#gross and spineless
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baby-girl-aaron-dessner · 2 months ago
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Swifties react to Taylor Swift’s decision to stay friends with Trump supporters.
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chaiaurchaandni · 1 year ago
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the iof raided the homes of the families of Palestinian hostages being released. in this case, they confiscated cookies. beyond petty. im glad that Palestinians are so full of optimism and love and life that they manage to persevere despite how hard the israelis try to rob them of humanity and joy
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swaggypsyduck · 10 months ago
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anyone still buying mcdonald's amidst the boycott can suck a phat mcdick
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schoenpepper · 3 months ago
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Heartslabyul Heartaches: Clover
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Intro: Heartslabyul is sick and tired of its own vice housewarden (except for Deuce, he really doesn't know what's going on).
Warnings: bad writing, awful grammar, not proofread, pining
A/N: This almost took me out, I think Trey's gonna be on my ban list for a while. But I hope you like it, anon.
Masterlist
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Oh. Oh that's...rather painful to watch, actually. What was it the kids said nowadays? Yikes?
Riddle thinks it's rather vomit inducing, if nothing else. The way you and Trey tiptoe around each other, somehow acting like an old married couple and a pair of first graders just experiencing puppy love at the same time. An impressive contradiction, if he were to be honest. He didn't think it could exist at first, but you and the green haired boy just happened to be living proof. He takes another sip of tea and sends another confused glare in your direction.
"This is so good! You're so talented, Trey." The way you put your hand on Trey's arm (Riddle would say subtly but it was not subtle at all) was so horribly flirtatious it almost makes Riddle spit out his tea. There was no rule on PDA in the Queen's rulebook, however, so he endures and stabs a strawberry with his fork instead of stabbing it through either of you. Trey blushes, hearts almost visibly forming in his eyes as he leans towards you with the plate of bite-sized tarts. "No, it was because you helped me make them that they taste so good."
Riddle's brows furrow in mild disgust.
"You should eat some too!" He watches numbly when you pick up a tart and hand feed it to his second in command. More blushing, more stuttering, but eventually, Trey manages to eat the thing with a giddy smile.
(May he collar Trey? Or you? Genuine question.)
The tea party wraps up and Trey is finally back to full working condition because of your absence (thank you for leaving). Riddle supervises the cleanup with Trey next to him, clipboard in hand. "So," Riddle sighs, "when will you be confessing to Y/N? I assume it must be soon, given your lack of propriety in a public space."
"Confessing? I don't see them that way."
He looks at Trey, both hands on his scepter because one half of him wants to use it to hit the man over the head and the other half wants to use it to hit the man in the stomach. Trey's face is a beautiful shade of 'lying lying liar who lies' pink, and he's avoiding Riddle's gaze with a sheepish grin. "Is that so?" Riddle asks dryly.
"There's...a lot of other people out there."
"What about it?"
"There's a lot of other people who can treat them better, love them better, than I can."
Riddle settles for whacking the scepter onto Trey's shoulder before leaving with a dignified huff. "Spineless, completely unworthy of the Queen of Hearts." He hears Trey laughing behind him.
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Gross. Super gross.
"Yo, Trey, are you like, actually blushing and swooning and kicking your feet?" Cater laughs, watching Trey fumble to hide his phone. He'd already seen the image his friend had been staring at before, though, so it's not too hard to imagine why the other was acting like a schoolgirl (it's still stupid to watch).
"I am not."
Right. Cater doesn't have the mental capability to debate on whether or not Trey was giggling. Not when the words on his textbook are building a rollercoaster track in front of his eyes and setting up to ride it. "Whatevs. How did you get the answer for question 3?"
He looks up to see Trey sneaking a peek at his phone again.
"OMG, usually I'm the phone addict but this is like, insane." Cater dives over the table and steals the other man's phone, "You're staring at a text draft asking Y/N to hang out tomorrow? No, I don't think so, and send. There." He hands it back to Trey.
"What did you do that for?"
"So I can finally get my study buddy back, duh. It's like, literally painful to see you spending literal minutes just thinking on whether or not to invite Y/N to hang out. That's lame."
Trey sighs in exasperation. "So you did it for me."
"Obvi! Because I'm like, such a good friend."
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Ace might throw up on the grass, or he might mistake his senpai's hair for it and throw up all over him. Fifty fifty, really. He watches you run across the field with Grim, passing a Spelldrive disc between the two of you as your laughter rang through the air. He glances at Trey to find him wistfully sighing like some medieval maiden.
When the disc comes hurtling in his direction because of a certain kitty cat, he finds himself embracing peace, and perhaps with his departure from this world, heaven would embrace him—
“Oh no! Trey senpai, are you okay?”
Ace opens his eyes again. He was pretty sure the disc was headed straight for his handsome face so…why is his toothbrush loving upperclassman now lying on a heap on the ground right in front of him?
Did he seriously dive in front of Ace to get injured? On purpose?
You run over worriedly and kneel over next to Trey, Ace watching on expressionlessly. A large red bump is swelling on his senior’s forehead, which you gently check with your hand. “I’m so sorry, I’ll help you get to the infirmary, okay?”
Ace swears he can see the slightest hint of a smirk on Trey’s face.
“Don’t you have history next period? I’ll help him,” Ace enjoys the panicked expression on the ‘patient’, but then he also sees your features morph into something like ‘don’t you dare take this away from me’, so he backs off. You…match each other’s freaks, apparently, so he takes a step back and grabs Grim from the field.
“Nya, why are you taking me from my hench human?!”
“Shh, your parents are flirting so I’ll take up babysitting duty,” Ace rolls his eyes, “They’re both pathetic.”
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“Order. The first meeting shall now commence.”
Riddle strikes a wooden gavel (where did he get that?) and Deuce sits still because his confusion has yet to fade and really, he still has absolutely no idea why he, Ace, Riddle and Cater are sitting around a table with tea and snacks laid out in front of them. This couldn’t be a dorm meeting considering the rest of the dorm members, and even the vice house warden, are absent. “Uh, dorm leader,” Deuce speaks up nervously, “did Ace do something wrong again?”
“What? Why does it have to be me?!”
“It’s always you.”
“Lmao, y’all gotta calm down,” Cater laughs, “the topic of the day isn’t you or Ace. It’s Trey!”
Deuce blinks. “Is something wrong with Trey senpai?”
“He’s gross.”
“He’s cringe.”
“He’s a coward.”
The answers don’t actually answer his question, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea to say anything else. Riddle looks tired, Ace looks genuinely disgusted, and Cater is staring into the void with what he can only describe as an old man sigh. He’s not the smartest person to have ever existed, but he knows enough that he probably shouldn’t be saying anything else at the moment. His housewarden strikes the gavel again. “Attention, we have gathered here today in an attempt to brainstorm ideas. Does anyone know how we should get Trey and Y/N to finally get together?”
“Lock them in a closet 7 minutes in heaven style~”
“Slip truth serum into their drinks.”
“Y/N and Trey senpai like each other?”
The other three give Deuce an exasperated look.
…He probably should’ve kept his mouth shut.
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Trey looks at his reflection in the mirror. Pristine, crisp—he needs to look perfect, if only for you. He makes his way to the entrance of the rose maze with a large bouquet of red roses in hand. It’s a bad idea. Really, you might not even show up. His friends and dormmates have good intentions, sure, but whoever said good intentions meant good results? Now he’d been wrangled in a pure white tuxedo and in the gazebo that laid in the middle of the maze is a spread of pastries and the most expensive tea they had in the kitchen. And he’s ready to finally, finally confess, instead of hiding away and going back to his imaginations. In his fantasies, you’d smile and hold his hand and laugh with him, and he…
If you don’t allow him to even be your friend anymore after this, would his fantasies suffice?
No.
But, if the impossible happens, and you like him too, then maybe his fantasies would come to life. Maybe one day, he’ll be waking up in your arms instead of waking up from dreaming about you. But as Riddle said, the possibility ceases to exist if he doesn’t take the steps to make it happen.
You arrive.
And like every other time he’d seen you and breathed you in, he’s stunned.
You’re just so beautiful, in a way that his mind struggles to describe.
(He loves you, he loves you, he loves you until it hurts, he loves you until it’s deadly, he’ll love you until time stops, until that love consumes him from the inside out, Trey Clover will love you until he forgets what love is and remembers only you and how you make his heart beat.)
You accept his flowers.
You accept his heart as he lays it bare in front of you.
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“You’re, stop—stop using me as an armrest!”
“Ehh, Riddle if you’re so loud they’ll hear nya~”
“You can peek perfectly fine without pushing me down!”
“I can, but that’s not fun!”
Chenya looks through the bakery window to catch a glimpse of the blushing couple. Trey, flustered and proud as he introduces you to his parents, and you happily chatting with them, nodding along as you accepted the pastries they were stacking up in your arms. “Let me go, I need to go back home.” Riddle seethes quietly.
“Mya, it’s not like you wanna go home, so why don’t we stay and watch Trey fumble? It’s funny.”
The redhead purses his lips, hesitates, and eventually peeks into the window next to Chenya. “If we get caught, it’s your fault and I’m just a victim.”
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paganminiskirt · 8 months ago
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Like Frieza and Vegeta’s relationship was absolutely abusive and exploitative from start to finish but I think people write it wrong. Well not wrong, just in a way that I personally believe removes the deeper horror in favor of an easy depiction of what a relationship like that looks like. He’s not getting strung up and whipped or locked in a cell to cry, he’s getting his chin scratched by a person who uprooted him from everything he had ever known on a whim and destroyed the culture upon which he founded his most nascent sense of identity. And that person is only keeping him alive because despite it all, he’s useful, and kind of cute, especially now that all the other Saiyans are dead. Vegeta’s a small child being made to commit atrocities for profit an amusing little novelty, still using the honorifics & regurgitating the legends of a planet that’s been obliterated. DBS is not a perfect sequel by any means but it did this part so, so well. “All hail Vegeta, prince of no one.” “I always thought you shined the brightest when you were serving as my pet.”
Sickening, yes? And the intimacy is the worst part, the realization that Frieza seems to favor him; seems to like him. Who knows, maybe Vegeta reminded him of himself at some ancient, half-forgotten stage of life. King Cold did drop him like a hot potato as soon as he was proven weaker than Trunks. Maybe that’s the whole reason he made King Vegeta give up his kid in the first place. Frieza’s relationship with his father is shallow and dependent entirely on his value as a soldier, the underlying cruelty of which they’ve both silently agreed to use superfluous affection to cover up? Fine. He’s gonna make the Saiyan king give up his own militarized child prince. He’s gonna strip away the cultural justifications for what he’s doing to his son by making him treat it like the cold, spineless profiteering that it always was. He’s gonna rub it in.
But hey, he’s not mad at the kid. It was his dad who got too big for the barrel. Vegeta is still serving his purpose, Vegeta is still being good. Why wouldn’t Frieza treat him in accordance with his “station,” even after it’s been rendered an empty title because of him. All he has to do is keep spinning the wheel on the Cold Empire, vomiting out violence into the endless vacuum of space & never getting too uppity about his dead father or dead planet or about the fact that, even when reduced to the most baseline level of childish narcissism, the state which this arrangement has emotionally stunted him into maintaining well into adulthood, he never actually wanted any of this. He didn’t want to leave Planet Vegeta! He didn’t want to grow up surrounded by strangers! He didn’t want to have no claim over anything he ever achieved! He wanted to work for himself! It wasn’t his choice!!! For all of Vegeta’s dickswinging and hierarchy and “pride,” he is so, so helpless, “like a tiny insect glowing in a jar,” as Frieza so helpfully summarized for us. Overcorrection layered on overcorrection layered on overcorrection layered on desperate, screeching fear and sadness and shame. Blow up a planet. Nuke a city. Wipe out a village. Fix It Again, Tony.
And that viciously indulgent cruelty that Vegeta used to comfort himself as he grew into a man is only emphasized by how blasé Frieza appears to be about the whole thing. He’s calm. He’s secure. He spends half the arc sitting down, just watching. He’s what Vegeta was in the first part of the Saiyan saga, and he slowly turns into what Vegeta slowly turned into in the second part of the Saiyan saga. An addled, wounded, unthinking mess, trying to put their self image back together as someone else’s superior ability causes it to crumble. Frieza was scared of the super saiyan. Under all that collected ambivalence, that whole time, he was scared.
Vegeta is Frieza’s heir. As gross as that incongruent, unwanted warmth is to witness, Frieza succeeded in establishing influence over & connection between himself and the child he orphaned. And the process of healing from that relationship involves Vegeta going back to square one and having to acquiesce to another foreign, combat oriented culture populated by vaguely hostile strangers. He gets new clothes. He gets a new place to train. He gets new tasks to perform. He gets called cute.
Like. It’s not physical torture, at least not as we usually imagine it. It’s this slow poisoning of a person’s ability to trust and connect with others, a process which is gussied up by regular assertions of fondness, so casual & consistent that you have to actively remind yourself that the guy who’s doing it sees Vegeta as a literal subhuman, and is only being good to him the way you’d be good to a valued piece of property. He tortured him to death, but he still thinks he was a good pet. Vegeta’s life was Frieza’s to end, but his feats of wanton destruction were also his to be proud of.
That’s the whole reason why Vegeta’s character development was slow, ugly and recidivist. Because it was his knowledge of how to grow, of how to exist any other way, that Frieza intentionally eroded for his own selfish, petty gain. And for a relationship between a man with a monkey tail and his pink-skinned alien overlord, the most uncomfortable part about the dynamic is that it’s realistic. Common, even.
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underestimated-heroine · 10 months ago
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"we all need to stop donating to AO3 until they apologize for censoring in a volunteer slack about I/P. If you donate you're spineless" is a(n approximate) statement I just read on here.
Yeah, look, I'm struggling with this one. I was from the first reading, I was when I went to the person who made that post's blog and saw a bunch of the kind of posts they've been reblogging, and after reading the former volunteer's "receipts"? now I'm really struggling.
To be clear, I'm not struggling with whether I agree with the post's assertion; of course it's ridiculous. What I'm struggling with is trying to figure out how we got uhhh here. "Here" being someone looking the other users of Tumbler-Dot Cob dead in our virtual eyes and calling on them to "boycott" the fanfiction-hosting nonprofit AO3 over what amounts to an interpersonal dispute between a small subset of volunteers in a Slack channel.
I could analyze what happened and the conversation in question, but having read the entire thing, I feel it's just not worth it and would rather extend the grace of discretion in this case. I'll only say that while I find the opinions of some of the people in that slack gross, the now-former volunteer and the above-linked poster also misrepresented the situation, conducted themselves poorly, and also made some gross assertions and denials.
Again, can't believe we're here after the Spotify Wrapped thing was called out and so many people have called on us to check ourselves on the antisemitism (EDITED and added a different link with both that pamphlet and way more resources!) but no, AO3 isn't "run by the Zionists" (yes, OOP heavily implied that in their doc: "But regardless of the personal beliefs of the individuals involved, this is much deeper than the org just being zionist.") Nor is AO3 a productive battlefield to die on in the name of Palestine.
You're looking for places you can actually help and I get that, but come on, now. This ain't it.
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lucimarinee · 8 months ago
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Pushover | dbf!Joel x f!Reader
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Pairing: dbf!Joel x f!Reader
Summary: God knows you were born either with a spine made out of bubble wrap, or just spineless entirely, it's honestly kind of sad. It bothers you, of course, how everyone else seems to know that too. Quiet, pliable and unconfrontational, you were raised to occupy the least amount of space possible, and be out of the way most, if not all, of the time, and that's not really the recipe for an assertive, self-assured woman, now, is it? No, it's not, and you are painfully aware of that. And you become even more aware of that when you go back to Texas to visit your estranged dad, on your summer break from a college course you don't really want to pursue, to spend what was supposed to be a time of relaxation surrounded by people that seem to think it's funny to push your buttons, it annoys you to no end. But no one seems to get on your nerves more than that asshole your father calls his "best friend", Joel Miller, one of those old school kinds of men who have an irreverent attitude, a bite to their sense of humor, perceptive eyes, an unwavering voice to declare his will, and a penchant for provoking you.
Warnings: NO OUTBREAK, age gap (Joel is in his late-forties/early-fifties, reader is in her early twenties), praise kink, annoyance as foreplay /hj, fingering.
Word Count: 14,756
a/n: this was posted on ao3 first, you can find it here, but I thought that I should use my Tumblr too. This one-shot has a funny story, that being I woke up in the dead of night to write it because I "dreamed about it" when I was half asleep, I like to joke that I was possessed, I didn't stop writing until it was posted. Anyway, my first Tumblr post in this style, I hope you enjoy it :).
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You had a feeling the day was going to go badly, or at least less than ideal, but it's getting a bit too much, now.
It was just a combination of small things piling up on you.
It started in your plane, you had just boarded, barely even sat down, and a woman approached you with an attitude that reeked of veiled aggressiveness, asking you if "you'd be so kind to change seats" with her, so she could sit next to her husband. Unsure if it was the pressure of her gaze on you, or just the fact you're not very good at saying "no" , you obliged, moving from your nice window seat at the front of the plane — that you chose and paid for specifically —, to a middle seat further back.
No big deal, you thought, it was just a couple wanting to sit together, sure, they should have planned their trip better and booked their seats properly, like you did, but it would be, at the very least, unpolite if you said no. What reason did you have to deny her request, after all? "No, ma'am, I paid for this seat, I'd like to stay here" ? Sounds selfish, and you're not selfish.
Of course, the change to an uncomfortable seat, squished between two strangers, made the trip a lot longer, but eventually you landed, and it was all over. Until you heard there was a mishap with the luggage, so your baggage would be delayed, making you have to wait for God knows how long for the airline to get their shit together. Still, you sighed and nodded, there was no need to complain and go on a tirade about costumer's rights, gross neglect and incompetence on the part of the company, there were people doing that already, so you didn't have to join the misery party, you just had to wait.
You were tired, hungry, sore, and just wanted to rest, let this day be over. You just got back home — well, "home" — for summer break.
Coming back to Texas on any circumstance was a fucking chore, and it didn't help you felt obligated to, either. You were just fine out of state, as fine as you can be while pursuing a degree you didn't want, putting effort and energy on a thing your heart wasn't set on, but at least you were some place else , some place other than Austin, where you could let yourself be a little more. You were planning on going on a trip to somewhere nice, you had been saving a bit of money from your internship and side gigs with the intent of treating yourself — for once —, but your father had other plans.
He got in touch with you a few months ago, going on a rant about how you don't call or get in touch at all anymore, how you've been growing distant ever since you moved out to study, forgetting that you had a father that did everything for you, gave everything to you, that it was an ungrateful look, and how it didn't suit you.
It was his own special way of saying he missed you, and wanted you to visit.
Easy to say, you thought it was best to smooth out the situation and appease him by promising to come back on summer break, basically ruining your own plans because daddy sent you a strong worded text.
What a joke, you don't want to be there.
Another sigh leaves you, this one slightly more exasperated than the last. You hate that weather, you can feel that awful hot, humid air even when surrounded by the airport's heavy-duty air conditioning, the uncovered skin of your arms feels chilly, but it's like an uncomfortable, stuffy bubble of hot air hugs you without your permission, the phantom feeling of it makes you feel like a kid again, and you don't like it.
Some more minutes pass by, you sit down on a chair with a cold backrest after having filled a form at the airline's desk and leave it at that, swallowing back your annoyance and hoping for the best, and the best case scenario was just that your bag was misplaced in another flight, and would be hopefully arriving soon, worst case scenario, they lost the damn thing, and then — just then — it would be time to get openly upset.
But you hope it won't come to that.
"Hey." a gravely voice calls loud and clear beside you, "I thought I recognized ya."
You turn to look, and have to make a physical effort not to groan and keep yourself from making a face. God fucking damn it, it's Joel fucking Miller. He looks just like you remember him from, you don't know, a couple of years ago, from the last time you dropped by on vacation, the same rugged appearance, rough around the edges, with that same annoying, rustic charm, a bit different, though.
His hair was a bit longer, the few gray hairs you remember had grown into proper gray locks, sprinkling his head here and there, same with the beard, fuller, grayer, but somehow softer looking. But that was it for the differences, he still had the same direct and piercing eyes, like he had an aim that never missed its target, and, much to your chagrin, that same infuriating grin that you never quite understood what it meant, despite him always having it on his lips every time you were around.
"Hi." you say, getting up from your seat just out of politeness, you weren't on a hug or even a handshake basis, so you just stood there, awkwardly, stuffing your hands in your pockets like you had no idea what to do with them, "What are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you, too, doll." he huffed a little chuckle, and had it been any other person, you would have blushed a few shades redder than his flannel shirt and apologized for your lack of respect, but it was just Joel, he seemed to enjoy being aggravating like that with you, "It's been a while hasn't it? What? Couple o' years?"
Fair enough, you muster a small diplomatic smile and nod, he's right, it had been a hot minute, but if it were up to you, it would have been even longer. Joel wore a pair of jeans and a flannel that you swear you've seen him wear before, it rings so familiar in your head, like the world's most irritating alarm clock, he's a physical, walking reminder that you're back in Texas, because he's always around you whenever you're there, courtesy of your father.
The two of them are friends, and have been for the longest time, ever since you were a tween, not that you can understand why, exactly, and for once it wasn't Joel's fault, it was your father's. It just didn't make sense that your father had friends, let alone in someone like Joel, you couldn't understand for the life of you what they had in common, and how the fuck did they meet and bond. Maybe you just didn't think of your father as someone pleasant enough to befriend or keep company, in fact, you sure don't, that's why you've been avoiding coming back for as long as you did.
But he's older, so is your dad, and maybe that's why the two of them clicked, and started doing whatever they do when they're together, you're sure they must have gone out to a bar and done things old men do.
"Yeah, it really has, huh?" you say back, looking to the side, as if it was embarrassing to even make eye contact for longer than a few seconds, "It's good to see you, though, Mr. Miller."
"Mm, don't you start with the mister thing." he raised an eyebrow, still looking at you, it made your neck burn, you weren't sure why, maybe just out of awkwardness, you never really knew how to act around him, especially not alone, and he always had such an intense stare, "Makes me sound old."
"Okay then, Mr. Miller." you can't help a little, shy grin, the kind that doesn't last for long.
He looked a bit amused, if anything, not in the same way he had back when you were in high school, it wasn't so much as the cockiness that seemed to radiate off him, he just seemed genuinely impressed with you, like he figured your insistence on being respectful to your elders was your own little way of standing up for yourself, and he didn't seem to want to fight that.
"As for your question," he continues, ignoring your teasing, "I spoke to your old man earlier, he said you'd be arriving today, but that something came up at his work, and he wouldn't be able to come and pick you up, so I offered myself to fetch ya, seemed rude to let you get a taxi or something after coming home after so long, figured I'd come to give ya a proper Texan welcome."
Oh.
He must have noticed your change in expression, your polite smile faltered to give place to a confused, if not hurt, grimace, his face mimicked yours in an involuntary display of empathy, you see his strong brows knitting together like he's trying to read you and figure out what was wrong, and how to fix it.
"Oh, I..." you hesitate, you're thinking lots of things, all of a sudden, but you've always struggled to put your feelings and thoughts into words, "Sorry, I... I'm just a bit surprised. He didn't tell me anything about being held back."
You feel stupid, hadn't Joel come up to the airport and found you, you'd have been waiting for your father to show up until you realized he wouldn't come. You pick up your phone from your back pocket to check if maybe you missed a text or a phone call, but no, there was nothing, the last thing you heard from your dad was him reacting to your text telling him your flight was taking off, and at what time it was supposed to arrive, with a thumbs up.
Nothing more.
You just sigh, yet again, you had an inkling feeling this vacation wasn't going to go smoothly, but this was just the cherry on top. Joel is quiet, letting you have a moment of peace to process, but he's staring, again, he doesn't even try to hide it, his eyes, a nice shade of brown, not unlike caramel, are softer than the rough exterior he keeps up, he seems sympathetic.
"It must've slipped his mind," Joel says with a shrug of his shoulder, not dismissive, just trying to soften the situation, make you feel less bad about it, not that you really cared at that point, this was just another instance of him not showing up in twenty-something years, "You know how he can be sometimes, hardworking fella, just focused on his job and doesn't think of anything else."
He's not wrong, but you'd still think a simple text wouldn't have hurt to send. You want to be angry, at the very least a bit miffed, but you can't muster that, instead, it's just resignation and frustration that makes you feel heavy and tired, it's hard to be mad, for some reason. You never had much practice.
"Thanks, I appreciate it." you force yourself to say, even if it sounds halfhearted and a little defeated.
"You don't sound very thrilled." he snorts a little, it sounds playful, he's not being rude, just lightheartedly ribbing you.
"Sorry, I just, uhm..." you swallow and bite down a sigh, you know exactly what's going on, he doesn't need to know, "It's fine."
You weren't about to get emotional over being slighted by your own dad in front of Joel, even if you're pretty sure he was fully aware of the dynamic between the two of you.
"Well, I'm here." the man declared, his voice always had this very firm tone of finality, you figure it's probably impossible to argue with Joel, "And I'm gonna get you home all the same, ya can talk to him then. Ready to go? Didn't bring any bags?"
It takes you an embarrassing long second to figure out what he's doing, hands on his hips, looking at and around your figure for any luggage, when he doesn't see it, he quirks a brow.
"Oh, no, I did, it's just..." you start, and you can see very clearly how he takes a long, deep breath, letting his arms go slack on his sides, and you hate when he does that, because he always does it when you let it show that something is wrong, but this time you didn't even get to explain, he must know you quite well at this point, or you just do this a lot, "There was a problem with the luggage transport, it's all been delayed, so I'm waiting on that."
His posture shifts while you speak, Joel crosses his arms in front of his chest, making him look like a solid brick wall, a strong and unyielding presence in front of you, his muscles flex and push against the fabric of the sleeves, and you don't understand why, but your neck starts burning again.
"Shit, you gotta be kiddin' me." his jaw tightens and he closes his eyes, a hand moves up to rub his temple, the wrinkles that formed on his forehead when he grimaced almost seemed to highlight the greying of his hair, he's got a very rugged look to him, but it fits, you can't say it's a bad look, "Well, alright. Have you spoken to anyone 'bout this?"
"Yeah, I filled a form at the desk just a moment ago, they told me to wait." you explain.
"'Kay, but what did they say 'bout compensation? Did they offer you anything? They owe you that, y'know that, right?" Joel goes on, almost talking over you, the man seems to be taking this issue personally, too.
"Yeah, I know that."
His brows shoot up when you don't follow that with anything else, and suddenly, all his indignation seems to turn to you, "You didn't say a thing, did ya?"
You stand there, guilty as charged, pursing your lips in a thin line, because you have nothing to say in your defense, you did mention something about compensation to the guy working at the desk, but he brushed you off with some bullshit about company policy and technicalities, and you just took it like a loser, so you guess that doesn't count.
"Fuckin' Christ, alright." Joel groans, his hand flies from his temple to his forehead, where he rubs the wrinkles in frustration, it makes you feel awful, it's always like this, especially with him, he never really tried to hide that he thinks you don't have a backbone, "I'm gonna go take care o' this. Don't you go anywhere."
"What— no, Joel, wait! " you reach out for his arm, your palm touches hard, solid muscle under the flannel sleeve, and your skin feels like it's being singed even with the protection of the fabric, "Don't make it a big deal, please, they say it must be arriving soon, it's fine—"
"Hey." he interrupts your plea with his own gruff voice, but not unkindly, in fact, you're a little shocked to see how his face is so relaxed, not a trace of anger or annoyance in his features, only calmness, "I got this."
The hand on his sleeve goes slack, but your heart starts beating like crazy once he resumes his march to the airline desk you had pointed to earlier, you trail behind him like a desperate, lost puppy, your nerves firing as you try to figure out a way to avoid a conflict or any amount of confrontation, especially on your behalf, there was no need to make a fuss over you.
It's so easy to feel small next to Joel Miller, he's a whole head, and then some, taller than you, not only is he broad, his gait and demeanor are those of a man who can take whatever the world throws at him and still be standing at the end of the day, it's kind of surprising the attendant didn't burst out laughing when you just stood next to him like an anxious shortstack, while the man comfortably leaned over the counter and spoke in his raspy voice.
He had some things to say about the matter, the two men seem to engage in some back and forth you were barely listening to, Joel would speak in his booming voice and point vaguely at you, his tone was always so resolute and determined, his words were never minced, and he always knew what to say, in a usual day, you'd judge him for being too confrontational, even abrasive, but maybe it was the combination of having him standing up for you without a moment's hesitation and the way his biceps bulged whenever he made an angry gesture or placed his hands on the desk and leaned in, that made that hot bubble of air around you feel even hotter.
"Sir, the last flight just arrived, it's likely that your luggage is on the way, you're free to check—" the man behind the desk says, and you loudly breathe out in relief.
"See, Joel, it's here, let's just grab it and go." you blurt out like your life depends on it, touching his arm again, a physical plea, trying to convince him, you can't tell if it's just your mind playing tricks on you, but the touch actually makes him pause.
"This ain't done." Joel points a finger at the workers, but his body is already turning in your direction, even if his gaze doesn't immediately follow, "But it can wait. Come on, doll, let's see if we can get ya out of this place."
It's embarrassing, it really is, it makes your heart jump to your throat, you feel the burn from earlier crawl all the way to your ears, you want to sink through the ground and disappear. There was no need for this, it was ridiculous and overkill, and it was happening all for your sake.
You don't take another good luck at him until he seats himself behind the wheel of his truck, after finally loading your long awaited suitcase in the back. You're sulking on the passenger's seat, head resting on your palm, elbow on the door, staring out the window, just waiting for him to start the damn thing and drop you off, you're just so, so done with this whole airport saga, it was complete shit, from beginning to end.
While he drives, Joel looks over at you, once, twice, maybe thrice, each time just a beat longer than the last, from your peripheral vision, you catch his jaw tightening up a bit, he seems to be contemplating something, the man knows you're moody, and it isn't like you're hiding your displeased pout, but he also knows that, if he doesn't say anything, you won't either.
"It will get sorted out." he tells you, after a moment of consideration. The man leans back comfortably as a long breath leaves him, not unlike the stress sighs you're always letting out as well, he keeps just one hand low on the wheel, and he's tapping a finger to the rhythm of the music, you have to wonder how much of that he can actually hear.
"It's fine." you say, it's your mantra. It's a half lie, "Those things happen."
"Those things aren't supposed to happen, doll." he makes a point of stressing his words, a low and firm sound coming from deep inside his chest, you see his profile from the side, and you can see him pressing his lips together, the man is probably annoyed at the way you're trying to blow it all off, he doesn't like to see people walk all over you, and he doesn't like that you let them, "There's a reason why there are policies and laws and shit like that, for this exact reason."
The way you just raise your palms in the air in a clear sign of resignation tells him that's a discussion you really don't want to have, you almost expect him to push you further, like he's always done, to probe and poke at you, and lecture you on the importance of standing up for yourself like you are a child, but by then Joel already knows he's preaching to a deaf choir, so he gives it a rest.
"I'm just sayin'..." he trails off, clearing his throat.
Your gaze focus on the scenery passing you by, trees and buildings going by so fast it almost looks like they're flying, the man next to you was always a fast driver, you remember that much from a few other times he took it upon himself to be your chauffeur throughout your life, usually when your father couldn't find the time or patience to do so.
"Thanks, anyway, I mean, for... yeah, thanks." you decide to say, still not looking at him.
You can hear him grin, that's how infuriating it is, "Don't mention it."
You just scoff, a hint of a smile making the corner of your mouth twitch upwards, that was so characteristic of him, so Joel Miller, and so stupid, "Don't act like you did nothing. That was..." you roll your eyes, but you don't notice you're shaking your head, he does, though, and that only serves to amuse him even further, "Something else, man. Thanks for... making that guy shit his pants, I guess."
You snort at your own little joke, he doesn't follow, but doesn't seem displeased, either.
The landscape is so familiar, and his presence is so familiar too, the drive is long and quiet, the kind that gives you space to breathe, but never enough to let your thoughts take a more unpleasant turn.
You try not to think about the way Joel always takes care of you, in his own little way.
"How is dad?" the question falls from your mouth.
Joel turns his head to you with a certain look in his eyes, it's quite meaningful, actually, a whole conversation happens with just the two of you making eye contact, it's silent and intense, you almost feel compelled to avert your eyes and stare at the road in front of you.
He looks like he's holding back a comment.
"Same as usual. Busy, focused." his voice is dry, no emotion to it, it's hard to tell whether he's pleased by this or not, "But we keep in touch."
It's odd that Joel seems to know more about your father's well-being than you do, but he has the decency to not say anything else about the matter, if he didn't already know from his friendship with your dad, your question made it very clear that you two don't talk much, if at all, which made this whole thing even more stupid, because you still went out of your way, postponing and cancelling plans, to accommodate a father that only seemed to get in touch with you to make you feel bad about being a "bad daughter".
"Sarah is excited to see you again," Joel added, trying to change the topic, or let you know that at least one person was actually happy with the prospect of seeing you, "When I told her I was coming to pick you up, she got real hyped about it."
That brings a smile to your face.
Sarah, Joel's daughter, was just a few months older than you, that was something else your dad and Joel had in common, besides being divorced, grumpy men in their fifties, now that you think about it. Growing up, the Millers lived close to your house, close enough for Sarah to become your playmate, you'd drop by with your father to play with her, while the adults did their own thing, and vice versa.
The memory of their house is very vivid, even after not having thought about it for the longest time, you still remember the nice hardwood floors, the narrow staircase, and how on every wall — especially in Sarah's room — there were plenty of pictures of her and her dad, on her soccer practices, after championships, or just pictures they took together for the sake of it, always very happy photos, very lively. Your room never had pictures like that.
Sarah was confident, lively and funny, pretty much everything you weren't, and still aren't, she was always more extroverted than you, carrying your whole friendship almost entirely by herself, you just tagged along, ever the dedicated follower, never the leader, it never bothered her, but it bothered you.
You were never quite able to pinpoint what exactly you felt whenever you looked at the pictures on her walls, or witnessed her and Joel interacting in a lighthearted, playful manner, or even just watched her be, but now, as an adult, you can.
It was bitterness.
You were always a very bitter child, the way she could just smile, joke, talk back at Joel, make fun of him, the way he never failed to be warm, receptive, affectionate, a perfect example of a single father raising a lovely kid on his own, the juxtaposition with your home life, which was, well, less than that, was too much sometimes, the unfairness of it all, the stark, blinding contrast that always made you feel inadequate.
Inadequate, bitter, envious .
Eventually you just stopped showing up to hang out, and you two drifted apart quietly, not unlike you and your father.
You discreetly turn your eyes to the man beside you, watching him silently drive, so relaxed, so confident, his posture said it all. Joel rested a hand on top of the wheel, and his other hand on the seat beside him, not even realizing he's drumming his fingers along the tune, not even knowing his hand was right next to your leg, if he did, would he move it, or just let it stay?
His hands looked very large and firm, his fingers were thick and strong, the back of his hand had some prominent veins that moved with every subtle motion of his arm, and you found yourself wondering about the rest of his body. You're no longer a little girl, but still, there are certain things that are better left unthought about.
"How are things goin' for ya, by the way?" he asks, voice suddenly softer, "In college, and all."
"It's fine."
There he goes again, that same long, deep breath he took at the airport, that same long, deep breath he took every time he clocked you shrugging things off, trying to put no importance into them, the look he gives you along with is loud as words, he knows you too well for you to pull that card on him.
"Don't bullshit me." he deadpans.
You're about to fire back a comment about how it's not a bullshitty thing, college really was fine, you were doing well, passing all your classes, and the courses themselves were fine, nothing to complain about, not even your colleagues or professors, you have nothing bad to say about them, or at least, that's what you like to believe, the same way you like to believe you're doing great on your own, and you like to pretend there's nothing you need or want for.
"I'm not!" you protest, he doesn't buy it, you can tell by his doubtful smirk, "I'm really not, okay? Everything is going well, my classes are good, and so are my grades, the city is pretty nice, and... and... I guess, people are fine too?"
"So what's wrong, then?"
It takes a moment for you to reply.
"I don't really want to be a lawyer, okay?" your voice is low, even shy, you can feel your face getting warmer, it's such a relief to finally tell someone this, and, if not a relief, it feels good to not have it stuck in the back of your head all the time, "I never really did. I'm just... kind of going along with it, dad wants it, and at the end of the day, I don't really mind it."
Joel considers your words carefully.
"You do know," he starts, "That to be a lawyer you'll actually have to stand up to people, for once?"
There it was, the Joel Miller you knew and didn't really like, always prodding, always trying to provoke you, always trying to rile you up, always trying to force you out of your comfort zone, to get a reaction, or at least get you to feel something.
"Oh, fuck off."
You're the one to roll your eyes, you're the one to let out an exaggerated groan, because, sure, that's how things would go with him, every time you decided to let him in and let him have a little look into your world, the world inside your head, the real, raw feelings that lay beneath the surface, and you should know that better than anyone, it's just in his nature, it's not even mean spirited, he's just an asshole.
"Nah, I'm being completely fuckin' serious right now," he says, a hint of a chuckle on his voice, but he really wasn't laughing, and, much like a father who knows exactly what he's talking about, he explains himself, "You'd be swallowed whole in a courtroom, doll, and you know that too."
He has a point, unfortunately.
"I guess. That's the kind of person I am, I suppose."
Joel shakes his head.
"Don't be stupid."
You raise a hand to him, to tell him not to patronize you.
He seems like he wants to keep going, to keep yapping about how your spine has the consistency of wet spaghetti, about how you should grow a pair already and stop acting so fucking scared all the time, that you're always hiding, you're always keeping your mouth shut, that it's not the way, but he bites his tongue and decides against it, opting for a less aggravating follow up, "What would ya like to do, then? If not law."
"I don't know. I like to paint. But I know I'm not good enough."
"Says who? Yourself?" he sounds sarcastic, and that gets you even more flustered and frustrated.
"Yes, I do, because it's true," you explain, you've told this to many other people, so many times, and none of them understood, Joel isn't going to be an exception, "And it doesn't pay really well as a career, like, at all."
"Well, now you just sound like your father."
Your cheeks flush, you can feel your entire face burning now, he has no idea how much of a dickhead he's being. You're starting to regret having told him anything about it.
"Fuck off."
You say it again, in a quiet, unintimidating way. He laughs.
"If you talked to people like you're talkin' to me right now, you'd be an okay lawyer, you know that, right?" his smile is cocky, it's so stupid, but so characteristic of him, to get under your skin like this, he was the only one that could, "Not good, but okay."
"Whatever, Joel. Shut up."
It's hard not to look at the way his neck and shoulders tense when he laughs, you catch yourself looking more than you should, he has the nerve to let his hand move towards you and he pats the top of your knee, he pats your leg twice, slowly and softly.
You surprise yourself with how your stomach seems to shrink and turn at his touch.
His fingers are firm, and you feel the strength on them, you try to ignore the tingly feeling that runs up and down your leg, like some weird, unexplainable electrical charge, and how it seems to only spread from his hand. You pretend the contact isn't affecting you, it's an easy thing to do.
He lets his hand linger there, resting on your knee for a while, and you don't fucking move a muscle, and, for once, it's a deliberate choice, you're not letting him keep his hand there, you want him to keep it there, too afraid that if you move, say something, or even breathe weird, he might just take it away from you, and you'd never forgive yourself for that.
But he interprets your stillness, and your silence — and the fact you stopped breathing for a hot second, as discomfort, and Joel promptly moves his hand from your leg, placing it back on the steering wheel, like he should, he knew you enough to know you wouldn't speak up on your discomfort, but didn't know you well enough now to know why exactly you were letting him touch you like that in the first place, but the answer is very simple:
You liked it .
And it disappoints you that he withdrew it, even though that was probably for the best.
"If you ask me," the man cleared his throat, taking it upon himself to clear the air, you couldn't say he wasn't considerate when he wanted to, "Which I know ya didn't, but that ain't gonna stop me, ya should talk to your dad about this."
You give a halfhearted laugh, not really looking at him.
"What's so funny?" Joel asks.
"It won't do anyone no good, Joel," you declare, your resigned, dejected tone seems to upset him, or maybe it's the way you sound so comfortable with that tone that upsets him, "I'm almost in my senior year, anyway, a lot of money was invested in this, and besides, he wouldn't get it."
You have nothing more to say about the topic.
Joel seems like he has plenty to say, though, like he always did, "I don't think so. In my own experience, ain't a man in this world that loves a girl more than her own father, doll."
It was meant to sound like some profound advice, like Joel always did, but to you, it felt like a blow straight to your stomach.
His experience was nothing like yours, he was nothing like your dad, far from it.
But that was a good thing.
Joel parks in front of your childhood home not much later, it's been at most two, maybe three years since you were here the last time, the sight of that house shouldn't be making you feel so uncomfortable and anxious, but it did.
He gets off the car first, while you stay stuck in your uncomfortable stupor, you only come back to reality when Joel opens your door for you, a nice, chivalrous smile — as chivalrous Joel Miller can be — on his lips, making way for you.
"Welcome home, doll."
It's so hard not to blush when he says stuff like this.
Joel carries your bags inside, even though you tell him that you can take care of them yourself. He tells you not to worry. You follow him quietly, the only sounds filling the hallway are his heavy footsteps, the clanking of keys against the wooden door, and the loud tick-tocking of the old grandfather clock, you used to be kind of scared of that clock as a little girl, it made such an intimidating, imposing noise.
The house was empty, that's what you first assumed, at least, judging by how dark and neat everything was, smelling strongly of furniture polish, not a thing out of place, it felt like it was just you and Joel, in your childhood home, you tried not to let your mind wander to what would happen if it were really just you and him.
He carried your bags so easily, he must be so strong. You know he works in construction, that's why his hands look so rough, and probably feel rough, too, you didn't get to feel it on your leg thanks to the fabric of your jeans, but you're sure of it, you can almost imagine the coarseness on your skin, the warmth, he could pick you up so easily if he wanted to—
Heavy, hurried footsteps making their way down from the second floor startle you out of your thoughts, you know those steps far too well, you grew up trying to listen for them whenever the house went too silent, or when you were laying in your bed, staring at the plaster-white ceiling of your room, trying to gauge if it was safe to get out yet, or if he was in a bad mood and you should wait.
Those are your father's footsteps.
He comes down the steps in a frenzy, and his feet almost don't respond to his brain's command to stop when he finally spots you and Joel, he seemed distracted by something on his phone.
"Oh, shit— I didn't hear you enter." he says with a slightly awkward laugh, but still unabashed, it's not directed to you, however, his attention is on his friend, "Can you believe they're not going to pay me for the overtime I had to do at the office? That's ridiculous, isn't it?"
He wasn't paying attention to you, and, for a reason you don't understand, you can't help but feel relieved and happy, not like he'd actually have any energy to spare for his daughter.
Joel shook his head, a sort of smirk on his face, the way they're standing makes them look like the best of friends, and yet, something about how Joel stuffs his hands in his pockets and shifts his body slightly to your direction tells you he's unimpressed, "Hey, now." he points at you with his head, his command is clear, and you didn't think you— or your dad — would live long enough to see someone bossing him, "I brought your princess, didn't I?"
Your dad only now notices you, his face lights up, though not really in a heartwarming way, and not in a manner that you could find even remotely appealing or warm.
It was a look and reaction of a man who just remembered he forgot to pick up his child, which, in a way, he kind of did.
"There's my baby girl," he walks up to you and engulfs you in a bear hug, it's very sudden and awkward, he's squeezing you a little too tight, you never really fit in his hugs, but you hug him back nonetheless, "How was the trip?"
"It was fine." you say.
It rolls off your tongue so easily, sounds almost so beautifully rehearsed, automatic, like an answering machine, because it really is.
Joel gives you a weird look, you're not looking at him, but you can feel it burning on your nape, like he can't seem to figure out why the fuck you'd say that, when it would take at most thirty seconds to tell your father, with enough detail, what a mess it was. Your dad was a lawyer, if someone would know how to deal with an incompetent airline who almost lost your luggage, made you wait for a long time, inconvenienced you, and wouldn't budge about compensation, that someone was your dad, why wouldn't you tell him about it? Why would you opt for the almost political, statesmanlike "fine", when it's so clear by how you said it that it wasn't, in fact, "fine"?
Your dad chuckles, letting go of you, his arms move away from your shoulders and back, "I'm glad to hear that."
He says, you smile, Joel coughs.
Then it's complete silence for a second or two. No one really knows what to say, and you almost think it's your fault for answering noncommittally, but your father speaks up, before Joel does.
"It's so good to have you back, baby girl, this house has been so empty." your father says, a weird, forced chuckle at the end, Joel is starting to see where you got your awkwardness from, "I just got home from the law firm, but it was just to grab some papers, I should be heading back, but, uhm, let's have dinner later, yeah?" he was making a move for the front door, the one you closed behind you not even a few minutes ago, his eyes going back to his phone, "Joel, you and Sarah should join us, I'm sure she—"
"Now, hang on a minute," Joel cuts in, he's quick, that man never misses a beat, "You gotta go back right now? What, can't ya stay just a few more minutes? Catch up with your girl, and whatnot?"
It was very obvious — to you — what he's trying to do, Joel Miller is tactful enough to not cut a leg off just because it's bruised, but he's still a man who likes to brute force some things, and right now, he is trying to brute force you an opportunity, because Joel Miller seems to enjoy taking things upon himself that he had no business interfering in.
Your father stops in his tracks, hand frozen on the doorknob, mid-turn, he looks confused, if anything, speechless, like he couldn't think of a single possible thing to say right now, looking between his friend and you, uninterested, unfazed.
"How's... How's college?" he eventually asks, it sounds impersonal, but Joel sighs like he just won a jackpot.
He did it, he gave you a very clear opportunity, and Joel was right there beside you to support you, you could say — even if briefly, superficially — what you were thinking, what you were feeling, just to get a word out, and then maybe talk through it over dinner, with some good father-daughter quality time, a desperately needed heart-to-heart, that's what he hoped for, that was his intention behind doing that, it had to be.
"It's fine." you say, a short answer, nothing too detailed, and a complete lie.
A look of exasperation and confusion crosses Joel's eyes.
Your father, though, smiles, that same diplomatic, polite smile you always give people, and he nods, "I'm glad to hear, dear."
You three stand still where you are, you because it's routine, your father because he's confused and awkward, and Joel because he's too fucking astonished to move a fucking muscle.
"Well, we can talk more about it when I get back." your dad declared, the door lock clicked and he was about to leave, "Dinner tonight, guys."
Your dad is out the door not long after that, it closes with a slam behind him, leaving you and Joel in a cold, stale-smelling home.
For a long time, nothing is said between the two of you.
"Alright." you mutter, almost as if to yourself, taking your bag in your hand, the wheels clattering against the floor, and Joel moves behind you, following you upstairs to your room.
"Are you— You can't be serious right now," he says, trying to mask his complete bewilderment, and doing a shit job at it, " 'It's fine' ?!"
He tries to say it like you would say, a high, mocking, shaky voice, his arms open in a defeated, almost hopeless, manner.
"Joel, not now," you tell him, walking down the long hallway, and not looking back at him, "I'll be sleeping."
"What— no."
You try closing the door to your room, but it slams loudly on Joel's open palm with a lot of force, you're pretty sure you didn't close it that hard, that was his doing, you still can't help, though, to feel more worried about your door than about his hand. He pushed it wide open again, towering on your door frame, but didn't cross the threshold, you felt weirdly trapped, your bag and your body feel heavy, you set the luggage down.
Joel's expression is unlike any other you've ever seen, and the look in his eyes is so intense, full of indignation, your knees wobble a bit under his scrutiny, you hate yourself for that, you don't want him to notice that, he shouldn't be seeing you so affected.
"Y'know, I used to think you were just a very weird kid," he starts, Joel sounds legitimately, personally offended, his outrage is palpable, it's like he can't barely keep it in, but it's trying to so very hard, "Just— painfully shy, didn't know how to talk to no one, didn't really talk at all, went along with everything, and everything was fine, 'cause that's what you always said, all the fuckin' time, and I really thought it was, for the longest time."
"Joel—"
"No." his tone leaves no room for discussion, his expression hard, but when you immediately shut up, it almost seems to upset him more, "I really thought you'd grow out of the pushover phase, I even thought I could help it by urging you a little—"
"I'm not a pushover!" you frown, trying to sound strong and firm, but it was clear the words had no bite to them.
"Oh, bull-fucking-shit, doll, you're the biggest pushover I've ever met," he scoffs at you, still leaning against the frame of your bedroom door, "As a kid, you'd go along with whatever Sarah wanted to do, as a teen, I had to witness you going out with the most stupid looking boys I've ever had the displeasure of setting my eyes on, now you're a grown-ass pushover!"
"Why are you mad at me?" you ask, you're so fucking confused, you feel attacked, really, literally cornered by the man. On any other day, you'd be bawling your eyes out, but Jesus fucking Christ, you were so done with today, you have been bottling up so much shit you could feel your bile taint your mouth with its bitter taste, you were furious.
"I'm not mad at you, doll, I'm mad for you."
After he says that, there's a pause, he didn't mean to get into a yelling match with you, and he looked disheartened. Joel rubbed one of his big palms over his face, like he's suddenly feeling so much more tired than before.
He was such a caring man, and it makes your chest feel warm, even though his concern for you wasn't your idea of a nice conversation.
"I'm mad for you, because this sucks, girl," he says, sounding tired, he takes a deep breath, and then his voice gets more serious, lower, calmer, and you know he's getting his emotions in check, "Your dad is a good friend, though I'm starting to question how good of a father he is, if even he pushes you 'round like this, but c'mon, doll, you ain't a little girl anymore."
"Oh, shut up." you scoff, this time your tone has more venom behind it, your voice gets higher, but still doesn't come out as a scream, and your body is shaking from rage, "You don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, don't I?" he scoffs back, but on his lips a smirk appears, fuck, he's doing it again, he's playing with you, just like he always did to urge you, to get on your nerves, to see how far he could push you until you blow up, but the only reason you never blew up was because no one would be there to pick up the pieces.
"Let us see if I don't, then," Joel continues, just his head trespasses the threshold of your room, like the rest of his body is being held back by some invisible force, he wants to provoke you, but at the same time seems to have no intention of violating your space, it was a weird mix of things, you never understood him, "You're a fine, grown woman, studying something ya don't wanna study, going places ya don't wanna go, talking to people ya don't wanna talk to, hell, doll, what else is being shoved down your throat, and you just take it without a peep? Do the guys you go out with also trample all over you?"
"Just shut up." you repeat yourself, and he smirks wider, because it's working, he can see it in how tensed your posture became, he could feel it, and the worst part is that it was true, every word of it.
"What is it that you want, huh? I ain't ever heard that combination of words come out o' your mouth, ‘I want’ , even as a kid, I have no fuckin' idea of what you really want, of what you'd ask of someone, and it's starting to look like you don't either."
"Oh, my God— I want you to shut the fuck up, Joel, and close the goddamn door! How 'bout that?!" you explode, yelling, it wasn't even a particularly high or loud voice, but your outburst was unexpected, you couldn't hold back, your anger had nowhere else to go but forward, you didn't mean to yell, but you did.
It came out of your chest with so much force you could feel your face going red from embarrassment.
He blinked.
Once, twice.
You'd have thought you broke him, the look of surprise in his face, and the silence that fell upon the two of you was unnerving, but at least you made him stop talking, at least the constant, buzzing noise in the back of your mind is no longer there, it's blissfully quiet.
"Very well." he nods decidedly, and closes the door.
Joel closes the door behind him, finally stepping into your room, the heavy lock clicks, the air feels thicker, like he's somehow managed to take the whole thing up a notch, and, to be fair, he fucking did.
"That's a good start." it sounds like praise, because it is praise, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates inside your stomach and shoots directly down between your legs.
It's the kind of voice that has no business existing outside of a bedroom, you think, his southern drawl dripping on each of the words like hot, sticky honey, and you could just fucking cry from how arousing it actually was.
He walks in further in slow, careful steps, like you're some kind of wild animal, Joel's body moves towards you, eyes fixed, never breaking the staring contest you two started.
Joel Miller's presence was already overwhelming on itself, his physical height, his build, the way he looked like he could easily snap you in half, but you've seen this man care for his daughter more times than you can remember, you've seen him go out of his way for people who couldn't stand him, his family, and most importantly, you, the kid he babysat whenever your dad just had to stay late somewhere.
He wasn't scary, quite the opposite, he was magnetic, upsettingly so.
"So, doll," Joel continues, "How's it going to be?"
His eyes are intense, his presence is so, so big, you're feeling smaller by the minute, and yet he still didn't even get that close, still didn't try to touch you, he was waiting for an answer.
"What?"
"'Cause I ain't goin' to ask again, I don't like to repeat myself," he said, the tone was softer than what the words sounded like, almost reassuring, it was so different to what you're used to, his face gets closer, you could see his beard better now, and his eyes were unbearably dark, "I ain't doin' a damn thing, unless you tell me what ya want."
What a low blow, but that's how Joel Miller was, the man never played fair.
"I can't." you tell him, voice soft and weak, but there was an undertone of rage to it, the fact that you knew exactly what you wanted to say and how, and he knew that, too, it was maddening.
He has the gall to roll his eyes and click his tongue at you, like he's annoyed at having to repeat himself for a third time, you can't believe it, and his hands come to rest on his hips, his body open, so you can clearly see, read him like a fucking open book.
"I ain't going nowhere, I ain't leaving this room, unless you say something," Joel starts again, a very deep frown between his brows, you'd even dare say that he's frustrated, and then it comes again, his voice, so low, it was nothing more than a rumble, and yet the hairs of your arm and neck are raised, you shudder, "Now, how is it gonna be, sweetheart? I'm all ears."
It was a clear invitation, he wasn't asking you again, the question had an ultimatum, and it wasn't hard to tell that this is Joel's idea of giving you the push you need to break free.
A breath you didn't realize you were holding came out shakily, a lot of pent-up emotions coming up to the surface, but Joel waited, you were the one in charge, you were the one setting the pace here.
And if there was something you knew about him, it was just how stubborn he could be, growing up with that fucking asshole pushing your damn buttons all the time taught you that much, but the intent behind his attitude was never really clear— until now. He was an asshole, but he was an asshole of his word, once you took control of the wheel, there would be no going back, but you do have a choice — which was his point all along —, you can either tell him to leave, or tell him what you really want, but you have to say it like you mean it.
"I don't want you to leave." you say, your voice is low, but that's just because you don't trust what kinds of sound could escape from your mouth if you tried to talk louder.
"Okay." Joel nods at you, his smirk is a full smile now, a proud grin on his lips, but that wasn't good enough for him, not the answer he wanted to hear, and he tells you so, "You're doing good, doll, but let's be more positive, aight? I wanna hear you say what you want ."
Fuck, you're trembling, he's close, so close to you, your sense of smell is so heightened, you think, because the scent of his cologne is the only thing you can smell in that small room of yours, the deep breath you take is not even voluntary, your body is reacting on its on, the tingling, fluttering feeling you felt through your body sets and pools in your lower tummy, it's an all too familiar sensation, the arousal is undeniable.
You got all wet just with some soft words and his smell, and you know he's noticing it, it was clear, not even in a million years would Joel miss how his proximity is affecting you, his gaze is unbearable.
You'd rather not say it, but there's no other choice, your words have to come out crystal clear, otherwise he's just going to stay there and make you wait for him, that was also part of his little game, so, for fuck's sake, you take the bull by the horns, and you take another step.
"I want you to stay." Your chest heaves with your breathing, but your tone is unmistakable, he wanted to hear your voice, so there you go, saying exactly what's on your mind, your real thoughts, the ones you wouldn't dare saying aloud.
Joel looks impressed.
"Atta girl." there's a new intensity in his gaze, the smugness and pride is still there, but you've seen that kind of look before on other men, that glint of thirst, it's the most dangerous one, "Then I'll stay, darlin'. See? Wasn't it easy?"
" No. " you find it in yourself to huff, your newfound braveness is a surprise even to you, but it's hard to be anxious and self-conscious when he's moving closer to you so decidedly, "Nothing is ever easy with you."
He tilts his head to the side briefly, a small gesture of agreement, his steps are slow, but not as calculated anymore, they're shorter now, his eyes are still locked on yours, but the tension that you felt so keenly in the beginning, that air of challenge was gone, his entire focus was now solely on you.
"Guilty as charged," Joel chuckles, a hand reaching to your cheek, and the moment his thumb makes contact with your skin, you lean into the touch, it feels cold against your burning face, and it's probably the only thing keeping you from melting completely, "But doesn't it feel good, to finally let out the truth?"
His thumb moves along the softness of your cheek, he caresses the apple of it, his eyes darting down to look at your lips, his smile gets even softer, and then he says, "To finally be honest with yourself and say what you want."
His hand slides from your cheek down to the curve of your chin, and then, he cups it with a gentleness that surprised you, but then you remembered, this was no stranger, this was Joel, and the knowledge of knowing this is the same man who has watched you grow up made something hot and sticky build up in the pit of your belly, a desire so powerful that it has your brain go all mushy, your words stuck in the back of your throat, it was a pain to get them out.
" Touch me. "
Joel Miller has no right being that attractive, he shouldn't look this good, he should not have this effect on you, he had no right on having you in such an infuriating and sudden chokehold, he wasn't even trying.
You couldn't find the words to describe exactly what you’re feeling, they were all lost in a muddle of lust, it's an unbearable, mind-numbing kind of horny that had your whole body reacting so quickly to such simple actions, it was a mix of things that were starting to make you feel out of sorts.
It's not just the arousal, nor just the fact that he's here with you, so close to you that you could feel the warmth emanating from his big body, nor even just the fact that, since you're on a roll of being honest and letting loose of your inhibitions, this was your long time crush touching you, hooking his hands below your ass to lift you up as easily as he picked up your luggage from the airport.
The yelp you let out is far from the most graceful noise you ever made, your arms shoot around his neck to steady yourself, but aside from the abrupt rising, you were never at risk of falling, his arms are so solid under your thighs, more solid than the floor that was under your feet just a few seconds ago, you feel. Your core is pressed flush against his abdomen, you can feel his body warmth, and you've never been so glad to be wearing good denim pants, otherwise you would have made a mess on him just by being held.
"No need to be scared." Joel snarks, carrying you somewhere.
"A little word of warning would've been nice, though," you say back, his nose is so close to yours, and it makes your face feel warm, even the tip of his beard tickled the side of your cheek, he smelled so nice, you really are a mess.
"Oh, sorry, princess, next time, I'll do just that, just let me put you where you want first." his drawl is the last drop, his smirk is so self-assured, he knows he's dangling a treat over your head.
Joel sets you down on your room's desk, the man sets his hands firmly on top of your thighs and unceremoniously spreads them wide, making room for his body, and your eyes are just glued to the view, looking down at the show he was putting on of how your bodies seemed to be aligned to fit so perfectly together, your imagination ran wild trying to picture just how obscenely hot it would be to watch yourself get stretched out by his cock from that angle.
You set your own hand on his chest, and you don't know if it's his cologne, or if it's him, but he smells so nice, he has a musky, earthy scent of man that had you dizzy and out of focus.
"Hey, look at me." he commanded you, lifting your chin up with his fingers, "I ain't doin' anything until ya tell me, remember? How's it gonna be, darlin'?"
"Oh, you're unbelievable..." you shake your head, your words come out riding a laugh, he had you just where he wanted, the only thing stopping you was just your clothes, but he still was dead set on making you spell it all out for him.
"C'mon, doll," Joel insists, a smirk pulling the side of his mouth up, his fingers digging deeper into your thighs, you could see the shape of his dick pressing hard against the front of his pants, his other hand moving up, ghosting over your waist and chest, "It's an easy question, ya just gotta say the word, what's the holdup?"
The holdup was your pride, and maybe some remnants of shame you felt, you were never the bold kind, or the kind that openly spoke of her sexual desires and wants, that's the kind of person you never saw yourself as, even as an adult with an active sex life, so when faced with Joel, his hard-set insistence, the challenge in his dark, lust filled eyes and his soft, deep voice presented to you, the request seemed out of character.
Your words are there, but it was so difficult to bring them to light, they're at the tip of your tongue.
"We gotta practice that assertiveness, if you're really going through law school." Joel quips, and he knows exactly what he's doing, it was just the final push of well-meaning annoyance to get you talking, because how could you put up with his teasing and mocking you and not tell him to just shut the fuck up and kiss you already.
"Shut up."
He did shut up.
Joel shut the fuck up, and closed the short distance between your lips and his.
The first brush of lips was a question, barely touching yours, but it was enough to make you let out a pathetic, expectant little sigh. The second one, you met him in the middle, unwilling to let him keep toying with you like that, finding a place for your lips between his.
Joel was kissing you.
You've been waiting for that kiss for years now.
Well, maybe two, max, but that was more than enough for you.
Growing impatient with those sweet pecks, you're the first to part your lips, you brush your tongue over his bottom lip sheepishly, but with an eagerness of a person who has been denied something she wanted for such a long time, he pulls back slightly just to spite you, but Joel is far gone at this point, too. One of his hands shoots up to grab hold of your face with such despair it almost hits you, "Sorry.", he tries to murmur, but it gets lost in your mouths as soon as the apology comes out. Lord, his tongue, though.
Joel tastes like nothing else, a combination of scotch and a very distinct, personal taste that had you salivating for more. Your teeth click, a mess of lips and tongue, his beard scratching you, and it's probably the hottest fucking thing in the whole world to feel. His breath comes out harshly through his nostrils, and he lets out a guttural groan as the hand on your face goes down, exploring your neck and shoulders, keeping you still by your throat, a cheeky thumb pressing down on the hollow that your pulse ran through, just enough to feel it.
He's showing off, that much is clear to you, by the way he's so unabashed about how his tongue is in your mouth and yours is in his, the wet sounds you make echo through the room, the quiet sighs, moans and hums he's drawing out of you, it makes you feel suddenly bashful.
"Oh, don't go shy on me now, doll, c'mon." Joel pulls back, his breath fanning hot on your lips, the thumb at your neck moves down and rubs circles on your collarbones, he's got this smug smirk on his face, you've always wanted to wipe it off.
"Jesus— shut the fuck up, Joel." it comes out so much easier now that you've got a taste of him, it was all too clear to you what you really want.
He smiles, he smiles that smile you know means he's about to be a jackass, and the look on his face was pure sin.
"Keep him out o' this, princess." his low laugh rumbles through his chest, his mouth is so close to yours, he was clearly teasing you, testing your resolve, his grip on your thigh was so hard that it had a delicious sting, it had you all aflame inside and out, the tension between you so palpable, so thick you could cut it with a knife, "Ain't nothing holy 'bout what I wanna do to ya."
The next thing that came out of your mouth was just an unintelligible whimper, the way his lips and beard pressed and rubbed against the soft skin of your throat felt heavenly, it tickled just the slightest, but it wasn't enough to make you pull away. You tipped your head to the side and offered your neck to him, giving him space to do as he pleased, and Joel, like a moth to a flame, moved quickly.
His mouth was so hot, his teeth biting a mark onto the crook of your neck, making you let out a soundless, shuddery breath, a sharp, small gasp followed after a second of realization, that's gonna leave a mark, and you have no idea how to explain that to your father, hiding it just doesn't seem like a reliable option, but then you feel it, Joel's lips curling up in a smile against your flesh, that fucking bastard , he did it on purpose.
With a kiss and a long swipe of his tongue over the bite, he appeases you, the worry and surprise wear off as he licks the salt off your skin, Joel is relentless in his pursuit, he's trying to take everything off of you, your taste, your breath, your moans and sighs, he's set out on devouring you.
"God, ya look so good, darlin'. Look at you." he murmurs into your neck, his voice is strained, the drawl he puts on the pet names so obvious, and so incredibly sexy, it has a direct link to the growing dampness that has taken over the seat of your panties, his eyes move up slowly, the appreciation he's making it very obvious that he sees you as nothing less than a feast.
You could barely take it.
"Fuck." your voice comes out strangled, a newfound boldness fills your mind, the warmth in your body making you brazen. Your hands shot down to the fly of your jeans, "Stop looking at me like that, for fuck's sake—"
The sight of your hands going for your pants had a riveting effect on Joel, he went from teasing and self-satisfied to horny in an instant, and he seemed to have forgotten everything he was doing and that idiotic fucking game he was playing with you, he watched, rapt and eager as you unbuttoned and unzipped a way for him, and he's not very patient, not right now.
Joel doesn't wait for you to try and get the damn thing off your body before he pulls — better yet, yanks you — to him by your nape for another kiss, and presses his other hand on your tummy with clear intent, sliding a tantalizing trail down, until he can stuff his fingers right down your jeans and the seat of your panties.
"Wait—" you gasp, not able to fight off his iron grip on you, but it's not like you want to, "Let me get them off—"
"Ain't no need for that." Joel denies, shaking his head slightly, the hand in the back of your neck keeps you from pulling away from him, the kiss that he plants on your lips is rough, it's bruising in the best of ways, you feel it on your cheeks, but most importantly, you feel his fingertips slide easily past the waistband of your panties, just then he allows you to lean back ever so slightly, probably with the selfish motivation of being able to touch you better — as selfish as that can be.
God , you're a mess, you can feel it as his finger first touches you, sliding down your folds, just how obscenely wet it feels, the shuddering breath you let out when his digit meets your clit is just embarrassing. You have never, ever been so horny in your life.
Joel chuckles, not mockingly, he just thinks your reactions are the most adorable fucking thing, his voice is muffled when he talks into your neck, you can barely feel it as he moves to whisper in your ear, his finger tracing lazy, tight circles over your clit, "You're so fuckin' wet, sweetheart," he groans, your fingers have a vice grip on his arms, "That for me?"
Yes, yes, yes . Fucking yes, that's all because of him, and you got like that even before that motherfucker laid a finger on you, but he didn't need to know that, the last thing Joel Miller needed was that big of an ego boost, or else you were gonna find yourself a real problem to deal with.
"Fuck—" you bite back a sob, but can't hold back how your body jolts as a reaction to his touch, those fucking little circles, the slickness makes his finger glide over your sensitive little nub, he's barely even applying pressure, just taking his time getting acquainted with how you like it, he's mapping your actions and reactions like he hasn’t known you for pretty much forever, his beard and teeth and lips still kissing and biting a hot trail from one side of your neck to the other, you'll be a mess once this is over, and you hope it never ends, "C'mon— Joel— I thought we were getting to the good part?"
He lets out an indignant little snort, the sound he makes as he nips at the hinge of your jaw is something you have no way to describe, he wants a fucking piece of you, he wants it all, the thought sends your heart fluttering, you had no way to know, but this was just the appetizer of the main course.
Joel hums, he hums into the space between your jaw and ear, his finger not leaving the top of your cunt, and it's starting to get really frustrating, you could feel a spark, something that could've become something, if only he put some actual work into it.
"Ya got somewhere to go?" he teases, "So impatient..."
"C'mon, Joel, please ..." your plea clearly has an effect, you can feel the low rumble in his chest, he can't stop himself, even though you could see the glint of something devious in his dark brown eyes, a cheeky finger moving lower, searching, rubbing down your pussy, Joel is taking his sweet, sweet time with it all," Please, I want you insi—"
His thick, rough digit easily pushes past the wet, tight rim of your opening, his fingertip sinks inside, just the barest of it, but it's enough for you to lose it for a second, his touch has a jolt shooting up your whole body, your nails digging into his shoulders, the surprised moan you let out makes your cheeks burn hotter than before, it's so different to be touched by someone else, it feels like he could do whatever he wanted to you, and he'd make you take it.
There's absolutely no way anyone else could touch you like he does.
No man in this world would ever be as good as him, it was that simple, it was a truth you knew well and true.
Joel was a force of nature, you could never understand it, not even if you tried.
Your breath catches in your throat, a sharp gasp follows his finger pressing further in, it's just so fucking good to have something filling you in, filling up that insane emptiness you were feeling just a second before, it slides in so easily, making squelching sounds as your wet cunt opens up around it, taking it all, as much as he can give it to you, sliding in and out, just to test how wet and pliant your cunt is for him.
"Oh, fuck... God, yes, yes , Joel, like that." the praise, the satisfaction that's coming from your words seem to do things to Joel, too. His body moves forward, trying to press closer to yours, his face buries deep into the crook of your neck, the scent of his hair, the scent of his cologne, the sweat he's breaking, his warm breath fanning out and spreading a hot, wet wave on your skin, you hug him for dear fucking life, if the desk under you gives in, you at least know you can hang onto him, your nails latch on the fabric of his red flannel, desperate.
"You're doin' so good, baby," you hear him speak against your throat, he kisses you there, right below your ear, the vibration of his deep voice is something you'll feel in your core, forever, it'll never go away, it'll follow you, it'll stay in your memory and will come back every time you think of him, of the moment you got fingerfucked by him on top of your desk, "So fuckin' good , look at you."
God, how are you going to forget about that? It was going to drive you crazy for days, months, years to come, just thinking about Joel praising you and fingering you at the same time was almost too much. You felt his fingers wrap around a fistful of your hair, his lips on yours again, just as he slides another finger in. Fuck, if he could keep doing that— if you two could keep that up for the rest of your break, Texas would never be so fucking awful anymore, you'd come back again every time, at every opportunity, just for him.
It's just too good, the friction, the growing moans and whines that spill from your mouth are swallowed by him, and they just seem to make him go on, go harder and deeper, a curl of his fingers hits something so right that a full-bodied shudder passes through you on a round trip, a sob wrenched from your throat. He smirks, and keeps hitting the spot over and over, until he has you squirming and bucking your hips up in his direction, grinding, riding his fingers like a desperate girl, so filthy.
"Fuck— please, Joel— god, right there—!" you hiccup, your mouth hangs open as you squeeze your eyes shut, for a moment the only sounds that can be heard are his breathing, the quiet muttered praises he showers you in that you can't quite make out right now, and that wet symphony of your pussy around his thick fingers, your voice seems to clog and get stuck on your throat, your tummy tightens up, like a coil, the pleasure so overwhelming.
One of your hands slams loudly on the wood under you, just holding on to him isn't enough anymore, the firmness of the desk provides you with just enough support to brace for what it felt like imminent impact.
"C'mon, doll," he urges you, he can feel you fluttering and clenching around his fingers, holding on to his knuckles, God, it's one of his favorite feelings now, no pussy ever felt like yours, and he didn't even get to see the damn fucking thing yet, just fingering you under your beat up jeans was more fun and satisfying than most sex he'd had as of recently, "Show me— c'mon, that's it," he speaks lowly, "I want you to cum for me, alright, sweetheart, cum for me."
Your voice breaks free in a mellow shriek, a gasp for air, a loud sigh of relief as it washes over you like a tidal wave.
"fuckJoelyesyesyesYESpleaseitfeelssofuckinggood—"
What comes out of your mouth is just a string of undecipherable, desperate, whiny moans, your whole body jerks forwards, and it almost feels like falling, but he's there right in front of you, strong as ever, more than anyone you've ever met, to hold on to you, kissing soothing patches on the little skin your t-shirt offers him, but he'll take it, he'll take everything he can get, he'll kiss you forever, if he can.
Joel only lets go of you — barely — back on the desk when your whole being relaxes from the sudden tension, you had gone slack in his arms, but that's not new. His hands come back out of the confines of your pants, and the wetness he found inside makes your thighs shiver, a faint silky, translucent trail connects you for a moment, before it's gone as quickly as it came.
God, your legs feel like jelly, you don't think you have it in you to walk, but it can't stop you from trying. What can stop you from trying, however, is the man in front of you.
"Nah, ah, slow down." he reprimands, pulling you back up before the tip of your toes could even touch the floor, though his tone isn't stern, and he has a grin on his face when he simply sticks his fingers, all coated in your arousal, inside your mouth, "Don't go runnin' off on me."
There's no energy left in you, or will, to fight him, he can call you a fucking pushover if he wants to, but you do as he clearly commanded, sucking his digits clean, eating your own release straight from his fingers.
He's pleased, with you, with your blatant display of compliance, of eagerness and how willing you were to be so goddamn dirty in a heartbeat. Joel is pleased with you.
"There's a good girl," Joel mumbles, his dark eyes fixed on yours, he looks like he's not able to take them off you, like if he blinks, he'll miss something really, really good, "Just perfect, darlin’, you’re perfect."
The words sound like a lull, his thumb moves to trace the line of your bottom lip, your eyes flutter close, and the weight of your own exhaustion presses on you. A soft smile curls his lips, it's warm and sincere, you feel like melting in a puddle at the sight, it was hard not to give into it.
"Hey..." he calls out for you, pulling you a bit closer, just so he can brush your nose with his.
You blink, a little lost, you could get so lost in him.
"Fuck, did I knock you out?" he chuckles, lovingly pulling you against him, you rest your chin on his shoulder, and let him do what he wants with your hair, run his clean hand through your locks, he's kissing the shell of your ear again.
"Maybe." Joel can hear the smile on your voice as you say it, you take in a deep breath, almost as if you didn't get enough air throughout all this, "This was... insane."
"Is that a compliment?" his laugh, so clear, and his breath tickling the side of your neck has a warmth spread on your chest.
"Absolutely." you nod, your arms come to lock around his frame, almost like a hug. It's funny, that's probably the first time you ever hugged him, "Don't get too used to it, if you don't start changing up your attitude a bit."
His response is an annoyed grunt meant only halfheartedly, you almost think it's a threat of a laugh, actually, "I'll take what I can get, then."
Joel pushes you away a little, just so he can get a good look at you, his eyes roam your current less than regal state with an almost worried glint to them, trying to gauge if you're okay, or if there was something else you needed. He's always been very attentive to details, after all, his eyes linger a bit on your hair, a little longer than what you think it should.
"So," he starts, not knowing if he should bring this up, but, well, the thought had already crossed his mind, so he just let the question come out, "Was it worth it? Using your words?"
"It... was. I liked it a lot, honestly, you— you did great, I wasn't expecting... you know."
"Uh, yes, I was not expecting it either."
A soft laugh leaves your mouth, a smile plays on your lips.
"Oh, so it wasn't a plan of yours all along? Some machination of yours?" your tease earns you a very dragged out eye roll, it takes another laugh out of you.
"What do ya think I am? Some kind of mastermind?" he scoffs, shaking his head, and looking a little bit hurt, like you'd offended him, "You know, not everythin' that I say has some kinda double meanin'. Not everyone's like that."
"No, no, I get it," you assure, patting him in the shoulder, "Not everything you say is some secret agenda."
Joel's frown and slightly pinched expression dissolves with that, a tiny sigh leaving his lips, and he takes a few steps backwards, to give you space enough to put yourself, "Think ya can fix yourself up? Take a nice shower, put on some clothes that don't smell like fuckin' Boston?"
You cock your head to the side, and look down at yourself, then at him, "What about you, though?"
"Me?" Joel seems legitimately confused for a second, until he follows your gaze down, his hard on is still there, hard as ever, straining the denim of his pants. He looks back at you, a brow raised, arms crossed, you know that posture, some stupid fucking quip is about to come out of his mouth, "Think you can take it?"
The idea has a shiver running through you, you felt the dull ache on your inner walls, even as your breathing steadied.
"I don't think you can, not right now." he says before you can get a word in, and he grins at you, it's different that his other grins he'd always give you before, but it has the same fondness, "I'll be fine, I'm a grown man, I can handle it."
He could say that all he wanted, but you still see the discomfort, the little fidgety moves he does to find a good way to position his junk.
You could do it, though. If it came to that.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure you need a fucking shower." he claps back instantly, not giving into your offer, "I made a mess all over you."
"So crude, Jesus..." you scoff, but your feet dangle under you, completely carefree, the edge of the desk is digging on to your flesh, you think it'll bruise a bit, you can feel it in your ass, it was worth it, "You kiss your daughter with that mouth?"
"Sure, all the time." Joel grins, and takes the liberty of starting to tuck in his flannel back into the hem of his jeans, "And do even worse shit to you."
"Wow, real fucking classy." your voice is laced with sarcasm, though it lacks bite, your legs sway left to right as you watch him put himself back in order. It's such a mundane task, really, and you feel a little dumb for not realizing how you pulled and tugged at him, though he doesn't seem to mind.
Silence falls over you both as he finishes putting himself back in order, it's a comfortable kind of silence, for once, but Joel is still the first one to break it.
"If ya need me to, I'll stay a bit longer until after you shower, help you put your things in place..." he's interrupted by a buzz, Joel reaches a hand to his front pocket for his phone, an iPhone half a dozen generations old, checks the screen, and stuffs it back in, unbothered, "That kind of thing."
Your brows shoot up in curiosity, he didn't even pay whatever it was on his phone half his mind, his attention never faltered from you, his offer still hangs in the air, you want him to stay, but—
"Don't you have... things to do?" you ask, genuinely curious, "I mean, someone rang you up."
"It's just Sarah textin' me, askin' if I picked you up from the airport already, because I seem to be takin’ a long time to come back." Joel explains it to you, his gaze sweeps your desk and the floor, where the little chaos your activities had brought to it was. The laptop's screen has gone dark, so it probably died, but it's the only thing he could see out of order, "Should I tell her?"
He smiles at how you laughed, the affection in his gaze makes you feel warm inside.
"Don't you dare," you reply, jumping from the desk, your knees a little wobbly, and you fall right into his arms. Joel doesn't mind holding you, keeping you close to him, you feel like the luckiest woman in the whole state, maybe in the world, "But you should go back to her, y'know? She's your daughter."
"Yeah, I didn't forget that." he seems to not have forgotten how to be sarcastic, either, "But I know she's fine, you sure you don't want me to stay."
"It's fine." you say with a shake of your head.
Joel, like you were watching an old scene from an old movie, takes that characteristic deep breath of his, the trigger seems to be your tagline, it riles him up so much, apparently. You think it's funny.
"Fine— girl, didn't we have a whole conversation about this? I had to finger more words into your vocabulary, do I have to fuck this one out of you?" his exasperation, like his smile, is soft and tender, the scowl on his face, though, it's almost intimidating, if it wasn't because you already had him all figured out.
"You can try." your words have a double meaning, a playful note, but you meant every word. You'd let him have your body if he so much as asked for it, Joel already knows that, however.
"I mean it, it's alright."
"Do you?" he presses you further, he wants to make sure you're not just saying that for the sake of it, brushing his offer off just because it could apparently inconvenience him, you forgot, for a moment, how that man was stubborn as a fucking mule.
"I do." your tone is decided, "Besides, you two will come for dinner with my dad and I, right? He invited you."
"Yeah, he did." Joel muses, a bit lost on his thoughts, "Think ya can keep your trap shut around him for dinner about this?"
"Think you can look him in the eye during dinner after this?" is your rebuttal, Joel looks a little embarrassed, a little bashful smile pulls on his mouth, his gaze flutters down, looking for something that's not on the floor, on the walls, anything to keep himself from meeting your eyes.
"Guess I'll figure it out." his hand finds your cheek, caresses the curve of your face, he sighs, a sound of longing. Joel pulls away from you, the distance already making his body ache, it's not lost on you, you kinda feel the same way.
But it's fine, it really is. You'll see him and Sarah later today, still, this is not over, whatever this is.
The man opens the door to your room, opening it so he can leave, "I'll see you later, then, doll." he says, but then he shoots you a glance of mock sternness to you, over his shoulder, "I'll still fuck the 'fine' outta you, ya hear?"
You laugh, shaking your head.
"Alright, old man."
And before he closes the door, you catch one last glance of him, for now.
You hope he does.
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narcissisticpdcultureis · 5 months ago
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Npd culture is: I know being openly obsessive will probably get me what I want quicker, but it's so gross and vulnerable and spineless ughhh
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makoodles · 1 year ago
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Could you imagine Tsu'tey's or Neytiri's reaction to their human mate getting their period? (Mainly because it's widely believed through canon that Na'vis don't get periods.
Like Tsu'tey wakes up one day to reader having blood running from between their legs and thighs and Tsu'tey just loses it. Like the man's panicking because he thought he did that, so he's practically begging the reader for forgiveness when they wake up and readers like, "The hell's the matter with you???". And once they realize what he's talking about they get embarrassed and tries to clean up immediately. Once reader explains what's happening and saying sorry Tsu'tey doesn't understand stand and he ask why they're sorry while trying to clean up, and reader explains how human males are grossed out by periods. Tsu'tey is like, "Those spineless cowards! They are not worthy men, you have no control over this!!!", so he forces reader to sit down and rest while he cleans everything (including reader), then proceeds to take care of his fragile, little human mate with Tsahik level precision.
And Neytiri sees reader bleeding through her loincloth and flips out. Checking reader and trying to figure out why her human mate is bleeding to death from between her legs. She eventually settles on deciding it's Jake's fault and smacks him on the head saying, "You skxawng! You hurt her! You are not allowed to touch her or me until you learn to be gentle!" and Jake is sitting there, rubbing his sore head pouting, cause he just got cockblocked so hard thinking he truly did something wrong because he wouldn't be concerned about reader having her period, unless they wanted cuddles and love. Reader calms Neytiri down enough to explain what's going on and what a period is and Neytiri nearly cries, because she couldn't imagine her small, weak human mate going through such pain. Next thing readers knows she's being cradled in Neytiri's arms like a baby as Neytiri rocks her back and forth, singing to her to sooth her, refusing to put reader down until her period is over.
i do actually love headcanons around na'vi reacting to their mate getting their period lmao
at least neytiri would have jake to explain it to her, and she would take cues from him -- like if jake's not freaking out, then maybe it's not that serious. but the idea of neytiri automatically turning to jake for blame is so funny because it makes sense, like as far as she can see what else would be causing this?
the sheer amount of horror that tsu'tey would be going through would be crazyyyy tho, like imagine the sheer panic 😭
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lvnarsapphic · 1 year ago
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Every time with you people. You will happily, gladly, even proudly reblog posts that salute "the freaks" and sing their praises and align yourselves with "the freaks," but then in the next breath you go back to your pearl-clutching and act on your gut reaction of disgust for "the freaks" you've selectively chosen as not being part of whatever arbitrary line you've set up around "the [acceptable] freaks"
Oh yeah I'm a freak, but not like those freaks, y'know? If we're talking freaks, make sure you're not including those freaks
Like what is the meaning of "atypical and non-normative kinks that people are allowed to enjoy" to you? Only the ones you personally enjoy? "Socially" acceptable kinks? God forbid if you say, "ones where people aren't harmed." You imagine yourself as a purveyor - a connoisseur even - of "gross kinks," and yet still hold strongly onto your yuck reaction as being truth.
Every OP of a kink-positive post has to clarify that, yes actually I am including the ones you personally find disgusting and should not be included, and yet people still feel like they're in the right for saying, "yeah, yeah totally, I agree... But not this 'kink' cause we all know and agree those are the gross freaks and don't get to hang with us cool freaks!" Like, no! Sorry! I do not agree with you on that!
You're all spineless and truly do not understand what it means to be kink-positive in any sense of the word. Every single time someone brings it up, you all cite the same three or five kinks as being the "truly degenerate" ones that should not be included in "the freaks" and it's exhausting that we have to clarify the same old adage of "don't yuck people's yums" and that defining who the "real freaks" are is just an exercise in moving the goal posts until we find ourselves in the "we have to protect the children!!!" camp. And I don't think I have to explain why that line of logic does nothing but harm IF we really have been on the same page from the beginning.
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zot3-flopped · 4 months ago
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Hey, just found your blog. I’m in a conflicted position, but thought you might be pleased to hear about the way Taylor is losing her own fans. I have been a Taylor stan for YEARS now, and I do still enjoy much of her music. But I feel like I don’t even recognize the person I first looked up to. Starting off with Travis Kelce, I find that he is so immature, gross, and genuinely offensive to POC and women: xenophobic comments about non-English speakers, rape jokes, defending Harrison butker (who went viral for a misogynistic college speech and undermined MeToo), defending Tyreek Hill (teammate who was convicted of domestic abuse), etc. But if you EVER bring it up, her fans have an absolute meltdown - and it’s interesting, because they all hated Matty Healy for alleging he exhibited all this same behavior. I also find the whole thing so desperate. Bringing that loon up on stage to carry her around for an audience after Joe gives an interview of how he’s fine and moved on and Matty quietly gets engaged to the internet starlet he tried meeting up with for four years? It just screams “LOOK AT ME IM HAPPIER THAN ALL OF THEM😁😁” it’s SO embarrassing, disingenuous, and juvenile. If she actually marries this buffoon it’s going to be in the same vein of wanting to seem like she’s doing the best and she will no doubt end up divorced within two years and singing about how she’s so embarrassed again. I also think she’s spineless and has grown an insane ego - going from a documentary about wanting to not be silent, tweeting during BLM about how she’s learned you can’t let privilege lie dormant, yet remaining tight lipped on Palestine despite the pleas of her fanbase and her influence? It’s funny, she only spoke up about BLM after backlash on tumblr- and she gave in because she still had so much to lose. I feel like with her current status, she recognizes she can lose large chunks of approval and it won’t make a dent in her pocket or accolades, so she’s free to ignore it all again. She’s built up this mindset that “criticism = petty hate and strangers trying to control me” and not consumers responding to the product. Genuinely if she doesn’t move out of whatever the hell this era is soon, she’s going to enter another 2016, and this time imo it’s going to be warranted.
👏👏👏 She's also getting a lot of backlash for flagrant chart manipulation and has made herself very unpopular by blocking other artists from number one. If she was doing all this with just one album it would be fine, but she's released at least 14 variants of Tortured Poets.
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thegreymoon · 3 months ago
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Just waiting for her to eat her words and give it up for Duke Su one way or another.
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Wait, what third wife?
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How many wives does his shitty ass have?
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I can't wait for your spineless boyfriend to dump you over your fake sister.
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Oh, shut up.
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No one wants your mediocre man when Duke Su is right there.
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As expected of gross people.
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This man is incapable of making a non-dramatic entrance.
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Incapable of not sniffing out trouble too!
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But good for A-Li.
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He has the most punchable face I've seen in an age.
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Their shitty faces 🤣🤣
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Everyone on this show is such a caricature so far but I'm still entertained.
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LMAO, she fainted from her bile 🤣🤣
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I want to see more of them suffer.
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LMAO, I love that the real Jiang Li is actually haunting them 😂
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LMAO, and the fireworks went off at last.
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I love successful revenge stories. The Count of Monte Cristo and Nirvana in Fire are my favourites 🖤
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pomodoko · 6 months ago
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I don’t think his crush on Falin makes him creepy. Obviously Laios shouldn’t be giving microaggressions and should learn from his ignorance! I don’t think Toshiro is shallow and wholly hates Laios, yet I despise him as a person… He’s known Laios long enough to know that “dropping hints” is not a mature or effective response even though it makes sense why he didn’t have the courage to speak directly. Shuro being a fake friend was an issue long before his breaking point. Yes, he was repressed, envious and there were communication issues, but Shuro was also very genuinely ableist. Even if Shuro ‘is’ neurodivergent, people can be cruel to other neurodivergent people who are seen as less socially acceptable. Vitriol towards someone “not reading the room” is repulsively ableist.  Of course he isn’t the only one who’s ableist in the story, but the shattering of Laios’s trust is gross. Laios tries to mask but is unable to. Shuro is also a rich noble whose family literally OWNS Izutsumi (& possibly Tade). Yet he does not care about the ethics behind that. Not that he hates her necessarily, but the cold way he treats her reveals that he does not care enough to adapt to the struggles of those who are different / difficult. I feel like his spineless inaction is both a means to avoid conflict, but also a barrier that prevents him from treating others with respect. I think it’s logical for someone to dislike this dude.
I feel like there's a lot of feelings in this writing that you gotta dial back. I totally understand where you're coming from, though. Being told to "read the room" was something I've experienced. I've been betrayed by people I thought were friends because I didn't know what I was doing was annoying them. It really hurt!
I also need to admit I've been on the other side, too! I don't like confrontations at all, but I've let things boil over because I was so afraid of confrontations that I'd snapped at my friends. Especially in Toshiro's state in which he was starving and lacking sleep and just saw his own love interest kill all of his retainers. If I was in his shoes, I'd snap, too! 😭
I wouldn't use the phrase "dropping hints" though. At least from my POV as an Asian from a high-context culture, where there's like, social hierarchy and such, and a lot of politeness abound. When it's something that you've been raised with for years and years, it's really hard to drop. Of course it's gonna be an issue! I think Ryoko Kui writing their argument and fight is a criticism on Japan's "high-context to the point of self-sabotage" culture. But it's important to note that it ended with both of them talking things out and Toshiro straight up saying "hey if you need to run I promise to smuggle you all out of the country". Here are some posts that I recommend reading that expand on it really well: here, here, here, here, and here.
In terms of Toshiro's family owning people, it's expanded more in the manga how these things came to be, but I'd suggest putting it in context of the manga rather than IRL. Toshiro came from the equivalent of Feudal Japan, after all. Here are some more posts talking about that (highly recommend the first one! it's a great read!): here, here (contains spoilers for the ending), and here. Do note that he treats all of his subordinates with respect, and he literally begged for their aid on his hands and knees to save Falin.
Anyway, at the end of the day, you're still going to dislike Toshiro and that's fine. My goal isn't to push my interest and opinions onto other people. I just didn't want him to be disliked shallowly, by reasons that are false or blown out of proportion. The characters of Dungeon Meshi are extremely flawed and incredibly well written, and it's really hard to see characters of color be judged more harshly. It feels the fandom's treatment of these characters will reflect on myself, and that's scary.
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theredpharaoah · 11 months ago
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And imma need y’all to stop tryna compare Visenya and Alicent. Two completely different women in two completely different situations. You can not reduce them to just “Two Queens who usurped the rightful rulers”. Because when it comes to Visenya, there’s actually a question of who is the rightful ruler. Visenya arguably did more for The 7 Kingdoms than any of her siblings. She conquered the most kingdoms, she did most of the day-to-day ruling(especially after Rhaenys’ death), she created the Kingsguard, and she oversaw the building of The Red Keep. Furthermore, for all we know, Maegor could’ve been the rightful heir. Visenya was Aegon’s first wife, and it was Valyrian tradition to marry the elder sister. It makes the most sense that her child would be first in the line of succession, not Rhaenys’. And Visenya tried to help Aenys over and over again but he wouldn’t fucking listen. Even when she told him he’d declared himself unfit to rule by giving Maegor Blackfyre, I don’t think she was saying “Give up the throne to Maegor.”. I think she was saying something more like “That’s what it looks like you just said. That was a bad move politically Aenys. Especially since people already doubt your strength”. And then Aenys had the nerve to proclaim Aegon II the Prince of Dragonstone. He knew that was Maegor’s title, and I’m assuming Aegon intentionally left Dragonstone to be passed down through Visenya’s line. it’s the least he could’ve done tbh. And no I don’t think she killed Aenys. If it was that easy for her to do, she would’ve did it way before then. And I highly doubt she feared Aegon or Balerion. I really don’t think she could kill her own kin tbh. Furthermore, It didn’t seem like Visenya had much of a presence in Aenys or his children’s lives(probably because of Aegon). So I can’t say she was wrong to assume that they’d be as spineless as their father. Or maybe she saw what the future for women in this household would look like under them. Aenys and his line were too keen to adopt andal traditions. Maegor’s line might’ve went more for a syncretization of Valyrian culture with Westerosi culture. And even if she didn’t think they’d be weak rulers; what does that leave her line with? Maybe she was just sick of getting nothing in return for all the work she put in? And she was being painted as a villain regardless of what she did, so why not just be the villain and get the shit over with? Not that I consider her a villain, and I don’t think the majority of Westeros interprets her as a villain either. Maegor’s rule was very much needed to deal with The Faith. I refuse to believe that second rate pentoshi witch could poison a Dragonlord who also dabbled in magic like Visenya. I’m inclined to think it was depression that saw her waste away so fast in a year.
Meanwhile, Alicent did nothing for the kingdoms and just wanted her family to have power. Rhaenyra was the declared heir for 20 years. She wasn’t weak, she had strong backers, and by all accounts would’ve made a good and fair ruler. Furthermore, her own son didn’t even want the throne. He just wanted to be able to be gross in peace. And that’s what makes the show even funnier to me. Cuz Otto’s always going on about Daemon and Rhaenyra turning the court into a brothel, but who’s terrorizing maids, sleeping with 12 year olds, and watching children fight to the death - one of them his own? Be serious.
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firecrackerhh · 1 year ago
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I’m so fucking tired of hearing people bitch that Viv’s shows are bad queer rep or something like I’m sorry, do you think every LGBT+ person or minority is fucking incapable of doing bad things? Do you think they are immune from doing bad things purely off their minority status?
Stop putting minorities, sexual or otherwise on fucking pedestals. Not every fucking queer person is a fucking uwu soft baby who just needs a hug or whatever.
Queer people do bad things, BIPOC do bad things. You know why?
Because they are human, and thus they are just as capable of being a fucking piece of shit as anyone else.
And those kinds of people deserve representation too! Stop being a whiny bitch cus the show isn’t representing you specifically or whatever.
Ngl if anything I think that’s kinda fucking offensive tbh like holy shit, just because you’re obviously a whiny fucking baby with the emotional maturity of a fucking 7 year old at best doesn’t mean every other LGBT person is as sensitive as you. Get over it.
To essentially imply that certain human beings are incapable of making bad decisions purely off of their minority status is fucking infantilizing and it’s fucking gross. Fuck you.
Plenty of LGBTQ people like Viv’s stuff, if you don’t like it, whatever, but claiming it’s bad queer rep, likely because you’re so terrified of conservatives that you don’t want to “rock the boat” as it were, if you think such rep shouldn’t exist because of the inevitable conservative backlash or whatever, you’re a fucking coward and I don’t respect you.
Newsflash, conservatives want you dead no matter what. It doesn’t matter if you’re the “good gay” they still hate you! They still want you to suffer for your “sin.” Whether intentional or otherwise, using their talking points is fucking disgusting. Do you have any fucking respect for yourself?
Putting people on pedestals, thinking they can do no wrong ever, is fucking delusional. Get your fucking head out of your ass and realize that human beings come in all shapes and sizes. Bad queers and BIPOC exist and showing the messy parts of their lives in media isn’t fucking “bad” queer or BIPOC rep just because you don’t relate to it.
So fucking entitled, so bratty, go watch The Owl House or some bullshit if you want squeaky clean LGBT rep.
Take your whiny bratty bullshit and fucking shove it up your ass you disgustingly pathetic crybabies. You spineless cowards.
LGBT and BIPOC folks deserve to have their stories told, even if they aren’t squeaky clean or family friendly. If you think otherwise you’re fucking retarded, sorry not sorry.
Never mind the fact that the point of Hazbin Hotel specifically is about redeeming people that have done horrible shit. If you see their bad actions and immediately think “bad queer rep” without taking into account the whole point of the fucking show is watching these terrible people become better, then I don’t know what to tell you. I think your brain is fucking broken.
Perhaps these people get so mad because they don’t believe in redemption, that any mistake you made is a stain on your character permanently. I wonder what skeletons they must hide if that’s the case…
Viv is not your enemy. And the fact you act like she is shows just how fucking retarded you actually are. These people don’t even know who their real enemies are, it’s fucking pathetic.
🧨🔥~Firecracker out~🧨🔥
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joesalw · 7 months ago
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'but daddy I love him' is very hypocritical because like she's made so many songs about how x y z man has fucked her over and then she got with THEE most disgusting man who would OFC fuck her over soon enough and she's out here like "it's none of y'all's business, I'm a grown woman" etc etc like girlie... let's not do that, like I agree people should mind their business but when you make your career out of being parasocial with your fanbase then what did you expect
Not to mention how gross she is for how she's treated Joe. I understand we do not know the actual circumstances of their relationship and their breakup but Taylor got with Joe and wanted to keep the relationship private because she knew her career had taken a MASSIVE hit and her reputation was seemingly ruined and she was fine with it, she was fine with Joe being a quiet soul.
She also states in multiple interviews when she was with Joe about how she wasn't ready for marriage or a family yet because she had got her career back on track. Now, again, I understand opinions change but you cannot blame Joe for not wanting to marry you when you've shown time and time again you're inconsiderate and inconsistent. I feel for Joe I really do.
yes when she said in miss americana that she's actually not ready for all the grown up stuff like marriage or kids, people were very fine with it (as they should be) but now that joe's not ready for marriage, he's being called an abusive spineless loser monster for not marrying ts and wasting her youth...the hypocrisy is so painful to watch!
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