#you of all people know that i have a condition that makes that shit Really hard to pull off

[here-there-were-dragons]

i have to wonder what super hardcore militant vegans think should be done about obligate carnivore animals, because in all my painfully-rapidly-approaching-30-years i've literally never actually seen anyone give a clear consistent much less halfway feasible answer on that

[icewindandboringhorror]

A very interesting cloud formation!

[supercantaloupe]

getting real tired of every visit with this doctor just being "exercise more, diet more, and lose weight. Now go get this bloodwork done"

[weirdsociology]

hey writers we have to talk.

if you've read any romance or fanfic in the past twenty years (i know you have), you know that there are a certain number of scents associated with hot dudes. you can probably recite the list of Things Men in Fic smell like in your sleep: leather, black pepper, pine, sandalwood, "something uniquely him", clean sweat, and if the character has ever fucking been within 50 yards of a firearm, something called "cordite".

here's the thing.

NO ONE SMELLS LIKE CORDITE.

cordite was a highly specific type of smokeless gunpowder developed in the 1890s by england specifically and used mostly in wwi.

if your good-smelling guy is not (a) english (b) using a very specific type of british rifle (c) dying in a trench in flanders, he does not smell like cordite. technically even if he does meet all those conditions he still doesn't smell like cordite because he smells like trenchfoot.

the point is, cordite is so far from universal that no one but the most hardcore gun nerds give a single shit about it. making your Sexy Hero smell like cordite is like naming a cassette-only bootleg live recording from the 1970s as your favorite grateful dead album. everyone at the party hates you immediately and knows you're doing it for clout. also, it's just factually... wrong. please stop. i know everyone else is doing it, but you can do the right thing here, i believe in you.

so what do people who are using guns smell like?

well if your story is set before the late 1880s, the smell of a fired gun is black powder, which, unfortunately, smells like seventeen flatulent cows have been shoved in a tire factory. trust me, you do not want your Hot Dude to smell like black powder. it's b a d.

if your story is set after the late 1880s, guns are using some variety of modern 'smokeless' powder - which speaking broadly doesn't really have a ton of scent when used. it does have some, but it's sort of non-descript: the best way i can describe it is the sweet, ozone, hot-plate smell of popping your car hood with a warm engine.

people who use guns a lot don't smell like fired guns all the time anyway, so while those scents might work in a fight scene, they're not realistic all the time. but there are some things that your Sexy Shootist will smell like basically 24/7 and that's metal and gun oil. metal you can go and sniff (i recommend non-stainless steel), but if you want a reference, most gun oils have a sharp, organic smell that's not dissimilar to canola oil but muskier and with a tang overtop. it's not unlikely leather is in the mix as well due to routine handling of leather equipment and gear. modern gear also tends to have a certain smell although it varies by production country and storage conditions - lots of opportunities there.

in conclusion: gunslingers and hired killers and military folks can be sexy and smell great on page, but i am begging you not to say "cordite" when you mean "gunpowder" ever again. we can do this. we are writers and therefore pedants. i believe in us!

[lazorsandparadox]

God i know bisan cant exactly organize long term in the position shes in, but this weeklong strike is not going to happen, it literally cant. A 3 day notice is not long enough to raise a strike fund or for strikers to save pto or even just cash to help mitigate the cost for people to survive missing a week of work, not to mention those wholl lose their jobs if they just dont show up for week with no warning.

Part of the point of a strike is to use it as leverage before the strike takes place. Besides giving people time to prepare and raise a strike fund so they dont lose their homes or the ability to feed themselves during and after the strike, the point of announcing a strike months or even over a year beforehand is so that you can go to the people you want to negotiate with and say "hey, if you dont do this thing we all want, this many people are already willing and prepared to go on strike and cost you money" and make them negotiate with you so they know what is being demanded and can maybe even give it to you before the strike has taken place. The best outcome for a strike is for it to get results before it happens!

People have not prepared for this strike, no one has informed the people we are protesting against about the strike or its demands, theres nothing in place to help the people that will lose their jobs if they participate, which means most people simply are not GOING to participate. Thats not an organized strike. Thats just a bunch of random people whove happened to abandon their jobs at the same time. Thats not going to pressure anyone into doing anything.

If people really think a strike is the way to go, then someome in a better position than bisan needs to actually put in the work to organize one. Actually go around and contact unions and get them in on organizing one. Because change IS possible, but you wont get it by taking random swings at the machine and hoping your hand doesnt get caught in it.

[homo-house]

hey uh so I haven't seen anyone talking about this here yet, but

the amazon river, like the biggest river in the fucking world, in the middle of the amazon fucking rainforest, is currently going through its worst drought since the records began 121 years ago

picture from Folha PE

there's a lot going on but I haven't seen much international buzz around this like there was when the forest was on fire (maybe because it's harder to shift the narrative to blame brazil exclusively as if the rest of the world didn't have fault in this) so I wanted to bring this to tumblr's attention

I don't know too many details as I live in the other side of the country and we are suffering from the exact opposite (at least three cyclones this year, honestly have stopped counting - it's unusual for us to get hit by even one - floods, landslides, we have a death toll, people are losing everything to the water), but like, I as a brazilian have literally never seen pictures of the river like this before. every single city in the amazonas state is in a state of emergency as of november 1st.

pictures by Adriano Liziero (ig: geopanoramas)

we are used to seeing images of rio negro and solimões, the two main amazon river affluents, in all their grandiose and beauty and seeing these pictures is really fucking chilling. some of our news outlets are saying the solimões has turned to a sand desert... can you imagine this watery sight turning into a desert in the span of a year?

while down south we are seeing amounts of rain and hailstorms the likes of which our infrastructure is simply not built to deal with, up north people who have built everything around the river are at a loss of what to do.

the houses there that are built to float are just on the ground, people who depend on fishing for a living have to walk kilometers to find any fish that are still alive at all, the biodiversity there is at risk, and on an economic level it's hard to grasp how people from the northern states are getting by at all - the main means of transport for ANYTHING in that region is via the river water. this will impact the region for months to come. it doesnt make a lot of sense to build a lot of roads bc it's just better to use the waterway system, everything is built around or floats on the river after all. and like, the water level is so incomprehensibly low the boats are just STUCK. people are having a hard time getting from one place to another - keep in mind the widest parts of the river are over 10 km apart!!

this shit is really serious and i am trying not to think about it because we have a different kind of problem to worry about down south but it's really terrifying when I stop to think about it. you already know the climate crisis is real and the effects are beyond preventable now (we're past global warming, get used to calling it "global boiling"). we'll be switching strategies to damage control from now on and like, this is what it's come to.

I don't like to be alarmist but it's hard not to be alarmed. I'm sorry that I can't end this post with very clear intructions on how people overseas can help, there really isn't much to do except hope the water level rises soon, maybe pray if you believe in something. in that regard we just have to keep pressing for change at a global level; local conditions only would not, COULD NOT be causing this - the amazon river is a CONTINENTAL body of water, it spans across multiple countries. so my advice is spread the word, let your representatives know that you're worried and you want change towards sustainability, degrowth and reduced carbon emissions, support your local NGOs, maybe join a cause, I don't know? I recommend reading on ecological and feminist economics though

however, I know you can help the affected riverine families by donating to organizations dedicated to helping the region. keep in mind a single US dollar, pound or euro is worth over 5x more in our currency so anything you donate at all will certainly help those affected.

FAS - Sustainable Amazon Fundation

Idesam - Sustainable Developent and Preservation Institute of Amazonas

Greenpeace Brasil - I know Greenpeace isn't the best but they're one of the few options I can think of that have a bridge to the international world and they are helping directly

There are a lot of other smaller/local NGOs but I'm not sure how you could donate to them from overseas, I'll leave some of them here anyway:

Projeto Gari

Caritás Brasileira

If you know any other organizations please link them, I'll be sure to reblog though my reach isn't a lot

thank you so much for reading this to the end, don't feel obligated to share but please do if you can! even if you just read up to here it means a lot to me that someone out there knows

also as an afterthought, I wanted to expand on why I think this hasn't made big news yet: because unlike the case of the 2020 forest fires, other countries have to hold themselves accountable when looking at this situation. while in 2020 it was easier to pretend the fires were all our fault and people were talking about taking the amazon away from us like they wouldn't do much worse. global superpowers have no more forests to speak of so I guess they've been eyeing what latin america still has. so like this bit of the post is just to say if you're thinking of saying anything of the sort, maybe think of what your own country has done to contribute to this instead of blaming brazil exclusively and saying the amazon should be protected by force or whatever

[snekdood]

the problem with conservatives is they think you challenging their beliefs is somehow oppressing them

[musical-chick-13]

Oh, I did NOT just see someone call a character mentally ill (when there is no evidence of that in canon) just because they’re a bad person.

[harmoonix]

Evening Astrology💜

✨️If everyone feels fucked up these days, an eclipse is coming very soon and at this point eclipses are more annoying than Mercury Retrogade. So things will go crazy ✨️ xd

Mercury in the 12th house natives can understand things that others don't, and that makes them more authentic

Mercury in Libra or Cancer can really understand how it feels to be the neddy of a person and, at the same time, trying to understand how relationships work

Because Venus is the most lustful planet, Venus in the 5th/7th/12th houses tend to really expose their desires pretty early in a relationship

Lacking earth placements in a chart can be an indicator for lacking stability, in all topics. I know how it is so bad, my only earth placement in my chart is my Capricorn Sun..Because planets are rarely in earth signs during January, so yeah, it makes sense 😭😭

Let's also talk about how Aquarius Risings can't do a proper 7th house persona chart since their 7th house is ruled by the Sun, which does not have its own persona chart. But it's fine because persona charts are something only pop astrologers use, we are safe from that shit

Have you guys seen that every time you have planets in transit with your 6th house, you tend to get sick or feel unwell? Especially if Mars transits your 6th house

Venus in the 10th house also Scorpio/Taurus/Libra in the 10th house tend to be sexualized a lot..at work, in the public...by strangers

Gemini Moons/Venus,are so good to hang out with like they have that type of good humor but also that chill in them. Appreciation to them

Mars is so harsh - talking in Gemini, since Mars is a violent planet and Gemini rules over the talking and communication can really create natives with more anger in their talk and may have a tendency to scream a lot same to Mars in the 3rd house

Sun/Moon/Rising in Taurus can be prone to be good financially , but if they are harsh - aspecting, they can get greedy about money

Sometimes, Sagittarius Placements will know the truth about a situation and will hide it from you until you see it with your own eyes. Well, unless Sagittarius Mars shows up

Lilith in your 10th house or Capricorn can have lots of family trauma especially with the father, I know some of them that have even been bullied or judged by their fathers

Cancer/Moon in the 7th house placements are so good if you are into those more sensible/soft/romantic/quiet partners applying to both genders

Gemini and Sagittarius will make their presence known in a group by talking the loudest 😭 especially screaming in your face!! I did hear youuuu

Mercury in Air signs, in my opinion, type messages so fast. Like you send them a message, they reply the next second.. I love faster replies too

Aquarius Venus,in a way like to maintain their relationship healthy/good because they don't really have time for all the drama

Venus in the 6th house can give a busy partner/overworking, you can feel like you spend less time together because of the work you do

Mercury trine/sextile/conjuct Sun opens the creative side of the native more easily when in square or opposite gives a stressful time for the native to find their creative side

You may not get along with people who have their LIlith sign in the same house as your SUN (Tested this for me is 100% true) Makes you total enemies, fighting to death

In a trio of friendship won't work if someone between you 3 has bad aspects to their 11th house ruler can be an indictor that may feel out of that friendship

Jupiter in the 1st house makes you to improve your knowledge over things, makes you wiser with the age, spiritual, empath (really depends on the Jupiter sign)

Sabrina Carpenter has a Libra mars, a good indicator that she can be really impatient with her lovers and relationships, she may also try to be the dominant one but may fail to do that

Neptune/Chiron/Saturn in the 1st house natives can often have skin issues, allergies, maybe even different skin conditions, sensitive skin placements

Mercury in the Aries/Sagittarius/Virgo/Scorpio/Capricorn tend to talk dirty a lot, especially if Mercury sits in their 3rd/7th or 11th houses of communication

North Node in your 1st house is such a self - discovery placement. You really need to discover who you really are. Without falling for what others say or think about you

Pluto in the 1st house natives these natives may often struggle with the control, even with taking control in their lives sometimes

Pluto in the 11th house, talks about really intense relationships with people within your friends group or whenever you meet someone. You just feel intense

I don't like how people talk about Sagittarius Venus, I heard people saying that is a bad Venus sign?? Well, it is ruled by Jupiter, so i do not consider this Venus specifically being bad, just like Pisces Venus.

Something very funny about Virgo Venus is that they won't show that they're in love unless the other person shows that. Is like they wait for the other person to say 'I love you' first

Mercury in the 6th/11th houses can be good activists/using their voice to help others, this like a collective helping placement

If you have your ascendant ruler in the sign of Pisces, you really tend to be an empath. This lover energy surrounding you

Harsh aspects between Lilith and Moon or Venus can indicate that the native may struggle to feel compassion/feelings/emotions sometimes

Sun in the 8th house can talk about knowing other's people secrets/privately knowing something good or bad about a specific person

Having North Node in the 3rd house can talk about having the power to adapt and change, and mental growth is important for them

Sagittarius Risings can sometimes be lucky without even realizing that. As a sign of them not paying attention to their luck

Ascendant square Venus can have a hard time to love themselves, which is totally fine because self-love should be learned step by step, not overnight

Having Neptune close to your Sun or Ascendant can make you to ignore your beauty/to make illsuions about it, soemtimes to create a dislike feeling. Everyone is beautiful in their own ways x Neptune is messing up with the mind sometimes

Having little to no aspects to your Midheaven can indicate struggling to find a career or a good job for you. Being indecisive about it.

🤎🍂 Hope you all have a beautiful evening x🤎

~Harmoonix 🤎🤎🤎

[just-a-queer-fanboy]

Help Wafaa, Mohi, and Fidaa!

This is Mohi: the brother of @wafaaresh. Both of their gofundme's are hosted by a friend in Baltimore, and both accounts have been vetted. Mohi is only 23 and is currently suffering from malnutrition and hepatitis due to the current bombardment of Gaza. Their mother suffers from chronic illnesses that they cannot find treatment or urgently needed surgery for. They lack access to food and clean, drinkable water.

As I write this, not even a third of his goal of 31,000 dollars has been reached, and Wafaa's goal of 100,000 has a mere tenth raised. They both lost their home, a good chunk of their family, and have been displaced over 10 times.

The high in Gaza is nearly 90 Fahrenheit for the next week, with 70% humidity. There is no shade. There is no drinkable water. Aid is being blocked from entering.

This is Wafa's new gofundme.

Note: She had to make a new campaign after issues with the old one. There are barely any donations at the moment.

Wafa is 29 and reached out to me to ask me to boost her campaign, and since I cannot donate, I am making this post to promote both her and her brother's fundraisers.

They are both young adults who had so many ambitions and hopes before the attacks began. And there is still hope for them to escape live freely, like every human deserves to live.

If you are able to spare a few bucks, even a donation of 5 or 10 dollars helps. I hope this post finds people who are able to donate. Nobody deserves to live like this.

(I recently learned of their sister, Fidaa. I will continue editing this post if I find gofundme's for other family members, so people don't have to wade through a million different reblogs to find them.)

This is Fidaa @fidaa-family2 , she is Wafaa and Mohi's sister. She is 29 and a mother of 2: Sila, her 2 year old, and Muhammed Amr, who is only 2 months old. Imagine going through this trauma at 2 years old, imagine going through this at 2 months old. Imagine giving birth in these conditions, where the healthcare system has been so destroyed they cannot even count the dead. It's unimaginable for many of us, but for them, it is their daily life.

They live in Mawasi Khan Younis, South of Gaza. She and her children are malnourished and have little to no access to medicine, especially what is necessary post-partum, let alone necessary for a malnourished baby!

She has raised a little over a third of her 10,000 dollar goal.

If this post reaches enough people who can and do donate, their family can live freely. No bombs, no disease, no thirst, no hunger. Their children can grow up happily, the way all children should. And I do believe that it is possible.

Again, please donate if it is at all possible. No donation is too small, nor too big. Everything counts.

**I'd like to add a note here not about the family, but about Palestine and Israel. I am not versed enough to decide whether there should be a two state solution, one state and which one, whatever. I'm 15, my opinions do not do jack shit. All I will say is innocent people are dying just for being palestinian and I'm against that.

I also know the current pro palestine movement has a major problem with antisemitism, which I previously engaged with due to ignorance and ignoring dogwhistles. I have since learned and am working to avoid doing so again, as I know I shared harmful content in an attempt to uplift a separate group, and that was wrong of me.

For now, all I can really say is Palestinians don't deserve to die, the IDF has committed war crimes, and that is not the fault of Jewish people. It's the fault of the Israeli government and military, not the citizens or people of the same ethnicity or religion. I won't tolerate bigotry towards either group on my page.**

[chiyana]

this is the stupidest crossover possible but I want Tim to make House his doctor

yes that House

why? He needs someone who is very good, will not give up or send Tim out to a different specialist just because his medical condition is difficult, will not be overly concerned about the danger Tim puts himself in, and will lie on Tim's medical records AND to Batman/Bruce Wayne/all of the Bats without hesitation or fear.

House is and will do all of those things without hesitation. He has no shame, no boundaries, he WILL get into a public fight with Bruce Wayne if it means keeping that man out of his patient's (and House's) business. He will help Tim lie to and gaslight the rest of his family without hesitation.

in exchange, Tim is his favorite patient. Not because they get along, necessarily, Tim is a know-it-all little shit and they constantly bicker and House hates how practically every facet of Tim's existence is a lie (and Tim thinks House is a smug know-it-all jackass who is needlessly cruel and callous bc he thinks the world owes him and never delivers just bc he's in pain, news flash a lot of people are in pain and manage not to be assholes) BUT, 1, Tim brings him really interesting cases and problems, and 2, Tim NEVER lies to House about his medical conditions or what he was doing when they happened.

He lies about literally almost everything else under the sun TO everyone else, but he is 100% completely upfront and honest about his medical history and what is going on with him with House.

admittedly it takes a while for House to realize Tim ISN'T lying to him because some of the shit he says is completely insane ("the vigilante thing is pretty obvious but what do you MEAN you got the Apocalypse virus TWICE, AND SURVIVED, AS A FOURTEEN-FIFTEEN YEAR OLD")

but once he realizes Tim doesn't ever lie to him, he becomes House's favorite patient because at least TIM gives him all of the data he needs as best he's able the moment he asks. At least House doesn't have to waste his time following up on bogus information or figuring out the truth, he can just get right into the meat of the medical issue at hand.

also it's so fun to lie directly to Batman's face, know the man knows, and know he can't do anything about it

[hoothootmotherf-ckers]

the hardest thing about chronic pain to me is how it makes me doubt my own brain.

I have chronic pain. specifically chronic migraines. and the hard thing about that, or neurological pain in general, or really just so fucking many different chronic pain conditions, is there is no proof.

there's no scan a doctor can do to show my pain level or symptoms. you can't look at my head and go "huh, looks fucked up, probably a 8/10 pain." absolutely everything I experience, in order to be understood by a medical professional or even just anyone really, has to be self-recognized and self reported.

and that requires so many steps and levels of trust. like just to fucking start, I have to be aware that the invisible thing I am experiencing is not a thing everyone feels! which again, fucking invisible! Then I have to be aware it's happening at all, which sounds basic but with chronic shit is not. I had to explain to a doctor this week that I do not know if I ever experience "normal" or low-level headaches, because I'm so used to severe migraines that anything below that doesn't register. Sometimes it even takes hours for me to notice I'm having a migraine!

and then I have to be able to assess my own pain, judge how bad it really is, when after nine fucking years my scale is goddamn broken. and the longer I've had a migraine, the further out of whack it goes. I have to recognize and categorize my symptoms, one of which is fucking brain fog, and I have to communicate these very nebulous and abstract concepts to other people.

And then. And then they have to actually believe me. I have to convince them I'm not lying, I'm not looking for attention or drugs or pity or excuses. with zero hard proof, just my words. and then it cycles, because if people doubt my pain, I start to doubt my own experiences. I start to think I'm being a wimp, I'm faking it, I can try harder. so then I downplay it, so then I think it's fine, so I push through it, and this works great until I am fully fucking incapacitated.

and then people are shocked and surprised because I "look healthy."

it has taken fucking years for me to accept that what I am experiencing is real and people who doubt me can go fuck themselves. and it's still very much a work in progress. every single day.

but my pain is real. and so is yours. and people who doubt us can, to reiterate, go fuck themselves.

[maxivstappen]

hi! i saw that you have a 1k event so i was wondering can i request, the lyrics “open up the door,can you open up the door?”- chihiro, billie eilish. “I want you to stay”-birds of a feather, billie eilish. with max verstappen?

OPEN UP THE DOOR ! MV1

[ 1k event / masterlist ]

☽｡⋆ max seems to be in a terrible condition, so you really need him to open the door now — max verstappen x reader

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 angst, hurt & comfort, fluff? 𝄞 0.8k words (blurb)

He had been down for days now, a breakdown as foreseeable as the weather.

He was at his breaking point, but made sure nobody knew. Of course, he knew that showing emotion isn’t something to be ashamed of regardless of one’s gender, but there was still something so humiliating about having to give in, about having to speak about his - what the formula one fans called it - “downfall”.

He didn’t want to give in because he hadn’t lost yet. He was still leading, still the one with better chances to win the championship, but all praise towards Norris, someone who’s supposed to be his friend first and rival second, hurt like hell.

So after yet another pole for Norris, even though the rest of the day went incredibly well for Max, he really needed to let it out. Finally.

He hurried off into his driver’s room, face all red and hands shaking. He didn’t even know himself if he felt anger or sadness right this moment, all he knew was that one more stupid question by a reckless reporter would give him the rest, and a scandal like that would only make things worse. Couldn’t people just let him do his damn sport and drive? Who gives a fuck about his relationship to his fellow drivers, who cares about who he thinks should be McLaren’s first driver? Was his opinion really that important?

As if that wasn’t enough already, he had to put up with insults and doubts from fans and even his own team as well. They want him to be flawless yet only ever remind him of his flaws.

Max paced around his room, droplets of sweat running down his cheek. He was fucking done with this shit. Why couldn’t they just let him do his damn job? All he signed up for was driving, and now he had to meet random celebrities he doesn’t even know the names of, he has to put with drama fueled up for nothing and the fia now also wants him to stop swearing as if he was some little kid. It was absolute bullshit to him.

His hands clenched into fists and the familiar taste of blood in his mouth was the only thing keeping him from biting down onto his lip even harder.

But then he heard a knock.

“Max? Can you open up the door?”

He recognized you immediately. Your voice was soft and tender like the one of an angel, making his heart flutter, yet he didn’t want you to see him like that.

You were one of Max’s new engineers, and he had never been so happy to see a new face in the Red Bull garage. It was unusual at first, but you two got along as if you’d known each other for forever already, making the separation of the private life and the work life harder than Max usually knows it to be.

You had noticed that Max has been on edge for a while now, especially today. Seeing him run off to his driver’s room only worried you more.

“Sorry, y/n. Can’t at the moment”

Maybe this wasn’t professional of you, and maybe you shouldn’t be standing in front of his door waiting for him to welcome you in, but maybe you were good enough friends for you to know that he shouldn’t be alone right now, even if he thinks differently.

And maybe you wanted nothing more than to finally be there for him like he was for you when you explained to him how weird it felt to work at a place you’ve never even known or seen from outside the tv before.

“Max, can you open up the door? Please? I’m worried”

And that was all he needed to hear. The last thing he wanted was to worry you over what is supposed to be meaningless stuff like this.

He knew you were the right person for him to see right now, and he also knew you wouldn’t judge him.

And so he finally opened the door, the familiar scent of your perfume immediately filling up his nose making him practically fall into your embrace. You slightly pushed the door with your foot so it would close by itself before burying your fingers in his hair while he breathed down your neck.

With your hands cradling his scalp and his arms tight around your waist, Max knew one thing for sure; he wanted you to stay.

guys ik this is very short & bad but i cannot do better atm because of school! very sorry :( but i’m working on some other stuff already!!

[tpwrtrmnky]

ruse (half, part 2)

[ID: Three panels. Continuing from part 1, Blue-Yellow is walking away from the grayscale person, who smugly points at them as they walk along a winding path.

Grayscale: "Hah. I got you!"

Blue-Yellow: "Nah. You really didn't. I got bored, did the snippy comeback, and now I'm walking away."

Grayscale: "But you fell for my scheme! You've been tricked! Coaxed, into a snafu! I got you!"

Panel 2: Blue-Yellow is in the foreground looking exhausted, while the grayscale person poses smugly.

Blue-Yellow: "Sigh. What the fuck are you talking about now?"

Grayscale: "Well. It just so happens that my ruse... My scheme... Was to trick you into dismissing material analysis!"

Panel 3: Focus only on Blue-Yellow, who says: "...I did not do that, I dismissed you in particular making up a bullshit material analysis and accusing me of believing in it. It's actually incredibly pathetic that after pretending the idea of two colors is too complicated for you, you implied I was less competent than you at material analysis.

Panel 4: Focus on the grayscale person, who is holding their phone, which is displaying an image of Blue-Yellow.

Grayscale: "Ah, but your actual views on the issue don't matter, because I have a recording here, of you saying..."

Blue-Yellow, on the recording: "My material conditions are that I lose twenty hours a week to this shit you're doing right now."

Grayscale: "A perfectly catchy soundbite that I can now use against you.

End ID.]

[ID 2: The above continues for four more panels.

Panel 1: The grayscale person continues monologuing smugly:

"The brilliance of my scheme is that I know your discourses intimately! Deprived of context I will circulate your clever little line in the worst, most anti-materialist chromatic spaces I know of! They, in turn, will weaponize it as a meme against materialists, doing my work for me! The discourse will sow further division, waste the time of your theorists, and you will be the face of it!"

Panel 2: Zoom on Blue-Yellow.

Blue-Yellow: "I can actually feel my brains leaking out with every word you say. I'm actively participating in the material chromanist theory community here. They know me. This is a ridiculous scheme."

Grayscale: "Oh, but you can't know everyone. All it takes is that you reach enough people who don't know you.

Panel 3: Grayscale gloats as their phone is swiped out of their hand by a purple person from above.

Grayscale: "It is foolproof! My scheme is ironclad, it-"

Purple: "Yoink"

Panel 4: A tall purple person, a lime green person and a dark red person approach the grayscale person from opposite of where Blue-Yellow is standing.

Purple: "Is this person bothering you?"

Blue-Yellow: "Well they're trying to I guess"

Dark red: "Cringe."

Grayscale, in smaller text: "Hey! My phone! Give it back!"

End ID 2.]

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[thebestsetter]

He has never been afraid of dying.

Death doesn't fright him. He sees it as a natural part of the cycle of life. One must be born, live their life, possibly reproduce so their species can keep on existing and then die. All animals, be it a big magnificient whale or a little insignificant ant, have to do this too. This is what they all have in common (and honestly, it's beautiful how all animals have to experience this. It brings humans and animals closer).

Everyone dies, be it the sinner or the saint, the rich or the poor. Death doesn't discriminate people. It just comes and takes everyone (which is kinda funny, since people think that money or looks make them different from the other. They don't. We're all equal. The bullet that kills the powerful is also capable of killing the weak). And frankly, he's okay with that. He knows it'll happen.

Given his work condition, he knows he's more inclined to die than the average person. Everyday, he has to go out there and risk his life, saving hundreds of people he doesn't even know and sometimes not even getting a "thank you" back. It's frustrating, but it's not like he's giving up. Before he dies, he wants to make this world a little bit better. It probably won't be much, but he still wants to feel useful. He wants to feel like he did something good.

"Oh God! You're okay! You're really okay! I was so worried about you!"

He doesn't fear death. Which is why he doesn't understand why he feels like crying when you visit him at the hospital he was staying at after a mission that went wrong. Death doesn't scare him, so he's not quite sure why his hands tremble when they reach to pat your head. He shouldn't react like this. He's never reacted this way before

"Please, don't ever do that again! Never ever!" Your grip in his waist tightens to the point where his lungs are burning for air, but he still doesn't want you to let go.

"You have no idea how scared I was. When the hospital called me saying you were here, I felt like my mind was going a hundred per hour! Please, don't die..."

How can you ask him this? You both know it's impossible. He's going to die one day, it can't be helped. You can't escape death's claws. No one can escape their funeral. You're torturing him. You know he doesn't like to lie to you. He can't just say "I won't die" cause it's simply not true!

"Please don't die" you repeat, and his hands movement comes to a halt "Because I'll be lonely if you die. Don't leave me alone, please."

And suddenly, it all makes sense.

He still isn't afraid of dying. But suddenly, the mention of death leaves an itching feeling at the back of his throat. It makes him sick thinking about you going on with your life, possibly mourning over his death for a long time (he doesn't ever want you to be sad, especially not because of him. Strangely, a sick, twisted part of him wants you to cry when he dies. To be sad. To not move on fastly. He quickly supresses those thoughts though) and then completely forgetting him and starting a new family (this thought makes him sick to the stomach. He feels like a very bad guy when thinking about how he doesn't want you to find another man to replace him. You always said he was irreplaceable after all).

He will forever be someone who was, not someone who is. He'll be lost in time, a name you'll mention once or twice on a conversation while smiling and thinking about the good times you had together.

He'll never hear your laugh and your voice again, will never take you out on extravagant dates and have movie nights watching silly movies and laughing at the special effects. Leaving you alone in this dangerous world feels almost criminal.

Death doesn't make him feel bad. Having you forget him after he dies makes him feel like absolute shit.

And so, even though he can't promise you that he won't die, he can promise one thing. He grabs one of your hands in his, looking at you as serious as he can be.

"You won't ever be alone." He says, and you feel like crying. He then smiles weakly "I promise. I love you. Our love is too strong to be stopped by death." He kisses your hand and then quotes the same sentence he uttered at your wedding day "Remember? 'And if death do us apart, I promise to find you in every other timeline.'"

And just like he did that day, he props up in the hospital bed and kisses you.

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, ITADORI YUJI, Gojo Satoru, Inumaki Toge (or maybe I'm just a glazer ☹️), Nanami Kento (idk, I just feel like it fits him), TODOROKI SHOTO, Bakugou Katsuki, Kirishima Ejirou, Izuku Midoriya, Aizawa Shota, HAWKS + any character you think fits this!!

~ A/N: this can be read as a sequel of another fic of mine. It also can be read on it's own though (but please, do check the other one if you're interested!!). Also, you can see some Hamilton songs' references here and there (cause I'm a theater kid 😔) AND this was inspired by a line in "Cowboy Beebop"

Masterlist

[grippingbeskar]

small favours

— joel miller x fem!reader

— warnings: explicit content minors dni, smutttt, dirty talk, very minimal plot sorry not sorry, swearing, needles, mention of injuries/cuts

— a/n: happy tlou release week!! this is set in jackson between the first and second game, i wrote the first part before i saw the show but just imagine with me okay. and it’s literally just bc i saw joel in that denim shirt and went yeah… i wanna fuck him in that. lmao. also dedicated to @everybirdfellsilent because we have been waiting for this show for so long and it’s finally here and oaoxosoxosox. wow.

You hadn’t asked for much.

It was a simple fix, you were sure of it. Yes, you don’t know anything about how to fix hinges, nor do you have any clue about how you broke it in the first place. Either way, it’s just a few screws and a metal piece, so was it really that hard to find five minutes to fix it?

Leading another one of the horses into the stable, you pointedly step over the gate that now lays on the floor, too heavy for you to move it. The horse tramples it, of course, which is why you had asked for someone to come and fix it before the horses were brought back in from patrol. Clearly, no one gave a shit about your question, but you know they’d all be the first to complain if it was their horse that got out through a broken gate.

It was late now, anyways. Too late for you to get anyone out, and even with the safety of Jackson’s walls keeping you blocked off from the outside world, being out at night still freaked you. When you finally got the horse in your hand settled and fed, you promptly sat yourself on the floor of the stable. Without the front gate, it wasn’t safe to leave the horses alone. With your luck, they’d get spooked and run all the way through town, and the last thing you needed was more reason for the people in here to look at you.

It wasn’t that you weren’t liked— you just kept to yourself. This life was hard enough as it is, and you didn’t see the point in making friends when in five years this place would probably be full of strangers. People die every day out here, you knew that too well. You wanted to save yourself the heartache wherever you could.

All that anti social behaviour certainly didn’t win you any favours though— hence the still broken door. You loved it— you were good with horses, having lived in a farm before the outbreak, so you decided to volunteer to help in the stables, but it was hard work sometimes. It kept you busy enough, though, and horses never wanted to make conversation, so… win-win.

There was only one problem with working in here. Truthfully, it wasn’t so much as a problem and more of a chronic condition. At least, that’s the way it felt every time Joel Miller made some kind of appearance. Most people just left the horses tied up out front for you to take care of, but Joel seemed to enjoy the peace the stable provided— that and you never talked much, which seemed to work for him. On the days he’d come back from patrol, the two of you would share a few hushed conversations as you worked and he hid from the rest of Jackson, and then you’d fall into a comfortable silence, sometimes for hours at a time.

Weeks had passed like this, and every single day you got a little bit more interested in who the man really was, other than his clear infatuation with his horse. Right when he came in would be the time you talked the most, after about forty minutes it would get too busy and you’d work until the sun set. But those forty minutes started to stretch a little longer, and he seemed to gain interest in you, too. Maybe you were grasping at straws, but hearing Joel’s low voice rumble a few more words every time he spoke to you was doing wonders for your self esteem, and even you couldn’t deny the way your face warmed when he smiled at you.

“Hey, you still— damn. What happened here?” Joel calls from the gaping hole that is the stable door, and only because it’s his voice calling you do you look up.

“It’s been broken all day. I asked someone to fix it, but…” You shrug, sighing and leaning your head back on the small gate that was the only thing holding the horse behind you from leaping out down the main street. “I guess they had other shit to do. I can’t move it on my own.”

Joel considers you for a second, how your frame is backed against the gate, conveniently placed at the closest point to the open door. Then, he looks back to the door on the ground, and back up to you. He smirks.

“So you were plannin’ on sitting in here all night?” The weight of the day makes your shoulders slump forward, and for the first time you really consider your plan. “You gonna body check a horse when he makes a run for it?”

“Okay, it was a dumb plan. But, it’s that or let them all out and get stuck cleaning up the bar floor or something.” He smiles again, the setting sun behind him washing over his shoulders in a pretty orange colour. A tilt of his head in your direction has you standing up, taking the lead of his horse that he offers to you.

“You take him, I’ll go get my tools. Fix it up before sun down.” Before you can protest or tell him he doesn’t have to, he’s walking off to the right up the hill where his house sits.

You’d always been a bit jealous of the spot his house is. It’s far away enough from everyone that you get some real privacy, but close to the stables if you need a quick exit. He had a porch, too. One you spent a little too much of your time staring at during your work hours, when he spent his off days strumming a guitar right in your line of sight. He was just… peaceful to observe. He brought a calm to you that no one else seemed to be able to do, almost enough that you could forget about the world outside and just exist in that little bubble for a while.

You lead Joel’s horse inside, hearing it trample the door again, and hang up his saddle next to the stable. Joels horse is much like him— quiet unless provoked. You found it out the hard way when you first led it in with a routinely aggressive horse, thinking it’s demeanour would calm him down. The next morning you woke up to two very angry horses and a half bent gate of steel.

“Saved you your favourite spot.” You say to his horse, Old Beardy. You never asked how Joel picked the name, but for some reason it worked so well— at least, he was definitely older than most. “See? He’s right up there.”

The stable at the back was angled just right so that the small window at the height of a horses head pointed directly towards Joel’s porch. Not close enough to see anything other than the outside, but enough that you know it’s there. You don’t come in here often, Joel always taking his own horse in, but when you do you can’t help but notice the instant calming effect it has on Beardy— you might have more in common with this horse than half the people in Jackson.

When you find your way back to the front, Joel’s footsteps are trudging back down the hill. You’ll be fairly useless as anything other than company while he fixes the door, but you can’t seem to stop your heart from racing a million miles a minute as he gets closer and closer. Yes, he makes you forget about everything on the outside, but that’s mainly due to how insane he drives you. All those conversations in the stables and too long looks in town are just all too consuming, and now, when you see him come into sight, you have to put some physical difference between him and you.

“You don’t have to, Joel. Really, I’m sure someone’ll—“

“No, they won’t. Knowin’ the people around here, you’ll be sleepin’ on the floor till next year.” He bends down, and you drop yourself back to the floor and stare in some kind of mesmerised silence as he runs his hands over the broken hinges of the door.

In a few passing thoughts you’d never admit to yourself, you have an obsession with his hands. He was just so…capable. He could do so many things so easily— and some kind of backward wire in your brain fizzled with electricity at the sight of him in his element. He starts fiddling with tools, first starting to remove the broken hinge, muscles flexing as he tears off the old bolts.

“What happened?” He says, the words muffled by the screwdriver in his mouth.

“I have no clue. When I woke up this morning it was blown in. I spent a good hour trying to move it but it’s so—“ With one arm, he pulls it up to stand vertical, a fist wrapping around the edge of the gate. It doesn’t even look like he tried. “—heavy.”

“Come ‘ere and hold it straight.” He says, keeping one arm out in front of him, the other still holding the door up. “I won’t let it fall. Come on.”

“Like this?” You say, staring down at him as you finally reach the door and take a little bit of the weight. He flicks his eyes up, nodding and shifting on his knees to get a better angle on the door.

“Perfect.” He says softly, looking up at you for another split second before clearing his throat and screwing on a new hinge.

“You really didn’t have to do this, but thank-you.” Joel shakes his head, his fingers fiddling with a latch.

“Least I can do. Everyone should be up here helpin’ you anyways.” He stands up, and with only a barrier the width of a gated door, you can feel his body heat keeping you warm when he towers over you. “Keep holding it still.”

“Yeah.” You manage, eyes fluttering closed. “People help, though.”

“Oh, I bet.” He says, sarcasm dripping off his words as he laughs dryly.

“They do! Sometimes… I mean, it’s not their fault. I’m kind of a hermit up here. I don’t really make an effort, so I can’t blame them.” He stops working, his knuckles white over the railing of the gate, and looks to you.

“You’ve trained all these new horses to track better than those guys ever could. They’d die out there without ‘em. Carl doesn’t know his left from right— he got lost eight times last patrol. It’s cause of your horses he got back safe.” Joel’s face is more serious, his eyes sharp but still with a hint of softness that he often looks at you with. “Doesn’t matter if you ain’t makin’ friends. This ain’t middle school, and people should be helpin’ you no matter what. Least of all fixing a door.”

“That’s why I keep you around, Joel.” You smile lightly, his voice getting lower the angrier he gets.

“Good. You tell me next time, and I’ll come round and help. Avoid the whole town all together.” You hum, letting go of the gate as he hauls it up in the air and shuffled backward, setting it against the hinges. “How do you know so much about horses?”

“I lived on a farm, way back when. Besides, they’re easy to navigate once you get to know them.” Joel puts the screwdriver back in his mouth, and you can’t help but stare at him. The small scars on his face, peppered around his cheeks. Some are older, worn and faded, while the one across his nose is new. It’s not even scarred yet, still fresh

“You okay?” He says softly, tilting his head.

“Your face.” His eyebrows furrow, and you shake your head. “Sorry. You… did something happen on patrol? You have a cut—“

“Just a few clickers. Real old, hauled up in a caravan out west. Nothing we couldn’t handle.” The door drops into place, and he swings it out towards him. It sounds less squeaky than it usually did. “Good as new.”

“You should clean it.” You say, worry edging in your voice. “If it was clickers.”

“I’m fine.” He shrugs it off.

“Come on. It’s the least I can do. I have a first aid kit in the back, and then we can call it even.” He relents, locking the door behind him and stepping further into the stables. “Sit. I’ll get the kit.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You can hear a small smirk on his voice, and you roll your eyes, turning around to find the kit. “Why you got a first aid kit in here anyways?”

“You’re using it now, aren’t you?” You turn around, raising your eyebrows. “You’d be surprised how many people come here before going to medical. I started to stock up a little, do what I can. It’s not much, but I can clean it off and do some botched stitches until they see a real doctor.”

“And none of those guys came up to fix the god damn door?” He was getting angry again, and you tried to ignore the shiver that went up your spine when he spoke like that.

He was sitting on a small stool, putting him about waist height. When you stepped closer, shuffling your feet on the floor, he tilted his head up. His open legs invited you closer, nearly drawing you in with a magnetic field he was completely unaware of.

Armed with a cotton ball and disinfectant, your fingers were light enough to breeze along his jaw to hold him in place. He stares up at you, watching your eyes as they flit between the cut on his nose and his wandering gaze. His face is warm when you work up the courage to place your palm on his cheek, thumb gently smoothing over the salt and pepper flecks of his beard. He doesn’t flinch away when you press the cotton ball to his face, swiping across the bridge of his nose.

“Does it hurt?” You whisper, feeling the need to keep your voice low.

“No.” He does the same, the heat of his body making you shuffle slightly closer. His hands are in fists on his knees, like he’s straining to keep himself still. “Told you it was fine.”

“And I told you I wanted to help.” When you’re satisfied with the results, you take a fresh cotton pad and dry it up. “You might need stitches. It’s deep.”

“Go on.” He says, and you lean back, eyes wide.

“You want me to stitch your face together?”

“Good practise, and I trust you.” The simple words have your heart slamming against your rib cage, but instead of showing it you kneel in between his legs and search the contents of the kit for a needle.

“If I mess up your face, you knew what you signed up for.” When you find what you’re looking for, you straighten, Joel’s face is right in front of you. It takes you a second to realise just how close he is, and the position isn’t lost on him either. It’s probably the most emotive you’ve seen him, his jaw going tight from how hard he’s biting down.

“It’s already messed up. You’re fine.” He manages, his voice strained.

“Hold still.” Whispering the words, you lean closer and bring the needle to his skin. His eyes close, and it’s when you press the point into his nose that his hands shoot out in front of him, holding your hips gently.

“Sorry. Shit—“

“It’s fine. Are you okay?” He grunts in a way you think is affirming, so you keep threading the needle. You only need one stitch for a spot this small. “Your face isn’t messed up.”

“Huh?”

“It’s not. Messed up.” You feel his thumbs stroke along the bone of your hip just once before he stills again. You tie off the stitch, and his eyes open. “There. You’re pretty again.”

Your breathing was rapid even though you didn’t have a true reason for it, but neither of you moved. His hands— strong and so fucking capable, holding you still on your knees in front of him. His eyes were pools, inviting you in with a gleam of something shiny, and where you were nearly gasping he was calm and collected. In his element, like he was right where he should be.

The whole stable was a dull orange now, the colours dusting through the strands of Joel’s hair. It’s never really sitting right, wind whipping it out of control on patrol, but you have the urge to run your hands through it anyway. You let yourself explore one small piece of him, like he has to you, and your fingertips run back over the shell of his ear, tangling in his hair. He sucks in a short breath, leaning into the hold of your hand.

“Joel.” You say, voice so soft he would of never heard you if you weren’t so close, but you call for him and he leans closer. Your foreheads nearly touch, and his hands tighten their hold on you.

“Thank you, darlin’.” You sigh deeply, unable to keep yourself upright at the nickname. It rings through you, his accent strong and adding an entire other layer to why he’s so easy to fall into. You don’t even really notice how dark it’s gotten— you usually have sprinted home by now. But Joel’s here, and with him this close, you can’t think of anything else. He leans closer, and your eyes flutter closed.

“Can I kiss you?” He says, the brush of his lips against yours sending a tidal wave of need from your head to your feet.

“Only if you hurry up.” You answer helplessly, voice cracking, and he smiles against you and finally brings his mouth to yours.

It’s anything but calm. That peaceful energy of the stables is completely shattered and sorted into something electrical and sizzling. He yanks you forward, bodies pressing together as you use the leverage of your hand fisted in his hair to kiss him harder and deeper. It doesn’t take long before his tongue is swiping along your bottom lip, seeking permission.

You let him in— you’d let him do whatever he asked for if he kept pouring himself into you like this. He tasted good, which should be impossible but when you’ve been starved of something for this long it doesn’t matter what he does it’s just that he’s giving it to you. He moves his hands to the small of your back, pressing your hips right in the middle of his open legs, his other hand on the back of your head.

You feel him groan when you press together, the sound waking up parts of you that had been dormant for far too long. It was like he had access to each nerve in your body, and every little sound or touch had them blaring red and sparking.

“Fuck, darlin’. Come closer.” He groans into your mouth before kissing you again. You smile for a moment, not entirely sure how you could get any closer, and then it’s wiped off when he hauls you upward, hooking your legs around his waist on the stool. “Yeah. Right here.”

Your arms cling around his neck, his own searching up and down your body. Your shirt rides up with the movements and you moan every time he grazed along your skin. There’s something equally hard and soft about his hands— rough from years of work but soft with the way they hold you up, how they’re careful not to dip too low or high. You arch your back, giving him wordless permission, and he groans into your mouth again.

At some point you have to breath— both of you gasping for air in the quiet of the darkened stables. He brings his hands to your face, holding you against his forehead so he can look into your eyes. He was smiling too— like actually smiling, not that half smirk you’ve seen so often.

“What are we doin’?” He laughs, kissing you again.

“I don’t know, but can we keep going somewhere that doesn’t smell like horse shit?” You whisper and he laughs again. It’s sounds so good— like the sound of the beginning of your favourite song. It makes your heart sing, melting you into the tune. “Please, Joel. I really want…”

“Tell me, baby.” He moves, angles your head with swift moves of his fingers so he can kiss you lower. Under your jaw, and then he drags his mouth down, along your neck, teeth nipping softly… “Fuck knows I wanna hear you say it.”

“You. I really want you.” He hums against your skin, one arm hooking under your ass as he stands easily. You squeal, muffling the sound in the mop of hair on his head. As you walk outside, there’s only a few people still mulling around, and they turn their heads towards you when they hear your soft laughter mixed with Joel’s— two sounds that seem to alarm them more than clickers.

For the first time since you’d been here, you really don’t care if people are looking at you, or what they’re saying. When Joel locks the gate behind you and slides you down his chest to let your feet touch the floor, you are reminded once again of his ability to remove every single thought from your mind except him. Just him, and his hands on your hips, spinning you around and leading you up the hill towards his house. How every so often he’ll bend down, pressing his lips lightly to the back of your neck, and how you can feel his smile on your skin.

He guides you easily, your body on auto pilot to his small gestures, and when you finally rush up the few steps of his porch— one you’ve spent way too much time staring at from afar, you’re both attached to each others face like horny teenagers. He fumbles with the doors lock, jamming keys with aggressive force while his other hand stays soft and sweet on your waist, holding you against him. When the door gives out behind you he never lets you stumble, taking you in his stride with practised precision. You’ve seen the inside of his house, but never the layout, so as he guides you blindly through the hallway, your shut eyes and occupied mouth never see it coming when you fall backwards onto a bed.

“Let me take this off.” He mumbles against your lips, tugging at your shirt and jacket. In a tangle of limbs you both shove at the material, finally hooking it over your head. He presses you flat against the mattress again, hanging over you and running his hands up and down your sides in long, soothing strokes. “God damn gorgeous.”

“Your turn.” The blaze in his eyes dulls slightly at your comment, and he just bends to kiss you again. He links your hands in his own, pulling you away from where they were tugging at his shirt. “Joel.”

“Nothin’ there you wanna see, baby. Just let me look at you.” As sweet as his voice sounds, and as much as you want him to continue, you pull away from his greedy mouth.

“Please take your fucking shirt off.” You say harshly, biting at his bottom lip hard enough for his eyes to open again. He looks over you, taking in the sight of you under him with your arms pinned above your head, back arched towards him. He’s clearly contemplating how difficult it would be to ignore you, smirking a little when he looks up at your hands again.

“Or what? You gonna make me stop?” He kisses under your jaw, his free hand skating along your side, only stopping when his fingers reach the hem of your jeans. When he hears you gasp as his hand disappears under the fabric, he laughs. “Nah, you won’t make me stop. Want it just as bad as I do, don’t you?”

“But I want—“

“Shh, shh. I’ll give you what you want.” His mouth his dizzying— words and movements hot against your skin as his hand bypasses your underwear and drags slow circles against your clit, immediately drawing his name from your lips again. “There you go, darlin’. Feels good?”

“God— yeah, faster. Please.” Your chest was rising and falling so fast, trying to pull the air he was punching out of your lungs with every quick movement of his fingers. He hums at the praise, and you feel him shift above you, sitting up so he could slip one finger inside of you. “Fuck, Joel!”

“I know, baby.” He tilts his head up to kiss you again, tongue matching the fast and unpredictable pace of his hand. You can feel it building— pleasure rippling up your spine and fizzing low in your stomach, and your hands tug under Joel’s unrelenting grip.

He seems to forget he was meant to be holding you, his groans and concentration all focused on the way he was fucking you with his hand, so he lets you go, his hand going to hold your face. It makes you smile under him, but it quickly gets lost when you moan his name again, rolling your hips against him.

Now your hands are free, you have a moment of clarity when your eyes flutter open and see him staring at you; eyes flitting between your face and your chest. You want to have that— to see skin you’ve only thought about in the late hours of the night when you were alone, never admitting it to yourself when you woke the next day. You grab onto the hem of his shirt, ripping the denim up as far as you can, getting your hands on the bare skin of his back.

He doesn’t help you— too obsessed with the way you are writhing and moaning so loud the poeple down the street will know what your doing. Neither of you care about anything else than this, right here, and the fiery hot spark that’s lighting you up inside.

“Shirt, Joel.” You tug at the collar, then card your fingers through his hair and pull. He grumbles something, and then you whimper when his hand leaves you and he sits up on his knees. He was out of breath, towering over you and keeping you caged underneath him as he tore the shirt over his head and threw it behind him. When he leans back down, he doesn’t give you the time to admire him that you’d like, but you take what he gives you. He shoves your own jeans down, shaking them off you in one tug, and your eyes hardly have time to open before you feel the backs of your calves press against the flexing muscles of his bare shoulders.

“Perfect.” He says, speech almost slurred, and the look he gives you reminds you of the one he gave you in the barn. Before you can think enough on it, both of his hands hold your hips down and he gives you one last look before he buried his face in your pussy.

It doesn’t take much to have you screaming his name again, that sweet hot pleasure that was building so quickly comes rushing back with the wet heat of his mouth. He eats you out like he’s fucking hungry for it— pulling borderline shouts from deep in your chest, like something is bashing against your ribcage, only awoken by his complete and utter devotion. His tongue swirls and fingers curl, and you lose sense of direction, clawing at his hair and feeling his groan when you pull him into you.

There’s no where to go, stuck under his weight as he dives into your taste, at his mercy entirely. It was so different to see him undone— a sight you wouldn’t be able to forget next time he came into the stables all soft eyes and short words. No, here he was holding your eye contact, groaning your name as if you were the one doing this to him. He gave you no choice but to hurtle towards the edge of consciousness, knowing you wouldn’t be able to hold out under him much longer.

“Joel. Joel— fuck.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking gently while his fingers curl inside you in a spot that has you seeing stars. “Oh, god—“

He doesn’t say anything when you cum, just groans into your pussy as he guides you through it. He sets pace and intensity, both of which are hard and almost unbearable, and he only drags himself away when you beg him to. Your legs shake, his hands smoothing over your thighs as his mouth presses wet kisses up your skin, over your stomach and chest, finally reaching your mouth with an overwhelming force.

You hum, tasting the combination of you and him together on his tongue, taking everything he needs to give you. He shuffles up, and you feel his cock pressing hard against your thigh, still straining in his jeans. You let him kiss you lazily, let him explore you this way while your hands busy themselves between your bodies, unzipping his jeans. When your palm brushes over his length still covered by his boxers, he hisses and his eyebrows furrow, like the pleasure is almost painful. You do it again and he shudders, pressing his forehead to yours.

“You’re so soft.” He murmurs past your ear when you slip your hand under the waistband. When your fingers wrap around him, you stay true to his word and stay light with your touch, not wanting him to finish just yet. You want to make it good for him— draw it out. Pay him back for everything he gave to you; not just tonight, but every night. “So fucking soft. Sweet.”

“You like that?” You ask innocently, stroking him again. Your thumb brushes over his tip and he shudders again, nearly shivering. “I can be gentle. Want you inside me, though.”

“Whatever you want. Fuck— anything you want to do to me. Please, baby. Not gonna last long if you keep doing that.” A single please was enough to grant him a thousand wishes, but you’ll settle for giving him just one.

He helps rid himself of the rest of his clothes, no insecurity in sight with the lower half of his body. There was no need to be… he was big. It made sense— he was a big guy, but it wasn’t just that. He was just… perfect.

“Eyes on me.” He says, pulling your gaze away from where your bodies are about to meet. “I want to see your face when I…”

He trails off when his tip lines up with your entrance. You bite your lip in anticipation, feeling the soaked pleasure coating him as he finally slides himself further and further. You both sigh, like a weight is being lifted from both of you. As if this was the way you were both meant to be.

He bottoms out, head buried in the crook of your neck as he chokes out your name. You feel full— the weight and stretch holding you to the bed, your arms strung lazily around his neck. Your fingers wander down his spine, keeping that soft lilt to your touch that he seems to thrive under. For all his hardness and strength, it’s the lightest touches that seem to crumble him the most.

“Fuck, baby. Feel so good around me.” Joel never speaks for the fun of it, but he says these things like he needs to. Strained and focused, like it’s a compulsion to tell you how good it feels. “Needed to fuck you for so long. You gonna let me make you feel good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, Joel. Please, I need— need you to move.” You whine like a spoilt child, and you are now that you’ve had a taste. He laughs once, a breathless sound, and then pulls out nearly all the way, only to slide back in with that same trained pace.

“Good girl.” He groans, and then picks up the pace.

It’s devastating. It’s the only way to describe it. He fucks you hard and slow, slowly etching himself into parts of your being you aren’t entirely sure he didn’t just create himself. Like he’s forged apart of you just for him, something low and hot, and he hits it with every, perfectly timed thrust. The bed rocks under him, but he doesn’t seem to care. Its creaks and groans are drowned out by his words and both of your moans.

You are incoherent— overcome by pleasure that shocks even the nerves in your fingers and toes, but it seems to have the opposite effect on Joel. He doesn’t fucking shut up— and it’s about the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced.

“So fucking tight around me.”

“God, you feel good.”

“You are so beautiful.”

“Gonna fuck you for days.” Is the last one you hear before his groans turn to borderline whimpers, his pace stuttering as you feel the coil in your stomach tighten and snap all at once. “Oh, fuck that’s it. Cum again for me. Jesus Christ—“

“Joel.” You can only whisper now— voice so strained that nothing could come out but his name. Your eyes roll back and you feel him fuck into you one or two more times, and then he pulls out and replaces himself with his hand. You ride out your pleasure on his skilled fingers, another wave of heat numbing you when you feel him spill onto your stomach, your back arching off the bed.

The room is suddenly dead quiet, nothing but panting breaths filling the silent house. He is still hanging over you, you can feel both of his forearms next to your head as he leans down to kiss you again. The warmth of his body is lifted just enough for him to use something soft to clean you off, and then he collapses beside you, tugging you onto his chest.

He runs his hand through your hair, stopping at your jaw to tilt you up. He kisses you again, the lack of oxygen making you giddy and dizzy, and you break the kiss only because your smiling so wide.

“What’s so funny?” He says, trying to be serious, but even in the dark you can see his matching grin.

“Just happy. Can I be happy?” It’s meant to be light hearted, but you feel him stop for a second, and then he tugs you a little closer.

“Yeah. Yeah, you can be.” He tucks you under his chin, sighing deeply as the rest of your body turns into him and tangles itself with him. “I am.”

You open your eyes a final time, seeing the pitch black dark outside. If it was light, you’d be able to see the stable from here, but it’s black out there. Usually it would make you uneasy, but tucked up under Joel’s safe arms, there’s nothing in the world that could make you feel more at peace.