baby

No title available

Origami Around

titsay

tannertan36
Peter Solarz
Game of Thrones Daily
i don't do bad sauce passes
AnasAbdin

Love Begins
cherry valley forever

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
NASA
No title available
todays bird
Not today Justin
we're not kids anymore.
noise dept.
DEAR READER

Andulka
Mike Driver
seen from South Korea
seen from United States

seen from Spain

seen from China
seen from Italy
seen from South Korea

seen from Switzerland
seen from United States

seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Czechia

seen from Malaysia

seen from Germany

seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom

seen from United States
@merci-killing
baby
Did someone say BROAD???
The updated version with Clint🤍
(I did not create these gifs, credits to the amazing owners- middle gif by @iamasaddie)
Just going to continue to add to this post until I die
Shoutout @copperhalfcent🩶 Definitely have to add Harry!
This gif is what I see every time I blink.
Beck and Call
18+ MDNI!
Summary: You’ve been divorced from Joel for a little while, now. But when your sink breaks and threatens to flood your house right before a date, you have no one else to call but him. Why does he come? You don’t know. Why does he look so fucking good? You don’t know, either.
W.C: ~6.2k
TL;DR: Rule number one of getting divorced: don’t fuck your ex-husband. (Optional).
Warnings: ex-husband!joel x ex-wife!reader, sappy love confessions, improper use of a sink, praise, oral f!receiving, mirror sex, unprotected p-in-v sex, (no outbreak!)
Note: as a child of divorce, i am allowed to touch upon this matter. anyway, happy fucking i mean reading
Part One | Part Two
One-third. A married couple’s least favourite fraction.
FUNNY GIRL (1968) dir. William Wyler
I think Reed with baby Franklin might end me.
#plaid always looks good
PEDRO PASCAL in: Strange Way of Life, The Last of Us, Nurse Jackie, The Bubble, Red Widow, Brothers & Sisters, Narcos, Freaky Tales, and Touched by an Angel
#he turned 50 and all filter just melted away lmao
The right side of my neck
pairing: Joel Miller x F!reader
summary: You never meant to end up alone with the patroller, but two nights, snowed in between silence and shared space, leave you both with a bond too fragile to name and very dangerous to keep.
tags: age gap (30-56), grief, death, mention of suicide, alcohol.
w/c: 3.1k
notes: you'll hate me for this, i know
edit: part 2!
“So, by protocol, we’re gonna start sending a nurse on every patrol” María says from behind her desk, her momma-warm voice filling the silent office… smelling like incense and baby powder for some reason.
“I don’t carry guns.”
Silence. María moves some stuff through the desk, rummage through some papers with names.
“Ain’t necessary you use one” she assures you. “Might wanna keep a knife on you, just in case, but if you don’t wanna use firearms, we won’t force you. You can when you’re ready, but for now it ain’t needed.” She writes your name on the patrol roster, stamps it, and hands you a slip of paper.
“This here’s your assigned partner for tomorrow morning. You’ll find him at the stable” she says as you read: Joel Miller. Rancher St. “Here’s his address if you wanna stop by and meet him beforehand.”
You slip the paper into your scrub pocket and look at her.
“What if someone tries to hurt me out there?” you ask.
“That ain’t gonna happen. Joel’s…” María trails off for a second, thinking through her words. “He’s alert. Real alert. Before anything touches you, it’s gotta get through him first. But you know, if you wanna feel safer you can—”
“I’m not carrying a gun” you cut in.
“Good.” She nods. Not tired, you can feel the understanding in her voice. “Pack yourself a bag with food, warm clothes, a lighter, first-aid kit, water, etc.” She stands and opens the door.
“Good luck tomorrow. Let me know how it goes.”
Walking out of City Hall, you head straight home. Doesn’t strike you to go meet your new partner. Why bother? Just to stare at each other?
The thought of stepping outside again after so long makes every inch of you tremble. Freezes your marrow. Once, you were a wild creature and the outdoors was your playground… but those instincts got lost. Now, you feel like the world outside will eat you alive.
And maybe it will.
The new patrol policy is kinda rough, but it means more supplies and maybe a few privileges.
“Hey, I’m the one keeping your ass safe! Give me that last bag of coffee!” Sounds good.
Your bag’s a bit heavy. Maybe because you rolled around in bed more than you slept. Still, you reach the stable and see him. Joel’s brushing his horse like it’s showtime, whispering to it as he strokes its neck—tender.
“Hey” you say, no frills, standing on the other side of the fence. “You Joel?”
He turns, looks at you for a second, then glances away.
“Roll out in fifteen. Grab a horse and sign in” he says, returning to the horse and stuffing a few things into his bag and adjusting the girth.
His demeanor irks you at first: no hello, no eye contact. You shrug and head to the end of the stable, find the sign-in sheet with a pencil dangling on a string. You jot your name beneath his.
“Which one’re you taking?” Joel asks, leading the horse out by its reins.
“This one’s available…” you read off the board: “Shimmer.”
“No, leave that one in.”
“But I need—”
“You ride mine. Easier that way. If I gotta wait on you, we ain’t gettin’ back.”
A silence settles. You watch him settle the last few things on his horse. The jab stings. He turns his head and meets your eyes.
“Get on the horse.” He gestures you to the animal. You glance at it and then back at him. Joel closes his eyes, massages the bridge of his nose and sighs heavy. “Come ‘ere”
He makes you stand fancing the side of the horse and suddenly you're in the air. A small sound blurt past your lips but you keep it in by clamping your lips shut. Your hands go to the horn of the saddle, his strong and large hand grasp you by the hips over your jeans, when you set your foot inside the stirrup, his hands go unannounced straight to your ass, pushing you up.
Once you're sat, your eyes go briefly to his. Not staring much. You're probably beet red.
The ride’s quiet. Like you’ve both silently agreed you don’t wanna know much about each other. Your arms around his waist over his coat, it’s alright. The landscape stuns you, the sun reflecting off the snow like in a dream. Jackson’s mountains look even more intimidating close-up.
“Ain’t we going too far?” you ask over the wind.
He glances back. Doesn’t answer right away.
“You never been assigned a long route before? You think they’d send a nurse on a thirty-minute patrol? They only send someone if it’s risky.” He speaks as he guides the horse across a little stone bridge over a frozen river.
“I’ve never done a route.”
Silence.
“Well. This will be your first.”
The blizzard bites your skin, snow flicking your cheeks. You close your eyes, lean into his back, taking refuge from the wind’s assault.
A grunt rumbles in his chest.
“We gotta stop. Storm’s comin’ in,” Joel says, voice louder to fight the storm’s howl.
Soon you’re standing in front of a worn sign: “Jackson Hole Golf & Tennis Club.” Following a trail, you find a small cabin. He helps you down with a tug so abrupt it nearly throws you off balance. You give him a sharp look he doesn’t notice as he hands you the bags and gestures toward the door. After a moment, he steps inside after you.
“Where’d you leave it?” you ask as he sets his rifle on a desk and pulls a flashlight from his bag.
“What?” He’s matter-of-fact, not looking your way.
“The horse.”
“He’s got a back room. I’ve spent nights here before in the same kinda mess” he says, handing you the flashlight. Through the windows, nothing but white, daylight storm in full force.
“How long we stay here?” you ask, stammering as you turn toward the window.
“Could be two hours. Could be a day.” He draws the curtains and closes them. “Unpredictable.”
You nod, sinking into one of the chairs in the small living area.
“I brought water, some cans of food, extra matches…” You plop your backpack on your knees and start unpacking.
“Yeah, what everyone should carry when they patrol,” he mutters, pulling a small single-burner stove from his bag and lighting it on the floor. “Next time, bring a lighter, not matches. Snow melts and ruins ‘em.”
You nod again. Accept wisdom from someone who’s been around.
Afternoon rolls in silence. The cabin creaks as wind tosses around it. Joel fiddles with the radio, scanning through static. No signal, storm’s blocked it.
“I’m gonna check the horse” he whispers, getting up with a tired groan. He tries the cabin door. It won’t budge. He peers through the peephole. Only darkness. “Dammit, the snow… Shit.” He clicks his radio on his belt.
“Jackson, do you copy? Amy, do you copy?” he repeats, voice tense all afternoon.
“It’s almost six PM. They can answer, but we ain’t goin’ no place tonight. Rescue teams roll out at six AM.” Joel sets the radio on the desk and sinks into a chair, rubbing his forehead.
“We could cook something” you say, knees brushing the floor as you grab a can of chickpeas in tomato sauce and set it on the burner. “Something hot in the belly, the night’ll pass easy.” He’s staring at the cans now.
“How we divide the night watch?” you ask.
“I got it. You ain’t got a gun, and I’m sure you don’t know how to handle one” he says, lifting the rifle from the wall, then grabs a cloth from his pocket and wipes the barrel.
“Aren’t you gonna sleep?” you ask, arching your brow. “The door’s buried in snow, ain’t nothing getting in.”
He stares for a long beat, raises both eyebrows.
“All right. Fine.” You turn away and focus on the cans. “Just saying, if infected came calling, you ain’t doin’ much.”
“Infected? There’s things out there way worse than a bite. Worse for folk like you.” He studies you, wondering if you’re naive, or stupid. Maybe both. Or maybe you just prefer ignoring danger.
“How long since you haven't been out there?” he asks after a long look. Your hands, your sweater, your tired braid.
“Couple years” you murmur. “Been in Jackson for three years. Since I walked through Jackson’s gate, I never went back outside. I told María I ain’t goin’. I got good at everything inside, became indispensable.”
“You saying patrollers are disposable?” he frowns.
You meet his gaze, steeled a bit.
“No. I mean everyone’s indispensable for somethin’. You’re indispensable on patrols. I’m indispensable at the clinic.”
“Apparently not that indispensable, ‘cause they still sent you out here without a gun.”
Silence.
Your eyes go back to the open cans.
He swallows hard. He knows he stepped on a nerve.
“But they sent you with me. Means they knew you’re safe with me.” he remarks, setting the rifle aside.
You take a can with a rag around it, careful not to burn yourself, and hand it to him. He takes it. Doesn’t say thanks. Just nods.
You eat in silence.
Night comes, and you start nodding off, arms crossed, knees to your chest, coat over your legs. He watches you from his spot, stares at your form that expects nothing. Never does, never asks for anything.
There's a poor drop of sweat falling down your temple. Gladly you got to make some warmth in that little corner, Joel's wonders if you have layers and layers of other clothes beneath the one's he can see. Why is he so cold? Why aren't you?
The idea is erased by the memory of what he did this morning. He meant to push you up by thighs, not by your fucking ass but he slipped. He still has the feeling impregnated in his hands. He swears he felt the warmth of your skin seep through the denim that he squeezed.
Joel closes his eyes taking a slow deep breath.
He saw you before. At the clinic, strolling around, staying beside the ill. Going home, sometimes crying because you've lost somebody, sometimes with a neutral expression.
You're another townfolk. Another someone. Everyone has been for years to him. No one more than his family lights that protective side in his chest.
But you're slowly moving something in him. And he can't let it happen.
Joel rises and gently touches your shoulder.
“Help me move that cot from the bedroom. You’ll be more comfortable” he says softly, not wanting to interrupt your drifting rest by alarming you.
You follow him down the narrow hallway and into a cold, dark room. He takes one end of the cot and you the other, carrying it back into the living room. Then he fetches the mattress.
“I got some blankets. You got more, right?” he grabs two rolled-up blankets from his bag.
“I’m here with mine. Keep yours, you’ll freeze on that chair otherwise.”
Joel watches you crawl into the cot, curling around yourself under both blankets. After a few minutes, he hears your soft breathing, you’re asleep.
Static crackles from the radio and wakes you in the morning. You turn and see him, collapsed on the sofa, forehead against the radio, thumb gripping the volume as he naps. Rifle resting on his lap. He snores softly, almost hidden.
You notice two blankets draped over you. You sigh and rise quietly. That's why you're sweating then, you think. You move over and cover his back and legs with them. After a couple hours, Joel wakes.
“What’re you doin’?” Joel asks, confused, squinting at the clear morning light as you warm a chickpea can on the stove.
“Warming up food” you mumble, tilting your head, unable to hide the soft rhythm in your voice.
“No. Why the hell didn’t you wake me?” he grumbles, pulling the blankets off and suddenly looking at you. “You wanna get us killed?”
“...They didn’t kill us” you chirp, narrowing your eyes a bit, regretting that response.
“I’m aware. But anything could’ve gone down in a millisecond and you wouldn’t’ve woken me. Got that little survival instinct? Did nobody teach you? How’d you survive before Jackson?” he snaps.
Silence.
“I just wanted you to sleep. You looked worn out.”
Joel breathes heavily. Rubs his hands over his face and shakes his head.
“I don’t need sleep. I need us to stay alive.”
“Sorry” you murmur.
Joel blinks, surprised at your words. “Don’t apologize. Just say you get it.”
“Got it. I’ll wake you next time.” You meet his gaze and sound steady, and he notices. A flicker of fear. It makes his stomach turn water.
Afternoon finds the storm raging still. Door won’t budge, radio’s out again. You’re rationing water and gas like it’s the last on Earth. Joel’s in the spare bedroom where you moved the cot, breaking up old furniture into firewood for the chimney you both sort of cleaned in the living room.
While you’re sniffing through drawers in the cabin, you find an old photo album, pictures of a family. You settle at the desk and flip through, imagining the story behind each.
“When Tommy and I found this spot, there was some guy dead in here—gunshot to the head. Lost everything, gave up,” Joel says from behind your chair. “This shit can drive you nuts.”
He tosses the sticks into the chimney.
“I don’t think it drives you nuts” your eyes stay on the photos: a baby on a woman’s lap, a man smiling wide. “One day you got it all, and then... boom, the universe yanks it away. Not everyone can live with that memory flash in their head. Some follow those eyes anywhere they go.”
He’s quiet. Takes a seat across from you, arms crossed, watching the chimney. Reaches for a sip of whisky from his flask, splashes wood with it, lights the fire, closes the cap from the flask.
“I tried following those eyes,” he whispers. “But I couldn’t. She was fourteen that night… she died in my arms.”
Silence.
No “I’m sorry”, you know he’s sick of hearing it.
“It’s a pain that never quits.” You close the album, set it on the desk. “It’s… cruel, right? Something so familiar just disappears.”
Joel watches you.
“You don’t know where to look. You get mad at everything… The sun, the wind, anything. And then you feel a burst of happiness you think means you’ve accepted it. Then you wake up and remember. They’re gone.” You shrug, and meet him. His eyes hold that same familiar, recognized grief.
“It comes in waves” he says.
“Yeah. Never really goes away.”
Silence.
“Who?” he asks. It is understood.
“A lot of people.”
He gets it, even if it’s vague. Feels resentful for asking. Doesn’t want to show his own bottomed-out softness.
The radio clicks.
“Miller, do you copy?” Amy’s voice crackles.
“Miller here. We’re stuck in the cabin at Cottonwood St., the Golf Club” he replies.
“Copy that. Security station north. Rescue crew’ll be sent first thing tomorrow. Hold tight."
With luck, this’ll be the last night.
As the sun sets, the temperature drops lower than the night before. Both of you sit by the fire, on the cot, warming your hands.
“It’s funny,” you murmur, chin resting on your knees, eyes fixed on the fire “how quick a person can get used to comfort after livin’ so long like this, huh?” You glance over at him. His profile, that hawkish nose, his graying hair, eyes reflecting the flames.
“Never got used to it, to be honest. Feels like if I start takin’ it for granted, it’s all gonna fall to shit” he says low, arms crossed, shoulders hunched.
You look at him for another moment, then turn back to the fire.
“I think I spent so long just runnin’ that the only goal I had was makin’ it here. A safe place. The... sort of silence.” You shrug. “I think if somethin’ happened to me after this, I wouldn’t mind much."
He finally looks at you.
“It’d just mean I got somethin’ good to tell those eyes when I see ’em again” you whisper. When you turn your head again, you see it… a flicker in those tired eyes, the shimmer of tears he won’t let fall.
Joel stands and heads into the other room, the same one you both got the cot from. You don’t hear him for a couple of hours. You stop feeding the fire because the wood’s gone.
You crawl under the blankets, arms wrapped around yourself, backpack tucked under your head like a pillow. After a while, you hear him come back.
“Mind if I lie down? I’m real tired. Don’t think I got it in me tonight,” he says and it doesn’t sound like he’s just talking about sleep. Feels like he’s saying he wants to stop everything. The world. Life.
You nod, lift the blanket, and he climbs in beside you. Face to face. He exhales, the cold seeping into him, his hands clenched tight to his chest.
Your hands reach for his, guide them around your body. He doesn’t pull away. His eyes search yours in the low light, barely lit by the dying embers.
“Could we actually freeze to death in here?” you ask softly, like a secret.
“Probably... if we hadn’t gone through the wood like it was endless.”
You let out a quiet laugh, tucking yourself into the crook of his shoulder. A few minutes pass. Then you feel it, the damp of a tear soaking the neck of your shirt, your skin. Then a quiet sniff. His body trembles. His arms tighten around you. He clings to you. Your hands run over his nape, scratching gently, running your fingers through his hair, holding him close.
In the morning, they finally manage to clear the door. Jesse smiles at Joel once he pushes the door open, shovel in hand. Tommy gives Joel that usual brother-hug, then Jesse walks over to you and kindly takes your backpack.
Outside, two more patrollers are tending to the horse they pulled from the garage.
“Shall we? I’ll take you back. Tommy’s stayin’ with the rest, they gotta deal with the horse and a few other things.” Jesse looks at you as he ties your bag to the saddle. Your eyes drift past his shoulder. Joel, talkin’ to Tommy, arms crossed, face unreadable.
“You alright?” Jesse asks, frowning a little at how far away your gaze has gone. You snap back to him.
“Yeah. Let’s go.”
Jesse climbs on his horse, then reaches out to help you up. Once you’re settled, you glance back as Jesse starts the ride toward Jackson.
And Joel doesn’t look back.
hey! so this was inspired in a tweet i saw a while ago:
it's kind of short and i made it my way. it hurt me a bit to write this, idk why, I'm kind of sensitive today. anyway. I have a smut version in drafts soooo if you'd like me to also post that one, leave a comment!
thanks again for every repost, like and comment. it makes a writer really really happy on this side of the screen.
kisses!
IDGAF if the women in my fiction are empowering or aspirational, I'm an adult, I don't need role models, I want the women in my fiction to be interesting, and if that involves being pathetic, hypocritical, amoral, or trapped in a delightfully dysfunctional relationship so be it
THE LAST OF US Season 2, Episode 5: Feel Her Love
PEDRO PASCAL as Joel Miller The Last of Us | S02E02 - Through the Valley
Pedro Pascal as Clint FREAKY TALES 2024 — dir. Anna Boden & Ryan Fleck
DR. ROBBY & DR. MOHAN THE PITT 1x03
no offense but I feel like youre writing the same thing constantly always smut and nothing interesting can you write a different more thought provoking story
Sure thing! I wrote this one just for you, bud. I hope that it’s sufficiently thought-provoking and suited to your superior tastes. Remember, I mean no offense at all!
The Stupid Fucking Anon Chronicles
Pairing: Joel Miller x Stupid Fucking Anon
Summary: You decide to be a gigantic asshole.
Warnings: 18+. NO SMUT. SOMETHING INTERESTING! A tale so wildly thought-provoking and erudite that even its most vocal detractors must admit…it’s real different.
You were sick of seeing sex.
seeing straight men be disgusted by booktok smut recommenders has actually radicalized me to the side of booktok smut recommenders. girls your taste may be atrocious but i will never disparage you for exposing mainstream discourse to the concept of soaking through your underwear. spent my whole life listening to men talk about penises it’s about time they get jumpscared by women talking about pussy in crude detail on social media. go forth and goon my warriors
Busy, Dying. Part 1;
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader
Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.
Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.
-OR-
an a/b/o soulmates AU
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT, I wrote this in a very unserious state of mind beware
A/N: Gray November, I've been down since July - but we're so back, baby. I’ve missed this so bad. I’ve missed you all, I won’t drone on and on. I hope you enjoy, and please talk to me in the comments. Update me on what I’ve missed, let me know how you’ve been and what’s happening in your life.
A great heartfelt thank you to all of my wonderful friends who so supportively cheered me on while I struggled to write this. Sincerely the best people I know.
Love you all madly.
Word Count: 6.5K
Read on AO3
MY GIRL MY GIRL MY GIRLLLLL WE ARE SO BACK