm when they reached a table. Her hand moved to massage the spot where his grip had seared into her. Tommy turned from her, removing his jacket in the process. He set it on a nearby chair. “Seems I need to continue my business.” He began rolling up his sleeves as he faced her again. “Strip.”

“Wh- what?” Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, already feeling exposed even though she hadn’t removed any of her clothing.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

Her eyes shot to the floor. “‘M sorry, Tommy. I won’t come here again.”

“I know you won’t, but it seems I need to remind you of who it is you listen to.” He eyed her expectantly. Slowly, she began unbuttoning her blouse. She let it fall to the floor before moving onto her skirt. Following her skirt was her shoes, then finally, her undergarments. Hands quickly covered her chest again.

“No need covering yourself for me, pet.” Her hands fall to her side. Though she wasn’t looking forward to whatever punishment Tommy was about to inflict, she couldn’t deny the heat rising through her core.

After he was satisfied with his sleeves, he moved to unbuckle his belt, causing Y/N to swallow. “Disobeying my orders, talking back to me, what kind of punishment do you think you deserve?” His eyes watched hers as he awaited her answer. He noticed how she shifted her weight between her legs more frequently.

“Whatever is best, sir.” Another hum from Tommy. When he didn’t respond, Y/N knew her answer wasn’t what he wanted to hear. “I deserve the belt, sir.”

“You do.” After he had removed his belt, he folded it in half. Kicking the chair out of the way, he stated, “Over the table.” Y/N moved into place, leaning over the table, her ass exposed in the air. The table was cold against her bare chest, causing chills to course through her body. Her arms laid flat beside her, hands on either side of her face. She felt Tommy move to stand behind her. He laid the belt across the small of her back, causing her to jump from the unseen movement. His hand came to rest against her ass while the other spread her legs apart.

Once he was satisfied with her positioning, his hand left her inner thigh, trailing up to her folds. She gasped as his fingers moved through her slick. He chuckled, “Already so wet and I haven’t even touched you. You must like being exposed like a whore.” His fingers abruptly left her heat as they made their way into her hair, yanking her back against his chest. “After every strike I want you to apologize to me.” His other hand wrapped around her throat, putting just enough pressure against it to where it was hard to swallow. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll stop after fifteen.” He removed his hands, letting her fall back to the table. As he picked up the belt from where it stayed on her back, she tried to compose herself before he began.

He dragged the belt along her ass to tease her and build up the anticipation. This just caused her to squirm against him, letting her guard down a bit. She heard the first crack before she felt it. Soon after, the overwhelming stinging sensation followed, jolting her forward. She called out. Tommy never went easy when he used the belt.

“‘M sorry.”

She cried out again as he smacked her once more, this time on her cunt. “What are you supposed to say, whore?”

“‘M sorry, sir!” Tears welled in her eyes. Another smack across her ass. “‘M sorry, sir!” This time a tear fell from her eye. She could already feel her chest beginning to heave, and he’d only struck her twice. The third strike caused her to clench her fists. Another apology. The fourth and fifth caused a pool of drool on the table under her mouth. Two more apologies. On the sixth and seventh, Tommy pressed against her white-hot ass, allowing her to feel how hard she’d made him. The next two apologies sounded delectable to him. The eighth and ninth apologies came out as sobs, her ass sore and welted. Ten and eleven caused her legs to shake uncontrollably, her apologies coming out slurred. On the twelfth and thirteenth strikes, Tommy lowered the belt, striking across her thighs and on her cunt. Two more choked apologies. Fourteen and fifteen were back in place, eliciting moans from her, grateful for their positioning. She gave him her last two apologies.

Tommy pulled her up by her hair, her back against his chest once more. “Seems you were a good girl.” His voice was low and raspy as he stared down at her. Her face was tear stained, mouth parted as she tried to catch her breath. She was a dream. He shifted his hips forward, his cock pressing against her ass. Her eyes fluttered shut as a quiet moan left her lips. Tommy groaned in response before lowering his lips to hers. He kissed her deeply, tongue exploring her mouth. She submitted to him, allowing his tongue to dominate hers. As he broke the kiss, he flipped her to face him, guiding her to her knees. “Show me what your mouth should be used for.”

Y/N began tugging at his pants, trying to unbutton them quickly. As soon as the button was undone she felt a quick slap to the face to get her attention. Looking up, she saw that look of expectancy on Tommy’s face again. “What do you fucking say, eh?”

“Yes, sir.” She moaned after the words left her lips. Pushing past his pants, she freed his cock from his boxer shorts. After stroking him a few times, she brought her mouth to the tip.

Her eyes flitted up to his, noticing he was watching her, as she pressed light kisses over his tip and down his shaft. His normally icy eyes were darkened with lust, the blue hue nearly gone. After pressing another kiss to the tip, she sank her mouth down his length. His mouth parted as he held eye contact with her, his brows furrowing in.

She started slow, allowing her throat to get used to his length. Soon he was hitting the back of her throat, which resulted in low moans from him. She could feel herself growing wetter from the sounds of his moans. His hand eventually tangled in her hair, pushing her deeper on his cock. His head fell back as he felt her choking around him. Her hands made their way to rest on his hips to steady herself, Tommy now controlling her speed as he pushed her head down his length.

“Fuck…that’s it.” He licked his lips before glancing down at her again. Tears were in the corner of her eyes, her hair was messy around his fingers, and he felt so damn close as he watched her swallow his length with each push of her head. She moaned around him, causing his cock to twitch and a groan to escape his lips.

As he felt himself nearing the edge, he abruptly pulled her away from him. He held her head back as he looked down at her. Her own saliva down her chin, mouth open as she caught her breath, eyes blown out. He was so fucking lucky. His hand left her hair, making its way across her cheek, past her lips, and onto her throat. Squeezing gently, he pulled her to her feet.

Pressing his lips to hers again, he could taste himself. Her lips felt swollen. Again, he broke the kiss to flip her around, pushing her down to the table. He made quick work of her positioning, spreading her legs with his own. His hand glided over her bruised ass, making its way to her slick.

“Mm, so fucking wet.” Another moan from Y/N. Even though her backside would be bruised for a few days, she couldn’t deny that Tommy made her feel alive, insatiable.

He replaced his fingers with the tip of his head as he lined himself with her entrance. Without allowing her to prepare, he pushed himself inside her until his hips were flush with her ass. Another moan left him as he felt her walls squeezing around him.

“That’s my good girl.”

Her eyes fluttered shut from his remark. She still wasn’t used to his size, her nails scratching against the table as he began to move inside her. His hands grabbed her hips to hold her steady as he moved at a fast pace.

Soon the room was filled with their moans and the wet sounds of him slamming into her. He pressed himself against her back, leaning over her shoulder to get closer to her face. She could feel his hot breath, the familiar smell of whiskey and cigarettes striking her.

“Do you think you’ve learned your lesson, pet?” His lips brushed hers he was so close to her. She was only able to muster a breathy “yes” as a response. In this position, he was hitting the spot that made her weak, and he knew it.

“Mm, so who is it you listen to?” He was staring at her so intently that she felt the carnal urge to flip him over and fuck him dry, but she knew she couldn’t. This was about him showing his power, his dominance, over her. And she would submit to him for as long as she lived. She was his.

A particularly rough thrust left her breathless. A gasp left her lips as she began seeing stars. His thrusts were relentless, just another way for him to demonstrate his ownership over her. When he wrapped his hand in her hair, yanking her head back, her eyes shot open to see he was waiting on her response.

“Fuck. You, Tommy. I fucking listen to you.” He moaned quietly as he smirked. She wasn’t sure how much more she could take.

“Think you can sit on that pretty ass so I can look at you?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes, sir.”

He wasted no time in flipping her over, helping her sit on the desk. He pushed her legs open to stand between her, quickly pushing himself inside her again. He matched his previous pace. Her legs wrapped around his waist to steady herself as he fucked her carnally.

Grabbing her face in his hand, he pressed his lips to hers. They moaned against each other as they sloppily kissed. They were both beginning to unravel. His free hand found its way to one of her breasts, and he started squeezing her nipple between his fingers. She moaned into his mouth, causing his cock to twitch inside of her.

“Touch yourself, pet.” He started pressing kisses down her jaw and down her neck. “Want to watch you make yourself cum on my cock.” Her head fell back at the sound of his words, another moan escaping her. Her hand made its way down her body to find her clit. As she began rubbing circles, a flurry of whines came from her.

Tommy wrapped his hand around her throat as he kept his other hand on her nipple, alternating between flicks and squeezes. He watched as she moved her fingers faster, her whines intensifying as well.

“Please, Tommy, ‘m close.” He moaned in response, quickening his pace.

“Cum for me.”

She allowed herself to feel her release, her legs shaking uncontrollably. The stars she saw earlier returned, her head feeling light as she closed her eyes. She couldn’t feel anything else but Tommy’s hands on her body and his cock inside her.

He didn’t last much longer as her walls clenched around his cock. He cursed as he came inside her, his hand around her throat tightening for a moment.

As they came down from their highs, Tommy rested his head against hers. They sat in silence as they caught their breath. His hand fell from her throat as they relaxed, placing a soft kiss against her lips before pulling away. She whined as he pulled out of her.

He adjusted himself back in his pants before buttoning them back. She watched him with lazy eyes as he grabbed his jacket and walked back to her. After wrapping it around her shoulders, he left his hands there, looking into her eyes with a softer expression than when she first saw him.

“Let’s get you home to clean you up, eh?”

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