#me: a quick tl;dr!!!!

[meltedmush]

how long does it take you to draw your sketches/doodles? also do you have any tips to draw faster? 🙇‍♀️

I generally take 30 - 60 minutes a sketch,,,, but honestly really depends on how detailed it is.

Like a Chibi will be done in 20 - 25 minutes (Counting in the extra time I spend on minute details like a perfectionist 😭)

I for some reason really like spending egregious amounts of time on random objects too??? Unless it’s the in the background, I’ll spend 40 minutes refining it.

Random characters that are fully colored and rendered with take like 80 minutes.

The comics take usually take an hour or two per page. (If I decide to cross hatch it, my entire day will be gone with 4 pages… so I’ve been trying to find shortcuts. But not without sacrificing the quality for time lol)

I don’t think there’s any trick or magic to drawing faster. It’s really about weaponizing your artistic knowledge, and finding what’s comfortable or convenient for you!

There was a period of time where I would spend 11 or 12 hours on an illustration, and it wASS UGLYYYYY. (Some of these artworks are still available on my tumblr,,, but it’s SO LONG AGO, AND IT WAS MY 1ST OR 2ND YEAR GETTING INTO DIGITAL ART)

Overtime I learned what worked best for me, and practiced till I felt more comfortable with what I was drawing. Eventually I managed to shorten the time to 4 hours or less! Ambition was my biggest enemy but at the same time my biggest motivator. (And it still is LMFAO) 😭

EDIT (bit more to my way too long tangent): ALSO??? BRO DON’T BE AFRAID TO USE YOUR MESSY SKETCH AS LINEART OR DRAW ON TOP OF IT. I’VE DONE IT FOR YEARS NOW AND IT ADDS SUCH A GOOD EXTRA BIT OF TEXTURE,, AT THIS POINT I DON’T EVEN USE LINE-ART ANY MORE UNLESS IT’S A COMMISSION,, (IT’LL ADD LIKE AN 2-4 HOURS TO MY WORK)

[gu6chan]

work related question does anyone have any fun anime for likely 12-14 year olds that to their ulta-conservative conspiracy theory parents would have no objectionable content whatsoever that's not like . pokemon. i live in the most conservative area in michigan btw /hj

[leatherbookmark]

it's interesting how both work remixes highlight how bare and short the original song is. in the don diablo remix, jongho's high note gets extended, and in the edenary remix, the first chorus gets re-edited as a prechorus leading into an instrumental chorus, and then they add a ~3 seconds long transition into hongjoong's verse. all those changes sound better than the original, because you need breathing space and pacing for a song to sound good.

i'm still wondering whether they'll return to Good Musicmaking with the next comeback, or keep on doing those atz-flavoured chill vibes over and over because it's what's currently popular :']

[mangled-by-disuse]

I have such mixed feelings about the love languages thing specifically, because, like, gary chapman fucking sucks and there's no scientific validity to his work BUT

at the same time, i do think there's some value in recognising and discussing the fact that different people need different expressions of love in different amounts? Especially in relationships.

Like, I have just recently been having a discussion with my partner about how he really doesn't tend to express his affection through gifts, whereas (as someone who is mega-bad at expressing sincere feeling) I do rely heavily on giving gifts and doing things for people as a less scary way to express love. Joe doesn't like giving gifts, because he's scared he'll do it wrong, and is only so-so on receiving them. He prefers to express love through physical contact and saying nice things. I hate having nice things said to me unless I am allowed to immediately rebut them with a joke or sarcastic comment that makes them less scarily close to emotional honesty. too many words of affirmation and i will genuinely just start avoiding you because it is painfully awkward to me.

and none of that means we are fundamentally different categories of people, which is where the 5 Love Languages stuff falls into being absolute bollocks. but I have seen, and done, enough throwing the baby out with the bathwater on that to be a little defensive - I think reasonable applications of the concept are actually really quite valuable. and for me, the taxonomy Chapman suggests (words of affirmation, quality time, gifts, acts of service, physical touch) while not at all exhaustive or thorough, is a useful framework to hang those conversations on. bc, like, no, the way people communicate and receive affection is not universal, and from personal experience, assuming that it is can have really significant problems for a relationship.

...you could argue that this is parallel to BMI in terms of "tools being used in totally not the way they should be used" though, tbf.

I can't keep having the same conversations about love languages, mbti, iq, bmi, "brain fully formed at 25" and shit over and over again...

[plumberpower]

@pomniegranate

     What was there to say about the Mushroom Kingdom? To an outsider's first glance, you'd think yourself fast asleep amidst an odd yet fanciful dream. Multi-colored pipes sprang up hither and thither, mushroom caps of similar shades both small and tall alike... Some for eating, some for bouncing upon their spongy tops! It was... something else, to say the least. Colorful, bountiful, and otherworldly~.

     But... just because something is colorful doesn't mean it was wholly safe. After all, the very fungus knew how to fight back around these parts! Goombas, Koopa Troopas, and... ah... The far more menacing foes that roamed the far-flung outskirts, maws and claws that held no hesitation for the slightly too explorative and the touch too ill-prepared visitors that happened to be spotted by one.

     An eagle eye was fortunate to catch it over the horizon, and thank the stars for it. Despite the distance, an experienced ear could pick the scene from a line-up if need be, visualizing it instantaneously. It was the ever-recognizable sound of someone or something exiting a Warp Pipe... to the tune of a Dino Rhino's ember-laden roar...

     After that? There's nary a word from the plumber. Any and all potential onlookers would merely hear the heavy steps of hefty brown boots double-timing it towards the source of the sound. No time to waste, someone could be in danger! He only hoped that his fastest would be fast enough— the threat of a Dino Rhino was all but in the name, and then some beyond that! A rhinoceros-sized dinosaur with the combined might and speed of the two conjoined! Add fire-breath to the mix, and you have a foe most formidable!

     Who he was even rushing to the aid of had barely registered upon the superstar's sky-high leap into action. During his ascent, he had seen something rather colorful... lots of reds and blues. Hm, quite like the plumber himself! A rather funny coincidence to remark upon with the other, should they live to hear the conversation.

     Cool shade would herald his arrival, the shadow of a portly man with a twenty-foot high jump from standstill reaching far enough to tuck the sun away for the briefest of moments. Spy him on the descent, and all would view his resolution to see the other safe and sound.

     "C'mon! C'mon!! Let's-a see you pick on'a someone your own'a size for a change! Hee-YAH!" ...The Dino-Rhino was far larger in physical stature, but the heart this man held would far make up for any vertical disadvantages! Down would the red-capped hero fall, his reptilian adversary finding out quite swiftly that Mario-Mario was a size thirteen!

     "Take-a 'dis! And-a 'dat! And-a— H-Hey! Watch 'da 'stache, ya no-good, fire-spittin'—!" Arms would latch the beastie by the back of the neck, the bucking brute taking its impromptu rider for a brief bull ride. Hand on hat, the fighter's voice called to the open air. "Woo-hoo-hoo~!! Don'tcha worry! Mario got it from'a here! Get some cover, signora! I'mma catch up with ya when 'de coast is'a clear!"

[ilikeevilblondes]

Beck and Call

18+ MDNI!

Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.

W.C: ~6.2k

TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).

Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)

Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading

Part One | Part Two

One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction. 

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

🏷️: @whaddupbaby, @pedritodowney08, @martuxduckling, @aadhinagony, @lanabobana, @pedr0swh0r3, @romancherry, @strawberriesandhotmen, @streamermattsgf, @bonneyzsk, @worhols, @serendippindots, @paprikainfurs, @lanternnightgarden, @12vamppp, @savvyisss, @umadirectioner, @tinawantstobeadoll, @not-the-teen-witch, @wundagre, @im-nowhere-but-also-somewhere, @guelyury, @joelspickle, @callofdiva, @hotnmad, @brightestxxwitch, @pearl-diver-m, @kungfucapslock, @hellokittyyloverrrr, @meganfoxismywife, @natalieispunk, @billionairecowgirl, @my-tearsricochet

[insert-witty-user-name-here]

Quick reminder as we head into Trump’s first week in office. We are about to see an onslaught of executive actions designed to strip of us our rights. We’ve seen this before.

Many of them won’t be legal, many of them won’t take effect immediately, and some of them will be just plain nonsense. Trump alone can’t change the law (yet anyway- that’s Congress) and there is an official government process for enacting most executive actions that works slowly.*

There will be time to fight against these orders—either by stopping them entirely, weakening them, or at least slowing them down.

The purpose of doing so many terrible things at once is to scare us. Is to intimidate us to cede more ground than we need to. Don’t let them.

Stay engaged, stay angry, stay hopeful (or spiteful- me tbh), and—most importantly—stay strategic. Find an organization you trust, follow them, and take action when they ask you to.

(Side note- pick just a few issues to care deeply about and only follow a few organizations you trust. Don’t try to solve everything all the time or consume every piece of news. You WILL burn yourself out and that’s not helpful for anyone. Trust me, speaking from experience. Staying 15% engaged is better than 120% for three months and then 0%).

What we’re seeing right now is a backlash to decades of progress—a dying (and by extension dangerous I’m not gonna lie) breath of those in power desperate to maintain control. They wouldn’t be trying to squash us if there wasn’t something to squash.

TL;DR- there’s gonna be a lot of bad stuff in the news today. Don’t give into panic. There will be time to fight most of it. Stay engaged.

*Unfortunately, there will be some actions the President can control on his own and will take effect immediately. ICE Raids being one of them. Here’s a Know Your Rights factsheet. To learn more and stay informed on this issue, recommend following National Immigration Law Center, CASA, Immigrant Defense Project.

[knifebaby3000]

hi! do you have your commission info posted somewhere?

hi thank you for the ask!!! i still don’t have a menu pulled together, sorry 🙈💦 but pls shoot me an email at bab33si @ gmail and we can talk abt your vision.....!

in case it’s helpful, the commissions i’ve done recently went for about $200 each, thru paypal - you get the full 300dpi ~A4 img and whatever tiny version i post here! v happy to work on a sliding scale/within a budget so don’t be shy

[curlicuecal]

playing science telephone

Hi folks. Let's play a fun game today called "unravelling bad science communication back to its source."

Journey with me.

Saw a comment going around on a tumblr thread that "sometimes the life expectancy of autism is cited in the 30s"

That number seemed..... strange. The commenter DID go on to say that that was "situational on people being awful and not… anything autism actually does", but you know what? Still a strange number. I feel compelled to fact check.

Quick Google "autism life expectancy" pulls up quite a few websites bandying around the number 39. Which is ~technically~ within the 30s, but already higher than the tumblr factoid would suggest. But, guess what. This number still sounds strange to me.

Most of the websites presenting this factoid present themselves as official autism resources and organizations (for parents, etc), and most of them vaguely wave towards "studies."

Ex: "Above And Beyond Therapy" has a whole article on "Does Autism Affect Life Expectancy" and states:

The link implies that it will take you to the "research studies" being referenced, but it in fact takes you to another random autism resource group called.... Songbird Care?

And on that website we find the factoid again:

Ooh, look. Now they've added the word "some". The average lifespan for SOME autistic people. Which the next group erased from the fact. The message shifts further.

And we have slightly more information about the study! (Which has also shifted from "studies" to a singular "study"). And we have another link!

Wonderfully, this link actually takes us to the actual peer-reviewed 2020 study being discussed. [x]

And here, just by reading the abstract, we find the most important information of all.

This study followed a cohort of adolescent and adult autistic people across a 20 year time period. Within that time period, 6.4% of the cohort died. Within that 6.4%, the average age of death was 39 years.

So this number is VERY MUCH not the average age of death for autistic people, or even the average age of death for the cohort of autistic people in that study. It is the average age of death IF you died young and within the 20 year period of the study (n=26), and also we don't even know the average starting age of participants without digging into earlier papers, except that it was 10 or older. (If you're curious, the researchers in the study suggested reduced self-sufficiency to be among the biggest risk factors for the early mortality group.)

But the number in the study has been removed from it's context, gradually modified and spread around the web, and modified some more, until it is pretty much a nonsense number that everyone is citing from everyone else.

There ARE two other numbers that pop up semi-frequently:

One cites the life expectancy at 58. I will leave finding the context for that number as an exercise for the audience, since none of the places I saw it gave a direct citation for where they were getting it.

And then, probably the best and most relevant number floating around out there (and the least frequently cited) draws from a 2023 study of over 17,000 UK people with an autism diagnosis, across 30 years. [x] This study estimated life expectancies between 70 and 77 years, varying with sex and presence/absence of a learning disability. (As compared to the UK 80-83 average for the population as a whole.)

This is a set of numbers that makes way more sense and is backed by way better data, but isn't quite as snappy a soundbite to pass around the internet. I'm gonna pass it around anyway, because I feel bad about how many scared internet people I stumbled across while doing this search.

People on quora like "I'm autistic, can I live past 38"-- honey, YES. omg.

---

tl;dr, when someone gives you a number out of context, consider that the context is probably important

also, make an amateur fact checker's life easier and CITE YOUR SOURCES

[chiisanajimi]

woe, sonic fankid be upon ye 💥

introducing starlight the hedgehog!

they're a son/silv/shad fankid essentially LOL

text from the image says:

- being of chaos produced from residual energy left by sonic, shadow, and silver when they use chaos powers - like when u fry something in oil and some bits come off... or like when u boil pasta and the water gets starchy... - the bits eventually merged their shared qualities to form this artificial hedgehog and dropped it in front of silver while he was mid-transition between timelines/dimensions

tl;dr made from Energy Soup created by extensive use of chaos emeralds. a cheerful thing with lots to learn :)

pronouns are probs gonna change but for now it's she/he/they (or basically, generally feminine but prefers masc/neutral terms)

starlight tag (<- contains stuff that's not canon to the au)

starlight au (<- everything specific to the au in which star exists)

sexuality hcs for dads // sonic parenting habits // dad interactions // living situation // domestic stuff // baby go to school // aged up // super form // gardening with silver // silver sense // nicknames, etc. // about team dark // missions with rouge // gender presentation // family dynamic // pre-relationship dynamic // shadow gets hurt at work sometimes // about tails // the rest of team sonic // fav pastime(s) // thoughts about the parents // sonadilver beginnings // 3 quick facts // who does star take after the most?

fun facts:

the quills sticking up is not consistent cuz it depends on how much he gives a shit about looking clean-cut on any given day

silver only really used the emeralds in '06 and that one time in the metal virus arc of IDW (if he's used them more than that don't spoil me on it LOL im still getting through the comics) so his influence is not as strong as the other 2. it comes through mostly in personality (generally pleasant, socially inept)

however, starlight is VERY attached to silver because he recognizes silver as a point of comfort. the chaos used silver's PK powers as a conduit for his creation so there is an instinctive attachment there (thank you @/rubynautilus for the help with this idea!)

starlight exists in strict juxtaposition against the other hedgehogs because unlike all 3 of them they literally were created for no purpose other than to exist. hence she has a weaker sense of self than silver or shadow and especially sonic. it's fun to think of them raising a kid and having to manually instruct them how to enjoy living

hypothetically has access to chaos powers like her "dads" but since chaos energy is also literally her molecular makeup she basically falls apart if she uses it too much, hence the inhibitors

also i say "dads" but the only one of the 3 who really acts parental towards them is shadow (more on that later)

[wernerherzogs]

.

[jackgoodfellow]

ONCE AGAIN LOOKING FOR FEEDBACK FROM WHEELCHAIR USERS! 💖♿😎

TL;DR - These are newly proposed blueprints for renovating the basement of an incredibly cool queer/BIPOC-run affordable housing co-op in my city, with the aim of creating an ACCESSIBLE community space and mutual aid hub!

If you have a moment, please take either a quick or a long look at these images, and let me know what stands out to YOU as good/bad/missing/in-need-of-change! Or just let me know what you need in a public space in order to feel welcome, especially as it pertains to wheelchair lifts!

ANY amount of feedback is so, SO appreciated!! ☺️

More (optional) detail, if you want:

I have one "BEFORE" blueprint, and three updated proposal blueprints for what the space could look like AFTER renovation.

In the long-term, the co-op is planning to install an elevator to serve all 5 floors of the building, including the basement. But in the short-term, with their current funding, the plan is to install a wheelchair lift that goes from outside the first floor, down to the inside of the basement.

The "AFTER" blueprints include widening the hallways by several inches.

I am going to recommend a changing table for the bathroom; ideally, an adult-sized changing table. Idk yet if they can afford to remove the shower that's there now.

I am also going to double-check with the designers that all the proposed door widths are wide enough for a large wheelchair to get through. In this current scale, several openings appear to be too small.

The goal of the community space is to provide a mutual aid hub - providing food, supplies, space to meet, and emergency preparedness for the community!

Thank you very very much!! :)

- Jack

[vsvitrix]

GOFUNDME: Help Us Survive a Major Life Change

Hi, a quick TL;DR: My name is Victoria, I'm a black trans woman in my mid thirties, and my heart is failing. I have months of testing to go while they figure out a safe treatment option with as few complications as possible, but eventually I'll be having heart surgery.

I've applied for disability, but it is going to take months for them to even make a decision, let alone approve it.

If you don't want to use GFM, but would like to help, there's other places:

Paypal

Cash

Ko-fi

Buy Me A Coffee

Patreon

You can also buy handmade crochet dolls from Sam on our Ko-fi as well.

Thank you so much to the people who have donated and shared. Truly, I can't express how much it means to both Sam and I.

The art was done by my lovely friend Clown, who you can find here.

[mercifulstate]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ IT'S SO SIMPLE, IT MIGHT SEEM COMPLICATED.

That title? Relatable. Over the years, I’ve seen so many guys, gals, gays, and theys overcomplicate something that is literally so simple at its core. And honestly? Same. I get it. I used to be stuck in that mindset too—thinking I had to jump through hoops, follow a formula, or limit myself because what I truly wanted felt impossible to manifest.

But let me tell you right now: That. Is. BULLSHIT.

Limiting yourself? Nope. Not anymore. You can manifest literally anything you want. And how? Girl you don’t even need to stress about the “how.”

Just assume. Persist. BE. That’s it. That’s the tea. That’s the secret.

Wanna use methods? Go off, girlie! Use whatever feels good to you. But always remember: you’re the one in charge. Not the method. Not the trend. Not the step-by-step thread you saw at 2AM.

YOU are the power. YOU assume. YOU decide. YOU make it real.

None of these methods would even exist without people like you, me, and the community. Everything starts with YOU.

Now go. Be unstoppable. Be that bitch that you already are.

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚ AN ANNOUNCEMENT

HEY HEYYYYYY GALS, GAYS, AND GUYS <3 Gather ‘round for a quick life update from your girlie

So I know I haven’t been super active lately (okay, not ghosting but definitely quieter than usual), and I wanted to give y’all a little heads up: I’m going on an indefinite hiatus. I’ve been feeling a bit burnt out, and honestly? I’m running out of fresh things to post. LOA is super simple at its core, and repeating the same concepts over and over when the info is literally everywhere—especially on Tumblr—feels a bit.. meh. I don’t wanna post just to post.

Alsooo… I’ll be keeping my asks off. I get overwhelmed easily when my inbox piles up, and I’d rather step back than burn myself out further. Hope you all understand!

Now for my classic TL;DR because I love y’all and want to keep it simple:

LOA = Assume. Persist (in the knowing). Be. That’s it.

Having doubts? Doesn’t matter unless you assume it does.

Intrusive thoughts? Doesn’t matter unless you assume it does.

Spiraling? STILL doesn’t matter unless you assume it does.

That’s why it’s called the Law of ASSUMPTION. Not the Law of Perfection, not the Law of Never-Think-A-Scary-Thought. It’s that simple.

I’ll be focusing on myself for a while—recharging, resting, romanticizing life again. Love you all so so much <3 Keep glowing, keep manifesting, and don’t forget that you’re the key.

[chronicdelusionistsart]

Bernard Dowd and the Art of Recontextualization

I'm what you might call a "fake Batman fan" - that is, I've only watched most of the Batman animated series', all of the live action movies, most of the animated ones, played some of the video games... so, you know, probably thousands of hours of my life in Batman related media. But not the comics! Fake fan!

Frankly, I find the comics medium the way DC and Marvel do it to be really hard to follow. There's the fact that you can't really follow an individual solo character without them getting caught up in massive crossover events that ruin their arc and pacing, there's the soap-opera-iness that encourages cheap and revolving conflicts inherent to the longform monthly release schedule, the writer roulette, and there's also just that going back to try and thread a particular continuity or character is an exercise in frustration. Oh and the retcons. Everyone hates those. They've (basically) never been good. Don't remember this part it will never come up aga

But, you know, despite this - or maybe because of this - comics is a breeding ground for ideas. Because of the quick turnaround and the demand for novel conflicts, comics just churn out idea after idea. Good ideas, bad ideas, doesn't matter. Get it to print. Retcon it later if we write ourselves into a corner. Comics are often soooooo first draft coded. This is why I personally prefer adaptations - they often reimagine ideas and retcon them into new narratives where they can serve a more coherent plot. But what happens when a character is picked up for a second draft ... without actually contradicting the earlier material? While enriching the earlier material, even?

(SPOILERS for Tim Drake: Robin and uh... 20 year old comics under the cut!)

So, uh, quick disclaimer - because I have very little overall knowledge of DC's Comics continuity, there may be more interesting examples of times that what I'm going to point out was done. But I love Bernard and from a writer's POV I'm impressed with the way they did it so we're talking about Bernard lmao

The Beginning (Robin 1993) - Reading comics from the 2000s hurts in a way I can't describe

Okay so I heard Tim Drake is dating a guy now? (Penny Sonic voice) Whoa he's bisexual I didn't know that! I'm sure people on the internet are being very normal about this. Cool let's find out more about his new bf. I like starting from the beginning... so like yeah hold on while I crack open the Robin comic and take down what this guy's deal is.

😬

So basically the TL;DR of Bernard in his original appearances is that he seems to be an attempt to introduce some normal stakes teen drama into Tim's life. He has all the Funny Guy Friend Classics - he's got an inflated sense of his proficiency at pulling girls, he's inexplicably drawn towards the protagonist (who is cooler than him), he wants to date the most popular girl in school, and he wants to get down with older women!

This might just be me but while I was going through this I thought like, he almost reads a little uncanny, like he's been filtered through a Disney Teen Special. In practice he mostly serves to introduce Tim to the Real Plot, Darla Aquista, and be one of his ties to civilian life, which is, like, fine. He's ultimately just a background character and he's so unimportant that he only has one appearance after their school gets shot up(!!!), which is, again, to be more of an accessory to the Darla plot.

After this display of "wow this guy's kind of lowkey insane for offering to his resurrected bestie supervillainess to be her manager actually", he's dropped forever. Comics! We're not gonna unpack that.

The Sequel (Batman: Urban Legends) - We're Gonna Unpack That

Until almost two decades later when he calls Tim up for a date. And while I'm trying to skim over a lot to get to the point here and I don't really know the FULL context, it is notable that Tim is in the middle of an identity crisis / the cusp of adulthood when this happens (I think he just lost a spleen or something. That sucks dude). It's pretty implicit that part of the reason he's going to see Bernard is because he's someone familiar in a time when he's facing a lot of new and scary stuff.

And at first blush, he really does seem like the same dude. The familiar arm over the shoulder, the banter, it's all very casual and similar to the ribbing from high school -

- and I guess nothing has happened to Bernard in the interim haha he's just the funny friend guy right?

I really like the way they did this. I'm just unambiguously going to praise how good this is if you just came off the 2000s stuff. Comics have kind of breakneck pacing by nature but they really manage to condense down and then pull off a neat sleight of hand over the course of like four pages here. They re-establish Bernard as a silly guy and then wham you with the fact that yeah actually we ARE gonna unpack that. Fuck you Tim Drake life is ever changing and nothing stays the same

So the TL;DR on the rest of the Urban Legends storyline is that stuff like, HAPPENED to this guy while our focus was elsewhere. He learned martial arts, presumably so that he wouldn't be so helpless in the next school shooting level event, he got into a pain cult, he's just Not Doing Well. We find out, reading between the lines, that calling Tim on a date was probably one of his last attempts to reach out to someone when the cult stuff was getting really bad.

I've heard people complain that Bernard is uninteresting or not a character or entirely focused on his relationship with Tim, and I think that criticism is really weird considering that his entire re-debut focuses on the point that he's been having his own life and making his own (often wild) decisions - ones that really changed the course of his life - while Tim was gone. And it's also notable that this story is about how the fact that he's his own person and has changed and has made the nerve-wracking decision to take action and call Tim inspires Tim himself to take a leap and fling himself into the uncertain waters of young adulthood.

Me when I have my bi awakening and call to get out of a rut simultaneously because Cute Insane Guy Inspired Me. iconic

So that's how Bernard has changed. But that's not recontextualization, that's just the writers taking a guy and making him do another, cooler thing. Well hold the fuck on because we're not goddamn done.

What did he mean by th-

The Recontextualizerrrrr (Tim Drake: Robin) - Bernard is the funniest person in Gotham City. I'll not be taking constructive criticism on this

Tim Drake: Robin is the followup to the Urban Legends story and Tim is the main character fr. Obviously. but Bernard is also a major character. Later, he even gets to be a POV character. But they don't do that for several issues, instead treating us to his shenanigans from Tim's point of view as he solves a bizarre serial murder case and like, they're cute! And neither of them are normal in the slightest. I love that for them.

Again, TL;DR, there are a lot of interactions where Bernard talks to Tim both in and out of costume, but we don't get to see his POV until they go out to a restaurant and meet Bernard's parents there by accident and Tim has to run off to do Robin stuff. And like... a lot of stuff happens in this one bois. Whammy after whammy

We're suddenly introduced explicitly to a lot that was only implied or just completely unavailable before. Bernard's parents are ragingly homophobic. Probably were never great even before that. He suffers from depression. All that is a lot to. wait. hold on a second

he knows?????

HE KNOWS????

Okay so if you stop at this point and reread the entire run so far you find out that Bernard is in fact the biggest troll in the entire universe. This is the moment that cemented him as my favourite, by the way. Like I had a feeling that he knew and I was just laughing my ass off when my suspicions were confirmed.

But this is really interesting on top of that because Bernard has been revealed to be, at this point, a guy who you should look deeper than the surface to understand. Someone who masks his true self and whose true motivations you can only uncover if you're really looking past the facade. Even with Tim, he sort of offers Tim and Robin half the story each, taking advantage of Robin's "distance" to give out information he wants Tim to think about but that he's reluctant to talk about frankly while at the same time almost daring Tim to open up about his identity.

Absolutely most normal way to tell your bf about your cult trauma. You'll always be famous to me Bernard Dowd

This is a really neat trick by the writers. It makes Bernard a multifaceted character who got to quietly develop while we were mostly focused on Tim, and there's some clever clever foreshadowing they set up in this run to achieve this. If it were just this, I would call it good writing.

But it actually goes one level deeper than that and becomes something really really special. because as we all know, Bernard was not conceived to be this way, he was a one-off guy who was kind of annoying and he was essentially retconned to be, like. Gay? Have depth? Be funny? All of those things?

The Seamless Retcon (Robin 1993 Again) - We took your guy and we gave him gay subtext and it worked astoundingly well

This is not a new observation btw, I've seen a ton of posts to this effect. But oh my god. Some of these panels really hit different with the new Bernard lore. Like holy fuck just read this back to back

There are tons of moments like this. There's SO MUCH that the revelation that Bernard is queer adds to his initially extremely underwhelming tenure in the Robin comics. A reread almost begs the question of what Bernard must have been thinking at any given moment! BRO YOU SAID YOU WANTED TO FUCK HIS STEPMOM. That's completely believable as a next-level closeting move and goes from kind of annoying to turbofunny.

Like yeah of course he's acting like a douche. His father is a status-chasing asshole and he's five racks deep in the closet. Of course he gravitates towards Tim - his gaydar is pinging and he thinks Tim is cute. And it's also pinging that Tim is like. You know

None of this would hit as hard if the writers had not set up Bernard as someone who masks so much. They worked it in that character trait to mean that you could always glean information deeper than the surface from his top level interactions.

Because of this, Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread. Like I said, that's a set of observations that are not new to me. But something that really gets to me is how seamless and intentional it is. It really feels like the writer sat down and took their time devising a guy that is believable as that other guy, but only if you read back with certain context.

The conclusion - Comics. Man.

So is this just about how Bernard is really fucking interesting and he's a good character and he's one that gets better on reread and that he can exist independent of Tim and all the haters are wrong. Yeah of course. 💖

But also like, I have thoroughly proven to myself that I was kinda wrong to just reject the published comics medium out of hand. I see now that there's room for the writer's roulette to hit the jackpot and that something I mistook as an outright flaw, the winding and unfocused and often improvised nature of it, can be ridden like a wave if you're skilled enough to do it. Meghan Fitzmarten is a goddamned genius.

I guess I have to read comics now. Fuck

[ilikeevilblondes]

Drawn Shut

(pt 2 of Wide Open -- but can be read as a standalone!)

18+ MDNI!

Summary: After ages of teasing your neighbour from across the street, you do what any reasonable person would do, and fuck yourself in front of him. And then you invite him over.

TL;DR: Joel finally gets to fuck the voyeuristic girl next door.

W.C: ~5.0k

Warnings: Pervyneighbour!joel x reader, degradation, fingering, p-in-v sex, unprotected sex, breeding kink SORRY, spanking for a hot sec SORRY AGAIN, just like pervy joel in general, implied age gap (20s/40s), mean!joel kind of, old man joel also can’t stop coming, he's got a lot to give (no outbreak!)

Note: this originally wasn’t supposed to have a sequel, but due to popular demand, i give you this horny clusterfuck. as they say in france, bone apple tits, y’all. |Tagging: @doeeyestoji, @dean-and-baby343, @nycweb-slinger, @alfiestreacle, @vixorell, @bbyanarchist, @whaddupbaby, @ashleyfilm, @lizaispunk|

Part One | Part Two

Joel raised a hand to knock at the door, but hesitated midway and let his arm fall back by his side.

What the hell was he doing?

Oh, just hopping on over to the neighbour’s house to fuck their daughter. You know, like a good neighbour would.

The events of that night were vividly fresh in his mind; you had deliberately left your blinds open and given a performance to remember. All while Joel fucked his fist across the road. Which you probably wanted him to do, seeing as you invited him over shortly after the spectacle’s denouement via text message.

You: you gonna keep jerking off across the street or are you gonna come over?

You: home alone.

Casting a sideward glance at the lot’s driveway, Joel noted that the usual ever-present SUV parked in front of your garage was distinctly missing.

“Yeah, fuck it,” He said for the second time that night through a sigh, and lifted his fist.

Three sharp raps sounded against the oak door. Quick. Impatient. Harsh.

Almost immediately, the door swung open. Joel was greeted by the sight of you in a big, zipped-up hoodie that fell below your lap, and with messy hair one could only get from the display you had so kindly showed him moments prior.

It was dark out, but the cloak of nightfall was not dark enough to hide the flush of light pink dusting your cheeks when your eyes met his. Almost like you hadn’t expected him to take you up on your offer.

“Took you long enough.” You said airily as you tilted your head and slouched against the doorframe.

“Yeah,” Joel cleared his throat, feigning nonchalance. “Hi, kid.”

“Hi, Mr Miller.” You shifted your weight to lean on your other foot. “You wanna … come inside?”

“I’d love nothin’ more.”

Despite sharing the same street for a year or so, you seldom found yourself face-to-face with Joel without your parents present. 

Of course, not counting the many times you’ve caught glimpses of him from behind the linen curtains of his bedroom. Suffice it to say, it was very easy to distinguish silhouettes and what said silhouettes were doing if the lights were still on while the curtains were drawn.

In other words, tonight wasn’t the first time you’ve caught him fucking his fist.

Joel shut the door behind him as he entered your house, taking a moment to look around as if he hadn’t been received as a guest on a few occasions.

“So.” He crossed his big arms over his torso, the sleeves clinging on for dear life, it seemed. “Your parents…?”

“Out of town. Visiting some relative.” You breathed.

“And that’s why you invited me over, huh?” He stepped closer, his dark eyes lingering on the bit of your bare shoulder that was revealed from the drooping neckline of your oversized hoodie before flickering up to stare into yours.

“Yeah,”

A low, pleased, “naughty girl,” sounded in that rich voice of his just as a ghost of a smile appeared on his lips. “Where’s your bedroom?”

“Across the street from yours. Think you’d know that by now.”

“Very funny, sweetie.”

“Up the stairs. Second room on the right.”

He clicked his tongue in a mock dejected way and then heaved out a sigh. “I’m a visual learner.” 

You grinned. “Come on, then.”

Before you knew it, you led Joel Miller up your stairs. Joel Miller, who had beers with your dad every other Friday or so. Joel Miller, who helped with your yard work. Joel Miller, who was definitely too rough around the edges for you and almost absolutely too old for you.

But as he stepped inside your bedroom, you felt no semblance of regret—only anticipation.

Trying to appear calm and collected (you were definitely no such thing on the inside), you went over to your window to draw the blinds shut. They rattled faintly with a hollow clatter before slanting completely and obscuring your bedroom from the outside world.

Now, it was just you and Joel.

You and Joel.

Holy shit, Joel Miller was in your room.

“Looks different from the inside.” The man of the hour muttered, lingering by your vanity table and taking a framed picture of seven-year-old you in his hands. He angled it toward you amusedly. “Cute,” He hummed.

You flushed slightly and snatched it from his hands.

“That’s private.” You quickly set it down behind you on your dresser.

“Oh, and masturbating in front of me isn’t?” Joel cocked his head to the side, his gaze dragging down your figure. “You’ve got some pretty interestin’ boundaries, sweets.”

You took a gulp, face heating even more at the mention of your recent impropriety.

“Relax, I’m just teasin’.” Joel let out a huff of laughter and shook his head, taking a seat on the edge of your bed.

“I’m relaxed.” You leaned back against the door, watching him with attentive eyes.

“Funny. You don’t seem like it.” Joel raised a dark brow and then beckoned you nearer with an incline of his forefinger. “Come a little closer, darl’. Swear I don’t bite.”

You stepped forward, nearing him to a point where you stood in between his spread legs, directly in front of him.

“This close enough?”

“Just about, yeah.”

Joel reached a hand out toward you but hesitated midair. His dark eyes bore into yours, silently asking for permission.

You nodded.

Satisfied, Joel took the zipper of your hoodie and slowly pulled it down until it stopped just below your collarbone.

Then, he gently tugged it down the neckline, exposing your shoulders one by one.

“You’re tense,” Joel murmured, locking eyes with you and maintaining that eye contact as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your upper arm.

“I’m not.”

“Not a very good liar, either.” He tutted, unzipping your hoodie even more and pulling it down even further, exposing the tops of your breasts.

He wasted no time in exploring the area with his mouth, planting delicate kisses along your sternum. The way in which the warmth of his lips grazed your chest was almost reverent, but definitely too slow.

Joel just barely pulled away to meet your gaze. “If you wanna stop, kid, just say the word, and I’ll stop. Scout’s honour.”

“Well, I don’t want you to.”

“Good.” Joel’s lips pulled upward in a small, if not slightly depraved smile as he leaned back. “Wasn’t so sure I could, anyway. Now, you gonna be a good girl and take everything off for me?”

Zzzzip!

Down fell your hoodie into a limp pile on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

“Attagirl,” Joel hummed, his half-lidded eyes blatantly admiring the curves of your bare form.

Because, fuck, you were certainly a sight for sore eyes.

“Didn’t bother dressing up fully, hm?” He mused. His hands settled on your upper thighs and caressed lazy circles into your plush skin.

“I can always put the clothes back on,” You offered, looping your arms around his broad shoulders as you looked down at him.

“Nah. I like the view,”

“I know.” You bit back a smile as you slowly straddled him. “‘S why I always left my blinds open.”

Joel hummed, his hands coming to rest on your waist, thumbs still idly tracing indistinguishable shapes into your skin.

“I noticed.” He said.

Being as close as you were to him, you observed that his dilated pupils bled into his eyes, transforming them almost completely into endless pools of black.

“I wanted you to.”

Letting your words sink in, you moved even closer to the point where you were almost certain Joel could feel the way your bare tits pressed up against his chest through the thin fabric of his shirt.

“And to think, this whole time I thought you were a well-behaved little thing, hm?” Joel sighed, leaning forward to let his lips lightly travel down your neck, sending shivers down your spine with each gentle kiss. “Guess I should’ve known.”

You absentmindedly grinded into his lap and whined softly at his teasing.

“Aw, you gotta behave, sweets.” Joel tutted. “Ain’t gonna last long, and I wanna take my time with you.”

“Oh, come on, old man, I didn’t invite you over for the foreplay.”

“Old man, huh?” Joel chuckled. “Tell me, then, baby, what did you invite me over for?” The smile in his voice was evident as he continued to plant light kisses down your neck.

“Do I have to spell it out for you, Mr Miller?”

“Think so.”

And, not even a full beat later—

“Want you to fuck me.”

An airy ‘Jesus fucking Christ’ was all you heard before he suddenly turned you over so you were sprawled on your stomach over his lap and your legs were hanging off the bed.

“They say patience is a virtue, sweetheart.” He said from above you, his voice low and wrecked with lust.

You were about to release a witty retort, but were abruptly cut off by the sound of Joel spitting onto his hand and ghosting his fingers over your slick cunt, only just barely dipping his fingers in between your folds.

Joel’s voice dripped with a saccharine sweetness as he continued, “well, then again, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a virtuous man.”

One thick finger slid easily into your dripping mound, stroking down your pulsating walls.

You were barely given time to process the sensation before a second joined, stretching your cunt deliciously.

You gasped, involuntarily jerking upward, but Joel kept you down with a firm hand against your back as the other crooked inside you at a steady rhythm.

“Shh, shh, you gotta stay still, baby. Gotta take it like a good girl.” He shushed your cries.

Shortly after, he slipped a third finger alongside the initial two, filling you up even more.

“Joel!” You gripped your sheets tightly, still being held down by him.

“I know, baby, I know. ‘S bigger than yours.” He said as his fingers began picking up the pace, dragging against your walls and briskly pumping in and out. “But you’re the one who wanted me to hurry up, hm? Remember that?”

His thumb moved against your clit, pressing down and rubbing incessantly.

Your back arched instinctively off his lap again, but you were once more immobilised by the weight of his large palm.

Then, smack!

A white-hot sensation prickled along your ass, but was subsequently dulled by the feeling of his large hand moving down your back to your ass to cup and soothe your aching skin with gentle caresses.

Did he just… did he just spank you?

“Fuck!” You moaned.

“Told you to stay still.” Joel sighed almost sympathetically as he continued fucking his fingers deep inside your aching cunt. “Should’ve known better than to listen to you. Should’ve taken my time. Pretty young thing like you probably doesn’t know what she really wants, huh? Gotta let me decide for you. Now look at you, drooling on my lap and moaning like a fuckin’ whore.”

But, to you, all his words were drowned out by the high-pitched ringing in your ears that alerted you of your impending climax approaching so quickly you thought you were in danger of blacking out when it came.

“Gonna… gonna…” You managed to whine out as your eyelids fluttered from the pleasure.

“Gonna what, baby?”

Smack!

A broken, pitchy moan escaped your throat, vaguely resembling his name.

“Gonna what?” Joel prompted, his tone still sickeningly sweet, but you were now well aware of the sharp edge beneath it. 

“Gonna come,” You breathed. “Fuck, Joel, gonna come!”

“That right?”

All of a sudden, his fingers pulled out.

What the fuck?

“Sorry, sweets. You’re gonna come on my cock tonight. Nowhere else.” Joel caressed the globe of your ass once more, before patting it twice. “C’mon, now. Sit up. There’s a girl,”

Blinking away the tears threatening to pool in your eyes from the overstimulation, you slowly straightened up on his lap.

“Aw, baby, no. You’re alright,” Joel cooed, bringing a hand to cup your face. 

He then leaned in to press a soft kiss on both of your eyelids, one by one. 

A kiss on your left, then your right.

“You’re alright, hm?”

A peck on your forehead, next.

“Yeah, you’re alright. C’mere,”

And in a light-headed blur, his lips were on yours, moving unhurriedly against your mouth, sucking and nipping at your bottom lip as if savouring the taste of your skin.

You were quick to relent, letting your eyes fall shut and obediently parting your mouth when he swiped his tongue against your lower lip, his scruff rubbing against your chin with every pulse of the kiss.

Joel groaned as he licked desperately into your mouth, his eyebrows knitted together and his other hand coming up to guide you impossibly closer against him.

You were pressed right against him, but he still attempted to bring you closer in vain, possibly not satisfied with your proximity until you were melded together.

Before you knew it, your back fell against the mattress, and Joel was caging you in with his larger frame; big arms snaked around your waist and further up, still, holding you to him by your nape.

“Fuck, you feel like a dream.” He mumbled against your lips. “Can barely hold back from destroying your pretty fuckin’ pussy…”

You mumbled something unintelligible.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

“Shirt.” You repeated, breathless.

“Shirt,” Joel cocked an eyebrow, parroting you in confusion.

“Take off your shirt. Please.”

“Remembered our manners, have we?” Joel laughed lowly and kissed the corner of your mouth. “Only ‘cause you were so polite, baby.”

And, in a flash of plaid flannel, Joel hovered above you, stripped of a shirt.

Thank the fucking lord.

You splayed your hands out on the expanse of his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin leak out onto your palms.

“Jeans, next?” You batted your eyelashes sweetly.

Joel clicked his tongue and pretended to mull the request over, as if he wasn’t already sporting a raging hard-on at the sight of you flushed, naked, and laid out underneath him.

You sighed.

“Please?” You stressed out the syllables.

“There we go.” Joel smiled to himself and leaned back on his haunches to unbuckle his belt and unzip his jeans.

Sliding the strap from his belt loops and shimmying out of his jeans, he was left only in his boxers, the material of which did nothing to hide the prominent bulge in his lap.

You audibly gulped. 

It was one thing seeing him from the house down and another entirely to be within arm’s length. Less, even, as he neared you with a cloudy look of intensity.

“Still impatient?” He ran a hand along your upper thigh, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

“Surprisingly, yes.”

Joel said nothing, but dipped a hand below the waistband of his boxers to fish out his fully-hard cock.

Tanned. Long. Thick. Heavy. Tip frustratedly flushed a dark shade, with a bead or two of shiny precum oozing out.

Yep, he was going to be a tight fit.

He lazily pumped himself once, twice, as he studied your reaction.

“Havin’ second thoughts?” Joel broke into a small, lascivious grin.

“Not at all.”

“Tha’s good,” He slurred in that rich, low Texan drawl, then tapped the side of your knee as he rose over you. “Open up now, sweetheart.”

You obliged almost instantly.

“Fuck, look at you,” Joel hummed contentedly as he slotted himself in between your spread legs. “So pretty for me, baby.”

Without waiting another second, he took his dick and pressed his leaking head against your entrance. It slid inside only by a few inches, the thickness of his warm, swollen tip already overwhelming you.

You let out a choked gasp, and your hands flew to grasp at his upper arms.

“Easy, sweetheart.” Joel huffed. He winced as he carefully dragged out then pushed back in to give you a few more inches, reaching the halfway point. Fuck, you were tight. “‘M almost there. Gotta take it like the good girl you are.”

All you could grant him in response was an open-mouthed nod, eyes blurring from the overwhelming feeling that was Joel Miller’s fat cock slowly driving into you.

A little bit out, a little more in.

A little bit out—a stutter of his hips and a whispered “fuck”—then, a little more in.

A lot more in.

When you felt the tip of his length find your cervix, you were already drunk on the feeling of being filled up by him, you hardly noticed the tears beginning to pool in your eyes.

“Aw, none of that, sweetheart.” Joel cooed, leaning closer to you to trail his lips down your neck, mumbling low words of affection in between kisses. “You’re alright, ain’tcha? My brave, brave girl.”

“It’s so much,” You squeaked, gripping him tightly.

“I know, baby, I know.” He sighed.

Joel’s hand found its way to yours, intertwining your fingers with his and bringing it to lay by your head.

Then, he slowly pulled his hips back, leaving you almost wholly devoid of his thickness, before driving back in, dragging against your tight walls.

“But you were the one who asked me t’come over, hm?” Joel said against your pulse point, then lifted his head to meet your gaze, his eyes darkened and glassy. “This is all on you, baby.”

And then he began rolling his hips into you at a steady pace, all while holding your stare, watching closely as your face contorted in pleasure.

“Fucking—god!” Your chest heaved with laboured breaths.

“‘S ‘Joel’, but close enough, darl’.”

You had enough defiance in you to think up a sarcastic comeback, but evidently not enough to voice such a quip—mostly because you were too busy having your breath stolen from you. 

Because, luckily for you, Joel decided that was the appropriate moment to begin picking up the pace of his thrusts.

Your mouth fell open slightly, and the nails of your free hand raked down his broad back as he slammed and slammed into your weeping mound.

“Fuck, baby.” He hissed through his teeth, squeezing your hand as he felt his skin burn from your freshly made scratch marks, but was otherwise unrelenting in his ruthless tempo. “Tryna mark me up or somethin’?”

“Sorry… ‘s just—shit! So much…” You bit the inside of your cheek.

Slam after slam of his cock came and went, causing your eyelids to flutter and airy gasps to leave your throat.

“So much? Oh, honey, you wanted this.” Joel tutted, face morphing into a false veil of sympathy. “Wanted this so bad, you fucked yourself in front of me, hm?”

Your cheeks burned at his blunt, albeit entirely true, statement.

Joel’s lips twisted into a small grin at your speechlessness. And, ever the chatterbox, continued:

“Dirty—”

Slam.

“Fuckin’—“

Slam.

“Girl.”

At this moment, you were incredibly relieved your house stood alone and was not conjoined to another, as anyone on the other side of your bedroom would have easily heard the insistent thudding of your headboard against your wall.

Thank god for detached houses.

And, more importantly, thank god for the man that was Joel fucking Miller.

“Imagined this for ages, y’know.” He said, from above you.

“I-Imagined what?” You breathed, despite knowing exactly what was coming next.

“Fucked my fist to this exact scenario for nights at a time. And I gotta say, baby, you definitely exceeded my expectations. You and this tight fuckin’ pussy of yours.”

Upon hearing his filthy words, you felt yourself clench around him.

“Oh, fuck. You like hearin’ that, huh?” Joel almost growled. “Shit… Come here, baby.”

And he kissed you in a feverish frenzy that held no sense of rhythm or restraint. Only urgency and deep-rooted, desperate desire; a graceless collision of lips and teeth and tongue and lust.

You only broke away, gasping into his mouth, when the force of his thrusts allowed his tip to kiss your cervix with every roll of his hips.

“Joel! Joel, I…”

“Yeah?” He panted, his brows drawn in effort.

“Need to—need to come.”

“Oh, really now?”

You were, at risk of sounding completely predictable, seeing stars at that moment. Every drag of his cock into you sent heat flooding into your core, nearly suffocating you in pleasure.

And, as if reading your mind, Joel brought his thumb to your clit and began to swipe graciously; every stroke bringing gasps from your hanging mouth.

Your back arched off your mattress as you felt yourself reach closer and closer until—

“Joel!” You all but screamed.

Your climax hit you like a freight train; hard and fast. 

Ripples of pleasure reverberated all over your trembling body, spawning little black dots that danced in your vision and creating a familiar warmth stemming from your lower gut that surrounded you like an embrace.

“That’s my girl,” Joel hummed approvingly, slowly slipping out of you with a strained grunt.

He then lowered his head to slot his mouth against yours, unhurriedly moving his lips as he swallowed your sighs.

“Don’t get too comfy, sweets. We ain’t finished just yet.” Joel mumbled.

“We’re not…?”

Oh.

It had only just occurred to you that, unlike yourself, he hadn’t come.

You looked down to where his cock was, only inches away from your slick cunt. Tip flushed a deep, frustrated shade, glistening with both your arousal and his precum, most likely the painful kind of hard.

Joel pressed a final kiss to your lips, slurring decisively, “you’re gonna ride me, baby.”

And his word was absolute.

Well, you certainly didn’t object as he manoeuvred you onto his lap—your legs bracketing his hips—as he sat against your headboard. His big, calloused, work-worn hands held your waist, urging you closer and letting you feel the base of his length against your mound.

You held your breath, steadying yourself on his wide shoulders as you slowly lifted your hips to hover above him.

Better late than never.

Joel watched you intently as you took him inside you, slowly sinking down and letting every thick inch of him fill you head-on.

“Fuck,” Joel almost growled, eyes going foggy.

You gripped his shoulders tighter, biting your lower lip as you continued to lower yourself, inch by tortuous inch, until you finally took him in his generous entirety, the salt-and-pepper curls at the base of his cock tickling your inner thighs.

If you thought he felt big before, this angle taught you that ‘big’ had not even been properly established until that exact moment.

Fuck, you could practically feel him in your guts.

“Move,” He gritted his teeth, and his dark eyes flickered to meet yours. The authority in his tone was ultimately eclipsed by the way his gaze was overcome with raw desperation. Joel grunted again with urgency, “Christ alive, baby, move.”

And so you did.

You started with small rolls of your hips, lifting only by a small margin upwards, before spearing yourself back down in a relaxed tempo.

Up… down, up … down, up … down.

 Joel’s voice very quickly broke you from your bout of concentration.

“You can do better than that,” He tutted, gently patting your hip in reassurance. “Ride me like your fuckin’ dildo, baby. C’mon, I know you got it in you. Saw it myself across the street.”

Fuck, as if you needed a reminder.

His words caused you to instinctively clench around him, your pussy squeezing his aching cock like a vice.

“Shit,” He hissed. “Told you to ride, now, didn’t I?”

Dutifully, you took it upon yourself to obey his command and fuck yourself on him at a faster pace.

Up, down, up, down, up, down.

Low, wrecked moans and obscenely wet sounds pierced the quiet of your room as you maintained your speed.

In fact, you were suddenly very grateful you were left home alone because it was very possible that anyone within a five-mile radius of your house could hear how well you were taking Joel’s dick.

“Yeah, thassit, sweet thing.” Joel hummed, his hands taking over and bouncing you on his cock himself. 

And you very eagerly let his big palms hold your waist, bringing you up and down with greedy persistence, whilst simultaneously fucking up into you, carving into your channel with deliberately rough drags of his length.

Joel took what he wanted, and what he wanted was as much as physically possible.

Up-down-up-down-up-down—

Then, his pace faltered, his hands hesitated, and his dick twitched inside your velvety walls.

“‘M almost there, sweets,” Joel grunted, shortly resuming his brutal pace.

You whimpered, gripping his shoulders tighter.

“Meantime, you’re gonna give me one more.” Joel smiled at you through his half-lidded eyes and brought his hand to rub at your sensitive bundle of nerves, stroking sloppy semi-circular motions until you cried out:

“C-Can’t! I can’t, Joel,” You whined.

“Oh, yes, you can, baby.” Joel hummed, your protest only fueling the unforgiving pace of both his fingers and his cock.

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe; overwhelmed with Joel and Joel alone. He was everywhere, in your ear, whispering filthy words of praise, below you as you straddled his lap, around you as he held you in place.

And, most unforgettably, he was inside you, ramming into your cervix like he wanted to rearrange your guts.

Updownupdownupdownupdown—

“C’mon, sweets. Give me another. Give me another, baby, you can do it. My good girl can do it, hm? Make this old man real proud,”

Blood pounded in your ears, your heart thudded rapidly against your chest, and warmth blossomed in your core.

So close. You were so close.

It only took a few more swipes against your clit until, finally, “Fuck—Joel!”

Fireworks exploded in your lower stomach as your second orgasm of the night took hold of you. It captured you suddenly, almost violently, causing your body to tremble and arch perfectly toward Joel as pitchy whines bubbled up from your throat.

Joel continued to fuck up into you and use the purchase he had on your hips to resume the animalistic pace he had originally initiated.

Not long after, “so pretty for me. Bet you’ll be even prettier with my come drippin’ out of ya, huh?”

The sweetness of his rich voice almost disguised the intent of his words.

It took a moment for you to register what he had said.

“Your—your what?” You breathed.

Joel’s lips found their way from your jaw down to your pulse point as he nipped and mouthed at your neck. You felt him smile against your skin at your reaction.

“Gonna fill you up, baby.” He mumbled in between kissing a line down your throat. “Gonna fuck my spend into this needy little pussy, hm?”

“Joel. Joel, I’m not-”

Not on birth control, you endeavoured to make known to the man fucking you raw.

But he shushed you, and you consequently shut up. 

Well, your sudden silence could also have been accredited to the endurance of his thrusts, still driving up into you at a frenzied pace.

“‘S okay, baby, I’ll drop by the store tomorrow. You just sit there and let me have this, okay?” Joel pulled away to find your gaze.

Almost instantly, you found yourself lost in the depths of his deep, dark stare. Those damn soft eyes of his—they held you captive, pulling you in with an effortless gravity.

“Okay.” You whispered.

“That’s a girl,” Joel hummed “Fuck, I’m almost there. Need this so… shit, so fuckin’ bad.”

It was safe to say that, after nearly a year of secretly fucking his fist to the thought of you in his dingy little shower, this affair was long overdue.

“C’mon, baby. Let me hear you. Let me hear what you sound like when I fill you up.”

If you thought you were going to faint before, you certainly believed you would soon, what with the ruthless pace he was setting as he chased his own release.

Updownupdownupdownupdown—

“JOEL!” 

His hands held you down on him—his hips pressed flush against you—as a choked groan ripped from his throat. Hot ropes of his come spilled deep into you, painting your walls white and pumping you full of his seed.

While he had ceased moving you on and off his cock like a fucking sextoy, Joel still subjected your aching cunt to lazy rolls of his hips as his orgasm died down.

Glancing down, you were greeted by the sight of pale, silky strings of his come leaking out from where you two were still connected, staining both your inner thighs and the hair at the base of his length.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Without a word, Joel cradled you to him, and you felt another pulse of his come shoot up inside you.

“Joel,” You gasped, melting against his barrel chest.

“Shh, baby. Got more for you.” His scruff rubbed against your head as he kissed your crown. “Take it, just—yeahhhh, that’s a girl.”

Another spurt.

And, one final warm gush of his come, hips stuttering as it overtook him.

Joel let out a deep, satisfied exhale.

“There,” He hummed, bringing your face upwards to look at him. “All done, hm?”

You nodded dreamily, your teary eyes falling to his lips.

Joel smiled lopsidedly and slanted his mouth against yours, pulling you into a languid, sloppy kiss.

As utterly fucked out as you were, you were unable to express just how well he had dicked you down—which, for the record, was very well—so you resorted to showing your gratitude against his lips.

Your tongue gratefully flicked and tangled inside his mouth, your lips just as appreciative, as also indicated by the low hums of pleasure Joel very eagerly swallowed.

“Remind me to fuck myself in front of you more often.” You mumbled, just barely pulling away from the kiss.

“Gladly, sweetheart.”

Joel’s eyes turned half-lidded as he once again leaned forward with the intent of stealing another kiss from your divine lips, when his attention was caught by the faint glow of headlights creeping through your blinds.

He was one second away from pointing out the fact that a car had just pulled up in your driveway but was so very rudely interrupted by the distant sound of your front door slamming shut.

Looks like your parents were home early.

You stared wide-eyed at Joel. “Shit,”

He mirrored your expression, agreeing gravely, “shit.”