#took me a day to recover

[lovetositinsilence]

we could have been… us.

[shirks-all-responsibilities]

K look, I read this standalone, having not read the series so far, and um...you know when you read something that SO perfectly hits every single one of your buttons it's as though it was written just for you? TWAS ME, at the end of this chapter, hands over my eyes with my head hanging down, breathing deep, trying to collect mahself and not completely lose my MINDDD over this. And to come to this chapter fresh, the way their dynamic unfolds was de-light-ful to read...

Just...the way you convey that awful, aching feeling of being "not enough" for someone, of not being their equal, feeling so behind, too weak, the way it feels so shameful, like something is so deeply wrong with you...to feel this way with JOEL MILLER in THAT WORLD is a WHOLE THING that ups the depth of the feeling to a 10.

So to have THE MAN THAT IS JOEL MILLER react the way he does, admiring her talents and what she brings to the table, relishing and reveling in her softness and submission, letting her melt into it, transforming it into something more, earning it, praising her and flipping any negative connotations on their head, turning submission into strength, HIS DIALOGUE is imprinted in my BRAIN NOW, SWEET HOLY STARS:

“See honey, you’re not too soft. Someone so soft couldn’t take it this hard.” His words are punctuated with a grunt, as fucks into you harder. “Wouldn’t let me fuck ‘em all the ways I want like you do.”

Hall of fame smut dialogue right here, I have ASCENDED to another plane, asdfpajsodfiasjd;flaksdj;flsdjkdj;aljfksddkkdkdkdkkd. 🥵🥵

My WORD how I love the way you write this particular kind of dynamic they have here, I can insta-recognize your style and I am VIBING with it. Thank youuuuu so much for sharing what is most certainly the furthest thing from garbage that could be!

Short Days, Long Nights: 7

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Series Masterlist

a/n: Thank you endlessly, as always, to @mourningbirds1 for being so patient and kind with me, and for guiding me in the right directions when I'm stuck. And to @the-ginger-hedge-witch for reading this through and reassuring me it's not the 9 page garbage that I wanted to delete. Enjoy! ❤

--

“Just let me –” he starts, frowning in frustration when you jerk your hand away, reflexively tightening your fist into a ball to cradle it against your chest. 

“It’s just –” He sighs, a long tired thing that only older men have mastered. “I’ll be fast. You won’t even feel it.”

“I’ve heard that before, Miller,” you say without thinking, and his head jerks up, his eyes narrowing. 

“Bullshit, honey,” he replies, reaching for your hand again. You give it to him, making him tug a little to unfurl it into the palm of his hand. “Wasn’t me you heard that from.”

“No, you’re right,” you agree, giving him a small, knowing smile. “Not you.”

He winks, pressing his thumb into the base of the sliver to see if it will present itself and you hiss in pain, letting out a whimper. 

You know you’re being absurd, but you can’t help it. 

It’s just a sliver, and in the grand scheme of things, you have been subjected to much worse. Much worse. But it was huge and unexpected and buried itself in your palm so deep that it brought instant tears to your eyes and that – those tears – were what made you feel the most fragile. 

When was the last time something that happened to you made you cry? 

Once you started, you couldn’t stop. 

His eyes flick up to your face, his brow knit with gentle concern and his thumb strokes the heel of your hand, making it blossom open for him. You keep your eyes fixed on the movement, willing the tears that blur your vision to stop – but they won’t. A hot trail slips down over your cheek, another one following it and you feel so foolish and embarrassed you tilt your head to the side, trying to hide your face. 

“Hey.” 

His hand comes up, gently nudging your face back to him and he wipes the small drop resting on the curve of your cheek away. “I promise I’ll be gentle. We can’t let it sit in there, okay? Don’t want to get it infected.”

You nod, taking a breath. 

Steeling yourself, you let your hand relax in his and shift your eyes to focus on anything but the sight of your palm: the leaves on the trees, dappled with sunlight. The winding vines in the garden, reaching their way towards the sky. The weather worn deck, with its dried out planks and its rickety stairs and then you’re looking at the railing, the source of the sliver, with a shudder. 

“Stay still,” he murmurs, low and focused. 

His hands are so big in comparison to yours, and his fingers brush the surface of your palm with more delicacy than they look capable of. He presses again into the skin at the base of the sliver with his thumb, his eyes flicking up to your face for a moment before dropping back down to the task at hand and when he digs the tip of his knife into your skin, you clench your eyes shut. 

“Breathe, honey,” he rumbles. 

You do, a deep inhale as he works quickly to peel the skin back just enough to grab the wood and then he’s sliding it out; his knife tossed onto the ground next to him.

Blood seeps slick into the cracks of your hand, a small pool gathering in the center of it and he’s ready for it with a clean piece of cloth, pressing it into place. 

“You seem like you’ve done this before,” you say, balling your hand up around the fabric.

He works a spool of gauze open, motioning with a jerk of his chin for you to give back your hand.

“Taken a sliver out?” he asks, eyebrows raised.  “I don’t think I even feel them anymore. My hands are pretty rough, always have been. I used to have to do it all the time for –,” he pauses, his expression falling into something more solemn and you wait for him to continue the sentence, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays quiet for a moment, his jaw shifting subtly under the scruff of his beard. “I’ve had plenty of em’ before. You get used to it.”

Working quickly to wind the gauze around the width of your hand a couple times, he secures it in place and before you can take your hand back, he’s bending to press his lips over the top. 

This – this is what you were talking about. Not the deft competency in which he removed the sliver, but the care infused in the action. Like he had practice soothing frayed nerves and touching with gentle hands, had practice in the softness it required. This life wouldn’t have taught him those skills.

The heat of his mouth is a fleeting thing against your skin, his whiskers brushing the cup of your palm and he pulls back, giving you a smile. 

“You okay to keep going?”

You test your hand, flexing your fingers a couple of times and nod, standing up. “Yea, I’m good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replies easily, sliding his knife back into the holster. 

Making your way over to the garden, you kneel beside it and start on the task you were headed for before you got the sliver. Weeds have snuck in, worming their way between the plants and you work diligently, ignoring the catch of your bandage on the stalks. The pain radiating from your palm throbs, a pulse beating in time with your heart and you frown, frustrated.

You should be used to pain by now, you scold yourself. 

Joel’s gone back to what he was doing when he heard your yelp of pain and you glance over at where he squats next to the base of the deck, checking for rotted wood with an obviously trained eye. His movements are precise, his hands feeling along the splintered wood with a practiced, deft touch and the comment he made about slivers comes back to you. 

In comparison to yours, you can’t imagine everything that his hands have been through and done, but you do know some of the things they have and thinking about it, you feel another hot wash of embarrassment at your previous tears. 

You think about all the infected Joel has killed without a thought, all the people he’s probably done the same to just to survive. He’s told you about some of them with zero regret in his voice and you know it to be true, because what was there to regret? They would have done the same to him. You don’t begrudge him of his choices, but rather admire him for them. That same ruthlessness is responsible for keeping you alive for this long, and you wish you only had a fraction of it. 

The pile of limp, broken foliage grows beside you, dirt crammed under your fingernails as you keep going and the ground is cool and crumbly, letting the weeds slip through easily. 

The tears came instantly when that wood pierced and embedded itself in your skin, and the shock of them startled you just as much as the pain did. When was the last time you allowed yourself the luxury of crying? No point in it because it wouldn’t help your situation; no one around to soothe and reassure you but the damp cover of your pillow in your old, shitty QZ apartment; no use in letting the pain seep into your chest deep enough to seep out through your eyes because it did nothing for you. 

You used to think that leaving yourself soft was a strength — a sort of quiet, delicate resilience in the face of harsh realities — and while you still think there was something admirable in it once, you know it’s more foolish than anything now. Softness is seen as a weakness in this world, and you tried for so long to bury your vulnerabilities and your hurt but the last couple months have unearthed those dormant feelings. You wonder if it bothers him. 

The act of him pressing his lips to your palm takes on a new meaning: how long until he gets tired of having to care for you like a child? How long until he decides that he’d be better off with a partner of equal footing?

He hasn’t said anything to make you think that, but self doubt always wins over logic, and your anxiety easily dismisses the ways in which he has only indulged you. While you’ve been here: allowing you to pick and choose the chores you can stomach, tucking your face into the crook of his shoulder to help you sleep, working out that sliver without so much as a disappointed frown. The way he’s always done it: shielded you from violence as much as possible while on the road together, never making you be the one to kill unless you had to. 

The sun shines bright above you, sweat damping the roots of your hair and you get to the edges of the weeds; the bandage already blackened with dirt, the edges of it slightly frayed. Pulling the rest, you gather the pile in your hands and walk them over to the edge of the woods, dumping them there. 

You can feel his eyes tracking you, and afraid that if you look up and see pity in them that you’ll start crying again, you avoid looking back as you pass him, heading back inside. 

—

You had been in a bad mood since he patched your hand up and unable to figure out why, it bothers him. Worry pulls at the edges of his thoughts, nags and picks at him as he works, and he skates carefully around the edge, giving you your space.

Several sections of the deck have rotted, and while he didn’t have the lumber needed for repairs, he took what he could from where he could spare. Busying himself with the task, he is surprised at how much of his skill comes back to him. His hands move of their own accord; the familiar actions of ripping out nails to pull up boards, sawing them to fit the sections he needs, hammering them back into place. Much more pleasant than anything he had ever done on work duty in the QZ, his hands knew this and it was nice to do something that he hadn’t taught them how to do out of desperation. 

He grips the source of your sliver, the warped, dry railing to the side of the deck stairs and tugs it off with more force than needed. Even as rotted as it is, waste isn’t a concept and he mentally saves it for tinder, tossing it into the grass. 

You had been off since you woke up this morning; images of you cycling quickly through his mind: the solemness to your expression, your unusual quietness. It got worse after the sliver, your back to him as you worked in the garden and then avoiding his gaze before wordlessly passing him to head inside the cabin. He doesn’t think you were crying, but he frowns, unsure. 

Picking up one of the large tree branches that fell in the storm, he measures it along the section where he needs it and then cuts it to fit. A tricky job to nail it into place by himself, he gives it a tug when he’s done to test its strength, and deciding it needs a few more nails to hold it in place, he goes in search of more. 

He looks for you on the couch when he walks inside, hesitating for a second when you’re not there. Coming to find you, he peers into your doorway to see you curled up on your bed asleep, your bandaged hand resting in a loose curl under your chin and his expression softens as he lingers in the doorway for a moment before letting you be. 

Rummaging through the drawers in the kitchen, he finds a small box of nails and pulls it out; a silent longing for deck screws and the wide aisles of a hardware store on a weekend morning. Sunlight streams through the open window, the beam catching on the amber liquid in the whiskey bottle and it glows, inviting and warm. 

Looking at it for a moment, he gets an idea and snatching it off the counter, he goes back outside. 

–

It’s late afternoon when you wake up from your nap, Joel lightly shaking your shoulder. 

“Hey,” he says, his voice husky and low. “I wanna show you something.”

The dense fog of disorientation that comes with every midday nap makes you slow moving, his hand finding yours to lead you outside to the deck, and when you see what he’s set up, your first true smile of the day curls along the edges of your mouth. 

“What’s this?”

“You seemed like you weren’t having the best day, so I…..well, I did what I could.” His hand scrubs the back of his neck, his eyes on your face and in another first for the day, his expression looks unsure. “It’s not a lot, but I thought it would be nice?”

He’s brought the blankets from the couch outside, draping them over the wooden bench on the deck, along with a couple of ratty throw pillows for cushioning and a table is set up next to it, with canned fruit from the pantry next to some meat that he’s cooked. To the side of the plates rest two small glasses. 

“Hungry?” he asks, motioning for you to sit. 

Eating together in companionable silence, the meat is flavored with herbs that you had grown, a small delicacy compared to the bland, unseasoned flavor that you had been tasting for months now and you tell him so, smiling inward at the obvious pride on his face. He takes the dishes when you’re done, setting them to the side and you watch as he walks down the stairs, taking in the new railing that he installed this afternoon. Touched, your eyes follow him down to the bank, where he kneels by the water and wondering what he’s doing, you smile when he turns around with the bottle of whiskey in his hands, coming back to join you. 

Pouring two drinks, he then sits down, handing the bottle to you. 

“Here,” he says, curving the grip of your injured hand over the ice cold glass. It soothes the dull, throbbing ache instantly and your body relaxes against the bench, your cheek coming to rest on his shoulder. Handing you your glass, the two of you watch as the sun sets. 

Color streaks across the horizon, sunlight barely hanging on in the glimmers of white that touch the ripples in the water and you take a swallow of your drink, savoring the cold, thick slide of it down your throat. 

“Your hand feel better?” he asks, lifting his arm for you, tucking you into his side.

You nod, grateful for him and everything he’s done and guilt for the way you’ve been acting today creeps up into your chest. “Thank you. For all of this. I’m sorry I haven’t been very –”

He shakes his head, silently cutting you off. “Hey, no. Don’t gotta be sorry. We all have bad days.”

You fit yourself closer to him, taking another drink and when your glasses are empty, he refills them. 

“I’m glad the sky cooperated,” he says idly, tucking you into his side. The whiskey has made you loose and pliant, content. You hum in agreement, the drink softening the edges of your mood, but it doesn’t make it disappear entirely. The worry that’s sat inside you all day is still there, and before you know it, you’re voicing it aloud. 

“Am I too soft?” 

Your lips brush against his flannel, the words so quiet that if it was his right ear that was facing you, he wouldn’t have been able to hear them.

“What?” he asks, looking down at you. 

“Today, when I got that sliver.” You pull your bottom lip into your mouth, squeezing the cold bottle in your hand and you keep your gaze down, ashamed. “When I cried about it.” Your eyes come up to meet his, searching. “That was crazy, right? I mean, who does that? Over a sliver.”

He shrugs, setting his glass down before reaching out to touch you. His hand curves over your cheek, his thumb following the line of your cheekbone and then it drifts down, squeezing your shoulder in affirmation. “I don’t know. It was deep, I bet it fuckin’ hurt.”

You laugh at his blunt response, placing your drink between your knees to take his hand in yours. Pulling it close, you brush your lips across his knuckles, giving them a kiss. 

“Why are you worried about bein’ too soft?” he asks, and then it’s your turn to shrug.

“I just….I can’t stop thinking about it. About being a burden to you, and I don’t ever want that, you know? I want to be useful and strong, and I feel like –”

His frown deepens, his expression turning serious as he shifts to face you. “Hey. You could never be a burden, okay? Look at everything you’ve done.” He motions towards the garden. “I couldn’t have done that. I didn’t even think it was possible to do that, it never even crossed my mind as something we could do and then you did it.” 

He pulls you closer to him, his mouth dropping down next to your ear. 

‘Look at it, honey,” he murmurs, making sure you’re looking at the garden. “You did that.”

Your vision swims with tears, his words soothing the restless waters of your worries just like he soothed your hand today. 

“Maybe before you had to be tough, but not here. Not with me. I got you.”

You look up at him and he kisses you; tears sliding down your cheeks when you shut your eyes. His tongue slides against yours, his thumb streaking damp over your cheek where he’s wiped the tear away and you deepen it, pouring your gratefulness directly into him. Dusk settles around the two of you, the world a wash of muted darks and the familiar chirp of crickets is a background to your shadowed figures; pressed together, before pulling apart. 

“Is this how you used to court ladies before everything happened?” 

“Court?” he asks, offended. “How old do you think I am?”

You laugh over the end of his question, setting your glass to the side. “Oh stop. You know what I mean.”

The edge of his mouth lifts as he looks out at the water. “I mean, it’s nice isn’t it? Romantic?”

“Joel Miller,” you sigh with a smile, shaking your head. “A born again romantic.”

“Now hang on, honey,” he stops you, and you laugh again, the sound floating into the darkness. Taking a quick sip from the now warming bottle in your hand, you pretend to hold it out for him before you pull it away and then you’re scrambling to set it down on the boards by your feet while he leans into you with a grin, pushing you down onto the bench beneath him. You fight against his strong grip, the weight of his body pinning you down and his mouth finds the crook of your neck, burying his face there as you laugh underneath him. 

He peppers kisses along your skin, your laugh slowing as it slips into something softer and lower and when he looks up at the change of sound, you lift your head for a kiss.

–

Clothing peeled off and tossed onto the floor, he guides you down onto his bed and chases the soft embrace of your body as it curls around him. His mouth tastes everything it can reach: the round of your shoulder, the delicate skin over your ribs, the crease of your thigh. His knees ache as he kneels on the worn carpet beside the bed, dragging your body closer to the edge and then he’s tasting the very heart of you; slick and salt weeping on his tongue. 

His hooded eyes watch from between your thighs as you arch, his hand mapping the curve of your hip before sliding over your belly and up, his palm seeking out the weight of your breast. The skin there is petal soft, molding to his greedy touch and his mouth matches the need in his hands, his tongue delving deeper as his hand squeezes. Your gasps sound so pretty in the dark, so sweet yet filthy and he forces your legs open wider with his shoulders, pressing his face tighter against you. 

“Fuck,” you whine, your fingers threading into his hair and when you start to rock your hips against his mouth, a low, insistent heat gathers at the base of his spine. His cock throbs against his thigh, two thick fingers slipping inside you to stroke with a crook and when you come with a wordless cry, he ignores the protest of his knees and quickly crawls back up onto the bed. 

Caging you in, he settles on top of your body and for a moment, relishes the way you feel beneath him. 

Dazed and pliant, warmth held in your hooded eyes, a smile curled at the edge of your mouth - you look so soft underneath him. It makes him want to protect you, shield your body with his and ward off everything that seeks to hurt you – but it also makes him hard, knowing the softness is just for him. 

His, and his alone. 

He kisses you breathless, waiting until you’re restlessly grinding against each other with need and when he pulls back to guide you onto your stomach, you automatically try to rise to your hands and knees, but he splays his hand over your back, pushing you back down. You stretch out on the bed, the strong inside of his thighs pressing along the outside of yours when he straddles you from behind and the stiff weight of his cock drags along the curve of your ass, his hands reaching beneath you to tug your hips up. 

Leaning forward, his mouth follows the dip of your spine, his teeth catching on your shoulder blade before he soothes it with a kiss and his hand works itself between you and the mattress, seeking out your clit. He grins against your skin when he finds it, the weight of his body draped over your back and then he’s notching himself against your entrance, groaning when he feels how wet you are. 

“You take me so fucking well, honey,” he says, his lips dragging over your shoulder blade as he presses inside with a relieved groan that sounds loud over your whine when your back arches to allow him deeper. You take him down to the base, the squeeze of your cunt unbearably tight in this position and he already knows he isn’t going to last long. The plush give of your ass fits the hollow of his hips, his fingers working your clit in firm, competent swirls and when you clench around him, he shoves in deeper; the weight of his body a rhythmic grind on top of yours, his torso flush with your back as he strokes, strokes, strokes. 

“Harder,” you moan, turning your head as far as you can underneath him and he nods, widening his knees for purchase. His hand drifts down to grip your hip, and he obeys, forcing the air from your lungs with each push inside. 

Your strength arouses him; your blatant need. You’re soft hearted – so soft, softer than he could have ever imagined – and somehow the contrast of that paired with the way you’re arching beneath him and begging for more makes him almost lightheaded with lust. 

He loves that way you’re both. 

Innocence preserved, while begging to be filled. 

Tender and sweet, while begging for it harder.

He can give you both – protection and his body.  Take care of every need you have. 

“Like this?” he says, taking pride in your inability to answer him. “See honey, you’re not too soft. Someone so soft couldn’t take it this hard.” His words are punctuated with a grunt, as fucks into you harder. “Wouldn’t let me fuck ‘em all the ways I want like you do.”

His praise makes your eyes slip shut, a shiver rolling through your body as it goes straight to your core and you arch your back to take him deeper. 

“That’s my good fuckin’ girl,” he groans, breathless above you. “You’re so fuckin’ good for me. So good.”

Your hands fist the sheet, your mouth open in a pant and slick pools between his fingers underneath you, your thighs tensing between his. He keeps going, burying his face into the nape of your neck to whisper endless praises and the grind of his hips slows down, but he forces himself deeper, stretching you around him. He can’t stop his hips from seeking out the tight fist of your slick cunt, his nose filled with your scent and when he feels you come underneath him, his stomach tenses with his own impending release. 

He wants nothing more than to bury himself deep and come inside you, his hips automatically following the urge of his cock but he knows he can’t. Christ, he can’t. 

“Where do you want it?” he asks, his hips grinding, grinding, grinding. 

“Oh god –” you cry, your voice hoarse. “In my mouth, please, in my mouth.” 

He’s quick to pull out, his strong hand guiding you onto your back and you’ve barely slid into place with your face beneath his cock before he’s coming with a groan, one hand braced on the wall as the other works with a slick, rapid pump. 

Moonlight floods into his bedroom, shadows pooling in the dips and valleys of the bed and his spend glimmers milky white on your skin, pooling in streaks. When you lift your hand to push it into your mouth, the edge of your bandage gets in the way and he watches as you tug it gently off your hand, tossing it onto the floor. 

The skin underneath is raw and exposed, the wound still fresh and watching as you use your other hand to clean your face with lingering sucks, he bends to press a kiss to the spot he carved out earlier; your palm fitting his mouth just right. 

[fuupan]

drew these for heart pirates day and uhhhh ep1115

[kingtheghast]

Hey what show is this?

[neptune-scythe]

ok no longer rendered speechless from Confessions

the thoughts have cooked, and it's the way they made the very conscious choice to include Buck in Eddie's moment of joy, and not just because Buck is fundamentally rooted in every aspect of Eddie's life, especially the good parts

but it's the way they gave Buck a negative experience in that moment.

an experience Eddie could have so easily broken his moment for, to give everything to Buck in that moment and push aside his own needs and desires and existence

but he didn't

he just

welcomed Buck into his moment.

LIKE Y'ALL

Ok ok

the moment of joy, taking just a few minutes to just do something for the fuck of it because it makes him happy is obviously an amazing step that would be enough right there

BUT THEY TOOK IT A STEP FARTHER

they said

not only is Mr. Eddie Diaz taking a moment for joy, he's keeping that moment of joy when he could drop it for the sake of being there for his friend. But instead he's just letting his friend into his moment of joy, he's acknowledging that the two can coexist, both feelings, both experiences ... that there's as much space for him as there is for everyone else in his life

and that's just huge I think

like the episode starts with him saying "I put my desires before his needs" and implying that there is no space in the world for Eddie Diaz and his feelings/desires/needs, and they end the episode with Eddie allowing himself to experience a moment of joy purely for himself WHILE ALSO making space for someone else and being exactly what he needed just by physically being there and existing

because his desires and other peoples desires can be equally important

his needs and other people's needs can be equally important

and someone else said something about how neither of them have to do anything to support each other or provide any kind of service to be valuable

all they have to do is just exist and that is good enough for the other

(I cannot remember who made that post but that shit has been in my mind rent free every since so shout out to whoever that was)

and its just literally that

but also the fact that they make space for each other to exist however they are in that moment

they can be on the complete opposites of the emotional spectrum and sit together in silence and that is good enough

it's more than enough

it's everything

it's all they need

IT'S INSANE

IT'S SO FREAKING INSANE

like imma be so fr right now

I do not believe in love

I don't think there's any scenario where love is eternal and fulfilling and reliable and worth anything

and there is not a single ship or romantic partnership or queerplatonic partnership or friendship or any other kind of relationship that I can't think of a billion ways it would end tragically

except for Buddie

genuinely I cannot think of a single scenario where they would ever stop loving each other or supporting each other or being the most important person to the other

they are just so fundamentally perfect for each other, so engrained in each other's lives by choice

I honestly have no fucking clue what love is, but I think its whatever they have

and low-key if they never become romantic that is a o k with me because that perfect impenetrable bond they have will still be there and that is good enough for me

they're insane

they're perfect

they're so special and unique

no one is doing it like them

nobody ever

I still don't believe that that kind of thing exists in the real world but I will continue to loose my shit over it

[they-didnt-last]

anyone interested in talking about the iconic 2000's middle-grade-bordering-on-ya book series gallagher girls??

[imagoddamnonionmason]

Holiiii Goose!

For you! 🥰 Jodie and Woods. Love ya!

AAAAAALLLLLYYYY akdhaldlpwiwhablspajanslqj you don’t even understand how giddy and happy this make meeeeeeeee LIKE ok- i am CRYING

LOOK AT THEM. LOOK- EVERYONE LOOK RN

I just have to stay, Jodie is perfect. You got her perfect, the talent here is astounding and wonderful and you couldn’t have done her any more justice 😭😭 you can really tell you got her fc claim in mind too!

AND THEM TOGETHER LOOKING ALL BADASS - whoever is on the other end of that look 👀 damn

But thank you thank you thank YOU!! You are amazing and talented and I appreciate the time and effort you put into this, and I cannot praise and thank you enough

ILYSM ALY! 💖💖💖 you’re a star, a wonderful person 💖💖 now you better have yourself a wonderful day, remember you’re cherished and loved 🥰

[one-time-i-dreamt]

I gave birth to a fully dressed toddler. I could physically feel his little shoes and jeans slip out and he had on one of those little plaid hoodies from the 2010s. I couldn’t stop screaming.

[smimon]

Hi look at my Käärijä niche updated with all the cool stuff I got from Finland last week!!!

From Backas day, big thanks to @ninjani @omppupiiras @mitamicah for the lovely stickers, to @j-restlessgeek @carpblu @formulalakana @teal-skull @bisonaari for the colorful bracelets (I'm unsure about the Backas bracelet if it was from one of you or someone else?), to @tuherrus for the tarot card, to @clovermoonspell and Bison for the postcards from across the ocean, to @katinkulta for the wise cat leaflet, to Caro again for the Joker Out pin and to Jay again for the vacation Jere keychain 🧡

From Thursday, I have the Donald Duck magazine and a Häärijä sticker from Jay and these super cool bracelets from @n3ongold3n 🥰 thanks!!!

And from Allas day I got these fantastic stickers from @icbimakb 🫶 thank youuu

Also big thanks to N3on and @shirtlessradfahrer for helping me recreate Jesse's profile picture 😆, and both of you and @pianist-chan for hanging out at the mural later, and to @likearainbowinthedark and Bison for helping me get the Allas ticket, and to Micah for meeting up again on Saturday and for the Jesse sticky note drawing just for me (tape!!!), and to Icbi for translating Jere's jokes and for spare earplugs and for hanging out 🥹🧡 and to everyone else who was there!!! Everyone was so nice 😭

I hope I didn't mess up the names ahaha 🙈 Best summer camp ever 🥳

[reebmasul]

they're in a tiny photobooth hehe

.

also an attempt to COPE

[kyurochurro]

OUGHHHH finals have killed me…….. only way to recover is to draw spirk dancing :>;> :D ✨💫 🎶 I think Kirk would be a great dancer…..🚶

[whippetcrimes]

She's just so 🩷

[angelnumber27]

It’s so embarrassing and heartbreaking being in so much pain over losing someone while knowing they don’t give a fuck if you live or die. Your favorite person becoming a stranger is a special kind of hell.

[raiansun]

“Don’t worry though neighbor, it’ll be a little joke between you...and me.”

Alternate versions + Blood version under the cut ! Beware ! TW !!!

[rabctrl]

the voices are telling me to read some angsty jegulus, should i listen to them?

[bunnybeandraws]

L4D au by @hurrakka! Scary monster men are my favorite <3