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femmefatalevibe · 9 months

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25 Life Lessons I've Learned In 25 Years

In honor of turning 25 this month, here are some lessons I wish someone could've baked into my brain by 18. Hope this helps xx

Putting yourself first is not selfish, it is an act of self-care. Actively discounting others is not the same as protecting your peace.

Pay attention to who gossips and keeps to themselves amidst an interpersonal conflict. Insecure people or those in the wrong will speak the loudest and go on the longest in a fight to prove their innocence. Individuals who are self-assured and comfortable with the truth know it's better to communicate their feelings appropriately and then move past it. Confidence is assertive, tactful, and relatively silent.

If you want to know who to believe in an argument, pay attention to how both sides speak about the conflict. The perpetrator will often speak about the individuals' character/morality while the victim will explain their personal experience in the context of the relevant situation.

Display empathy and consideration, but don't live to satisfy others' emotional needs and expectations. Say farewell to anyone who dismisses or guilts you for your own needs, emotions, priorities/life goals & aspirations.

Your needs matter. No one needs to approve or validate your desires. If someone feels they have control over you or tries to persuade you to change your mind to ensure you put their emotions and needs first, cut them out of your life. They do not care about you.

Almost no one deserves insider access into your life and mind. Upholding your right to privacy – especially regarding your finances, dating life, health conditions/concerns, and long-term goals – is the simplest way to protect your peace.

A friend to all is a friend to none. Be wary of those who will not stand up for you behind closed doors. These people do not care about you, they care about what your place in their life does for them and their ego.

Be radically honest and accepting of who you are. Don't apologize for your preferences, aspirations, and values. You deserve to live in a way that makes you happy, not to appease others in hopes of their approval or future favors due to your karmic good deeds.

You deserve happiness, love, and nice things, life experiences, relationships, and opportunities in your life regardless of what others may or may not possess/ be able to experience. Dispel this scarcity mindset ASAP. Jealousy and internalized shame are destructive to your self-esteem and all your relationships.

You are worthy and offer many incredible, unique gifts to the world. Don't allow naysayers, critics, or bullies (of any age) to dim your light or sacrifice pursuing your dreams. Decide you're the leader of your own life. Then act accordingly.

Direct communication is always the way. Remain tactful, but at least when dealing with non-manipulative people, always say what you mean and mean what you say. It will save a lot of trouble and petty disagreements that could've been avoided with clearer communication.

You don't owe anyone an explanation for your feelings, emotions, and actions that don't have a direct, inescapable impact on someone else. "No" is a complete sentence.

Approach conversations as a meeting of the minds. Healthy debate or conflict is about seeking to understand the other person, not prove yourself right. Leaving your ego at the door will allow you to expand your mind and avoid many unnecessary conflicts or arguments.

If it's not a hell yes, it's a no. For a job, date, sex, attendance at a time-sucking social event, family gatherings, an informal meeting not essential for you to keep your job, a wedding, birthday party, holiday invitation, etc. Outside of your contracted hours and time necessary to keep yourself/your home clean & well-maintained, you should spend your time exactly as you please. Doing things you don't want to do will only breed resentment down the line toward yourself and others.

Detangle yourself from any who refuses to self-reflect and take accountability. This person is selfish and will never see you as fully human with emotions, needs, and a complete life/internal world of your own. Cut them out (or at least fully emotionally detach and limit contact with them) immediately.

Speak your truth, but always say a little less than you feel necessary. Overexplaning and oversharing do you no favors. At a minimum, this approach allows you to protect your peace. In the worst circumstances, this tactic can also save you from a lot of trouble in your personal or professional life.

Learn to ask for a little more than you're comfortable with, but do so with grace, tact, and confidence. Whether it's a salary/rate negotiation, flight/hotel/restaurant accommodations, get in the habit of making that slightly higher/up-leveled request like you're expecting a "yes." You can't get something you don't ask for, so speak up and show you know your worth. This habit can bring a lot of great opportunity into your life and builds up your confidence.

Everyone is on their own timeline and path. Don't compare yourself to others' credentials, job titles, relationship status, net worths, or jean sizes. Comparison is truly the thief of joy. Remaining envious of others only takes up the energy that could otherwise be used to elevate or enrich your life.

Become clear on your priorities, and remain diligent with your habits & routines. Set SMART goals. Implement healthy habits and rituals into your daily lifestyle. Be consistent with goal-supporting and wellness rituals (generous sleep schedule, healthful eating habits, daily movement/regular exercise, reading, task time-blocking, cleaning, and life/work admin schedule), so they become second nature. Help yourself by creating these default habits to ensure your brain is wired for success whether you're in an easygoing era or a stressful life season.

Stop seeing other people (especially other women) as your competition in your profession/dating life and within your platonic relationships. Use your immediate criticisms as a tool for self-reflection. Actively deconstruct the patriarchy in every aspect of your life. Other women coworkers, dating prospects, and friends are not your rivals nor individuals who should be evaluated based on their assertiveness, sexual history/appeal, relationship status, or desire to perform traditional maternal/domestic roles.

Understanding how to interact with others in a cordial, tactful manner is significantly more important than having everyone like you. Learn how to positively influence people without seeking approval. What other people think of us is none of our business. All we can do is show up as the best version of ourselves, and remain optimistic about a potential connection.

Acceptance, accountability, and consistent discipline are the holy trinity to creating a sustainable change that you can maintain for the long haul. There's no shame in starting from the bottom, but you need to be honest about where you're at, so you can create a realistic game plan/small behavior-changing habits that stack up over time to help you implement the radical change you're craving.

Let go of any internalized shame. Being the "good girl" does you no favors in life. Set a standard and expectation to be respected, not to be perceived as "innocent" or submissive – this is how you get taken advantage of in professional, platonic, and intimate relationships. Remain ravenous for respect. It's the only way to live life to the fullest.

24. Investing in your appearance is a form of self-respect. Wanting to look & feel your best and present yourself in the best light possible to others is not a superficial pursuit. Remain unwavering about your hygiene/beauty/grooming routines, deliberate styling choices, healthy eating & workout habits, and mindfulness of social graces. You're your #1 publicist, so act like it. Life is all about embracing satisfaction with a sprinkle of reputation management.

25. Be unapologetic about your financial ambitions, priorities, investments, savings goals, etc. Financial freedom IS freedom. The only way to change the system is to break it from the inside out. Leverage is everything. Allocate, and assert your (financial) power wisely.

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probablyasocialecologist · 5 months

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Degrowth scholarship notes that capitalist growth depends on the creation of artificial scarcity. Human needs can typically be satisfied either by means of relatively resource-efficient, non-commodified need satisfiers (for instance, public transit; food from a community kitchen), or by means of relatively scarce and resource-inefficient commodities (a privately owned car; a meal from a home-delivery service). Under capitalism, essential goods (housing, healthcare, transit, nutritious food, etc.) are commodified and access is mediated by prices that are often very high. To obtain the necessary income people are compelled to enter the capitalist labour market, working to produce things that may not be needed simply to access things that clearly are needed. Artificial scarcity of essential goods thus ensures a steady flow of labour for capitalist growth. It also creates growth dependencies: if productivity improvements (or recessions) lead to unemployment, people suffer loss of access to essential goods and growth is needed to create new jobs and resolve the social crisis. This dynamic explains why, despite capitalism's high levels of production and resource use, many basic needs remain unmet even in high-income countries. In this respect, capitalism is deeply inefficient and wasteful.

How to pay for saving the world: Modern Monetary Theory for a degrowth transition

#degrowth #capitalism #scarcity

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mbari-blog · 2 months

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I spy with my little eye something giant floating in the deep.⁠

The bell of this deep-sea denizen is more than one meter (3.3 feet) across and trails four ribbon-like arms that can grow more than 10 meters (33 feet) in length. Their depth range is the surface to 6,700 meters (4 miles) deep. MBARI’s ROVs have logged thousands of dives, yet we have only seen this spectacular species nine times. ⁠ ⁠

The giant phantom jelly was first collected in 1899. Since then, scientists have only encountered this animal about 100 times. It appears to have a worldwide distribution and has been recorded in all ocean basins except for the Arctic. The challenges of accessing its deep-water habitat contribute to the relative scarcity of sightings for such a large and broadly distributed species.

#giantphantomjelly #ocean #deepsea #mbari #sealife #marine biology #jellyfish #deep sea #deep ocean

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thesummerestsolstice · 2 months

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People ask about Elrond and Elros and the Feanorians a lot, especially in the early days when they've just come to Gil-Galad's camp. Ask about, mind you. The twins are rarely directly approached, but the whispers follow them everywhere. There's a scar, across Elros's shoudler, and the elves point and murmur unhappily whenever it's visible. Elros's half-elven ears are sharper than they think; sharp enough to hear various versions of the word "kinslaying bastard" in angry, hushed tones. Elrond eats very little when they first get to camp– it's hard to adjust from scarcity rations to the relative abundance of Valinor's army– and from then on, rumors of cruel starvation follow the twins wherever they go.

There's sympathy for them, but it's a strange sympathy. They're seen as martyrs more than people. Things– warm clothes, trinkets, baked goods– get left outside their door. But at the same time, no one seems quite willing to look them in the eyes. Gil-Galad is one of the few exceptions, and the twins– Elrond especially– are glad of it.

There aren't many elves who are insensitive enough to directly ask how horrible the kinslayers were to them, or whether Maedhros Feanorian bleeds back like an orc, but there are a few. They don't get answers. Elrond and Elros almost entirely refuse to speak either of Sirion or of Amon Ereb. That just makes everyone else more uneasy. Are they offended, afraid? Are they hiding some awful secret?

Only Elrond and Elros know. And they refuse to say anything about it.

#silmarillion #silm headcanons #war of wrath #elrond #elrond peredhel #elros #maedhros #gil galad

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tarjapearce · 2 months

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The Immorality Of Love (Prologue)

Duke! Miguel O'Hara x Courtesan! Reader

Synopsis: Pretty Woman but Victorian Era Inspired ~ jskjs.

A/N: So, watched Pretty Woman a bit ago and thanks to all of you that participated in the poll, you picked a Victorian Era Inspired! 🤭 And here is it, our new wee series :'). Hope you like! Thanks to my beta reader @oharasmommymilkers00 ❤️. Feedback is always appreciated ~

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. Mentions of death, character background, Angst, mentions of blood, implicit sexual activities, a bit of historical inaccuracy for the sake of the plot, Working and low class struggles, No use of Y/N, Violence, grief, social struggles.

Maybe it was the rain, the ever cold and gloomy weather that made Nueva York the antagonist of its neighbors states.

Bustling with the unceasing life through the day and night. The city never slept really, full of people chasing their dreams on a daily basis, despite dangers lurking around in every dark and forsaken corner.

Tall buildings and factories reached towards the sky in an attempt of growing larger than their competitors. The bigger the better, right?

Cause that would mean to have more employees to cover up the demand, right?

Wrong.

Despite the city flooding with rich and proud buildings, little were the amount of people that actually got to experience the decent living novelty.

Something surreal, a borderline utopia for those in the slums and west district as economy only seemed to thrive in the prettiest sectors of Nueva York, keeping the rich richer and the poor, poorer. Perpetuating the cycle of endless inequity among its gaunt and empty looking denizens.

Forsaking everything in the way of those that didn't have the luck of being born in a warm golden crib. The king had been having other project in mind, leaving his initials intentions of helping, behind.

But how long ago had he promised a change?

It didn't matter. Not when hunger, diseases, poverty and other horrors chased those excluded from privilege. They preyed on the weakest and sickest, working like a self imposed reaper, specially in what was considered the live sewers of the city.

Raggedy and rickety walls extended at every turn of sight, filled with children and their parents, bathed in filth and ash coming from the polluting factories, whose machinery always reminded the poorest of how life was. Creaking, loud, cold and unforgivably unstoppable.

Clothes were either stolen from others or simply removed from the bodies that succumbed on life's hardscrabbles without much thought.

Bodies were often tossed to the river as a cemetery charged a small fee for receiving the dead. Not even a spot in the earth was allowed for the unfortunates as they barely had the enough money to eat, much less to afford for their perpetual rest.

Choosing between burying a friend or relative and eat at least one time a day for a couple of days, was the constant doubt many had.

And so, the tradition of tossing bodies at the river started. Only to be stopped a few years after as the river fed the livestock, making them sick. A shortage of food and other miscellaneous had started.

If poors already suffered, the water's scarcity walloped with all it's might the slums, pushing people into desperate ways to survive, even if it was prolonging the suffering for another day.

Overripe bodies, swarmed with flies were often found by the police in the already tattered homes, the rumor of miasma running rampant in the slums only made the west district of Paxton more susceptible to inhuman treatment by the rich.

Back breaking jobs were in every way. Laundry that had the women and even men folding over a wall at the end of the day because their back ache was too much. The factories with their ominously tall chimneys spilling the same dark filth their occupants inhaled daily; The coal mines that had turned into a living gravestone, costing lives in a weekly basis among them.

Yet, the spots for a job were the main reason there were many revolts.

The situation turned critical when some richer fellows forbidded people from the slums to work in their factories. As some stole the goods.

The Prince however came up with a temporary solution that provided some relief for the oppressed. He forced the owners to either sell their companies, or provide 50 spots for the people.

For the rich it was rather easier to hire people than giving away the fruition of hard work over decades, just cause the prince thought occasionally in others.

Many families were benefited from the initiative. Including yours. And by family it'd mean, your mother and you. Both working class ladies renting a paltry room in the outer lands of the real slums. Your father had been long gone in a mine accident, or so you were told often. But in truth, your birth had been the outcome of an affair between a nobleman and your mother.

The man died in mysterious conditions a couple of months later. A heart attack apparently.

Your mother knew a bit of everything, earning a couple of favors here and there that slowly made you go to a community school.

"Just because we're poor must we remain ignorant and dirty."

Your education and hygiene always seemed her main concern, as she always talked about how you'd be a good society lady while she scrubbed the dirt off your childish fingers. How well you'd do on your own, and how you'd get a good husband to love you and cherish you.

But your youngling brain was only focused on working enough to get food. You'd understand her wishes later.

You worked in tandem with her in the factory. Children willing to work were given a relatively small payment depending on their labors.

Yours were daily food and occasionally clothes and other things, as grown-ups received money. Some saw it as an humiliation, others as help, since the parents wouldn't have to worry about their children being used as thieves, or worse, abused out there in the streets or being malnourished.

It worked well for a while, until death cut your mother's life thread in a vicious chop. The fumes in the factories often costed the health of so many, leaving children at the mercy of church or orphanages. Another problem that was addressed as soon as the upper class started to complain about the kid's gangs that snuck in the wealthy districts.

A police officer held you as you tried to reach for your mother's lifeless body. Imploring her to wake up from her forever rest as you were dragged away to an orphanage. You knew you wouldn't see her again, you knew they'd throw her to the river and feed the alligators and birds of prey with her flesh since she was mistaken as one from the slums.

The only memento you were allowed to keep from her in the orphanage was her golden chain. A trinket an officer gave to you before your mother was disposed off.

----

The first of the many nights in the orphanage were unforgivable cold. Girls of all ages remained within, the smaller ones cried for their mothers, others for her fathers. The eldest ones were either compassionate or bitter, there was no in between.

But you couldn't complain, you got food, a bath every day, clothes and soon established a little friendship with a girl named Aveline as you did your daily chores at the settlement. Daughter of a courtesan that was killed a couple months ago. She was fourteen, you were twelve.

At your sixteens you escaped with her, finding life in the orphanage too cruel and simply not good enough. She was eighteen, she was legally an adult and could take care of you. However, freedom didn't last much as she was arrested for disturbances and indecency, meaning being drunk on the streets as you were awaiting outside the bar.

You were dragged back to the authorities, but this time, instead of a orphanage they sent you to a convent. Trying to fix the rebel out of you, to leave a demure soul perfect for a working man.

But the solution only proved to worsen the problem. You escaped at your seventeens and to your surprise got reunited with Aveline, or Daisy as she went by on the streets.

She took you to her home, a room in the many brothels in Paxton. She had worked her way out of jail and met Madame Grevaille, that didn't hesitate into offering you a job.

"With a pretty girl like you, you'd have your own place soon!" The lady spoke, but neither her and Aveline pushed you into prostitution.

You helped around the brothel during busy nights, even after a long day at the factory. You caught the eye of a couple of noblemen as they visited Aveline, but politely, you rejected them. Mainly out of fear.

"I'm pretty sure that you'd get more money than I do. Just look at you! and look at me."

Aveline would slur sleepily as you caressed her hair. Your friend's health was slowly deteriorating thanks to an excessive lifestyle.

"You know I couldn't do it. I'm not as brave as you are."

"Imnot brave." She yawned, "I'm just a young woman that must work in the world's ancient labor to be able to eat and provide."

"I'm sorry. For being a burden." A tinge of shame washed over you upon knowing that Aveline was the one that basically carried the burden of rent in her shoulders. Even though you had a job, it didn't pay enough to help Avy, as you called her, the way you wanted to.

And Madame Grevaille was always willing to teach you the arts of seduction, to lure the right kind of gentlemen that paid more than enough to subsist for couple of weeks. Or. months if you knew how to properly play your cards.

"You're not. I know this is everything but what your mother would want for you, but... we've never been a priority to those with power unless we fill even more their pockets, my dear." She curled in your lap, relishing in your soft caresses. An appalling contrast of some of her rowdy client's treatment.

"I know. I know you don't do this cause you like it."

"The only thing I like is when they pay and leave. Except for Mr. Nimeux. That man can use me at his whims all he wants." She giggled sleepily as a fleeting memory of the man came into her head.

"Ugh, Avy, stop."

"Just saying, You'd make a whole lot of money with your virginity."

You gasped, faking offense, "Who says I'm a virgin?!"

"Oh, stop it. Jacob Billard doesn't count."

You both laughed. But deep down in your mind knew it was the only way a woman could get afloat. The new Duke seemed to be lax enough to approve a law to let women work in several other jobs. Construction included. There were revolts, as usual, but again, it proved to benefit the poor.

Your position towards royalty was everything but good, of course you acknowledged their attempts of improving the city since the king was currently busy with other royal things that couldn't wait.

But it also shaped your 'Deeds not words' mantra. You believed more in actions than fancy words.

Even though the years had passed by, there was little changes in the slums. Thankfully, you and Aveline had been able to move to the outer and west district's brothels with the help of another Madame called Susan Lewis, once you hit your eighteens.

Away from the true mess that walloped nonstop the people. You got a tattoo to celebrate it. A beautiful violet on your back.

But despite moving, people's mindset remained the same. Men's specially. And the man that accompanied Aveline for the night wasn't any better.

Her room was often visited by strangers, always perfumed with rich lavender incense around the room to conceal the smell of sex in the air. Some were gentle enough to leave Avy a tip, others made every penny worth by asking the most ridiculous of things. Or so Aveline told you.

But this one was definitely being not nice to her. Despite the many times you tried to intervene with her clientèle, Aveline always told you that she was alright, that it was all part of the fantasy.

Sometimes her client was angered by the intrusion and left. This would make Avy to remain angry with you for a couple of days. However, upon hearing her calling for help, flared your alarms right away.

"You must remain quiet!" The loud slap, a bottle breaking and Aveline's shriek was more than enough for you to bolt in the room without much thought.

The man was big, a bit burly, and was definitely manhandling your best friend way too rough for her and your likings.

Aveline fought, despite her being naked, you took the broom and broke it on the man's back, that grunted and staggered away in pain. Anger and fear pumped through your veins in equal parts as you grabbed the jagged bottle and pointed it at the man.

If you were both to die, at least you'd go fighting.

"Back the fuck off!" You yelled

The man snarled and tried to reach for you, but if mingling with prostitutes and thieves had taught you something, was to defend a friend, even if you were terrified to your very core.

"You whore!"

You slashed with the sharp part of the bottle, wherever it landed. To your luck it went on the assailant man's face. Slicing flesh on his right cheek.

He roared in pain, but looked at you fascinated, angry and horrified. A chill ran down your spine.

"Get out! Now!"

Despite your limbs trembling, you sliced through the air with silent warnings, the man escaped when Aveline started to call for help through the window while you protected her.

You made sure the man had escaped and locked the door, just in case he decided to take a proper revenge on you both. Aveline's arms went immediately around you, crying with pained yelps and sobs.

"Hey" You mumbled as she wobbled,

"I'm here, it's over." You whispered while helping her to the bed, covering her bruised body with the sheets to spare her some dignity. Not that you were ignorant to a naked body, you helped Avy to get ready or draw her and the others at the brothel a bath after all.

"It hurts." She whined as you wiped the blood out of her cheekbone and nose.

"I'm sorry, Avy."

She grunted as she closed her eyes "D-Did he pay?"

Your heart sunk both in anger and sadness. This was exactly one of the reasons why you didn't become a courtesan. Too many risks, including the probability of getting beaten or killed by your clients, if not their wives.

"He didn't."

----

Madame Lewis and Grevaille were the first in appearing in the scene, they tended to Aveline's wounds and let her rest. You were in your room, racking your brain over the events, when Madame Lewis approached.

"You did a good job protecting Aveline."

"I was as scared as she was, Ma'am."

"Still, you did it well. May I sit?" You nodded as the lady sat a few inches of your bed.

"Have you... considered my proposal?"

"Against all odds. Yes. I wanted to avoid this as much as I could but... Avy is beaten, rent approaches, the factory doesn't pay me well enough and we have to eat."

"Being a courtesan is far from being honorable, dear-"

"With all due respect, ma'am, respect won't bring food to my table. I knew that sooner or later it would come to this."

"Need pushes us to do the unthinkable, dear. But fear not. If you work for me, I'll teach you the right kind of people to seek."

You heaved a defeated sigh, mentally asking your mother for forgiveness for the path you were about to take.

"Could you give me a couple of days more? I want to have enough money to buy all those things you told me I'd need."

"Of course, dear. Please let me know if you need something else."

----

"Even though I'm not that fond of you turning a courtesan, Im happy we'll finally get to leave this damned place. I was thinking in getting an apartment on Brasswood Avenue. Men in there are clean, and they're not animals like these fuckers."

Avy mumbled as you got ready to leave for work at the factory.

"I need you to help me pick some stuff, can you accompany me?"

"Of course! Will get you to this pretty store. I've befriended the owner. One of us, actually."

You stared at her for a moment.

"Have you picked your name yet?"

"My name? What's wrong with my name?"

"Well, it's pretty but you need like an alter ego, so in case police gets hungry with our money, you give them a fake name."

"I don't know. I didn't know I needed one."

"What about... Violet? Like your tattoo?" Aveline secured your apron on your back as you combed your hair.

"Hmm. Doesn't sound bad."

"Then Violet is it!."

You took your pouch of money and hid it.

"Remember as soon as you leave, come meet me at Millport's Avenue. We'll go shopping!"

Avy sung and you chuckled.

"Goodbye, Miss Daisy."

"Goodbye, Miss Violet."

You left, without knowing those words would turn into a bitter reality.

---

Four pm and still no signs of Aveline. Five soon arrived, and Millport's avenue was bustling as usual with people but today it seemed crowded.

"A woman was found dead. Dear god..."

You blinked at the overheard information. But soon the police's rushed steps alerted you as they turned into a familiar corner.

Heart pounded in your ears the more you approached. Breath hitched as you waded in the small crowd that gathered in an alley you crossed during the mornings.

"Back away! Leave the police work, dammit!" One of the police officers yelled at the journalist and curious that gathered to witness the macabre scene.

Tears couldn't help but flood your eyes upon your sight landed on the ever familiar blonde strands that you sometimes found in your hairbrush.

No...

Now stuck to her face, thanks to the bloody glue that stained not only her neck but the cobblestone floor too. A deep gash in her throat had been done. Your best friend had been murdered

"Aveline!!" You cried and rushed to her side. But the police prevented you from going further.

"Stop!"

"Avy! No! Let me go! She's my best friend!" You sobbed in between struggles against the officer's arms, that were everything but comforting to your aching soul.

Everyone watched in horror as Aveline's body was covered, her horrified eyes remained in your mind. Forever burnt into your memories. She died being afraid and not of an old age and rich as she had confessed you once.

The police interviewed you, but what was the point, knowing the investigation would turn into another cold case? Like the many before? None was really safe.

Madame Lewis and Grevaille visited you that night, but their comfort was little. There was no solace you could find in them. You had lived with Aveline for three years. Her short life had ended at twenty two, her mother's story resonatiin her own. And there was no signs of the culprit nor the police's intentions to find him.

But life kept going. The world wouldn't stop for a moment to give you truce to mourn.

Madame Lewis took you in since the rent on your place was too much on your own. It felt like receding big time. But what could be done?

Aveline shared your body size, but even so, you refused to steal from your freshly murdered friend. The only thing you did was to save her most important things in a bag. Papers, some books she loved despite them being intact.

It gave Avy a sense of importance, since she always adviced you to be as knowledgeable as possible. That some men loved that.

And the praying beads she stole from the sister that loved to spank the little girls back at the orphanage you both met in.

Madame Grevaille kept the jewels and dresses as a payment for what Aveline owed her. Despite the cold hearted action, she allowed you to keep one thing of each.

You kept a pearl necklace a nobleman had gifted Avy once and made you promise to keep it safe, and a black cashmere shawl she always put on when parading herself in the streets.

It was your own way to have her close.

Aveline was no more. Forever lost into a man's derangement. So many doubts plagued your mind, but one thing was certain, you were to leave Paxton's district. One way or another.

------

Night had just started, and you had just finished your makeup. A bit of powder on your cheeks, rouge on your lips in subtle yet inviting way always did the trick, some violet perfume misted your skin, giving a delicate yet enhancing aroma.

Dress in a perfect blue and white with black frills, Black stockings and boots, Avy's shawl draped on your shoulders along a matching bonnet.

You took a bag and left your apartment. Located in Brasswood Avenue, a relatively middle class area in Tevinter's district. Just like Aveline always wanted.

Five years had gone by since her murdering, five years that had you working your way out of Paxton, to finally be comfortably living in the outskirts of Manhattan.

And still, the courtesan mantle never left you. Thanks to it you could afford what you had, your clients were middle and upper class men that paid you enough to not suffer hunger or insecurity.

Madame Lewis's advices had taken you this far. The carriage dropped you to your usual spot, only to walk for a few minutes before arriving at your clientèle's location.

Beautifully decored homes, and buildings Aveline used to boast about, were now your daily route. Donning the streets with your presence and violet and citrus infused perfume. Five pm was a good hour to start, tonight's goal was to make at least enough to buy that rose perfume you saw at a shop in the Manhattan area.

A smell that would definitely attract royalty even.

Some men stared your way, discreet yet leering smirks hidden behind a polite facade. Some had their companions, whose disdainful and undignified stares were more than expected. Specially if their husbands stared for too long.

Others, despite the rich-looking clothes and apparent status, sent whistles your way. Those were the kind you avoided as they often either ended up paying half or got violent if something wasn't done their way.

Your type would be men, that barely glanced your way or gave a brief scrutinizing gaze, widows or recently divorced, cause one way or another you'd end up their contact list.

Some had been clients over the years, some stopped as they remarried or have kids, only for them contacting you again to have an outlet from their domestic life.

Even women had joined in your repertoire. But au contraire of men, they only called for talk. It was rare when they indulged you physically.

Thanks to that, you gained a bit of reputation within those inner circles that somehow shared a table at social gatherings. Everyone knew their role as pretenders, even you.

Getting attached to clients were out of the list. Thankfully none you shared your charms with had said intention, and it was perfect. It worked in immaculate harmony with your rules and profession.

Clock hit soon six pm and the streets seemed a bit less busy. Soon, the smile of a familiar face came your way

"Hey, Vi!"

Violet. The name had stayed for good. The persona you transformed yourself almost every night in had taken over to stay. Your own persona way too dormant and comfortable in a corner to wake up, letting life happen.

She stopped coming out to life's stages ever since Aveline's murder.

"Any news so far, Jeannie?"

Jeannie or Jeanette, your occasional roomie and new friend. A similar story of yours, with the only difference was that she never really knew her family and was too rebellious to be kept in the convent or orphanage.

She was tall, a ginger with the most adorable set of freckles you've seen so far. Beautiful green eyes and would easily pass as a noblewoman with the right set of clothes adorning her model like body. Jeanette was gorgeous.

You took her in after you found her in the streets of Millport, beaten, with a black eye. Her client had been too rough with his fantasy and her madame was everything but helpful.

You got her to Madame Lewis which gladly took her in. And now, after shooing away another intruder in your zone, she hugged you. Her cherry perfume tickled your nose, announcing it's presence to your demure floral scent.

"None. Been waiting here for quite a while. Just drunkards, until a gorgeous nobleman asked me to wait here for him."

"Oh? What did he look like?"

"None like the hunks you attract, thats for sure."

You chuckled.

"I've got a feeling tonight's gonna be a good night."

"I hope so. I need that new perfume and some new ribbons."

"Oh? You wanna go for the top dogs?!"

You giggled, and shook your head.

"No, well, yes. Maybe. I smelled it? And I went to heaven. Can you imagine the effect it could have in a man?"

"More money, obvious."

Jeanette giggled but quickly stopped upon looking at a carriage approaching.

"That's your cue, Violet."

"You think?"

Some people gasped upon the carriage suddenly hopping on the walk, startling some. Horses neighed, uneasy.

The carriage rider hopped off, muttering a flurry of Spanish gibberish while grabbing his luscious hair in an angered fit. Tall was a measly word to actually describe him.

His fancily dressed chest heaved as he backed away from a neighing horse. Defeated and irked.

You watched curiously as the man pulled out a map from his pocket and glared holes at it. Confusion was evident ad he turned the paper around

Jeanette elbowed you softly. Making her signaling less obvious as if saying 'Stop playing and go for him'

"Fine. If I get killed, you know who to blame."

You hushed before adjusting your corset and cleavage, Jeanette pinched your cheeks to give them a bit more of blush.

"Relax, it's gonna be a good night, remember?" Jeannie winked your way and pushed you on your way, gently.

With a deep breath, and your shawl secured, you approached to the man.

----

#miguel o'hara #t writes��#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #The Immorality Of Love #Royal AU #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel x you #atsv miguel

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adaginy · 3 months

Text

The Big Guide to Humans: Home Planet

Humans come from a small, rocky planet, called Terra or Earth or some other translation of "dirt," where they lived on the land surface despite the planet being mostly covered (area and volume) by water. They do, however, measure temperature in a scale based approximately on the freezing and boiling points of water (at their average atmospheric pressure), set to 0 and 100. As with "years" (see lifespan and development), your local human can probably tell you the conversion to local measurements, if the knowledge is not in your local storage and the numbers are not being converted automatically by your translation dock. The planet's rotational axis is tilted relative to its orbital plane, resulting in "seasons," a predictable progression of local temperatures between local lows to local highs and back over the course of an orbit, despite its nearly round trajectory. This is in addition to the smaller temperature changes of the day/night cycle. Terran weather temperatures range from -90, below the freezing point of radon, to 60, nearly the boiling point of bromine, though humans mostly live where the weather over the course of a year ranges between -20 to 45.

Humans infamously breathe oxygen, but Terra's atmosphere is actually mostly nitrogen. The 23% oxygen concentration is enough for fires to sustain easily, assuming fuel and initial ignition, but low enough that fires smother nearly immediately when fully covered. Terra's rotation and heat from Sol combine to cause a predictable pattern of convection known as prevailing winds. Winds are often strong enough to move light objects without causing damage, not uncommonly strong enough to make it difficult for humans to move against it, or stronger, and sometimes strong enough to cause damage to buildings. This is in addition to regional threats of "extreme" winds, most notably tornadoes (fast-moving, localized funnels of winds strong enough rip buildings apart and fling heavy objects) and cyclones (weaker than a tornado, but traveling slowly and raining so copiously that shelters are also damaged by water).

Having such copious rain that buildings are damaged can happen outside of a cyclone, as well. While humans can swim surprisingly well for a non-liquid-dwelling species, this water has usually picked up so many contaminants that it is capable of overwhelming a human's immune system if it enters their body via their mouth or damaged skin.

Alternately, little or no water may fall on an area that does not usually experience water scarcity. The resulting "drought" kills plants and animals that cannot be moved. This is less predictable, but takes multiple years to come into effect. A vegetated area facing drought, however, is at particular risk for a wild fire, a fire that becomes too large and fast-moving to be smothered. Areas as big as residential ships can burned before the fire runs out of fuel or is able to be drenched.

Terra's planetary surface is made up of several pieces of "crust" floating on top of its liquid center. At the edges of these pieces, or at cracks in the pieces, huge pieces of crust can be forced upward or buckle under the pressure. Done slowly, so slowly no one notices, this produces mountains. Done quickly, it produces "earth quakes." Some earth quakes can only be sensed by sensors, but others cause buildings to shake apart. Humans know where these edges are and, instead of not building there, they design buildings that are able to resist being shaken. If the locus of the shaking is near or under the ocean, it can cause a fast-moving, towering wave called a "tsunami." An average tsunami is capable of obliterating buildings when it reaches shore, and then sucking any survivors into the ocean when it recedes (with strength far past even the best human swimmers). As with earth quakes, humans design buildings to survive being struck by this wall of water. The same edges and cracks also produce volcanoes, places where the earth's liquid center oozes or bursts out of the ground. This liquid will be at temperatures of 700 or more, above the melting temperature of radium and on past the the melting temperature of gold. It can cause fires when it touches things in addition to being so heavy and/or voluminous that it covers items in its path. Humans generally do not build very close to volcanoes that are frequently or explosively active. However, if a volcano is only likely to erupt once or twice within a human lifespan, or tends to ooze rather than burst, they will simply use several sensors to know when it will happen so they can get out of the way. Because they all originate in the same geological source, it is common to have two of these crack-based issues at once and not unusual to have all three.

Sometimes, rain falls in tiny frozen pieces, covering the ground in a layer of ice chips. Sometimes it falls in large rocks of ice, breaking and shattering what it strikes. Sometimes the temperature is anomalously hot or cold in places where the wildlife and human dwellings are not adapted to those temperatures. Sometimes massive sparks of electricity shoot from the sky to the ground. Sometimes the side of a mountain — or the ice chips piled on the side of the mountain — will fall off and slide down, burying and crushing everything in the way. Sometimes erosion under the surface will cause the surface to give way, leaving a hole in the ground big enough to swallow a person or a building. Sometimes the liquid inside Terra doesn't burst through the surface, but super-heats water until it does. While none of these features are unique to Terra, even among inhabited planets, it is uncommon for an inhabited planet to have so many of these features and it is nearly unique among humans to choose to live in afflicted areas. It can be helpful to understand, when one is wondering why humans and other life from their planet are "like that," that life only evolved on Terra once* and then experienced a burst of population up to and beyond local carrying capacities. Every species, including the plants, shares a common ancestor, and every creature that was ever born (hatched, sprouted, divided, etc) faced immediate competition from other, similar creatures. The ability to run faster, eat weirder, live hardier, spread farther provided an immediate benefit. Furthermore, in addition to the horrors described in this chapter of this guide, in Terra's planetary history there are multiple near-extinction-level events — new chemosynthetic species producing upheavals in the atmospheric gas balance, an asteroid strike, massive volcanic eruptions choking the air with ash and blocking energy from Sol — that further pressed evolution. Terra, truly, has earned its reputation as a death world — but less so for the life that has formed there.

*there is a long-standing idea that cephalopods may have originated separately, but this is really only taken seriously by the Chiparsen, who used to colonize via panspermia. While the Unified Government no longer accepts this as a valid territorial claim, the Chiparsen still hope to prove relation in order to put forth a diplomatic demand that Terrans remove cephalopods from their diet.

#Big Guide to Humans #addie writes #humans are space orcs #I am much more willing to believe in standardized length/area units than I am in standardized time/temperature units #I keep rechecking the radon thing #it doesn't sound true but apparently it is #earth is a deathworld #earth is space australia

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usedpidemo · 11 months

Text

Bias wrecked (Le sserafim Chaewon)

There are cameras everywhere, but they don’t really care about you.

You’re in front of a room filled with thousands in attendance, but most of them don’t care about you. And the very few that are actually there for you—you certainly couldn’t tell apart when they’re all the way at the back.

The audience erupts in cheers, but they’re not meant for you.

It’s fine. Nothing new, really. You’ve learned to liken the noise to artificial, pre-recorded cheers, the ones you’ve been listening to for the last couple of years. Perhaps the day will come when these people will be screaming your name, but the chances are as low as you being on that stage to begin with.

The winners say their little thanks of appreciation to the fans, delivered with concise and flawless execution, as if it had already been decided beforehand. Knowing the other nominee’s absence, it likely seems to be the case. Then again, this is already their 15th music show win after debuting a little over a year ago. On the other hand, your group debuted right at the same time they made their comeback. It would be considered reckless, downright stupid in the hands of a relatively larger company, but this is some fresh start-up with you and your members as their first experiment. You gain fans, and the sales are surprisingly decent for a new boy group from a completely unknown label, but otherwise, you’re another name that has Nugu Promoter labeled all over it.

It’s a volatile profession where only the rich get richer. You don’t even know if you’ll even make it past the end of the year. Any hopes of public attention, let alone a music show win is basically blind optimism at this point.

While your peers around you will continue with their promotions, this is your last one. Two weeks for a newly debuted group sounds sacrilegious, but money is a scarcity. Using recycled outfits for the last two shows should have been a dead giveaway, a glaring red flag, that you’re in deep waters, but nobody cares.

Really, no one does. Ask anyone in that room and they’ll probably think you never actually existed.

You’re smiling, acting as if the dozens of cameras are pointed right at you, but in reality, you’re just empty space.

You’re just happy to be there.

So when the encore plays, everyone leaves the stage, and after you exchange courtesy bows with the seniors that go overlooked in favor of their more recognizable peers, the heavy weight of being an idol is removed. Your lips loosen up, your eyes rapidly blink; one by one, you’re peeling off the mask, the persona that is required of any performer. All at once, a million things spring to mind. The members, the fans, the company, your future—it’s all things you have to worry about. It’s wise not to think about any of it, but you can’t help but wonder if you were better off not chasing your dreams if you knew this was where you’d end up.

Still, it does have some rewards.

Even though the cameras catch you in the act, and it’s broadcasted out for everyone to see, you’ve been peeking at the women beside you. That’s one benefit of being a nobody; there’s no public outrage or melodramatic outcry, and the few that notice play it off as some kind of inside joke. Anyone else in your position would facing the prospect of career suicide. It’s still unbelievable that the same idols you’ve watched and inspired you to pursue that dream are at an arm’s reach. Competitive releases be damned, you’d happily go unnoticed if it meant you’d end up next to some of the hottest idols right now.

Passing along a few hallways to your dressing room, you’re reminded of another blessing: that you don’t have to waste five minutes of your time doing superfluous Tiktok challenges. There’s a pair of guys that barely know each other performing some point choreo they clearly googled on the spot, and you can evidently discern by their deadpan expressions that they don’t want any part of it. Of course, it’d be hypocritical for you to say you’re better—you’ve been forced into it—but it serves as a cue to hurry up before you get dragged along too.

Regrouping with your members at your dressing room, they’re slumped back on the lone couch, completely drained of their energy. They’ve been in performance mode since dawn. Better for the group’s overall health that there’s nothing else after this, but worse for your overall popularity. You need to get out there more, but that’s beyond what your company can provide.

“Great job everyone,” says your leader, peppy as he’s always been, but the members don’t reciprocate his energy. It’s deflating from every angle. His attitude mirrors yours: blindly optimistic about the group’s potential success. However, you recognize the reality of the situation. You feel bad. “We all deserve a rest after that.”

Sure enough, they’re right ahead of him, proven by the loud snores that fill the room. Another demoralizing response. It’s painful and awkward to watch. His efforts to uplift the team are completely genuine, only to be met with such lackluster reception. It’s the story of the promotions so far: trying your damned hardest, performing as if your lives are on the line, only to come up short of what you’ve worked hard for and looking defeated when you head backstage.

This is the price of being sold a plastic dream. This isn’t your first rodeo, either. You started from a relatively big company, put yourself out there when survival programs came knocking at your door, but it ultimately led to nothing. The label must have seen the writing on the wall when they dropped you after you were eliminated on the first evaluation. It’s cold, it’s callous, but it’s ultimately business, nothing personal. You probably should have seen the signs too, but your stubbornness has you believing in miracles. Hey, it worked out for a few forgotten names before. Anything is possible.

Suddenly, a manager walks into the room, phone in hand. Right. There’s a scheduled livestream for your fans in less than an hour. None of you get access to your phones until you reach 50,000 album sales, chart in the top 100, or win a music show—none of which seem likely to happen at this rate. He gives the phone to your leader and tells him to get everyone ready before promptly leaving again.

“Excuse me, I’ll just go and clean up. I won’t be long,” you say gently to your senior, who simply waves you off and allows you to leave.

—————

The SBS building isn’t a huge one, at least compared to the KBS building, but you might as well appreciate every moment you’re lost inside it. You don’t know when you’ll ever step foot inside its corridors again, if ever.

So, when you happen to walk past a room you have no business being close to and cross paths with an idol, it must be fate. The dream isn’t dead—for now.

“Hey!” Her little voice suddenly snaps you from your wandering mind.

You impulsively bow, completely taken by surprise. “Oh! I’m sorry—wait!”

After a brief exchange of formalities, she meets your eyes with a familiar smile. “Yes?”

You swear you’ve never felt your heart beat out of your chest this rapidly, yet the feeling is only starting to sink in. A reminder that you’re still carrying those innocent dreams with you.

“Chaewon!” You shout her name out so loud it’s practically demanding attention. Both your hands cover your mouth almost immediately. It’s laughable how painfully obvious your excitement is upon being recognized—and who wouldn’t be? She giggles and smiles widely back, and you forget you’re also an idol like her—not some fanboy who only sees her occasionally behind a screen. A less successful, less recognizable one, but still an idol.

“Oh? You look kinda familiar.” Chaewon raises an eyebrow, inches her warm face a bit closer. She scans you as if you’ve got something that ticks. And as if that wasn’t enough of a validation, she adds, “I don’t remember what group you’re from, but you look cool.”

“Um—well thank you, that means a lot.” Whether she meant it or not, the way you helplessly stumble through your words says it all. Knowing her schedule, her success, and everything else in between, you’re probably the least of her concern.

Her eyes suddenly sparkle; the pieces are starting to come together. “Of course! I remember now!” Her hands are folded together, her tone earnest and respectful, even though you’re supposed to be a nobody. No wonder she’s one of your biases and one of your inspirations in pursuing an idol career. Even though you’ve shared the stage a handful of times already, this feels like the peak of your existence, and it’s all downhill from here. “We watched your performance while waiting. You were great!”

This is too much to digest. You’re supposed to be back in your own dressing room by now, but here you are, consumed by your love and admiration for an idol being reciprocated back to you. You find yourself unable to move the conversation forward, let alone end it. Forget that her members are on the other side of that door, probably overhearing the conversation. They’ve got new new material to pile and make fun of, but fuck that. She doesn’t seem to mind standing here all day either.

“Wanna record a challenge with me?” she asks, and you can’t turn down this one in a million opportunity, no matter how much you despise the concept and everything it stands for. You’re nodding, and the level of enthusiasm you show betrays your code so easily, it's borderline criminal. It's Kim Chaewon, after all; you’ll break any rule just for her.

—————

Safe to say, there’s levels in this industry, and you’re practically placing an open target on yourself for everyone on the internet. That isn’t to say you’re not trying, it’s just very obvious that Chaewon clearly outperforms you. It’s the sort of gap that generates more questions than answers. You’ve already written down the inevitable comments from Twitter and Panchoa in your head: He went to the Jay Park school of performing! Free Chaewon from these nugus! Why is Chaewon dancing with a MAN? Among many, unsavory variations.

It’s all in good fun, at least between you two. You miss a step, miss another, quickly fall behind to the song, and it’s utter disrespect to the artist inviting you to perform with her. Nevertheless, she plays it off with a laugh, helping you through the motions until you end up with a serviceable final cut. It’s not going to break the internet, and it certainly won’t bring your group any attention, but it’s watchable—at least, you believe it is.

(Except you can only last a second watching yourself struggling to keep up before you look away.)

“Looks great! Everyone’s going to love this one,” says Chaewon, looking at your twentieth recording smiling, beaming with optimism that you’ll somehow get a share of attention for doing this when in reality, she’s the only one getting clout. “Do you want to record your song next?”

You’re well past your limit. You don’t make exceptions for that. “I’m good! I think that’s enough Tiktok for the day.”

“Heh.” Chaewon returns her phone to her pants’ pocket, chuckling at your response. “I get it. Tiktok challenges are so exhausting.”

“I can’t imagine what it's like for you then.”

“You have no idea.”

Moments pass without a word. Dilly-dallying at some isolated corridor is fun when you’re with someone you admire, but you both have schedules to fulfill. Her managers are probably fuming right now; even a five minute absence may have thrown off the rest of their day’s agenda. Time is their biggest scarcity—a resource you wish they weren’t lacking.

“I’ve kept you away longer than they want, probably,” you say, weaving around the idea that you don’t want to let her go just yet. “But it’s been fun.”

“Right.” Her eyes look ahead with alarming focus. She sees nothing, but they’re glinting as if she struck gold. “We have enough time to do one more thing.”

Chaewon turns around to grab you by your cheeks. You’re halfway to holding her arms when you suddenly stop. This is foreign. This feels—good. You like her warmth radiating all over your face. You’re about to mouth your foremost thought into words. What are you doing? is etched all over your lips, but she’s right ahead of you, answering that question with a resounding statement.

She kisses you, and it spirals out of control faster than your presumed career.

It’s so abrupt, so out of character. Suppress it all you can, you find no other urge than to give to your baser instincts. You hum as she passionately pulls you close, wanting more territory to sink in. She bites your lower lip. It’s mine now, says her narrow eyes that pierce through your soul, as if persuading you to give up. No. You’ve already raised the white flag.

Your hands explore and roam her back. Her outfit provides so much skin, yet leaves enough for your imagination to fill in the gaps. Hips, waist, and butt—you find your hands firmly groping at them more than any other part of her tight, lithe figure. She moans, she rasps against your neck, she finds solace in your arms, embracing the sudden sensations pulsing through her body. “Fuck—”

“We shouldn’t be doing this. Not here,” you whisper in her ear, your eyes circling the corridors for signs.

She kisses your side, pulls you closer to her, unwilling to let go. She’ll hug you into submission if she needs to.

“This happens all the time around these parts,” she replies, tone flattering. Unreasonable of an excuse it may be, the loud emptiness of the place provides sufficient evidence to support her. “Nobody gives a shit.”

“But what about the—”

She interrupts you with a deep kiss on the lips. No amount of convincing will change her mind. It’s settled. From there, your instincts do the rest.

At first, you find it difficult to pull yourself away from her kiss. Her lips taste sweet, heavenly, and everything you’d expect from a sweet-faced cutie like Chaewon. Her hand grips the back of your neck, keeps you still, keeps your gaze lingering on hers. A devilish smirk on her lips forms while she continues to crash into you, her eyes pleading you to stay perfectly still—like you have anywhere else to go after this.

“God, I didn’t expect someone like you to be this—” Chaewon interrupts you with another direct kiss, as anticipated. You’re still talking; she’ll have to tape your lips with hers if she wants any progress, but maybe that’s her goal. “—needy.”

Her grin widens, barely suppressing a giggle, as if this is common knowledge. “Mmm. You’ll love being an idol, then.”

You raise an eyebrow, curious and confused. “Huh? What do you mean?”

She pushes you into her, bearing the brunt of your weight that you end up crashing forward against the wall. Your shared gasp and grunt is mild compared to the thunderous thump that reverberates throughout the hallway. If no one had a clue till now, now there’s arrows pointed in your direction.

“You’ll enjoy this job.” Chaewon then pushes you away, leaving you even more hazy. Holding out her arms, she follows, “Now take my clothes off, will you?”

“Really? Here?” Your eyes dart left and right, cautious and tense. Forget about your nonexistent career; you’re thinking about how it will affect hers.

“Relax. They don’t care, like I said,” she replies, calm and collected, like this is nothing new to her. She must be doing this often to the point where she has full confidence to pull these acts on the regular. You’re gradually putting two and two together, but it doesn’t change the fact that this is wrong. “It’s all right. Let me ease you into it.”

It’s bewildering—sacrilegious outright—but you can’t look away. She truly embodies their fearless concept. Pants and underwear slide down her legs smoothly before she kicks them aside. Your gaze lingers at the crumpled clothes on the floor, jaw slacked in utter disbelief. Kissing and dating is one thing, but to watch an idol openly undress is on a whole other plane of fictitious you previously thought never existed.

“C’mon. This top is yours,” says Chaewon with a smile, guiding your hand toward one of the straps of her bra. It takes a little while to snap you from your daze, but when you finally look past the insanity of the moment, your inhibition slips. You’ll let the moment lead you to its intended climax.

So it goes. Except for the cuff on her left arm, Chaewon stands completely naked before you, emboldened and amused by the shock and awe gripping your soul. For the most part, you’ve mostly come to terms with the madness of it all, but you’re shaken up to your very foundations. Everything you know is completely tipped on its head.

Her words ring inside your head, loud and clear. You’ll love being an idol. If this is what the idol life entails, then all that blood, sweat, and tears was completely worth it—even if only for this one moment.

—————

Chaewon’s fingers run through your hair, having abandoned any semblance of subtlety by the loud mewls and whines that leave her lips, while you admire her slutty little figure. You don’t intend to rush through the moment, not when there’s so much creamy skin to feast on. Neck, collarbones, and breast—you slowly wander down her body, giving each part its rightfully due praise. She’s smaller and shorter than you; you can easily sweep her off her feet and ruin her, but an idol like her deserves to be worshiped. She knows how much attention she draws and she fucking loves it.

“I never—” A kiss on her creamy skin. “Expected you—” and again. “To be so—” and another. “Fucking hot.”

“Mmm. Not the first time I’ve heard it,” whines Chaewon, moaning as you drool all over her toned belly. She grabs at the collar of your shirt, recognizes that you’re near that tempting, forbidding zone. It does little to distract when her body demands attention at all times.

You finally reach her core, see how incomprehensibly wet her pussy is. Surely she’s getting some between tiresome schedules, whether it's from her members or managers or other idols. Why she wants you of all people, you have no idea, but you’ll certainly oblige.

“Mmm, fuck—mmm!” Chaewon’s whine rises a pitch higher, nails digging into the fabric of your shirt as you dive into her splayed cunt without hesitation. Squeezing your hands into her thighs, you lap her folds up and down, up and down. Slick fills you, pools down your lips and chin, loosely spills onto the floor—as if the lewd screams reverberating throughout the floor aren’t enough of a dead giveaway.

Looking up, you closely observe how she crumbles so quickly. It’s a beautiful trainwreck to see. There’s a hint of cuteness from the gleeful smile etched on her lips. Face completely flustered, body tingling with all-consuming bliss as you feast on her sensitive core. Between frantic whines, she gazes down while you eat her, meet halfway, and there’s nothing but toned variants of profanities and wanton pleading dripping from her tongue.

“More. Fuck. So good. Don’t stop.”

She sighs, rests her shoulders down as she melts into you. Wrapping a leg around your neck, your tongue flattens against her pussy. It’s soft, it’s wet, it’s everything you need. You drink her clean like she’s water in a desert. Her raised thigh quivers, and the trembling arouses you, pushes you deeper into her sweet nectar for you to freely consume. Every motion on her tender clit drives Chaewon crazier by the second, making her scream wildly, losing herself in bodily ecstasy.

Her breath tenses and shortens. The notion of your tongue bringing her to ruin causes her to grind her hips against your face. She’s making sure you take her body and make it yours. It’s hot, it’s heavy, it drives her torso against the wall, shaking the very foundations of the floor you’re eating her out on.

“So—close,” she barely manages to huff out, one eye looking at you consumed by lust and determined to eat her clean. Your response is maintaining the steady pace you lick and pleasure her cunt, and it sends her spiraling back out of control. She rolls her head back, almost hurting herself against the wall, and she trembles, and shakes and—

“Shit!”

The world around you fades. You drown under a violent gush of slick and wet juices. The overwhelming flow of her heat spills all over the floor. Chaewon violently quakes as you relish in her tight, suffocating warmth. She’s overcome by her orgasm, completely flushed in a haze, gripping the back of your skull with her sharp nails, holding on for dear life.

“Jesus,” she mutters between deep breaths. “That mouth of yours—”

“Mmm.” One more lick of her cunt before you regretfully leave. It sends an aftershock that sends chills all over her body. Kissing up to her toned belly as her hanging leg gracefully lands on the ground, you follow, “I never expected idol pussy to taste this good.”

Drained, she sighs and lowers her head, taking a moment to collect herself. “I can’t imagine what that cock is like.”

Silently chuckling, you lift yourself off the ground and begin to fiddle with your zipper. “Why don’t you find out?”

Almost immediately, Chaewon’s strength returns to her and you both change positions. She falls to her knees as quick as gravity slides down your pants. Wrapping both hands around your boxers, your raging erection springs free when she rips the intrusive fabric off you. Free from the discomfort of having to hold yourself back, you plant a hand on her frazzled hair.

“Suck my cock, Chaewon.”

“That was always the plan.”

The confident smile on your face after she says it drops for a groan when she grabs you by your base. Her fingers slowly but firmly wrap around your cock like a snake, casting you in a dizzying spell. It leaves you lightheaded, has you holding her hair tightly like she did yours, and forces you against the wall for support.

Your moan overpowers the initial hum she makes when she slips your cock inside her mouth. No teasing, no pretense. She takes you in right away, her patience completely tossed aside from your agonizing build up. It’s a brutal, crushing feeling. Her lips are anything but gentle when she takes you deep in her mouth, in addition to the grip of her palm on your full balls.

“Jesus! Too much!” You cup Chaewon’s face, finding yourself unable to face her, enraptured by a simultaneous shot of pain and pleasure—much to her delight. Being a senior, you’d assume she’d be gentle and gracious enough to have some control. “Take it easy, Chaewon.”

She releases your cock from her mouth with an audible pop, your tip pooling with her spit down to your hilt. “First time I’ve ever heard that from an idol. Everyone likes it rough.”

“Yes, but—”

“Tell me when I’m being rough and I’ll ease up, got it?”

Chaewon smiles, and it's the strongest sign of reassurance that keeps you from falling, even if the world ends tomorrow. Quite the juxtaposition when she reinserts your cock inside her mouth, attitude gleeful, like it’s an honor to have such a thing between her pretty lips. There’s no complaint—and why would you even consider the thought; you have one of the most talented and popular idols sucking your cock—even when your tip scratches her throat, sending repeated pulses of shock and pain that immediately part for suffocating pleasure.

“Oh, oh my God—fuck—” Her hair’s turned into a makeshift handlebar by how much you’re gripping onto them for dear life. Closing your eyes, you let ecstasy wash over you, allow that rapid growing knot in your stomach drive you wild. It’s excruciating, but so intoxicating. You want to say something in protest, like she promised, but you recognize the possibility of missing out on feeling this fucking good again. “Y-you’re incredible, Chaewon.”

She hums with amusement watching you fall apart. It’s the story of your life so far: an unexpected build up that ends with a predictable outcome. You wouldn’t be surprised if this moment follows every other script. That’s how fate works. Luck can only take you so far.

So it shocks absolutely no one when you push your luck again, trying to alter destiny. “Keep going, Chae. You feel so fucking good.”

Her suction grips you, leaves you weak in the knees. Both your hands desperately cling to her hair; you’re threatening to rip her locks when you drag your fingers off. What should mostly be Chaewon’s work is now shared by your hips, lightly thrusting and pumping your cock deep into her needy mouth. It doesn’t faze her in the slightest; in fact, she more than welcomes your effort. She twists her lips into a discernible smirk, watching you fall for her like everyone else.

It’s teasing, it’s mean, it’s borderline cruel. Her fingers coil around your shaft again. It’s clear who’s piloting the ship; after all, she’s your senior, so it’s not like you have any other choice but to yield. You get the shivers, unsure of whether it’s from the constant sensations jolting your entire body or from the serious gaze she flashes you. She makes it vivid; she’s fucking her mouth on your cock, not the other way around. Observing your rigid response, her eyes linger, watching every little muscle shake and tremble, as if expecting some kind of result.

And she almost gets it.

Sweltering, smothering heat envelops you. Out of control into a freefall. Words are unnecessary to express how close you are, barely hanging on by the thinnest of threads. Even when you try to mouth I’m cumming, it only comes out as air. Unable to keep your eyes off Chaewon, the earnest cocksucker she is, you close them, clearing your thoughts. But that proves to be impossible when she makes it so wet, so melodic, and so filthy—an all-out assault on your senses, poking through the last of your defenses.

Fuck.

You finally slip. In the throes of your orgasm, your mind doesn’t register the groan you utter that may as well be heard by the entire building. Chaewon’s name drips from your lips, falling in between a sea of inundated moans. Its delivery is very clear, but it rings through your ears as nothing but a mere afterthought. She giggles and chuckles as you cum for her, swallowing up almost everything down her throat.

Your eyes reopen to a wondrous sight. Chaewon’s face is mostly coated with your hot, thick, sticky sheen. Her slick tongue laps away at her chin, at her cheeks, while spreading your cum between her fingers. Hair beyond fixing, she brushes it off, but it proves to be annoying—doesn’t matter in the end. She catches you staring, recognizes the filthy position she’s in, and plays into the act. Hand gripped on your cock, she licks you clean while it throbs and withers away.

“Goodness, Chaewon.” You comment matter-of-factly, resting a hand on her shoulder, bending your knees out of exhaustion. “You’re unquenchable.”

She gives your cock one final kiss before propping herself back to her feet. “It’s a stressful job, but I love it. Especially when it’s a cock like yours,” she giggles, “It makes my day worth it.”

Grinning at her response, you've never felt any more validated. As you recover from your orgasm, there’s a sense of uncertainty lurking over your shadow. A sudden realization hits you. “Oh God—”

Chaewon seemingly reads your mind, laughing at your newfound struggle. “Mhm. This pussy could have used your cock inside it. I wished we had more time. Too bad.”

It now dawns on you that you won't ever get the opportunity. You were so fixated on her excellent blowjob that the thought never came up—it did, but it’s too little too late. The only response you have is one simple but emphatic and drawn out ugh.

“Be a good junior and grab my clothes, will you?” says Chaewon, grinning radiantly. Bitter as you are, you can’t turn down her request. Grumbling through gritted teeth, you hastily grab the neglected heap on the floor and hand her outfit back. You don’t make eye contact with her through it all, lest the sourness of the moment grow.

“Thanks.” She kisses you on the cheek while you struggle to smile through your pain. “Until next time.”

Her departure doesn’t process in your mind for a little bit. The thought doesn’t occur to you that she left you as is, walking around the building completely naked. Knowing her, she likely does this on the regular, or that everyone is numb to it by now.

Slowly but surely, you put yourself back together. The phone you’ve quietly smuggled within your pants rings, but you leave the caller hanging. When you finally muster up the strength to dig through your pocket, a stream of notifications flood your screen. 42 texts—37 from your manager, including six missed calls and five from an unknown number.

Forget that you missed the scheduled livestream by around 20 minutes. By the time you return to your dressing room, the place is already cleared out. You don’t bother calling your manager or any of your members. Management probably terminated your contract already on some bullshit grounds. It’s fine; you don’t believe you’ll make it past your debut, let alone the rest of the year.

Instead, you read through the anonymous number, and the messages leave you feeling giddy again.

> I knew why you looked so familiar! Yunjin told me all about you. You both attended the same school in America! How cute!

> Here’s the address to the HYBE building. Tell no one, obviously. Don’t keep us waiting :P

> kisses,

> k.cw. <3

—————

(A/N: Holy shit a pi fic that didn't take more than two weeks to make! A summer's day miracle! Jokes aside, this was primarily-BFH fueled schlock cause Chaewon looked good in that one Eve, Psyche, and the Bluebeard's Wife stage. I definitely contemplated using Yunjin as the lead—and still am, definitely gonna add her eventually—cause she stole the show in that MV with her thick body in those fishnets. Holy fuck. I need pics of those. Anyway, this is merely the calm before the storm for the next fic. I don't usually hype up the follow-up like this, but yeah, it's gonna be a big one. Thank you for reading!)

#smut #kpop smut #le sserafim #chaewon #kim chaewon

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transgenderer · 10 days

Text

The relative scarcity of Mexican food ing ermany deprives me of the glorious black bean but the Indian food at least gives me the lentil. I wish German good had a characteristic vegetable protein but unfortunately the Germans are descended from a race that lived in caves deep underground and subsisted on cows alone (the cows ate chemotrophic cave grass). They came up with a lot of creative ways to get food from cows but all of it hurts my cringe ass tummy

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beefrobeefcal · 8 months

Text

Beefro Proudly Presents:

a Chubby!Joel Miller One Shot

Please welcome Joel Miller to Beefro's Bistro!

a Joel Miller & his Darlin' One Shot: The Way into a Man's Heart

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Summary: You've been traveling companions and now that you're in Jackson, Joel's getting comfortable. (Post Outbreak)

Rating: Explicit 18+ (MDNI)

Word Count: 3,650

Content Warning: Smutty smutty smut smut, fingering (f receiving), p in the v - unwrapped (don't be silly, cover you willy, kids!), talk of eating, belly praise, self esteem, weight gain, flannel shirt button popping

Author's Notes: FINALLY! The long awaited addition to the Menu is here! I wrote the majority of this listening to Hozier's new album so please forgive my non-fluffy heart if there are traces of fluff. Thank you to the Nonnie who submitted the illuminating THOT!

Major thanks to @harryleatherfit for their support, and to all those on the TAGLIST - this one's for you, babes 💜 The THOT TANK is always open, Friendos

--------<3----------

They found you in an abandoned apartment building somewhere in the Midwest, and after being cooped up together – surviving – for few days, it was settled that the duo had become a trio. Joel came across as a gruff and emotionless man and while he made you feel supremely unwelcome at first, he grew to at least give you the impression that he tolerated you for Ellie. For the next several months, it was just the three of you, trekking through the ruins of America.

The three of you finally found Joel’s brother and were tentatively welcomed into Jackson. It had taken some time for you, Joel, and Ellie to find your bearings after you’d arrived being that, for the first time in a while, you were expected to act in a civil manner towards others in proximity instead of defending yourselves and fighting for resources.

You and Joel were not a couple. He had never shown any interest towards you beyond your uncanny fishing ability, while you tried to not think of him as anything more than muscle and reinforcement in your travelling party. You were attracted to him, and you did your damnedest to squash any and all thoughts of him being more than a survival companion. This was made worse for you as Ellie would not even discuss the idea of you not being under the same roof in Jackson as she and Joel. Maria and Tommy had set the three of you up in a 3-bedroom home across from them, and you did your best to find a homey-rhythm as a trio.

While you and Ellie had taken to this new life with a relative ease, Joel was almost fighting it. Ellie let her curiosity run wild and you tried to find a social group, but Joel fought back. He didn’t engage with anyone that weren’t a select few outside of sideways glares and grunts in responses to hellos. He declined to get new clothing and outright refused to sleep in a bed until Ellie threatened to spill his deep, dark secrets to you that she had learned through his sleep talking. Even with food, now that there wasn’t a food scarcity or a worry about the next meal, he still refused to stray from his food rationing way of eating. He didn’t go to the mess hall to eat, opting instead for keeping to himself in the house, picking away at whatever was on hand in the pantry.

That was, until you had been assigned kitchen duty due to your skills from working as a teenage line cook in a diner, pre-apocalypse. You’d brought some food home from the mess hall one evening, and Joel picked at it, grumbling that it was decent and wouldn’t be opposed to you bringing home more.

So, you did. And he began to actually sit at the table and eat, but he didn’t come to the mess hall until the following week when you’d told him you were making a beef brisket buffet on the Friday night. While he’d shown more enthusiasm than you had ever seen before (he raised his eyebrows), you were very surprised that night when the hall went quiet as he entered with Ellie at his side.

Your supervisor was so shocked that he showed up, he suggested you sit with him since more than likely no one else would. Ellie took off immediately to sit with kids her own age from school, and that had led you to sitting at a small table in the corner with Joel, watching him eat. And good god, did he eat.

His first serving disappeared before you could even begin yours, and he was back with his second helping with an actual – albeit small – grin on his face.

“I have never seen you look so… happy…”, you mused with a smile at him.

“Never had reason to be… but this is good… haven’t had food like this in… fuck… years.”, he grunted while shovelling food in his mouth.

He looked up at you and gave you a brief smile as he chewed before going back to eating and your heart skipped a beat. That was the kindest he had ever been to you, and you felt those walls you’d built up around those thoughts and feelings you had for him shake.

You’d finished your food and stood up to return your dirty dishes, but as you went to walk away, he called your name.

“Hey Darlin’… uh, mind getting me another helping?”, he asked with a full mouth.

You nodded with a dumb grin at the new nickname, dumped off your dishes, and returned with another plate for Joel.

****

Three months later, the food he was allowing himself was starting to make an impact on his waistline. Never shying from second or third helpings, whether in the mess hall or at home, his tummy was more pronounced whether it was full or not.

You did your best to keep yourself in check, to not let yourself daydream about how that belly might feel under your fingers, or let your mind get carried away listening to the noises he made as he soothed his bloated middle. He would occasionally offer you little grins or a head nod, something he only recently began since being in Jackson, and you assumed he was being polite now that death wasn’t around every corner; this was just his true nature coming out. You figured your time living under one roof was coming to an end, given that you, he and Ellie were safe, and you didn’t need to keep such close quarters while you built your lives back up.

Ellie was spending more time with other kids and less at the house, while Joel continued to patrol and work in the carpentry shop, and you worked away in the community kitchen. When you and Joel were home alone, he kept a respectful distance from you. If there were moments your bodies could touch, like when you did dishes after dinner or he needed help carrying firewood in the house, he generally made a point of not getting too close and stepping back from you and looking away. You took the hint and figured the conversation of your moving into a place of your own was on its way.

*****

One Saturday evening, Joel had really outdone himself on the pork carnitas in the mess hall. You noticed he shifted in discomfort and discreetly had his hand on his lap. It took you a moment, but you finally realized he was unbuckling his belt and opened his pants. You averted your eyes to not embarrass him, but not before you saw that his belly was pushing out on to his lap. Joel Miller was having his fill, damned be his pants.

After he announced he was done, his green flannel shirt was pulled so tight across his middle that you swore you could hear the seams creaking and there were spaces between each of his buttons, exposing his undershirt.

The walk back to your house was relatively quiet, save for Joel’s grunting and huffing every other step from the strain of his full belly.

“Fuck me… I made a real hog outta m’self tonight…”, he groaned as you walked next to him. “Sorry you gotta see me like this, Darlin’.”

You could hear the embarrassment in his voice, and you felt bad for him. His belly, while full and bloated and bigger than you’d ever seen on him, was still smaller compared to some of the other Jackson men’s stomachs, but you knew if he kept this up, he’d be matching them in no time.

“Oh Joel… knock it off… I take it as a compliment. You actually smiled tonight… nothing to be sorry for.”, you responded in a matter-of-fact voice. “You enjoyed yourself.”

He scoffed, as you reached your porch, and opened the door. You helped him into the house, then closed the front door, both of you kicking off your boots.

“Good god… when the hell d’we get all these damn stairs?”, he groaned as he got to the bottom of the stairwell leading to the bedrooms on the second floor.

“Come sit on the couch… you’re not making it up the stairs anytime soon, Joel.”

You patted the back of the couch, then headed to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. “You want anything else?”, you called to him.

You heard him bark a laugh. “D’you see me right now? You think I could get anymore in’ere?”

You heard him sit heavily on the couch followed by him grunting “Dammit!”.

Walking in, you saw Joel sitting back, knees apart, and his favourite shirt unbuttoned to his chest, his undershirt riding up and exposing a strip of his belly and showed his pants were pushed open by his stuffed middle.

“What happened?”, you asked, walking back in with a glass of water for you both.

“Damn fuckin’… Jesus…”, he muttered, his cheeks blushing in deep scarlet. He noted you were still looking at him for answer. “My fuckin’ buttons popped. Wrecked my favourite shirt.”

You couldn’t help but smile. Joel, the hardened, battle-scarred killer who shot first and asked questions later, was blushing.

“It’s a good look on you.”, you teased as you sat in the chair next to the couch, leaning back and feeling emboldened by his vulnerability.

“What is?”, he sheepishly looked up at you.

“A big dinner.”, you smirked as you took a drink of you water, eyes on his.

He stared at you a moment then down to his round stomach, and he huffed a laugh and smiled to himself. You sat in a comfortable silence for a moment before he spoke.

“Didn’t know you could cook like that, Darlin’. Probably a good thing I didn’t know till we got here, too… couldn’t outrun shit with this full gut…”, he said, eyes still cast down and hand on his belly.

“Thank you.” It was your turn to blush, and before you could stop yourself, you said quietly, “Didn’t know you’d look so good like that.”

Realization hit both you and Joel about what you’d said, and you wanted to crawl in a hole as you saw his eyes go wide.

“Joel… oh my god… I am so…”, you started, covering your face and you didn’t see the grin that grew across Joel’s face and the look in his eyes as he watched you.

“I’m just findin’ all sorts’a things ‘bout you lately, darlin’...”, he teased in a low voice. “And here I thought you weren’t interested… and leavin’ me hanging.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and you swallowed hard before you had the nerve to look up at him. His brown eyes were dark and looked hungry? He trailed his stare up and down your body as you sat and subtly licked his lips.

“Joel… I…”, you stuttered, paused, then finally asked, “Wait… what did you say?”

He gave you a lopsided grin and sat back with a smug face and stated, “I swear, darlin’, I thought you weren’t interested.”

You just looked back at him with wide eyes while his smug demeanor shifted into a gentler and warmer gaze. He smiled and patted the seat next to him.

“Come over here, baby.”, he spoke softly.

You stood slowly and his eyes never left yours and he raised his hand to take yours as you sat next to him sideways to face him fully. His hand went to your waist, his thumb stroking you.

“You drunk or something?”, you questioned teasingly with a smile.

He sighed a small laugh, his eyes again trailing up and down your body. “Nope, darlin’. Just felt like it was ‘bout time I was honest since I’m learnin’ so much ‘bout you lately.” He sucked in a breath and licked his lips again when his eyes watched your chest move with your breathing. “You look good, darlin’. Real fuckin’ good.”

His eyes moved up to yours and you could see the want, the need you held back for so long, burning in his eyes. You moved forward, your hand cupping his face.

“So do you, Joel.”, you breathed as you kissed him.

You heard him sigh into the kiss and push into it, his grip on your waist tightened, fisting your shirt and pulling you closer. You instinctively ran your hand over his taught, full belly and he shivered as you did, his grip trying to pull you onto his lap now.

“Get up, baby… can’t bend that way right now… get on me…”, he instructed you in a breathy tone as you moved to staddle his lap.

Your smaller frame was now right up against his swollen belly as you frantically made out on the couch.

“God damn… fuckin’ hell, darlin’… if weren’t so damned full, I’d do this properly in bed upstairs…”, he panted as you moved your kisses to his jaw and neck and began to rock your hips. His hands grabbed your hips and pulled them down to put more friction on his denim-clad cock. “Make you feel so fuckin’ good.”

He roughly jammed his hand between the two of you, cupping your heat as he began to make lude promises in whispers as you whimpered kisses along his neck.

“That’s right, darlin’… makin’ those pretty sounds… bet your pussy tastes better than your cookin’… how many nights I fucked my fist wishin’ it were your mouth…. Never thought you’d want an old fat fucker like me….”

You finally worked up the ability to push yourself back from him, and you looked down at his dark, blown-out pupils and his parted, panting lips, knowing you looked the same, while his hand stilled on your jeaned heat.

“You gonna let me fuck you, Darlin’?”, he breathed out, eyes pinned to yours.

You nodded as your hands moved to his shoulders and you pressed your mouth to his. He deepened the kiss for a moment, the pushed you up gently.

“Darlin’…”, his voice needy and almost desperate. “Baby, take your pants off…”

You stood up and removed your shirt and jeans, leaving you in your bra and panties. Joel huffed as he moved himself up off the couch, dropping his already open jeans, the grabbed your arm pulling you towards him.

“So fuckin’ pretty…”, he smiled before kissing you.

His arms wrapped around you and your hands went to his hair and around his shoulder. Unlike the previous kisses that were hasty and desperate, this one was slow, methodical, and carried over a year’s worth of unspoken emotions that neither of you were brave enough to put words to.

Joel pulled back first and softly smiled at you before he said is voice far too soft for the words he spoke.

“I’m gonna fuck you into this couch, Darlin’.”

His mouth is back on yours, hungry. Teeth and fervor, clashing between you. All that soft, gentle kissing was gone, Joel had given into what ever primal urges you had unearthed in him. You moan into his mouth as his hand grips your hair, pulling your head back.

“Joel… please…”, you begged breathlessly. “Take it... take me…”

He smiled darkly at you and pushed you face down over the arm of the couch, his hands going to the waist of your panties. He paused as if waiting for confirmation that you wanted this. You nodded and gave a strangled “uh-huh” and he pulled them down.

Joel let out a noise that you can only think was one from a starving man looking at a banquet feast. He dragged his thick finger through your slick folds, making you squirm and whimper.

“Oh, baby, you’re so fuckin’ pretty… bet your tight little cunt’s just waitin’… your pussy’s droolin’ for me, Darlin’... I’m gonna wreck you for any other man… wanna bury myself in your tight little cunt… so fucking pretty, baby.”

“Joel, please… fuck me… please… don’t tease!”, you cried out, unable to get any further friction from his fingers given the way you were splayed out on the couch arm.

“That’s right, baby… gonna take care of you, Darlin’… gonna make you feel good… patience, baby…gotta work you open for me.”

He removed his fingers and spit on them before he pumped one into your cunt, his thumb gently rubbing your neglected and throbbing clit. His finger was thick, and you could only imagine how big his cock was; you’d once got a quick glance at the outline before Jackson and if that was any indication, he was doing you a favour getting you primed and ready for him. He pulled back and added another finger after a moment, picking up his pace and you cried out and called his name as you gripped the couch cushion.

“So tight, Darlin’… tell me how bad you needed this, baby… tell me… tell me you need me.”

“I-I need this… Joel… need you, Joel… so bad… wanted this for so long… oh god… yes… there… right there, Joel… please, oh fuck!... Joel... Joel… keep going!”, you panted with a whine.

He pushed a third finger in, and you cried out and clawed at the couch cushion.

“Shhh, baby… come on, Darlin’… need to fuck you after this and I gotta get you open for me… need it to feel good for you… doing so good… I can feel it…. you’re close, Darlin’… let go for me, baby… come on.”

You could feel your orgasm building up, and when he curled his fingers and hit that sweet spot buried deep in your cunt, you came, crying out like a beaten dog.

“There you go… that’s it, Darlin’… sing for me, baby.”

He worked you through your orgasm, and when you felt like you could breathe normally, you tried to push yourself up. Joel’s hand rubbed in between your shoulder, and he gently pushed you back down.

“Darlin’, I’m too full to fuck you the way I outta… but you look to fucking good to pass up… you gonna let me have you here, baby?”. His tone was pleading and needy, but gruff, while his harsh, calloused hands gently rubbed you on you back where he pushed you down.

His words and the way he said them had your insides turn to mush and you could feel another gush of arousal slip from your puffy cunt.

“Please…”, was all your fuck-drunk brain could muster in a pathetic, breathy whine.

“Too good to me, Darlin’… too fuckin’ good to this fat old man.”, he groaned as he pushed his aching, hard cock into your tight, slippery cunt.

The feeling was too much. For a moment, you thought it wasn’t going to work, but he soothed you. He kept pushing himself in slowly, offering words of praise while his fingers dug into your hips.

“Takin’ me so good, Darlin’… that’s it, honey… so good… feel so fuckin’ good…”

He pushed in as far as his length could go and his tip kissed your cervix. Your lungs felt like they couldn’t fill with air you were so full, and you needed him to do something.

“You gotta relax, baby… I can’t move shit unless you relax…”

“Joel… please move… need you to move… so full… move, please…”, you whined, trying to catch your feet on the floor so you could push back into him.

He panted a chuckle and began to move, slowly at first, then increased his hip’s speed and intensity until he was ramming into you. The couch was squeaking on the wood floors from Joel’s weight repeatedly being forced against it. The couch’s rough material was rubbing harshly against your hip bones, but it was worth it for the sweet sting of Joel splitting you open as his heavy, full belly hitting your ass cheeks.

“Oh god… Joel… yes… yes… k-keep going… yes… fuck…”, you panted, tears in your eyes.

“So good… baby… you gotta come… come on, baby… you’re close, Darlin’… come on…”

The white-hot burn of your second climax crept down your spine and built up as his finger went to your clit, rubbing circles, pushing you over the edge. Your vision went blurry for a moment your body went rigid, your mouth open and high-pitched pants and moans escaped from it.

Joel’s hips sputtered as your climax pushed him to his own release. He let out a few deep, guttural grunts as he thrusted a few more times, spilling his hot seed into you.

He tried to not collapse onto you as he pulled out. He stumbled back into the armchair as you pushed yourself up off the couch’s arm.

“Fuck, Darlin’… wish you could stay bent over like that… sucha pretty sight…”, he huffed in a laugh as you got up. He patted his leg. “Come’ere, baby…”

You clumsily moved over to him and held your hands out. “No… up, Joel… Ellie could walk in the door at any moment and the last thing she needs to see is you stuffed to the gills with your dick out in the living room.”

“Sucha fuckin’ mouth on you!”, Joel grinned, and moved his hands to yours. “Better get a move on… let’s go to bed.”

You collected your abandoned clothing that was strewn throughout the living room and got Joel upstairs into his bedroom. You went to your room to clean yourself up and change, and there was a knock at the door. Upon opening it, Joel saw you and pushed his way in, closing it behind him.

He pulled you close to him, his belly pressed against your middle. You touched his face softly, gently running your fingers through his scruffy facial hair.

He smiled and kissed you tenderly and said softly against your mouth, “I got you, Darlin’… tell me you’ve got me… please…”

“I got you, Joel.” --------<3----------

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@harryleatherfit @harriedandharassed @theywhowriteandknowthings @toxicanonymity @neverwheremoonchild @beee-haw @rebel-held @deathsholywaterr @xdaddysprincessxx

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #chubby!joel miller #chubby!joel #joel miller x you #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #chubby joe #chubby pedro rights !!!#chubby pedro pascal #fat belly #pedro pascal tummy nation #beefro's bistro #beefro is sweating #you asked beefro answered #🥩

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afewfantasies · 2 months

Text

🏔️The Retreat 🏔️- Prologue

Prologue | Chapter I | Chapter II | Chapter III | Misc references & details

Summary: Set after the events of the war Gale and Lorena are recovering from what they thought life would be and their new realities. Gale and Lorena were deeply in love with their respective significant others before the war, they had big dreams and grand plans for their futures together. Only it was not to be. Gale turns into a bit of a recluse and takes to a Lakeside retreat in the mountains away from city life when things with Marge don’t go as planned. After a hard breakup and subsequent divorce from her husband Lorena ends up at Gale’s retreat looking for work and a place to stay. This is an angsty fic that follows the themes of love, loss and recovering from trauma.

Pairing: Gale Cleven (MOTA Austin Butler) x Lorena (black fem oc)

Warnings: Race is a factor but there will be no overwhelmingly racist outbursts. It is more so a discovery element and explorations, different worlds, a little forbidden love element.

Tropes: Slow Burn, opposites attract, forbidden love, angst

--------------------------------Prologue----------------------------------

It had happened so fast, the war that had changed everything. The war that broke men, women and children. That forced people so far away from lives of relative peace into lives of rations, scarcity and pain. Lorena had been married then before the call for men had happened. Happily married. Reggie was the reason she drew breath and she the reason he existed. They’d been a loving couple, they were young beautiful, happy, full of life with the brightest of futures. They were on everybody’s list of dinner party guests. They shared hearty laughs and passionate nights and if anyone could have bet on a couple that would have made it, it would have been them.

Only it wasn’t to be.

Wars change even the best of men, after the first year Lorena’s dedication to writing daily never wained. She held everything inside, pouring her heart over the pages and keeping him informed. In month nine Reggie’s letters became less frequent, she felt the distance in the passages, in the reduced length of each reply and the heat fading from every I love you.

The news reports only confirmed that the boys were enduring a shellacking unlike anything known to men. Meetings with the other wives lessened as time passed as well. Some of their husbands had returned home broken. Missing limbs, too far gone to continue the good fight. With each influx of broken men it seemed the women around her only broke more and more. Sadness became a close friend and like many of the others Lorena picked up the habit of a cigarette and some whisky to lull her her sleep at night. Her home also became a refuge for those wives whose husbands returned as violent strangers, trained and efficient at killing.

Year two Reggies letters slowed to a few times a month. Still Lorena maintained her frequency as a good wife should. Her proclamations of love more and more sincere as she recalled their fondest times together in her memories and she yearned for him to return safely. His safety was paramount. She was ready for the war to be over, for her love to return and for a fresh start. The two years had withered her, her hands had become warn from the loss of their housekeeper. Her dresses worn in from their repeated use and the lack of funds and seamstresses. It also felt frivolous to spend on dresses without the person she wanted to admire her in them.

Her journals pages filled with her inner thoughts and the feelings too desperate to be shares, her hopes, fears and suspicions. Carmen Kloss’ husband had called her another woman’s name in the throes of passion. When he came back to reality and saw his wife he left their marital bed to cry outside. After an awful row Carmen discovered that there was another woman, a laundress stationed near him while he was recovering from wounds. There was an affair and a child on the way until she was killed by a bombardment. Now they lived in the same house with a Great Wall of distance between them no better than strangers. Long gone were the two people who cared for each other tremendously.

Heartbreak was all around. Still Lorena put it away and when the ships arrived after victory had returned she was hysterical to have her man return whole and of sound mind. Reggie had held her so tight, he stared all day and night like she was this elusive creature, like she would disappear and he’d wake up to find himself in a dream if he dared looking away. It was good for the first month until a letter came in the post. A perfumed letter. That night he’d come to bed and fell asleep without holding her. He began smoking more, all of a sudden he was full of stress and exhaustion. The ruse was gone the more people came to look for him. It was clear to Lorena that there was a tremendous amount of life that she would never become privy to. Conversation became far and few until the flame was all but extinguished. Somehow the pain of him present but so far way hurt more then his time away at war. Her heart knew it was another woman when he finally seemed to breathe at the arrival of her letters.

“I won’t hold an affair against you if it was what you needed to survive the war and feel comfort” she said finally breaking the silence between them. His head fell with shame immediately confirming her every suspicion.

“Lo” he said.

“You don’t have to explain, I just need you to be here. To want to be here and to love me” she whispered.

“I do want you Lorena” he’d responded voice cracking.

Therein lied the conflict. His heart was split but not as hers was.

“I love you Lorena, I’ll always love you” he said with commitment. He had, it was true. At least it had been once, she was sure of it. It was in the way he walked, talked and looked at her but now that warmth was reserved for when he was penning replies to his wartime lover’s letters.

His words said one things and his actions another. The other husbands looked at her differently as she entered dinner parties, the wives looked at her with empathy instead of longing jealousy. It was clear and when the younger version of her walked through the doors of the banquet hall and his eyes lit up it was all the heartbreak she would take. She walked seven miles back to the house in her heels and dress. She had asked god to bring him back whole and sane and the lord had answered the prayers. The man she loved with everything in her was alive and well and she could be thankful for that. As much as her heart and feet ached that night she could not hate him or the other woman for being the reason they’d survived the war. All the killing, bloodshed and loss was something she could never imagine. He was still all she needed but the distance was too much and Lorena could no longer stomach it. Stomach knowing what a night of passion was like with her husband who could only now drape an arm around her sparing a few chaste kisses a week. The man who’d been adamant about trying for a child as soon as he returned but couldn’t get the deed done anymore.

It wasn’t lack of kindness of affection, his tone was still loving and his touches gentle, he was still a considerate husband. He was still far better than most but there was an absence of that unmistakable spark that existed between them that had once burned bright. He’d arrived home to her cleaning her bloody feet riddled with concern. Lorena refused all his questions on what happened. He’d cleaned the scars diligently. He was attentive to her every breath. That night he’d held her close concerned for her well being. She spent an hour in the bathroom crying in the shower.

“Reggie, I know you love me but I know you’re in love with her and I cannot in good conscience stay here when you’ve been through enough anguish and deserve to be truly happy.” Her words broke him. The tears that flow were only confirmation she’d never seen him cry, she couldn’t shed a tear or he’d never leave and remained committed to his vows. It would be a tragedy she could never survive. Lorena was strong but she could never be that strong. She refused the house and all of its valuables taking two cases of tattered dresses and garments and a sac of other keepsakes dear to her. In the matter of hours she’d gone from a well kept wife who’d never done a day of labour in her 25 years to a homeless divorcee.

Her plan was simple, drive as far as the car could take her on her savings, find a place to stay and respectable work. The rest would have to follow. Her parents would only cause scandal and exasperate the situation between her and Reggie. The last thing she wanted was chatter surrounding her failed marriage while her heart was on the mend.

Author's Note: Very different from Feyd's Blade, ik ik, but the hopelessness in the soldiers eyes during the prison camp scenes of masters of the air pulled at my heart strings and so I needed to write about that return to normal. Gale is in the next part.

#austin butler #austin butler imagine #austin butler x black reader #austin butler x reader #black authors #masters of the air #mota #austin butler fanfiction #gale cleven #major gale cleven #austin butler x you

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