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draconesmundi · 1 day

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Happy Dracones Monday! Firedrakes!

Happy Dracones Monday! This Monday we're looking at four dragon species at once, the firedrakes! Here they are, approximately to scale with eachother.

The glitterdrake is the smallest, the size of a large lizard or small cat. They live in laurel forests on Macaronesian Islands, in the Atlantic near Africa. Glitterdrakes aren't based on mythology; I put them on Macaronesia because I couldn't find Macaronesian dragon mythology but I am trying to put dragons EVERYWHERE on the map. Also, putting these dragons on an archipelago of islands means I can have a lot of island subspecies and colour morphs - glitterdrakes represent colourful fantasy dragons, so having them come in every colour (sapphire blue, ruby red, emerald green, royal purple, burning gold, shining silver etc.) was important to me.

The Welsh dragon is smaller than the other European firedrakes at 1.5 meters. They are no less fierce - there aren't any common firedrakes in Wales as a common firedrake cannot maintain a territory there for long. Originally I had the Welsh dragon as a subspecies of the common firedrake, but decided that this dragon had so much personality and folklore that it could get it's own chapter.

The common firedrake is found in Western Europe, 4m long. When designing these I noticed in a lot of heraldry dragons don't seem to have horns? Ears yes, but hornless? Also I noticed that dragons in heraldry tend to have the dorsal finlets from the back of the head to between their shoulders, but no further, which is something I have kept for all my firedrake species.

The viridian firedrake is the largest firedrake species, over 5m long. They are found in Eastern and Southern Europe, and in Russia. I based their appearance on old storybook illustrations to make them look very 'classic', which is why they have horns and cheek frills compared to the more heraldic and hornless common firedrake.

Rant about the term 'firedrake' under the cut! :)

In other creative works, these are called 'classic dragons', 'European dragons', 'true dragons' and 'Western dragons', but I am not a fan of these terms - 'true dragon' implies other dragons are untrue dragons, which is nonsense. 'Western dragon' or 'European dragon' is largely accurate (the 4 legged 2 winged dragon design is common in Europe and the West) but there are other Western and European dragons (wyrms and wyverns) and I find these terms confusing when other types of dragons are taken into account. Also, some Asian dragons also have 4 legs and 2 wings. 'Classic' dragons... serpentine and wyrmish dragons are more classic than 4 legged 2 winged firebreathers, etc.

I went with 'firedrake' as a term for these dragons because 'drake', 'drachen', 'ddraig', 'drac', 'drak' and 'dreki' are all words for dragons like this in European languages, and because firedrake is a word used in literature like some translations of Beowulf and, of course, Tolkien's Legendarium (firedrake comes from Old English fȳrdraca). I think it's a good word that easily conjures up fire breathing four legged, two winged dragons without making them more 'true' or 'classic' than other dragon types or tying them specifically to 'European' and 'Western' countries.

In Dracones Mundi I really try to get a huge diversity of dragons across to the readers. There are around 68 dragon species in this project, only 4 of which are firedrakes. I want to show readers there is more to dragon mythology than "here is a western dragon, they are evil and associated with fire, here is an eastern dragon, they are good and associated with water" - I want to dig deeper. I want people to know about azhdarha, about cuélebres, about coameh. So I'm shining the spotlight away from these firedrakes and trying to make them a small part of a much larger discussion. :)

#Dracones Mundi #Dracones Monday #Firedrakes #Dragons #Schedulling firedrake post for the monday before the firedrake plushies restock on friday hehe #Firedrake plushies found on Barksbog website on Friday 24th May 2024

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storiesfromgaza · 7 months

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A message to everyone :

Ever since I began this blog and continuously shared its content, I never asked any of you to follow me, share these posts, or use the Blaze feature to promote them. I've been entirely absorbed in writing articles and translating stories and posts from the people of Gaza without concerning myself with whether they will reach a broad audience or not. My initial goal was to reach any number of individuals, even if it was just one person, in the hope of increasing their awareness. That would have been sufficient for me.

But today, particularly after the recent news confirming the complete shutdown of the internet, electricity, and communications in Gaza, along with the isolation imposed by the Israeli occupation and the brutal and savage bombings happening now as I write these lines, I want everyone to share what's happening. Not just on Tumblr but everywhere you can. Share on WhatsApp, Twitter, Instagram, and for those who are proficient in Russian, share on platforms like VK. If you know Korean, share in Naver cafes. Share with your family, your loved ones, and those you meet on the street. Let everyone know about the monstrous massacres the occupation is committing against Palestinian civilians, teenage girls and young women who have become widows due to the bombings, young children whose lives were forcibly taken from them while they clung to life, and the elderly who hoped for a longer life or a peaceful death beside their children and families, but the occupation robbed them of this, making the old man witness the deaths of all his family members, his children, and his grandchildren, and then he dies alone, hoping to join them.

O People, humans, whether you are Muslims, Christians, Jews, or followers of any religion, my message is for those of you who have humanity, whatever your identity may be. Your silence today means you are participating in an extermination worse than what Hitler did to the Jews, even worse than the victims of all the world wars combined. At that time, there weren't sufficient means of communication, so everyone's excuse was that they couldn't do anything except publish in newspapers. But today, in our current era, there are many available options. So, what's your excuse now?

Your silence and inaction are permission for them to continue their slaughter and the extraction of souls from their bodies. Let everyone do whatever is within their power, and all of us should know that we can do a lot. Edit: I've created a Telegram channel for us and posted all the articles and stories that have been published here, so you can easily share them with everyone. Join it through the following link: https://t.me/storiesfromgaza

Edit²: we now have an Instagram account, which we created to make it easier for everyone to share the stories and articles published here. Some of them have already been shared with beautiful designs, and we are in the process of posting the remaining articles after formatting and finalizing the designs. I had to use my personal account because when I created an account with the name "Stories From Gaza," Instagram suspended the account immediately, even before I could change the profile picture or post anything! Account username: @amrshater

Your interaction on Instagram will greatly help in spreading the stories and articles to the Instagram audience https://www.instagram.com/amrshater/

#gaza #palestine #غزة #فلسطين #humanitarian crisis #genocide #free gaza #free palestine #gaza strip #storiesfromgaza

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landososcar · 24 days

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so american ; CL16

pairing(s) ; charles leclerc x american!reader

summary ; in which a trip to monaco turns permenant because of one ferrari racing driver

warnings ; fast paced relationship, smau, google translated french (pls correct anything that’s wrong) & FLUFFF

note ; lol sorry i lowkey disappeared. anyways. here’s charles and leo (aka everyone’s fav duo)

instagram !

liked by friend1, charlesleclerc, and others

youruser leo & i might never leave 🥰🇲🇨

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friend1 monaco is so so beautiful

yourbff you can’t leave me here alone in the us

youruser but…

charles_leclerc im stealing her

yourbff you’ve know her for 3 weeks

charles_leclerc whats your point ??

friend2 the states miss you come home

friend3 leo has a new lap to sit in????

yourbff i feel cheated on

charles_leclerc i’ll make sure you don’t leave ☺️❤️

youruser having the best time of my life with you🫶

yourbff saying you’re not gonna let her leave is kinda creepy not gonna lie…

charles_leclerc you’re just jealous coz she doesn’t wanna go back to the us and wants to stay with me

friend4 you look so happy😁

instagram !

liked by fan1, fan2, and others

cl16updating recent pictures of charles with a puppy, fans who asked him about the dog say his name is leo and he is not charles dog but he is staying with him for a while!! we are also unsure who the girl in his car in the last picture is, if anyone has any idea please share her instagram @ with us!!!!!!!!

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fan1 omg he’s not his dog??? i’m devastated now i wanted leo paddock appearances

fan2 idk maybe if you guys find her instagram @ don’t share it,, if charles wanted us to know about her he’d share with us

fan3 if she doesn’t want us to know about her maybe she shouldn’t hang out with the prince of monaco

fan4 she should be able to hang with whoever she wants. some of y’all are so weird

fan5 imma steal that dog

fan6 that means we probs won’t get leo in the paddock😭

fan7 maybe leo is the girls’ dog and she’s a friend of charles visiting him or something idk

imessages !

translation 1: ‘i’ll miss you so much’

translation 2: ‘we can be crazy together, my love’

twitter !

instsgram !

youruser added to the story!

charles_leclerc added to his close friends story!

charles_leclerc replied to your story

↳ you always do baby

↳ god you’re so cheesy

↳ i hate you

↳ can we go back home i miss leo

↳ charlie babe leo will be fine by himself for 3 hours

↳ i know i know

↳ i just love him so much

you replied to charles_leclerc’s story

↳ CHARLIE DELETE

↳ THE DOGS ARE OUT😭😭😭

↳ LEO GOT OUT??????????????? WHERE IS HE ??? IS HE SAFE??? DID SOMEONE FIND HIM??:??;??/??

↳ omg baby no leo’s fine i’m sorry for worrying you

↳ why would you joke about that

↳ i think i nearly had a heart attack

↳ you’re more obsessed with leo than me

instagram !

liked by user1, user2, and others

f1wagupdates charles and his girlfriend (leo’s mum — we don’t know her name) this saturday. the owner of the first pic said that they were out for dinner with pascale, arthur, lorenzo, and their girlfriends.

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user1 she so beautiful oh my god

user2 where’s leo

user3 girl she doesn’t have to take him everywhere

user4 i think her name is y/n… my cousin in america said that she looks like someone she used to go to school with

user5 i looked through charles’ following and he follows a private account with that name @youruser

user6 ooo that could be her fs

user7 did she really leave leo alone.. she’s a bad owner wtf

user8 leo is a dog he’ll be ok by himself for a few hours omg you just want a reason to hate her go touch grass

twitter !

instagram !

liked by carlossainz55, lorenzotl, and others

charles_leclerc happy gorgeous amazing month ☺️❤️

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user1 CHARLES who is THAT

user2 Y/N CONTENT ON THE MAIN ‼️‼️‼️

carlossainz55 whipped

user3 omg is she playing his piano

user4 yes with her feet

youruser love love love you

charles_leclerc chérie💓💓

user4 anyone else think they’re moving REALLY quickly…. like i heard they’re living together already

user5 who CAREEESSSSS

user6 it’s none of our business

yourbff you’re all she talks about oh my GOD

charles_leclerc are you jealous

instagram !

liked by leclerc_pascale, yourbff, and others

youruser “too much, too soon” i’m living with him lol

view all comments

yourbff remember when we had conversations that weren’t about him

youruser wdym

yourbff i hate him

yourbff you’re OBSESSED with him

yourbff you guys are DISGUSTING

youruser you sound jealous

yourbff i AM. that little french driving man STOLE my best friend

charles_leclerc FRENCH????????

friend1 miss you 🫶🫶

joris__trouche ❤️

friend2 come visit soon we miss youuuu

friend3 you’re so so so gorgeous

charles_leclerc MON AMOURRR

charles_leclerc YOURE SO BEAUTIFUL I WANNA KISS YOUR FACE

yourbff can you get me a ticket to the miami gp so i can see my wife pls

charles_leclerc no you’re gonna try steal her back

yourbff @youruser ur boyfriend is being mean to me

youruser charlie i lost my miami paddock pass can you get me another one pls but like could you put it under the name y/bff/n y/bff/ln please, for no reason☺️

charles_leclerc okay baby💓💓

youruser stop it i love you so so much you’re so adorable😭

leclerc_pascale Leo ❤️

youruser he misses you 🥰

imessages !

my other works !

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en-vys · 3 months

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girl dad nanami

"BUT DADDY.." your daughter whined, stomping her ballet flats on the ground. "mommy never does my hair like this! It looks messy!" nanami sighed, it was the second week of your girls trip, and it already was hell at home.

“daddy this daddy that. daddy stop! mommy doesn’t do stuff like blah blah blah.” he complained to gojo, putting a hand to his throbbing head. “I don’t get how you handled taking care of megumi. my daughter-”

gojo interrupted nanami. “thats the difference, megumi is a boy- well a man and little aiko is a baby girl. megumi’s a punk, enjoy your time with little ai now before she starts calling you “old man” or “sag-nuts”.”

nanami shook his head, he just wanted you home. everything is perfect when you were home. “daddy?” your daughter knocks on his office door, he brought her to work since nobody could watch her. “yes hun?”

he says not looking from his computer. “i made you something.” she smiles, bringing up a paper of glued on macaroni and paperclips. the words “daddy, and me.” and it was them on a picnic blanket with you in the back on an airplane.

“daddy when does mommy come home?” nanami smiles, and pats his lap, taking off his blue light glasses to kiss his daughter on the cheek. “tomorrow night, you wanna be there to pick her up from the airport?” your daughter smiles, and starts giggling. “yes! yes! i miss mommy soooooo much!”

nanami smiles, turning to a picture he had of you, him and aiko at christmas. “daddy..” aiko says tugging her daddy’s pant leg, “i’m sleepy.” nanami nods, motioning her to come over so he could carry her. after another 13 minutes, you come out to see a sleeping nanami, and a sleeping aiko on her daddys lap.

“aweee my sweet babies..” you say, before snapping a picture then shaking nanami awake. “wh-what? oh hey baby..” he gets up kissing you everywhere on your face. “i missed you sooo much you don’t even know.” “me too! me too!” aiko says, clapping her hands wanting to be held by her mother.

“how was my sweet princess doing for her daddy?”

“i was soooooo good!”

nanami rolls his eyes before ruffling your daughters hair. life was perfect, everything was. when you were all together.

@en-vys : this is my ONLY account other accounts with the same name are NOT me, do not repost on any other platform, translate, or steal in anyway. - 2024

#nanami kento #jjk x reader #jjk #jjk nanami #jjk fluff #jjk nanami kento #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen nanami #girl dad nanami #fluff #en vys

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hier--soir · 8 months

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a lover's pinch | four

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: after a conference in new york, you and j miller phd take things a step further. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, i think i describe reader as having sweaty palms about 1500 times so it deserves a warning, alcohol consumption, the plight of being a woman in academia, oral [f receiving], unprotected piv sex [IN A BED ??? GASP] for you filthy animals, prone bone, a little roughness and then not much at all, uhhh pet names during sex.... uhhmm intimacy errrrrr.... soft!joel... feelings... okay bye word count: 9.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: hey folks, thank you so much for all your patience as i took my sweet sweet time writing this. we get to know our prof a little better in this one so a fair amount of dialogue for you but yeah anyways i hope you enjoy it, and i'd love to hear what you think! [and if i Fell Off because of the depression, don't tell me lol] A WORD ABOUT THE TAG LIST: i will continue the taglist for this part and for part five, and after that i will rely solely on my notifications account @hier--soirupdates so pls follow that and turn on notifs to be told when i post writing x this is part four of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three.

Saturday.

The conference centre is vast.

A large space that protects you from the threatening clouds that loom over New York City, and exposes you to countless dense conversations.

An NYU teacher’s assistant is glued to your hip, parading you through the centre with a wayward index finger that points out the bar, the room where the keynote speech will be given [large, with an imposing stage], and the room where you will give your presentation [less large, with a far less imposing stage].

Your presentation.

You fight the urge to pull up the email for the thousandth time while she explains how there will be fifteen minutes to set up beforehand, and advises on when the doors will open for guests, and reminds you that you have a strict allotted time of 20-minutes, do you understand?

But the email is branded on the inside of your eyelids after this morning’s flight was spent reading and rereading and rereading the words. So you nod and smile and placate her on the tour of the centre, as you run through it in your mind.

We look forward to welcoming you to NYU’s Annual Classics and Ancient History Conference. Our team was intrigued by the presentation devised around your translation study in Athens…

“Did you hear me?”

You wish she wasn’t dressed so casually.

Loose balls of lint are collected on the back of her cardigan like trinkets, weighty and threatening to fall off in a sort of bread crumb trail behind her every movement. It makes your dress feel all the more serious, all the more formal. Navy blue and a little tight, with sleeves that slant across the middle of your bicep and a hem that cuts modestly across your lower thigh. Professional, smart, sexy, but not too sexy. You and Nora spent two hours at the mall picking it out last weekend. And you can see people in suits, in blazers, in dresses, everywhere you turn, but your eyes keep returning to the TA’s cardigan. Little pills, sad morsels of broken fabric.

She says your name sharply.

“Yes,” you snap to attention, and clock her poor attempt not to roll her eyes. “You were saying?”

“It’s an open bar,” she continues from a few steps ahead, slowly back away while raising her voice to be heard over the countless others sprouting across the room. “And food is served after the Keynote.”

Finally free of her and her cardigan, you scale the edge of the hall, curious eyes glancing across faces familiar and not. You notice some other postgrads from UNE, and some professors from your alma mater. But it isn’t until three hours into the conference that you notice him.

You’re in a painfully long conversation with Professor Carmichael, an ancient history department head from Boston, when you notice them.

“Well you see,” he’s saying, slowly. “The First Roman Triumvirate was very unique. Surely you agree with me there, my dear?”

“Of course,” you nod amiably. A waiter floats past you holding a tray of glasses. You grasp one with a grateful smile, and turn back to face him with a sip of cold white wine moving down your throat. “The Big Three, it’s all very interesting. Although I must say, I am personally more interested in the second triumvirat—”

“Oh they all say that,” he waves his hand. “Everyone is so taken by Antony and Octavian that they forget about Crassus! So tragic.”

“A very tragic death,” you offer an exaggerated frown. “I agree.”

Carmichael hums, eyes narrowing as if you’ve said something wrong. Sipping your wine, your eyes float over his shoulder, determinedly trying to spot any sign of food, gaze spilling across countless faces and tables and waiters and professors until one set of people makes you pause. Wild dark hair atop a floral dress floats in your vision, her pale hand hovering over the sleeve of a tall man in a suit. You watch the backs of their heads; the way the woman tilts her chin upward to speak to the man and laughs at what he says in return. That laugh. You frown, and feel yourself take a step forward, a step in their direction.

“Is something the matter?” Carmichael asks and you halt, flash him a sweet smile and shake your head.

“No,” you rush, practically tasting the opportunity to escape the conversation. “I’m sorry, Professor, I thought I saw someone waving me over. If you don’t min—”

“Always so many people to talk to at these things,” he says in a sing-song tone of voice, smiling obliviously. “All in due course, dear. You’ll find them later I’m sure.”

It’s not until fifteen minutes later that the tap comes on your shoulder. You turn and feel relief wash over you as you come face to face with Rachel, with her tangle of curls and bright orange dress. But then a jolt shudders through your frame, for you spot the man accompanying her; the man you watched her traipse around the room with, the man in the sleek black suit—Joel, hovering a step behind her.

“Rachel,” you blink. “Joel. Hi—”

“I didn’t know you’d be here!” Rachel says. Her eyes are wide, lips pulled back into a crooked grin that immediately sets you at ease. Joel, on the other hand, looks uncomfortable to say the least. You watch him tuck his hands in his pockets and then take them out again quickly, lips pursed together in a tight line as he glances between you and Professor Carmichael.

“Joel,” she grips the sleeve of his blazer and tugs him forward to stand beside her. You watch where her hand grazes him - the ease with which she jostles him around. “Did you know?”

“No.” He stares for a moment, lips parted and eyes darting across your face, shaking his head. “No, I didn’t know.”

“I’m giving a presentation,” you explain quickly, eyes darting between the two of them, fingers tightening around your glass every time your eyes settle on him. He trimmed his beard again; the hairs are shorter, neater—almost too short and too neat for your liking. His shirt is pressed and crisp, shock white beneath the midnight black of his jacket. He’s wearing different glasses. Tortoise shell glasses. Someone clears their throat to your right, snapping you out of your reverie. You apologise quickly, “This is Professor Carmichael.”

“Of course,” Joel nods, stepping forward to grip the older man’s hand. “Good to see you again, Professor.”

“And you, Professor Miller,” Carmichael chuckles, patting a shaky hand against Joel’s shoulder. “When was the last time we crossed paths? A year ago?”

“Must’ve been a year,” Joel smiles easily. His eyes slip to look at you every few seconds. “The conference in Ottawa.”

“The conference in Ottawa!” Carmichael cheers, nodding away. A weight sinks in your stomach like a cinder block as you watch the Professor gear up to wrangle Joel and Rachel into another conversation about Crassus’ untimely demise. But then Rachel slips away, called out to by someone across the room. And before Carmichael can open his mouth, Joel is speaking again, that honeyed drawl like music to your ears.

“Excuse me, Professor Carmichael,” he smiles again. Two of his fingers grip your elbow, tugging you a step backward. “Do you mind if I steal my star student for a few moments?”

Joel tilts your body to the left, and then the two of you are veering off into the crowd, wandering through throngs of people, his warm fingers pressed against the soft flesh above your elbow.

“Didn’t know you’d be here,” you say under your breath, glancing around warily, trying to spy any curious eyes that might notice the two of you.

“Could say the same thing,” he murmurs, dragging you to a stop at the edge of the hall with his eyebrows raised. “When’s your talk?”

“At one. Overlaps with the Keynote, which I’m a little relieved about,” you smile, a pinched, tense thing. “Hopefully everyone will go to that, and I’ll have a smaller crowd.”

Joel’s eyebrows raise. You think you notice his shoulders stiffen. “S’that right?”

A persistent pang of hunger stabs through your stomach, you rub a hand over the front of your dress and nod. Curious brown eyes follow the movement.

“Here,” Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls something out. His fingers graze your skin as he tucks the shiny rectangle of foil into your palm. “They don’t put out any food until after the Keynote.”

It’s a granola bar. Peanut butter and banana. You stare at it for a moment, almost dumbfounded by the kindness of the gesture. By how attentive he is; how much he notices without you even having to speak.

“Thanks,” you say. Nestle it into your purse and give him an appreciative smile.

“Sure,” he nods jerkily. Adjusts the glasses on his nose. “I’m disappointed to miss it.”

“Oh?” you blink. Your eyes focus then, flitting downward to focus on the badge hanging from his lanyard.

Joel Miller, Ph.D.

University of New England.

Keynote Speaker.

“Oh, shit.”

“Mhm,” Joel squints at you. “Sorry if I don’t share the sentiment that everyone comes to watch me instead of you.”

“Why didn’t you…” you gape. “You didn’t say you were giving a talk?”

“You didn’t ask.”

“The Keynote speech is a big deal,” you say, as if he wouldn’t know.

“I was their third choice,” he shrugs you off with practiced ease. “First two weren’t interested.”

“Third time lucky then,” you smile, and he chuckles. Someone calls Joel’s name then, and you both spin to see Rachel across the room with a group of people, all eagerly waving him over. Something nasty curls in your chest – something bitter and unwarranted and cruel. You smother it with a mouthful of wine and a soft smile of farewell to him as he turns and walks in her direction.

A hand clasps down on your shoulder and you flinch, turning to see Professor Carmichael beaming.

“Where were we then, my dear?”

You eat Joel’s granola bar at the back of the hall five minutes before your talk and walk onstage with the taste of peanut and banana on your lips, brushing crumbs of dried oats off your fingers.

Fifteen people attend, spotted miscellaneously across the amassed rows of chairs. The slide clicker is damp in your palm, and your thumb hovers trembling over the button, awaiting each moment you need to press down.

“Working alongside some fantastic translators,” you tell them. “We focused on studying the disparities between how Greek texts are translated by men and women. Particularly, we aimed to delve into the way emotive language has been downgraded or elevated depending on the lens through which a text is being viewed.”

Professor Carmichael sits in the front row, those sun-spot covered hands clasped in his lap, offering an encouraging smile as you shift upon the stage. Rachel is a few rows back, and she nods intently whenever you glance in her direction.

“One of our main points of focus,” you continue. “Was to understand points of difficulty in translating while accounting for cultural nuances, and how the context of differing authors can impact upon this. In my next slide—”

It’s as you turn to glance at the display that you notice them for the first time. Three rows from the front, where a group of men sit. Two of them young, maybe around your age. You change your slide and watch them whisper in each other’s ears. One of them points at you. Or not you, rather—your legs.

And you yearn for it to be meaningless. A meaningless gesture between colleagues. Meaningless legs, meaningless dress, meaningless curves and slopes and dips and spins. But as you continue, you know it can’t be. The way they talk through your presentation, as if they aren’t bothered to be heard. The way they leer at you over Carmichael’s shoulder, grinning to each other. Your words in one ear and out the other—simply a talking point for them, a blue dress, something to stare at. Your dress feels hot, tight, and your chest feels hotter, tighter under the lights as those eyes glaze over you. You glance back towards Rachel. She gives you a thumbs up that doesn’t serve to cool your nerves.

“When translating word for word in our field, it’s uncommon,” you stutter to a stop, eyes flashing warily. “Sorry, it is not uncommon to find that narratological creativity dwindles.”

You hear a chuckle to your right and swallow down the urge to shoot daggers in the direction of the sound. “Translators struggle to maintain the in-depth imaginative expression that the original Greek text inspires. But through my discussions with Professor Samaras, we found that…”

It’s in the final minutes that you notice him. Tucked away in a back row of the room, arms folded across his chest. You pause for a moment, words caught in your throat. But Joel merely gives you a short nod. The faintest hint of a smile, of the corner of his eyes slanting upward, and it’s as if a cool breeze washes over you. Hands steady, knees lock, and you push through. You don’t look at any of their faces until it’s over.

And when it is, and scattered applause decorates the air, you can’t help but cast a smile in Joel’s direction. A smile that slips and wavers when you spot the broad expanse of his back, that sharp black blazer, as he slips out the doors without wasting a second.

The rest of your audience follows suit, a slim line that wanders out the doors without a second glance—spare Carmichael, who tells you he was quite taken with how you presented yourself, my dear.

You hear your own name and turn to see Rachel approaching, a burst of floral frock and swinging earrings. Her smile is wide and crooked, and you can’t help but smile back.

“That was wonderful,” she cheers, squeezing your shoulder. “I was so taken by how you spoke about the importance of linguistic quality assurance when translating emotive texts. Brilliant!”

Your face warms. “Thank you,” you shake your head quickly. “It was… thank you. That’s very kind.”

You glance over her shoulder, wondering if he’ll reappear – perhaps share her sentiments, maybe shower you with praise. He doesn’t.

She catches you looking. “Joel was in a rush,” she offers easily. “Lots of people wanting to talk to the man of the evening.”

“Of course,” you swallow thickly. Another smile.

Rachel stares at you curiously. “He’s very impressed by you, you know.” Her voice is warm, gentle—soft spoken like a mother who can sense the slightest flash of insecurity. You cringe immediately, feel your arms cross protectively across your chest. Don’t give the game away now. “Honestly, I think he read your comparative paper on the katabasis three times. Practically raved about it when I asked what it was.”

“Oh,” you blink, shifting uneasily under her gaze. “That’s… wow, I’m flattered.”

“He sees a lot of potential in you,” she says.

“Right,” you nod. “Well, he’s a grea—you’re both great teachers. I’m very lucky to be learning from the two of you.”

She doesn’t speak for a moment, and you fear your face grows warmer in the silence. Can feel the slick on your palms returning, the flash of heat in your chest, the longer you sit in it. You make a quick and tumbling excuse to flee the scene, spitting a mess of thank you so much and just need some fresh air, before you’re stumbling out of the hall and wandering outside on newborn deer legs. You snag a flute of something bubbly off the bar on your way, and find yourself on a secluded bench in the breezeway behind the conference centre.

You sit there alone and watch the grass, the way the light from inside shines out across the green. Feel the chill of the wind slip past you, rustling your hair and raising goosebumps on your bare legs. Sip dry Cava and contemplate how many more of these things you can feasibly imagine attending in your career. There’s a single text from Nora on your phone, asking how the presentation went. You tuck it into your purse, leaving the message unanswered.

By the time you hear the door hinges creak, the glass is near empty. You spy a shadowy form snaking its way down the path, headed in your direction.

“Mr Keynote Speaker,” you hum. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Funny,” Joel mutters dryly, knees cracking as he falls onto the bench beside you. A heavy sigh slips from between his lips, fingers lacing together in his lap as he gazes across the breezeway. You down the last of your drink and place it on the concrete by your feet. “Needed some god damn peace and quiet. All that chit chat drives me insane.”

You murmur in agreement and stare at the side of his face – the neatened beard, the thick frame of his glasses. Purposeful or not, the side of his body is pressed against yours. Thigh to thigh, shoulder to shoulder – he’s sat directly in the centre of the bench. Heat radiates off his body and it’s almost too warm, and yet you find yourself relaxing against him.

“First time at one of these?” Joel asks gruffly. He’s still not looking at you, his eyes trained on a pigeon pecking at a discarded foil wrapper on the grass.

“Is it that obvious?” you grimace.

“Only because I’ve been to twenty of the damn things,” he says. “Y’learn how to smell the nervous energy comin’ off the first timers.”

“Twenty?” you mutter. Feel your stomach curl and twist at the idea of doing this day nineteen more times.

“Somethin’ like that.” Joel glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Went to a lot during my second degree. Had to get good at talkin’, fast.”

“Ahh,” you say. “So, you weren’t always such a sweet talker then?”

He lets out a low chuckle, as if amused by the thought. “Sweet talker, huh? That what I am?”

You shrug, suddenly emboldened by him following you outside, by how close he is, by how open he seems.

“I suppose,” you say slowly.

“And what gave you that idea?”

“You here alone?” you offer a poor imitation of him, voice low and breathy with your awful take on a Southern twang. “Meet me in the bathroom.” You wink, quietly delighted by the way his lips have tightened into a flat line.

“Funny,” he says again, entirely unamused now.

Something warm shifts in your lower stomach. Something wet—a vivid memory of him on the ground behind you in the bathroom of a bar, of hands spreading you open, of his tongue pressing inside you, of The Eagles playing faintly in the background.

“You do that kind of thing often?” you ask.

“Do what?”

“Approach young women at bars,” you wiggle your eyebrows, smirking. “Rob them of their virtue in the bathroom and then hope you never see them again.”

“You? Virtuous?” Joel rolls his eyes. You can see the corner of his lip curling upward. “Must be gettin’ yourself confused with somebody else.”

“Maybe,” you smile.

“Sometimes,” he casts you a look, after a moment. “Not… often. And not young.”

“Younger,” you counter quickly.

“I didn’t expect you to be…” he trails off and shakes his head. “It’s not a thing I do, alright?”

“Of course not.”

“It’s not.”

“You don’t date then?”

He tilts his head at you curiously, eyes planted firmly on your face now. “Not for a long time.”

“Why not?”

“Been busy,” he grunts, clearly growing impatient by the line of questioning. “Spent a lot of time studying. Working.”

“Where did you study?” you press.

“This twenty fuckin’ questions?” he snaps, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Came out here for—”

“You came out here,” you interrupt. “Because I came out here.”

He glowers at you, but doesn’t try to deny it.

“Night classes at Texas A&M for my undergrad,” he grits out. You smile sickly sweet, pleased. “Did my postgrads part time at UT Austin,” Joel says.

Your eyebrows kick up again, the teasing pretence all but forgotten. “Sounds… unconventional?” you offer softly.

“That’s one word for it,” he agrees vaguely. “Spent the better half of a decade at school just to end up teaching at one. Ain’t that somethin’.”

“And before that?” you press.

“Before that,” he continues with a wry grin, one full of distaste and frustration and resentment. “Was a contractor for a long time. Houses, buildings.” He rests a hand against his shoulder, fingers pressing against the muscle there, as if working out a decade old knot.

And for a moment you can see it. Can almost taste it. Collared shirts and glasses replaced with hard hats and hammers and dirt in the lines of his palms. Joel carrying a plank of wood on his shoulder, wearing a toolbelt. Joel on his knees, sweat shining on his forehead while he wields an electric drill.

Your dress feels too tight suddenly. Too warm.

“A contractor,” you say distractedly, and hope he doesn’t notice how your thighs press together.

“Mhm,” Joel nods. “With my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

He ignores that. “Where did you study?”

“San Diego State,” you flash him a grin. “Go Aztecs.”

“Good school,” he hums. “You’re a long way from California.”

Only a little further than Texas, you think.

“You did good up there,” Joel adds.

Your smile dips and wanes into a scowl, uninterested in the change of subject.

“What?”

“It was…” you shake your head slowly, face warming as you glance down to your lap.

“What?”

“It just wasn’t what I expected.” You pick at a loose thread on the hem of your dress. “That’s all.”

“And what did you expect?”

“To be listened to,” you grunt. “Not gawked at by some ancient jerkoffs that were only there to stare at my ass when I turned to change a slide.”

Joel nods, quiet.

“I wanted it to matter,” you mutter. “Wanted to… fuck, I wanted to impress them.”

“I was impressed.”

“Oh yeah?” you snort, finally looking up. “You hightailed it out of there pretty quickly.”

Joel shakes his head and stares back at you, gaze heavy. His hands tighten into fists against his thighs, knuckles lightening to white as he squeezes. You shuffle on the seat—ignore the flare of heat that erupts where your shoulder nudges firmer against his.

“I guess you could say,” he speaks slowly. “I’m tryin’ to keep my distance.”

You arch an eyebrow and attempt to swallow the laugh bubbling up your throat.

“Well, you’re doing a great job,” you smirk.

Joel laughs and your smile falters, mouth going slack at the sound. How rare it is, and how much rarer to have it all to yourself like this. For all of his sharp angles, his sweet talking, his harsh words, and harsher touch—that laugh is the cruellest part.

He jostles his shoulder against yours a little. An acknowledgement; perhaps a glimpse inside. Something that says, I know, I see it, I feel it, I can’t stop either.

“You make it hard,” he says then, and his voice is soft—almost a whisper.

“How’s that?” You match his tone, as if you’re two little kids who’ve snuck outside to share secrets where no one else can hear them.

“You bein’ here,” he murmurs, eyes searching. “Startin’ to feel like you’re everywhere I turn.”

A breeze swims past and you shiver, locks of hair floating in a mess around your face until you pat them down. Joel moves almost imperceptibly, curling his side tighter against yours to shield you from the onslaught.

“I know the feeling,” you admit.

The muscle in his jaw ticks and he clears his throat, looking out across the green again. For a moment the pair of you sit in silence. Not as professor and student, but simply a man and a woman on a bench. Breathing the same air, soaking in a shared silence that only the two of you could understand. And there are so many more questions you want to ask him, so much more you feel compelled to know, but instead you settle for this—sitting on a bench together, shoulders and thighs and chests pressed side to side, two frames moulded around the welcoming shape of one another. For now.

“It gets easier,” Joel says then, jaw tense as he spares a glance back in your direction. “This stuff, these people, all the talkin’.”

You acknowledge him with a small smile, just the slightest twitch of your lip. Don’t bother saying, maybe for you. Maybe for a man.

“You know,” you suck in a breath and give him a lazy smile instead. “I think this might be the longest conversation we’ve had without ripping each other’s clothes off.”

“Mm.” He leans his head back to rest on the wall, eyes focusing up towards the sky.

“I like it,” you say quietly. Hear how vulnerability chimes in your voice – a wobble that begs to be ignored and understood all at once. “It’s nice… talking like this.”

Joel’s head tilts towards you, dark eyes locked on yours. He doesn’t say anything, but you can see that wariness in his eyes. The same wariness that poured out in flecks of brown and amber and gold in the light of your bedroom a week ago, when he told you he was fifty. A hesitant curiosity, an incessant suspicion, a bark of disbelief. You feel the desire to pluck the feeling out of him and swallow it whole. To lock it safely inside yourself and make it so he never has to feel it again.

So you lean in a press your lips against his. Painfully soft, just a whisper of two mouths slotting together. Chapped and dry from the wind, he tastes like bitter sparkling wine. You sigh into him, uncaring. Hook your ankle around his, place your hand on his thigh, and sink closer, deeper.

He pulls back an inch, mouth still hovering over yours, the tip of his nose pressed into your cheek.

“Shouldn’t do this here,” he warns quietly, eyes still closed. His breath is hot against your face, and you inhale the taste of mint and Cava and Joel.

“I know.” You grip the lapel of his blazer and kiss him again. Firmer this time, grazing your tongue along the seam of his lips until he welcomes you inside to taste behind his teeth. The frame of his glasses presses into your nose, your cheeks, and you smile into his mouth. Rough palms and lazy fingertips graze the skin of your bicep, your neck, until they find a home at the nape of your neck. His thumb presses against the hinge of your jaw, hot wet tongue working your mouth open until you’re whining, teeth nipping at his bottom lip and fingernails digging into the meat of his thigh.

Only when you move to press a hand beneath the collar of his shirt does Joel pull back again, this time to stand and take a step away from the bench. A tinge of scarlet creeps its way from the hollow of his throat to the apple of his cheeks. He clears his throat and glances over his shoulder, towards the door. When he looks back, there’s something new there. Some dangerous that flashes in his eyes and lingers when his gaze dances down the curve of your body against the seat.

“Where are you staying?” you ask, breathless.

For a minute he doesn’t answer. Simply stares, contemplating, broad chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. The lenses of his glasses are fogged, and you watch them slowly clear.

Then— “The Pendry.”

Joel reaches into his pocket and retrieves something small and laminated. You take it from his outstretched palm carefully. “Fifth floor.”

You stare at it for a moment. Turn it over in your palm once, twice. Read the room number printed on the key card before tucking it safely into your purse. When you look up again, Joel is already walking back inside.

It’s nearing midnight by the time you arrive at the Pendry – a high rise in Manhattan West, the kind with a fancy lobby and a doorman in a neat black suit. The polar opposite of the hotel where your suitcase lies unopened across the city. You feel out of place in an instant, but you’re still in your dress, and the staff don’t bat an eye at your presence. The key card he gave you is hot where your fingers curl around it, plastic damp and foggy with the sweat from your palms. By the time you reach his door you have to wipe it on your dress before the sensor will recognise it.

A hollow beep echoes through the hall, and his door presses open with a soft hiss.

The room is enveloped in darkness. Moonlight shines in through a slim gap in the curtains, highlighting vague edges of the space. A desk against the wall, a large bed on the left of the room. For a moment you consider that he isn’t here—that he got caught up at the conference, sweet talking into the midnight hour with other professors and alums. You can hear sounds from the street, music and car horns blaring, even from the fifth floor. But nothing else. No Joel.

Tentatively, you take a step inside the room. And then another. Kick your heels off and feel rough carpet hairs sift between your toes. Holding your hands out into the darkness, fingertips ghosting the wall for support, you venture further into the room, only pausing when your shin thumps against the corner of something sharp and sturdy.

You spit a surprised curse and stumble into the wall, hands falling to grip your leg where it throbs and smarts.

“Jesus fuck,” you hiss, smoothing your fingers against the already forming lump.

A lamp flicks on, and the room lurches into view, tinged in a soft yellow light. You jump, eyes squinting against the sudden brightness. Bed sheets rumple and shift, and Joel is frowning at you from his place amongst the pillows, a hand raising to drowsily scratch his chin.

“The hell are you doin’?” he rasps.

Heat flares in your face as you straighten up, mirroring his frown. He moves slow, a sluggish stretch out of bed, wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, and he looks almost concerned. It gives you pause for a moment, eyes unsure of where to settle, as you note just how much of his body you’ve never seen before. The soft muscles in his legs, the dark hair over tan skin. You can see the slight round of his stomach through the thin fabric of the shirt.

“Were you asleep?” you accuse.

“Thought you weren’t coming,” Joel mutters, and the sound is a fractured medley of words and yawns. You feel a dull pang of disappointment in your chest as you watch him rub sleep from the corner of his left eye.

“Were you hoping I wouldn’t?”

He doesn’t respond.

“You gave me a key.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“Of course I was going to come.”

He nods. Yawns again, hand snaking upward to cover his open mouth.

You turn your back on him slowly. Take a glass from the little kitchenette and let the faucet run a cool burst of water into it. Little specks of water splash up, dotting against your hand. Your feet ache from wearing those damn heels all day, but you wilfully ignore the pain, gulping down half the glass while staring at your reflection in the splashback. Blue dress, hair tucked behind your ears, charcoal smudged around the curve of your eyes.

Joel’s fingers wind around yours, peeling the glass from your clutch so he can steal the final few sips. He discards it on the counter and leans against it. You try to make out his expression in the shadowy light, wiping your water-dotted arm against your side.

“S’a good dress.” He looks more alert suddenly, eyes sharp and focused, wide shoulders squared.

“Yeah?”

“Mm.”

“Didn’t say anything about it earlier.”

“Was tryin’ not to think about it,” he says plainly. “And how badly I wanted to take it off.”

Your hand stills. That misplaced disappointment slips out of the room, an unwelcome third party, and you grin at him. A sleazy, sleepy smile, and walk backwards in the direction of the bed without taking your eyes off of him.

“So take it off,” you challenge.

Your heartbeat is a steady thrum against your breastbone as he crosses the room. Badoom, badoom, no less than three strides and he’s there, gripping your waist to turn you so his chest is against your back.

Your zip is a low whir in the air, spinning downward slowly, slowly, from the nape of your neck to the sloping base of your spine. Deft hands trace skin, grazing every mark, every freckle as they are revealed to him, until the material of your dress is a gaping smile across your back. You shiver as the air rushes to meet your bare flesh, and then careful—cautious—you feel a pair of lips press against the top of your spine, soft pink against steely vertebrae. You say his name, low and surprised, and he doesn’t say anything. Those hands push the dress down your arms, and you watch it tremble and fall, a mess of blue at your feet.

You can hear his breathing; the way it stutters and jumps as he traces the clasp of your bra, the arch of your spine beneath it.

“Take it off,” you say again, and feel a sharp scratch of desperation that perhaps this time he won’t deny you this. This something that you’ve not experienced even once, and yet you find yourself missing.

The idea of his skin against yours is something prophetic, something inevitable, something divine—something determined far before the two of you met in that bar. It’s out of your control or his, irrevocable—a beast bred from desire that claws and snaps at the bars of its cage, calling you kicking and screaming into each other’s arms.

His fingers pluck at the clasp, and you smile. Sigh in relief as your bra hits the floor and the weight of your breasts are borne to the increasingly warm air. Joel is still behind you, still not seeing you. But broad palms splay across your back, massaging and flexing into your skin as they roam your sides, your stomach, up your front to cup your breasts. You gasp, eyelids fluttering as he squeezes softly, palms warm and solid against the stiff peaks of your nipples.

“Fuck.” Joel’s nose buries itself in your hair, his forehead against the back of your head. Your legs shake, and you lean back into his chest, your body a soft and tremulous thing that would surely float away if he weren’t here to hold you up.

His hands are on your breasts, sweet and tender and finally, and you wonder how long this wanting will feel like burning. Like nicks of flame that gloss over you and spit embers at anyone who dares to get too close—at him, sparking and sputtering as they collide in a spitfire symphony. This man who lives set ablaze in his own right. This man who welcomes your flame every time—swallows it whole, and lays kisses against the back of your neck with lips still warm.

Calloused fingers roll and circle your nipples, playing gently, listening for every gasp, every sigh, before diligently repeating whatever it was that called the sound forward. Your underwear is all but ruined, already damp and clinging to the slick skin between your thighs. And you can feel him against your lower back, albeit unmoving—not grinding against you, not pushing you down onto the bed, but waiting – for what, you can’t be sure.

You turn around faster than he can stop you. Hook fingers into the band of your panties and drag them down in a swift movement before straightening, holding his gaze all the while. And Joel—

He looks in pain. Dark eyes lock onto on your face and don’t stray. Don’t dip downward, don’t glance around the room. His hands hang by his sides, palms facing upward in a dejected fashion, jaw slack as he just—waits.

“Why won’t you look at me?” you whisper.

“You don’t….” he shakes his head. “If I look, I won’t be able to forget. And I—I can’t—”

There’s a flash of that memory again. Sweating in the dark bathroom of a bar in Portland. Joel wiping stained lipstick from your chin. The words I’m gonna remember this dripping from his swollen lips.

You take a step forward. Feel your nipples graze the soft material of his shirt. “And what if I don’t want you to forget?”

He says your name quietly, shoulders tense. But when you grip the hem of his shirt, he doesn’t stop you. Rather, he lifts his arms and lets you drag the fabric over his head. You marvel at the bare skin, eyes dancing across jutting collarbones and the soft swell of his stomach. Watch the way his chest rises and falls as stilted breaths flurry inside him before spilling into the air between you. Admire the trail of dark hair that rests between his bellybutton and the soft band of his underwear. His eyes don’t leave your face as you push the boxers down his legs.

“So handsome,” you say and Joel exhales, hands hovering a hairsbreadth from your waist. The weight of the moment hangs heavy between you. This moment of more. To be with him like this feels like more. To be naked feels like more.

You grip his hand and raise it to your breast again. Squeeze your fingers over his. His thumb flicks across your nipple and you gasp. His eyes darken, nostrils flaring as he fights to restrain himself.

“Joel,” you whisper. “Look at me.”

Finally, he does. Those brown eyes flickering downward to rake in the sight of your body.

He’s on you in a second, mouth slanting desperately against yours while his hands drift aimlessly across skin, untethered in their access. Fingers pinching and grabbing and squeezing, teeth searing at your lips, and you gasp as his cock presses against your stomach. The long, thick weight of him, drooling and needy. Your fingers slip around him, rub softly over the underside of his head, the vein on the underside of him. Joel grips your wrist and pushes you backward a step, his lips leaving yours with a wet smack.

“Sit on the bed,” he orders firmly.

You wander backward, stumbling onto the edge of the bed when your calves collide with the heavy wooden base. He watches you, hand drifting to wrap around the base of his cock. He strokes himself gently, black eyes tracing vigilantly over every inch of your body. And you expect him to push you down, to crawl on top of you. Instead, you watch with bated breath as Joel drops to his knees in front of you. His knees crack as they bend but he ignores it, nudging your thighs apart so his broad frame can fit between them. Hooded eyes gaze between your thighs, roaming across all of the bare skin on show. Slowly, he lifts a hand and rests it gently on your mound. Calloused fingers stroke over the dark hair there, stroking through the short curls. You sigh and cant your hips up, but Joel only grunts, his free hand squeezing your thigh to hold you against the mattress.

Before you can process it, he’s leaning forward, nose nestling in your hair as his warm tongue parts your folds. You groan in unison, your fingers carding through his curls to hold him against you. He murmurs something that you don’t quite catch over the roaring in your ears, but you don’t care. Too caught up in a smooth slide of his mouth slotting against you. The flat of his tongue glides up and down your sex, smearing a mess of slick and saliva in his wake. You gasp as it flicks sharply across your clit, your jaw tensing at the harsh sensation. Joel notices—pulls back.

“Tell me,” he urges.

“Slower,” you say quickly, voice feeble and desperate.

“Slower,” Joel repeats with a nod, and he massages your thighs as he licks into you, fingernails scraping your skin as his grip tightens and loosens and tightens and loosens. He traces slow circles around your clit with the flat of his tongue that have you gasping and bucking against his face. And when his tongue presses inside of you, you moan, fingers twisting in his hair and tugging.

“Fuck,” he growls into you, and he likes that. You do it again and his eyes flick open, pupils blown, gaze darting wildly across your stomach, your arms, your breasts, your face – watching, admiring, taking in every detail of the offering that you’ve laid so generously at his altar. The tip of a finger curls inside you and he grins when your thighs tense around him. He rears his head back to watch how you welcome him inside, eyes locked on the way your weeping cunt clenches and drips around one of his fingers, and then another.

“Yeah,” you sigh, nose scrunching at the slight stretch. “Yeah, like that, fuck.”

“Look at you,” he mutters. “Christ.” And then the cut of his wet red mouth is back on you, lips parting to suck against your clit until you’re crying out, voice a hoarse shout as you speed rapidly towards your end.

“Shit, Joel,” you gasp. One of your legs kicks out straight and his hand drops from your thigh, one set of fingers working you open while the other comes up to part your lips, giving himself more access. As he lathes wet kisses against you, the coarse hairs of his beard scraping your inner thighs, you can feel it. That liquid heat that coils and stirs in the base of your stomach.

“Joel, I—ohh—I think I’m gonna come,” you whimper, hand shooting out to grip his shoulder. Your nails dig into the tense muscle there, using the leverage to rut your hips against his face.

He groans into your sex, fingers moving faster, unforgiving against that spongy spot deep inside that sets you alight. His teeth graze against your clit, the lightest brush, and your stomach is tensing, every muscle in your body locking up.

“Give it t’me,” he says gruffly. “That’s it, come on, baby.”

A choked gasp falls from your lips and then you’re coming, twitching against his face, pussy bearing down on thick fingers that stoke you through the high. Your hand leaves his shoulder to grip the back of his neck, holding his face against where you’re aching for him still. Joel moans, a low sound from deep in his chest, dragging his fingers away so he can drink down every heady drop of your orgasm.

Baby.

The word rings in your head, bouncing inside your skull, a fierce ricochet. Baby.

Trembling fingers feather across the cowlick at the crown of his head, twisting and petting soft wayward curls as his mouth pulls back, a wet drag across the skin of your hip. You catch a glimpse of his cock, heavy and throbbing between his thighs.

Joel’s teeth nip at the sensitive skin of your thigh, a sharp pinch that makes you flinch. Tired muscles tensing, face twisting up as he sucks and licks, hot tongue soothing over the stinging red mark. He breathes your name, mouthing the sound into your flesh once, twice.

“I’ve been tryna remember this,” he murmurs. “Only ever had it for a second.”

You whimper as he licks into you again, slowly. And you’re so sensitive, and maybe—maybe—it’s too much, too soon, but he doesn’t care. He grips your calf and tucks it over his shoulder. Holds it there in a vice grip.

“Wasn’t enough,” he says. Dark eyes look up and you’re rapt in them—bound and boneless simply from having those eyes on you you you nothing but you all he sees is you and he loves it, you can tell. Thrives on the way you melt beneath his rough fingertips, the wet drag of his tongue. “Remember that first day in my office?

Remember, remember, remember, how could you forget? I’m gonna remember this this this.

“Yes.” Your leg trembles against the side of face, the coarse hairs of his beard scratching your skin. The tip of his tongue lathes slow circles around your clit. A cruel, leisurely slip of flesh on flesh that has you gasping and twitching beneath his hands.

“I wanted this that day,” Joel rasps. “Needed it. But you were gone so soon, ‘n’ I couldn’t help myself.”

“What—oh fuck—” He flicks his tongue faster, hot swipes from side to side that have your thigh clamping down against the muscles in his neck. Your mind is a blur, eyebrows furrowed as you try to make sense of his words.

“Fucked my fist the second you left,” he growls. “My fingers in my mouth, the taste of you—Christ, couldn’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout it.”

“Joel,” you gasp, impatient. “I—get up here. Please, just—”

Strong hands push you up, push you back, further onto the bed until your head hits the pillows. His hair is a wild fray around his head, knotted and mussed from your fingers raking through it.

“I don’t have anything,” he says.

“I don’t care,” you say.

His knees press onto the mattress on either side of you and his eyes glance down your chest before he grips your waist and he’s turning you. Your stomach meets the sheets and you move to arch your back, to tilt your hips up towards him, but a firm hand rests on the small of your back, and keeps you down.

“Like this,” you hear him say. “Trust me.”

His chest is flush to your back, and you can feel him there, knuckles brushing the flesh of your ass, spreading you apart so his cock can press inside. The pillow swallows your wet gasp, and your eyes pinch shut against the stretch as he sinks deeper and deeper. Every delicious inch splits you open wider, further, carving out that space that’s just for him, and it’s more. Your vision blurs and you clutch at the sheets, fingers tangling in linen as Joel’s breathy groans fill the air.

“God,” he grunts. “Always so fuckin’—tight.”

You cry out as he begins to move, pressing you further into the mattress. The stretch of him is so broad—so deep—it has hot tears pricking in your eyes. Your legs are straight, almost clamped together, leaving the smallest gap for him to break through. His chest melts against your back, sweet sweat sliding from skin to skin. And his stomach is soft against the base of your spine, but his teeth are sharp where they nip and smart against the skin of your shoulder, your neck. He sets a pace that has you biting down into the pillow to muffle your groans. It’s almost overbearing how good it feels, how he surrounds you. Flat against the mattress, there’s nowhere to hide from the pleasure, no way to twist or curl your body away from how good it feels. A choked moan is muffled by the pillow.

And then his fingers are in your hair, dragging your head up.

“What are you fuckin’ doin’?” he grunts. You gasp, eyebrows furrowed and mouth ajar as you take take take. He pulls your hair harder when you don’t respond, presses his chin against your shoulder, lips curling against the skin of your neck as he speaks. “Don’t do that, not here. No more hidin’, I wanna fuckin’ hear it.”

He grips your hips and drags you upward so you’re on your knees, bracing against your forearms, and then his hand snakes around the front of your body, fingers dragging between your thighs as he begins moving again.

“Oh fuck,” your eyes widen in surprise, jaw hanging slack as he rolls his finger in expert circles over your clit. “Fuck, fuck.”

“Yeah?” he gasps.

“Fuck,” you repeat, mewling every time one of his thrusts sends your face forward into the pillows. “Yes, oh god.”

“Yeah, you fuckin’ like that.” Each word is punctuated by a thrust of his hips. “That’s it, lemme hear it.”

“Joel,” you cry out, voice cracked and broken. “So good.”

“I know, baby,” he grunts. “I know.”

“You’re so—deep,” you gasp.

“I know,” he soothes.

“I missed this,” you babble, mouth moving faster than your mind. “Missed you.”

“Christ,” he spits, pulling you up until you’re leaning against his chest. His fingers are a blur against your clit, cock a fast wet shift in and out in and out.

You tilt your head back against his shoulder, mouth hanging open as you press your ass back into him.

“Missed me?” Joel says, and his cheek is warm against yours. Wet. Your face is wet. “Gonna show me how much?”

“Yes,” you moan. His free hand grips your breast, squeezing and pinching.

“Need to get my fuckin’ mouth on you,” he growls.

“No,” you beg. “Joel, don’t—fuuuck, fuck, don’t stop.”

“Wanted to,” his hips stutter against you, losing momentum for a second. “Jesus, wanted to take my fuckin’ time.” You snake a hand behind his head to grip his hair again, to press his face into your neck. His mouth latches onto your skin, spit mixing with sweat where his teeth and tongue trace your roaring pulse. Your thighs are trembling, knees weak and wobbling against the mattress as he pistons into you, unrelenting, unforgiving.

“I’m—” your eyes start to roll back. You can feel your back arch and twist against him, toes curling into the sheets. “Oh my God.”

He says your name in a panicked hiss and pulls out.

You gasp at the loss, eyes flying open in alarm. He moves your body, not wasting a second as he lowers you down onto your back presses inside again, hands gripping the underside of your knees, holding them against your chest. Practically bent in half, you tremble in his grasp, eyes blurred and wet as you sob his name.

“Lemme have it,” he goads you, voice a dull vibration against your chest. “Bein’ so fuckin’ good for me, yeah, just like that.”

And it feels like something splinters within you as heat floods your senses, vision whiting out until all you can see is the soft edges of his curls against your chest, the wet smear of his tongue over your nipple. All you can hear is the words he speaks against your skin.

I’m close, he warns, and you say yes, say please, say I want it, because you do.

“Where?” You call the shots.

And you say, Inside, say, I want it, because you do.

Because you want everything. Everything he has and whatever dark matter is left after that. And everything is a naked thought, a stark realisation, a frighteningly bare streak of madness that zips down your spine and melts in your belly, and you can feel yourself tightening around him with the enormity of it. Can feel your body squeezing and sucking and holding it holding it holding it and with black eyes, spheres of a night sky’s pitch, he stares at you. Unruly eyebrows pinched tight. Mouth slick and swollen and snarling, white teeth grit like prison bars, keeping everything contained inside himself, just out of your reach.

“Fuck,” Joel spits, pleading, desperate. “Don’t—”

But his hips are bruising against yours and you relish in the ache. The jut of bone amidst the softness of his skin, a reminder of the coldness in him, the determination, the impatience. And you know that you can only have so much softness until there is stone. But you cannot understand don’t, you never have with him, so you grind upward. Meet him thrust for thrust, and shiver in delight as a tortured expression passes over his face. And when you come again he curses, broad palms bearing down on you, holding your frame into the mattress as he pushes you through it, prolonging that naked thought, that fearsome idea. You only hope that he cannot see how your own everything spills. How it cools and congeals around him with its palms spread open, longing to receive as much in return.

Joel comes with a shout, hips dragging backwards so his spend can spill across your stomach and the puffy lips of your sex. He grips his cock, milking himself for all he’s worth until wet ropes of his come are smeared across your thighs too. You gasp and writhe against the bed, trying in vain to keep your heavy eyelids open, not wanting to miss a second. The shine of your slick on his thighs and lower stomach is clear in the dim lighting, and you smile at the sight of it – your claim on him. Chest heaving, he follows your gaze, fingers swiping across his skin before sinking into his mouth. He groans around his fingers and you stomach lurches as he lowers his chest to the bed, mouth drifting between your splayed thighs.

You cup his jaw and hold him still.

“I can’t,” you murmur, and your voice is cracked and broken. “S’too much.”

And he agrees, tracing the marks on the inside of your thighs with his mouth until your eyes drift closed.

Time passes slowly after that. You don’t open your eyes for a while. Too fucked out, too tired, too tender.

There’s a warm glide of something soft and wet over your stomach, your thighs, between your legs—Joel cleaning up his mess. You almost wish he wouldn’t.

“Sorry,” you mumble a few minutes later. “I’ll go in a second.” But your eyes are closed, and the sheets smell like him.

You feel the mattress dip beside you. Hear a soft click as he turns off the lamp, and darkness swells around you once more.

“S’okay,” he says, and his voice is so close, as if he were whispering against the shell of your ear, breathing the words into you. “Don’t have to go.”

And it makes sense not to go. To stay, to stay, to stay. To sink deeper into the hotel mattress, and let the sounds of his heavy exhales lull you further to sleep. He doesn’t touch you. Doesn’t come any closer. But you can smell him. Can feel his warmth, a radiating sun that shines across the side of your body closest, and you sink deeper still.

You think of the katabasis - the hero’s journey spiralling down into the underworld. Of Orpheus seeking the safe return of Eurydice, his love lost too soon. Of Odysseus, guided by Circe to discover Teiresias on his quest for homecoming. Of Aeneid, venturing downward to meet his father and hear his true destiny. This descent into the afterlife, into the realm of the dead, wherein upon return our hero is irrevocably changed. But to stay, to stay, to stay. So warm it is here, you think, so lovely and warm to descend wholly into this wanting, this burning, this everything.

“Is this a good idea?” you murmur, voice a drowsy call into the darkness. “For me to stay?”

Joel doesn’t respond.

tags: @lovely-ateez @nana90azevedo @stevie75 @evyiione @dameron-grant-spector @brittmb115 @ashhlsstuff @casa-boiardi @bbyanarchist @hopplessilse @joeldjarin @anoverwhelmingdin @bluevxnus @kelp-dreaming @prettyinpunk85 @spacelatinos4life @iluvurfather @mrsquill @sarap-77 @sunnywithachanceofjavi @alleyy-katt @zeida @mendessi @love-the-abyss @myrealmofchaos @a-roving-woman @punkshort @gracie7209 @whichwitchwanda @fellinfromthetop @bitchwitch1981 @suzmagine @@lmariephoto37 @harriedandharassed @cumberpegg @tonysttank @ourautumn86 @my-tearsricochet @shotgun-shelby @5oh5 @psychedelic-ink @what-is-your-wish @sugadolly @elissaaa @nobodycanseeinsidemysoul

thank you for reading! x

#my writing #fic: a lover's pinch #professor!joel #ALP #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #joel miller smut

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dbs-scans · 2 months

Text

April Fools’ 2024

This is our translated version of the event held on AidaIro’s twitter account for April Fools’ Day 2024. We hope you enjoy!

(Read it on twitter.)

You're a member of a certain occult forum. Among the various spooky stories posted every day, you find one a bit stranger then usual... Almost as if it were a cry for help—

――Hello, is anybody there?

POLL:

There is ✅

There isn't

Thank God, somebody replied!

I know this is out of the blue, but will you hear my story?

POLL:

Sure ✅

No thanks

When I woke up, I was sitting in an unfamiliar train. Instead of what I usually carry, there was an old cellphone in my pocket along with a piece of paper that said "Use when you're in a bind." There's no service, so I can't call anyone or anything like that, but for some reason I can access this website.

I heard about this once from Teru-nii... But this is THAT website, isn't it!? The anonymous forum for talented freelance exorcists!? I mean, everyone's name here is "Anonymous Exorcist", after all!

POLL:

That’s right ✅

We’re regular people

Sweeeeet! In that case, I'll tell ya what's been happening over on my end, and you exorcism experts can tell me what to do! Thanks for the help!

First off, it looks like I'm inside of a train. I don't take the train to school, so I don't know what line I'm on or anything... About 30 minutes have gone by, but it hasn't stopped at any stations yet. It's hard to explain, but something’s off...I get the feeling this is no ordinary train.

POLL:

You should take a good look around the train car ✅

You shouldn't move around unprepared

Got it! I'll take a look around the other cars, then.

... I've explored around 2 to 3 cars by now, but it's about the same everywhere. Like me, a number of other people are riding the train, but they all seem to be asleep.......Ahh!!

Excuse me for the outburst, I just recognized one of the other passengers. I'll try waking him.

Rise and shine, bud. Now, how'd you wind up in a place like this...? "I just woke up here"...? Guess I have no choice but to take you with me, then.

Oh, looks like the train's stopped. I'll see if we can get off now.

Looks like this station's been deserted. Nobody's here, and it's weirdly quiet, too...gives me the creeps. Now how do we get home...?

There's a signboard with the station's name on it, but it's so worn out that I can't make out what it says... It's made up of 4 hiragana characters, though. Do you have any ideas, my expert exorcists!?

POLL:

Ki 1️⃣

Sa 3️⃣

Ra 2️⃣

Gi 4️⃣

Ah, so this is Kirasagi Station! Yeah, now that you've said it, I remember thinking it was that... You guys are insanely in the know...but who would expect less from a group of exorcism experts!

By the way, while I was waiting on your replies, I took a look around the station and found a telephone box. I only have a single 10 yen coin on me, but...I'm thinking I should try calling someone. Who's my best bet?

POLL:

You should call a family member

If you have one, maybe a dependable upperclassman? ✅

An upperclassman...? Got it. I'll give them a call. I can't talk long, since it's only a 10 yen coin, but...hopefully I learn something useful!

――Brrrring brrring... click! ???: "Hello? Who's this...?"

Nene: "Kou-kun!? Why are you calling from a suspicious number!?" "You're lost in a mysterious train station...? O-oh nooo!" "Hanako-kun, what do we do!?"

Hanako-kun: "Hey, kid. You in trouble again?" "I have two pieces of advice for you:" "First, if you want to go home, then you should follow the train tracks." "Second..."

Hanako-kun: "The signal's weak inside the tunnel, so be careful, okay?" Click! Beeep, beeep, beeep...

It disconnected. I hope I didn’t worry senpai... Anyway, for now I'll just do what Hanako said and follow the train tracks. He may go out of line at times, but despite being an evil spirit, I don't think he's all bad...but uh, that's a story for another time!

Come on, Mitsuba, let's go! ...I'm a can't-function-without-instructions earring?? Look who's talking! Now shut up and follow me.

... ..... ...Hm?

There's someone on the tracks just ahead. A forest surrounds us on both sides, so the only way through is forward...

I feel like they're trying to tell me something... ...Do you guys know?

POLL:

It's someone you don't know

It's someone you know ✅

Someone I know...? You mean someone in trouble like we are? ...No?

???: "---eyyyy. Heyyyy!"

Huh!? That's...hey, that's Hanako! But I just talked to you on the phone...and now you're lost? In that case, you can come with us and...

???: "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks." "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks." "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks."

W-what!? You're not Hanako!!! L... Let's get outta here, Mitsuba!!!

???: "It's dangerous to walk on the train tracks." "It's dangerous to...."

Th-that was close... Looks like he isn't...chasing after us... I never would've expected a fake Hanako to show up! We've gotta proceed more carefully next time... Sh-shut up, Mitsuba. I wasn't scared!!

We've been walking for a while now, yet we haven't come across a single station... Hm? Is that-- ...A tunnel?

We can't see what's up ahead, but me and my buddy here are gonna go ahead and check it out anyway. I'll update you guys after we've gotten inside!

POLL:

Just don't let go of their hand, alright? ✅

Who is that beside you?

The road splits into two from here. I can’t see the end of either path… Right or left, which should we choose……? Let’s ask the experts!

Huh? I can’t post anything anymore. Maybe there’s no signal here... Hm? What is it, Mitsuba?

You can hear festival music coming from the left path? Flutes and drums? “It sounds lively and fun”? But I don’t hear anything...

…You want me to come with you?

...No. I'm not going left with you. You know what...

💻

POLL:

Kvu'a sla nv vm opz ohuk. (Don’t let go of his hand.) ✅

Sla nv vm opz ohuk. (Let go of his hand.)

You...

You're coming with me!

I see light! The exit's near! Just a little fur--

--THER!?

???: "I can't follow you any further. So long, Minamoto-kun." "Take care of yourself, alright?"

......

...Huh? I'm at...the neighborhood tunnel? What was I doing all the way out here? I feel like I was just with someone, too, but I can't remember who... Hm? There's something in my pocket...

It's a broken cellphone. Maybe someone lost it. It ain't mine, that's for sure... --Oh, crap! It's gotten really dark outside. I better hurry home...

Thanks for all the help, guys! ...? Uhh, who am I thanking exactly...? Eh, who cares.

I'm hooome!

🚃 The End 🚃

#tbhk #jshk #jibaku shounen hanako kun #toilet bound hanako kun #aidairo #twitter #jibaku shonen hanako kun

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sainzproductions · 8 months

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 ⋆ 𝐜. 𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐳

where you belatedly realize, you and carlos may never want the same things in life

SHOWBUZZF1 carlos sainz and y/n y/l/n are reportedly broken up, according to several media outlets. y/n's absence in the monumental race week of monza had raised early suspicions regarding their current score, and the succeeding grand prix's after seemed to further the speculations. her absence was dearly missed during carlos's outstanding feat in singapore and the celebrations thereafter. although the couple's relationship has been widely regarded as a private and lowkey affair, in this instance, it seemed to confirm that the childhood sweethearts had ended their eight year relationship quietly.

username oh fuck me....

username this is my roman empire😭😭😭

username the og wags are slowly being chipped off one by one☹️

username these men are really brutal. once you start to try and assert more importance in their ever busy life, they will drop you. eight years or not!!

username fuck him sideways and frontways. wym eight years!!! that's a WHOLE ass child😭😭

username yn is better than me, i would have said sm "he don't know how to eat the cat" or something!!

username ah the right of passage once every driver reaches their prime

username fr he's gonna do a lewis 🐐🐐

username shut up, you're corny <33

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

liked by charles_leclerc, danielricciardo and 5,194,920 others.

carlossainz55 qué hermoso fue amarte, my greatest and dearest love.

translation: how beautiful it was to love you.

username my heart hurts for some reason.... 💔💔💔

username my parents 😭😭😭😭

username how beautiful it WAS to love you

username a stab would have been sweeter 🥲🥲

username how dare he be so beautiful and sad😭💔

username why😭would😭you😭say😭that😭

username what if this was my 13th reason, then what!!!

username this can't hurt me because i can't read 😌😌😌

username we win illiterate girlies!!!

username **delusional girlies!!! fixed it for you 🥰🥰

username thanks, you live in xxx-xxx-xxx county right? expect me!!! 🥰🥰🥰

username STOP i was joking 😭💔💔💔

liked by maxverstappen1, landonorris and 2,193,029 others

yourusername eternally grateful to have known and loved you.

username PLEASE FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY!!! THROW SHADE AT EACHOTHER!!! BE MESSY!!! SAY HE CHEATED AND SAY SHE'S A GOLD DIGGER OR SMTHING!!!

username fr when they're being so kind and so angsty about this... makes me wanna hurl 💔💔💔

username convincing myself sainz sr. paid her to do this cause carlos wants to be a politician in the future

username are you confusing them for the kennedy's

username let me COPE in the way i know 🫠🫠🫠

username seek help : ))))

username theraputic or a psychotic one????

username whichever one applies miss ma'am!!!!

username nice. always wanted to see what's inside her private account. didn't want it to be like this 😃

username there's no pleasing people nowadays, is there!!?

username tbf i would have taken the private account over a breakup 🥲🥲🥲

username yeah all i got was #distressed

username🕯️be pregnant🕯️

username 👁️👄👁️

username evil ass manifestation 😭😭

username WICKED DEVIANT HAG!! MAY YOU HAVE TRIPLETS!! QUADRUPLETS!!! MAY YOU HAVE CHILDREN EVERYWHERE YOU GO!!!!

username i got u sis yourusername,, i cursed her back😌😌😌

↶*ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊ-

SHOWBUZZF1 in separate posts, sainz and y/l/n shared a very brief but heartfelt anecdote indirectly adressed to eachother. the pair seemed to allude that their breakup was entirely amicable, without any ill will directed to eachother. sources tell media outlets, that the decision to part ways was, "well communicated and thought out. both sainz and y/l/n have very different paths, and this seems like the only reasonable decision." adding, "they're still very friendly, but not really friends— you know? i think they could never be as close or as truly open with eachother as they used to be, but there is still love regardless. you don't throw away a connection of more than a decade, just like that.... maybe this just closes a chapter, to make way for a new one."

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julsvu · 1 month

Note

hiiii :3 can i request blue lock bachira x f!reader hcs where his s/o is really sweet and all lovey-dovey towards him or maybe just bachira boyfriend headcanons in general? he’s so cute i’d conquer the world if he asked…‎ ( ˶˘ ³˘(⋆❛ ہ ❛⋆)!♡ love your account btw~ thank you and have a good day/night!!

fem! reader

💬: hi!! tysm for requesting, i love bachira so much :3 i hope you have a nice week anon (⁠ ⁠◜⁠‿⁠◝⁠ ⁠)⁠♡ you are so real I'd conquer the world if bachira asked me to, too

📒: fluff

meguru bachira boyfriend hcs

no shame at all. he WILL be all over you even in public, giving you cheek kisses and hugs especially

he always does it with a big goofy grin on his face too

if you return his energy, his grin would somehow be bigger?? he's the human embodiment of ":D"

LOVES LOVES rambling to you, or telling you random stuff in general

probably spams your texts a lot

he's the type to try loads of random filters while on video call

u could be telling a story and he'd be having a tiger filter on (he also makes random facial expressions to test how much the filter can go)

VERY VERY TOUCHY, if u dont want him giving u kisses in public, he can stick to holding your hand and literally glueing himself to you, when you guys sit beside each other, he makes sure your thighs or legs are touching

mans is the type to wait for you outside the bathroom

HE FOLLOWS U EVERYWHERE

loves giving you his sweaters, and vice versa!!

sometimes he steals your hoodies

HE WALKS AROUND SO CASUALLY WITH IT TOO

he'd be all "I don't know, love! i hope you find them soon, though :D" when you ask him where your hoodies are

his friends, esp isagi, knows absolutely everything about you

he rambles about you a lot 😭😭

"did you know (name) is really pretty? and!-" cue him infodumping for at least 45 minutes, take a huge deep breath and proceed his infodump once again

he's vv supportive in whatever u do

if u like soccer like him, he always teaches u how to do tricks and stuff

he gets so excited whenever he plays with u too

mans is having the time of his life

wants to own a small apartment with you and your future 50 cats (half of them are named meguru jr...)

#blue lock x reader #bachira meguru x reader #meguru bachira x reader #bllk x reader #bllk x you #bllk x y/n #blue lock x you #blue lock x y/n #meguru bachira x you #meguru bachira x y/n #bachira meguru x you #bachira meguru x y/n #bachira x reader #meguru x reader #blue lock imagines

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qqueenofhades · 3 months

Note

https://www.tumblr.com/qqueenofhades/742700762243727361/you-can-tell-you-work-in-academia-with-how-much

Hi, sorry, Asshole Anon here (I’m not giving myself that nickname to lash out, I’m saying it because I was an ass)

To clarify: I mean “I don’t know what to trust anymore” in that “people whom I normally respect and would otherwise agree with are now sharing material that I find either morally indefensible or overtly simplistic, and at the same time people on the ground in Gaza are saying that Hamas IS a liberation organization, so I trust their word, but there is also the existence of the “We Want To Live” protests, and the fact that there’s now apparently a protest against a child that got killed that isn’t widely reported, with an attached video of said protest from somebody on the ground in Gaza, but it’s in Arabic, there are no subtitles, I cannot speak Arabic, and I don’t trust Google Translate”

I just want an objective sense of what is happening on the ground. I want to know what is and is not propaganda, because I (white, raised in a liberal(?) household, surrounded by white people) am especially susceptible to it. Once I have that objective sense of what the people in Gaza want, then I will be able to effectively and efficiently advocate for shit. But that also necessitates listening to orgs like Standing Together, B’Tselem, people IN Israel who want this shit to stop, and hoo BOY that ain’t gonna fly with those people I mentioned because of:

1. BDS saying that the org “normalizes the occupation”, but they’re made up of Palestinian activists and anti-apartheid veterans, I can’t discount their statement, not fully.

2. Netenyahu’s… Netenyahu

3. Twitter’s doing a great job of asserting that everyone in Israel is a — quoting directly here from a half-remembered Tweet — “genocidal maniac”, or wants the bombardment to happen. (Which I know for a fact is not the case, if the protests calling for a new election are anything to go by)

That’s not even getting into the domestic stuff. I’m in an org rn and I’m getting the sinking feeling that they’re gonna drop this thing like a hot potato when a ceasefire gets called. Just sucks.

Anyways, back to improvement. Just closing this out

I agree that we're currently in a paradoxical state where there is simultaneously ALL THE INFORMATION EVER and ACTUALLY NO INFORMATION AT ALL, and that's what makes it difficult to sort out true from false. It's also what contributes to compassion fatigue, where we are able to get extensive real-time information and/or eyewitness accounts about pretty much any tragedy or catastrophe anywhere in the world, and social media has created a space where we are expected to both immediately react to all that information and to do so in the "right" and "correct" way. Which is basically impossible, and is also what burns out young well-meaning people so hard, where they insist that there's nothing to be done except The Revolution, because they have been so inundated with this torrent of human suffering and it seems like small steps are in fact useless. I am a historian and I can tell you upfront that humans are simply not made to process that volume of information about ALL THE BAD THINGS EVERYWHERE. It's also impossible to have an informed opinion on all or sometimes any of it, but there is still the pressure to visibly do so and to do it in a way that fits in with what everyone in your peer group is saying, even if you don't understand it. So yes -- that is absolutely very difficult, and it's hard to filter or parse it.

That said, I don't think we actually need to have painstaking piece-by-piece analysis of every single piece of information out there, because there are in fact so many competing narratives, perspectives, fake news, disinformation campaigns, opinions, etc., and it will lead you to the same information paralysis: there's just too much of it to even start processing, and so your brain just gives up and reverts to those same simplistic cliches and things that "feel" right, regardless of whether or not they are. When you're trying to decide on the fine details of something, it helps to have an overall sense of the context and narrative that they're operating in. So for reference, these are some broad and basic analytic paradigms that I personally use when reading or thinking about any material in regard to the Israel/Hamas situation in particular:

No person of basic good faith and human decency wants the current situation in Gaza to be happening. However, the person/group that has the power to call it off -- i.e. Netanyahu and the current Israeli government -- has not done so despite increasing pressure from Western allies, because the situation is beneficial to Bibi personally and he sees more use in continuing it than making the decision for it to stop.

The governments of Western allies, therefore, can voice disapproval of Israel's actions (which they have been doing more and more frequently) but unless Netanyahu himself makes the choice to end the war, it will not stop. The West has recently given more and more signals that they are not prepared to countenance the ongoing destruction and genocide of Gaza, but yet again, Israel is its own sovereign country with its own powerful government, military, intelligence services, etc. The "anti-imperialists" who think the collective West can just reach in and turn off the violence whenever they please, and have just refused to do so because they're "bad people," are not being realistic. Western allies can exert pressure and leverage, but as long as Netanyahu himself wants to keep going, he will.

"People in Gaza" and "people in Israel" are not homogeneous blocs who think exactly alike. Some people in Gaza support Hamas. Some people do not. Hamas support has recently grown as a result of Israel's post-October 7 response, but it is not unanimous or unquestioned.

Hamas is the entity that started the current war by attacking Israel on October 7 and murdering/raping/kidnapping 1,000+ Israeli civilians. Hamas is also associated with Russia, Iran, Hezbollah, and other terrorist regimes/states, which are often defended by Online Leftists simply for being "anti-Western," regardless of how heinous their actions also are.

Netanyahu was wildly unpopular in Israel for MONTHS before this current war, due to his autocratic attempts to neutralize the Israeli Supreme Court and make the country even more of his personal fiefdom. There were huge, massive, ongoing protests against his naked power-grab for almost all of 2023, and he was so preoccupied with pushing it through that he ignored warnings from the Israeli and Egyptian intelligence services that Hamas was planning a major attack. These anti-Netanyahu demonstrations have continued and ramped up in intensity even in the middle of the war/attacks on Gaza.

As such, painting every single Israeli as mindlessly supporting the current actions of Netanyahu and the Israeli government is antisemitic nonsense and reflect the current Western Leftist tendency to assume that "all Israelis" and "all Zionists (read Jews)" are evil and personally responsible for this.

Israeli Jews have a right to exist and to reside on the land currently called Israel. Modern Israel was founded in 1948, three years after the end of WWII and the Holocaust, the greatest incidence of antisemitic mass murder in history, which is a fact that cannot be ignored and which western leftists eagerly calling for its total eradication and treating it as an illegitimate "white western settler colony" nonetheless do in fact repeatedly ignore.

This is why many Jews do not feel safe in other countries, because there has literally been thousands of years of history proving that they often aren't, and which the rabidly antisemitic response to the current conflict is doing nothing to dissuade.

Jews have had a presence in the land alternately called Palestine, Israel, the Holy Land, Judah, etc., for over 2,000 years, and their entire religion and history is founded around the exile from Jerusalem. That is the history that the current state of Israel is drawing on. It does not vanish just because it is inconvenient for western leftists to acknowledge.

Israel currently has a militant far-right government (after tending toward rightist/right wing domestic politics more generally, partially due to post-Holocaust trauma) that has deliberately erased, ignored, and violated the equally valid claims of Palestine and Palestinian people to that same land, and which is currently committing full-scale genocide against them.

Palestine and Palestinian/Muslim people have the same right to exist on that land as Israel and Israeli/Jewish people (and Christian people, and none-of-the-three people). They both have equally long and historically relevant claims to this land and one of them (in an ideal world, which we do not live in) should not be artificially prized over the other.

However, this land is some of the most bitterly and violently contested in the entire world, for the last two thousand years and counting, and there is no one good guy, simplistic answer, or quick way to stop it. The three Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam) have fought bitterly over Jerusalem and its associated territories for a cool few millennia, and human nature being what it is, there is no way for one person, group, organization, government, etc to just step in and make it stop.

The Western/American leftist response to the current conflict has often made absolutely no attempt to take into account any of this troubled and complex history, and has reduced the whole thing down to whichever antisemitic and/or anti-Democratic Party soundbites will get them the most traction on social media. This often rests on whitewashing any moral responsibility belonging to Hamas and defending them no matter what, labeling all Israeli Jews as "evil genocide supporters," and assuming that if Biden wanted to magically shapeshift into Netanyahu and give the order to make it stop, he would, but he's "just not doing it," ergo something something Trump Would Totally Be Better!

These people also often call themselves "anti-imperialist" while thinking/demanding that America swoop in and play Big Global Policeman Daddy (as it indeed has often done in the past) and spank all its naughty children (but if it actually did do this, etc etc it would be evil). Biden could very much do more and has not necessarily done enough, but he has also done more than any other American president in history to shift away from unconditional unquestioning support of Israel only, and to advocate for a Palestinian state, a lasting ceasefire, and other basic precepts of Palestinian self-determination and dignity of personhood. These two things can be true at the same time.

I don't necessarily expect everyone to agree with every single fine detail of these statements, but I do expect them to at least make a basic effort to let all of these facts to inform their response, and not just the ones that they most agree with and which most fit their ideology or preferred conclusion. So that's one way to approach the situation, even if we obviously can't wring every single drop of meaning out of every single competing piece of information or evidence, because there is just too much of it. When we have a broader understanding of the space that we are operating in and the precepts that are factually true, we are able to make better judgments about who is trustworthy, who is worth listening to, what message they are pushing, and whether it corresponds with reality.

Good luck. I'm sure you'll continue to think about this and take the steps that you feel are best. It is all any of us can do.

#anonymous #ask #politics for ts #israel hamas war #history #long post

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louisupdates · 1 month

Text

By Marcelo Fernández Bitar [translated from Spanish]

In just over 24 hours, Louis Tomlinson passed through Buenos Aires and caused a commotion, with hundreds of fans crowding at the door of his hotel singing and shouting his name, and also occupying almost the entire block where there is a FM radio station where he went to give an interview.

The fanaticism generated with his solo career by the former singer of One Direction in Argentina is so great that in fact he will give a recital in the same stadium where he was in 2014 with the mega-boy band. It will be on May 18 in Vélez Sarsfield.

Louis Tomlinson already has two solo albums and is touring the world presenting the most recent, Faith in the Future. It came out in November 2022 and surprised with his most rocky sound, close to the Brit-pop of his beloved Oasis, and less pop. It was number one in England and three singles came out, Bigger Than Me, Out of My System and Silver Tongues.

Hurricane Louis

The visit was really fleeting with the purpose of promoting his show next month, the old-fashioned way, when the artists toured the countries to advertise albums or tours, something they currently do on Zoom or with posts on their official accounts.

Louis arrived on Friday night and spent Saturday fulfilling an intense schedule of activities, to leave early the next day.

First he went to the Vélez football field for a television interview which will be televised later by TN, and then he went to the radio station Los 40 Principales, where his fans filled the entire Gorriti street, between Ravignani and Arévalo, to witness an interview where eight listeners joined to ask him a question each.

He finally arrived at 4 p.m. at the Four Seasons hotel, where hundreds of other fans were screaming for him. There he gave a series of reports and chatted with Clarín in a room equipped as a small television set, with lights and a set with his name and the cover of the disc.

"Never, not for a second, did I think I would be going through some of the same experiences," he said, "that I was lucky enough to live in the band. I thought that was something unique. So being able to come here and feel the level of love and the incredible reaction on today's radio station, means a lot to me. When I imagined what my solo career would be like, I really didn't know what to expect.

Re-filling stadiums

At 32-years-old, Louis Tomlinson has the experience of having been part of one of the greatest pop phenomena of the last 20 years, with sales records and sold-out shows in stadiums around the world. And now he is repeating the fury alone, just as it happened just a little earlier with his ex-bandmate Harry Styles.

In Louis’ case, he first sold out the closed Movistar Arena stadium in 2022 and now he goes through a huge soccer field like Vélez.

Q: Did you think that being a soloist you had to start from below and sing in smaller places?

Louis: Yes, exactly. But it turns out that I can still play in big places, so it's great.

Q: Can we really talk about a mania of a "louistomlinson-mania"? Does it happen everywhere or is it special in Latin America?

Louis: I think that in terms of the level of similar intensity, and seeing what happened a moment ago on the radio station, that certainly doesn't happen to me everywhere. Let me put it this way: it's incredible to be so far from home and feel that level of love. I'm very excited to think about what the show will be like here.

Q: It's incredible that almost exactly ten years have passed since the last time you filled Vélez. How do you feel when you return to the same stadium?

Louis: I feel very lucky to be able to play in those places again on my own. I also feel very, very proud of myself and my fans. I feel like we have created something that is quite special and we did it together. With them as listeners, but also as facilitators. That really helped my confidence and made me feel good on stage. It's a lovely relationship and I'm very proud of it.

Q: This tour started almost a year ago, how did it evolve with respect to the first shows?

Louis: I definitely feel in a good place right now with the show. Anyway, in advance I was excited about this tour because this album was designed for the live show. So I was excited to see how the songs would work. And the energy is great. I am very excited to show Faith in the Future to Latin America.

Q: How did the idea of making a live cover of Arctic Monkeys come about?

Louis: Arctic Monkeys grew up about 20 minutes from where I live. It was something very close, very fresh in the mind and obviously huge. I was growing up and I'm also a big fan. I usually do the song 505 because it's very pretty.

Often, with the versions, I probably think more about what I would like to sing than about what I imagine that everyone else would like to hear, which may be misjudged, but I'm enjoying it.

Q: When you were a teenager you sang Oasis songs and now you have a rock band that sounds very Brit-pop, almost closing a circle.

Louis: Thank you. I am very, very fortunate to have the band I have, but they also perform sonically and visually, everything that is really important to me. They sound absolutely incredible. I don't think I would be able to do this without my band.

Q: Live you also perform songs from One Direction. Did you feel that kind of shadow at the beginning of your solo career and now you are more comfortable looking back?

Louis: I think a bit about both things. I think that at the beginning of my career I would have been a little more worried about putting too many One Direction songs in the repertoire. What I wanted most was to spread my wings and show who I was. But I think that as time went by, the nostalgic moments are really charming. So it's like a beautiful mixture of nostalgia and it's very nice to do it.

Ping-pong

Q: This is the third time you have visited our country. If you had to describe your Argentine fans in three words, which one would you choose?

Louis: Passionate. Loyal. Affectionate. That’s okay, isn't it?

Q: The soccer player Kun Agüero said that there is a lot of talk to you through Instagram or Twitter. Have you ever met him in person?

Louis: Actually, we have never seen each other in person. Over the years we've talked a little here and there, but I never found time. I have a kind of crazy hope that he can come to the show.

Q: If you had to choose one of your songs, either from Walls or Faith in the Future, that reflects how you feel right now in your life, what would it be?

Louis: I would say that the name of the album (Faith in the future) represents where I am right now, but I think that in the future I would like to always be optimistic.

Q: And if all the One Direction discography was deleted and a song had to be saved. Which one would you save?

Louis: It's interesting... I would probably say Story Of My Life. That seemed like a real milestone. I would say it's a little more serious. And I also think it's a bit of a crazy song.

Q: You are a big soccer fan, do you have any preference for an Argentine club?

Louis: I'm very afraid to say something wrong... I'd better say that I love you all. (laughs)

Photos

Links

#louis press #louis tomlinson #fitfwt24: buenos aires #6.4.2024 #clarin

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nekoannie-chan · 3 months

Text

Getting to know each other again

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 400 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: All Steve wants is to get you back.

Major Tags: Fluff, angst, mention of amnesia.

Additional tags: This is my gift to @sinceimetyou. HAPPY BIRTHDAY GABY!

You can read it on Wattpad and Ao3 too.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

I don’t give any kind of permission for my fics to be posted on other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and are not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

Add yourself to my taglist here.

My other media where I publish: Ao3, Wattpad, ffnet, TikTok, Instagram, Twitter.

If you like it, please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @unnuevosoltransformalarealidad @navybrat817 @angrythingstarlight @shield-agent78 @charmed-asylum @pandaxnienke @real-fbi @Smokeandnailz @white-wolf1940 @tenaciousperfectionunknown @xoxonotme @bluemusickid @leyannrae @Harrysthiccthighss @Marvelatthisone @caplanbuckybarnes @sapphire-rogers @lizzieolseniskinda @notyourtypicalrose @hallecarey1 @nana1000night @talia-rumlow @writingshae @alexxavicry @azulatodoryuga @daemonslittlebitch @chaoticcollectivenightmare @endlesstwanted @chemtrails-club @marigoldreamer @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @Here4thefanfics @theestorm @patzammit @kmc1989 @somegirlfromasgard @rogersbarber

Steve woke up agitated again. Again, he had that nightmare about the day you disappeared and how your body vanished between his fingers. If they had left him, he would have finished off Thanos himself with his own hands.

He had searched through many books, through your things, everywhere. He needed a solution, a way he could bring you back.

The emptiness of being without you was enormous, and nothing could fill it. He tried to occupy his mind with different activities, but one way or another, everything always came back to you.

Several times he thought that there must be some way to go back in time, and he didn't even care if he had to start all over again; he was able to do whatever it took to bring you back.

He ran as fast as he could when he saw they were coming back. He didn't want you to be alone; it would probably be too confusing. He didn't have much time to think about how he was going to explain to you what had happened.

He stopped when he was close; he took a breath; he needed to calm down first; you couldn't see him so upset either; although it was obvious that he couldn't hide what had happened, he couldn't wipe the passage of time from his face.

“Y/N," Steve said carefully.

You looked at him confused; you didn't know what had happened.

“What happened? What am I doing here? “you questioned, looking around you. Steve was about to answer you when you interrupted him. “Who are you?"

Now Steve was the one who was confused, but then he remembered that maybe there was a slight possibility that you had suffered a blow to the head just before you disappeared; in fact, you were unconscious when he hugged you before you vanished.

He bit his lip, trying to contain all the feelings that were welling up inside him. He managed to convince you to go with him.

"Y/N has amnesia." Those words kept echoing in Steve's head, but he wasn't going to give up hope, not this time; somehow he was going to make you regain your memory, and if not, then he was going to make you get to know each other again, like in the beginning, until you fell in love with him again.

He wasn't going to lose you again.

#Happy Birthday Gaby!#steve rogers x reader

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asksythe · 1 year

Text

Hua Cheng’s Design

Source: 孤世中逢影 Gu Shi Zhong Feng Ying (weibo) on Hua Cheng’s design as based on Miao ethnic group culture - with snippets from a Chinese Documentary on Miao Ethnic People and an interview with Shi sifu, one of the last traditional Miao silversmiths - Sina TV.

Translator: Sythe / NPD Khanh

Hua Cheng’s character design. As we all know, the image of Hua Cheng was established based on the Miao ethnic group, so let's see the specific origin of things on Hua Cheng’s person.

1. Red umbrella:

The red umbrella in Miao culture is one of the indispensable props at marriage and celebrations. The red umbrella symbolizes great auspiciousness as one’s desires, numerous children and grandchildren, sheltering from the wind and rain, exorcising evil spirits, and shielding people from disasters. All of these together are a perfect fit to represent the blessings of the heavens (Tian Guan Ci Fu, the name of the novel) with no taboos or misfortunes.

At the same time, in the opening episode of Tian Guan Ci Fu, Xie Lian mistook Hua Cheng for a bridegroom ghost. The situation fits perfectly like a miracle as a red umbrella is required for a wedding.

2. Silver butterfly, maple leaves.

The Miao people have long had an ancient song, "Feng Mu Ge" (Song of the Maple Tree), to praise the beauty of life. The Miao people also consider butterflies as the ancestral mother, who can bless the village to be peaceful, the children to thrive, and the nation to flourish.

Maple leaves and butterflies represent rebirth, and reincarnation. These motifs can be seen in the culture of the Miao people everywhere, from clothes to jewelry to household decorations. The most famous is the Hong He area, located in an autonomous district of the Miao ethnic group in Yunnan. Whether it is nature or people, maple leaves and butterflies are popular, cherished symbols.

ps. The butterfly decoration that the author saw while traveling in Yunnan is also an inspiration.

"When I was traveling in Yunnan, there was a butterfly decoration in front of the hotel elevator,” Mo Xiang looked at it and thought. After a while, she said proudly, "He will raise a kaleidoscope of butterflies." (From MXTX Author’s Notes and Interview)

3. Silver Jewelry

This goes without saying much, silverware is an important component of Miao culture, "the more beautiful, the better;” "Miao people’s iconic silver jewelry is used to pray for peace and as a token of love or a proposal of marriage.” Speaking of which, Hua Cheng’s character design is based on ethnic Miao people. Of course, the same jewelry is used. The inheritor of the art of Miao silversmithing, Shi sifu, also said, Hua Cheng is steeped in Miao Guang symbolism and aesthetics.

4. Other

If you read the novel, it’s not difficult to figure out:

Huacheng used a red umbrella because when he was young and weak and had nothing. Xie Lian gave him a red umbrella to shield him from the wind and rain.

Hua Cheng uses corral beads because this is one of Xie Lien's lost earrings. In Taoism, coral represents the heart. Taking this into account, Xie Lian in the book had two corral earrings. The implication of this symbolism then becomes quite enticing.

Hua Cheng strung the red string of fated love because, during the Gentle Fragrance part of the book, Xie Lian gently cut a hair strand and gifted it to him. In our country's traditional culture, tying your hair together represents binding marriage. The red line represents your destined intertwined path.

From the beginning to the end, the author demonstrated the changes in Hua Cheng. "Become a better, stronger person because of him, for him". All of Hua Cheng’s character progressions developed according to the plot, gradually revealing layers of meaning, and not built by forced intention. Therefore, in successfully portraying such a character, the author moved the reader’s heart and created a miracle.

A Love that is unchanged even in the face of death.

#MXTX #tgcf #Hua Cheng #Translation #Sina TV

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anonymoushouseplantfan · 6 months

Note

By Camila Tominey,

“Just as I have always admired the seamless way the Duchess of Sussex’s truth has sometimes clashed with fact, so too do I have a grudging respect for Omid Scobie.

"Lest we forget, this is a man who spent a decade raking over celebrities’ private lives for US Weekly, only to brazenly tweet in 2021: “Privacy means freedom from *unauthorised* intrusion. It is the right to choose what you share with others and what you don’t. That’s it!

"At the time, such outbursts left journalists like me in disbelief. Wasn’t this the guy whose entire career was built on analysing snatched paparazzi images of the rich and famous? Imagine our incredulity when Scobie launched into repeated attacks on the very royal press pack he followed around like a puppy. I saw with my own eyes how he tried to muscle in on the rota system in a bid to gain access to the very members of the Royal family he now seeks to trash in his second book, Endgame, which hit bookshelves on Tuesday.

"You have to admire the brass neck of the bloke, you really do. I remember one incident on a royal tour when he was literally begging me to tell him the sources of my various royal scoops. And to think he’s now so reluctant to discuss his own! Who on Earth could they be, I wonder?

"Perhaps the most amusing thing about Endgame is how much this fearless journalist gets wrong in his tireless pursuit of Meghan’s truth. “Palace aides were racking their brains to remember the ‘five’ private secretaries who have come and gone from the Duchess of Cambridge’s office (there have been three). And contrary to the claim ‘you’d be unlikely to read about it in any British newspaper’, The Telegraph reported on exactly that staffing issue last week.

"Hey, but why let facts get in the way of a good story? In one passage, I am described as The Telegraph’s Royal Editor – which I’m not and never have been. Referring to a piece I had written about the now infamous dog bowl incident, in which I suggested that it showed how much love William has for his little brother that he felt the need to physically wrestle him to the ground, Scobie comments that I sound like the “excuses of domestic abusers everywhere.”

"Domestic abuse? Is that what we are calling sibling rivalry these days? We are now being asked to believe that it was a “translation error” that the names of two “alleged” royal racists had been left in the now-pulled Dutch copies of Endgame – even though they were completely absent from the English version. And we’re supposed to accept this narrative even after Scobie had bragged on US television that he knew the names of both alleged racists?

"You know, I really thought I’d seen it all when Meghan told Oprah, with a straight face, that the Archbishop of Canterbury had married them three days before their official wedding ceremony; that she’d had her passport confiscated only to jet off on multiple holidays; that Kate had made her cry and not the other way round.

"I thought I’d heard it all when “sources” close to these two multi-millionaires (who were still receiving a £700,000 allowance from the King after Megxit) revealed the couple were so “desperate” they had no choice but to sign deals with Netflix et al – even though we know they were speaking to streaming companies as early as 2018, a whole two years before they stepped down as “working” members of the Royal family.

"I thought I’d heard it all when Scobie, of all people, claimed to be both a champion of privacy and an accountable press, only to publish not one, but two completely unauthorised intrusions into the lives of the Royal family so lacking in balance as to be laughable. We must believe all victims of bullying, insists Scobie (who was comforted by Meghan when he copped the kind of flak we all get, day in and day out on social media), except when they’re accusing the Sussexes of it. You really couldn’t make it up."

Thanks!

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jewishvitya · 5 months

Text

So, this is from Local Call, it's related to 972mag. I shared from 972mag before, the journalists writing for it are Israelis and Palestinians. This is by Oren Ziv.

Translating the title: a doctor was investigated following a complaint that she blocked Jewish colleagues online.

I don't know all the terms to translate the rest directly, but she's from the West Bank and she was working in Israel (residency, if I'm choosing the right word?) and she was arrested and investigated for blocking some colleagues on social media. Her permit to enter Israel was revoked as a result. The Association for Civil Rights in Israel says that it's a silencing tactic.

People, especially Palestinians, have been getting arrested etc for online posts for a while now, but the article says this is extreme even for the current situation.

She says they also questioned her regarding friend requests she didn't approve. She said she didn't block anyone, she just deactivated her accounts a while ago and she only restored them recently around the end of September or October. They took her phone.

In a letter from the Association for Civil Rights to the police they said that no one was clear about what she's a suspect of, she got no warning and no opportunity to talk to a lawyer.

She worked for a few more weeks after this, and then took a break for a few days at home, and when she tried to come back they told her she has no permit anymore. The hospital has no objection to having her back. She says she had good relationships with colleagues. She police took her from work and it was hard for her with everyone seeing and having no idea why she's being arrested.

The Association for Civil Rights tries to get the investigation to close and to get her the permit back so she can return to work. The lawyer who represents her through the association says it's one of the most extreme cases of harassment and political persecution.

The lawyer says that even without taking it further, the arrest and the investigation already caused her harm. A right to a good reputation, to privacy, to freedom of work and freedom of speech.

I don't have much to add, I'm just stunned.

If you take my posts out of tumblr, feel free to crop out my url. If I have no control over the post, I'd rather not have my name everywhere. Not when my country is being this aggressive. Not that it would do much.

#palestine

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blackhill2245 · 20 days

Text

You jokingly call billie eilish

Crack fick ngl, billie x platonic fem reader

You do not have permission to repost, copy or translate my work.

I sighed in boredom. It was the middle of the summer holidays, and I had shit to do.

I've done all my homework, who the fuck gives homework over the summer? Anyway I've finished all that, and I've finished all my personal projects and I've painted and re did my room... twice!.

So I sat there scrolling on Instagram falling asleep, despite it being 8pm. I see all my friends out having fun on holiday and I'm here in shitty ireland, like how dull can my life be?

I groan about to throw my phone across the room, again, when I get an idea. I giggle to myself and lay on my belly, fliping through my contacts, deciding to ring celebrities and see what happens. I click on Taylor Swift. I don't like her music, but like I don't care. Anyway, I try calling her, but it instantly declines, so I try again, and I get an automated response saying I reached my limit. I groan, flopping back on my back and decide to see if anybody posted on their story in the two seconds I was away.

I rush past all the boring shit before seeing billie eilish posting about her dog shark. Suddenly, I had a light bulb moment, and I pressed on her profile and pressed DMs, I pressed call and waited.

Just as the call was going to end, it answered, "i pause for a moment shocked before belting."

"BE MY, BE MY BABY! MY ONE AND ONLY BABY!" I stop singing, looking at the phone wide-eyed and red in the face. I looked like a mess, having just woken up my hair everywhere. My makeup was ruined because I didn't take it off before I napped.

"What the fuck" I hear a man say as billie laughs turning red. "Well?" I'm not gonna lie I was sitting myself.

"Yo! What the fuck!" She laughs rolling onto her side and sitting up showing her brother Fineas in the background who looked confused.

I take a deep breath about to start singing again before billie interrupts me, thankfully.

"Yo, whyd you call?" She asks, recovering from her laughing fit she moves to sit next to Fineas.

"Girl, I was bored," I whine, not moving from my awkward position, I was sitting up, but my face was smashed into my pillow.

"You're gonna get your makeup all over your pillow," fineas notes, I shrug. "This shit doesn't come off, it's like.... water proof, " I try to think, but I just give up in the end.

"Hey, where you from?" I hear some commotion on the other end as billie leaves speaking as she walks away coming back with her spider, or teranchula, same thing.

"Ireland," I roll my eyes, "get me away from hear." I drag out the sentence rolling off the bed, showing how much I hated it here. "Didn't expect you to answer." I sigh, head crooked arms splayed out legs looking like a dead spider.

She laughs to herself, handing her spider to fineas, who looked like he wanted to throw the thing across the room. "I don't usually, but what's the harm?" I look off screen "hello little man" I coo sitting up my dog rocky cokes into my room, I hear billie asking who I'm talking too so I flip the camera to show him off.

We ended up talking for an hour before I had to go for dinner, yes I have dinner at 9 Sue me.

I was sad to end the call, but the billie said, "Sad you have to leave, girl, what your um oh wait here." I raised a brow, not understanding what she meant, but then I get a notification that BIlly_boy2901 started following you, "hey is that you?" I laugh at the name, "yea can't have people knowing about my secret account you know?" I Humm "smart" I sigh saying goodnight before we ended the call, for some reason I wasn't really in shock which I thought I would be, she seemed so normal I don't know I thought she would be different but whatever.

That night, I had dinner and went to bed. I talked to billie in the morning despite it being so late in America that she stayed up to talk. I smiled to myself, thinking about how sweet she was.

Girls, my first fiction, ahhahaha anyway, hope you enjoy ❤️

#billie eilish #fanfic #billie eilish x reader #platonic #crack post #fem reader #billie eilish x fem reader #wtf

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