#tw animal neglect

[toxicanonymity]

Hunger.

7k, raider!Joel x f!reader

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

raider playlist 🖤sweet pea (smutty)

SUMMARY: Joel takes you on an eventful trek. You have a bit of a meltdown and he comforts you in a way he hadn't before. He kills a guy. And later, Joel finally goes down on you because he craves you and can't physically resist. WARNINGS: I8+ oral f receiving 🎉, unsafe P in V, creampie, jacking off, brief violence (og raider typical?), hurt/comfort, neglected animal (he's ok), angst, dark fluff, emotional tension, POV changes. A/N: 1/3 smut. Can read alone - Joel has been resisting the urge to kiss you. Carter is Joel's right-hand man. Jack was your bf Joel killed. Happy 6 months to the 1st raider Joel fic, have some oral.

—You 🌸🫛—

You're reading in a clover patch at one end of the trailer while Joel chops wood. Two of his men come up the hill, and Joel tells you to stay put while he talks to them. Even when Joel addresses you, they don't look in your direction. They stay in the doorway of the trailer. You put your book face down and start looking at the clovers while you try to eavesdrop.  You can't hear what they're saying, but it sounds like someone might have tampered with one of the vans. You brush your hand through the leaves, and one catches your eye. Without plucking it, you gently separate it from the others to make sure it's not an illusion. There really are four leaves. You smile and get down on your stomach to look at it. You think about leaving it so it can grow more. That's what you did when you found one earlier in the week, but you pluck this one.

The men go back down the hill, and Joel goes inside for a moment before emerging again. You're laying the clover leaves flat between the pages of your book when Joel calls you inside. Then he leans against the trailer with an arm above his head, the side of his wrist resting near the top of the door frame as he waits for you.  He's wearing a body holster now. "C'mon, let's go," he shouts so you can hear him. 

"Ok," you call. 

You just want to finish pressing the clover into the page, but he rushes you: "Now." 

"What for," you ask.

"Cause I said." He disappears inside, and his back looks so broad, framed by the holster straps. 

You come in and pout in the window nook with your book closed, waiting for him to explain. There's a belt on the kitchen table.  Joel emerges from the bedroom and tells you he's going down the hill to help fix the van, and you're coming.  

“you good in that?” he asks, looking at your spaghetti strap dress. You nod. You like the dresses he gave you, and it’s still warm enough, you think.  He confirms, “Sure ya won’t be cold?” and you nod. He seems glad. 

He approaches the kitchen table holding something strappy and leather. He pulls out a chair and faces you in the window nook. 

"C'mere," he says. "Gonna carry your gun today." 

"Oh," you put down the book. Sounds exciting. Sounds like he trusts you. "Yeah, sure," you try to play it cool. He takes your knees and swings your legs toward him. 

"Gonna see if this piece'a shit's worth anything. If not, ya wear mine okay?" He thumbs the shoulder strap of his holster. 

You frown and mutter, "I like when you wear it," eyeing the muscles straining his white shirt.  He suppresses a smile, but you see it in his eyes. 

"Gimme your leg," he commands. You give him your leg on your shooting side. You watch his face. He has a toothpick behind his ear.  He bends your knee and puts your foot on his thigh. He lets the skirt of your dress fall all the way down your raised leg, exposing your panties. His eyes linger there, and he draws in a slow breath as he unbuckles the strap of the holster. He wraps the strap around your thigh and mutters, "good."  He slides the strap into the buckle, then tightens it. "Too tight?" He asks. 

"No."

He fastens the buckle on your inner thigh, and his massive hands map your thigh, checking the fit. You flinch in pleasure as his fingers graze the edge of your panties.

There's a long ribbon dangling from the other end of the holster where another strap should be. He laces it through two hand made grommets on each side. There are two more empty holes on the top of each side. 

"Here," you offer and take both ends of the ribbon from him. You tie it in a bow on the outside of your thigh. 

"That gonna hold?" He asks. 

You shrug. "Feels ok, what do you think?"

He's not listening. His eyes have returned between your legs. You spread them a little more, and innocently widen your eyes. He wets his lips, and his gaze remains for another inhale, then he pries his eyes away, sticks the toothpick in his mouth, and lets your foot down.  You stand up and he hands you your gun, then adjusts himself, quickly cupping his crotch through his pants as you slide the gun into the holster. 

"Walk," he mumbles. 

You walk the length of the kitchen. 

It's a weird sensation, having one of your legs burdened by a weight while the other one is free. But aside from that, it's fine. 

"Alright?" He asks.

"Yeah." 

He nods, "Good. C'mere."  You stand right in front of him, between his knees. "Hold your dress up for me."

You hold it up over the holster. 

"Higher. Belly button." 

He grabs the belt from the table and when he picks it up, ribbons are dangling from its holes. The ribbons have their ends burned and melted like a shoelace for threading.  He fastens the belt securely around your bare middle, then threads the loose ribbons through the empty grommets on the top of the holster and secures them. 

He turns you to the side, tugs at the ribbon, and mutters, "good." Then he can't help but grab a handful of ass, and your bottom lip creeps under your teeth.

As he turns you to face him again, he takes the toothpick out of his mouth and gives you a serious look. "Comin' with me today, sweet pea. Ya do what I say, understand?"

You nod.

"I say get outta here, ya run. I say stay put, ya don't fuckin' move." 

"Got it."

—-

He puts the toothpick behind his ear and picks up a few pieces of jerky off the counter as he stands up. He hands you a piece. 

You take a bite and chew it as you walk down the hill. You watch his jaw flex when he chews.  You tell him, "This one's good."

"Cause Carter made it," Joel notes.  You cringe at yourself,but he doesn't seem offended. "Turkey," he adds. 

Turkey, that's why. Much better than venison. You haven't had poultry in a while, not even grouse. Traps have been empty. 

"I love yours," you tell him. 

Joel gives you an appreciative pat on the back of your head, then his hand trails down your back, over the swell of your ass. He slides his hand under your dress and palms your butt cheek. He lifts it, then lets it drop. 

Joel brings you around the front of the stash house where the vans are normally parked and tells you to wait. There’s only one van. One of the other guys took the second van to get gas and isn’t back yet. 

You reach under your dress and adjust the holster as you sit down on a patch of grass to watch. Joel's muscles glisten and flex as he lifts the hood of the van and props it open. He looks around the inside of the van and dabs his head with a bandana that he tucks back into his pocket . He looks under the van while you pick tall blades of grass and braid them together. 

When he's done, he tells you they need a part. Need to go to the junkyard and see if they can find one. You’re going with him and Carter on foot.

—

The junkyard is a few miles on the other side of Joel’s trailer. You go down that side of the hill and walk through the abandoned mobile home park to get there. It’s the first time you’ve seen most of it close-up, aside from through the scope of Joel’s rifle. The rest of the journey is mostly on a dirt road, and you have to climb through a fence to get into the junkyard. 

It feels like you’re there for a long time. You hear the weak bark of a dog in the distance. Joel thinks it’s coming from the woods. It stops.  There’s a house that looks abandoned, but Joel thinks there might be junkies in it. He says they gather around there. He’s even found one sleeping in a car. When Carter finds a part they think will work, they have trouble taking it off the truck. They don’t have the right tools. Brute force isn’t an option because it could easily break. 

The three of you cautiously approach the house and the barking starts again. The structure is run down, and the windows are busted out. It’s small, can’t be more than a couple of rooms. 

—--

As Carter sweeps the house, you go around back with Joel, and there's the dog. He's skinny and his bark is weak and strained. He's chained to a pipe on the side of the house. The pipe has been pulled a little bit outward so it's leaning, but he wasn't strong enough to free himself. He's a scrappy little mutt with a floppy ear. Probably less than 20 lbs (9 kg). You and Joel both stare at the dog, then Carter calls from inside, “Miller!”

Joel looks around to make sure you’ll be alright for a minute. “Don’t move. Stay alert. Hand on your gun.” 

As Joel goes inside,  Carter says, “Think he’s alive.” 

“Infected?”Joel asks. 

“Nah, see the track marks?”

“Piece’a shit left his dog to die.” 

Outside, the dog watches you. He sits attentively with his head down.  You put on a soothing voice for him. "Hey, buddy. Whatcha doin'?" He lowers his head almost to the ground as he slowly stretches his arms out, then his tail starts to wag hesitantly, staying close to the ground. He begins to whine.  There are a couple of bones behind him with no meat left on them at all. 

Carter comes out to watch you.  There's a metal bowl upside down out of the dog's reach.  "He needs water," you say. Carter looks around then reaches into his backpack and hands you his water. You pour some into the dish for the dog, and his tail begins to wag with more pep. When you reach out to touch the dog, he flinches and backs away, then cautiously returns and gets closer to you than he was. 

Carter gets closer, and when he reaches out for the dog, it growls and barks ferociously. Carter isn't afraid–it's too small to be afraid of. He reaches for the dog's collar and the dog chomps his hand with a vicious growl, high pitched from his throat. He doesn't want to let go.

"DAMN!" Carter yells. "SHIT," he shakes his hand.

"No," you firmly tell the dog. The dog lowers his stomach onto the ground and raises his brows pathetically with a whine. 

"He's just scared," you tell Carter as he rinses the wound with the rest of his water.

"I know, I know," Carter nods. He puts his water back in his backpack. "Feisty little fucker." He spits on the ground. 

“We’ve gotta get him out of this,” you mutter.  

Carter tries to stop you. “Don’t touch–”

You hold your hand out to the dog, and Carter sighs in resignation. The dog reaches his neck out to sniff you, then licks you. He lets you touch him. Then you touch his collar and he growls, but not as bad. The collar has inner spikes that must be hurting him. It's too big and has some slack hanging down from where it's been tightened.

Joel comes outside with a bag of tools clinking heavily against each other. 

"What the hell's goin' on out here?" You give Carter a hopeful glance and he doesn't snitch on the dog for biting him. 

You look at Joel. "He's gonna die if we don't get him free," you explain.  Joel lunges toward the dog and you try to warn him, "WAIT-"  Joel stops short of bending over and instead looks at you. The dog goes after his ankle, bearing his teeth and going nuts.  Joel shakes his leg free. You tell the dog, “No" and he submits on the ground with a whine. Joel looks at the dog and raises his gun. 

"You wouldn't," you whine. "He's protecting me."

“Course i wouldn’t. Damn.”

Joel steps closer and aims at the drain pipe behind the dog, shooting the chain to break it. It hurts your ears but it works. The dog yelps and skips out from the building, chain dragging behind him. Joel takes the bag of tools back to the truck where they found the part, leaving Carter with you while you try to free the dog. 

"C'mere," you sit back on your knees and open your arms for the dog. With the freedom of movement, you can work the collar off him. The dog whimpers and paws at the collar with you. When he lets out a sharper, high pitched whimper, you freeze as it triggers a memory. Your chest feels hollow and long-buried grief stabs at the backs of your eyes. You push it away. You don't want to cry. You want to be tough and whatever else you need to be for Joel to always take you with him. The dog whimpers again and you return to the task. You free him from the collar and he trots away from the house. 

— Joel ⛓️ —

When he gets back, the dog is playfully pawing at your knees.  You scratch behind his ears and he rolls over. One look at your face and Joel knows what you want. 

"Alright, let's go," Joel says and looks at the ground next to you. He steps forward and the dog growls. "It's ok," you tell the dog and you reach for Joel's hand. 

“Maybe he wants to come with us,” you say as casually as you can. 

Joel clenches his jaw and shakes his head. 

"I can take care of him," you plead, your eyes big and watery. "He's not big, he doesn't need much." 

Joel shifts his weight as he looks at you for a moment. "I know ya get bored-"

"Not because I'm bored," you protest. "He's hungry."

"No," Joel tells you firmly and your tears overflow. God damnit, not here. He's hungry because he was chained. He'll be fine now.

Joel doesn't want to share resources, doesn’t want the barking to attract attention, and doesn’t want someone to come after the dog–after you–if there’s anyone left to come. The junkie inside is as good as dead, but they run in packs and they’re dangerous.  

"It's for your own good, sweet pea.” Joel really thinks it is. 

You shake your head no. "I had one," you sniffle. "Before." 

Joel’s nostrils flare at the shake of your head, then his stomach drops. He doesn't want to know about before. He does, but he really doesn't. He covers his mouth with the crook of his thumb as he rubs both sides of his beard. Before. It gets harder and harder to avoid. He shakes it off.  All he can do is keep you safe and take care of you the best he can, which means taking care of only you. He shakes his head no again, then reaches into his backpack. He throws a piece of jerky as far as he can. “He’s fed, Gonna be fine.” He throws another piece. 

You watch the dog run off for the jerky, but you're in a trance, thinking about something else. 

“Let’s go, baby,” Joel steps forward, wraps a hand around the inside of your bicep, and gently pulls.  You try to resist walking, and his grip gets firmer. You stand there watching the dog, feet planted on the ground, muscle tensing under Joel's grip.

Joel faces you and cups your face with both hands, making you look at him. He gets a few inches from your face and lowers his voice.  “Ain’t gonna spank ya in front’a Carter, but ya better move.”  He means it. Non-negotiable.

He grabs your arm again, and as he starts dragging you away, you blurt out, "Her name was Daisy. She saved my life."

Joel ignores it.  “Move. Now. Or I’m pickin’ ya up.”  You relent and stop resisting. Smart. He wouldn't want to regret bringing you with them.

Joel squints into the ground as the two of you walk. Carter walks ahead, not wanting to get in the middle of it.  “Maybe this one could save me, too," you suggest. "if you’re gone.” 

Damnit sweet pea, you sure are smart. Nice try, but that's what Carter is for.

"Dog that size?” Joel laughs. You compose yourself. You walk in silence for a few minutes, but Joel is still thinking about it. “How,” Joel asks, and adjusts his backpack. “How’d she save you? Must’a been bigger, right? meaner?”

Carter looks over his shoulder with a side-eye at the word “meaner,” but doesn’t reveal his injury.  

You don’t answer Joel. You're checked out. You keep eyeing the tree line, but you wouldn’t. . . There's no way you’d run, right? 

You look at him with your eyes red. “You don’t wanna hear it.” 

The vacant look on your face makes Joel stop in his tracks to face you. “Tell me,” he demands. 

You sniffle and look toward the tree line again. “Can I go pee?”

Joel can’t read you right now, which disturbs him. “Yeah,” he mutters and puts his massive hand on your back, guiding you to the edge of the forest. 

He starts to come in behind you, and you ask him, “Do you mind if I go?” 

He swallows and furrows his brow as he looks at you. You must read his concern, because you hand him your bag. He nods. He steps into the woods, but tries to give you some space, without losing track of you. He doesn't wanna have to chase you down, but damnit he'll tackle you if he has to, to save you from yourself. His stomach is uneasy.

There’s a hollow, rusted truck about 30 paces away. You go on the other side of it. Joel knows you’re not just pouting about leaving the dog. There's more to this. But you’re right, he’s not sure if he wants to know. 

Until he hears you sniffling, and it's not just sad, it's scared, painful.

Ah, fuck it. He moves as quietly as he can.

“Sweet pea,” he says softly as he walks around the old hollowed-out car. You’re squatting–not peeing, just hugging your knees, facing the abandoned car. You're shaking and your cheeks are wet. There's not much space, but Joel gets between you and the car.  He takes his backpack off and drops it to the side.

“She wasn’t afraid like me, Daisy,” you choke out and wipe your cheeks with the heel of one palm.  “They,” you croak. You pause and try again. “He had a gun-” you close your eyes. “Pointed at, pointed at me," you take a deep breath and keep your eyes pinched shut. "He was, he was gonna—but she wouldn’t," you choke on a breath. "She wouldn't stop barking.”  

"Shhhhh, it's ok." Joel cuts you off. It's too hard to see you re-living this. He doesn't want you to get to the details. He squats down. His head is full of pressure, and his heart is full of rage. You take shaky, shallow breaths. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder and lets his knees into the ground. “Breathe,” he says. “Breathe, sweet pea.”  You lean forward, letting your weight into his arms, and he holds you for a minute as you regain your breath.  He cradles your head.  "Yeah, you're okay, I got ya."  He buries his mouth in your hair. "I got ya, baby," he whispers. You wipe your eyes on his shoulder and your cheek catches on the holster.  When you lift your head, you apologize and he shakes his head no.  He brushes a fresh tear off your cheek, and arousal stirs in his pants.  

“Who did it,” he asks, unable to mask the darkness in his question. 

“Just a guy,” you tell him. A guy like himself, Joel assumes with disdain. 

“What kinda guy” 

You sigh and he hates making you think about this, but he needs the answer. “Mean. Had a gold tooth.” 

Joel takes a deep breath and nods. 

"FEDRA," you add, and Joel's face goes cold. His mind goes blank. For a moment, he doesn't even breathe as the life is sucked out of him and replaced by ice cold rage. FEDRA. Not a guy like him.

 “How’d ya get away?” Joel asks. 

You look at him for a second, doing a double take at his face.  You shake your head. “You don’t wanna hear it." You bury your head in his neck again. You’re right, he doesn’t want to, but he insists.  

“Tell me.” 

“Jah–” you stop and look at Joel’s face. His jaw clenches. He knows what's coming, but the thought of FEDRA has fortified him with numbness. 

“S’okay, sweet pea.”

“Jack shot’m.” 

Joel takes a deep breath and looks up at the forest canopy, then bows his head and looks at your knees, bracketed by his own. For a moment, Joel is filled with an uncomfortable appreciation for Jack. But that fades into, no, it should have been Joel, he should’ve had you all along, he should’ve been there to save you *and* your dog. 

“He take good care of ya?” Joel asks in self-loathing. 

You shrug. 

“Better than. . .now?” He can take it.

“No,” you shake your head. “He didn’t shoot him dead.” 

Jackass fucking moron cuck. He left that motherfucker breathing? Suddenly Joel is glad he killed Jack. 

Joel nods, “I see.” He keeps nodding slowly, looking to his right at the moss on a far off tree, clenching his jaw.

"And I didn't have a gun," you add. "Cause I killed a guy Jack said not to." Joel scoffs. You could've killed the guy yourself if not for Jack.

You continue,  “and. . . Jack didn’t cook.” Joel chuckles, caught off guard -- he'd forgetten his original question. You keep going, “And he didn’t–I didn’t–I didn’t feel the same,” you wipe your eyes.  This has gone far enough, and Joel knows it's his own fault. His stupid question.  He takes the toothpick from behind his ear.

You look at him with your eyes all watery, and Joel's cock twitches. The next thing he knows, his massive hand is wrapped gently around your jaw. You put your hands on his shoulders, then straddle him. You wrap your arms around his neck. 

"Mmm," he sighs as your warm crotch meets the bulge in his jeans, and he swells harder against you. He holds your face about two inches from his, looking down at your mouth, then your nose, and your eyes again. He puts his toothpick in his mouth and looks past you as he lets go of your jaw. You bury your head in his neck, blinking warm tears into his skin, making him harder. He whispers your name. He relaxes and takes the toothpick out of his mouth just in time for a branch to fall on the car with a loud clang. 

"All good?" Carter yells from the treeline. 

“Shouldn’t stay here long,” Joel mumbles as he puts it back behind his ear. ”Bad area.” He eases you off his lap back onto your feet, as you both stand up. He brushes dead leaves off his pants and your knees. He adjusts himself, puts his backpack over one shoulder, then reaches down and you take his hand.  You walk a few steps together and he looks back at you slightly behind him. He realizes you’re shaking. He drops your hand, goes in his backpack, and pulls out a flannel that he packed even though you said you were fine. He unfolds it, holds it out, and helps you put it on. 

“Thanks,” you whisper and rub your nose. He keeps his hand on the back of your neck as you walk.

Joel stews and broods as you leave the forest together. He wants to go back in time and kill everyone who’s ever hurt you, anyone who let you get hurt, and anyone who failed to hurt the people who hurt you. His muscles are all tense, and his veins are throbbing.

When you get to the treeline, Joel asks Carter, "Can ya gimme five?"

"Sure thing, boss.".

“No ones gonna miss that asshole," Joel mutters as he checks his gun then sets his sights on the house. 

Joel can’t go back in time, but by God, he’s got to kill someone. He drops his backpack then hurries back to the abandoned house, rifle in both hands. When he gets there, he puts the rifle around his back and grabs the dog chain off the ground on his way in. 

—---You 🌸🫛-—

You and Carter look at each other. “How’s your hand?” you ask him. 

“It’ll be fine,” he reassures you. “I dunno where the little bugger went,” he looks around for the dog.  

You both ignore the sound of the chain thrashing around until you hear grunting and look toward the house. Punches are landing. Carter puts a hand on his rifle but doesn’t move yet. Joel grunts and yells between punches. A minute later, Joel steps out of the house, walking backwards, with the chain pulled taught, and a bloody man dragging behind him. Joel kicks him up against the wall, hits him in the face with the butt of his rifle, then wraps the chain around the drain pipe where the dog was tied up. Joel hits the man again, then aims the rifle and calmly shoots him. Even if you never see the dog again, you're certain the dog is better off without that man. Joel wipes blood splatter off his brow and scowls at the ground as he walks back to you and Carter.

“Ya good?” Carter asks him. 

Joel nods. He’s sweaty, chest heaving.  You try not to let your eyes linger on the remaining blood. You observe his throbbing veins instead. The whole scene has you clenching your thighs.

You walk mostly in silence. When you stop for water, you realize you're being followed. Joel doesn’t notice, but you see the dog duck behind an old car when you turn around. You keep a straight face.

You hear something in the distance. Dust is kicked up down the road. Carter says, “Finally.”  It’s the van that still works, picking you up. You didn't know it was coming and wish the dog could follow you the rest of the way home, but you don’t say anything. You're glad he's unchained. 

—–

When you get back to the stash house, Joel works on the broken down van. When he’s done for the day, he takes you back to the trailer and washes the grease off. When he comes out of the bathroom, you're sitting in the window nook looking at your book, but thinking about the dog. He comes over, wiping his hands off on a towel. "Wanna go out 'n' shoot?" He seems to want to cheer you up.  

Joel goes first. He looks through the scope at the trailer park. Ever since those guys showed up one night, he's looking for other raiders or troublemakers. Then he lines up a shot at the usual target. Your eyes are on his biceps. When Joel is about to take aim, the rare sound of ducks honking startles you. They should’ve already flown South. Joel gets up on his knees and aims toward the front of the flock. He hits one, shifts ahead of the flock, and hits another. It gives you butterflies. You hear a thud as the second one hits the ground. 

“Nice!” you tell him. He winks at you and puts the gun strap over his shoulder. You smooth your dress under your butt as you stand up, then adjust the thigh holster. Joel groans as he stands up. You peer down toward where the birds fell, and something is moving up the hill. A bird, moving strangely. A dead bird, in a little dog's mouth. 

You gasp. Joel looks at you, then follows your eyes. The bird is as big as the dog.  His mouth is open wide to fit the neck.  He crests the hill and drops the bird. "Good boy!" You praise. He does a happy circle and trots back down the hill. 

You look at Joel and try not to smile. Joel puts his hand on his hip and shifts his weight to one leg. He looks down at the ground and rubs brow with the flat of his index finger, squinting. When the dog returns with the second bird, Joel mutters, "alright, big guy," and squats down to accept the bird from his mouth.  Then you barely hear him mutter, "good boy." The dog does another circle and trots around the other side of the trailer. 

 "How'd he find us, all this way?" You marvel. 

"Must have some hound in’m," Joel shakes his head. “Guess ya made an impression.” 

Joel starts a fire and boils two big pots of water. The dog keeps a respectful distance, lounging in the same clover patch where you were sitting earlier. Joel chops the heads and feet off the birds, and tosses them on the ground. The dog scurries over, wagging his tail. He drags one of the duck heads over to the grass to chew on with his butt in the air and his tail wagging furiously, all the way upright now. 

Joel beckons you back inside to wash up and change. He takes a quick shower while you take off the flannel and wash your hands in the kitchen sink. You take off the belt, untethering the ribbons, but you leave the holster on. You sit back down in the window nook.

—-

When Joel comes out from the bathroom, he sits down, manspreads, and pats the kitchen table in front of him, looking at the skirt of your dress as you get up from your seat. You unholster your gun and set it down, then use your hands to help yourself onto the surface, sitting on your dress so your thighs won't stick.  Joel spreads your knees so he can be between them, and grabs your ass to scoot you closer. 

He lifts the dress to look at the holster, and he puts his toothpick in his mouth. 

"s'prised it worked," he mutters. He eyes your legs and runs his hands all the way up your thighs with a deep breath.  "Looks good on ya, too," he murmurs. He thumbs the ribbon of the holster, then unties it. He unbuckles the real strap, too. Then he lifts your knee, slides the holster out from under you, and sets it aside with the gun. He runs his hand over the indentation in your skin from the buckle. "that hurt?" He asks. 

"No." 

He puts his elbows down on either side of your hips, and his biceps rest against your thighs. He looks back and forth between your breasts and takes the toothpick out of his mouth. Without taking his eyes off you, he throws it into the kitchen sink and it hits the metal with a light plink. 

He furrows his brow and looks at your body, then puts his cheek flat against your breast at the lace neckline of your cotton dress while he palms the opposite tit. He turns his face to nose your nipple, and it hardens through the fabric of your dress. He dampens the cotton with his mouth as he flattens his tongue against it. One hand holds your back, near your shoulder blade for leverage, with his thumb hooked under your arm. 

He kisses wetly at your breast through your dress, then glances up at you. His hands slide up to the straps of your dress. He gently nudges the straps off your shoulder. His fingers skim your nipples as he curls his thick fingers into the lace neckline, then pulls the dress down below your tits.  He presses his wide tongue onto your nipple and closes his eyes as he latches onto it. Then he lets go with a soft pop and sucks below the nipple as he massages the other breast.  You're gushing arousal with your legs wide open.  He inhales through his nose and his stomach growls. 

"Joel," you sigh, resting your hands on his muscular back. You watch his vein 

His only response is "Mmm," into your nipple.  You're throbbing, and the more attention he pays to your tits, the more your cunt aches to be filled. You want to let him explore your body, it's not something he normally does, but it also makes you want his cock so bad. You want him to slide you off the table and sink you onto his massive erection. He's really taking his time.  You take a deep breath and try to relax. Your clit twitches. 

Joel pulls down the dress a little more, exposing an inch or two below your breasts. He switches sides, dragging his mouth to his right, your left.  With your left nipple in his mouth, he looks up at you and makes sleepy eye contact. His pupils are blown wide. 

"Joel, I want it," you plead.

His tongue trails as he moves his mouth an inch to the right of your nipple, then he closes his eyes again. He licks and sucks the outer curve of your breast, massaging the other one with a thumb lightly brushing the nipple, then the heel of his palm flattening it into your breast. His eyes open to watch his massive hand moving languidly on your breast. 

You whine his name again and slot your fingers into his dark, curly hair. He doesn't look up. You finger his curls and the pads of your fingers lightly caress his scalp. He pulls his mouth off your breast and backs his head away enough to look at your body. You let your fingers fall out of his hair and rest back on his shoulders. One of his hands moves to rest on your hip, his fingers curling around your flesh and his thumb brushing the hem of your dress. 

His voice is low and husky. "Ever feel like ya just. . ." He meets your gaze with hungry eyes, then looks at your lips. "gotta have your mouth on somethin’?"

His eyes fall down your body as he sits back and palms himself through his jeans.  You whisper "yeah," with a smile and begin to scoot off the table so you can suck him off. He abruptly leans forward and stops you with both hands firmly on your hips. He doesn't let you move. His brow furrows. He looks back and forth between your breasts and noses a nipple again. He murmurs low and gruff into your supple skin,  "Ain't talkin' 'bout you."

Your chest erupts in goosebumps.  He drags his hands down your dress to the bare skin of your legs, then slides his massive palms back up your thighs, slipping his fingers under your dress, leaving his thumbs hooked on top. You brace your hands on the table to lift your butt for him. His hands keep moving up, reaching your hips.  The fabric of your dress bunches above your ass, then he curls his fingers under the waistband of your panties and begins to take them down. You let yourself back down on the table as he slides the underwear down your legs. It dangles between his fingers as he brings his hand to your neck and caresses the side of your throat with his thumb.

You feel the damp cotton against your throat and smell your own arousal as he grips your jaw. He locks eyes with you for less than a second before his gaze drifts downward. He returns his other palm to your breast, fingers slotting under your arm to hold you steady as he pushes you down until your back is flat on the table. He nudges your thighs farther apart.  He sucks in a sharp breath through his nose and hums "Mmm." 

He drops the panties on the table. He spreads you open and thumbs your folds, bringing the moisture up to your clit.  He hunches over to bring his face between your legs and his left hand reaches up to fondle a breast.  He drags his nose through your slick and inhales, then moans at your scent. He plants his mouth on the crease of your thigh. He sucks the skin into his mouth, then lets go. He runs two knuckles through your folds, then gently nudges his middle finger  inside. Your walls spasm around the intrusion and he breathes, "god damn." 

He pumps his finger once and adds a second digit. You moan, and he hums a deep "Mmm," in response.  He takes his fingers out and sucks one, then both into his mouth.  "Fuck," he breathes. 

He doesn't waste any more time, spreading you wide open with his thumbs and burying his face in your cunt. He starts at your entrance where your wetness pools and licks up from there, punctuating the first lick with a kiss on the clit that makes your thighs tremble. Then he laps at you more selfishly, like he's thirsty, like he needs to drink you. His tongue starts flat and stiffens as he digs for more and explores each crevasse. He moans into your folds.  You've never felt anything as powerful and precise as his tongue.  It's stronger than his fingers.  It makes you tingle in one swipe, then presses into the tingle for relief.  He holds you gently until you wriggle in pleasure and he holds you down firmer with one forearm across your lower belly.  

He breathes through his nose and moans as he devours you. When he pauses, he draws in a deeper breath through his mouth then exhales vocally against your wet cunt. 

"Feel good?" He asks with a glance to your face, then plants his mouth on your clit. 

He slides one then two fingers into your core again and you gasp then answer "y-yeah," as he sucks your clit while he pumps them. 

He takes his arm off your abdomen to unbutton his pants and take his stiff cock out. He pulls his face away from your pussy. You're throbbing, and your body races to replenish all the moisture he's sucked up. He gathers some on his fingers then also spits into his hand and wraps it around his length. You want it inside you so, so bad. You hear the squelching as his hand moves up and down his shaft. 

He brings his face between your legs again and puts his arm back on top of you to hold you still, angling his elbow so his thumb is planted at your clit. He laps at you again, moaning into your throbbing, swollen lips. He firmly licks between your clit and hole, then thrusts his tongue into your entrance and you whimper. He tilts his head and jabs his sharpened tongue into you again and again, pumping his cock all the while.  He noses your clit as he sucks and laps, then fucks you with his tongue again.  

You writhe under his arm. "Yeah," he whispers before planting his mouth again. He works your clit with his thumb as he thrusts his tongue into you, dragging it against the top wall, and your desperate cunt twitches against him. You let out a long whine, and his thumb gently rubs the top of your clit, over your hood. 

"Joel," you whimper and it turns into a moan. 

His thumb slows down, and he gathers more slick on his fingers. He wipes it on his shaft, then pulls you by the thighs closer to the edge, unsticking your bare ass from the table. You sit up on your elbows and whimper, "want you. . ."  

He's holding his cock, chest heaving. "Want this?"

"Yeah-yes," you whimper. "Please."

He gazes darkly at your cunt and decides, "Ain't done yet."

You whine his name as he puts his face between your legs again. He sucks your clit for a few seconds until you're whimpering, then he plants his mouth a little lower.  He flattens two fingers to rubs your clit while he fucks you with his tongue. You moan his name as your climax seizes you, and you clench around his tongue. He moves his hand from your clit to your mound to hold you steady as you come. He withdraws his tongue from your hole and laps up and down your folds for a few seconds as you continue to twitch. 

Then he stands up, holding his stiff, wet cock.  His face is flushed, and he's shiny from the nose down.  He braces a hand on the table and teases your clit with his swollen tip.  You flinch in pleasure, still reeling from your first orgasm. He notches his tip at your wet little hole, holds onto your thighs,.and shoves himself into you with a groan. He stays in for a moment, sighing “Ohh, fuck,” admiring your body as it rushes to accommodate him. You spasm around him, still twitching with aftershocks.

He backs up then slams into you with a low growl from his chest. It's a lot to take, but god it feels good. He lifts your legs and puts his arms under your knees, wrapping his hands over to hold your thighs as he buries his length in you, grunting and sighing. His balls slap against your ass. His biceps flex, and It isn't long before you begin to moan and writhe, and squeeze his cock. 

"Good girl," he breathes. "Good, sweet pea."

He closes his eyes and fucks you through it. He breathes deep and slow, like he's trying not to come yet.  He slows way down, moans, then bottoms out and begins to pulse. He brings his hands to either side of your body and hovers over you while he thrusts slowly with each warm burst he releases. You milk his cock until his balls are empty, then your contractions fade. 

Joel hovers there, admiring your body. Then he slides out and sits down on the chair between your legs again. His armpits are warm and humid on your thighs.  He puts one hand on each breast and lowers his head to rest his cheek on your lower abdomen, tickling you with his beard. He wipes his mouth on your belly and a spot of drool from the corner of his mouth hits your skin.  He stares off at the front door of the trailer in a trance, gently cupping your breasts. He mumbles, "Taste so good, sweet pea." 

You reach for his hair and he doesn't stop you from fingering his curls. His eyelids droop, and after a few seconds, he closes his eyes.  You lightly massage his scalp again. 

He only allows himself a minute or two before he tenses and clears his throat. He lifts his head and slides his hands under your arms, helping you sit up straight. 

“I'll check the birds,” he says as he tucks his cock away.  He squeezes your thigh and gives you a wink before he stands up to go outside. 

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Thank you for reading and engaging 🖤 It means the world to me when you show him your love! whether this post is new or old. I also love when people throw a comment when they re-read. It's like adding coals to the fire that keeps me warm and writing lol.

You can find more raider!Joel oral on the raider master list under hypotheticals/imagines/HCs.

My tag lists are being phased out. . . please subscribe to notifications on @toxicfics.

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All Joel minus ones i'm pretty sure already saw it or are on toxic notifs or don't read joel anymore? . . : @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda  @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname   @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

Raider: @randomhoe @princessloveweird @mugshotqueen @anas-dreamer @eggnox @dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @tulipsatmidnight @imaginary98 @neobanguniverse@quietlyignoringyou

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #tw animal death #tw animal neglect #dark!joel miller #raider!joel miller #toxicanonymity ☠️ #raider!joel #raider!joel ☠️

[another-lost-mc]

Pet

When the demon brothers put you in harm's way, Barbatos steps in to save you, whether you want him to or not.

BARBATOS & gn!Reader 1.4k words | NSFW | Yandere Barbatos | Forced Imprisonment Content warnings: Yandere thoughts/behaviours, memory flashbacks, forced imprisonment, mentions of starvation/forced feeding, mentions of animal cruelty/death, minor mentions of blood, Stockholm Syndrome. A/N: Without giving too much away, their relationship is platonic in this installment. Please read the content warnings before continuing. The Creepy Castle AU [Part 3] PREVIOUS

Barbatos waits for his young master to settle into bed for the evening, and then he heads to the kitchen. The castle is quiet this time of night and he doesn’t worry about being observed. He hums quietly when he sets a tray on the countertop and begins preparing a late snack for you. 

Your appetite still isn’t what it used to be, and you can’t stomach the rich foods he would normally make for you. It doesn’t take long to heat up a piece of dry toast, and he puts a handful of plump, purple hellberries into a small bowl. Once he’s satisfied, he leaves the kitchen with the tray. He can’t help but smile - you used to be so stubborn about eating before.

When Barbatos first brought you to his room, you refused to eat everything he offered you. He knew you must be starved by now - it’s been far too long since you last ate something. You weren’t tempted by the food he gave you, or the desperate bargains he tried to make with you to get you to eat.

Barbatos did what he needed to do, and he frowned when you squirmed in his hold. “I don’t want to do this, but you leave me no choice,” he reminded you when he finally forced your mouth open to feed you himself.

“I promised to take care of you. I’m all that you have now.” He shushed you when you sputtered awkwardly and liquid dripped from the corners of your mouth.

After he fed you, he made sure you were cleaned up and kept warm. He held you close to his chest until you stopped trembling. He hoped you found his heartbeat against your ear comforting. “I’ll bring you something to eat tomorrow, so please try not to be stubborn. I don’t want to force you again - but I will, if I must.”

When Barbatos slips into his room and locks the door behind him, he sets the tray on his nightstand. He’s excited to see you after a long day by the prince’s side. Sometimes he’s able to find a few spare minutes to sneak away and see you, but most days he’s simply too busy and can’t leave his post. You occupy his thoughts when he’s not with you.

You’re still fast asleep when he checks on you. You’re buried under the plush bedding he purchased specially for you. He hides you in a dark, secluded part of his room where no one would dare think to search for you. He even modified the space with magic to make it larger and more comfortable.

You must sense his presence because you stir and blink sleepily, looking around in a daze before you realize he’s kneeling beside you. He offers his hand to help lift you out of your bed, and you greet him happily. Barbatos believes you trust him now, finally. It didn’t always used to be this way.

Barbatos flinched when you bit him. He expected some resistance from you, perhaps some anger while you adjusted to your new living conditions, but you never tried to hurt him before. 

He was livid.

“You take for granted everything I’ve done for you,” he hissed, and you cowered away from him. He wasn’t yelling, but his tone was sharp and deadly; his eyes flashed with a hint of violence. “I’ve changed parts of myself to accommodate you, because I wanted to help you.”

He glanced away, convincing no one that he was unaffected by your rejection. “Perhaps some time apart will remind you not to bite the hand that feeds you.”

In the days since that incident, Barbatos was true to his word and avoided you. He brought you food like clockwork - you started eating on your own, thankfully - but he barely spared you a glance when he left the dish by your side.

He left you as quickly as he came, and he refused to acknowledge you or speak to you. He shrunk your living quarters so they were even smaller than before, barely giving you room to move about freely, and he left you shrouded in darkness.

You were used to listening to him talk about his day, usually while he held you in his bed in the late hours of the evening. This new, unusual silence hurt you. You missed the warm candlelight of his room, and his soft voice and gentle touches. You missed him, but you didn’t know how to tell him.

Barbatos became increasingly distracted as the tension with you weighed heavily on his mind. He had no doubt what he was doing was the best for you. He didn’t want to punish you like this. He only wanted you to understand that he was trying to care for you the best he could. He knew it was worth it. He cared about you, and he hoped one day you would care for him too.

He must’ve been so distraught over you that his mask of indifference cracked. One afternoon, Diavolo sensed something was bothering him and took pity on his friend. Barbatos was dismissed earlier than normal from his duties. He wasn’t used to having this much spare time, and he didn’t want to waste this chance. It was nearly two weeks ago when you hurt him - perhaps you would be more reasonable now.

Barbatos went straight to his private quarters, but he sensed something was wrong as soon as he entered the room. He heard the rat before he saw it; it was making quiet, snarling sounds as it approached the dark corner where Barbatos kept you.

Instinct took over, and the disgusting creature didn't stand a chance. He was only grateful that you didn’t have to watch what happened next. He cleaned the blood off himself and the floor before he checked on you.

He visibly sighed in relief when he realized you were startled but otherwise unharmed. You shook with fear in the corner of your bed. Perhaps you weren’t very fond of rats either. 

“It’s gone now,” he promised quietly, eyes suddenly blurry with tears. All his anger and frustration melted away when he realized nothing else mattered except that you were safe. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. I’m sorry for everything.”

When he offered you his hand again, you didn’t hesitate to accept him.

Barbatos watches you eat and sets aside the leftovers once you're finished. He lays on his bed and settles against his pillows. He lifts you to his chest so you can rest against him.

Even he has to admit that this arrangement was uncomfortable at first, and more than a little bit strange. When he looks at you now, safe and happy with him in the quiet sanctuary he’s built for you, he’s sure now he made the right choice to bring you here.

It’s only by a stroke of luck that he’s the one that found you. The accident happened nearly two months ago. He knew he couldn’t trust your safety to Lucifer and his brothers - not when they’re the ones that got you into this mess to begin with.

Barbatos is gentle when he strokes you, and he watches you fall asleep. You’re so delicate.

“Oi, what was that for, Levi?!”

“You haven’t paid me back the money you owe me!”

You were putting alchemy supplies back on the shelf in the potions lab when you heard the demon brothers arguing nearby. You’re not sure who knocked into you from behind, but you grunted from the force and lost your balance. You stumbled forward and banged into one of the storage shelves. When you regained your bearings, you looked up just in time to see the bottles of strange liquids and substances rock haphazardly before they fell towards you.

A booming explosion rocked the floor, and your demon friends rushed towards the cloud of noxious fumes that the volatile mixture of ingredients created.

“No one is allowed any closer until we make sure it’s not dangerous—“ the professor said when he stepped in front of Mammon.

“But someone is in there!” Levi yelled. Mammon and Levi both shouted your name desperately even as the rest of their classmates dragged them back.

By the time Diavolo and Lucifer arrived to investigate the accident, there was no trace of you. The only evidence of your survival was your pact marks with each of the brothers that remained intact, but they couldn’t find you anywhere.

Barbatos strokes the little mouse sleeping on his chest with the gentlest touch of his bare finger. Sometimes he thinks about changing you back. He knows he should. It took him so long to accept you like this, but he admits that he enjoys it now. It’s difficult for him not to, not when you curl against his hand and trust him to keep you safe.

Perhaps he’ll keep you like this a little longer.

#series: the creepy castle #obey me barbatos #obey me x reader #omswd x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #barbatos x reader #obey me barbatos x mc #barbatos x mc #obey me barbatos x you #barbatos x you #obey me platonic #obey me fanfic #omswd fanfic #x reader #someone dropped this 🚩 #tw animal neglect #tw imprisonment #gn!reader

[cushfuddled]

Rabbit abuse videos: what to look out for

The internet is just SO rife with rabbit mistreatment and abuse. Rabbit videos rake up millions of views and everyone gushes over the cutesy lil' bunny doing something quirky and I just lose my mind all over again.

Some recurring bits to watch out for:

"Watch this rabbit take a bath!"

Rabbits should never ever be bathed (except as directed by a vet, given a dangerous health situation). Bathing is extremely stressful for rabbits, and damp fur can lead to ear infections (serious) or hypothermia (deadly). Regular bathing also wipes away the natural oils that would normally keep a rabbit's fur clean.

"My rabbit is only calm when I cradle him like a baby!"

When you hold a rabbit in your arms with the rabbit flipped on its back, you're inducing something called tonic immobility, wherein the rabbit is so stressed it resorts to playing dead. That's not a relaxed rabbit, that's a paralyzed rabbit.

"This rabbit once lived in a tiny cage, but now it has full reign of my ranch!"

Free roaming, wherein rabbits are allowed to "free roam" your entire home, is the ideal living situation for a pet rabbit. Rabbits are generally easy to litter box train (there are some exceptions, the same way some cats are fussy about their litter boxes). Cords can be fenced off, and chewable items can be placed on shelves. In a situation where complete free roaming isn't possible, the House Rabbit Society recommends a rabbit pen size of 8 square feet—though I personally would go for something more like 5x8 ft at the smallest! Rabbits should also get 3+ hours of exercise time a day when they're allowed out of their pen to really run and jump around the house.

You'll note my use of the terms "home" and "house." You can keep your pet rabbit outside, but this introduces risk factors like extreme heat, extreme cold, rain, snow, predators, illness, and poison. You'll need a predator-proof, weather-conscious shelter and access to a large, safe area for your rabbit to get those daily 3+ hours of exercise. You'll also need to provide them with adequate weather support (like heat lamps or frozen water bottles/tiles), and be ready to bring them inside when temps become dangerous (anything below like 25°F or above 80°F). You can usually let a rabbit run around your uncovered yard for a while so long as you're there to supervise, but you can't just dump them in the yard with a hutch and a timothy hay bale and call it a day. That rabbit can now be picked off by predators (neighborhood cats or dogs, coyotes, hawks, snakes, etc.), eat pesticides, litter, or poisonous plants (like ivy, daffodils, buttercups, poppies, rhubarb leaves, etc.), fall prey to mites or parasites, catch RHD from a nearby wild rabbit, die of heat stroke or cold, escape the yard and get lost/hit by a car, or even just get into something sharp or heavy in your yard and hurt themselves. Leaving a rabbit to just wander around a giant property is reckless and cruel. The rabbit does not need to free roam your whole yard to be happy; in fact, the rabbit will be less stressed and (statistically) live much longer in a sheltered environment.

"This rabbit gets along with my predator animal!"

Not all these rabbit-dog or rabbit-cat friendships are dangerous (some cats and dogs and rabbits, under the right conditions, can become friends)—but the nature of social media means content creators are often incentivized to capture cute viral moments at the expense of their animals' safety. Just something to consider with channels that produce lots of "prey and predator animal friendships"-style videos.

#feel free to add #this continues to drive me CRAZY #tw animal abuse #tw animal neglect

[sunlightmurdock]

we have a bunch of stray dogs at camp bc they get dumped on the mountain + I was really sick on Monday so I missed the evening activity and just found out that one of my faves was found dead by the barn 😭😭

Everyone agreed not to tell me bc they knew I was super attached but someone let it slip and I straight up started sobbing at breakfast this morning

RIP Pringle, my favourite silent, grumpy old man — gone but not forgotten 😭😭😭

#tw pet death #tw animal death #tw animal dying #tw animal neglect

[fleet-off]

Vegas isn't the only Theerapanyakul keeping his symbolism-imbued pets in inappropriate enclosures. Look at this man and his three sons fish.

Korn keeps his fish in three separate tanks. Two of these are placed together under careful watch; the third fish is off to the side in a smaller tank, visible but not under active scrutiny. This third fish may represent Kim, who left the main house and isolated himself from the family--alternatively, it could represent the cast-aside Tankhun, whose world is smallest and who Korn monitors less carefully because he's considered harmless.

(EDIT: @concernedlily and @findinghomesomehow both made excellent posts pointing out that the fish could also represent Kinn and Vegas. I was initially hesitant about this take because Vegas doesn't live under Korn's direct control/surveillance, but it fits beautifully with the fact that these male bettas--fish specifically known for being aggressive towards other males of their species--have been set up where they can see each other but not actually fight. The third fish could then be Porsche (who is about to get on Korn's radar) or someone like Kim, watching from the wings.)

As for the condition Korn keeps these fish in...

All three tanks are tiny, narrow, and oriented incorrectly for the fishes' preferred horizontal movement--these fish are confined and controlled. A fish raised in a tank this small will not reach its normal size. By limiting them to these small glass containers, Korn restricts his pets' movement and the path of their growth.

There are no filters to clean and circulate the water these fish live in. There is no heater. (To be fair, filters and heaters wouldn't fit tanks this small.) We're also outdoors. In conjunction with the sizes of the tanks, all of this makes conditions for the fish more volatile. Water temperature will fluctuate. Oxygen will deplete. Toxins will build up. Bettas are hardy fish and can actually take air from the water's surface, but this environment is incredibly stressful for them even with regular water switches and tank cleaning. The constraints Korn has placed on his pets make their environment turbulent and stressful in a way that may drastically shorten their lifespan.

Finally (and this is where the symbolism is most clearly intended), the tanks are completely void of plants and decoration. This serves as an additional stressor in an already unnatural environment, and it means that the fish have nowhere to hide--Korn's piercing gaze can find his pets from any angle.

Honestly, I've been hesitating to use the word "pet" throughout this post, because these fish look less like creatures Korn is emotionally attached to and more like a project he is intent on. Vegas adores his hedgehog even though he keeps it in a bird cage. There's no love in Korn's gaze here.

Korn is not overtly abusive like his brother, but he is intensely controlling and he's keeping a keen eye on his children. If they try to leap their open tanks (...which bettas do, by the way), you can trust that he'll seek some way to bring them back in line and continue using them for his own purposes.

#kinnporsche #tw animal neglect #please correct any inaccuracies in my fish info #i am a fish enjoyer but certainly not a professional #fleet post #fleet meta

[maddiviner]

How would one perhaps cast a glamourbomb?

Note: This article describes some stuff people did in the past. It’s not safe or wise to do that kind of thing nowadays, if it ever truly was. I don’t recommend engaging in these activities, but wanted to answer this anyways. The word itself made me nostalgic, but conflicted? Yeah.

Glamourbombs, at least as I know the term, aren’t spells in the traditional sense. They are (were, more like) magical performance pieces. They touch the “mundane” world with some sort of occult interjection. This was (perhaps thankfully) most common in places where the veil between “mundane” and “weird” was already thin: libraries, universities after midnight, anime conventions, places like that. While I don’t doubt people still do this today, the trend was at its peak around the turn of the century.

At the time, I was in middle school. As the Millennium (holy f**king s**t! its Y2K!) approached, the apocalypticism wasn’t just limited to the Christian kids. Those of us who weren’t Christian or just came from more secular families still saw things like hysteria about Y2K glitches and especially climate change. A lot of that was pretty scary to us, especially considering some of our more fundamentalist-minded neighbors were saying the world was going to end and “Jesus was coming back.”

It wasn’t so much that we believed them. We just knew, even as kids, that the scientists weren’t lying about the climate data. We also knew that people were acting really irrationally, whatever their reasons. This fit in well with the notion that some big change was coming. Maybe it wasn’t the Christian apocalypse, but could it be something? Plenty of adults seemed to think so, too.

Online, and in our own (burgeoning) occult spaces, we had our own spin on things. Allegedly, by glamourbombing, we were helping, in some small way, to enchant this increasingly hostile mundane world. Because, as teens and tweens growing up on White Wolf, Captain Planet and Square Enix, we clearly knew what was best for reality!

We had every right to (at least try to) impose it on the rest of the world at every chance. Right? Right?

We’d all read at least two books on witchcraft from Barnes and Noble, too.

In some scenarios of glamourbombing, the point was just to make people going about their day pause for a few seconds, think “Hmm? Cool!” and go on about their lives, hopefully in a better mood. These were usually simple things like flyers seeking a “LOST UNICORN,” a notice that you’re entering a “PIXIE-FREE ZONE,” silly things like that. You still see stuff like this today and (if it’s well-designed) it makes people smile and nothing more.

Other glamourbombs had more complexity. They (sometimes) included a bit of magical technique - an active hypersigil, for example.

When pen drives grew in popularity, they became common tools for glamourbombing, with people filling the drives with “magical” material and leaving them (usually conspicuously) somewhere, like a library.

These hypersigils might take the form of experimental music MP3s, animated loops, even actual .EXE files (supposedly). I don’t know whether anyone was bold or foolish enough to click on something like that, of course.

I was barely in my teens, and definitely still sorting things out when it came both to my personal beliefs and perspective on wider community issues like this. Even then, though, I knew not to click any weird .EXE files.

The larger problem, in case you couldn’t tell?

A lot of this straight-up ignores issues like bystander consent from a magical perspective and, y’know, the problems that can arise from leaving weird/unexpected things in public places.

Also? In case you’re not keeping track, I’m talking about the 2000s here. Early 2000s. As in directly after 9/11. Not exactly a wonderful time to be running around acting weird in public and dumping strange packages. Not a safe or wise thing to be doing. Some people got a tag on that early on and quit such shenanigans.

In the summer of 2003, I attended a summer program for “gifted” 🙄 kids where I took the course focused on Greek mythology. The motley pack of metaphysically-inclined nerds I met there thought glamourbombing was tragically cool, of course. We had all kinds of ideas about “Lost Pegasus” flyers and other Greek mythology-themed things. Thankfully nothing that would’ve been too harmful. We ended up being too shy and busy with schoolwork to actually do any of it.

Sadly, later on, there were some attempts by groups (some of which I’d call cult-like) to recruit using this kind of thing. I won’t name anything that’d put me on anyone’s radar (hopefully), but I remember reading about some of it.

One particularly unpleasant and notorious use of this technique occurred on the west coast in the late 2000s when a cult set up an “art installation” in public featuring a live rat in a maze and some other random detritus. The rat didn’t freeze to death despite cold temperatures, thankfully.

Incidents like that (which was, of course, reported as a bomb scare) probably helped to put a stop to the glamourbombing trend. After all, if you’re (supposedly) after some kind of mind-liberating mass reenchantment of reality, well, nothing could be worse than the whole bomb squad showing up, right?

As the digital age crept on, I think people started to reevaluate attention’s role as a commodity. It’s really easy to get attention if you want it, as things like the “rat in a maze” exhibit (which made the papers) show.

You can’t control what kind of attention you’ll get, though, and you can’t say for certain that what you’re doing won’t have unintended consequences for other people. With that in mind, something like glamourbombing doesn’t seem very responsible, especially right now.

I guess the concept isn’t irredeemable. As recently as 2018, I was posting on Facebook looking for someone to help me slay the green dragon that sometimes lands in the field near the Taco Bell by the highway.

Little pranks and jokes like that can brighten everyone’s mood sometimes. There’s certain contexts, though (my Facebook feed, for example) where it might be appropriate, and others where it wouldn’t.

And the full-on concept of a glamourbomb, designed to “spread magic in the mundane'' with an active sigil of some sort, etc? Hard pass. Doesn’t seem ethical to me nowadays.

And, of course, it’s generally a bad idea to do anything that might be mistaken for a bomb threat.

#witchcraft #magic #occult #chaos magic #witch #witchblr #sigil #hypersigil #glamourbomb #early 2000s #eliza.txt #new occult #postmodern #millennium #tw animal neglect #tw bomb

[worst-mother-throwdown]

BRACKET 1

Round 1

Propaganda under the cut, but feel free to add yours in the reblogs

TW: child/animal neglect

Ursa propaganda

(I couldn't find the panel, sorry. But I think the one I chose is close enough?)

Rainflower propaganda

#worst fictional mother throwdown #worst mother throwdown #avatar the last airbender #avatar the last airbender ursa #ursa atla #warrior cats #rainflower #tw animal neglect #tw child neglect

[valeroyeaux]

sometimes i get so mad thinking about the ppl who had rizzo before me. this creature is so soft and so sweet and so full of love and you leave him in a basement????? a basement with 60 other dogs????? without even any blankets or pillows???? incomprehensible to me.

#rizzo tag #tw animal abuse #tw animal neglect

[opossum-by-night]

TW: animal abuse/neglect (maybe??)

So our friends have this piss-poorly-bred corgi puppy that's almost a year old now, and they're fucking r u i n i n g this dog dude. She literally bites them and draws blood almost daily to the point that they wear fucking *bite gloves* to hook and unhook her leash and do any kind of grooming. She literally *begs* for water and will sit and *violently* lick ice until it's completely gone, and will lick the water from the shower off the floor, but they restrict her water access because she will apparently drink until she throws up??? And supposedly their vet said this is "fine" as long as they give her "enough water"??? I have no idea if they've even done any diagnostics!!! The dog is probably fucking diabetic!!! And now they're using a shock collar whenever she barks or is being "crazy" or "a brat." But "oH nO iT dOeSn'T sHoCk iT jUsT sTiMs" - if it wasn't aversive it wouldn't fucking do anything!!!!! And this poor dog is already afraid of her own shadow!!!!! I've made the decision not to insert myself unless they ask for help but holy hell I feel like this poor dog is absolutely doomed. It's gonna fucking bite someone for real someday and be put down because they did not prepare at all to have a dog and have no fucking idea what they're doing. I'm trying so hard to mind my own business but it pisses me tf off!!!!!

#its so fucking frustrating to watch #and its not like they have no resources to learn!!!! #our other friend is literally a dog groomer and i have a degree in animal behavior!!! #like im not an experienced dog owner but at least ive read a fucking book or two!!!!!! #tw animal abuse #tw animal neglect #possum talk

[rachiesratirementhome]

We recently aired a facebook live with some updates. The 11 little pinkies that recently came to us are all safe and warm. More, less pretty, information under the cut.

The pups appear to be a few different ages, and most of the mothers we had showed no interest in them, clearly many of them had been feeding pups recently but based on our understanding of the situation pups would have been easy food for the other 180 rats. This one agouti girl who kept taking her pups back from Rach was the perfect fit, she now has all 11 and is in a tub by herself, she's made a beautiful nest and it's looking good.

Rach went through the other dozen girls, some look absolutely ready to pop, and of those most show signs of nipple irritation consistent with recent feeding, especially from older and hungry pups, so it isn't their first rodeo. They're all quite young, and skinny in the base of the tail, which is a great place to check for condition. One sweet girl is so round she can't even clean her own butt, and since they've all got diarrhoea, she's got some mess that's been there a while. Some time in a clean cage and a smaller belly and even her black tail will be back to pink though!

We're in the process of asking the community for support with their maternity care. If you're near Brisbane Australia and willing, you can find more information on our Facebook.

#from rrh facebook #tw animal neglect #tw animal abuse

[bucket-of-nickels]

Stealing betafish from places that keep them in plastic cups without any of their very important necessities should be more legal and socially acceptable than putting betafish in plastic cups without any of their very important necessities

#tw mentions of animal cruelty #cw mentions of animal cruelty #tw animal neglect #cw animal neglect

[reptiles-and-rainbows]

These are Mikah Daley's pictures taken at the Atlantis Aquatic Gardens.

She shared them at the Leopard Gecko Life Facebook group.

Unfortunately these kinds of things are not unusual. These poor leopard geckos are malnourished, injured, possibly carry parasites and are kept in indecent conditions - and cohabited. This is a life-threatening situation for every one of these lizards. The person who posted these pictures said there were seven leopard geckos in one tank. As many of you know, keeping several leopard geckos together is always a huge risk. The substrate isn't ideal. There seem to be too little hides and no humid hides at all. Their tails are really skinny, so they haven't got enough food or have dangerous parasites. One gecko appears to be missing an eye or having other issues with it.

If you were to, let's say, give them negative reviews,

this is their website:

Their rating has gone from over four point six stars to two point five. Every review counts. I will try to keep you updated - this all is from a private group.

#tw animal abuse #tw animal neglect #leopard gecko #leopard geckos #gecko #geckos #lizard #lizards #reptile #reptiles #animal #animals #pet store #pet stores #animal abuse #animal neglect #tw animal cruelty #animal cruelty

[melancholy-hill-22]

I found a severely neglected borderline abused yorkie the other day and I called a rescue lady and she was like you have to bring him to the shelter and he has to go through proper procedure and I’m like WtAF so I tried to just not do that because fuck his owners but then I tried bringing him to multiple emergency vet hospitals and they wouldn’t take him because they were like he could be someone’s pet. Anyway animal control took him and I’ve been so worried about him. I called the shelter today and they’re GIVING HIM BACK TO THE OWNERS. this dog had a huge bleeding tumor on his neck. His nails were so long they curled under his toe pads, he was so matted and unwashed for God knows how long, he smelled terrible, he had itchy, yeasty skin. And they are GIVING HIM BACK TO THESE PEOPLE. I should have run away with him. I’m so filled with regret and sadness. Please somebody. Anybody help. What can we do???! Please. 😭

#someone help #this is a cry for help #animals #tw animal suffering #tw animal abuse #tw animal neglect #help me #we need to talk about this more #need help #need him #please #dm me pls #omg #no #dear god #dear universe

[saraptor]

so so so wishing people a dont let your cats roam unsupervised. there are so many roaming cats around here and its killing me because they're all sick, tick and flea-infested, and most of them probably arent spayed/neutered

#there's this one cat that keeps hanging around my place #she used to have a collar but now its gone and im like #is she up for adoption bc i WILL take her in #the ppl who 'own' her dont give a shit about what happens to her #tw animal neglect #tw animal abuse

[hillerska-official]

Brought the kids back from a field trip and the other room had brought back abandoned kittens from the pool????????

#not yr #cats #tw animal neglect

[worst-mother-throwdown]

BRACKET 1

Round 2

TW: child/animal neglect, attempted murder, manipulation

Rainflower propaganda

Queen Dagmar propaganda

#worst mother throwdown #worst fictional mother throwdown #warrior cats #rainflower #disenchantment #queen dagmar #tw child abuse #tw child neglect #tw animal neglect #tw attempted murder #tw manipulation