#car wash machine for home

[marsixm]

i did so much today im so tired

[pickapea]

posts that make you remember that american healthcare has close to no hygiene protocols

I’ve told this story ten thousand times and I will tell it for the ten thousandth and first: whenever I think about wearing a costume to work on Halloween, I remember the time I saw a doctor breaking what must have been devastating news to a sobbing patient while the doc was dressed as a ketchup bottle.

[rassdetergent]

RAS Detergent & Fabric Care Products offers 4 tonnes of daily production capacity! 🚀 Scale up your business with our advanced facility. Contact us at 9539536276 or visit us in Kozhikode, Kerala. #BusinessEfficiency #Manufacturing

[joelsbloodyhands]

Enjoy the Silence

SUMMARY: You come home from work and find yourself having sensory overload from everything. Joel comes home and takes care of you.

WARNINGS: no outbreak, no mention of Ellie 😭, established relationship with Joel, soft!Joel, descriptions of loud noises, reader gets big sad and unable to manage themselves, needs Joel for comfort, an overuse of terms of endearment (baby, sweetheart, honey), Joel is here to help with everything, sensory overload of touch, sounds, sensitive smell. Just absolute fluff (I need it so bad rn) 🤧 no use of y/n, gender neutral pronouns used, reader has hair long enough to tie up, reader has no visible disabilities. Reader loves Sarah. WE LOVE SARAH 🥺 but she’s unintentionally overwhelming us, sorry Babygirl 😭

Dividers by @nicodefresas 🎀

A/N: As I’m writing this, I’m currently having the worst sensory overload episode 😔 also I don’t think I should need to specify but everyone has different triggers and symptoms when dealing with overstimulation. A lot of this is based on my own personal experiences.

You don’t have the foggiest clue where it triggered from.

You just know that one minute you were grinding away at work, then you were driving home in the rain becoming all too aware of the blaring lights of other cars bothering your eyes more than they usually did.

If you could’ve worn sunglasses without crashing in the evening darkness, you would have. The sudden outburst of a car horn had you gripping the steering wheel tighter causing you to subconsciously flex your fingers, becoming all too aware of the rough leather of the steering wheel against your dry hands.

Dry hands. My lips are dry too.

You lick your lips.

My mouth tastes weird.

You’re becoming all too aware of your teeth grinding against each other.

Just tired, yeah…that’s all. Just tired. Long day at work. I’ll be fine once I get home.

So you keep driving.

Sarah was home when you got back. Her voice shaking you awake as soon as you passed the threshold of the house while she spoke to you about her day.

You look forward to these moments usually.

Coming back to Sarah and Joel.

Gossiping about the joys of working and all the drama of high school that you definitely don’t miss but enjoy hearing when Sarah gives you her best dramatic retelling of events.

Though as she followed you through the corridor to the kitchen, your ears rang.

Is she talking louder than normal?

You open the refrigerator, a sudden overwhelming scent of Thai green curry catching your senses and not in a good way.

But it’s your favourite?

Joel made it yesterday, putting the leftovers into three Tupperware boxes to eat for dinner today. The pounding of the washing machine and dryer causes you to close the refrigerator uneasily, your eyes glancing to it. Sarah’s voice joining the chorus of sounds echoing off the kitchen walls.

You don’t feel hungry all of a sudden.

“Are you okay?” Sarah voice breaks through and you come to realise you must have been staring at her for an awful long time, your eyes wide.

You nod and Sarah frowns ever so slightly.

“So what do you think?”

Your mind goes blank.

You didn’t even hear anything she said except yes you did but it was so loud, you didn’t take any of it in.

“About what?” You find yourself murmuring, your own voice startling you.

It sounds unfamiliar to you for some reason.

You’re worried you’ve upset her while Sarah takes a minute before a smile breaks out on her lips and she’s laughing and prodding you on the arm playfully. Your eyes drift there instinctively, her laughter making you wince.

You don’t laugh in return.

“Long day at work, huh?” She giggles and rolls her eyes before telling you she needs to go study and that you should eat dinner.

She leaves you then, your body standing in the same position in front of the refrigerator where she left you. The sound of her feet hitting against the staircase filling your head, the floorboards creaking harshly. You exhale a heavy breath.

As you stand there, eyes turning distastefully towards the washing machine and dryer singing their tune far too loud, your skin starts to itch. You tug at the sleeves of your work shirt, unbuckle the belt at your waist, the feeling too tight against your hips. You pull the hair tie from your wrist and put your hair up into a bun, the tickle of the hairs against the back of your neck bothering you.

You know what’s happening.

You’re just trying to refuse to accept that it is, hoping that for once you can just ignore it and go about the rest of your evening like you originally planned.

You just want to hear Joel’s voice, cuddle into him on the couch, eat your curry and go to bed.

Except when you hear the front door open and his voice is carrying through to the kitchen, you retract into yourself, carrying your feet away from the overwhelming sounds of mundane tasks and to the staircase. You want nothing more than to sit on the floor of your bedroom with your legs crossed and the lights off.

So you skip up the stairs, albeit with dramatic wide steps, trying not to trigger the creakiest of the floorboards. When you get to yours and Joel’s bedroom, flooded with darkness, you shut the door and allow yourself to crumble.

Ah you can’t take this. You need your shirt.

Where is it?!

You’re frantic, the tears falling down your cheeks as you continue to feel itchy in your work shirt, longing for the wide airy comfort t-shirt you keep for this very reason.

“Hey,” a whisper sounds behind you and you turn abruptly, eyes wide to see Joel stood, his eyes on you intently as he holds your oversized shirt by the shoulders in both hands.

Lost in all your distress, you hadn’t even heard him come in.

You realise you’re crying then.

“Joel, I-“

He watches you harshly rub at your face.

He knows you hate to be touched at times like this.

It feels like nails on a chalkboard but he ever so gently, puts two fingers to the wrist of your hand practically clawing at your face and you drop it immediately, your eyes meeting his again, pained and bloodshot.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you cry, “I’m just-“ you flail your arms in frustration, the intense sound of your sobs making your eyes twitch.

“Hey, hey,” he whispers, moving towards you and taking the hem of your shirt in his fingers, careful not to graze any more skin as he starts to lift it from your body.

“You don’t need to apologise, baby,” he keeps whispering, “let’s get you more comfortable, hm?”

Joel knew all too well about your episodes.

In fact, it’s partly the reason of how he met you at Tommy’s house when you attended a barbecue and got overwhelmed by the music and sounds of neighbours, talking and getting louder the more drunk they got.

Joel had planned to leave early but was surprised when he found you curled in the bottom of a dark closet when he was retrieving his coat.

He froze when he saw you, your watery eyes lifting up at him, your arms wrapped around your knees pulled up against your chest.

Your cheeks had flushed dangerously, embarrassed about being found in this predicament but all Joel saw was a young woman clearly upset so he bent down to your level, his head turning this way and that scoping the corridor to make sure no one was around and asked you what was wrong and if he could help in any way.

You had shook your head so fast, the room span but Joel didn’t back away so easily.

Truth be told, you’d caught his attention all night and Tommy had nudged and smirked at him for noticing his eyes on you, encouraging him to go talk to you but he never did.

He couldn’t find a reason to.

Well, what more of a reason did he need than finding you sat with your back against a coat closet in his brothers house?

You had stood up so shakily that Joel found himself wanting to take you in his arms just to offer you some support to stand but you backed away when his hands instinctively held out to grab you if you fell.

He retracted them just as quick.

You told him you were fine and thanked him, saying you just needed to call an Uber and go home. You made the excuse that you’d had too much to drink and your head was spinning.

Dizzy and nauseous, you just needed somewhere dark to sit.

With the daunting thought in mind of having to sit in a stuffy taxi with a voice trying to make polite conversation with you, you didn’t catch Joel’s offer until you met his eyes again and he realised your blank expression, his back straightening and voice softening with a smile.

“If you need a dark closet, I got one at my place across the street if you need it?”

Somehow you laughed and even though your own voice hurt your ears, you found yourself saying, “if you’d said that to anyone else, you’d sound like a murderer,” and all it took was Joel’s pretty smile to take him up on his offer.

Except rather than a dark closet, he simply closed the curtains in his living room, offered you some chamomile tea, a blanket and sat in silence with you on the couch. And though your voices were silent, your mind was loud, finding it completely baffling that a man you just met and barely knew was being so incredibly sweet as to offer you a safe space. No questions asked.

Then he’d asked you out on a date and you were absolutely dumbfounded.

Later in your relationship, you had admitted what had happened and while he understood what it meant to feel overwhelmed (god did he feel it sometimes), sensory overload was a completely new term for him.

You explained as best you could, your cheeks the same shade of red he had seen when he found you in the closet. Joel took it upon himself when he was awake lying next to you, tangled up asleep in his bedsheets, to take his phone from his bedside and spend a good hour reading about what sensory overload was and how it can be eased.

You couldn’t believe your luck of finding this man. You practically thank that damn closet for it’s existence in Tommy’s house every time you visit.

So now you’re back in that predicament again and Joel is pulling back the covers from the bed, folding it up at the end knowing you just want a nice cool mattress to lay against.

Your heart twists at his care, tears falling from your eyes like rain, except Joel is the sun as warm and inviting as can be even when you want nothing more than to be left alone.

“Okay, honey,” he now whispers, knowing it’s easier to talk to you that way. His heart aches at the sight of you as he turns to face you, slowly walking so that his footsteps don’t make too much noise along the wooden floorboards.

“You wanna lie down? I’ll get you something to eat.”

“I don’t think I can eat, Joel,” you reply, your voice shaky as you lay down on the bed. Joel kneeling beside it, his palms flat on the mattress beside you while you lay on your side looking up at him.

“Usually liquids are best, right? Soup? Or I could make you a smoothie? And a cup of tea? Do you want your noise cancelling earphones, baby?” Your eyes are tearing again at his words and Joel’s face crumples at your glistening cheeks.

“It’s okay, honey,” he cooes, hand rubbing the mattress, pretending it’s your back.

“I feel bad,” you cry.

“No, no, no, sweetheart,” Joel shushes you, knowing all too well where this is leading and disallowing you to talk badly about yourself.

“But Sarah, she…she was trying to tell me about something and I couldn’t even concentrate on what she was saying-“

“Baby, you know Sarah understands,” Joel leans in closer, his breath on your face as he reassures you of your racing thoughts.

“She told me as soon as I came in that she thought you were having an episode. She knows, sweetheart.”

Your eyes widen, your crying stopping momentarily.

“Really?” You ask, your throat dry.

Joel nods, a small smile on his lips, “And she gets it, baby. She doesn’t judge. We’ve talked about it before. Just to make sure she always knew you might have a moment every now and again so if you need space, it doesn’t have anything to do with our relationship or the one you have with her. She loves you, honey and she knows you love her. Okay?”

You nod and Joel’s smile grows, glad to have consoled you.

“Now,” he starts again, “I’ll go get you what you need and you stay right here. I’ll be right back.”

You nod again, “thank you, Joel.”

Joel has to stifle his chuckle only a little, “how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t need to thank me, sweetheart. I’m your partner. It’s important that I take care of you. You do it for us plenty.”

You smile a little and it makes Joel swoon, happy to finally see your lips turn up, your dimples gracing the edges.

True to his word, he disappears but not before scoping the wardrobe and retrieving your earphones. You put them in and try to close your eyes and relax when he leaves. Trying to will your body to loosen up, your muscles to relax rather than freeze rigidly with every sensation. The mattress is cool, your long shirt light and airy and Joel left a cold glass of water with a straw on the bedside for when your mouth was feeling too dry.

He was one in a million and you smiled knowing you won the lottery when he found you that day in the wardrobe and then you became the richest person on the planet when you met Sarah and the connection you had to both of them grew stronger until he eventually asked you to move in.

Five years later and here you were. A family.

The best family you could’ve asked for.

“Hey baby,” you lift your head to see Joel wandering in, taking out one of your buds as he places a shaker bottle he normally uses for his protein shakes on the bedside full of a pink smoothie, joined by a cup of camomile and a bowl of your favourite soup.

“Thank you, baby,” you smile and Joel turns his head giving you a wink, seeing you that you seem to be gradually returning back to your normal self.

And luckily you are feeling a little more comfy now.

The sounds of the evening chores going on downstairs are becoming less aggravating.

You don’t feel like you need to tear your skin off your body. In fact you’re almost longing for a bath, feeling a little sweaty from being worked up so bad earlier.

“Joel?” You sit up, Joel turning to see the way your oversized shirt rides up over your underwear, his face flushing at the sight.

“You need something, baby?” He’s got that flirty smile on his face, the one that tells you he sees something he likes but you’re still not completely past your overwhelming senses.

If anything, you’re now bothered by the smell of sweat emitting from your body.

“You know how you love me so much?” You start and Joel’s eyes crease, his smile growing into a full grin.

He hums in response, awaiting your command.

“Pretty please could you run me a bath? You always make it feel so good.”

Joel kneels at the bottom of the bed, his flirty smirk returning at your words, his hands splaying out over the mattress, smoothing over it as you inch a bit closer to him.

“Is that right, sweetheart? You want a nice warm bath with all your rose petals and bubble bath? Is that what you need, baby?”

You nod with a pout, overplaying it a bit, watching his tongue poke into his cheek amused by your behaviour.

“If that’s what you need, I can do that for you but first I need you to eat some of your soup and drink some of your smoothie. Can you do that for me?”

You nod with a dimpled smile and as much as he longs to reach out and graze your knee with his fingertips, he reframes from doing so, continuing to respect your boundaries while you might still be working through your hypersensitivity.

True to his word, Joel ran the bathtub at just the right temperature, sprinkling rose scented petals and dropping a floral scented bath bomb into it. He’d even gone as far as to light some candles, set a fresh cup of tea on the side and stolen some chocolates from the last Halloween run you’d had with Sarah.

If you thought your lover couldn’t get any sweeter, he’d helped you out of your clothes and respectfully kept his hands away from you until you prompted him with a small smile to offer his hand and help you climb into the tub.

Joel left you to check on Sarah while you laid back, your senses mellowing out and coming back down from the heightened agitation you were experiencing earlier. Now finally you felt like a weight had been lifted. Your skin felt less itchy.

“So pretty…”

Your cheeks redden when Joel walks into the misty bathroom, stopping in his tracks at the doorframe and overlooking your soft skin peppered with fluffy soap.

“Have you washed your hair, honey?”

You shake your head, your smile slipping momentarily.

You would have done it if the room wasn’t a little cold. You were doing what you could to stay buried under the hot water, still feeling slightly sensitive to the temperature of the room. The aspect of lifting your bare wet arms out of the water to massage your scalp made you feel uneasy. You weren’t completely out of this episode yet and even if you were, the twinkle in Joel’s eyes told you he’d still offer up his services.

You watch him with bated breath as he kneels beside the tub, pushing up the sleeves of his favourite green plaid shirt, your eyes following the hardened muscles of his forearms up to his biceps peeking out under the flannel.

Though Joel may have a soft tummy, his arms were a statement to his hard work running a construction company with his brother, Tommy.

You rather adored your man being soft and a little hard around the edges.

“Want me to help you, sweetheart?” His voice captures you again, your eyes on his soft brown orbs.

You nod wordlessly, suddenly longing for his large hands and gentle fingers to work their way through your locks and massage your scalp deliciously.

You anticipate Joel’s touch anxiously when he leans over and reaches for your cherry scented shampoo, squeezing the red shiny liquid over his thick hands and lathering it together.

He offers you a smile, his head tilting in request to proceed in touching you. You nod and he moves behind you, his fingers sinking up into your hair from the back. You fight to suppress a shiver tickling up your spine when Joel works the product through your scalp, massaging and coating the ends of your hair with soft strokes.

It constantly amazed you how Joel’s strong hands that spent most the day throwing around heavy parts, growing calloused from checking wooden palettes during the day, could become so delicate and gentle when touching you.

You smiled to yourself, dropping your chin to your wet chest with a satisfied sigh.

Joel made sure not to massage too hard or tug harshly at your hair. He didn’t want to make you retreat back into your shell by triggering your hypersensitivity again.

He could see just from how your shoulders were gradually easing back down to normal level below your chin that your overstimulation was dissipating as the time passed.

He bites his inner gum when he hears a slight moan leave your lips at his movements.

“That feel okay?”

You hum in response, a short nod of your head.

“Good,” Joel whispers, even daring to lean forward, your damp soapy strands sticking to his cheek when he presses a slow soft kiss to your bare shoulder.

“I love you.”

Your words caress the relaxed atmosphere.

Joel smiles.

Joel wanting nothing more than to strip back and join you, holding you against his chest under the warmth of the water but he continues to hold back.

Instead he greets your quiet intimacy with a whisper.

“I love you too, baby.”

You open your eyes to a light breeze, birds singing and a smoky cup of coffee on your bedside in your favourite mug.

You lay on your side for a good few minutes, blinking away sleep, your hands cradled under your cheek and buried against the pillow.

You don’t remember falling asleep but when you feel a shuffle behind you, large warm hands slipping under your nightshirt and tugging you against his bare body, the memories start flooding back.

You were so relaxed in the bathtub that it made you sleepy. So sleepy in fact that Joel leaned over the tub after emptying it, bundled you up in a fluffy towel and lifted you into his arms.

Your cheeks warm when you vaguely remember the slight groan of protest on Joel’s lips as his aching back retaliated but with you squashed nicely against his chest, Joel couldn’t complain.

He laid you down in your bed carefully and dried you as gently as he could before tucking you in.

You remember being alone in your half-asleep state that you heard the familiar murmur of father-daughter voices, the click of the door and padded footsteps before the mattress dipped.

A kiss pressed against your forehead and all went dark.

Now the world was brighter than ever before, the sounds of the birds and cars passing by doing nothing to disturb your hearing. Your bones no longer stiffening at the natural sounds of life.

More importantly, the sensation of your lovers thumbs brushing your naked hips was very much welcomed. So much so you groaned happily, rolling over to face those perfect brown eyes and plush lips quirked up into a tired smile.

“Morning, sweetheart.”

You lean forward, meeting Joel half way and kissing him softly. You let your hands slip under his arms, cuddling into him while shuffling just below his chin.

Joel presses a lingering kiss against your head.

Distantly, you can hear Sarah’s record player and you sigh happily as the music carries through your home.

All I ever wanted…

All I ever needed is here…

In my arms…

You squeeze Joel tighter.

[cherie-doll]

someone on ao3 requested a while back i do a hc for that boxing machine game, so uh, here:

𓏴𓏴 Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Phillip Graves, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Ghost would raise his eyebrows, being quite surprised at the numbers flashing on the screen. He did not expect for the score to be so high. Perhaps he shouldn't have provoked you earlier.

The crowd that had gathered around gasped at the shocking number your fist had scored. Soap stood there, mouth agape, he had always joked that your strength couldn't compare to his. Needless to say, he would think twice before doing something that would make you mad.

Gaz had always knew you were independent and strong, how strong you were mentally but never giving much thought how far your physical strength could go. Why he was the one with the military training.

Roach was so flabbergasted he couldn't even speak. (Not like he ever does.) Did not speak to you the entire car ride home, like a kid too afraid to be scolded. Put on an apron and washed the dishes he had procrastinated on all day.

Alejandro had witnessed the wrath of women like his mother, who may be small but dominant the moment their rage flared up. Seeing that side of you come out though was something else. It honestly made him feel some type of way.

Phillip couldn't have been more astounded. He felt proud but deep down his ego was a bit hurt as he was the one who prided himself for protecting you.

"Well, damn." Keegan kept saying over and over again, muttering under his breath. Why did he ever start training you? Cleared his throat a few times as you smiled proudly looking at the score. He didn't like how intimidated he suddenly felt.

All König could think of were all those times he had opened a jar for you. Did this mean you could do it yourself? Maybe you've been feigning being the weaker person and he should watch his back.

Horangi was no less surprised, he always had you ready to deliver a punch when you two would play fight. Seeing how strong you delivered that punch, however, did make him chuckle.

Nikto continued staring at your arms, specifically the arm and hand you had punched with. When did you get so strong? And did this mean you were able to help with the yardwork now?

[joeyfranchise]

no one’s ever had me (not like you)

joe burrow x reader

description: after a tough week 5 loss in overtime, joe comes home to you angry and confused. you try to make him feel better and comfort him, letting him know you’ll always be there.

warnings: nothing too bad, but still MDNI. (makes me uncomfy.) lots of angry joe, a bit of fluff, semi-spicy kiss. mostly angst.

word count: 1.8k

note. hi hi! this is my first joe fic/blurb so i hope you guys enjoy it. sorry in advance that lowercase is my aesthetic. i used to get yelled at for it in elementary school. i love you guys. who dey!! (title & plot are lyrics from so high school, i love u mother taylor.)

pacing. you were pacing back and forth in front of the television in joe’s living room, watching the seconds tick down to end regulation time in the game. it took everything in you not to turn it off.

you watched as the minutes, seconds, milliseconds in overtime ticked by, hoping and praying your boyfriend and his team could pull out a win.

you felt your heart lurch as mcpherson went for the field goal and the ball wasn’t in the correct place. wide left. you knew it was over. you continued watching, frozen in place, as baltimore did everything they needed to do to score. they made it to field goal range, kicked, and won the game. your heart was hammering against your chest. your breath was coming out in short puffs.

after valiant efforts from joe and the rest of the team, the bengals once again took a loss at the very end of the game, something that kept happening to them this year. you knew joe would come home upset.

watching the post game interview was going to be something you dreaded today. joe took his seat and began talking to the interviewers, answering their repetitive questions and talking about what needed to be done to fix the team, what could use work next week.

you rested your head in your hands and blew out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “oh, joey…” you whispered, seeing your boyfriend’s clearly upset glare on the screen. you couldn’t wait to see him when he got home, but you were unsure of what his mood would be.

after the interview was done, you turned the television off. ‘i could start some laundry’ you thought, at least that’d keep you busy until joe’s return home.

you made your way to his bedroom, which honestly felt like your room too, and gathered all the clothes that needed to be washed before taking them to the laundry room. you tossed the laundry into the machine and then added in your favorite scent beads and detergent before turning it on and closing the lid.

‘i can tackle dishes next’ you thought, heading for the large kitchen. of course you could’ve loaded them into the dishwasher, but something needed to keep you busy and washing dishes was always strangely cathartic to you.

you popped your earbuds in and started listening to your favorite playlist before tackling the chore. once dishes were complete, you vacuumed, watered a few plants, and made yourself a snack. finally the washer beeped, so you went to switch the clothes over.

as you were switching them, joe arrived home, pulling his sleek black car into the garage before locking it up and heading into the house. listening to your music and keeping yourself busy helped lift your spirits some, which you hoped would aide you when joe finally made it back.

when he didn’t greet you upon entering the house, you knew tonight would be a tough night.

you peeked your head out of the laundry room to check for a clear coast, and it was. tiptoe-ing your way down the hall, you made your way to the kitchen where joe still was, his back facing you.

you cleared your throat softly to get his attention, but he didn’t move. you could see he was scrolling through his phone, you worried he was reading negativity that was being spewed about himself and the team.

“joey?” you called, your voice sounded smaller than you intended.

“what?” he snapped, turning to face you. you flinched at the tone of his voice, taking half a step back. internally he berated himself for scaring you, but his post-game mood was too foul to turn off now.

“i know it’s silly to ask, but are you okay?” you question, looking up at him from across the room.

he ran his hand through his short blonde hair before blowing a snarky chuckle through his nose, scoffing at you.

“am i okay?” he snarked, locking his phone and shoving it in his pocket. “what a great question! you sound like the post-game interviewers!”

the bite in his tone was starting to affect you, but you didn’t want to leave him alone just yet. as much as it hurt, you knew what he needed in this moment was to let this anger out any way possible.

“talk to me about it.” you pleaded, walking toward him and placing a hand on his forearm. he rolled his eyes as a response. “c’mon joey, i know you’re mad but you can—“ you don’t get to finish your sentence before joe groans out in response, a loud “UGH!” before lobbing his water bottle at the wall. you’re shocked it doesn’t bust a hole through.

“what is there to say, hmm? what do you want me to tell you that the world doesn’t already think or know? we aren’t looking like a championship team right now. everything we’re doing is never enough for success, and here i am, 27 years old and being called washed up.” he chides, looking down at you. his voice booms across the room, making you feel only inches tall.

your expression drops, and you turn your gaze toward the wall as tears well up in your eyes. joe takes a small step toward you, his hands flexing at his sides. you can tell he wants to reach out to you, touch you, apologize to you for scaring you.

“i’m sorry.” he says softly, hanging his head. you’ll let him make the first move. he steps toward you again, bringing a hand up to your shoulder, testing the waters. when he sees that you’re still receptive to his touch, despite his atrocious attitude, he moves his hand to the back of your neck before pulling you into him for a hug. you instinctively reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into you.

both of you stay like that for a few moments, just holding each other and feeling each other breathe. joe’s face is buried in your neck and your hand is scratching slow soft circles into his hair. you hear him sniffle and you pull away slightly, trying to get a view of his face. he looks up at you with red eyes, tears falling down his cheeks.

“joey, baby,” you comfort him, “it’s going to be okay. you’re going to be okay.” your heart breaks seeing him so upset.

he says nothing, but leads you out of the kitchen and to the living room so you can sit down together. he plops onto the couch and pulls you into his lap, burying his face again.

“i just feel like i’m failing them. i’m doing everything within my power, and it doesn’t seem like enough.” he rasps, muffled into your neck. you say nothing, knowing he needs to get this out. you run your hands down his biceps as a gesture for him to keep going, that you understand.

“the whole world thinks i’m a fluke. they think my play-calling is shit, they think i had one kick-ass college season and that i made it to the nfl and choked. when does it end, you know? we took our team to the superbowl and what happened? we lost. it just feels like i’m stuck in this rut and i can’t get out.”

you sit for a moment, processing what he said. his words hurt you, just as much as you know the thoughts hurt him.

“i hear you joey. i really do. but i have some things i’d like to say, if that’s okay.”

he nods, expectant eyes raking over your face. “i’d love to hear it, baby. please.”

“first of all,” you start, playing up your sass in an attempt to make him laugh, “you aren’t washed up. people who think you are most likely sit on their couches and rot all day long while you’re out here training and conditioning your body for the physicality of your job. i think you’re in your prime.” you pause, squeezing his biceps for emphasis.

“next, you can’t take all the blame. sure, you’re the leader of the team, but it doesn’t all fall on you. it’s very noble of you to do that, but you don’t have to shoulder it. you played your heart out today. you all did. i’m so proud of you.” you move your hands to his face, cupping his cheeks.

“lastly, fuck what the world thinks, joe. you know how good you are. i know how good you are. your parents know, your teammates know. other players in the league know. you’re incredible. you’ve got this, and after all is said and done i will be here. win or lose, i’m here, and i’ve got you.”

his eyes soften as you finish speaking. you don’t get a verbal reply. his hands reach up to cup your face, pulling you into him for a long kiss. his lips are soft against yours and it doesn’t take long before his hands are slipping up the back of your hoodie and rubbing along the exposed skin of your back.

your hands stay on his cheeks, loving the feeling of him being so close to you, his body pressed into yours. “i. love. you. so. much.” you tell him between pecks, feeling him smile into the kiss. one of his hands returns to your face and then tangles into your hair, tilting your head slightly as his tongue drags over your bottom lip.

he slowly slips his tongue into your mouth, gliding it against yours. after a moment, you pull away for air.

“thank you for that,” he smiles, stroking his hands down your arms, “for all of it. i needed that. i love you too. and i’m sorry for scaring you with my temper.”

“it’s okay, mine can be worse.” you jest, poking him in the ribs.

he pulls you down so you’re both laying on the couch before pulling his large cable knit throw blanket over you both. “let’s put it out of our minds, get takeout, and watch a movie.” you suggest, and he smiles in agreement. the two of you get cozy and pick your movie and dinner, remaining snuggled up on the couch as you watch and eat.

“you’re right, you know.” joe finally speaks again, as the movie nears its end.

“i usually am, but enlighten me.” you laugh, slipping your hand under his shirt and resting it on his abdomen.

“you’ve always had me. every turn, every bump in the road. every time i feel like i’ve made the biggest mistake, the biggest failure of my life. you’re there. you talk me through it and you put me in my place. no one’s ever had me like you have. i love you too, by the way.”

a soft smile spreads across your face as you reach up to stroke his hair again. “ditto baby, no one’s ever had me, not like you.”

he leans down and presses another soft, sweet peck to your lips. everything was going to be okay. you always had each other.

tags: @slimshiesty if you wanna be added, or if you have requests pls send me asks or dm’s! 💗

[cntloup]

RetiredHusband!Simon x Wife!Reader HCs

18+ MDNI fluff, nsfw, pregnancy

After he retires, he'd settle at home. He does most of the housework when you're at work, but you love the times you spend with him doing mundane stuff, and you'd feel bad if you left all that work to him, so you have a laundry day when you both work together, but it almost always ends with you on the washing machine and him between your legs. Or your elbows on the washing machine and him behind you. 

He's a great cook. He makes some simple but exquisite dishes. In the military, he had to tolerate the bland MREs (idk how they taste but they look awful), so when he was back home, he'd learn to make some tasty meals for himself when he was living alone. And then for you when you came into his life. Your mouth starts to water at the delightful smell the moment you walk into the house. If you mention that you've been gaining some weight because of his delicious food, he'd honestly love it. He'd constantly touch the plush of your hips and belly, lightly squishing them with his hands while kissing you. He's happy that you like his food and you're well-fed and healthy.

Maintenance and repairs. He's excellent with his hands and understanding how things work, so the moment you notice something needs fixing, he’s on it. Most of the time you don’t even notice it cause he’s already done it when you were gone. He wouldn’t let it bother you even a second. If you ever find him working under the sink or in the garage working on his car, you’re in for a show. The way his muscles flex while working with a wrench, or when he manhandles a heavy object, his dirty greasy hands, sweat dripping down his forehead and his shirt sticking to his body, his pecs and abs visible to your hungry eyes, get you drooling and squeezing your thighs together. He gets super cocky if he notices (he always does), even more than usual. 

He makes sure to always have some fresh flowers on display in the living room and your favorites on your vanity table. Sometimes he stands by the door with a flower behind his back to give it to you when you walk in. He even learns how to make flower crowns and how to braid hair with flowers from youtube videos. After a few hours of grunting and groaning in frustration when he messes up, he finally masters the art. Only for his lovely wife.

At the end of the day, if you're both in the mood and not too tired, he makes love to you while holding your hand, your wedding ring glinting in the moonlight, a pillow placed under your hips so you'd feel more comfortable and he'd be able to hit that sweet spot inside you that makes those beautiful moans which he adores tumble through your lips. He praises you throughout the whole session, soft I love you's falling from his lips and calls you "my wife" and "Mrs. Riley" while slowly rolling his hips into yours.

He always cums inside. You love the feel of his thick warm cum inside your womb, and the thought of carrying his child makes you go absolutely feral. He'd love to have a family with you, the image of your belly swollen with his child stuck in his mind as his thrusts get harsher and more erratic, grunting out how he's gonna breed you. Your pussy flutters and tightly clenches down on him as the words leave his mouth.

After you announce your pregnancy, he’s glued to your side. And more handsy. He's always got a hand on the small of your back, your belly, randomly kissing your temple and forehead. He's just so happy to have you. And now you’re having a child?! He's over the moon! He's always by your side when you need him, rubbing your back and holding your hair out of the way when morning sickness kicks in, holding you in his arms when you cry, reassuring you and softly cooing praises into your ear if you’re nervous about giving birth and being a good parent. 

If you still go to work while pregnant, he’s got everything ready for you at home. All the housework is done, your favorite food is ready on the table, bath is also ready with your favorite oils and bath salts. You won’t lift a finger at home. Not on his watch. When you walk through the door, exhausted and body aching, he’s there to carry you to bed for a massage. He'll rub the sore muscles of your feet and gently massage your swollen tummy. If he feels a kick, he’ll grin so wide and rub your belly to feel it again, but he stops if you wince in pain, mumbling “sorry” and kissing you so sweetly. He'll give you a bath, delicately washing your tired body, his hand resting on your belly and placing soft kisses on your lips in between your rants about work and what a tough day you had. He watches you with so much love and adoration evident in his gorgeous eyes while you talk, admiring you. He's just so happy to have a little family of his own :) 

comments/reblogs are greatly appreciated ♥ 

divider by @saradika-graphics

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Autoenshittification

Forget F1: the only car race that matters now is the race to turn your car into a digital extraction machine, a high-speed inkjet printer on wheels, stealing your private data as it picks your pocket. Your car’s digital infrastructure is a costly, dangerous nightmare — but for automakers in pursuit of postcapitalist utopia, it’s a dream they can’t give up on.

Your car is stuffed full of microchips, a fact the world came to appreciate after the pandemic struck and auto production ground to a halt due to chip shortages. Of course, that wasn’t the whole story: when the pandemic started, the automakers panicked and canceled their chip orders, only to immediately regret that decision and place new orders.

But it was too late: semiconductor production had taken a serious body-blow, and when Big Car placed its new chip orders, it went to the back of a long, slow-moving line. It was a catastrophic bungle: microchips are so integral to car production that a car is basically a computer network on wheels that you stick your fragile human body into and pray.

The car manufacturers got so desperate for chips that they started buying up washing machines for the microchips in them, extracting the chips and discarding the washing machines like some absurdo-dystopian cyberpunk walnut-shelling machine:

https://www.autoevolution.com/news/desperate-times-companies-buy-washing-machines-just-to-rip-out-the-chips-187033.html

These digital systems are a huge problem for the car companies. They are the underlying cause of a precipitous decline in car quality. From touch-based digital door-locks to networked sensors and cameras, every digital system in your car is a source of endless repair nightmares, costly recalls and cybersecurity vulnerabilities:

https://www.reuters.com/business/autos-transportation/quality-new-vehicles-us-declining-more-tech-use-study-shows-2023-06-22/

What’s more, drivers hate all the digital bullshit, from the janky touchscreens to the shitty, wildly insecure apps. Digital systems are drivers’ most significant point of dissatisfaction with the automakers’ products:

https://www.theverge.com/23801545/car-infotainment-customer-satisifaction-survey-jd-power

Even the automakers sorta-kinda admit that this is a problem. Back in 2020 when Massachusetts was having a Right-to-Repair ballot initiative, Big Car ran these unfuckingbelievable scare ads that basically said, “Your car spies on you so comprehensively that giving anyone else access to its systems will let murderers stalk you to your home and kill you:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/09/03/rip-david-graeber/#rolling-surveillance-platforms

But even amid all the complaining about cars getting stuck in the Internet of Shit, there’s still not much discussion of why the car-makers are making their products less attractive, less reliable, less safe, and less resilient by stuffing them full of microchips. Are car execs just the latest generation of rubes who’ve been suckered by Silicon Valley bullshit and convinced that apps are a magic path to profitability?

Nope. Car execs are sophisticated businesspeople, and they’re surfing capitalism’s latest — and last — hot trend: dismantling capitalism itself.

Now, leftists have been predicting the death of capitalism since The Communist Manifesto, but even Marx and Engels warned us not to get too frisky: capitalism, they wrote, is endlessly creative, constantly reinventing itself, re-emerging from each crisis in a new form that is perfectly adapted to the post-crisis reality:

https://www.nytimes.com/2022/10/31/books/review/a-spectre-haunting-china-mieville.html

But capitalism has finally run out of gas. In his forthcoming book, Techno Feudalism: What Killed Capitalism, Yanis Varoufakis proposes that capitalism has died — but it wasn’t replaced by socialism. Rather, capitalism has given way to feudalism:

https://www.penguin.co.uk/books/451795/technofeudalism-by-varoufakis-yanis/9781847927279

Under capitalism, capital is the prime mover. The people who own and mobilize capital — the capitalists — organize the economy and take the lion’s share of its returns. But it wasn’t always this way: for hundreds of years, European civilization was dominated by rents, not markets.

A “rent” is income that you get from owning something that other people need to produce value. Think of renting out a house you own: not only do you get paid when someone pays you to live there, you also get the benefit of rising property values, which are the result of the work that all the other homeowners, business owners, and residents do to make the neighborhood more valuable.

The first capitalists hated rent. They wanted to replace the “passive income” that landowners got from taxing their serfs’ harvest with active income from enclosing those lands and grazing sheep in order to get wool to feed to the new textile mills. They wanted active income — and lots of it.

Capitalist philosophers railed against rent. The “free market” of Adam Smith wasn’t a market that was free from regulation — it was a market free from rents. The reason Smith railed against monopolists is because he (correctly) understood that once a monopoly emerged, it would become a chokepoint through which a rentier could cream off the profits he considered the capitalist’s due:

https://locusmag.com/2021/03/cory-doctorow-free-markets/

Today, we live in a rentier’s paradise. People don’t aspire to create value — they aspire to capture it. In Survival of the Richest, Doug Rushkoff calls this “going meta”: don’t provide a service, just figure out a way to interpose yourself between the provider and the customer:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/09/13/collapse-porn/#collapse-porn

Don’t drive a cab, create Uber and extract value from every driver and rider. Better still: don’t found Uber, invest in Uber options and extract value from the people who invest in Uber. Even better, invest in derivatives of Uber options and extract value from people extracting value from people investing in Uber, who extract value from drivers and riders. Go meta.

This is your brain on the four-hour-work-week, passive income mind-virus. In Techno Feudalism, Varoufakis deftly describes how the new “Cloud Capital” has created a new generation of rentiers, and how they have become the richest, most powerful people in human history.

Shopping at Amazon is like visiting a bustling city center full of stores — but each of those stores’ owners has to pay the majority of every sale to a feudal landlord, Emperor Jeff Bezos, who also decides which goods they can sell and where they must appear on the shelves. Amazon is full of capitalists, but it is not a capitalist enterprise. It’s a feudal one:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/28/enshittification/#relentless-payola

This is the reason that automakers are willing to enshittify their products so comprehensively: they were one of the first industries to decouple rents from profits. Recall that the reason that Big Car needed billions in bailouts in 2008 is that they’d reinvented themselves as loan-sharks who incidentally made cars, lending money to car-buyers and then “securitizing” the loans so they could be traded in the capital markets.

Even though this strategy brought the car companies to the brink of ruin, it paid off in the long run. The car makers got billions in public money, paid their execs massive bonuses, gave billions to shareholders in buybacks and dividends, smashed their unions, fucked their pensioned workers, and shipped jobs anywhere they could pollute and murder their workforce with impunity.

Car companies are on the forefront of postcapitalism, and they understand that digital is the key to rent-extraction. Remember when BMW announced that it was going to rent you the seatwarmer in your own fucking car?

https://pluralistic.net/2020/07/02/big-river/#beemers

Not to be outdone, Mercedes announced that they were going to rent you your car’s accelerator pedal, charging an extra $1200/year to unlock a fully functional acceleration curve:

https://www.theverge.com/2022/11/23/23474969/mercedes-car-subscription-faster-acceleration-feature-price

This is the urinary tract infection business model: without digitization, all your car’s value flowed in a healthy stream. But once the car-makers add semiconductors, each one of those features comes out in a painful, burning dribble, with every button on that fakakta touchscreen wired directly into your credit-card.

But it’s just for starters. Computers are malleable. The only computer we know how to make is the Turing Complete Von Neumann Machine, which can run every program we know how to write. Once they add networked computers to your car, the Car Lords can endlessly twiddle the knobs on the back end, finding new ways to extract value from you:

https://doctorow.medium.com/twiddler-1b5c9690cce6

That means that your car can track your every movement, and sell your location data to anyone and everyone, from marketers to bounty-hunters looking to collect fees for tracking down people who travel out of state for abortions to cops to foreign spies:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/n7enex/tool-shows-if-car-selling-data-privacy4cars-vehicle-privacy-report

Digitization supercharges financialization. It lets car-makers offer subprime auto-loans to desperate, poor people and then killswitch their cars if they miss a payment:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4U2eDJnwz_s

Subprime lending for cars would be a terrible business without computers, but digitization makes it a great source of feudal rents. Car dealers can originate loans to people with teaser rates that quickly blow up into payments the dealer knows their customer can’t afford. Then they repo the car and sell it to another desperate person, and another, and another:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/07/27/boricua/#looking-for-the-joke-with-a-microscope

Digitization also opens up more exotic options. Some subprime cars have secondary control systems wired into their entertainment system: miss a payment and your car radio flips to full volume and bellows an unstoppable, unmutable stream of threats. Tesla does one better: your car will lock and immobilize itself, then blare its horn and back out of its parking spot when the repo man arrives:

https://tiremeetsroad.com/2021/03/18/tesla-allegedly-remotely-unlocks-model-3-owners-car-uses-smart-summon-to-help-repo-agent/

Digital feudalism hasn’t stopped innovating — it’s just stopped innovating good things. The digital device is an endless source of sadistic novelties, like the cellphones that disable your most-used app the first day you’re late on a payment, then work their way down the other apps you rely on for every day you’re late:

https://restofworld.org/2021/loans-that-hijack-your-phone-are-coming-to-india/

Usurers have always relied on this kind of imaginative intimidation. The loan-shark’s arm-breaker knows you’re never going to get off the hook; his goal is in intimidating you into paying his boss first, liquidating your house and your kid’s college fund and your wedding ring before you default and he throws you off a building.

Thanks to the malleability of computerized systems, digital arm-breakers have an endless array of options they can deploy to motivate you into paying them first, no matter what it costs you:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/02/innovation-unlocks-markets/#digital-arm-breakers

Car-makers are trailblazers in imaginative rent-extraction. Take VIN-locking: this is the practice of adding cheap microchips to engine components that communicate with the car’s overall network. After a new part is installed in your car, your car’s computer does a complex cryptographic handshake with the part that requires an unlock code provided by an authorized technician. If the code isn’t entered, the car refuses to use that part.

VIN-locking has exploded in popularity. It’s in your iPhone, preventing you from using refurb or third-party replacement parts:

https://doctorow.medium.com/apples-cement-overshoes-329856288d13

It’s in fuckin’ ventilators, which was a nightmare during lockdown as hospital techs nursed their precious ventilators along by swapping parts from dead systems into serviceable ones:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/3azv9b/why-repair-techs-are-hacking-ventilators-with-diy-dongles-from-poland

And of course, it’s in tractors, along with other forms of remote killswitch. Remember that feelgood story about John Deere bricking the looted Ukrainian tractors whose snitch-chips showed they’d been relocated to Russia?

https://doctorow.medium.com/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors-bc93f471b9c8

That wasn’t a happy story — it was a cautionary tale. After all, John Deere now controls the majority of the world’s agricultural future, and they’ve boobytrapped those ubiquitous tractors with killswitches that can be activated by anyone who hacks, takes over, or suborns Deere or its dealerships.

Control over repair isn’t limited to gouging customers on parts and service. When a company gets to decide whether your device can be fixed, it can fuck you over in all kinds of ways. Back in 2019, Tim Apple told his shareholders to expect lower revenues because people were opting to fix their phones rather than replace them:

https://www.apple.com/newsroom/2019/01/letter-from-tim-cook-to-apple-investors/

By usurping your right to decide who fixes your phone, Apple gets to decide whether you can fix it, or whether you must replace it. Problem solved — and not just for Apple, but for car makers, tractor makers, ventilator makers and more. Apple leads on this, even ahead of Big Car, pioneering a “recycling” program that sees trade-in phones shredded so they can’t possibly be diverted from an e-waste dump and mined for parts:

https://www.vice.com/en/article/yp73jw/apple-recycling-iphones-macbooks

John Deere isn’t sleeping on this. They’ve come up with a valuable treasure they extract when they win the Right-to-Repair: Deere singles out farmers who complain about its policies and refuses to repair their tractors, stranding them with six-figure, two-ton paperweight:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/31/dealers-choice/#be-a-shame-if-something-were-to-happen-to-it

The repair wars are just a skirmish in a vast, invisible fight that’s been waged for decades: the War On General-Purpose Computing, where tech companies use the law to make it illegal for you to reconfigure your devices so they serve you, rather than their shareholders:

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/01/10/lockdown-the-coming-war-on-general-purpose-computing/

The force behind this army is vast and grows larger every day. General purpose computers are antithetical to technofeudalism — all the rents extracted by technofeudalists would go away if others (tinkereres, co-ops, even capitalists!) were allowed to reconfigure our devices so they serve us.

You’ve probably noticed the skirmishes with inkjet printer makers, who can only force you to buy their ink at 20,000% markups if they can stop you from deciding how your printer is configured:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/07/inky-wretches/#epson-salty But we’re also fighting against insulin pump makers, who want to turn people with diabetes into walking inkjet printers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/10/loopers/#hp-ification

And companies that make powered wheelchairs:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/08/chair-ish/#r2r

These companies start with people who have the least agency and social power and wreck their lives, then work their way up the privilege gradient, coming for everyone else. It’s called the “shitty technology adoption curve”:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/08/21/great-taylors-ghost/#solidarity-or-bust

Technofeudalism is the public-private-partnership from hell, emerging from a combination of state and private action. On the one hand, bailing out bankers and big business (rather than workers) after the 2008 crash and the covid lockdown decoupled income from profits. Companies spent billions more than they earned were still wildly profitable, thanks to those public funds.

But there’s also a policy dimension here. Some of those rentiers’ billions were mobilized to both deconstruct antitrust law (allowing bigger and bigger companies and cartels) and to expand “IP” law, turning “IP” into a toolsuite for controlling the conduct of a firm’s competitors, critics and customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

IP is key to understanding the rise of technofeudalism. The same malleability that allows companies to “twiddle” the knobs on their services and keep us on the hook as they reel us in would hypothetically allow us to countertwiddle, seizing the means of computation:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/04/12/algorithmic-wage-discrimination/#fishers-of-men

The thing that stands between you and an alternative app store, an interoperable social media network that you can escape to while continuing to message the friends you left behind, or a car that anyone can fix or unlock features for is IP, not technology. Under capitalism, that technology would already exist, because capitalists have no loyalty to one another and view each other’s margins as their own opportunities.

But under technofeudalism, control comes from rents (owning things), not profits (selling things). The capitalist who wants to participate in your iPhone’s “ecosystem” has to make apps and submit them to Apple, along with 30% of their lifetime revenues — they don’t get to sell you jailbreaking kit that lets you choose their app store.

Rent-seeking technology has a holy grail: control over “ring zero” — the ability to compel you to configure your computer to a feudalist’s specifications, and to verify that you haven’t altered your computer after it came into your possession:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/01/30/ring-minus-one/#drm-political-economy

For more than two decades, various would-be feudal lords and their court sorcerers have been pitching ways of doing this, of varying degrees of outlandishness.

At core, here’s what they envision: inside your computer, they will nest another computer, one that is designed to run a very simple set of programs, none of which can be altered once it leaves the factory. This computer — either a whole separate chip called a “Trusted Platform Module” or a region of your main processor called a secure enclave — can tally observations about your computer: which operating system, modules and programs it’s running.

Then it can cryptographically “sign” these observations, proving that they were made by a secure chip and not by something you could have modified. Then you can send this signed “attestation” to someone else, who can use it to determine how your computer is configured and thus whether to trust it. This is called “remote attestation.”

There are some cool things you can do with remote attestation: for example, two strangers playing a networked video game together can use attestations to make sure neither is running any cheat modules. Or you could require your cloud computing provider to use attestations that they aren’t stealing your data from the server you’re renting. Or if you suspect that your computer has been infected with malware, you can connect to someone else and send them an attestation that they can use to figure out whether you should trust it.

Today, there’s a cool remote attestation technology called “PrivacyPass” that replaces CAPTCHAs by having you prove to your own device that you are a human. When a server wants to make sure you’re a person, it sends a random number to your device, which signs that number along with its promise that it is acting on behalf of a human being, and sends it back. CAPTCHAs are all kinds of bad — bad for accessibility and privacy — and this is really great.

But the billions that have been thrown at remote attestation over the decades is only incidentally about solving CAPTCHAs or verifying your cloud server. The holy grail here is being able to make sure that you’re not running an ad-blocker. It’s being able to remotely verify that you haven’t disabled the bossware your employer requires. It’s the power to block someone from opening an Office365 doc with LibreOffice. It’s your boss’s ability to ensure that you haven’t modified your messaging client to disable disappearing messages before he sends you an auto-destructing memo ordering you to break the law.

And there’s a new remote attestation technology making the rounds: Google’s Web Environment Integrity, which will leverage Google’s dominance over browsers to allow websites to block users who run ad-blockers:

https://github.com/RupertBenWiser/Web-Environment-Integrity

There’s plenty else WEI can do (it would make detecting ad-fraud much easier), but for every legitimate use, there are a hundred ways this could be abused. It’s a technology purpose-built to allow rent extraction by stripping us of our right to technological self-determination.

Releasing a technology like this into a world where companies are willing to make their products less reliable, less attractive, less safe and less resilient in pursuit of rents is incredibly reckless and shortsighted. You want unauthorized bread? This is how you get Unauthorized Bread:

https://arstechnica.com/gaming/2020/01/unauthorized-bread-a-near-future-tale-of-refugees-and-sinister-iot-appliances/amp/

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this thread to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/24/rent-to-pwn/#kitt-is-a-demon

[Image ID: The interior of a luxury car. There is a dagger protruding from the steering wheel. The entertainment console has been replaced by the text 'You wouldn't download a car,' in MPAA scare-ad font. Outside of the windscreen looms the Matrix waterfall effect. Visible in the rear- and side-view mirror is the driver: the figure from Munch's 'Scream.' The screen behind the steering-wheel has been replaced by the menacing red eye of HAL9000 from Stanley Kubrick's '2001: A Space Odyssey.']

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

[iwtv-az-hours]

Armand with your eyes so bright Won't you guide my sleigh tonight?

Vampire eyes ❤️

[gutsby]

Joel Miller

Waiting Game (dbf!Joel)

Joel has mastered the art of self-control in all areas except one: not fucking his friend’s daughter. A cross-country road trip home from college takes a hard turn when he’s forced to share a motel room with you.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

One shots for the Waiting Game ‘verse

Homemade: While your dad’s watching a movie downstairs, you and his best friend decide to make one of your own.

Diehard: Joel tries Viagra for the very first time.

Ruined!: Joel is an old man who struggles to cum sometimes. You’ve got time to kill and a tight hole to fill.

Cabin Fever (Dark!Joel x Dark!Reader) [DEAD DOVE]

Joel saves your life, but help comes at a price.

Confines: Joel locks you up in a subterranean bunker.

Finders Keepers (bfd!Joel)

When you find an old shirt of Mr. Miller’s lying around, you can’t resist. When he finds you humping a pillow and moaning his name, neither can he.

Cry, Baby

Joel fucks you to the point of tears. That’s all.

Just Peachy [anal]

Joel’s got a jealous streak and a bold idea.

Wingman (himbo!Joel crackfic)

Your bestie braves the tampon aisle for you.

Watch Your Mouth

Joel teaches you to keep quiet during sex.

Love Tap (dad!Joel)

Old habits die hard with your husband—touching you at inappropriate times is one of them.

If You Like Piña Coladas (neighbor!Joel)

You secretly make Joel a profile on Hinge. Then he shows you exactly why he doesn’t need one.

My Body, His Choice [freeuse]

After a long day, Joel just needs some relief.

Who’s Your Daddy? (stepdad!Joel)

You get stuck in the washing machine. Thankfully, your stepdad is around to help you out.

Make It Stick

Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.

Stiff: At fifty-nine, Joel isn’t sure his dick can keep up with every day it’s going to take to get you pregnant. He seeks help from Jackson’s local apothecary and gets more than bargained for when that little blue pill kicks in.

Cowboy Killers

On a mission to find—and fight—your best friend’s lying, cheating boyfriend at the bar, you end up throwing your drink in the wrong face and landing in a sticky situation with Joel Miller, who never plays fair.

Seeing Pink [DD/LG]

Joel steals more of your innocence every day. Fortunately, you love to give as much as he loves to take.

Easy to Please (sleazy landlord!Joel)

Months pass, and you can’t make rent—again. You find another way to pay your sleazy landlord. Again.

Wants and Needs (sugar daddy!Joel)

Bills are high; your dad’s boss wants to help. How you pay him stays between you and him—for now.

Bigger in Texas

Joel won’t fit.

Marcus Acacius

Bloodline

The General needs an heir.

Bucky Barnes

Wedded Bliss (Mob!Bucky)

The marriage was arranged, and the sex is deranged. Bucky is so obsessed with your pussy that he almost forgets he’s meant to be faking this whole thing—and hating it, like sworn enemies are supposed to do.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Daryl Dixon

Dead Ringer

Weeks of separation and sexual frustration come to a head when Daryl pays you a visit in the middle of the night. Whether it's the product of your own sex-deprived subconscious or reality, you can't be sure—and couldn't care less. Daryl wants to fulfill the fantasy any way he can.

Easy Street

You steal a cop car and almost run Daryl over en route to the Sanctuary. You can’t decide if you want to fight him, fuck him, or bring him back to Negan. Lucky for you, Daryl is game for all three.

Nighthawk

You decide to bring Spencer to the neighborhood Halloween bash to take your mind off your breakup with Daryl. Your ex isn't so easily convinced of your intentions and decides there's no better place than his motorcycle to show you just how much he misses you.

Cherry Pie

You know virtually nothing about sex, and Daryl’s done it all. Together, you take on an impromptu anatomy lesson, and you learn that Daryl has a lot more to teach you than what’s covered in the textbooks.

Walker Bait

An unforeseen foray into a sex shop leaves you and Daryl trapped between a plastic cock and a hard place as a herd of walkers closes in. Angry sex ensues.

Grow a Uterus and We’ll Talk

Daryl has a bad case of baby fever, to put it lightly. You’re practically terrified of children. Rick lends you his kid for the night, and together, you come to learn that parenthood might not be the worst thing in the world. Even easier than baking muffins, one might say.

Honey Trap

You’ve been tasked with two simple jobs: infiltrate Alexandria’s community and bring intel back to your boss by any means necessary. When your entry point into the group takes the form of a familiar blue-eyed archer, you expect this to be your easiest gig yet—that is, until your prey decides to hunt you back.

Pregnant Pause

Babymaking is a bit trickier than anticipated, and months have passed with no sign of pregnancy. When your period finally doesn’t show up on time, you and Daryl act fast and head straight for the pharmacy—and get a little caught up along the way.

Mr. Dixon

Your efforts to seduce the DILF next door have all failed spectacularly, so you decide a wet hot car wash in front of his house is in order. Mr. Dixon is less than impressed with your antics and plans to teach you a lesson in good manners and ‘neighborliness.’

I’m a Good Girl, Officer!

Apparently flashing your tits to truckers on the freeway is frowned upon in small towns like yours. When three familiar King County cops take charge of the case, you learn they punish bad girls a little differently.

Playing Dangerous

Working undercover in a seedy part of town, homicide detective Daryl sees you in your skimpy club attire and mistakes you for a hooker. A wrongful arrest makes for a funny way to foreplay, but you’re still game.

Fake It Til You Make It (Or Drown)

Daryl finds out you faked an orgasm. Instead of getting mad, he decides to get even.

Best Served Cold

Since your fiancé can’t seem to keep his hands off of Lori, you decide Daryl is the perfect way to make him pay. Revenge sex has never felt so good.

Coming Soon:

Bite the Bullet

Back at the prison, new recruits have been showering you with gifts. One of these presents doesn’t sit quite right with Daryl, and he decides it’s time to let the men know just how he feels—and who you belong to.

Atlantic City

A very drunk Daryl meets a stripper in Jersey and wastes no time putting a ring on her finger. With the late, great Elvis Presley presiding, the two get hitched in a slipshod ceremony a couple weeks before the world descends into chaos. This marriage may be short-lived, but damn if the honeymoon won’t be one to remember.

Requests are open!

[the-borgias]

The truth is that I’m a bad person. But, that’s gonna change - I’m going to change. This is the last of that sort of thing. Now I’m cleaning up and I’m moving on, going straight and choosing life. I’m looking forward to it already. I’m gonna be just like you. The job, the family, the fucking big television. The washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electric tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisure wear, luggage, three piece suit, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing gutters, getting by, looking ahead, the day you die.

TRAINSPOTTING 1996 — dir. Danny Boyle

[attapullman]

Robert's Laundry Service | Neighbor!Robert "Bob" Floyd

Summary: A broken washing machine and a clogged bathroom sink lead you and Robert to explore the next part of your secret relationship.

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Bob Floyd x afab!reader, no use of pronouns, no y/n, a little angsty, very smutty, 18+ ONLY as always, unprotected PinV, use of sex toys, language, a lot of cum mentions, neighbor!Bob being perfect as usual

A Note From Mo: Did anyone else miss neighbor!Bob? He needed some love, and that's what he's getting today! Thank you to @roosterforme for inspiring this idea that I took entirely too far. If anyone needs me, I'm going to be hoping that he moves into the empty apartment next to mine 🙏 p.s. this takes place before Stupid White Car

It’s hard to pay attention to the bad diagnosis he’s giving when your visual is just those threadbare grey sweats. Painted to his strong thighs, poking out from behind the washer like a personal serving of eye candy. You’re meant to be shining the flash light, but you long abandoned that task in favor of the view.

“…you can borrow mine in the meantime. I’ll call a guy Monday.”

Reluctantly, you draw your eyes from his lower half. Just as his words sink in.

“It’s broken?!”

Robert gives you a kindly amused grin. “Sweetheart, did you hear anything I’ve been saying?”

You grace him with a sheepish smile, caught red-handed.

“The tube disconnected from the wall and needs to be properly - professionally - connected before you use it again. I know it’s not the same, but you can do laundry at mine until someone comes out. I can make you tea and we can watch that undercover dating show you like?” His soft smile is as sweet as his offer.

You narrow your eyes at him playfully. “Hey now, you like that show too.”

Those cornflower blues shine, glad you’re not objecting. “I do, but only because it’s funny when you yell at the drama.”

He wraps his arm around your waist and guides you away from the laundry, back to where the two of you had been trying to decide on takeout over a game of checkers. Allowing him to drag you down to the couch, hips colliding into the soft fabric, you resume a lovely afternoon with Robert. 

Robert, your helpful Mr. Fix It neighbor. And maybe, one day, your boyfriend.

Robert lending you his laundry room for the weekend is so generous. It feels a bit silly carrying your delicates through his back yard (especially when you know a few pairs are crusty from your…sleepovers) but you’ll take his selfless offer if it means clean laundry and a lovely afternoon spent with him. 

As you work your way past the kitchen, you’re caught off-guard once again by how charming his home is. The little bits of personality, the framed photographs and handmade trinkets. While you know he can’t get any more perfect, his home makes a compelling argument.

The laundry room is fairly unremarkable - washer, dryer, large farmhouse sink for the unsavory jobs too nasty for the kitchen - but you do like his view of the neighborhood from the window. You’re almost curious if anyone will walk by and notice you standing in the wrong house, lacy balconette bra in hand.

Already regretting the amount of folded laundry you’re going to have to haul back through the gate after this, you begin prepping a load of lace and satin. Brainstorming ways to expedite the process, you overshoot pouring detergent into the water-filled drum and spill the cobalt goo all over your hand. Shit.

You rush over to the sink, subjecting yourself to freezing water to wash the detergent off your fingers. Once sufficiently clean, you reach for a cloth to dry off. And that’s when you see it. 

Oh. You’ve never seen one in real life before, just in porn and the odd naughty ad while scrolling. It almost feels as if you’re being punk’d. Like if you sliced through it, it would actually be cake.

A cock ring, soft silicone and all. Casually sitting on the sideboard, freshly cleaned.

Every muscle in your body freezes as the implications of seeing something so private wash over you. Something meant between lovers that you had never seen in the weeks since that fateful night you let him in for a cup of tea. 

It’s been a few days since you had last slept over. A scary sinking feeling fills your gut…was there someone else? 

You had been so focused on the neighborhood not knowing. Staying in your homes, using the back gate. It wasn’t like you had ever verbalized your intentions with him. You couldn’t blame him for thinking the two of you as casual, as much as it twisted your insides.

As your thoughts spiral, there’s motion in the doorway and Robert is suddenly there, big shoulders and a soft smile on his face at seeing you in his space. Exactly where he wants you.

“You get it going in here? Find the detergent okay?”

Those kind cobalt eyes follow your gaze to the sink, where you can’t break your focus on the dark silicone device. The one he meant to put away before you came over. His cheeks flush as he steps into the room to attempt to explain why he has something so private sitting out - in his laundry room of all places.

But as he goes to open his mouth, you cut him off. “You don’t have to explain. I don’t need to know everything in your….sex life. You’re obviously welcome to do whatever you like in the privacy of your home.”

His eyebrows raise, unsure why you seem so upset when the only issue is a clogged sink in the ensuite last night. 

You edge around him, desperate to get out of this space - his space - away from everything that reminds you of him as he figuratively slips through your fingers. “We never discussed being exclusive, so I get it.”

“What are you-?”

Tears threaten to spill over as he follows you toward his back door. “But if I’m being honest, I’m not sure I’m comfortable with us seeing other people, so-”

Robert’s eyes bug out of his head. Seeing other people? His blood pressure rises as the dots connect behind those pretty eyes, and suddenly he’s racing to cut you off. You’re faster than you look, but before you can turn the handle of the back door he’s plastered his body against the wood, effectively blocking you from leaving.

The pain behind your eyes begs him to move, to let you run back to the safety of your own home so you can cry and despair over not locking him down sooner. Of course there’s someone else. Of course you’re not the only one who can see how great Robert Floyd is.

“Robert, I need to leave. I need a moment alone. Please.”

But he holds his ground. The second you walk through that door he knows he’s lost you. His eyes are cautious behind those thick lenses, wanting to obey your wishes but the risk of losing you making every nerve stand on end. Whatever is wrong, he can fix this. He will fix it.

“Sweetheart.” His fingers reach into the space between you, hand clenching into a fist when he’s unsure whether he’s allowed to touch you right now. “There isn’t anyone else. I promise, you’re…you’re the only one.”

You eye him hesitantly, wanting to believe his words. But that cock ring has never made an appearance in your sleepovers. Never once brought up when he’s standing between your parted thighs, lips slotted against yours.

“I really want to believe you, I do. But why else would you be cleaning your, erm, toy?” You can’t bring yourself to say cock ring without bursting into frustrated tears.

It’s now that the fight within him drops, and immediately his shoulders release. Embarrassment floods his features and he drops his gaze, no longer able to look you in the eye. This is not how he anticipated bringing this dynamic into your relationship.

“That…it’s…I-I use it when I’m alone. I like to, uh, edge myself.”

His cheeks are flaming and the burning despair inside you dissipates into intrigue. A flame traipses through your abdomen, curious and hungry.

“You use it…alone?”

He desperately nods, tentatively reaching out to grasp your hands, needing to feel you. Those thick, strong fingers rub against your knuckles soothingly. Despite the whiplash of emotions conflicting inside you, his presence immediately soothes and you lean into his touch.

“The nights you can’t come over…I prefer to save my orgasms for you. Only you.”

His blush reflects yours as you look into those ocean-deep eyes, the desperation clear across his features. He’s being honest, laying out every last secret he’s got to keep you here.

“So, there’s no one else?” Your voice feels so small, barely a whisper in the kitchen.

He shakes his head definitively, using his grip on your hands to bring you closer as he stares deep into your eyes. “There’s no one else. And the fact you would even think that means I’m not doing a good enough job proving how much I care for you. Because I like you so much, sweetheart, so, so much.”

The tension in your body breaks, and you allow yourself to lean into his strong body. His panic dissipates as he holds you to him, one arm flush against your waist as his hand holds your face to his chest. He’s never letting you go, of that he knows for sure.

He can’t believe there would be any doubt in your mind of his intentions. The sleepovers, the dinners in, the way he’s made a home between your thighs…that makes you official, doesn’t it? He’s never been one for the right words, but he was pretty sure his actions proved he was in this for the long haul. 

You’re too important to mess up. To allow any seed of doubt to spread. 

His nose traces along your temple, warm breath kissing the delicate skin. “Can I take you to bed, sweetheart?” 

Your face lifts from his chest to take in his honest face. The loose tendril of sun-lightened brunette that’s escaped his neat hairstyle. The thin lopsided smile you trust in. Eyes behind corrected lenses that are serious and playful in the same breath. 

In lieu of an answer, you mold your lips to his, drinking in his taste you’ve deprived yourself of for days. His kindness and sincerity sink into you, surrounding you the pleasantly overwhelming way his body does as he wraps around you. Holding your hips as he swallows your tongue, shifting himself to feel every dip and curve of your body.

As his lips find your neck, the laundry room comes back into view. A delicious thought swirls in your mind and the words burst from your mouth.

“Can I see?”

He nuzzles against your jaw, grinding his erection against your thigh. 

“See what?” He’s distracted by how good you smell, how soft your skin feels beneath his fingers.

“I want to see you with the cock ring. Show me, please?”

Arousal floods his mind, images of you naked beneath him while his balls throb with cum just for you. No words needed before he’s pushing you in front of him to his bedroom. He’s ready to show you just how devoted he is to you.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, it feels like the first time with him all over again. Anticipation of the unknown, drowned in heavy lust. 

His eyes rake over you as he enters the room, lust darkening those soft blue eyes. You’re exactly how he wants you always - in his bed, eager for his touch. Right now, he’s yours.

Taking the spot between your legs, strong fingers stroking along jean-clad thighs, his broad frame bends toward you to rest his forehead against yours. That button nose knocking into yours. 

“There’s been no one else since the day you moved next door. I’m yours, only yours.”

The build up of emotions behind your eyes threatens to spill over as he presses his lips to yours. Cups the back of your head as he leans into you, applying the softest pressure. Pouring every ounce of his devotion into his kiss.

Your legs wrap around his slim hips, needing to feel his security and care. He’s the most helpful man to exist, and you know he’ll guide you through this dynamic. 

Kisses turn sweet to frantic to passionate as Robert holds your face. Your lips are chapped when he finally pulls away, strong chest rising and deflating. You know you mirror his disheveled aroused appearance. His hand reaches behind to his back pocket.

He holds the black cock ring between you, freshly washed, gleaming in the afternoon sunlight peeking through the curtains. “Are you sure about this?”

Your apprehensive eyes meet his, although a slight smile plays along your lips. “Play dirty with me. Please.”

Condensation beads on the lower rims of his glasses as he dips his face to kiss you, his skin flaming hot. The kiss is sinful yet curt, not wanting to lose himself before practicing restraint. You run your tongue along the seam of his lips, savoring his flavor. He hums against your mouth as your hands find his waist, heart picking up speed as your fingers find the button of his jeans. 

Robert clenches the cock ring in his fist, already struggling to hold his load as the softness of your skin wraps tightly around his hardening cock. 

His eyes are lidded, thin mouth already agape from the pleasure of your fist stroking firmly up and down his shaft. Can barely keep focus between the way you squeeze his deep pink tip and the spectacular view down your top, his mind running wild at the all the skin he needs to touch. He’s practically forgotten the reason for his view until you lick your lips sweetly and ask.

“Can I put it on?”

Fingers unfurl and present the silicone ring to you, warm from his clenched fist. You press the ring between your fingers, taking in the smooth design and thick circumference. Glide your thumb along the little button that makes it vibrate. 

He’s panting above you, already wrecked at the vision. The only two things he deems worthy of his cock, right in front of him. 

Bringing the ring up to your lips, he watches as you run your tongue along it, gathering your saliva to glisten along the silicone for a smoother glide. Your fingers effortlessly slipping along the edge before you touch it to the sensitive tip of his cock. 

His fingers curl around the nape on your neck, holding the hair there, grounding himself. Between your ministrations and the pressure of the ring slipping down his length, he’s dizzy with stimulation. His cock immediately swelling in response. Lip between his teeth to contain the gruff moans you’re desperate to hear.

Your eyes are focused on the firm grip the ring has on the length of him, sliding down until your thumb is brushing his heavy ballsack, pulsing with need. 

“Sweetheart, I’m not going to last.” He’s panting against your forehead, trying so hard to be patient, but wanting nothing more than to thrust into your fist and chase his orgasm. 

You tilt his chin to press a chaste kiss to his lips. A promise to take care of him, because you and you alone are responsible for his pleasure. Always.

Sliding back onto the soft coverlet, you raise your hips to remove your jeans. Skin growing warm at the wanton look of need in Robert’s eyes as you unbutton your top. His voice but a whine when you sit in front of him in nothing but the delicate chain around your neck. 

“So beautiful.”

It’s impossible to tell whose whimpers are more desperate as you run the shiny-slick swollen head of him against your core. Moaning as it catches on your entrance, ready to sink deep into those velvet depths. Voices becoming one as you impale yourself on the thick shaft that’s all yours.

He can’t believe anything could be better. This is Nirvana. Until you reach between to where your bodies meet and hit that tiny little button.

“Fuck!” He never swears, and yet that filthy word streaks through the room with a bite. Yelped loudly as he buries his face into your neck. The combination of vibrations and warm, tight pussy sending him into a spiral. Groaning out praises into your neck like it’s his last day alive.

You can’t help the grin on your face as you experience him come undone. How had you been denied the pleasure of watching him like this? The salt of his neck, the wayward curl stuck to his forehead? It’s a toss up if you’re getting off on being stuffed with his engorged cock or by watching the way his chest heaves for breath as he fights off his orgasm.

“Are you going to cum for me?” You’re drunk on power watching him like this, rutting his hips into you over and over for a pleasure that won’t come until you decide. His nod so desperate it goes right to your clit. His swollen cock stretching you beyond what you thought possible. The frisson of skin on skin, those tiny yet powerful vibrations, and his affection for you is overwhelming. 

The ring fully still in place, your orgasm wracks your body, convulsing over the sheets. Barely able to notice his soft lips brushing the arch of your breasts as he consumes your satisfaction. Drinking in the sounds of your moans as they mix with his wet thrusts. 

Your sleepy eyes are all he focuses on as he chases his orgasm, fighting past his usual routine of stopping here when he only has his hand. Right now he gets to have it all - the constricted blood flow, the vibration, and you. Perfect, wonderful you. His hands fist in the bedding, rooting himself, as sinks his hips deeper with precise strokes. 

He can do this. He will show you you’re the only one for him.

Body quivering, his face is bright red as he thrusts, exertion bringing the vein in his forehead out with a matching bead of sweat. Robert feels his body take on a new consciousness as you ask for his cum once more.

His grunts are filthy - animalistic and deep. The first stream of cum he’s ever experienced with the ring on filling your stretched pussy, claiming you as his. Head fuzzy, he takes a moment to pull himself from your soft embrace and jerk his engorged cock, shot after shot of cum pumping out across your body. A painting only he gets to witness.

His tank now empty, you feel the soft thump of his body fall beside yours. Hear him catch his breath in the quiet afternoon air.

Exhausted, his face knocks into yours - glasses already lost to the coverlet - as he comes to reality once again. Strong arms reaching to pull you to him. Lackadaisical kisses to your cheek before risking a glance down and laughing abashedly.

“T-there’s so much cum. It’s everywhere.” Another kiss. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.” 

The carefree yet sheepish grin he gives you melts your heart. You kiss him back, not needing to look as you feel his seed dry on your skin in the golden hour light. He very truly marked you as his, just as he is yours. 

Smoothing your fingers through his hair, memorizing every little detail of his face - what a handsome face - you ease his embarrassment. “It’s not a big deal. We’ll just throw the sheets in the washer and enjoy dinner. It’s fine, really.” 

His washer currently filled with your delicates complicates things, but your big, sweet smile soothes his self-consciousness. He returns the grin back, holding you closer. 

That night is spent eating Robert’s lasagna and playing cards until every light on the street went out. It’s far too late when the sheets are finally clean and dried, and even later when they’re successfully on the bed. But it’s worth it to him when you crawl under the duvet and beckon him closer, needing one last kiss from your boyfriend before sleep.

taglist: @bella-maria2018 @berryvanille @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @bradshawsbaby @comishkat @cosmoeticss @creatchie8 @desert-fern @drxgxnslxyer @erospecies @hauntedduckdefendor @hangmanapologist @hiireadstuff @himbos-on-ice @jessicab1991 @just-in-case-iloveyou @kmc1989 @littlemsbumblebee @livingoutsidethetardis @mariaenchanted @maryelizabeth13 @melsunshine @meg-ro @midnightmagpiemama @nerdgirljen @nouis-bum @petersunderoos96 @pinkdaisies9285 @primroseluna @rhettsluvr @roosterforme @seitmai @senawashere @sometimesanalice @sorchathered @sweetwhispersofchaos @sydsommersss @topherwrites @unpretty-reader @whoeverineedtobe @xoxabs88xox @yuckosworld

join the taglist for any fic

[noirhistories]

"i'm going to say that the majority of the people here are weirdos." for two reasons - firstly, why not go to a different bar with different wait staff, and secondly, they chose to live in antioch, which marks them as weird. ari is fully aware those rules mean that he counts as weird, but he has thicker skin than to be bothered by anyone thinking he's odd. "if the worst you hear about is elections, i need to know your secret." maybe max's personality was simply too loud for anyone else to get close, that was the best that ari could come up with.

reaching out to push his glass slightly on the counter, ari notes that max didn't bother to come up with a name for this one. it would probably be something fatal. exposure? bone shard? he doesn't know, and ari has never considered himself that creative, that's better left for max, who ari never guessed had the patience for a podcast. "can't say i've ever taken the time to find a crime podcast, but i used to watch crime documentaries when i couldn't sleep. typical crime of passion case?" shit like this is why people want prenups, they give financial incentive not to divorce or to murder as long as they're written up right.

as he waits for max's answer, he goes back to examining the drink, fairly certain it's bubbling. not at all ominous, he thinks picking it up to take a sip and frowning before taking another sip. "it's missing something." he eventually decides, nose wrinkling. "don't ask me what, that's your problem to solve." all in all, not the worst thing that he's drank, but he can't guarantee that he'll finish it off. "what do you call this one anyway? i need to know so i can leave a review." he says, as if there's some private max menu to order from and he doesn't routinely leave the fate of his stomach in the hands of an artist.

there's this old saying not to mix your liquor, but max has never once taken it into account. does it usually end up with him sick? yes. but consequences are a thing for the future, and max is perpetually stuck in the present—it's part of the reason he's such a poor planner. sure, he has them. but planning is for the important things in life—once in a lifetime sort of events—and nothing more. anything more sophisticated than a house party, without influence from the other side, and he flounders about like a fish out of water. or more accurately, he makes sure everyone else is floundering while he sits back and imagines himself as the sole orchestrator. given that, he has no issue with brewing ari a terrible concoction. this time, it's got tequila in it. and white rum. and club soda. and a few other things that ideally, shouldn't all be together in the same drink. it's like he's a schoolboy creating a monstrosity out of whatever the lunch ladies deem fit to serve—and just as likely to end up with the receiver hunched over the toilet. even a cursory sip has his face—turned away from everyone else—screwed up. he's just lucky it doesn't come right back up afterwards! "never claimed i didn't," he snorts, setting the poison in front of ari like it's a bomb he's not confident he's defused. "i'm half the reason this place gets any business at all. but the last thing i want to do is listen to them ramble on about elections—do you even know how many weirdos come in here?" it's a blessing and a curse that max is uninterested in politics. he knows he would make a fabulous politician (insult) but to him, it's too short-sighted. why pretend to rule a country when he can actually rule a world? "it was a murder case, actually. one of those podcasts i throw on in the back whenever we're slow. you ever listen to any of those, or do you prefer to leave the criminals at work?"

[rassdetergent]

💥 "Looking to scale your soap production? Empower your manufacturing with Ras Detergent's advanced small-scale facility in Koduvalli. Let's take your business to the next level!" 📞 9539536276

RasDetergent #Manufacturing #SoapProduction

[girlgenius1111]

with a high comes a crash.

barcelona femeni x reader

Alexia heard the sirens. Rationally, she tried to convince herself that it wasn't you. You had only left a few minutes ago, and the sirens were still pretty far. It couldn't be you.

Then the sirens got closer. And closer. And Alexia thought she was going to throw up. She couldn't decide whether to call you or not, afraid to distract you while you were riding if you were fine. She told herself that she was just driving to the dealership after you to give you a ride home. That was all.

She probably shouldn't have been driving, hands shaking as she turned the car on and pulled out of her driveway. The sirens were still loud, and she followed them; not because she was trying to, but because that was the direction she knew you'd been going.

When she turned the corner, and saw the accident scene a block down, she pulled the car over, and got out. She ran the distance towards the wreckage, slowing to a stop when she got close enough to see what was going on. Alexia surveyed the scene. First she saw a car that didn't look very damaged. There was debris on the road, though, and she followed it to find a bike on the ground. Your bike.

It looked mangled, crushed, and Alexia had to take some deep breaths, feeling like she might pass out. Once her vision cleared of black spots, she look back up, and she found you.

Well, what she assumed to be you. An obscured form on the ground, halfway across the intersection from the bike, surrounded by paramedics. The blonde was frozen for a minute, and then she wasn't, running forward at full speed, shoving past anyone who got in her way, until she was a few feet away from you. A paramedic rose from next to you, approaching her.

"Miss? You shouldn't be over here," he said somewhat firmly.

Alexia could only make a choked sound come out of her throat, eyes trained on your face. Your eyes were shut, blood covering the left side of your forehead. You looked so small, so fragile. Alexia clenched her fists, needing to keep it together.

"Miss, are you okay?" The paramedic asked, moving closer to rest a hand on Alexia's arm. She was swaying slightly, and completely pale.

"Is she okay? Is she alive?" Alexia croaked out. The paramedic looked closer at her, before his eyes widened. He did a double take, seeming to recognize you now that he knew who was standing in front of him.

"She's pretty banged up, but she's breathing." It wasn't very reassuring, but Alexia let the words wash over her, nodding her head. She forced herself to calm down, to act rationally. They were securing you to a backboard, strapping you into the neck brace. They were preparing to move you to the ambulance, and Alexia moved to follow them.

"I will go in the ambulance." She declared, and no one really bothered to argue with her, instead directing her to wait for them to get you settled, before gesturing for her to climb in with you. There was only one paramedic back there with you now, getting you attached to all sorts of machines. Alexia got her first good look at you as she sat down shakily on the bench. Her hands hovered over you, wanting to take your hand in hers, but unsure if she could without hurting you.

"You can hold her right hand," the paramedic said. She didn't really look at Alexia, but her voice was kind. Alexia wrapped your hand up in her larger one, as gently as if the the whole limb was broken, ready to crumble into a million pieces. Or maybe, that's just how Alexia felt.

A beeping sound jerked Alexia out of her thoughts, and she looked up to see your heartbeat on the monitor. She tried to figure out what it meant, what the little zigzags meant, but she was a footballer for christ sakes, and she didn't know if the little spikes were good or bad. She decided that they were good, that they meant that you were breathing, regardless of if anything else was going on.

Alexia was silent, gripping the seat under her as the ambulance weaved in and out of traffic. The paramedic seemed to be done attaching you to things, and she placed a piece of gauze on your forehead, holding it there before she looked up at your captain, and addressed her.

"She was moving around a little when we got there, so we're confident her spine is intact. Looks like both of her legs are okay. Pretty bad road rash on the left side, but nothing internal. Her ribs are a different story, the impact with the car has left a few broken. Her left arm is broken, too, probably in multiple places, from the impact with the ground. She was smart, and she had a helmet on, so while her pupils indicate a concussion, it could have been worse. It could have been a lot worse." As she spoke she pointed at different parts of you, explaining to Alexia what the bruises and cuts on you meant. Your left leg did look awful, scraped and bleeding. They'd cut your shirt off, and your abdomen was already turning a nasty shade of blue. The bleeding on your head was stopping, and you looked somewhat more comfortable. Alexia asked the question you knew you'd want her to ask.

"Her legs are okay? Really?" It seemed impossible to her, that the rest of your body could be so beaten up, but your legs were just scraped up.

The paramedic nodded, a bit of a bewildered look on her face. "Somehow, yes. There are no indications of any broken bones, and she was moving them around until she passed out. I don't... I don't know how. I've never seen an accident of this magnitude be so mild."

Alexia felt a shudder run through her at the statement; if this was mild, if this should have been worse... She shook her head. It wasn't worse. You were okay. You were okay. The paramedics studied Alexia for a few seconds before speaking again.

"I'm not supposed to say this, but you can relax a little. All indications are that she'll be alright. Banged up, yes. A few painful months in her future. But it's a miracle that she's alive, and an even bigger one that she isn't more injured."

Alexia let out a shaky breath, feeling like she could have leaned over and kissed the paramedic at her words. She appreciated the kindness she was showing her, the information she gave Alexia, that she wasn't really supposed to. The ambulance was slowing to a stop, and Alexia could hear raised voices approaching the doors.

"It's going to get pretty crazy in a second, and they won't let you in with her, but she'll be in good hands, I promise." Alexia nodded again, clearing her throat.

"Thank you. So much." She said, knowing that her words weren't enough to express her gratitude, but not really sure what else to do.

The doors opened then, and someone was helping her out of the ambulance. What felt like a million doctors and nurses were bringing you in the doors, one of them shouting for Alexia to follow them in, and find a seat in the waiting room.

Numbly, she did, sinking into the first available chair she saw. There were a lot of people she needed to call, yes. People at Barcelona. The other captains. Your teammates. Your national teammates. Her hands were trembling violently, though, and she suddenly felt dizzy again. She was in shock, she realized. How ridiculous. She was fine. Seeing you like that... it was the worst thing she'd ever laid her eyes on.

Alexia didn't make any of the calls she was supposed to. She decided that just for now, she didn't need to be a responsible captain. She could be someone that cared about you, who was terrified, and needed someone to get here and tell her that everything would be okay before she really freaked out.

She called the only person she knew wouldn't be mad at how emotionless her voice was about to sound. The only other person that she trusted to get here as fast as humanely possible, and know exactly what Alexia needed. Someone who could be in charge, just for a little bit.

-----

Mapi and Ingrid had to drive past the scene of the accident on their way to the hospital. Ingrid was driving, deciding that Mapi could call the people she needed to on the way to the hospital. The Spaniard was on the phone with Lucy when they drove by, and she got a glimpse of your bike, crumpled on the ground.

"Joder" She murmured, reaching a hand over to grab onto Ingrid's leg, anywhere she could steady herself on her girlfriend.

"What?" Ingrid asked, glancing over in concern at her girlfriend, who looked like she was about to be sick.

"What?" Lucy echoed from over the phone, sounding frantic.

"Nothing, nothing. Just worried." Mapi said, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. Neither of the other girls believed her, but they let it go.

"Okay, Mapi. I'm heading to the hospital now, Ona's with me, gonna grab Keira on the way. Call Irene. She'll decide who else needs to know."

"Okay." Mapi agreed. Lucy had never experienced such a reserved Mapi Leon before, one who followed her instructions without any jokes or comments. It scared her.

Mapi made the other phone call. Ingrid had grabbed her hand at some point, and Mapi wasn't really sure who was squeezing harder. She got through the call with Irene, who she made promise not to drive herself to the hospital, to have her wife take her.

"You're driving." Irene huffed angrily, not wanting to wait any longer to get to you, and to Alexia. Her wife wouldn't be back for 20 minutes. She needed to be at the hospital now.

"No, Ingrid is driving. Ingrid is calm in a crisis, and Ingrid is driving because my hands are shaking, so don't you dare drive. Don't you dare." Mapi's voice was thick, the horror of another accident happening washing over her. It was a ridiculous thought, but Mapi couldn't help the fear that was choking her right now. Irene agreed, a combination of Mapi's pleading voice, and the reason behind her words, convincing her.

"Okay. Just get there. Fast."

Ingrid accelerated.

-----

They practically stormed into the waiting room. It was mostly empty, an oddity for an afternoon in the city, but both girls were grateful nonetheless. They took one look at Alexia and came to the conclusion that she wouldn't really want anyone seeing her like this, let alone strangers.

"Ale?" Mapi said gently, moving forward. Alexia was sat in a chair, head in her hands. Her whole body was shaking, blonde hair falling into her face and blocking Mapi from seeing the tears that were surely falling. Alexia's head snapped up when she was addressed, and she stood, taking a frantic step towards her friend, practically collapsing into Mapi's arms.

"She was- it was so bad Mapi. The paramedic said she would probably be okay, but it was so bad. The bike was... and she was so far away from it..." Alexia's words were slightly strangled, and Ingrid regretfully pulled her captain away from her girlfriend, directing her back to her chair. Mapi sat next to her, and Ingrid instructed them both to stay put. She went to find water. Alexia was clearly in shock, and Ingrid knew that she would feel that she had to pull herself together before anyone else arrived.

'Calm in a crisis' Ingrid gave herself a minute to rest her head against the vending machine. Ale had said that the paramedic had said you'd be okay. That was all that mattered.

She returned, finding Alexia slightly better off than she'd left her. Mapi had pulled off her own sweatshirt, and yanked it down over Alexia's head. The blonde had only had on a t-shirt, and it was slightly cold in the waiting room. That probably wasn't the cause for the tremors running through Alexia's body, but regardless. Ingrid crouched in front of Alexia, uncapping the water and handing it to her, instructing her to take small sips. Alexia complied, and the couple exchanged a look. They'd never seen Alexia like this. Ever.

Alexia took several sips of water, before sitting back, and running her hands over her face. She relayed everything the paramedic had told her to the others, and they, in turn, told her the situation with the others due to be arriving soon.

After that, they sat mostly in silence, Ingrid taking a seat in the chair next to her girlfriend, knowing that the Spaniard needed her close. She needed Mapi close, too, honestly.

Lucy, Keira, and Ona arrived in a flurry of chaos. Keira was weirdly calm, Ona just looked freaked out, but Lucy was... a mess. She looked disheveled, like she'd been through a wind tunnel on the way to the hospital. She'd barely stepped in through the door before she was asking question after question, pacing back and forth, then sitting down, and then pacing again. Keira sat silently across from the other girls, while Ona hovered anxiously wherever Lucy went, not quite sure what to do.

Alexia's face had transformed completely when the others had arrived. She looked calm, expression deadly serious as she answered Lucy's questions. She was Captain Alexia again, putting her own feelings aside for the sake of the others.

She made Ona eat a granola bar when she decided that the girl looked too shaky. She made Keira come sit next to her, wrapping an arm around the Englishwoman. She finally told Lucy to stop pacing and sit down, after Lucy stood for the 18th time to go ask the receptionist for an update. Lucy listened instantly, sinking back into her chair without an argument.

Irene arrived a bit later, informing Alexia that she'd called Barca, and let the team know what was going on, but instructed them to not come to the hospital, because they didn't want to crowd the place. Only seconds after the words left her mouth, the doors were sliding open again. In came Pina, Patri, Cata, Jana, and Bruna. Irene looked at them, and sighed deeply. Her face could only be described as one of a person "considering early retirement."

To their credit, they were rather reserved, each accepting the tight hug that Alexia pulled them into, before finding chairs and quietly talking amongst themselves.

It was quite a sight to see when the doctor came out look for your family, and instead finding 11 members of the Barcelona women's squad, in various states of distress. They provided a brief update to everyone, before seemingly picking up on the energy Alexia was putting out, that if they didn't take her to see you, she would probably start throwing chairs, and allowing her and one other person to go back to see you.

Alexia followed right after the doctor, practically breathing down his neck. Mapi looked around, at Irene, and at Lucy, who both gave her a nod. You needed Alexia. And Alexia needed Mapi. Ingrid gave her a little push, and the defender walked down the hall, somewhat terrified for what was awaiting her there.

----

Getting hit by a car really fucking hurt, it turned out. Every bone in your body ached, and you were sure that if you opened your eyes, you'd find that you were just one large bruise. You were in and out for a while, not quite awake enough to open your eyes. You could hear people talking each time, though.

First, it was Alexia's voice, strong and confident, talking to the doctor. Then it was Alexia's voice, small and weak, telling you that you better wake up soon before she freaked out. If you were able to talk at that point, you would have pointed out that it seemed she was already freaking out.

Mapi's voice was there, then, telling you that, thanks, now Ingrid was NEVER going to let her get a motorcycle. Alexia laughed at that, but the laugh seemed to turn into a sob, and you could hear Mapi telling her to stop being so dramatic, because you were fine. She was using her soft voice, though, the one she used for the people she loved. (You, Ingrid, Alexia, and the cat. That was the list.)

When you finally did manage to wake up, it was dark out, and the room was slightly more occupied than it had seemed before. Mapi and Ingrid were both asleep in chairs against the wall, hands tangled together. You caught a glimpse of Lucy and Keira in the hall, on the phone with someone. Probably Sarina, you decided. Alexia was in a chair by your bed, as close as she could pull it. Her eyes were on you, absolutely staring into your soul, and you jumped a little when you realized.

"Jesus," you hissed, waves of pain washing through you.

"You're awake! She's awake. Guys, she's awake," Alexia said gleefully, turning to Ingrid and Mapi who woke up rather slowly. Alexia stood, leaning down to press a gentle kiss onto your gauze-wrapped forehead. When she sat back down, there were unmistakably tears in her eyes.

"Don't you ever, ever, do that to me again." She said seriously.

"I'll make sure to tell the car not to hit me next time." You agreed, matching her serious tone. Mapi snickered, and Alexia grimaced.

"Next time. You're never going on a motorcycle again. Or driving. I'm going to drive you everywhere, and you're going to sit in the backseat. And wear a helmet." Her tone was lighter, but you really weren't convinced that at least a part of her didn't want to do that.

You laughed, and then winced as the movement made your entire abdomen spasm with pain. Alexia's face scrunched with worry, and Ingrid and Mapi leaned forward. You didn't want the focus the be on your pain, though, so you asked a question you were dreading the answer to.

"What's wrong with me?" You asked, preparing yourself for the worst.

"Concussion, mild though. Broken ribs. Broken arm. The skin on your legs will be back one day, but no broken bones there." Alexia listed. You smiled again, delighted that your legs were okay, and a little moved at how hard Alexia was trying to make you smile, when it clearly looked like she'd had the most stressful day of her life. Which she probably had.

"When can I play again?" You asked. Alexia frowned.

"When you're all better." She said, refusing to give you a time that she knew you would latch onto, and meet, regardless of how hard it was.

"When Alexia is comfortable with you being more than 2 feet away from her." Mapi interjected, ignoring the look sent her way by both her best friend and her girlfriend.

The doors opened then, and Keira and Lucy walked in. They both lit up at the sight of you, awake and alert.

"You have to be the dumbest person on earth. Could no one have gone to buy your motorcycle from your house? You had to drive it again?" Lucy scolds.

"I like to keep things interesting." You say, smiling at both of them. They roll their eyes in response, each pressing a kiss to your cheek, before sitting in chairs on the other side of the room.

"Sarina?" You asked. They nodded. "How angry is she?"

"Her exact words were 'what the hell was she doing on a motorcycle,' and then 'I'll let Williamson deal with her. Whatever she comes up with will be far worse than anything I could manage.'" Keira tells you.

Leah would be killing you, you were sure. You turn to Alexia, who had been too quiet, and definitely not scolded you enough.

"You're making me move back in with you aren't you?" You ask, eyeing your captain warily.

"Yes." She said, daring you to argue.

You sigh. "Where am I going to park my new bike at your place?"

Alexia's face gets all red as the room falls into laughter and you smile at her triumphantly. "I will lock you in your room." She says through clenched teeth.

"I'll sneak out the window like last time," you dismiss. "Mapi showed me how."

Alexia turns to Mapi, trying to manage some anger, but she's really too grateful for everything her friend had done for her today. her expression softens when she meets Mapi's eyes, and Mapi goes from looking like she's in trouble, to softening as well.

You watch the strange interaction, and realize that today must have really been hell for Alexia. Hell for everyone, but Alexia was a worrier, and as established, she cared a lot about you.

She'll have plenty of time to fuss over you, though. The next months were sure to be painful and awful, and you were secretly glad that Alexia was moving you back in. You weren't good with pain, or sitting out, or taking care of yourself like you should. Everything felt okay, now, because you were alive, and not paralyzed. Tomorrow would be harder. As you have this thought, you reach for Alexia's hand with your one uninjured arm. She turns to you, grabbing it tightly, and sending you a reassuring smile.

Her face told you that she knew what you were thinking, and the determination there told you that she would get you through this, whatever it took. The whole team would. You relaxed slightly. You could deal with tomorrow tomorrow. Today, you focused on the joy of being alive, and joking with your teammates.

-----

hope this was worth the wait :)

not opposed to an angsty recovery part 3 but let me know your thoughts.

[softshuji]

Mikey's voice is light.

It's tinkly, a little melodic, a little soft, airy- sounding, like a breeze coming through an open window.

You like how it sounds when he speaks, when he laughs, and especially when he says your name, the little 'chin' at the end he hasn't quite dropped despite being well into adulthood.

You like it even now, a thousand miles away, the tinkly breeze of his voice inundated by the crackle of the receiver, and the occasional shuffle as he takes another bite of a snack on hand.

And he always hums between it, changes position in his bed, an occasional "oof" as he turns over and presses the phone to his ear.

He likes your voice but he's not half as good with the words to describe it. He says it's "pretty" that's it - he likes your accent, the way your mouth forms certain words, the lilting foreignness of his name on your tongue, when you elongate "manjiro" to get his attention.

He's never said it mind you, but he thinks you know it already- or at least he hopes you do. You talk a lot with him, and he's surprised by how much he likes listening.

He's never been the type to slow himself down for anyone, take such a vested interest but it's different with you. He likes the wait, the "uhm" you do before you answer a question, the hum that often accompanies your thoughts.

Like now when you're quiet and he can tell that you're thinking, can almost imagine your eyes fixed to a spot with a frown.

'Hey 'jiro, can I ask a question?' you say now and your voice is punctuated by the rhythmic thump of the washing machine in the room adjacent.

It's a nice sound, helps to ground him sometimes. These almost nightly calls where you're letting him into your space even if it isn't physically. A reminder that you're there, that you're always there.

'Mhm? Yeah?' and he takes a bite of steaming hot taiyaki, winces when the steam seems to burn his tongue and you suppress a laugh at how he curses a "shit that's hot" and takes a swig of juice.

It's almost too comfortable at times like this. You could easily get lost in it- moments that never seem to end, the atmosphere punctuated by a tension that never breaks, a siren somewhere that reminds you of how far the two of you are, the lull in the line where the signal breaks.

And it's almost too easy to say, when you whisper a 'What would you do if you were in love with someone?'

And the silence is palpable, terrifyingly loud.

He stops chewing, eyes widening, a hand half halted in the air as he stares at the receiver, a sinking ache that settles in his tummy.

But he's Mikey, he's manjiro. And he's always known what that meant - the type that never lets anything bother him too much- the type that never cries in front of others- the type that has to be the man you need even if you don't feel like you need him.

'Huh?' he says, a little forced, a lump of taiyaki suddenly caught in his throat. 'You in love with someone or something?'

'Maybe I am. And maybe you know them.'

He lifts an eyebrow, the ache snaking towards his ribs. 'I know them?' and then, a sudden burst of noise. 'Is it ken-chin?! Oh you know ken-chin is in love with Emma-'

'No dummy! It's not ken-chin! I know he's with Emma, I'm not that mean that I'd go after your sisters boyfriend y'know.'

And he laughs unexpectedly at your sudden outburst, and it makes the tension a little easier to bear despite what he knows is coming, a rejection and hurt that he's spent a long time preparing for.

'Oh so not ken-chin,' he says and rolls over, propping his chin up in a hand that now discards the taiyaki wrapper on the bedside table. 'So do I get a clue?'

'No,' you say now, your voice broken by the pop-pop of a car exhausting it's engine outside. 'I didn't say I would tell you who it was y'know. But think...a little closer to home maybe.'

'Oh.......'I get it.' A beat. 'You're in love with Emma!'

'No?! When I said closer to home I didn't mean it like that!' You huff in faux annoyance, and he smiles to himself, the tug of his lips instinctual when he senses the irritation in you, and it hurts to prolong this kind of pain, to slowly tug the band-aid.

'Mhm, you could just tell me yknow, maybe I could help set you up.'

And you roll onto your back, stretch out a hand to the window where the moon sits on a branch, the white ivory of it cracked by the grey mist of the clouds.

'I do not trust you as far as I could throw you when it comes to matchmaking me manjiro.'

'Hey!' he says, a familiar pout as he stretches his hand towards the window on his own side, the edge of his white tank top riding up as he shifts onto his back. 'I'm not that bad. You saying I couldn't find someone who treats you like a princess?'

I could.

You giggle, a slip of a laugh despite the brewing tears. 'I don't doubt it, but no, I don't need you to matchmake me. And besides you're getting off topic. I asked what would you do if you were in love with someone....someone you knew.'

And you sigh, a half stifled thing that you hope he doesn't notice, hope is lost somewhere in the end to end encryption. And he pauses in thought, turning it over on his tongue, the familiar ache, the pain that never ends when he speaks to you, a dread that always follows the searing hurt of your smile across his chest. 'Mhm, depends who they were. Someone close?'

'I guess so. We're...best friends. At least I'd like to think so.'

'Excuse me, you have other best friends that aren't me?!'

You stiffen, pull back a little, a dangerously close dip to the truth. 'I didn't - that's not the point!' you huff, hoping it hides enough, hoping you're still elusive. 'Would you tell them?'

And his heart thunders across his ribs, a plummet into his stomach, a redness that spills across the ivory of his skin. He lapses into a silence then, a quietness punctuated by the thwack of the branches on the window.

'Jiro?'

'Huh? Oh yeah sorry, got distracted by something.' And he clears his throat, swallowing the ache, the spiky slice of a knife edge across his chest. 'I would only tell them if I knew they liked me too, if I was sure.'

'And....how would you be sure?' A whisper dripped down the line.

His tongue is heavy, clinging to the roof of his mouth, a weight that's heavy and suffocating. 'I don't know, I don't think you could be without being honest.'

'But being honest means you might be wrong, because what if they don't like you back? Especially as your best friend.'

You muffle the sniffle, time it perfectly with the roll onto your side, the moon now falling and hidden entirely by the trees, a white ring of light that cracks through the branches.

'Yeah....' he says, a trail of a murmur that's soft and silky. 'I guess you don't really know unless you try.'

And he hates that he holds out hope, that he wishes he could hear it even now, knowing what he knows, and hoping to hold on anyway.

'Mhm...yeah you're right.' A crash, a crescendo, an end. 'Anyway, 'Jiro, it's late, I gotta go okay?'

'Yeah, yeah me too,' he says, a disappointment crashing through his bones. 'I'll see you tomorrow yeah?'

'Mhm, goodnight 'Jiro.'

'Goodnight Princess.'

And he holds the phone to his ear long after you're gone, watching the moon fall further down, a hand of his stretched out towards it, knowing somehow somewhere you're doing the same.

Reblogs appreciated