#if that's normal i could do this shit part time and have a life!
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November 6, 2024 | Rafe Cameron
masterlist found here
pairing - Rafe x reader word count - 1,827 warnings - political talk, anti-T*ump rhetoric A/N - Who would've thought the shit show state of our world would inspire me to write again. I know for a lot of us everything feels really broken right now, and I know it may seem silly to some, but for me, writing feels like healing, even if it's just something like this. So here you all are. Rafe probably votes red, but here's a world where he doesn't. Also, if you're a T*umper, go ahead and unfollow me. I can't have any of that in my life. I'm so serious.
summary - The results of the 2024 election hit you pretty hard, and you end up taking your rage out on Rafe. Turns out, Rafe's hopes for the future looked a lot like yours.
You and Rafe didn’t talk about politics. You knew better than to broach the topic with him, because you weren’t naive. One glance at him and anyone could guess how he voted.
But that didn’t mean you had to like it.
The two of you had been dating for about six months, and for the most part, it was smooth sailing. It was gossip fuel for most people on the island for a few weeks -you being a pogue and Rafe being … who he was- but like most drama in Kildaire, it didn’t stay at the forefront of people’s minds for long before another thing came and stole back everyone’s attention.
And the thing on everyone’s mind right now was the election. The election that had you donned in blue on your way to the polls, a huge smile on your face as you filled in the bubble that would make history. Hope filled you in a way you were sure it never had before.
Until the next day.
Waking up and opening social media to see the results had already come in was enough to break your spirit completely. How could this have happened? How could the country have failed so many people?
Then again, how had you been so naive to believe in the possibility of any other outcome?
You shut yourself off from the world for most of the day. You went to work and gave polite smiles and nods to your coworkers as needed, but you did your best to spend the majority of your time locked in your office, alone. You didn’t dare to open social media, knowing every MAGA post from the bigots of the Figure 8 would bring tears to your eyes.
It wasn’t until you were at home on your couch that you decided to brave Instagram. Before scrolling through your feed, you added a black screen with a simple blue heart to your story and wrote the words, When we fight, we win.
You thought it was harmless. A simple story that showed your feelings without being overly dramatic. The last thing you wanted to do was act irrational by doing something crazy like storming the capitol. Because that would just be insane.
Unfortunately, the people who followed you saw it as anything but harmless. They saw it as an opening to send you the most heinous, revolting messages you had ever read. Your notifications blew up within minutes, and some of them were so borderline terrifying that you locked your phone and threw it across the room, once again leaving you in a puddle of tears.
You heard your front door open, and you cursed to yourself. In all the chaos of the news, it escaped your mind that it was Wednesday, and Rafe always brought pizza to your apartment on Wednesdays. You had once mentioned in passing that you liked a pick-me-up halfway through a week, and Rafe took it upon himself to provide you with that. Normally, it was one of your favorite parts of the week. Today, Rafe was one of the last people you wanted to see.
“Babe!” he called out upon his entrance. “I got your favorite!”
You met him in the kitchen, and by one look at your face, Rafe’s own expression dropped. “What’s going on?”
You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “I think you should go.”
“What?” he said, dropping the pizza on the counter and walking over to you. With each step he took toward you, you took one step back. He stopped quickly, a frown painted on his face. “What’s wrong, baby?”
The words made something snap inside you, and your fists clenched at your sides. “What’s wrong?” you repeated. “What’s wrong? How about fucking everything, Rafe! Everything’s wrong, and you not seeing that is part of the problem! You are part of the problem!”
Rafe was, in a word, flabbergasted. He ran through the past 24 hours, trying to think of something he had done wrong, but he was coming up short. “Okay, I’m-” He let out an exasperated laugh. “I’m trying to understand, but you’ve got to give me something more here. What did I do?”
“You-” You let out a huff of a breath and ended up speaking through gritted teeth. “You and your stupid fucking MAGA Kook friends voted for a convicted felon to run our country! You voted for a man who wants to throw away my rights. You voted for a man who has raped a multitude of women and brags about it!”
Rafe’s eyes were wide as he held his hands up and shook his head. “Hang on-”
“No, Rafe!” you shouted, pushing him back as he tried to get closer to you again. “For the entire time we’ve dated, I’ve danced around the talk of politics, because I knew better. I knew a rich ass white guy from the south would vote for another rich ass white guy to run our country, but I guess I naively thought it wouldn’t matter. That the poor guys would get a win for fucking once this time. For once I thought the good guys would win and that a white man would have to face the consequences of his actions. But you-” You laughed bitterly. “You of all people know that privileged ass white men never ever have to face the consequences of their actions.”
You were hitting him where it hurt, and you knew it, but you were hurt. You and every woman like you had been holding in years of pain and hurt, and for you and many others, today was the day it was all going to come out.
“Baby, if you just let me-”
“Let you?” you laughed incredulously. “You and your fellow MAGA guys have clearly shown me I don’t have to let you do anything anymore.”
“What does that mean?” he asked.
You fished your phone out of your pocket, unlocked it, and shoved it in his face to show him all of the nasty messages you were receiving. Things like, “Your body, my choice,” “whomp whomp go make me a sandwich,” and “Guess what? Men win again” had flooded your DMs, and while you didn’t know it, Rafe was clocking every username and making a very specific list in his head.
“So maybe you can understand why I’m angry, Rafe,” you said, taking the phone back out of his hand and putting it in your pocket again. “I thought I could cancel out your vote, but I guess I forgot that meant you could cancel mine.”
“Ba-”
“I want you to leave, Rafe.”
“But I didn’t-”
“Fucking, go, Rafe!” you shouted. “Let me be angry and let me be alone!”
With a clenched jaw, Rafe gave a short nod. “Okay,” he whispered. “Fine.” It looked like he wanted to say more, but he refrained, instead turning around and heading out the door, leaving you in a mess of tears.
The next day, you called off from work. Maybe it was dramatic, but you didn’t care. You knew if one person even looked at you in a way you didn’t like, you’d lose any composure you had, and you couldn’t afford to lose your job for yelling at your boss.
You had the full intention to stay in bed all day, but the relentless knock at your door around 10AM proved that to be impossible. You felt some sense of relief, knowing it at least wouldn’t be another political petitioner.
Instead, perhaps just as unfortunately, it was Rafe.
You let out a heavy sigh. “What do you want, Rafe?”
He held out his hand which had a coffee cup in it from your favorite shop. “I went to your work, but your boss said you were sick,” he said. “I bought you coffee.” You took it, but didn’t say anything -just looked at him with raised eyebrows, as if to say, Anything else? “Can we please talk?” he said.
“I don’t know what there is to say, Rafe,” you sighed. Still, you stepped aside and let him in, not wanting your neighbors to bear witness to whatever argument was about to ensue. “I know we’re different -I’ve always known that- but I don’t think I can handle being this kind of different anymore.” You plopped yourself onto the sofa, expecting Rafe to sit next to you. Instead, he crouched in front of you so he was just slightly looking up at you.
“Baby, I didn’t vote for him.”
Your lips parted slightly in shock, and you felt tears instantly pool in your eyes.
“What?” you whispered.
“Yeah, of course I didn’t vote for him,” he said. He reached up to turn around the hat he was wearing backwards to reveal a Harris-Walz cap, and you let out a noise that was a mix of a gasp and a little laugh. “I know I’ve fucked up before baby,” he said. “And in other elections, yeah, I usually vote red. But this-” He shook his head and squeezed your knees. “This is different. And I know that. And I’d be an absolute moron to think that tax cuts for me are more important than basic rights for you.”
You moved to kneel on the floor next to him and held his face in your hands before leaning forward to place a soft kiss to his lips. When you pulled back, you kept your forehead against his. “I was so mean to you yesterday,” you whispered. “I didn’t-”
“It wasn’t anything I didn’t deserve,” he said. “I know that I am living in a world that was pretty much tailor made for me. And I know I should be in fucking prison for all the shit I’ve done, and so should he. And I know that none of what I’m saying right now changes the bullshit I’ve done, but I figured I should at least use all this fucking privilege I have and try to help people who don’t have it. Because you-” He paused to press a kiss to your lips. “-have taught me so much about being a good person. And I’m not going to vote against that.”
“I wasn’t a good person yesterday,” you mumbled.
“You were reacting to an unfortunately historic event,” he said. “You had every right to lose it. And you can keep losing it, and I will be by your side for every minute of it, okay?”
You nodded and gave him a soft smile. “Okay.”
He smiled back and nodded. “Okay.”
You and Rafe decided to spend the rest of the day together, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting in the quiet. When you suggested putting on a movie, Rafe agreed. He let you choose, no complaints, and watched as you searched for the Barbie movie. You cried at all the usual parts, sometimes a bit harder than normal, but Rafe understood.
It is literally impossible to be a woman.
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#rafe cameron#rafe cameron imagine#rafe cameron x reader#outer banks#outer banks imagine#this is so niche but I really needed it#and idk maybe someone else does too
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Now, more than ever, we need to be careful about spreading misinformation and rumors
I can guarantee that over the next few months, we'll be hearing about a lot of alarming things going on here in the US. Some of those things will be true, and some won't. (And some will have both true and false or exaggerated elements.)
It's going to be absolutely vital that important information is not drowned out by misinformation, rumors, and ragebait.
That means, when you see something that would be important if true, before sharing, you check whether it's actually true.
In library world, we use the acronym SIFT:
STOP: Don't spread the information, or get caught up in your emotional reaction to it, before you've checked it out. INVESTIGATE: Who is saying it? How do they know? If there are links or sources in the post, do they actually say what the person is saying they do? FIND other coverage: Do an internet search for key details: quotes, people's names, specific locations. If something major is happening, there will normally be a lot of coverage. TRACE claims, quotes, and media back to their original context.
Usually you don't need to do all four things: just STOP and then pick what makes sense from the other three. If you decide to share the information, you can also say what you did--"This is a firsthand account from XYZ protest; it lines up with what the local TV station is saying, but has a lot more details about what the cops did," or whatever.
The more urgent the information seems, the more important it is to make sure it's reliable.
If we're hearing every other day that this or that vulnerable group is in immediate, life-threatening danger--but 49 times out of 50 it turns out to mean Trump rambled somewhere about something which, if actually implemented, could end up having the described consequences at some point down the line--then people aren't going to know the difference the one time in 50 when the danger really is immediate.
Think, here, things like immigration crackdowns, CPS investigations into parents who affirm a trans child's gender, or demands that health care providers report miscarriages to law enforcement. We all know that these are things Trump World talks about a lot and would like to be able to do, in some form. For the sake of the people affected by these topics, we need different ways of talking about, "Here they are, back on their bullshit," versus, "This is a policy proposal for a real thing that could happen," versus, "Holy shit, grab the kids and run."
We cannot go to "Holy shit, grab the kids and run" every time Trump, or someone in his inner circle, decides to bloviate about something that could disastrously affect people lives. The people who are most in danger can't stay at DefCon 5 every day of their lives, and when they do really have to grab the kids and run, we need that alarm to be heard over the constant background hum of dread.
The same goes for action items--whether protests, ways to help, or little things people can do to stay safe/sane. There's going to be plenty going on, and nobody is going to be able to do everything, so do your part by passing along those things that you can vouch are true and important, and skipping the things you aren't sure about.
I'll leave you with an example. Remember how a few years ago, we were all-in about hand hygiene and disinfecting surfaces? And then it turned out that those were not actually very important in terms of preventing the transmission of COVID-19, and what we really need is better air filtration in public spaces--but, at my work at least, we still have canisters of surface-disinfecting wipes sitting around, and tattered old signs up about hand hygiene, and no air filters.
At the time, early in the pandemic, we were sharing the best information we knew about how to stay safe, but people got a little too fixated on that initial advice--remember how people would wipe down their groceries? And those little sticks for pressing elevator buttons?--and then when the advice changed, they didn't want to hear about it.
Distrust, fatigue, superstitious attachment to the old grocery-wiping ways--there were a lot of reasons, but the key thing to take away is that attention, energy, and goodwill are all finite resources. Try to avoid wasting it with grocery-wiping--or worse, shilling for the guy selling little sticks to press elevator buttons with.
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kaiser with a kind motherly manager who says "you did great!" or "good job!" after a successful interview/press appearance and it sounds like she's praising a dog who just learned a new trick. kind of baby talking him just a little without realizing and he gets so bricked up and immediately bothered by it that he like. speed walks out of the room.
its so bad for him KSDHFJ
its like. the important part of this is that he really kind of rejects the relationship at first i think. kaiser is such a huge pain to deal with and his agency has bounced him through like several diff managers and they've all been driven completely insane by him - men and women. and so they take a different approach and instead of giving someone more professional, they have u step up to the plate
and you're like. an impenetrable wall. you have some experience with kids (maybe your own, maybe just childcare) and it's enough that it makes you this like source of complete Calm. its so easy for people to get annoyed with kaiser
its on purpose too. he knows exactly what buttons to push to make people angry and it's rare someone can get under his skin very sincerely. he figures you'll be just like the rest of them and give up on trying to be his friend or reason with him eventually. they all do.
but. But. you're Maternal in a way that makes kaiser feel like a kid throwing a tantrum any time he does or says things. no matter what kind of insults or berating he does you're just Firm. basically gentle parenting him. AND you're persistent about him.
one time, very much joking, kaiser does something you ask the first time and you practically Beam at him. and maybe just as a reaction, you sort of ruffle his hair and smile with your eyes crinkled and go "see? wouldn't it be nice if you could be a good boy like this all the time?"
instant hard-on. fuck fuck fuck fuck his life fuck everything. thankfully you dont notice but he does and he thinks about ending it all.
and then. subconsciously. he does get just the SLIGHTEST bit more agreeable. just a little tiny bit. and everytime he acts half decent you do the thing again. you really are very Motherly. you're an older woman so he guesses it makes sense but sometimes the way you tell him you'll treat him to dinner after a good match makes him feel the full extent of it. its very mother and her troubled son and he is Less Against that then he should be. the lines are sooooo blurry.
he wants to fight it so bad and he tries so hard but he has a wet dream about you in a way that makes him feel like he's regressed. if he was normal he could pass it off as a crush but the dream is of you letting him suck your tits while you give him a handjob and he stops being able to deny what it is and it plagues and ruins his life.
i think he comes onto you eventually. and it is genuinely in an attempt to push you away and make you disappointed. but then you flip it on him and give him a sexual favor and pull his pants back up for him afterwards and pat his thigh and he's so panicky and Oh No
its so bad JKDFHFSJKD. its so so bad you ruined him and he also becomes possesive over you in a distinct way. it's so misplaced like he's proving freud very right because you're not his mom. you're not.
but the kind of entitlement and the way you are the object of his sexual desire can only be attributed to some weird mother son shit. mind you not a mommy kink. there's not really a roleplay to it for him. he just kind of blatantly wants you to mother him. and it's so so so bad. he's such a freak
#return to sender#psuedocest cw#ask to tag cw#dark content cw#this isnt incest its like. roleplay but well
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I started working at a really high end restaurant today doing a role I'm not qualified for (never waited tables before). They had me training with the cutest girl there. And she's telling me about how much she loves theater and cats and rainy days and I'm just like... so you're 🏳️🌈 or naw? Because I'm clearly the most openly faggy person here, so it's obvious what I am.
#this is the kind if place where two people drop $120 minimum and are there for over an hour#I'm out here thinking outback steakhouse is classy then i see this shit where 4oz of steak is like $25...#my trainer chick had 5 total tables all day and made $210 in tips. like. hello?#if that's normal i could do this shit part time and have a life!#it definitely wasn't easy work but I'll acclimate#it's also in a part of town where all the homos hang and i had so many older gay men being so nice to me
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All I’m going to say I think now that my brain remembered part of what it was thinking is that Taylor and Joe went through a lot together (good and bad) and regardless of how it ended or what led to it they both seem to be determined to keep that private and not throw each other under the bus and in the end they’re just two very, very different people whose outlooks in the long term were just never going to align and never has that been clearer.
#I AM NOT DEFENDING HIM JUST TO BE CLEAR#I’m just saying… he said a lot of nothing in those quotes beyond ‘people on the internet suck’#which is true#and both he and Taylor are keeping things close to the vest about it all#and just seems to me that whatever they went through together they are determined to keep it between them so that’s the end of that#(again in contrast to how she has no qualms about reading m for filth)#he’s just some guy and now he gets to be just some guy forever#and she gets to be extraordinary#like yes the loving committed thing raises eyebrows given how much pain she was in#but like he could have shaded her about how it ended too and he didn’t#AND I AM NOT DEFENDING HIM#we know he was a terrible partner and she felt like shit#I’m just saying neither of them want to delve into the specifics and i think they’re just moving into footnotes in each other’s lives now#like i want to make it clear AGAIN I am not condoning anything on his part here — clearly there were huge issues#I’m just saying just because he may have sucked as a partner doesn’t mean the internet being cruel isn’t also true idk#and yes it’s transparent why he’s choosing to speak out now (or rather why the Sunday times is choosing to reach out to him now)#but like… idk i just can’t muster up any feeling about this man one way or the other lol#and take cues from Taylor (and even him) she’s determined to keep it between them other than the broad strokes#so I’m following her/their lead#(like I have thoughts about why but that’s not important and ultimately is just… it’s the most normal of ltr breakups)#like he just sounds a little pretentious with his ‘real life’ which like… good on him keep living that real life you do you dude#meanwhile his ex is flourishing with every passing week and milestone and is living her unabashed best life#and they’re probably both happier for it now
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you know what, I actually will talk about this because it's bothering me. The issue with focussing so heavily on syd and carmy's potential for a romantic relationship isn't that there's something inherently unintellectual about romance or whatever, it's that a lot of people seem incapable of doing that without immediately flattening the story and ignoring or intentionally misreading any and all nuance for the sake of that romance. Every scene suddenly becomes about how it impacts their relationship, every analysis is done through a romantic lens, every frame or line of dialogue becomes about finding some easter egg or hint that "proves" these people should start dating. Their dynamic is absolutely a fundamental part of this show, but if you can only see it as a will-they-won't-they, you miss so much of what the story is actually trying to say with these two.
There are good versions of this story where their relationship is romantic and there are good versions of this story where it isn't, but as soon as you decide them being together is "the point," you lose the ability to actually judge the story for what it is, not what you want it to be.
#like so much of their dynamic (esp but not exclusively in S3) has been about showing the ways that carmy's trauma and dysfunctional#attitude in the kitchen impacts other people and how even though he cares about syd and wants their partnership to work he keeps self#sabotaging and setting himself and by extension her and the restaurant up to fail and replicating the same toxic environments that#he grew up and trained in and this is very much consistent with his character and a natural continuation of the conflicts they've been#having since S1 but because him being shitty with her runs contrary to them getting together suddenly its 'ruining the story' and#out of character and only happening bc the writers just hate to see this ship winning and like. if you really think that i genuinely don't#know what show you've been watching bc it sure as shit wasn't this one. like it hurts to see him do this because you know#they could do something genuinely great together and that he's ruining a really good thing but this is also the reality of where he is rn#if he was just a good and supporting business partner and not deeply dysfunctional it would be wildly out of character#the problem w S3 wasn't that it 'ruined' their relationship it's that it had no clear focus overemphasized carmy's arc at the expense#of the other leads deprioritized the supporting cast while failing to give them their own arcs gave more screen time to#unecessary and uninteresting new 'comic relief' characters and let conflicts stagnate without resolving them or#letting them evolve over the course of the season.#this isn't exclusive to the bear this is a general trend ive noticed where as soon as the 'shipper' part of people's brains get activated#it's like they lose the ability to read the story any other way and it stops being about what's good for the narrative and starts being#about whether or not these two people kiss and anything that gets in the way of that is bad and anything that brings it closer is good#and it's usually whatever but it's really frustrating when the story ppl are doing that to is this good#it also makes people fundamentally incapable of treating any 'obstacle' to that romance in a way that isn't wildly meanspirited and#gross (esp bc those characters are usually women) which is exhausting. like no claire isn't evil or a 'pick me' or 'bad' for carmy#or a useless addition to the story or whatever other nonsense you guys have decided must be true to feel okay. she's a perfectly normal#character and their relationship is exploring some of the ways that carmy's inability to deal with or actually address his trauma#impacts the various relationships in his life. she doesn't even have to be a monster or a narrative mistake for him and syd to be#'destined' for each other or whatever. this isn't a middle school wattpad fic.#im definitely gonna get killed in the street for this but ive been looking for a good reason to spend less time on here so might as well#the bear#sydcarmy#sydney adamu#carmy berzatto
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Hey if you’re still enjoying and engaging with Harry Potter in any capacity you can unfollow me 😊 please and thank you
Like. I get it. I was super into it as a kid too. I did not have the social context to pick up on the antisemitism or transphobia or sexism or fatphobia or bioessentialism or racism or anything else. I also picked up on surface-level language of Fighting Back Against Evil and ascribed my own values onto what that meant and thought we were all on the same page. I remember when the original kids who grew up with the books started becoming adult fans and picking up on the (blatant!) antisemitism and everybody was still mostly willing to give JKR the benefit of the doubt on it. (“She was writing kids books!” They said. “She didn’t know she was penning a global phenomenon! She picked a common literary trend in European fairy tales (antisemitic caricature) and didn’t examine it closely. It’s a mistake anyone could make,” we said. “She would probably do things differently now. After all, she word-of-god confirmed the vaguest hints she dropped that Dumbledore might be gay,” we said.) There was actually a span of several years where biases inherent in the actual real content of the Harry Potter series were coming to light and even the people pointing them out still seemed mostly to think it was an unfortunate accident.
That time has passed. Years ago! We are long past the first months of “maybe she doesn’t realize this seemingly-feminist tweet she liked was made by a noted TERF” and then “how could she not realize that these many veiled TERF-y things she’s retweeted have implications for the many queer fans of her work” and finally “oh wow okay JKR just dropped an entire transphobic manifesto on twitter. I guess the transphobia was the point.”
Yeah, there were a few months after that where people were still processing and still working through how they felt about Harry Potter and all of its flaws with the context of the now open transphobia of the creator. I was there for that. Remember how I was one of the kids who built it up into something noble and worthwhile based on my own beliefs about what messages it was probably trying to convey? Turns out it wasn’t trying to say any of those things, and when you take the time to examine all of the terrible shit that made its way into the text whether JKR intended it to be there or not, the whole series falls apart. It’s weird to discover that there’s a room in your house that’s rotten to the core, but eventually you figure out you can’t live like that, still going in there and holding your nose and pretending it’s still the same room you thought it was when the termites were only inside of the walls and hadn’t yet started chewing their way through the furniture. Because what’s going to happen is that they are going to infest the rest of your house. If you decide you can ignore transphobia and antisemitism and everything else just because you liked the color of the wallpaper, the rest of your principles are going to crumble too. You get rid of that fucking room. You put those books on a high shelf in the back of your closet behind other outgrown clothes and interests and you move the fuck on.
JKR uses the money made from her transphobic antisemitic children’s books to actively funding hate groups and to lobby for legislation that will and has actually affected the actual lives of trans people in an entire country. We are past the point of grieving something you were wrong about in childhood. Kids are wrong about a lot of stuff. You grow up and you learn new information and you change your behaviors based on it. You have to choose. It is transphobic to pretend there is not transphobia where there is. It is transphobic to support the work of someone who is using those funds to take rights from trans people with every fucking dollar. It is hateful to continue to engage positively with a story that at its very core is rooted in hate and bigotry and prejudice. You can choose to do all of those things but you cannot claim ignorance of them and you cannot choose those things and still pretend that choosing them upholds the values we convinced ourselves that Harry Potter stood for over a decade ago as uninformed children. You cannot choose to do those things and pretend to still support your trans and queer and Jewish neighbors. I do not want you in my neighborhood. Leave.
#mine#Harry potter cw#yeah I don’t want to see or think about this shit either and I’m sure most of my followers are on the same page of just like. let’s wipe it#from the public consciousness and do our best to just completely ignore it and forget it existed and in doing so take away JKRs platform and#influence and also stop the continued harm the series will do by propagated hateful biases in people who continue to read it#but despite heavily culling my feed over the course of the past several years and thankfully mostly not seeing HP fandom things anymore#I’ve been seeing a lot of responses today to people defending it and honestly I forget that there are still people out there doing that who#think they are just fine and normal fandom people with non-hateful and terrible interests and it makes me so angry#maybe more so because like. I was there too! I was annoyingly obsessed with Harry Potter from the ages of idk seven? up until whenever JKR#started being openly transphobic. I have so much fucking knowledge about this book series that will never leave my brain. and yeah it was#weird and hard to have to rethink things and realize that no actually it does feel bad and uncomfortable to continue to be a fan even#passively of these books. it was a big part of my childhood and several of my friendships. I fully get it. I was the weird kid also.#it was weird and hard to say oh actually this sucks and I don’t want to be a part of it anymore. but I did it! I got there! because it was#more important to care about real actual things and people than it is to fondly remember a book series for children.#and at the time it felt like maybe I did hang on a little longer than I could have and was a little later than some people and figuring out#my feelings and moving on from the whole thing. but it was still fucking years ago. and you’re still here?#because you like the color of the wallpaper in this shitty rotten broken down tacked on room? because we used to spend time there together?#buddy the room was giving us lead poisoning the whole time and the rest of us have accepted that and we are all outside doing other things.#you will find connection and community in so many places in your life. I promise. get the fuck out of that terrible awful room#and for gods sake stop bring out handfuls of mold you found under the floorboards and shoving it in our faces#nobody fucking wants this. we did it. we’re done.#so yeah I think I have an extra level of disdain because I know from personal experience that it’s not *that* fucking hard to care more#about real life trans people than about antisemitic children’s books.
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maybe i do need to go to therapy bc its probably not good that ive been living on autopilot and the last 7 years went by so fast but also bc i was deliberatly Wanting the time to go by to put as much space between me and the events of 2017-2020 as possible all while somewhat knowing my young adulthood was slipping me by and now both my teenage years and my early 20s are gone and i still feel like my 19th birthday was yesterday yeesh!!
#i do feel like im out of time completely and its kind of.making me insane bc its not fair lol#life could be worse! but it couldve been a lot better too#like on one hand i think i had a normal reaction to exceptionally traumatic shit happening to me with no support system.#and everything that happened was caused by shit out of my control and i Know that bc i spent my teen years specifically working hard to Be#in control#like i did make the choice to give up sure. but that was when absolutely every effort had been exhausted#and theres only so much a human being can take especially when i was so young#but on the other hand!! even when i found a support system and things are better now than they were#i still feel like im trapped perpetually in this Waiting period#waiting for life to begin Waiting for an OPPORTUNITY to make my life begin already#and no effort on my part yields anything so i have no choice but to WAIT#but im TIRED. of waiting#im sick of seeing videos of people way younger than me making art ive always dreamed id have made by now#theres also this invisable wall i have always had built around me that is Impenetrable and i keep hitting it#and its gotta be me but it really feels like the universe has some unseeable chains on me which aounds so stupid#but im not allowed to get passed it#im way past the point of even being capable of showing the agony it causes me now like its just a dull joke#ANYWAY the fact ive typed all this makes me think ok. yeah maybe it is time to talk to someone LOL#carry on im fine this happens to me all the time. helps to get it written out at least
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Chappel Roan saying she’s sad she’s demisexual and then there’s me being aroace as a whole like don’t you think I’m even more sad 😭
#not saying she’s not allowed to feel sad at all#just makes me think about myself LOL#I hate being aroace it’s like everyone’s part of a secret club I will never be a part of#and that people don’t tend to understand and if they do they never uphold that fact#like I actually have thrown up before from the concept of being in a relationship because it’s horrifying#and disgusting to me in a practical sense#like I don’t want to throw up every time I start thinking about those things I just want to be normal#and not panic like a relationship sounds like even worse than a death sentence#ppl think aroace is cute and problem free but it’s literally so uncomfortable and inconvenient when you’re in a world which a) doesn’t#understand wth aroace is b) doesn’t respect it at all c) has shit povs on what friendship is and how it can be more fulfilling than somethin#and d) how badly it impacts some ;-; like ik it sounds easy but try telling yourself omg I want to have a forever bestie#but then said forever bestie will never end up truly putting you first because they’d have a partner who will be their number one#and as usual you won’t even be second place you will be last like always#because I’ve noticed that the moment ppl get a partner suddenly they become their forever bestie role and then I can’t have that cause it#freaks me out and disgusts me all at once so I’m literally just cursed with forever feeling lonely and not meaning anywhere near as much to#someone who you wish could even look your way the way you do to them …#honestly by the day these reminders make me feel more and more aplatonic but it’ll simultaneously always feel like a hole in my heart#because apparently being aroace is like being some weird person and some freak#and not in the 𝒻𝓇ℯ𝒶𝓀𝓎 type of connotation LMAO I mean just plain freak#and then that loneliness will always accumulate and accumulate and accumulate until I physically cannot handle it anymore or I take matters#into my own hands and just off with her head to myself LMAO#dora daily#and that is why despite aroace being cool to me it’s just not placed in an environement which makes it cool#as those assholes tend to say oh meh meh meh you never struggled girl … we’re in the 21st century every person in the lgbt community is#living the life dating who they want and being with who they want#but allegedly it is but a crime I can’t like anyone and that nobody fucking listens to me when I say I have an attraction deficit#and that they take it upon their hands to define what I’m attracted to or head canon me as whatever they are#I swear I’m not even fucking worth that shit just leave me alone 😭#I promise like if I was with somebody they will regret the day they were born by being with me LOL I am not all that in fact me being aroace#is saving them from torture ☠️ anyways ! rant over :3
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i love not knowing if i'll ever be healthy again i love all of the time i've used to move my body become nothing i love spending my adulthood wasting away year after year for various reasons baby!
#i know i'm being dramatic and privileged etc etc right now but i hate living like this#i probably had covid in the beginning of august and since then my heart and lungs have just been fucked#so now i'm probably looking at at least 2 years of long covid and maybe permanent neurological damage#could i be lucky and get better in few more months? maybe. do i believe that will happen? no. optimistically maybe next summer id be better#my symptoms are not that bad considering what i know other people have suffered but at the same time that makes it feel not real#otherwise i'm pretty much fine except i feel like fainting alot after standing up or excerting myself and anything beyond walking#spikes my hr to 160 and right now even laying down my hr is around 80. this comes with the associated shortness of breath etc#what fucks me up about this is that my normal hr is low with my rhr being under 50bpm and i'm physically active#so basically i've went from regular running and half marathons being no issue to not being able to jog 1km at the slowest pace possible#without spiking my hr to zone 4#so now with the recovery time of this being however long if properly ever i'll have to basically start all over again with everything#i biked to the grocery store yesterday and that took me out for the rest of the day because my heart rate just didn't go down afterwards#outwards i look fine and i wouldn't be as affected if sports and moving wasn't a part of my life and relationships but it is#i've read studies about recovery times and a lot of them don't feel applicable because the test groups are either very different from me#based on the baseline health info such as activity levels or they're elite atheletes which i am not#some have given me hope that keeping my hr under like 130 by doing activities like walking until maybe someday things get better works#but who knows and even if it does this will be yet another thing that takes the littlest bits of muscle tissue i have on me away once again#because besides deconditioning muscle loss is yet another symptom. so i will be even weaker than i am right now#i don't know how much of what i'm experiencing in terms of mental effects is from anxiety over my physical health and how much is brainfog#but we'll see i'll just have to start walking a lot every day and keep up with simple and slow strenght training so i'll want to die less#i don't think my family will ever properly understand because almost all of them are athletes and the one who isn't never does any excercis#so either i just look like i'm weak but i was always weak so it's not a big deal or my experience isn't really that important#this is so so so pathetic both my reaction and the issue but it's difficult to not feel this way especially with the uncertainty#shit talking
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btw my mom said it. she said it to me looking me in the eyes. i told her about how difficult it was for me to get through those family reunions, and she admitted it was very important to her, important enough that she was just going to do it anyway.
#i know there are compromises out there#and i'm not going to live w them my whole life so i'll be out fairly soon all things considered#and i'm trying to be understanding when people's priorities aren't the same as mine#but i uh. would be lying if i said it doesn't hurt a little wittle bit.#i'm gonna keep handling it because i've been an asshole to my parents for long enough#i largely owe them that. cooperating and spending time with them and engaging in what matters to them.#but then she's says things like ''but whenever you move out you'll still be part of the family and invited if you want uwu''#it's just ?????? okay thanks ???? perhaps you could also try seeing things from my point of view perhaps????#it's all circling back to that. they have a very weird way to ''help'' me#throwback to them trying to cure my depression with amusement parks#when i would have liked a little less of that and a little more help and understanding#it feels like they're trying to put bandaids on a cancer#''you don't ask for help'' okay no help is coming. i am not being helped.#the system can't help me cause there's no damn beds no damn professionals no damn time to help everyone#the people around me can't help me because it's not their job or within their wheelhouse to help me#and they've got their own shit to deal with#on that note#i was discussing stuff with my mom#and i mentionned it was indeed pretty difficult to manage your time when you had to deal with school and friends and your parents#and she was like ''deal with your parents???? what do you have to deal with????''#oh i don't KNOW maybe that i'm officially an associate of my dad and i have to help out w events and some accounting#or maybe i have to pay back the fucking years i spent being an ungrateful child now i do everything you expect me to and it's exhausting#maybe that you constantly remind me i am living in YOUR house by touching my shit instead of letting me deal with shit at my own pace#maybe the fact that despite everything i care about you and i want us to have a good relationship and that takes WORK and i'm exhausted#maybe the fact that you keep giving me advice that is unproductive misguided misunderstanding etc etc#and cold comfort after you did something you knew to be difficult for me#how you keep encouraging shit that i don't want and am unhappy with because it's the ''normal'' way#how you raised me from childhood to be an empty shell in a family of empty shells#broadcasting my misery#vent
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my dad recently made the mistake of quoting roy's last words to me and had to endure my ten minute obsession-fuelled dissection of the ending and that scene in particular and all the symbolism. and i have come to the conclusion that i need to rewatch bladerunner NOW. ASAP. or i might actually start biting furniture
#LISTEN LISTEN LISTEN THERES SO MUCH 'IS DECKART A REPLICANT?' STUFF OUT THERE#I NEED TO SEE THE DETAILS THEYRE ALL TALKING ABOUT#IVE ONLY WATCHED THE FILM ONCE I WAS MOSTLY CONCERNED WITH REMEMBERING WHOS WHO AND KEEPING UP WITH THE PLOT#I NEED TO SEE ALL THE DETAILS#I NEED TO ANALYSE ALL THE DETAIL#ABFCHGVKEH JDCSNLEHBRKJCWNK#also also also ill be able to watch the truman show in full!! i need to do that this very second. bc i only saw parts and I NEED IT ALL#gosh there are so many philosophical debates about it waiting to be had#I HAVE ALREADY DRAWN PARALELLS BETWEEN THE TRUMAN SHOW AND BLADERUNNER I NEED MORE OF THAT#mortal defies their creator/god when faced with the chance and refuses to live out the ''life'' planned out for them I LOVE THAT SHIT#a biscuit's rambles#okay okay im normal again#THATS A LIE NVM I AM TEARING THROUGH CUSHIONING RN AS WE SPEAK#thank the gods for dvds. weve got bladerunner on dvd secondhand cuz we couldnt find it anywhere else#and my dad wanted me to watch it very badly and got it cheap in good condition#AND I COULD NOT BE HAPPIER#I NEED TO REWATCH BLADERUNNER AGHHHHHHHHH#i should probably also watch the remake at some point. just to know it.#i mean im sure ill keep complaining all the time but am curious#I NEED TO WATCH BLADERUNNER#im being very broken record core rn arent i
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.
#toy txt post#i guess i just need to find a different job since this one seems to be. not great for me#but i also like. dont know what wont be bad for me. like sorry i just dont think there are jobs that are accessible to me that arent going#to feel Like This#at least in some way. and this one has good insurance and shit. and if i can get my shit together it has fucking. paid community service#time that i could theoretically use to like. volunteer at the aquarium or smth and have a day off for it and get paid by my job#which could be a foot in the door to a career that i am interested in but im just fucking. stuck and fatigued and in pain and wallowing and#have no fucking energy and i cant do anything and im fucking nocturnal and i joke about it and i was fine with it but i hate it i hate#not seeing the fucking sun and i miss my old job which is INSANE but i know what i miss about that job was#that it was part time. and i regret not doing more with that#but im also allergic to normal hours i guess i dont fucking know#i know part of it is prolly just feeling profoundly out if control of my life so i just stay up bc at least thats quiet time for me#w no expectations but thats not even tru bc i shoukd be at least doing my fucking laundry or smth cos it would make sense#and the fucking answer to so many of my issues rn is like just do that then or just stop doing that then but i cant i dont know why im just#like this ive always been like this stupid useless cant fucking do anything cant fix my shit just fucking wallowing and angry and doing#nothing and its just gotten worse cos now i have fucking chronic pain and fatigue and now i REALLY do FUCKALL#im depressdd and anxious and in pain i should get a therapist but thats hard and i dont fucking trust ppl#i should move out and maybe that would help bc i wouldnt feel like i have to wear a mask around my own house but im barely functioning#as is w a lot of support from my mom i cant fucking live on my own#not to mention the whole country being so fucking. Bad rn. ive done nothing all day not even resting#and tomorrow ill wake up too late and be in a rush and in pain and tired and just#i dont fucking know#im so miserable and lately so many topics can just send my stupid little brain just Spiralling but i dont want to say that i dont want ppl#to feel weird for talking about fucking college. i dont want to sit here being so bitter that something in my brain broke about school#im happy for ppl who can do their fucking college shit i just. smth wrong in my brain and i cant dwell on it and i try not to be too#outwardly negative about it cos i dont want ppl to feel like they cant talk to me about it or smth idk#rambling and venting and im gonna hit tag limit lmao for sure#been having the same goddamn problems nonstop for my whole life and its just that i cant fucking do anything#i have too much shit i should rid of#whatever
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when other people in their 30s say they feel lost in their life/don't know what their purpose is/feel nervous abt life: ur gonna be fine babe I ❤️ you and you are fine this world is a hell hole and we are all doing our best you are fine you are valid ❤️
when I try to apply the same things to myself:
#things are going good! they're great! and I am fine!#I think the worst part of all this is not actually having the ability to control like allllll this shit#like the shit happening in my life very much is also just kinda... happening to everyone.#wages are too low. impossibly low. hustle culture has rotted ppl's brains. healthcare is unattainable for real in this country.#but also like on my own personal end like this is so stupid but#not beingn able to actually write anything is kinda killing me#writing used to be what I'd turn to when I was so overwhelmed with it all#to have fun and decompress and not think abt that shit and how it feels like I'm living through the collapse of an empire#but now like. lmao besties. I opened my laptop last night for the first time in over a week#and besties. friends. countrymen. it did not go well.#I could not make myself focus on that shit for ANYTHING#I have lost 1000% my ability to write. and it fuckin KILLS me. it's KILLING ME. I am being KILLED.#like I sat there and could peck out a couple sentences and then my brain would be like#ok but no do something else now this doesn't sound good this isn't flowing right booo watch reruns#and I KNOW that the answer to this is oh focus anyway baby steps turn off the tv!#but the thing is I cannot write without the tv I can't it's NOT happening for a bevy of reasons#but also no matter how much I tell my brain like ok no focus now#it doesn't happen#do you know how much this is killing me#normally I can force myself to do shit. I forced myself to quit SMOKING.#I hate this shit it is making me severely unwell and insane and unstable and mad and depressed#and obv unhinged look at these tags#erin explains it all
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not to keep harping on this but if you HATE shaving your body or any other part of your "beauty routine": stop doing it. just stop doing it, at least for a little while (maybe when you don't have a lot going on if that helps) and HONESTLY gauge how it makes you feel. is this feeling better or worse than the amount of time, stress, and money the routine takes? do YOU actually prefer how you looked before, or are you only worried about what others think? if you stopped doing the routine forever, could you find other ways to feel better about yourself with that energy?
when I was like 19 and the idea of not shaving my legs anymore first occurred to me (bc I had a Cool Progressive Boyfriend that Didn't Care) i just stopped and it was immediately like... a quantifiably large chunk of unnecessary anxiety just sloughed off my life forever. instantaneously I got rid a bunch of effort and stress I had been accepting as normal, and replaced it with more time to do what actually made me feel 'ready' in the morning, like hygiene, coffee, preparing for my activities etc.
and i DONT feel self conscious about body hair personally but even if I did, no amount of shame over hair could outweigh how much easier my life is. not just bc 'shaving annoying' or 'long showers' or whatever, but like. yeah I don't waste as much time getting ready anymore, and I also don't have to realize last minute before some leg-showing event that im unfit for display and have a whole self-esteem plummeting anxiety attack about whether I should rush it unsafely and risk being late, cut up, and stressed out before the event, or go With Hair and feel judged the whole time. i don't have to go through any of those emotions and when anyone does comment on my hair rudely, im in a much healthier place to deal with it and tell them to fuck off rather than validate THEIR fucked up standards by feeling bad.
once I realized I didn't give a shit and neither did anyone I cared about, it also gave me the freedom to cut out a bunch of other shit I was only doing (or Thinking I Should) bc it was what girls Have To Do to be presentable. fuck shaving fuck waxing fuck eyebrow shaping fuck concealer fuck multi step skincare fuck shapewear fuck lip fillers fuck contouring fuck teeth whitening fuck all of it, you do not need to change ANYTHING about how you look Every Single Day.
for those of you about to say "but I like being shaven/wearing makeup/literally pulling hair out of my face painfully every day etc etc etc":
have fun and mod your avatar all you want but for gods sake if you hate it and complain about how long it takes and all the stuff you "have" to buy or do just to "get ready" - you do not have to. you're not just having fun. you are not getting Ready, you are making your mood and experience worse for yourself, which is going to make you feel unready and unprepared for actually being yourself comfortably.
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Make It Stick
Pairing: Old!Joel x Reader
Summary: Joel never thought he’d need a vasectomy. Then, one night, he accidentally finishes inside you.
Warnings: 18+. Unprotected-peepaw-p-in-v (I’m sorry). Accidental creampie. Age gap. Cumplay. Breeding kink. Ovulation has led me places I wouldn’t go with a gun.
Note: Convergence is a painting by Jackson Pollock. We studied it in high school and I thought it looked like jizz idk
Word count: 4.7k
He should’ve gotten snipped when he had the chance.
Should’ve taken the plunge, faced his fears of needles and fluorescent-washed doctor’s offices like any man his age could have done and gotten the damn vasectomy. Now he was here, nearly two decades older and still none the wiser in this cold, dead world with a pretty young thing like you between his sheets. In lieu of elective surgery, Joel Miller had only to grit his teeth, bite hard, and repeat over and over again in his head, desperate:
‘Don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, don’t cum, DON’T—’
Words like those normally worked. With women that weren’t you, they tended to serve him exceedingly well.
But you were just so tight. And wet. And welcoming. And try as Joel might to pretend like he got laid on a regular basis, the truth was that he didn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t seem to think straight when it came to this fixation he’d developed for you, so, instead, he let his dick do all the decision-making whenever he found himself around you. Ten times out of ten that ended in:
“J-J-Joel—oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—I’m gonna CUM.”
And that made it worth every last life-endangering drop.
Feeling how your flushed, lithe body came apart beneath his touch. How you needed him. How your eyes grew to half the size of your face and you gaped up at the man, lips parted, like you couldn’t even comprehend how the friction of seven inches could make you feel so good.
If he had it his way, he would’ve loved nothing more than to show you that feeling every night, and twice the next morning if his hip wasn’t giving him too much trouble.
But, at present, the man had bigger fish to fry. Like not becoming a new father at fifty-nine if he could help it.
With the last two fluttering pulses of your heat, and almost going cross-eyed from the pleasure as he felt it, Joel yanked his big, slippery cock out of your body and made a fist around his member as he always knew to do. Tugged and pulled and grunted above you—‘Sweet girl, you’re so fuckin’ good to me’—and watched your tits and your belly for the milky white ropes to ensue.
Strangely, though, your skin stayed the same.
No cum-spray Convergence appeared before him, no opaque and cloudy fluids dribbling down your ribs, nothing. Your stomach was as bare as the rest of you, save for a few beads of sweat, and that was all there was.
Joel shook his dick harder, confused. Beneath him, you were still coming down from your high smiling ear-to-ear and staring blissfully at the ceiling. Your chest rose and fell, rose and fell in quick succession, and while you endeavored to recollect your mind, Joel was losing his.
Where the FUCK was his cum?
In no naked horizontal tango to date had Joel simply…cum without noticing. Shit like that just didn’t happen to men, least of all to ones his age, so when he’d wrung his poor cock like a sodden towel and still saw nothing come out, he felt his stomach turn and plummet inside him.
He dropped to his hands and knees in less than a moment and lowered his head between your legs.
“No, Joel!” you squealed, giggling. Kicking your feet, “Another round and I’m gonna combust, you old perv!”
But Joel wasn’t looking to get his dick wet again. He was inspecting you. Or trying to, anyway. Quickly realizing he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness, he let out a breath through his nose and lifted you off the bed. Your naked frame thrown over his shoulder, bare hip beside his head and your strangled, muffled cry of, ‘What the hell, Joel?!’ hardly seemed to register with the man carrying you off.
You were toted to the bathroom. Joel was about to ease you down on your feet. Then, appearing to change his mind at the last second, he set you onto the sink instead. Your skin bristled with indignation, anger. A little arousal.
“Last time we did it on a sink we broke the faucet,” you reminded him, feigning more dismay than you really felt inside. If anything, you liked it when your fossil-age fuckbuddy switched things up. You were just exhausted.
Heedless of your words, Joel kneeled on the floor and pried your legs apart before him. When you swatted at his silver-flecked head, he brushed your hand away.
“Hold still,” he grunted.
“How come?”
“‘Cause I said.”
How quickly he commanded that tone of a father.
“Wanna sleep,” you groaned, about to roll your eyes.
But you couldn’t deny you liked being doted on by him.
Joel’s touch was gentle. Probing. Spidering down the most sensitive parts of your bare lower half, between your thighs, and slowly coaxing you closer to the edge of the sink. Your breath hitched when you saw his head tilt.
He appeared to be deep in thought—a rare sight for anyone who’d seen Joel Miller in the postcoital state. Most every time he’d blown his load before, the man was dead asleep within ten minutes. His joints could barely hold himself upright after a half hour of plowing the back forty, much less carry you, too, so you were puzzled now.
He thumbed at the seam of your cunt, and you whined:
“Jo-el—”
“Can ya…push, baby?” His eyes flitted up quickly.
“Push?”
“Yeah, just…” With a look you couldn’t quite read, he placed the palm of his other hand on your belly. Then, pressing, “Like this. Like you’re squeezin’ somethin’ out.”
You cocked a brow in muted confusion but did as he asked. You watched his gaze, and it stayed on you.
Or, rather, on that soft and pliant spot between your legs the old man seemed to favor so much. On any other occasion, in a position like this, he surely would’ve been wearing a smile. Tonight, his lips curled into a grimace.
And twisted even further when you ‘pushed’ like you did.
At first you felt nothing. A gentle clench of your walls supplied little more than a sense of having been stretched—no novel concept to you, who’d spent the last three-and-a-half months or so getting fucked by the finest AARP affiliate alive most every night. It wasn’t until you clamped down again that you got the feeling there was something else. Something thick and warm and slow as molasses trickling out from between your folds.
You let out a low, tender, ‘Mmph’ without meaning to; it felt kind of nice. Beneath you, Joel’s face turned grave.
He watched as his spend oozed out of your freshly-fucked hole and thought of vasectomies again.
You were young—too young to know better. Too sweet and naïve to see any peril in spreading your legs for a man like him, in a world like this. And Joel swore he’d be careful. But no post-apocalyptic birth control method was perfect, or even close to it, and it was clear he’d relied too heavily on reflexes to keep him from cumming inside you. Joel was old—too old to be doing this shit.
Too grown and well-versed in sex to be making mistakes as stupid as that. His brow pinched in, and he drew his next breath as if the air around him was growing scarce.
“Joel, what’s—”
“When’s the last time you— you— uh…bled?”
Hardly more in control of his face than the rate his heart went thudding in his chest, Joel winced at the end. This time, you were the one to knit your eyebrows together. You could tell by that tight, discomfited tone he wasn’t talking papercuts, but were still unsure of his purpose.
“Like two, two and a half weeks ago. Why?”
Well, fuck.
Joel buried his face in his hands. You scooted closer to the sink’s edge, thinking little of his cum leaking out.
“Why?” you tried again. Softer this time.
An old, weathered head lifted to greet you. It was bleak.
“You see this?” Joel paused. Swiping his finger through the viscous white substance that had trickled out on the counter, in a puddle now, “Y’know what it means, right?”
You let his look, and the question, remain suspended in air for a second. Then another. Then you shrugged.
“Yeah. But…you’re old,” came your answer at length.
You’re old.
Joel and you both knew as much, but the former wasn’t quite following your train of thought. Still wanting to try and mitigate damages while he could, though, Joel reached for the roll of toilet paper that was fastened to the wall and tore himself a strip. He bunched it up and, reaching for one of your knees to spread you further for him, took to daubing the tissue across your entrance.
“What’s me bein’ old got to do with anything?” A little sharp, then, seeing you flinch when he drew too close to your clit, “‘m sorry, baby, just— gotta get this out of you.”
You made a face but let him continue anyway. Your eyes followed each movement of his hand, and reflexively, the muscles in your thighs tightened. Why bother with this when the man has so many better uses for his hands?
For a second, your eyes fluttered half-shut.
“Maria says old folks are, uh…infertile. Got something to do with a middle pause,” you said, breaths labored.
Joel stopped just long enough to shoot you a look.
“Menopause,” he corrected, all too matter-of-fact, before returning to his work, “is a woman thing.”
What the hell were they teaching in Jackson’s sex ed classes, anyway? Then Joel remembered how his brother sincerely believed that women peed out of their vaginas until he was twenty-three, and the thought of you not knowing the ins and outs of male virility wasn’t the most far-fetched idea in the universe. Besides, sexual health wasn’t exactly the community’s highest priority when the world around it was in a perpetual state of decay and hordes of fungus-faced fuckers ran rampant in the wild.
He curved a tender, careful finger against the ring of muscles framing your sex, trying to absorb more cum, and your grip on the edge of the countertop tightened.
“S-So, you—” You swallowed, throat constricting a little too, “You’re sayin’…men can make babies…whenever?”
You sounded so innocent as you said it. Joel wanted nothing more than to club himself over the head for being the cause of this predicament—of being such an instrumental part of the perceived corruption, as it was.
Meanwhile, your head was swimming in filthier thoughts.
Deeper, Joel, keep…pushing in…dee-e-per. You would have scarcely had more luck giving a fuck what Joel was talking about now than if he’d just said the room was on fire. By his voice, you knew you should’ve been paying attention, but the dexterity of his fingers was too much. He was caressing the first couple inches of your inner walls, attempting to scrape what bits of his release he could get unstuck from the flesh, but it seemed he was succeeding mostly in just turning you on. Rendering you deaf to the drone of his words as you pictured him pushing something else inside your tight, throbbing—
“—whole lotta problems for us if you’re, uh…ovulating,” Joel finished, expression taut and oblivious. You hadn’t heard the first part of that sentence and didn’t care to.
“Ovulating,” you repeated slowly. Indifferent.
Joel carried on without a hitch.
“Kids just ain’t fit for this world. I know you know that.”
You nodded along, not hearing a word.
“And if you’re— if y’ever did consider, maybe…”
Your lungs took an extra sharp inhale when Joel’s fingers coaxed out a warm, sticky glob of his load, and he petted your folds with his thumb. Then let out a breath himself.
“…y’oughta start a family with someone your own age—”
That part snagged your attention. Too swiftly, it came:
“My own age?”
Sighing, in spite of those welts of pleasure so heightened by his touch that the space between your legs began to throb and ache. Hardly possessed of more sense to form words that weren’t just echoes of his own, you tried communication from a simpler source—your foot.
You nudged his shoulder, and Joel looked up.
“What?”
“What?”
Parroting was, evidently, a hard habit to kill. Your toes curled into the bare skin of Joel’s shoulder, and when he re-inserted his finger, you ground your heel even deeper.
“When’s that ev…ever stopped us from doing it before, hm?” you said, tone strained but laced with some humor too, “Thought you liked sayin’ you’d make me a mama.”
Joel’s face flooded pink at the recollection—as a matter of fact, there had been several such memories. Instead of answering immediately, he just averted his gaze again. He anchored one hand to your thigh, and with the other teased out another string of your shared arousal before wiping his finger on the tissue, clinically, and repeating. All he had to offer in reply after was: ‘That’s different.’
And it was, to some extent. Joel wasn’t blind to the sea of uneasy looks that trailed behind you both whenever you walked the streets of Jackson together. How wide the eyes would get when instead of observing some filial display of affection play out before them, as expected, you’d loop your arms around his waist and take his lip between your teeth as you kissed—‘Can we please go home now, baby?’—that Joel was certain he’d been cemented as the resident pervert among everyone in town. Just how much worse that reputation was liable to get if there ever happened to be a round and swollen belly between that embrace someday was unthinkable. Dirty talk was one thing; parenthood another entirely.
This is for the best, became the low, grating refrain in his skull. Why he dug so hard, pushed so far inside the wet, velvety interior of your body without a thought for his own desires in that moment; he had to cull every trace of himself out of there, before he had half a chance to think.
“Baby, hey, hey, no—” Joel cut in a second later, abrupt.
No, no, no. You weren’t thinking either. Wrapping your hand around his wrist, pushing his fingers deeper inside.
Smiling a little, too.
“What are you— no, honey, don’t— you can’t,” Joel’s words splintered in every direction, watching you plunge his own index and middle fingers into the slick and the warmth he’d just been trying to get his cum out of. He looked up and saw your lids were heavy, about to close.
“What are you doin’? This ain’t…no, baby, it ain’t…safe.”
Back to sounding like a dad in no time at all.
“What’s wrong with leaving it in a bit longer? Feels nice.”
You had no idea what you were talking about. Joel pulled back on his hand and, in less than a second, had it freed.
“I just told you,” he huffed, “You’re too young—”
“I’m plenty old, Joel,” you returned, eyes snapping open, “You’ve shown me that more times than I can count.”
Joel was silent, stunned. He rose to his feet as your eyes seared holes into his, and for a second, he was uncertain whether to take a step back or reach out for you again.
“Baby…”
To his surprise, something like hurt surfaced behind your eyes. You set your lips in a tighter line, and your grip on the counter grew firmer just the same. He would’ve taken that move as his cue to lean in gently, slot his body between your thighs, and venture an apology of some sort, when the next thing you did stopped him cold.
Without a word, you slipped your free hand between your legs—eyeing Joel closely, almost scornfully, as you did.
You took your middle and ring fingers and sank them into your cunt. Not intending to let a drop of his spend leak out, you wedged them in as far as they’d go. Joel watched. Gawked. Once sufficiently pleased with the look of shock taking over his handsome, aged features, you withdrew the fingers. You brought them up to your mouth, wrapped your lips around the tips, and sucked.
It was a rare thing to get a taste of you and Joel together like this, so you savored it. You moved your mouth further down to drink it all in, peering up with wide, indulgent eyes and a look that was meant to punish.
Feels nice.
Tastes alright, too.
You’d licked the last bit of this glaze off your hand when your stomach clenched. You knew it would happen. Full as you were, you feared your body still hungered for more. As such, it hardly came as a surprise when next your muscles tensed, and you shifted closer to Joel.
“Maybe I don’t want babies with someone my own age.”
Either one of your knees were nudging his hips. Drawing him in. Joel appeared to waver for a second, unsure, but the look on his face made it clear this was mostly a matter of a delayed reaction. He couldn’t get his legs to move because the rest of him was still in awe. Staring at your lips, where the residue of his spend was glistening, then to your eyes, which were no less inviting, then up to the crown of your head and over it, to fix his stare on the mirror behind it. You watched him watch his own reflection with a look that was both hard and unkind, breathing slow. When he didn’t stir from that position after a minute, you touched a hand to his lower stomach.
And, brushing the heel of your palm against what felt like a hundred grey hairs in the old man’s happy trail—your favorite ones—you smoothed a caress along his belly, back and forth, before moving it left. Your hand came to rest on a mound of muscle and fat sitting right above his hip. Love handles, Joel had remarked one morning with vague distaste. Love handles, you’d repeated, beaming. You held on tightly now, appreciatively, and used your well-loved wall of flesh to pull him closer. As with any beckoning of yours, Joel didn’t have so much as half a mind to resist. He did, however, refuse to meet your gaze while you tilted your hips and spread your legs wider, before winding your ankles around the backs of his legs.
“Don’t you think I’d look pretty?” You pouted up at him. Your folds made a light, warm suction rubbing along the front of Joel’s cock—of course he’d grown hard again, and you could hold him, point him down to that wet embrace awaiting him patiently at the edge of the sink.
Joel cursed under his breath.
“‘Course I do…” he said, voice hoarse, “Y’always look—”
“I mean…with your baby inside me, Joel. Right here.”
As if to put a finer point on your words, you nestled the head of his cock inside the first inch of your body. Joel had to seize the laminate underneath you and grit his teeth to keep from letting out a groan too loud. That tip may as well have been a first-rate conductor of heat, and your warmth the thing that might send him spilling again
“You don’t—” Joel choked out, nearly incensed, “—don’t know what the hell you’re sayin’, baby. What that means.”
In truth, there wasn’t a world Joel Miller could imagine where a girl like you could give more than a passing thought to getting knocked up by him—a man his age. What good would it do? You had your whole life laid out before you like a four-course dinner spread; there was no sense whatsoever in letting the meal go to waste on him.
He communicated as much by moving to pull out.
You met the effort with a push of your own, sinking down another inch or two on his shaft and smiling when you saw his eyes roll back in his head at the dizzying friction.
“I know more than enough, old man—” Grin stretching ear-to-ear as you dug your heels in his ass and tugged him deeper, “—who do you think taught me all this?”
Of course, it had been Joel.
Always, always him—the only one, in fact.
Your walls drew him in like a hug. For once, Joel conjured up the strength to take a look between your lower half and his, and when he did, the next moan was inevitable. It trickled through his lips. Your body looked sublime swallowing a third of his cock, and it was almost as though a maggot had crawled into his brain, chanting:
‘Make her full. Make her yours. Tell any man who’d even think of looking her way she belongs to someone else.’
He couldn’t.
Joel would never be so selfish. Just think of her youth.
But when his gaze drifted back to yours, every thought and any word besides seemed gently to melt away. Beneath him, your eyes were two pools of desire.
“You like this…don’t you, Joel?” Your voice was tiny.
“I do.”
In fact, he loved it.
“Then why can’t we?” Why shouldn’t we?
Minuscule now, the words that reached him barely exceeded a whisper. It was as though the moment itself had drained all fear from your face—and out of Joel, all common sense from his brain—leaving you both to stare at the other with shared, stupid, anoetic looks of bliss. The man who had you beat by thirty-odd years seemed nearly of the same mind, with almost identical ignorance.
Idiocy.
“Just once?” Joel croaked.
Somewhere underneath, unseen, you smiled.
“Just one?” you murmured back.
He sank in another inch. When your walls contracted around him, Joel’s hands found your hips by force of habit and pushed your back against the glass behind it. The mirror was cool, and inside you, Joel was throbbing.
“Once,” he repeated, not thinking too deeply.
“One,” you said, with a world of more purpose.
Joel relinquished the last three inches, and with it, all of his resolve. The handsome, scarred, and plainly greying features all twisted as one, and the expression that you knew too well to mean that the man was feeling good took on the slightest hint of guilt. He gripped you tighter.
“One?” Joel panted. Confused.
He pulled out halfway just to find his home again. Your pearly slick mixed together with his spend, and both coated over Joel’s shaft in a pretty, generous sheen.
“One more of you, I mean.” You sounded too sweet. There was no way in hell you’d actually meant it.
Joel’s cheeks flushed again, but he didn’t stop, either.
“Baby…” he trailed off instead. He pushed in, pulled out, felt your tender little hole make an ‘o’ around his shaft, and then he kissed the edge of your left cheek—maybe to rein in the need in his words before he spoke again: “One’a me takes and I’m givin’ ya fifteen more, y’hear?”
The smile he received told him as much as he needed to hear. He probably wouldn’t have believed it even if you’d said the words yourself. Joel’s thrusts sped up, and as the pleasure distended in the pit of his stomach with the friction and the feel, his words flowed a little more freely.
In disbelief, “Wanna be a mama that bad for me, huh?”
Your grin grew bigger. You nodded your head.
“Make your old man a daddy, is that it?”
Exactly. Senseless as it was, your look said it all.
To have slipped between the grooves and ridges of Joel’s brain and caught wind of even a fraction of the things he wanted to do to you then, a smarter girl would have run. Would have shoved him back out as swiftly as she’d let him in and told him no, that’s gross, and gone home. And, had the grey matter floating inside your own skull not been so completely dominated by primal need and wanting, that’s likely what you would have done, too. Instead, with a head full of lewd, youthful stupidity, you seized the black-grey curls dangling at the nape of his neck and drew him closer. You spread your legs wider.
“That is what you’ve wanted this whole time, right?”
Under his scruff, a muscle tensed as Joel bit down.
That’s all he’s ever wanted.
Let the neighbors talk.
Let them say what they wanted to say—it was probably all true to the point they were trying to make, anyway. That Joel was a pervert, of course. That you were naïve, also true. That you would look too good not to stare in a white cotton frock with a bump underneath, absolutely. These were the ideas permeating your brain and his while Joel took a firmer hold of your sides and brought his nose to rest against yours. With every stab of his hips, he pressed kisses to your soft, parted lips, speaking low:
“That what you want, too, darlin’?” More serious now.
The head of his cock nicked a sensitive ridge inside you, eliciting a whimper, but you nodded. You nodded again, feeling the brush of his stubble at your mouth and your chin, and nodded again when he bottomed out, stuffing you tight. It felt a little more momentous than any other time in the past, now that you were picturing a fullness that wasn’t just him. Him and you: a concrete being to soothe the sting of his absence long after Joel withdrew.
Something to stick.
“Please say it, baby.”
Someone to call yours.
“I want it,” you said, sounding desperate.
A coil was just starting to form in the place you felt him. Drifting up, pulling tight, making your eyes go glossy and wide while they stuck to Joel’s and begged him for more.
“Want what?” He sped up, and his thrusts got sloppy.
“Want you,” you breathed, “Inside me, Joel, please.”
As if predicting your next thoughts, the man lowered his hand to your belly. You hadn’t even noticed the smallest bulge had taken shape beneath the skin. Joel slowed, momentarily, then rubbed the base of his palm against the mound where your body was obliged to make room for his cock inside you. He drew soft, tender circles there and, with the motion, sent stars flying before your eyes.
“Good girl,” he murmured, “Right here?”
“Ri— right there. Right there.”
Joel adored that sound. The soft, elated look, the gentle knoll of flesh in a bump below his hand, the whimpers rolling off your tongue repeatedly, quicker and quicker the more the pleasure inside you continued to build. Joel’s release was coming soon, too. For the hundredth time that night, he silently wished he were a little younger; so he could fill you up once, twice, twenty more times until your insides were stuffed and painted white. As if reading his mind, as he had for you, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.
“Hope our baby has your eyes,” you murmured to him.
It shouldn’t have had such a strong effect—but of course, it did. Joel pictured the small, sweet infant with irises that shone a bit like his, and his stomach caved in.
Tonight, tomorrow, or ten months down the line, he was getting you pregnant. He’d clear his whole schedule for it
“That right?” And now he couldn’t stop the smile as he spoke, leaning even further in, “What about their nose?”
He kissed the tip of yours.
“Hope they get this.”
He kissed either one of your cheeks.
“These too.”
You had to fight back a laugh while his scruff tickled skin. Two deep strokes away from the brink of release and he still somehow always stayed in tune with your needs.
The threat of your peak was perilously near. Joel’s spend and your slick, tender glaze made a chorus of sounds at each thrust, and the deeper he went, the bigger it swelled. Your smiles couldn’t stay for much longer when the feeling inside you both was being amplified like that. Sensing this, Joel took hold of your face and slipped his touch to cup your chin. He made you tilt your head up to him, as if to ask again, ‘Are you sure?’ and when you nodded, his lips twitched again. A fleeting hint of a grin, like he couldn’t be more eager to finish now if he tried.
Holding your face, cock swollen and throbbing and desperate between your walls, he felt a familiar twitch.
There it is.
#IN CONCLUSION……….WE MAKIN BABIES#joel miller smut#joel miller x reader#joel miller x you#joel miller imagine#joel miller one shot#joel miller#joel miller tlou#joel miller fic#joel miller fanfiction#joel tlou#the last of us fic
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