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sinsofsummers · 10 months

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sensational; part iii

6.1k | joel miller x f!innocent!reader part one | part two

summary: joel continues teaching you everything you need to know about desire. warnings: smut smut smut, 18+, mdni. yearning, teasing, thigh-sitting, grinding, fingering, oral (m and f receiving), fingers in mouth, joel almost loses control, age gap (reader is 25, joel is 56). i think that's everything. suchhhh impaired(drunk) editing. i'm so osrry. note: here it is. about a week later than i had planned. but i turned 21. cut me some slack HAHAHHAHA i hope you enjoy this unintentional third part to sensational! note: special shoutout to @cavillscurls bc she not only requested that joel call reader "babygirl" at least once but also that there be some aftercare so....this one's all for u pretty girl i hope your day is an easy one <3 ty for being my very first friend on here wahhh

Joel was used to the chill in his bones. It had been there since his thirty-sixth birthday, and had hardly begun to slip away until he'd met that quiet girl with a fiery spirit like his daughter. Ellie had made the icy tension thaw, and then he met her, the woman who'd begun to melt his very insides.

Was it her curiosity that was so...endearing? Astute? An inevitable addition to his patrols with her? Or was it the fact that she'd begun to smile when she saw him, if only a tight-lipped grin that emitted a soft glow like a secret shared with whispers?

He wasn't quite sure he even wanted to know what it was that had him hardening at the sight of her. So instead of thinking about it—something he wasn't very good at, anyway—Joel returned to his current position in the present moment.

He was on horseback, his gloved hands tightened on the reins, and she was perched in front of him, her back pressed gingerly to his chest and her thighs warming the insides of his.

Joel's mind wandered to the morality of his intentions, as they usually did when she was this close to him. What's she want with you, old man? That voice loved to pester him all day long, but he shoved it away this time when he pretended to adjust his hands on the reins. The movement made his arms tense around her frame, and other than her head tilting back to nudge his chin, there was no response. He thanked the horse for its strong, rocking movements that kept her body tense and pressed into his.

This girl is gonna be the death of me, he mused. And what a painless death it would be.

—

Despite the fact that you were entirely okay with this turn of events, you couldn't ignore the instinctual worry that bit at your insides. When you'd shown up at the stables that morning, Joel had already arrived, leading his horse by the reins.

"C'mon, doll," he said in that rough morning voice that was so attractive. "You're ridin' with me today."

Your brows had furrowed, and you looked toward the stables. "What about—"

Joel had shaken his head and held out a gloved hand for you. "Your horse is no good today," he said (with a less-than-convincing note of sorrow in his voice, but why would he show emotion for once in his life?), clearing his throat before finishing, "just you, me, and this one today," with a nod to his horse.

"Is he gonna be okay?" you asked as you took his hand, the heavy weight of his grip returning to you as a comfort now. "What's wrong with him?" He led you forward, but you couldn't help glancing back once more as if you were a kid getting dragged away by her parents from a candy store.

He squeezed your hand and smiled softly at you. "Gimme your hands, sweet girl," he murmured.

You obeyed without a second thought and let him help you up, the winter wind whipped around your hair despite it being trapped in your usual knit hat. His hands tightened around your hips as he booted you up, and you mourned the moment they left your body. Of course, that sensation didn't last long; he clambered up and mounted right behind you.

Oh. You hadn't considered that this would be the solution to your horse being incapable of patrolling today. Maybe this won't be so bad, you thought, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the chill. You let out a shaky breath at the press of his chest against your back.

"My horse?" you asked once more, despite not quite caring anymore; his arms were now enveloping you as he began making his way to the edges of Jackson.

His sigh created a brief cloud of mist in the wintry air, and the vibrations of his voice rumbled through your body. "Broken leg," he explained quietly, and you felt more than heard his words.

You wanted nothing more than to let yourself sink into the feeling of being so close to him like this, with your hips nestled right in front of his pelvis (a fact that was bound to distract you soon enough), but you forced yourself to inquire a final time.

"A broken leg?" you said. You didn't mean for it to come off as disbelieving, but...your mount had been just fine the day before.

Joel shrugged and instead of answering, he leaned in closer to your ear, his chapped lips scratching against the soft skin near your neck; your eyes fluttered closed at the feeling. "Darlin'," he murmured, "don't you trust me?" One of his hands dropped the reins and curled around your middle, tugging you by the waist back into him. "I've got so much to teach you today."

The reminder that there was still more, that there was always more for Joel to teach you in the world of desire and sin...it was enough to have your mind going blank and your muscles relaxing at his touch. "Okay," you mumbled, not sure if he could even hear your answer.

His gloved hand moved up just a few inches before moving back to grab the reins, but you didn't miss the feeling (if only for a second) of his fingers brushing against the soft curve of your breasts.

You sighed gently and leaned back enough for your head to rest against his chest, your body full encased by his broad shoulders and burly arms. It was secure, it was safe, and the heady scent of leather and Joel nearly made your head spin. With all the possibilities of what he might want to teach you today, on patrol and so close to one another...you weren't sure you'd survive.

It was only a matter of time before your hands and mind completely lost their withering hold on social decorum.

—

Joel's composure was the first to slip, but you weren't far behind—of course, you'd never admit it to him. You'd made it about an hour outside of Jackson, your body rocking deliciously against his, and nothing but the wind to accompany your soft voices as you spoke.

"Those girls haven't bothered me anymore, you know," you said, turning your head to look over your shoulder at him. You nearly choked at the sight of him already looking down at you, his mustache twitching with his lips in a curious smirk. "Not sure what made them stop, though."

"S'good," he said, his jaw clicking before he continued. "But you're like an open book, doll," he said, eyes flitting back to his surroundings. "I'm sure they could see it on your face."

You huffed, cheeks warming again. "See what exactly?"

Joel reached down with a hand to run his fingers along your thigh, creeping closer to where a puddle of desire was growing between your legs. You leaned your head against his chest again and let out a wanton sigh, wishing his hands would creep closer to where you needed him most.

"That," he said, voice lilting with a satisfied arrogance. "It's that sweet face you make when you're wantin' somethin' from me."

"I don't have a face," you mumbled, your arms looping around his biceps and hanging on to them. It's terribly domestic, a voice murmured in your head, but you shoved it away. "What are you talking about?"

Joel leaned his head down to yours, his mouth in your hair. You felt him smile against your skin and he cooed, "Don't worry your pretty little head about that, babygirl." He moved his hand to your thigh once more and chuckled into your hair when you rolled your hips back into his. "Just let me make you feel good, sweetheart."

You wanted nothing more than to sink into his soft touches and whine his name until he brought you to the edges of ecstasy again, but the winter wind howled in your ears and reminded you that you couldn't afford to lose all composure. There was a very real reason you were on patrol; it would have been irresponsible to indulge in the sweet pleasure of Joel's touch.

And yet—you couldn't help it when you lifted your chin and pressed a swift kiss to his jaw, hoping beyond hope that it might prompt him to touch you, to kiss you, to do anything to relieve the familiar ache that was growing. It was all you could do not to begin begging right then and there.

So when he suggested that the two of you take a pit stop at one of the old abandoned cabins along your route, you nodded feverishly. It's not irresponsible if we're taking proper precautions, you convinced yourself.

"C'mon, dollface," he murmured, pulling the reins to a halt in front of a dilapidated shack in the wintry landscape. "Can't hardly focus with you rubbin' up against me like that."

The breathless chuckle that you let out sounded nothing like yourself; you were giddy with the impending pleasure that was about to come from Joel's lips, his fingers, anything that he might deem useful in bringing you another crumbling orgasm.

You practically fell off the horse into his arms with your tingling excitement, and Joel chuckled as your chest collided with his. “So eager, darlin’,” he mused, adjusting your knit hat where it had fallen below your eyes. “Makin’ me feel so special with that sweet face,” he said, his large hand snaking around your back to support you as the two of you traipsed through the snow to the cabin.

It was only a little alarming that his hands on your body were so familiar after just a few of his “lessons,” but you chose to ignore it and sink into the weight of his warm hands perforating your coat. “Joel,” you breathed, and you didn’t mean for it to sound so desperate, but you couldn’t help it.

Joel pushed open the door to the cabin—it took a few tries; it was frozen shut—and tied up his mount. “C’mere,” he whispered as soon as the door was shut behind you. His lips were on yours before you could suck in a breath of anticipation, and oh, how you loved the scrape of his chapped lips against your skin when he moved to press kisses to the line of your jaw.

“Been thinkin’ of you, dollface,” he mumbled when he pulled back, his breath fanning over your face. “Been thinkin’ of you a lot.”

You blinked up at him, your lips already wet and wanting for more of his attention. With that dark look in his eyes, he looked as if he might devour you without a moment’s notice. Despite your ever-present reticence toward the things that Joel had taught you so far, you couldn’t ignore the way that your mouth had dried, mind empty of all words.

“Yeah?” you managed, swallowing roughly. In pure humiliation, you leaned forward to hide your face in his chest, inhaling that comforting scent of leather—it both cleared and muddled your head.

He let out a rumbling chuckle, a looser laugh than you’d ever heard from him, and he placed his gloved hands on the sides of your face to tilt your head back up to him. “Yeah,” he said gently, dropping a kiss to your forehead. “Probably a little too much, considering I can hardly get through the night without gettin’ a hard-on.”

Your cheeks warmed as you blushed, and you instinctively tried to duck your head once more. Of course, Joel wouldn’t let you; he quickly rid his hands of his gloves and returned them to your cheeks, the chill of his fingertips contrasting with the heat of your cheeks. “You gonna kiss me again?” you asked, your voice small in its pleading. “Please?” you added, the syllable even quieter than the last.

“Fuck’s sake,” Joel murmured, and you weren’t sure if it was to you or to himself. He pulled you closer, and you could feel the hard outline of his cock against your hip. “Gonna kill me, dollface,” he groaned before he captured your lips in another bruising kiss, one that had your legs buckling. He kept you upright, with his hands wrapped tightly around your back.

His tongue swept across your bottom lip and you opened your mouth into his kiss, hardly able to believe how natural it felt to kiss him now. A strangled moan left your mouth and he swallowed it into his own, drinking it like a sweet nectar from the gods. His hands came up to feverishly rid you of your winter coat and you eagerly assisted him, clawing at his layers right after.

“Teach me,” you begged, pulling away to catch your breath. Your eyes didn’t even open; you were too blissed out to care what you looked like or what he looked like in front of you. “Teach me,” the words came out again, and your bottom lip quivered as if you might shed tears. Your thighs clenched together subconsciously, doing virtually nothing to assist in the pressure that was growing.

Joel hummed and his thumb carefully swept a caressing touch under your eyes, as if catching any tears that might actually fall. “No need to beg anymore, babygirl,” he cooed, “I’ll teach you everything you want to know.” He tugged your hat from your head and smoothed over your undoubtedly knotted mess of locks. The corners of his eyes crinkled as he flashed a smirk at you.

“Promise?” you said, again in that small voice that had you almost kicking yourself. You were supposed to be an adult, mature enough to handle all of this. And you are, the voice in your head spoke harshly, you are.

Joel just nodded and tilted his head back, gesturing for you to follow him further into the cabin. “Stand there for me, doll,” he said, leading you into what must have been the living room some twenty years ago. A couch that looked like it might collapse in on itself sat against the wall, the only piece of furniture in the room.

You stood where he placed you, but his hands dropped from your body when he went to sit down on the couch. With one arm moving to lay across the back of the couch and his jean-clad legs spreading in the way that made you want to kneel in between them, Joel beckoned for you with his other hand. “Now c’mere,” he ushered, and you couldn’t move fast enough.

Your hands reached out to grab for him, to take off his coat and his shirt and let him lay bare before you like he had in your bed, but he shook his head. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, sweetheart,” he reassured you, “remember?”

You knew this; both times before this Joel had made it clear that you needn’t worry about getting him off. You were supposed to sit back and let him show you how to feel good, but you weren’t sure how much longer you’d be able to obey his request. You wanted nothing more than to sit on his lap like he’d had you the first time, and you wanted to rub yourself against his cock so you could see how he looked when he was lost in the throes of his desire.

“Babydoll,” he nudged you gently with his voice, and you blinked. “Hear me?”

Swallowing hoarsely, you shook your head. “Mm?” you hummed in response.

Joel’s lips curled up in a soft smirk. “Already distracted,” he mused to himself. A hand dropped to his thigh, and your eyes latched onto it. You had the sudden urge to take those fingers into your mouth, to feel the strength of his fingertips on your tongue—the fact that those same digits had been shining with your release (more than once) had your legs wobbling once more.

“You’re gonna stand there,” he said, adjusting himself on the couch in a way that had your eyes glued to the growing tent in his jeans, “and I’m gonna watch while you make yourself come.”

You blanched, and the spot between your legs pulsed at the idea. “What?” You couldn’t help the slight disappointment at the realization that this meant he wouldn’t be touching you.

“You heard me.”

“But…” your hands flexed, needing to hold onto something. Your desperation for release was almost enough to have you sinking to the floor. “But…I don’t know how—”

Joel nodded, “You do. I’ve shown you, remember?” His fingers tapped a few times on his thigh, and his eyes slipped to drag along your body as you stood just a few feet from him. “And you know I can’t always be there when you need to come, babydoll,” he hummed. “I need you to show me you’ve learned.”

“But—”

“Show me,” he said, his voice firm despite the gentleness in his face. He palmed his cock through his pants and bucked his hips up. “C’mon, baby. Be good for me, I’ll make it worth it.”

Despite his instructions, you shuffled forward, arms out and reaching for him. You paused in between his legs, feeling the heat from his legs radiating toward you.

But Joel only shook his head with an amused smirk. “No, no, doll,” he murmured. “I’ll come just as quick even if I’m just watchin’ you. I need you to show me what you’ve learned,” he repeated his previous instruction. “Touch yourself, sweet girl. Lemme see how you make yourself feel good.”

You didn’t move, unsure of how to begin—as it was now clear that he wouldn’t let you touch him, nor would he be giving into your requests. Standing there in your sweater and jeans and winter boots, you felt foolish.

“I know you know how to start, baby,” he encouraged you while moving his hand along his hard cock in his jeans. “Take those clothes off, pretty girl.”

With an instruction to follow, your hands began to move, ridding yourself of your sweater and pants, even your thick boots. Standing in just your worn bra, your cotton panties, and your thick wool socks, you looked shyly toward Joel. It felt somewhat humiliating to have his eyes so intently held on you, despite his face being the picture of approval.

He moved his hand once more and then he was unzipping his jeans and reaching into his pants, letting his cock spring free. He let out a shuddering sigh at the sensation; you were sure there was a thick feeling of relief that washed over him at the removal of any tight restriction on his erection. “C’mon, baby,” he cooed, and your eyes widened as he licked a wide stripe on his palm, returning his hand to his cock to give it a languid stroke. “I know you can do it.”

You gingerly dropped a hand to your waist, fiddling with the worn out elastic band of your panties. In front of you Joel let out a soft sigh, his eyebrows furrowing and his dark eyes growing even darker at the sight of your hand getting closer to your mound, where there was certainly a puddle growing.

“Lemme feel it, baby,” he said gruffly, beckoning for you to step closer. “I know I said I wouldn’t touch, but holy fuck, dollface…I’ve never needed to feel something so bad in my life.”

You practically fell over your own two feet as you obeyed his request, stepping into the space between his legs. His cock was right there, and you wanted to put your tongue on the tip, to feel that bead of leaking seed that was sliding down the angry red head of his cock. “Joel—”

His only answer was with his two fingers pressing a featherlight touch to your bud, drawing a quick moan from your lips, your eyes closing and your hips rolling into the feeling.

“So fuckin’ wet, baby, I knew it,” Joel murmured, sitting forward and pressing a kiss to your stomach. “You’re always so wet for me, huh?”

You wanted to roll your eyes. Of course you were; he knew this well enough now. But something about the fact that he kept asking…it only made you want him more.

“Joel, please,” you begged, rolling your hips into his hand again and moaning desperately at the press of his hand against your bud. “I need you to—”

He pulled his hand away and sat back again. “Not yet, dollface,” he reminded you, returning his hand to his cock. “You haven’t even touched yourself, darlin’,” he teased, his tone a mocking coo.

You let out another strangled whine, but shoved your hand into the waistband of your panties. “Fine,” you sighed, “but it won’t work.” As much as you wanted to come, you were reminded all too well of the last time he asked you to do this. You couldn’t obey his request, and he’d had to make you come all the same. So why would he make you go through the motions again?

Your finger caught on your clit and you inhaled sharply, eyes closing at the addictive sensation. You let your other hand slide up to your chest, instinctively massaging your own breast in the same way that Joel did—at least, as close of a replication as you could make.

“That’s it, sweet thing,” he said in that southern drawl that had you perpetually weak in the knees. “Lookin’ so good like that, sweetheart, good girl,” he drew out the last two syllables, his teeth audibly gritting as he stroked his cock faster.

You wanted to continue, wanted to hold onto the feeling of making him proud, but you didn’t know what to do. “Joel,” you begged, “I…” you trailed off.

Both of his hands came to your waist and you opened your eyes at one squeeze of your hips. “C’mere,” he groaned. “Just sit next to me, doll.” He helped you sit next to him, your head resting on the arm of the couch. Your knees came up to your chest, and he looped his thumbs into your panties, ridding you of them in a quick movement.

Your head was spinning with the hopes that he might give in, that he might not make this foolish game go on for much longer. It had only been a minute or two, but you never wanted to make yourself come if Joel was always going to be so willing. “Joel—”

“Spread those pretty legs for me, baby,” he whispered, his big hands on your knees. When you couldn’t move your legs on your own, he gently nudged them apart, his eyes darting down to your dripping mound. “Fuck,” he hissed, his hand hovering over your folds, “even more appetising than I remember.”

The implication made your head reel. Surely he wouldn’t…

But your thoughts were interrupted when he sat back at the other end of the couch, his cock sitting at the ready as he dragged his hand over it again. “I’m good at waiting, though,” he murmured to himself. “C’mon, princess,” he sighed, “just like we practiced. Hand on that pretty pussy, baby.”

The whine that left your throat was downright pornographic as you obeyed, the sound of his instructions shooting bullets of pleasure down your spine and straight to that sensitive bud at the crevice of your thighs.

Just like we practiced, he’d said. You had no desire to disappoint him; you wanted to prove to him that you could do this, you wanted to see that look of flushed pride on his face when he came again. When you’d make yourself come.

Your fingers slipped around your dripping cunt, still clumsy and untrained despite knowing just how Joel would make you come undone with his touch. You tried your best to replicate it, gliding your fingers in tight circles around your bud, or drawing long stripes in between your folds, but it just made you more frustrated. “Joel,” you whined again, “please.”

You didn’t have to look at him to know he was grinning. “You’re doing it, baby. Look at you, rubbin’ that pretty clit for all it’s worth.” His words were bruisingly confident, but his tone was shaky and the only evidence that he was dangerously close to coming before you.

“Joel, I—” you circled your clit once more— “I need you to—”

“I know, baby, I know,” he cooed, and you felt him shift closer to you—just a centimeter.

You pulled your own hand away from your clit, despite your body begging for more, and you looked for a moment at the shine on your fingers. “Joel,” you repeated, “I…I want you to tell me what to do.”

He was silent for a moment. Then, “That so?” His movements had stopped.

You nodded, and couldn’t help the desperation in your voice. “Yes.” Somehow your legs dropped open even wider, exposing yourself to him further. “Tell me what to do. Tell me what you want me to do.” You swallowed the lump in your throat as you gave yourself entirely to him. “I’ll do it.”

Joel had turned his chest to face you, and he ran a hand over his face. “I’ve never met anyone quite like you, ya know?” he said, and you thought it was a minor jab at your eagerness until he dropped his hand back to his lap and you saw that blissed-out smile that you were learning to ache for. “‘Course I’ll tell you what to do. If that’s what you want,” he answered, and you almost came at the sound of his voice.

He shifted so his body was facing you; the sight of him with his shirt buttoned, his pants still on, but the zipper undone and his cock bobbing heavily as he moved…it was enough to have you rolling your eyes back. Joel Miller was sensational. The essence of sin and seduction, and you only wanted more.

“Lift this leg for me, baby,” he murmured as he lowered his chest to the couch. You let him move your ankle to rest on his shoulder, then the other ankle to match. “That’s it,” he cooed, “you’re such a quick learner, babydoll.”

You blushed at the nickname, and when he sank to his elbows with his eyes on your pussy, your eyes widened. “Joel—”

You’d heard of this type of pleasure, but you’d never thought it was something men actually did. When he looked up at you with that hungry look in his eye, his tongue darting out to wet his lips like one might do before eating an especially good meal, you realized another thing.

You’d never thought this could be something that men actually enjoyed.

“You want instruction, babygirl?” he hummed, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh and chuckling when you shivered. “I’ll give you instruction. Lay back and let me take care of you. You’re always so good at that, yeah?”

He didn’t give you the chance to answer before he was dipping his head down to your most sacred spot, where you needed him most. His hands wrapped around your thighs, holding them against his ears as if they were keeping him warm in the cold temperatures outside. With one stripe from your weeping entrance to your quivering bud, Joel nearly made you come on the spot.

“Joel, I’m gonna—”

He pulled back and smiled wickedly. “Already, baby? We’ve only just started,” he drawled, turning his head to kiss the inside of your other thigh. “Hold on to it for me, yeah? Gotta practice holding it for me, okay?”

You were too far gone to even grace his question with a response. All you could manage was a stuttering moan as you threw your head back and bucked your hips into his face, chasing your release.

Joel held your hips down with a light chuckle. “Wait, princess,” he grinned, pressing a kiss to your clit before continuing, “you don’t wanna fail your lesson, do ya?”

The implication that something might happen—or decidedly not happen—if you were to come before he let you only spurred you on. “Joel, please—”

“Just a little longer, please, baby,” he said, his voice a gentle moan. His tongue grazed your clit once more and he closed his lips over your bud, suckling just lightly enough to bring you closer and closer to the edge.

It was then that you opened your eyes and looked at him; you wanted to see what he looked like with his mouth on your most sensitive spot if you were going to come. Your eyes caught on his hips, laid out on the couch further away from you. You blinked.

Joel was rutting into the couch. His hips were seemingly moving of their own accord, a smooth movement that was covered in sin and desperation. You thought about the fact that the curve of his hips would probably look like that if he were pressing his cock into you, and that was it.

Your voice broke over the sound of your whines, and paired with his fingers coming up to press into your entrance, you were done for. You came hard over his fingers, your moans so loud that you thought someone would hear you all the way back in Jackson. “JoelJoelJoelJoel,” you cried, feeling the familiar rise of emotions in your throat.

Joel pulled his head from your pussy and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?” he smirked.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, although you weren’t sure you had the capacity to even be sorry just now; the sight of him getting off at the taste of you was enough to keep your mind busy for the next week. “I didn’t mean to—”

“S’okay, dollface,” he chuckled, “I forgive you. That pussy tastes too sweet to be mad about you comin’ all over my damn face.”

Your thighs lay open for another moment, and Joel absentmindedly put his hand over your clit to rub another gentle circle to your sensitive bud. He hummed when your hips bucked at the overstimulation before pulling his hand away.

Your eyes dropped to his cock, sitting rock hard and definitely not spent. You reached out with your hand again, sitting up. The effects of your orgasm were still heavy on your mind, but in a wordless movement you sank to your knees before him. “You didn’t come,” you said, more of a question than a statement.

He shook his head. “Don’t matter,” he said, patting a hand on your head. “That was just for you, doll.”

You frowned. “But—” you dipped your head down, aiming your mouth at his tip despite not knowing what to do beyond that. All you knew was that this was something he needed. The tip of his cock was leaking profusely now, and you wanted nothing more than to make him feel as good as he’d made you feel.

“We haven’t practiced that one yet, pretty girl,” he said softly, and lifted your head from where it was aiming. “Trust me, doll, I want it just as bad as you want to give it to me.” He traced his thumb along the line of your nose, a habit that he’d been starting to pick up. “But we’ll do it when you’re ready.”

“Then I wanna practice,” you insisted, your knees digging into the cold wooden floor. You didn’t want to think about how you looked, your face showing the remnants of your orgasm and your entrance starting to drip once more at the thought of pleasing him. “Let me practice,” you repeated.

He smiled ruefully. “Got nothin’ to practice on, sweet thing,” he said softly. “We’ll practice another day.”

You took his hand wordlessly, not sure where this bout of confidence was coming from. It was like you were drunk on the thought of making him come. He let you hold his hand in yours, and with one look up at him, holding his eyes in your gaze, you opened your mouth to slide three of his fingers onto your tongue. He tasted like salt and the sweet release of your own body.

Joel jerked in your grip, his cock bobbing toward you and his hand nearly shoving itself all the way down your throat. “Holy fuck, doll,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed. “S’enough to make a man leave his wife.”

You chuckled, knowing he was spewing nonsense from his lips now, but you pressed his fingers further down your throat, only stopping when they brushed the back of your throat, causing you to gag.

“That’s okay, babygirl,” he said with another affectionate pat on your head. “You’re doin’ so good. Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Thought I was doing well,” you said sheepishly when he pulled his fingers from your mouth. A string of spit connected his fingers to your lips.

He nodded and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “You are, dollface,” he said. “You are. Maybe it’s me who needs a second to regroup.”

You knew it wasn’t true; his angry red tip was more than enough of a conflicting response to his words. But you let him pick you up from the floor and cradle you in his arms over his lap, rubbing his hands in circles over your body. “You’ll let me make you feel good, though?” you asked softly.

Joel smiled. “‘Course,” he reassured you with a kiss on the cheek. “Next time,” he promised.

It was enough. You nodded and rested your head in the crook of his neck, feeling the gentle curtain of sleep cover you. “M’tired,” you whispered, every inhibition gone. This man had seen and touched every part of you; there was no point in being shy.

“I know, baby, I know,” he said, and when his face wasn’t in between your legs, it was an awfully domestic phrase. “Just lemme hold your for a second. Then we’ll go back home.”

—

You didn’t know how you’d managed to get back on the horse, your clit sensitive and your whines hoarse with the constant friction as you rode back to Jackson. Your head had leaned back against Joel’s chest and he rested his chin against the top of your head, a constant warm presence as you rose from your post-orgasm haze.

A happy accident, a faraway voice mused in your head. One horse with Joel on patrol? A dream.

That is, until Tommy came out of the stables as you two approached.

“Why’d you leave her horse here?” he called out, and you felt Joel tense behind you. “You forget how to ride a damn horse, darlin’?” Tommy said to you with that same southern drawl that his older brother shared in his voice.

You blushed as Joel helped you down from his mount, and you hid your uncontrollable laughter behind your hand when he shared some tense words with his brother.

“Fuck off,” Joel finished, but by the look of his wide eyes and red cheeks, you knew it held no malice. He was embarrassed. He’d faked your horse’s injury so he could hold you close. The realization made your head whirl.

You walked off from the stables when the horse was returned to his stall, and you giggled when you heard Joel hurry to catch up with you.

He looked around for a moment, as if checking to see if anyone was nearby, and then he delivered a quick swat to your ass, making you nearly trip in the snow. “S’not nice to laugh at an old man,” he said with a straight face, all business. But you could see the uncharacteristic rosiness in his cheeks, betraying his continued humiliation.

You weren’t sure where the confidence in your voice came from, but you sighed with a, “Yeah,” before nudging him with your elbow. “Can’t help it when it’s your own brother, Joel.”

He shook his head and your arm tingled when he reached out with his gloved hand to clasp onto yours. “What am I gonna do with you, dollface, huh?” he mumbled, and you weren’t quite sure if you were meant to hear it until he looked down at you with a gentle smirk and a raised brow.

You shrugged, your own cheeks heating up at the implications of what you were about to say. “I’m sure you’ll figure something out. Make another lesson out of it, I suppose.”

Joel just stared at you, a smug expression on his face. He tore his eyes from yours and played the part of nonchalance when he responded smoothly, mirth twinkling in those brown eyes you’d grown so attached to. “Maybe I will.”

this is so sinful i'm so tipsy rn i hope you liked it!!!! tysm for reading i love u all <3

tags (i'm so sorry it wouldn't let me tag everyone!!! i'll do the rest of my tags in the morning!!!): @morning-star-joy @thetriumphantpanda @cupofjoel @tightjeansjavi @dinsdjrn @mingiast @darkroastjoel @huffle-punk @jupiter-soups @elegantduckturtle @evyiione @bitchwitch1981 @disassociation-daydreams @mrsquill @littlemisssluttyknee @papipascalispunk @mumma-moonchild @buckbarnesdollsposts @kamcrazy123 @djarins-wife @lovelyladiess @impossiblebluebirdchaos @salsdemise @daddy-din @chaotic-mystery @laughcryreadsmutrepeat @prose-before-hoes-blog @morgaussy @thepriceofdevotion @chateausophie @livyjh @kittenlittle24 @ever-siince-new-york @julietamidala @3xclusive-y0ni @paanchusblog @okdeedee @scarletsloveletter @paleidiot @cleopatra99 @samuncenxsored @yourfavoriteredheadbitch-blog @brie-annwyl @spxctorsslxt @pattwtf @meijasworldasf @easaud @yuk-for-president @withrice-ontoast @ssssc0m @nini123 @bookishofalder @projectionistwrites @leeeesahhh

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probably-writing-x · 1 year

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Blushing Boy

Drew Starkey x Reader

Summary: There were few things that made Drew Starkey lose his confidence, in fact, perhaps only one could truly ever do it; you. He didn’t know how, or why, but you just seemed to have that goddamn effect on him.

Warnings: Nothing besties, just fluffy as heck

Author’s Note: Thank you so so much for the love on my other post, I just had to post this one too !! Please please send in any requests you have my angels <3

Not my gif

You were just about nearing the end of press for Outer Banks Season 3, and all bases had been covered - you’d done interviews to see how well you knew your cast mates, ones looking at scenes from the show, and, of course, the puppy interview. Today was your last day, though all of you were split up in different places, on different projects, and so the last day of interviews would be done over zoom. This was your first experience working on the show, having come in to play Rafe’s love interest as the start of the season. Thankfully, the fans had fallen in love with you, and especially with your storyline with Drew. So much so, in fact, that they’d started to ship you two as actors as well, adoring every moment that they saw you spend together. The two of you were just friends, but you can’t say you didn’t find it amusing whenever theories were made. And, being honest, some of the edits did make you two look cute.

That was your side of things, anyway. Drew had fallen for you at the same rate that Rafe had fallen for your character. He wanted to see you every morning you started work, waiting to catch sight of you on set. He wanted to film all of his scenes with you, watching in awe whenever you acted. He was mesmerised whenever he saw you at events, amazed by you from the red carpets to the earliest of mornings. Drew felt like a schoolboy around you, stumbling over his words, blushing at prolonged eye contact, ears pricking up at the sound of your name. And it only got worse the more he saw of you.

“Okay, thank you guys all for joining me today,” The interviewer begins, smiling widely into the screen, “We’ve got Madelyn, Chase, Madison, Rudy, Jonathon, Carlacia, Drew and (Y/N), the cast of season three of Outer Banks, now streaming on Netflix. How are you guys doing?”

“I’m good,” Madelyn smiles.

“I’m tired, I flew back from Paris today and I’m so jetlagged,” Madison laughs.

“Okay, we’ll start off with a question for Chase, how has it been with the new additions to the cast this season - with Carlacia and (Y/N). How does that fit in with the dynamic of you guys working together?”

Chase leans closer to his microphone and speaks, “You know I think we got really lucky again to work with another great group of people, we all get on so well and these two just fit in perfectly with that, and it makes it so easy to go to work when you’re with such a good bunch.”

“Amazing, and (Y/N), what was your experience like being on set?”

You shift in your seat, glancing at all of the faces on screen, “Like Chase said, it was just ideal getting to work with everyone, it’s like being on one long holiday all working together, you’re out in the sun everyday, you’re on the water, you’re doing stunts, it was just such a great experience. And I was so lucky to get to share the screen with Drew, he makes it so easy to come into work everyday and, I mean, it’s not exactly hard to pretend to fall in love with him.”

You glance at him on the screen and the way his eyes seem so transfixed as you speak, like he holds onto every syllable one at a time. He’s wearing a purple t-shirt that brings out his eyes and his hair is messy in that sort of perfect way it always was.

“And Drew, what was it like to be working with (Y/N) so closely?”

“Yeah, I mean,” He coughs over his words, “It was great, (Y/N) is just perfect to work with, I couldn’t have asked for anyone better. She’s so talented, and kind and supportive as an actress and she just made me want to get up every day and come into work.”

You’re sure your cheeks heat with the vulnerability of what he has said. His are bright red too, and you’re relieved for a moment to share the same feeling even across the screen.

A few more questions are asked, Rudy explains about how many injuries he managed to pick up on set and Jonathon tells an embarrassing story about you and Madelyn from the wrap party. And then attention falls back to you and Drew.

“So, whilst I’ve got you guys here, I have to ask Drew and (Y/N) about the rumours that have been going around about you two, can you tell me anything the fans will want to hear?”

You laugh, slightly allowing yourself a bit more time before you figure out what to say, “You know, these things are inevitable when you play a couple on a show. But I think we take it as a compliment if anything, at least it was convincing enough for people to believe us, you know? Right Drew?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Drew chuckles dryly, “I’m just glad they know that we don’t hate each other.”

“Are you blushing Starkey?!” Rudy exclaims, coming closer to the screen.

Drew laughs and looks away, biting the tip of his tongue between his teeth, “Shut it Pankow.”

Everyone laughs but it’s as if you can feel all eyes on the two of you, and in that moment, all you want it for him to be there with you to share the attention. For him to be close enough that your hand could brush his, your eyes could focus solely on Drew’s, your laugh in rhythm with his. And, in that moment, perhaps for the first time, you realise that maybe those edits had realised something before you had.

“Okay, well it’s been great speaking to you guys, thank you so much for joining me,” The interviewer finishes up, closing off before telling you that you’re all done and you can log off from the call.

You shut your laptop and pull out your phone to see notifications already bursting through. They’re all from the groupchat you had with the other girls.

Oh my god did you see his face?

Are you kidding me rn??? That boy is in love with you

I’ll never forgive you if you don’t date Starkey fr

You laugh, fingers hovering over the buttons as you try to figure out a response. You wanted to tell them that they were being stupid, that there was no reason for them to think like that. But you can’t bring yourself to lie to them.

You swipe away from that chat, scrolling the short way down to where Drew’s chat with you was. The last thing he’d sent you was a fan made video of the two of you, a video from set where he had you on his shoulders in the pool and both of you fell under.

When you go to text him, he’s already typing.

And this time, you’re the one that’s blushing.

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bl00d-bunny · 2 years

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wakeup call - lip gallagher

-pairing- lip gallagher x fem!reader

-summary- after you're late for a shift at patsy's pies, lip swings by your apartment to check on you

-warnings- smut minors dni!!, smoking (w33d), shameless activities lol, general smuttiness, unprotected p in v (be smart, wrap it!),

-word count- 2k

-additional notes- not proofread or edited,

18+ minors do not interact!

the southside wasn’t the best place to live and you knew that, between the near-constant construction and the fights on the streets it was a miracle that you ever got a lay in. you hadn’t been able to sleep until at least 3 am since your neighbours decided to blast crappy songs in an attempt to hide the fact they were fucking all night long (it didn’t work, obviously). And it sounded like they just started up again, great.

you sigh as you glance at the clock, 9.34 am, there goes your lie-in. you roll over and pull a pillow over your head, but the pounding against the wall only gets louder. eventually, you decide you can’t take it anymore, full of rage and lack of sleep, you throw yourself out of your warm bed, tugging your robe on tight. as you make your way to the front door you realise the banging was not your neighbours going for round 5, it was someone knocking on your door, aggressively.

you grab the wooden baseball bat you keep by the front door just in case and make your way to the door. on your tip toes, bat raised, you squint to look through the peephole. you roll your eyes and lower the bat. what was lip gallagher doing pounding on your door on a sunday morning?

“what do you want?” you swing the door open.

juxtapose to his knocking, he didn’t seem angry.

“fi sent me, you didn’t show up for your shift,” he said plainly.

fiona really helped you out when you were in a bad place, she gave you a job at patsy’s and let you rent one of her apartments. she got you off the streets and gave you stability and for that, you were forever grateful but you knew you didn’t have a shift today, you never had a shift on a sunday, and in the rare case you worked a sunday shift you wouldn’t start til 11. you told lip that much.

“it’s saturday and…” he pulled out his phone to check the time, “it’s quarter past 12,”

“what? no, my clock said…” you trailed off rushing back to your bedroom

9.34 am still flashed on your alarm clock, the power must have gone out. you grabbed your phone from where it was charging but it didn’t turn on. it died last night on your shift, but you plugged it in. and it was still plugged in you pushed the cord and your phone lit up letting you know it was finally charging.

“fuck!” you flopped back onto your bed, dragging your hands down your face.

“i’ll call fiona,” you jumped not realising he had followed you, standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

“thank you, i’ll literally be 5 minutes,” you pushed past him making your way to the bathroom.

you brushed your teeth in record time, turning the faucet off you overheard him on the phone.

“…she can’t stop throwing up, fi. there’s no way she can come in.”

you poked your head out of the bathroom “what the fuck are you doing?!?” you mouthed to him.

“relax, trust me” he turned his attention back to his phone, “i think i’m gonna stay here a little while and make sure she’s okay,”

you looked at him with wide eyes, what was he doing? you were practically ready for work and he just told fiona you’re not going in.

“what was that all about?” you started as soon as his phone was back in his pocket.

“well now neither of us has to go to work” he shrugged with a smug smile.

“and what if fiona decides to come to check up on us?” you questioned. when you are actually sick, sometimes fiona will stop by and check on you, maybe bring you some soup and a box of tissues. what if she came to check up on you and saw you were fine and lip was nowhere to be seen?

“guess we will have to hang out here, ya know just in case,” he settled himself on the sofa.

“whatever, i’m gonna try and get some sleep,” lack of sleep finally caught up to you as you shuffled to your bed that had long lost its warmth.

after what felt like an eternity you gave up on going back to sleep. tired of tossing and turning you moved to the living room. plopping yourself on the opposite side of the couch from where lip was scrolling on his phone, as whatever daytime show played on your tv. you reached under your coffee table, pulled out your rolling tray, and began rolling a joint. you saw lip watching you out of the corner of your eye but chose to ignore him until you brought the joint to your lips. you locked eyes with him as you slowly slide your tongue out to lick the gum strip before rolling the joint closed. you only broke eye contact to find a lighter, which of course you couldn’t find. lip shifted his body weight as he pulled a lighter out of his pocket, he moved closer to you and sparked it. you leaned in, joint held between your lips, looking down as the end glowed red in the orange flame.

you brought your fingers up to remove the blunt from your lips, closing your eyes and leaning back as you inhale, feeling the warmth of the weed spread throughout your whole body, instantly relaxing you. exhaling, you sit up again taking another puff before holding the spliff towards lip, instead of taking it he pulled you closer to him with your outstretched arm. you’re confused until you finally exhale your last puff and he inhales it keeping his eyes on yours. you bring the joint to your lips once more, inhaling deeper this time, moving your lips inches away from his as you exhaled.

you watch as the milky smoke moves from your lips to his. your entire being is warm, maybe its the weed, maybe its lips hands resting on your legs, or simply the close proximity, but you feel lightheaded. finally breaking eye contact with him you place the joint in the ashtray- but don’t you move from your cross-legged position and he doesn’t move his hands from your legs.

you watched his eyes fall from yours to your lips and back again. you knew what was coming next, it was only a matter of time. you and lip have had this predicament going on for a while now. you’d flirt with each other, tease each other, until the tension hung in the air like smoke, and just when one of you was about to make a move, there was always an interruption. sometimes it was a phone call, or someone walking in, no matter what it was the interruption was always there. maybe it was a sign that you shouldn’t, but neither of you cared enough to pay it any mind.

but here, in your apartment, alone, together, with nowhere to be, there was no interruption this time. he knew that you knew that, still neither made the move to close the gap. maybe a little more weed would help speed things along, you reached towards the half-smoked joint still in the ashtray, but he stopped you, his hand on your jaw, forcing you to look at him. before you could say anything, do anything, his lips were on yours, hungry as if he was starved and only you could satisfy his hunger.

his hands on your face pulling you impossibly close, you pulled yourself to be on his lap, your arms around his neck fingers tangling in his hair. no distractions, no interruptions, just you two on the couch smoke hanging in clouds around, keeping the world out.

you feel him grow hard beneath you, grinding against him, searching for friction in any form, he growled in your mouth so you continued.

he pinned you between himself and your worn-down couch, his tongue moving against your own. you bucked your hips, still chasing any kind of touch or friction. his large hands came to pin your hips against the tattered couch, you whined missing the movement.

“be patient,” he kissed your jaw. you turned your head to allow him more access as he left sloppy kisses down your neck, nipping here and there. you bit down on your lip to not give him the satisfaction.

he soon found out how worked up he’d got you when he shoved his hand down your pants. his slender fingers teasing your clit with large, slow circles. you reach between you to start unbuttoning his pants but he uses his opposite hand to pin your wrists above your head.

“really?” you huff out

“i told you to be patient,” he smirked applying pressure to your clit that caused you to squirm beneath him, his teeth at your neck.

eventually, he removed his hand from your wrists in favour of your boobs, pulling your neckline down to expose your chest. one hand pinching at your nipple, the other keeping up the slow circles on your clit, as if he couldn’t be doing anymore he brought his lips to your free nipple, sucking and nipping leaving you a mess. the room was spinning, your head clouded, heart beating wildly underneath your ribcage.

he removed himself from you, much to your displeasure. with his legs on either side of you, he unbuttoned your pants, pulling them and your underwear down in one swift motion, leaving you breathless. with him above you now you could see his cock struggling against his jeans, almost instinctively you reach up to unbutton them. he stands up to remove them further as you kick yours from around your ankles.

he kneels over you once more, one hand next to your head the other pumping his cock between you. you look down to watch, subconsciously biting your lip. he readies himself between your legs, and you wrap your arms around his neck. in one agonisingly slow thrust he bottomed out. you squeezed your eyes shut mentally adjusting your self.

he places a hand on your hip as he pulls out almost completely, he looks down where the two of you connect. you can’t help but buck your hips desperate to feel him inside of you again. he brings both his hands to you hips to press you into the couch, all you can do is whine, showing him just how desperate you are.

before you knew it his hips snapped against yours in a ruthless thrust causing your eyes to roll into the back of your head, a mix of a moan and a scream climb from your throat.

his lips against your ear now “ i warned you to be paitent,” his voice darker than before

“guess i’ll just have to teach. you. a lesson.” each word punctuated with a thrust deeper than the last. you felt yourself coming undone, he knew it too, between the moans you let out and your nails in his back, lip knew exactly what he was doing to you.

he released you hips from his grasp but didn’t let up on the speed, he brought his thumb to your clit drawing slow steady circles, a mind-numbing contrast to his thrusts now growing sloppy.

his breath hot across your face, he was close, you were too, it was a matter of time before one of you came tipping the other over the edge. he picked up the circles on your clit hoping to make you come first, you attacked his neck with your tongue, trying not to give him the satisfaction. but it was to little to late, he had you a mess beneath him, you wrapped a leg around his hip, allowing him to hit just the right spot.

in a matter of seconds, you came, closing your eyes you allowed yourself to be swallowed by the sensations, lip following closely behind, collapsing on top of you.

eyes still closed, trying to catch your breath, you feel lip get up and move to the other side of the couch, then you hear the lighter click and his steady inhale. without opening your eyes you stick you hand out in his direction awaiting the joint, instead you only hear him inhale again. you sit up giving him a death glare.

“did that lesson really teach you nothing?” he smirks before blowing the smoke in your direction.

you stand up, taking the joint from him before sitting on his lap, taking a long inhale.

“i guess i’ll be needing more lessons then”

WANT MORE LIP GALLAGHER SMUT?? Check out this!!

#bunny writes #lip gallagher smut #lip gallagher #lip gallagher imagine #lip gallagher fanfic #lip gallagher x reader #shameless #shameless us #shameless imagine

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anxious-witch · 3 months

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Part two of me analyzing Damon Baker's photoshoot, this time, Kris' pictures.

As in the first post, this is my subjective opinion, you don't have to agree with me. Text under the cut, because this one is going to be REALLY long

Edit: I should have posted this one yesterday and Bojan's today but alas. Bojan will probably get another post for additional pictures at soke point today or tomorrow

So, starting off strong

Right from the get go, we get very unconventional way to portray a man. Damon clearly loves playing with gender roles, which showcases here by putting a headscarf and makeup on Kris. Interestingly, Kris is not looking into the camera here. He is being observed, but is not observing back just yet, as if letting us get used to this way of seeing him.

Another thing that I find interesting about this picture is how he appears almost messy? His hair is messy as well, the only thing the only peace of clothing we see him wear here is the headscarf. Like "look at me, I am naked exceot for this. Onserve it and feel it". It makes me recall that interview where he said he was called a girl a lot when he was younger and before he cut his hair. It's like here, he, it's a callback to that and this time, he is impassive to the reaction. He is simply letting himself be observed.

I think these two, are meant to focus on making Kris come to terms with the fact that he is allowed to be vulnerable. He is not in his full confidence yet, in the bigger picture he is once again, not looking into the camera, and his pose doesn't look entirely comfortable. His arm is bend in a way that looks more like he is hiding his hand than that he is using it to lean on something. His shirt is partially unbuttoned and we see a bit of his necklace, but we can't see the heart on it.

In the smaller picture, he looks more natural. As if he was caught mid-movement while talking, his gaze focused on the the person he is talking to. His pose is more masculine here as well, in comparison. His chin is up and he is taking up more space.

This one is so good. Kris has his arms wrapped around himself, but not completely and he isn't tense. It gives off a sense of someone doing something out if their comfort zone, but still trusting the person to not let him get hurt in such a vulnerable position. Much more comfortable position than the two pictures above, as if he is slowly relaxing into his role.

Perhaps an even more open show of vulnerability, Kris is looking directly into the camera, his eyes half lidded, as he is about to fall asleep, lulled in a sense if safety.

His legs and feet are bare, he is only wearing his underwear and a light white shirt. There is no makeup here, either, all that is shown here is Kris, in a almost childlike manner, especially in this pose.

Even the flower, despite suspecting it's ranunculus flower, that means charm and attraction, takes on a more innocent role here. This pictures is very soft, and I got the vibe that it almost represents Kris' inner child that never got to be vulnerable in his femininity. That he could not be a man and still be feminine, but here he gets to experience it without judgment.

So these four I paired up because they communicate a lot with one another, which is also why I think Kris put them in a separate post.

In these four, I feel like Damon really wanted to play with androgyny of Kris' features. In the first picture, Kris has a stockier pose, his chin is positioned higher and he is looking away from the camera. His stare is more sensual here, almost flirty. He definitely embodies more masculine, energy in which he is more comfortable due to him being used to being seen that way.

In the second one, it's a similar pose, but Kris' hand moved lower, so it almost looks like he is playing with his hair. His eyes are more open and vulnerable and he is also looking away from the camera. It reminds me of the picture "Wanderer above the Sea of Fog", not because they look similar, but they kind of give me a similar vibe, if that makes sense? Someone gazing into something far away, out of their reach.

Also Kris' eyes are so expressive here, I almost feel like I am seeing something private that I shouldn't be seeing.

Important to note that his heart necklace is at full display at the first three pictures.

In the third one, he has the most feminine pose. His chin is positioned lower, and his arm is more in the shadow than in the first picture, making him appear smaller. He is gazing directly at the camera, and one can practically feel his vulnerability.

It feels like these three are a progression of one another. Of Kris subtly shifting from his more masculine to more feminine expression, like he is lowering a shield of what we are expected to see vs what he wants to show.

This doesn't feel childlike like the picture with the flower, though. This is Kris showing he grew enough to know being vulnerable is fine, even when one is grown and I think that's beautiful. I love the way Damon played with how subtle difference in poses, light and expression can change sm.

The fourth picture I feel is truly a balance of masculine and feminine energy from the previous three. Kris isn't hiding his hands, which we have seen a lot in this photoshoot, they are on clear display. He is showing his hand, so to speak, but also, his hands are those of a guiarist and of a man and that doesn't make them any less beautiful.

His hair is messy and covering his eyes, hiding the most vulnerable part of him, but he also seems much more relaxed, almost as if he isn't posing. His chin is lowered and his head is titled to the side, coding it as a more feminine pose.

Despite the hair hiding his eyes, I am pretty sure they are open? Or at least, it's giving the effect of him gazing back at the viewer, observing them as much as they are observing him.

And last but not least, Kris' picture in color. And my god, what a picture to finish off with.

We have the element of water, which is very often associated with feelings. Water flows freely, but it also cleans and cleanses of anything stagnant left on us.

The closeup of Kris' face with a golden eyeshadow is just beautiful. It's messy, but we can now see that it's messy on purpose. As I said before, it reminds me of the makeup trend young girls used to do, where they would experiment with makeup before a shower. That way, they could let themselves be as creative as they liked and try more unconventional makeup, because they would take a shower immediately after and no one but them would see it.

This gives me the similar vibe, with Kris letting himself experiment with femininity again, the water running over his face representing his letting his feelings flow freely again.

All in all, I absolutely adored this, Kris is certainly an amazing model and I love that Damon was very creative with his photoshoot. If anyone wants to add any other thoughts they have, feel free to, I love hearing other people's opinions on this!

#joker out #rio rambles #kris guštin #damon baker #rio's analysis #<- yeah that's gonna become a tag now

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archivalofsins · 5 months

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Mikoto's Advertising Secrets

So, today Star and I are going to talk about Double. Yep, it’s another team up to tackle one of the most difficult characters in Milgram. Today we’ll be discussing the Japanese and English lyrics of Double provided by the staff. Along with some fun facts and observations we’ve made from them.

Preface

This will be going over the use of (MeMe) in the official French and English translations of Double along with the use of and etymology of the term “Newborn”. Due to the focus on these phrases since the release of Double and how the fandom has treated official translations in the past… Star and I believed it only fair to give the same scrutiny given to past translations to Double. It cannot only be a mistranslation when it’s inconvenient to how one personally views the character then absolutely correct and unquestionable when the translation (regardless of how many creative liberties it takes) supports what one personally wants to believe.

If anyone has problems with having these topics scrutinized fully and objectively then this is not the post for them. If anyone is interested in finding out more about linguistics both English and Japanese, MeMe and Double parallels, and a lot of things about Mikoto Kayano then this post might be for you. The way I word things has always been incredibly direct and that won’t be changing over the course of this post.

This post wouldn't be possible without the discussions and help I received from not only @apatchworkstar but @tsuwmya and @doctorbunny.

With all that out of the way- Are you ready?

Okay, well let’s jump into it!

This may have spelling errors and may be edited at a later date to add more context. Just like Mikoto's song lol~

Hi, this is Star here- Starting off this post! Gunsli and I were discussing some of the information floating around about Mikoto- them with more people than me. I was mostly bitching discussing how I found it interesting that people were taking a step away from their habit of brutally eviscerating the official translations of songs to hyper focus on the wording of Double.

Now, Gunsli and myself have been very open about how we both believe the original lyrics and the translations both help add necessary context to all of the songs and that neither is less than the other. However, it is a bit… Irksome for people to just pick and choose what they consider a valid conversion of information. Especially since translating is already something that can be hard to carry nuance over. It also hasn’t escaped my notice what the official English translation is being used to support. Which is also aggravating, with everything else into consideration.

So, I took out my copy of Double and did what fans have been doing for most of trial two- looking at the Japanese lyrics within the cd pamphlet and comparing them to the translation. And boy was that interesting!

Don’t worry~

Mikoto is an honest man, guys~ Come on, would a guy with such tiredness in his eyes lie to us~?

…So, his song's translation has to be the pinnacle of accuracy; all with little to no artistic liberties taken, right? Well- no.

Literally, there wouldn’t be any point of making this as a post if it was.

(Gunsli: Don’t mind the underlined parts in the english lyrics for now. That comes in later.)

Firstly,

“I’m Double (MeMe)”

“Double” is the only line actually said in this statement. “(MeMe)” is never said within the lyrics of Double. However, given that it is in parentheses (something that is meant to add additional context to a statement), “(MeMe)” technically does not have to be said within the song in order to be put into the lyrics in this way. This isn’t a case of the english lyrics being inaccurate per se, but a case of the staff using english language and grammar in order to add context to what is being said. Something that’s not only done with the English translation, but the French one too.

So this is additional context; a rare treat for fans in the west! Now, when Gunsli and I were discussing Mikoto’s second trial CD cover-

Gunsli speculated that they added in (MeMe) to hammer in that there were, in fact, only two of them. Especially given how prevalent trikoto was/is as a theory. However, neither of us thought the staff would go so far as to just present this as something that had been said when it never was just to drive in the point further.

In every other instance during trial two when the prisoners have referenced their previous trial songs, it’s been verbally- i.e. within the lyrics themselves. Anyone can hear it, and the lines are noted in their cd pamphlets + the inside of the cd case, even if they aren’t translated as literally the lines that are said to be there are there.

Mikoto is the only one who’s official translated lyrics reference his first trial song without him verbally referencing it.

Making this a literal instance of, “He did not fucking say that.” Musical edition~

I guess you could say that Mikoto is the creme de la creme- or, to phrase it better an outlier even among other outliers. Which I find amusing as hell, considering how Mikoto is being treated in Milgram currently. Because, despite the fact that he does not verbally reference his previous song in any way throughout his trial two song, the staff still chose to frame it as though Mikoto had within these translations and visuals. Like how are you gonna call yourself an honest man, then be a bigger liar than Kazui Mukuhara! At least the text that comes up in Cat is actually sung by him!

But this is something that adeptly draws attention to Mikoto’s previously stated skills and hobbies-

Q.04 Are you picky when it comes to fashion?

Mikoto: Of course I am. Nobody would want to ask for anything from an unfashionable designer, right?

Q.07 What are your hobbies?

Mikoto: shopping / darts / photography / cycling

Q.08 What’s the most rewarding part of your current job?

Mikoto: I mean, it’s the top advertising agency in the industry? Anyone would be proud to be a part of it. I put a lot of work in just to get here, too.

Design, photography, and advertising. All things that require people to know, not only how to conduct and present themselves, but how to present others and concepts to people in a way that will be favorable and hopefully increase revenue and sales.

So, why wouldn’t Mikoto pull out all the stops to present himself in a way that would get him a more favorable response after the train wreck that was his first trial?

To be fair, when we were first discussing it, I didn’t really understand how tacking on (MeMe) after Double would make Mikoto look any better. Then Gunsli stated that outside of the meta viewpoint, we’d tackled already (which I had to bring to her attention)- That there was a second thing that made this translation decision interesting.

The fact that it served to connect Mikoto back to the song at all. As though Mikoto is trying to haphazardly put his name or presence on someone else’s work. Gunsli put it best,

“It’s a great visual example of Mikoto tacking himself onto John’s pain. Connecting himself to his suffering in order to justify his actions and avoid taking accountability. Really homing in on one of the core questions Milgram as a facility and project has continued to pose to those that participate in it- Is one’s anger justifiable when they are getting angry at something that did not happen to them. Or is it simply a case of know-it-alls not being able to mind their own business? Or in the words of Mikoto from MeMe, “This isn’t too much is it?”. At what point does defending another person become too much? Can it really be considered protecting yourself if the self you’re protecting is their own person in their own right? Or is this just a new layer of self-justification that Mikoto has created in order to downplay how much agency he had over the situation. “I’m probably not to blame, it’s probably nothing. I’m probably just having a bad dream, I need to wake up soon.”.”

“All I did was dream, and that’s what you found GUILTY?”

(Gunsli here- This line isn’t even the only one they do this with when it comes to the translations. They also do it again with the word us at the start of the Double. “Just the two of us, relieved, aren’t you? I’ll protect you (us).” Once again using parentheses to give further context or emphasize unstated things.)

Now, I’m gonna leave the second half of this to Gunsli-

Secondly,

"The “newborn” other you."

Gunsli here and-

Man, I really didn’t think we’d be taking the metaphorical as literal. Especially after all the fuss around the visuals of I Love You but- I guess things are only metaphorical or literal based on how convenient it is for things to be that in the moment. If we took every instance that the word baby is used in any song as literally as newborn is being taken here music would be rather complicated to say the least.

Yet, I guess since this is a Japanese phrase it’s a bit more specific than that. That this phrase is only applicable when discussing newly born beings and nothing else. Well, not exactly. Regardless of how specific a language is there are still instances where words and phrases will have different meanings based on the context they are said in. A good deal of people like to poke fun at English for being a mutt language and incredibly indirect, but every language has room for miscommunications or misunderstandings to occur.

Because every language is the sum of a culture's collective history. All languages are always building off of themselves and evolving and certain terms that meant one thing to the last generation can mean an entirely different thing to the next. This is true in the instance of not only the Japanese phrasing of this line but the English one as well.

So, let’s start with the English one.

“Me, the newborn other you, I’ll take it all on.”

Firstly, me in this instance is ore in Japanese. In the context of Milgram we know ore is used when John is referring to themselves. At least this is the pattern that has been presented. However, it is not always the case. Ore and boku can be used to refer to each of them respectively and collectively. However, for the sake of this example, let’s say it refers to John.

Me (John), the newborn-

Okay, we’ve gotten to the main offender in this sentence. Newborn. In English newborn is no longer contextually used to refer to a baby/infant or someone who was just born. Also, it never only referred to that to begin with and has not been colloquially used in this way for some time unless one is referring to someone they know very little about having a child.

For example,

“Where’s Janice from accounting? I haven’t seen her in a good while.” “Oh, you didn’t hear? She had a newborn. So, she’s on maternity leave.”

Even then this is still rather formal and outdated. An interaction like this is more likely to go.

“Where’s Janice from accounting? I haven’t seen her around in a while.” “Oh, you haven’t heard she just had a baby. She’s on maternity leave.”

Alright but they’re translating from Japanese to English and using baby or infant in the context of the sentence presented would be odd. Yeah, that’s right, it would be odd. That’s why in the beginning, I found it strange to even look into this line in this context as though it could in some way even tangentially be related to birth or children.

If it would be odd to add the word baby in this context, chances are that this probably has nothing to do with them or birth in the conventional organic sense of the word.

But born is in the word.

Okay, let’s do what we did with Neoplasm. Because, clearly the internet only taught some people one meaning of these words.

So, bear witness to this real quick-

Bear: To support or hold up.

Gif made by Star

Double: ““No, I need to do more…”, say what? You’re gonna break. Me, the newborn other you, I’ll take it all on.”

This is rather self-explanatory. To say that one will take it all on is to state their intentions to take on the burdens, issues, or stressors of another person or of a specific event. For example to take blame and face punishment for a crime one did not commit in order to protect another. Mikoto is also shown in Double using the bat for support.

Bear Down: Proceed forcefully toward.

Gif made by Star

While making the gifs Star pointed out that the word next to the three arrows pointing at the assailant here is "Savior" in sloppy English. This is emphasized by having "Save you" appear next to the figure as they continue to walk forward. Showing that (whichever one of them this is) believes themselves to be their savior and that what we see them doing here isn't an attack or them hunting the other down but them going to save the other. Adding more meaning behind these lines, "Cling to me, hoist me up as your “savior”, stand up and sing out your gratitude, that’d be good." - "Cling to me, hoist me up as your “savior”, stand up and sing out your gratitude, so why?"

Alright, all of that is very interesting Gunsli. However, bear is not the word that we’re here to discuss today. The word is “Newborn”. What possible bearing could this word have on that? That’s a good question. It just so happens that one of the root words of “Newborn” comes from bear.

Since the word comes from both New and Born.

New (Old English Niwian, Neowian)

Fourth Definition: Bring forth.

MeMe

“Why?”

““I” will save “me”.”

“Switch, shake up that brain.”

“Why am I here? It must be a mistake right? Take a good look at me until you find me.”

Double

“I’ve got you, leave it to me!”

““He’s a liar”, you said, and made me out to be a scoundrel, why?”

“Hey, I just wanted to save you, so why did it come to this? Cling to me, hoist me up as your “savior”, stand up and sing out your gratitude, so why. I don’t remember a thing, it couldn’t be helped, I’m DOUBLE (MeMe). I was having such a hard time, I was trying so hard.”

This is not self-explanatory. So, I’m going to take the time to explain what was going on in my mind when I decided to highlight these lyrics. I was interpreting bring forth in the context of switching. Mikoto is shown throughout MeMe to be looking for himself. Throughout the lyrics and the visuals. This is something reiterated through Double in a more chilling way. As it starts with what seems to be John being forced to the forefront due to Mikoto becoming too stressed. Something we see occur in Mikoto’s first and second voice dramas.

John even making it clear from the beginning that he’s not out because he wants to be yelling,

“AaaAAAGH! Fuck… Fuck… STOP PISSING ME OFF!” While audibly stomping around and possibly messing up his hair the same way we see him do in Double. Basically, throwing a tantrum.

Couple this with his first cover song expressly stating that feeling ashamed which can cause stress and anxiety will open a role for an idiot to play (something we’ll go into after this) gives us a good understanding of what occurred in response to Mikoto's verdict.

Something that if we didn’t catch onto John was more than happy to bluntly state to us in their second voice drama.

Neoplasm Voice Drama

“I (boku) might be trying to disappear.”

“Evidently, the time I (ore) have been fronting has been getting longer, so this “me” has been able to stabilize. Isn’t that the reason we can talk properly?”

The mental stress caused to Mikoto due to his previous verdict has led to him not being able to properly cope with the circumstances and drawing inward more as a result. Now fronting less and less as John (the one portrayed as being more used to stressful circumstances and better at holding things down) takes the forefront.

MeMe

“Hurting it, holding it down, it doesn’t change anything, does it?”

Double

““No, I need to do more…”, say what? You’re gonna break.”

Neoplasm Voice Drama

“Yeah. I… probably come out to ease the stress Boku experiences. The fact that I come out for longer just means that Boku is constantly under extreme stress.”

"The fact that you judged against forgiving Boku is causing a lot of stress.”

Depending on which of them has memories of the crime this could be a good thing.

"That’s why he’s entrusting me with his heart."

This leads well into the next definition-

Ninth Definition: Substitute.

Double: “Leave it to me.”- “I’ll take it all on.”-”Relieved, aren’t you?”-“I’ll protect you (us).”

These are again things I find self-explanatory, but I’ll explain for the sake of clarity. These are all things one says when taking on another’s responsibilities or substituting for them. Usually someone is given a substitute when they cannot fulfill their duties for one reason or another. How John describes the current circumstances in Neoplasm makes it sound as though he is substituting for Mikoto because as he said in his second cd trailer,

“I can’t take it anymore…”

Monopoisoner: “As for who is acting strangely, look here, it’s already been decided that I’m the normal one, OK?”- “Do you have a preference for plundering? Because what’s being stolen away right now is your life. “How’s this? How’s this? What do you think?” Even though the outcome was understood from the start… The foolish you is already done for “nothing to see here, move on, pay no heed”.”- ““Please, bring to an end this world today” but that hole opens up a role for me to play. “Please, feel ashamed of this self from today” but that hole opens up a role for an idiot to play.”

gif made by @apatchworkstar

“You’re overdoing it, you’re already broken. But if you persist, I guess it’s my job to keep things on an even keel. Me, the other you, I’ll take it all on.”

In my opinion the Milgram staff could not make it clearer who the actual killer is at this point outside of the third trial just blatantly telling us if Mikoto gets as cocky as Mu did in response to his Innocent verdict. (Remember those underlined parts from the beginning of this post? Yeah, that comes in now.)

Literally each time he says the other you in this song Me comes before it. Plus like Star established earlier the staff literally choose to shove (MeMe) in here when again it is not said to further highlight this more subtle aspect to oversea viewers.

They basically made it so if you line up every time this phrase is said you just get-

“Me, the newborn other you, I’ll take it all on.”

“Me, the other you, I’ll take it all on.”

The title of the first trial song and they only put this phrase in twice within the lyrics to give this effect. Like this isn’t even a stretch at this point. They’ve gone above and beyond to highlight that Mikoto did that shit but we’re focusing on “newborn” right now. Moment of appreciation for the best translated lyrics of trial two. Like honestly the amount of information they had to shove directly into this man's lyrics due to his rather disjointed mv (that they still managed to get a lot of information in as well by the way) and still managed to get in is impressive.

It’s actually jaw dropping when one takes the time to look into it.

So, now that we have a bit of the history of the word “Newborn” how does it apply to this sentence,

“Me, the newborn other you, I’ll take it all on.”

Well given the etymology of Newborn we’ve learned a few things. One of them being that newborn is not only used to refer to recently born things but newly discovered concepts. Yet to reduce my own point a great deal we only need one source and one source only Merriam-Webster. Well, that and an understanding of English grammar.

Are you getting it yet? Well, if not here’s an English refresher in a form most Milgram fans should be used to music-

Now, I'm assuming you’ve watched both of those great videos. So, how is “newborn” being used here exactly?

“Me, the newborn other you, I’ll take it all on.”

That’s right baby, that word is being used in its adjective form not its noun form. Newborn is being used to describe the Me in this sentence the newborn other you. That is what the pronoun me is being described as in this sentence. So, what does that mean folks? Well, it means that Me in this context is not a newborn individual but instead a recently born or born anew construct or in this case self. Definitively showcasing that the newborn being referred to here cannot and never could in this sentence be defined as a newborn individual. At least that would not be the only meaning in its adjective state.

There’s a difference between referring to a newborn and describing someone as a newborn. Be it oneself or another person. I know this is very confusing. I’m sorry and it doesn’t get any easier going into the Japanese. Something that even I am going to need help with and luckily can get help with.

That’s later though all one needs to know for now is yes, the adjective state of the word may be used to refer to things that are not infants or newly born. Think of it like the word discovered. You know in the sense that Christopher Columbus “discovered” America. The word is kind of like that. Yeah, that’s the type of shit we’re getting into later. Yet, for now let’s keep things simple.

A better way to explain this is by showing the synonyms and example sentences for the adjective state of this word,

Know who the adjective form of newborn perfectly describes out of the two? Could it be the tired, bags under the eyes, lethargic John or Mikoto Hypnos’ favorite human?

Man, is it “I’ve slept for twelve restful hours” Mikoto or John the one displayed as being soooo tired he passes out on public transport. Literally one of the most dangerous things a person can do.

I wonder who it could be…

If only we had a clue or a hint? (Or a bed for John.)

Ah well too bad. There’s nothing like that… I guess we’ll never solve this conundrum. It’s not as though newborn can be used to describe someone who has been reinvigorated or has come across a new sense of purpose or direction. It’d be incredibly awkward if that were the case. Because even ignoring everything else that would be a very nice and subtle way, still open enough to be interpreted a myriad of ways, for this series to highlight even further that Mikoto did that shit without blatantly saying he did.

Luckily that English word only refers to organisms that have just been born and nothing else and no one will find any sources stating otherwise ever. So, it’s best to not look and we should all just do what Mikoto- I mean John said,

“Come to know me as an honest man, eat your words, gulp them down.”

Okay, but what about the Japanese lyrics?

“産声を上げたもうひとりの俺が、全部背負うから”/ Ubugoe wo ageta mou hitori no ore ga, zenbu seou kara.

One rough interpretation of the phrase in english could be,

“Born again, I (ore) alone will take responsibility for everything.”

So, why use newborn instead of born again?

As we discussed before, no language is that easy to grasp. There are multiple ways for various translators to interpret this phrase. Not all of them will give the same exact perspective on a phrase and their translations are prone to be influenced by not only their own personal experiences but their relationship with the work being translated. For example I had DoctorBunny help me out when it came to getting a grasp of the Japanese in this instance.

During the process he said this,

“Trust me this is a very newborn invoking line. It's a saying basically used synonymously with being born. A favourite of foetus musician Mao Sasagawa.”

However, the example he gave was musical. This isn’t problematic or anything but it’s kind of easy to form a rebuttal against it. Something I’ll illustrate now- while answering that question I posed earlier with this song.

Born again in the west has a very religious connotation and even though the word savior is used within Double the staff probably didn’t want to tie Mikoto’s character that heavily to religion. Because as Mikoto has stated repeatedly he views himself as his on “Savior” and-

Q.19 Do you believe god exists?

Mikoto: I don’t believe, no. I don’t feel so strongly that I’m gonna deny the possibility but- Like, what do I gain from believing?

Taking into consideration how synonymous with religion the term born again is and Mikoto’s characterization thus far, would it really be contextually appropriate for them to translate it in that way for a western audience?

Definitely not.

Especially considering the timing of his second song's release. Ya know- Being right after the most religiously involved character in the franchise. Those are the type of things a staff has to take into consideration when translating information into other languages for vastly different cultures. Again, the consideration and care put into the translation of Double in particular, is apparent in every line, every word said or not that they added in order to make sure regardless of the language one spoke everyone was getting not only a unique but as accurate as possible experience.

Personally, I believe that the effort put in in this instance should not only be respected but lauded. For now though let’s give the Japanese lyrics some much due attention. Because they are just as good.

Believe it or not that idiomatic expression is what led to this entire post. When I saw this I couldn’t help but think of a phrase in English that is the exact opposite of the one highlighted.

“This will never see the light of day.”

To see the light of day is a common phrase that on top of being another synonym for being born means, To come to existence or be made known.

It’s a rather colloquial way of describing something becoming known or one's desire to let something be known. Like in the example I previously provided. This is what caused the idiomatic definition to catch my interest.

So, what is an idiomatic expression, well it’s a colloquialism basically.

Idiomatic means to use, denote, or contain expressions that would be natural to native speakers. Meaning that to first see the light of day is a common way of using this expression to native-speakers.

Yet, the technical use of the word is still related to the first cry or children.

As a native English speaker when I say,

“Things I hope never see the light of day again.” “Man, I hope someone sheds light on your actions one day.”

I and other native English speakers know I am not hoping for someone to get a light and shine it on that person or their actions but instead I want what they’ve done to either be known or ignored. This song is a perfect example of the concept.

Now, what made this way of viewing the information even more interesting is how Mikoto’s second trial mv plays with light in general. Double does this through its day and night cycles. Unlike MeMe that takes place during the night only and displays Mikoto sleeping through the day in Double, we see John up during the day and taking a backseat at night.

As Mikoto is shown to literally be committing these attacks at night again through the dark lighting on his side of the train. The visuals go out of the way to show his side of the train remaining unlit while John’s has light during the very first attack.

Double quite literally doubles down on playing around with lighting as a visual storytelling method. Perfectly illustrating to us that there’s something Mikoto did that he never wants to let see the light of day. Yet, it does see the light of as you can see from above. What was once happening in the dark comes closer and closer to light until the two are basically overlapping.

As though looking in a mirror

Light becomes dark then Dark becomes light and eventually inevitably the two overlap-

As we see them face each other at the climax. One facing the reality of what they’ve done while the other isn’t even capable of facing themselves fully let alone their role in this.

“I’m probably not to blame, it’s probably nothing. I’m probably just having a bad dream, I need to wake up soon. Why am I here? It must be a mistake right? Take a good look at me. Until you find me- Why, hey why, I’m nowhere to be found.” - ““He’s a liar”, you said, and made me out to be a scoundrel, why? All I did was dream, so you find me INNOCENT, it’s that simple right? Come to know me as an honest man, eat your words, gulp them down.”

Then there’s these meanings for the phrase as well (which should seem pretty familiar after all this)

2. To be burdened with; to take responsibility for.

So, remember Bear? If not, here are some of the meanings for it applicable with this definition here.

Bear: To carry. To endure without resistance. To support, hold up. Carry a burden.

3. To have (something) in the background; to be in front of something.

Bear: Bring; bring forth.

With this we’ve gone full circle. Yet, that’s not the only interesting thing about this meaning. Applying the third meaning to Mikoto’s characters specifically could make this sentence a very artistic way of describing fronting. As we discussed before with Bear. (Can't believe I've got to quote myself from earlier in this post right now.)

“I was interpreting bring forth in the context of switching. Mikoto is shown throughout MeMe to be looking for himself. Throughout the lyrics and the visuals. This is something reiterated through Double in a more chilling way. As it starts with what seems to be John being forced to the forefront due to Mikoto becoming too stressed. Something we see occur in Mikoto’s first and second voice dramas.”

That’s it we’ve done it that’s everything that’s a full fucking language loop. So, hopefully from this we’ve all learned a bit more about not only Mikoto but language in general. My hope with this is that it gives people a newfound appreciation for not only linguistics but the tremendous effort the Milgram staff have put in over the course of trial two. Now, with all that out of the way. I can finally say (in my opinion)-

This case is closed.

Also, John in Double be like-

second gif edited by Star

Well, that's all if you made it through all of this congrats. Hopefully you've learned some new interesting things.

#milgram #mikoto kayano #kayano mikoto

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keshetchai · 8 months

Text

As someone who enjoys religion blogging/discussions, I've come to realize that it's a good practice to be aware of the general signs/symptoms of religious-OCD thinking (aka scrupulosity), because if the conversation is taking on all the hallmarks of scrupulosity, it's actually a definitive sign that we cannot meaningfully and compassionately engage in a conversation about religion in a healthy way. I've actually had this play out a significant number of times online, and when I realized what it was, I also began to realize that the intrusive thoughts/obsessive and compulsive thinking are only ever fed by continuing the discussion with that person.

[[ Important edit to clarify why I am saying it's not healthy — made after I went back to look for more concrete facts about OCD or anxiety (I have GAD, not OCD, but many resources overlap since they're both anxiety disorders):

When Reassurance is Harmful — this explains how/why reassurance-seeking specifically about an OCD fear is a compulsive behavior, and engaging with reassurance-seeking interferes with recovery/management/treatment.

This table from the Anxiety Disorders Center lists key differences between Information Seeking and Reassurance Seeking.

This IOCDF page on Scrupulosity info for Faith Leaders identifies "symptom accommodation" as enabling. Two of the examples of doing this by participating in the OCD behavior are: "Engage in excessive conversation focused on if-then scenarios (e.g., "If I did this, then would X or Y happen? And what if Z was involved? How about W?")" And, "Repeatedly answering questions about ‘correct’ religious or faith practices."

That page also goes on to outline more info about reassurance seeking. "Although providing answers to (often simple!) questions may seem harmless, providing reassurance serves to maintain the anxiety disorder cycle." (This BMC psychiatry article cites a lot of related studies establishing this.)

The IOCDF page on What is OCD and Scrupulosity? ]]

Imo, the responsible thing to do is to recognize that (even if the other person hasn't outright stated it/isn't diagnosed)* the conversation is not about religion, it is about needing mental health support from professionals and experts. Talking to me, the layperson who enjoys chatting theology and my religion — is not only not helping, but is actively harmful. I'm not just talking about the person who I replied to today, either. Like I've said, I've seen this happen dozens of times in various online forums.

*[while I am against diagnosing strangers on the internet, it's important to realize A) lots of people don't know what Scrupulosity is, so it's possible they've never considered this is a mental health concern that could be treated, and that B) for the purposes of my concern, it doesn't matter if they actually have diagnosed OCD. The only thing that matters is that their thought-process causes them genuine distress/fear, and every response given to them seems to only incite new/additional distressing questions/thoughts, or further entrenches the original distress.]

Ultimately, any discussion aside from "you might want to speak to a mental health professional about scrupulosity OCD" seemingly puts me in the position of feeling as if I am being used for their self-harm. I hate that feeling. I do not want to be leverage for fear and pain. I have GAD, I despise the idea that I am making things worse.

No matter how much I love religious discussion, the answer in these cases is always "please reach out to an OCD specialist/mental health professional. I am not qualified to discuss this." And then to stop there. I have never once seen anyone stuck in this compulsive thought spiral be reassured or feel any better by hearing from someone else's approach to theology handled with things like empathy, compassion, logic, or even atheism. It doesn't matter what we say, how we say it, or how we relate to our own religion. The urge to engage in this kind of conversation in order to chat about religion is a sign that we are not equipped to help.

You can't have a conversation here, because intentionally or not, ten times out of ten, you are adding fuel to the fire. Just like people can't simply tell me something that would erase/talk me out of my ADHD/depression/anxiety disorder, you also cannot simply argue/reassure/persuade people out of scrupulosity. We should not try. We have a responsibility to consider that it's outright harmful to do so, and to disengage.

#this is a massive pet peeve of mine #im not mad at the people who responded about religion and religious thinking bc it took me time to realize what this was too #like im sure i used to view these kinds of questions in a more...idk flippant light when i was a teenager and maybe even in my 20's #as i became more educated about my own mental health though i started to realize the pattern in these fears #and like many of you i probably originally started replying to people with scrupulosity or similar religious anxieties genuinely #not realizing at first that replying to their fears or questions was inevitable harmful #not realizing that hey actually this is far above my paygrade #ocd/obsessive thinking and anxiety spirals can be crippling life ruining and immensely painful #and unfortunately my love of theological discussions sometimes tripped me RIGHT into what was essentially self-harm #so im not mad at other people for also making that mistake - but i am asking everyone to think about this actively #its too easy to leap in without considering if the discussion is healthy to have for our discussion partner #its definitely too easy to contribute to the pain and fear while only meaning to genuinely help what is misunderstood as a mere “worry”#bc these arent just small fears or worries but thoughts that are causing them immense pain

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aza-writes · 1 year

Text

A Playboy Valentine’s Day

Matt Murdock x fem!Reader

Summary: You and Matt both have to work on Valentine’s Day, what better way to celebrate than to surprise Matt with some special pictures

Warnings: mentions of smut/implied smut, few curse words

There is no description of the reader or the reader's body and no use of y/n

A/N: I didn’t want to put a specific job for the reader but it makes them work late shifts some nights. I kinda implied health care but any other job where you kinda have to be on call or work nights or something like that would make sense.

Gif: found on google

To be completely honest with myself; I feel sexy.

I feel so fucking sexy just sitting here with my legs crossed and hair all done cute, waiting for Matt to come home and do whatever in response to his gift today.

I know what most men say: “oh I’m just not Valentine’s person,” or “it’s just a made-up holiday” but that statement could not be further from the truth with Mr. Matthew Murdock.

Every year he would get dinner reservations two months in advance, order flowers, buy chocolates, and most importantly, he would leave work early and skip patrol so we could spend every second together.

This year was no different from the rest, until two weeks before. Not only did Nelson and Murdock take on a really big case that kept Matt at the office until late into the night, but my colleague called and said I needed to take her night shift due to a family emergency. I couldn't say no, she needed the help. But all of this meant that Matt and I couldn't spend Valentine's Day together.

Matt felt bad enough that we couldn't go out for Valentine's day, but when I told him that I couldn't come to Nelson and Murdock and bring him dinner, it made the bad worse. I was ready to pack up and cut my losses when a beautiful article showed up on Google one day.

"Playboy's Visually Impaired Addition from 1984 Might Shock You"

Playboy made a special edition magazine for the visually impaired and sold millions of copies. And it was the perfect way to make up for this year's sucky Valentines. If playboy can do it, so can I.

The plan was overall simple. Take some pictures of myself in that red lingerie set Matt likes so much, and maybe a few completely nude, and poke holes around the outline of my body and more importantly, my curves.

The plan was set into motion last night while Matt was out on patrol. I got into his favorite lingerie set, a lace Daredevil red one, and set up a polaroid camera to use the self-timer. I take my time to do several poses with that set on, wanting to have plenty of options.

I stared at the photos for a long time, impressed with myself. But I couldn't sit there and stare at myself for too long, I had to finish these to get to the main event. I peeled the lingerie off, scared to rip the delicate lace details, and pose for the camera again. I try to keep my hands away from covering myself, wanting Matt to be able to feel every little detail he has memorized.

Now, I could've stopped there, but that's no fun. In true Playboy fashion, put a blank polaroid under the picture of me before I poked the holes into it, creating a blank picture that only Matt could read.

Well, Foggy could probably figure it out if he stared at it long enough but Matt wouldn't let him look at it for too long.

A sly smirk grew on my face imagining Matt feeling the picture in front of Foggy or even a client. I can see Matt get flustered, him loosening his tie while he clears his throat, trying to hide the fact he just got to feel up his girlfriend at work.

By the time Matt got back from patrol, I had already picked out my favorite pictures and poked holes defining my body. I avoided slipping the pictures into his briefcase the night before, wanting to avoid him "seeing" them before he goes to work. I want him to wait. I want him to feel the picture when he's working overtime. When it's late and he's only thinking about how he's not at home spending Valentine's day with me. When he has to reach in and grab whatever and then he feels it.

I couldn't leave him flustered in the middle of the day, what kind of person would I be? I decided to be kind and have him wait until he only has a few hours until he could come home and do whatever he wants in response. I waited until I brought him, Karen and Foggy dinner and carefully dropped them into his briefcase as I kissed him goodbye.

So here I am, in the same lingerie from the pictures, legs crossed, sitting on the arm of the couch, hoping Matt knew what I was trying to do.

I hear his keys before anything else. He's fumbling with them, trying to open the door as fast as possible. After every few jingles I hear him mutter a curse word under his breath, cursing himself for not being able to open the door.

He could probably hear my heart rate speed up, he could probably smell the perfume I was wearing, shit he could probably smell the pool that was growing in between my legs.

The door burst open before I could come up with any more little scenarios of what he was about to do to me.

"Welcome home Matty." My voice is sweet with a little cockiness mixed in it.

"You're in big trouble angel." His jacket is already off, and his tie is loose.

"You didn't like my present?" I get up and walk over to him, loosening his tie even more and pulling it over his head.

He swings his leg back, kicking the door shut. "I fucking loved it, that's the issue." I let out a little whimper, letting him know I heard him. I play with his hair and his hands find my waist, immediately letting his fingers drag up and down my sides. "So you decided to tease me, and on Valentine's Day of all days."

"What are you going to do about it," I start to unbutton his shirt, letting my fingers run over every little scar on the way down, "Matty?"

"I'll show you what I'm gonna do to you."

------

Happy Valentine's Day Darlings❤️

Request : closed

Guidelines

#matt murdock fluff #matt murdock one shot #matt murdock smut #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #daredevil x y/n #matthew murdock #matt murdock x fem!reader

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underratedandoverit · 1 year

Text

In My Head

~3,2k words orangekip (orange cassidy/kip sabian)

set in immortal fears/the belt corruption arc. this will be an official piece at some point so i might have to revise it, but. actually in-story canon first kisses/love confessions. theres a lot of anxiety surrounding this topic as its a heavy point of realization for kip especially, so its just kinda angsty. also kip says fuck way too many times cause ofc he does i tried to proofread and edit this but if theres something wonky yo thats entirely on me

@midnightpretenders0 @stormbornpirate

---------------

Kip carefully pushed the bedroom door open, breathing raspy and heavy, heart in his throat as he was met with the familiar darkness beyond the door. Most nights it wouldn’t have been such a big deal, but something felt different tonight. Maybe it had been the past few days, the past few hours leading up to this moment, the words that had been said, the touches that still burned the skin he couldn’t get out of, the feelings that he didn’t know before now for sure that burned in his mind.

Seeing the familiar figure already laying on the bed in the darkness didn’t help any of the feelings he had in him.

Maybe he could figure this out. Maybe he was imagining it all, maybe he was pushing it all and everything he was feeling was nothing but a fragment of his own imagination. Maybe Kip was making it all up. Maybe he didn’t mean anything that he had been saying, thinking, wondering the past few days, the past few hours.

But the longer Kip stood frozen in the doorway, the more he knew he was just lying to himself thinking that he didn’t mean any of those things.

The worst part was, he just didn’t know if Cassidy was on the same level with him at all.

Kip slowly made his way into the bedroom, closing the door behind him as quietly as he could. He wasn’t sure if Cassidy was still awake, but as he hadn’t moved or reacted at all while Kip had been standing in the doorway, it was safe to say he was fast asleep. Kip was honestly surprised he was still willing to sleep in the shared bed after today, no matter how much Kip was trying to tell him that he didn’t need this anymore.

The thought of Cassidy still refusing gave him the chills, his response even more so.

“Maybe you don’t. But who says that I don’t?”

If Kip hadn’t been confused about everything before, he sure had been again after that. All his efforts to push Cassidy away, even slightly, to stop the inevitable that was happening in his head were rendered effortless. Useless. Just like how he felt most nights, most days, which was exactly why he was in this predicament to begin with.

Because he needed help. It had taken its sweet time for him to acknowledge that fact, but as soon as he had accepted it, Kip knew there was no turning back. The moment he allowed the one who he had been his sworn enemy to help him, there was no way anything was going to be like before ever again.

And he was terrified of that thought. And nothing he tried made it go away, anything Kip did either made it worse or stronger. He couldn’t fight it, only hide it. And he was sure at this point that he was fucking awful in that as well.

He could navigate the bedroom in the almost pitch black darkness effortlessly, Kip had done this maybe a million times before. The extra thick curtains were a welcomed addition to help the sleepless nights, but at the same time Kip wished they weren’t thickening the air in the room right now. He was already having trouble breathing, the darkness feeling even more suffocating around him, making things even harder for him to grasp, as if they weren’t already confusing and driving him up the walls closing in around him.

All he wanted was to know if he was imagining it all or not. Why was that so fucking much to ask.

Taking a hesitant seat at the edge of the bed, Kip tried to steady his breathing. Closing his eyes, he ran hands over his face multiple times, trying to make sure he knew where he was, what time it was, the date, anything to ground him to his surroundings. His mind was swirling with a million thoughts faster than he could arrange them in a sensible order, but the soft carpet under his bare feet and the fingers drumming gently against his forehead kept him in one place in space at a time.

Not that it helped him breathe any easier, but at least knowing where he was and how things were going made him feel slightly less insane.

Kip could feel the bed slightly moving underneath him, but he didn’t pay it any mind. Maybe Cassidy was just tossing a bit, Kip knew he was a rather light sleeper on nights he wasn’t completely exhausted because of him. He had tried to be quiet, but maybe him getting on the bed was a bad move. Of course it was, Kip wasn’t known for making good moves in this life, that much was obvious.

An arm suddenly wrapped around his waist, securing him as it pulled Kip slightly better on the bed. He allowed the action, despite his mind telling him otherwise, but he was already numb to everything else. Pair of legs appeared on his sides, the touch grounding him as they slid down over the edge of the bed, right next to his own, one on each side. A warm body pressed against his back, one hand running through his hair, a face being pressed into the crook of his neck as Kip could feel the hot breath running down the inside of the back of his shirt.

“Hey.”

Kip knew the voice, he had expected it, and yet the jolt it sent through him was something he couldn’t explain. His hands slowly left his face, landing on his lap, not being sure what to do, how to behave. This was a situation he had found himself in too many times by now, and yet every time he was here, Kip didn’t know how to proceed. He felt so helpless, being held in arms that he both did and didn’t want to be in, not knowing what he was supposed to do. What he was allowed to do. And he hated it, and yet the words to express any of that were stuck in the throat that only allowed him to sob at moments like this.

He swallowed hard, not wanting to repeat the nights where things had gone down like this so many times before. He didn’t want that, but he didn’t know what else he was supposed to do.

Kip could feel the tears swelling in his eyes, trying to fight them back as much as possible without giving Cassidy a hint of it. Of course at this point he knew it was pointless, the other man was able to read him like an open book no matter the situation. It was just another reason why this hurt Kip so much, how he wasn’t able to hide anything but the things he desperately wanted Cassidy to see. He wasn’t sure if Cassidy was completely ignorant to those things, those feelings, but the fact that he never directly responded to any of them was giving Kip a really good hint where they were going with this whole thing.

“Kip --”

He didn’t want to hear it. Standing up, he still couldn’t escape the one arm that had snaked its way around his waist. He was held in place, firmly, yet gently, making sure he didn’t do anything drastic as he clearly wanted.

Feeling a hand grab a hold of his, Kip allowed himself to be pulled back down to the bed as Cassidy made him room for Kip to sit down next to him. There was no point fighting it, this would just end up like any other night. He was going to have a moment, they would talk it out, cuddle it out, that was going to be the end of it. He didn’t know why he thought it was going to be any different, but the thought that it wasn’t still ached his whole being more than any other night. The hand now holding his burning fingerprints on his skin that Kip never wanted to be able to wash away, but he knew that by the morning they would all be gone and he would have to start this painful circle all over again.

Kip could feel Cassidy looking at him, trying to observe the side of his face as Kip refused to look directly back at the man now sitting next to him. There was no point. Nothing was going to change.

He felt the hand leaving his, gently landing on his face, a thumb running over the cheek wet with tears that Kip didn’t even realize he had been crying.

“It’s going to be okay.”

Was it? Was it really? As long as Kip was concerned, no the fuck it wasn’t. But it was just another one of those thoughts that he couldn’t express, that he had to leave to burn inside of him until his lungs turned to ash so he couldn’t say anything anymore, even if he finally wanted to. And that was a thing he could never tell Cassidy. The one person that was supposed to be his worst enemy in this whole wide fucking world.

“It’s --”

“Is it?”

His voice was so quiet, but Kip could feel Cassidy tense as he heard the two words. His hand stopped on his face, Kip could have sworn he was looking at him with surprised, widened eyes, if he could have made out most of his features in the dark. Kip finally looked at him, confirming his suspicions to the best of his ability behind his own tears.

“Is it really?”

Cassidy just looked back at him, remaining silent. The oh so familiar silence that was driving Kip insane, up the wall, what have you. He had lost the ability to read its meaning a lot of times ever since they had become closer, and he didn’t like that. Cassidy used to be so easy to look at and see what he was thinking, and now every time Kip tried, nothing seemed to make sense. His own feelings thrown into the mix absolutely did jackshit to help with the situation, but even before then, before the realization, most of the time he was just lost when looking at the blond and trying to dig some kind of an explanation out of him and his voiceless self.

“…It will be.”

“How?”

Kip didn’t intend to snap at him, but he couldn’t stop himself before the word slipped out, laced with the venom of disbelief. At this point he was sure Cassidy was just making it up as he went along, trying the same things and same words that had previously worked, being oblivious to the fact that Kip was starting to grow immune to his fruitless efforts of comfort. On some level Kip obviously still believed him, like he had always done, hearing those words of encouragement and comfort still got to him, but at the same time he had started to believe that they were nothing but that, words without any deeper meaning behind them. Just noises to fill the dead air in hopes that they distracted him for long enough until Kip either forgot what he was struggling with or Cassidy could come up with better ones.

“How the fuck is it ever going to be okay? How is this supposed to get better if nothing ever fucking changes?”

“If you want it to change, maybe you have to try to do something about it.”

It was like something clicked inside of him, pushing Kip to the move. He wasn’t sure in hindsight if Cassidy had meant it as he took it, as an open invitation to close the gap between them and with a single shift motion move himself into his lap, but that’s how Kip ended up taking it. The blond was almost caught by surprise as he suddenly had Kip so close, but he didn’t try to push him away, instead his hands helped to steady him in place.

Only after his hands were already on the back of his head, Kip froze in place, realizing the direction he was pushing this. Even in the darkness he could see Cassidy almost too intensely staring back at him, neither of them moving an inch, waiting for the other to do something about the sudden shift in the situation.

“I-I…”

Kip’s voice drifted off, his head dipping down first, forehead pressing against Cassidy’s. He couldn’t explain any of this even if he wanted to, at least not without sounding like he was losing his mind more than he already was. The days and nights that had slipped past so far, so many that he barely remembered, had unexplainably been building up to this moment, and now he was too scared to do anything about it. Anything he wanted to say was stuck in his throat, the actions he wanted to take made him freeze in place worse than the anxiety he had felt leading up to this.

He had Cassidy right where he wanted, inches away, and he couldn’t even bring himself to look him in the eyes anymore. It was all so overwhelmingly much, all way too suddenly than he had prepared himself for.

Thankfully, it was Cassidy that tilted his head upwards, closing the gap to press a soft kiss on Kip’s lips first. He didn’t reply back to it, his mind yelling at him that this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, that this was nothing but a sick fucking joke being played on him. Cassidy had him by his mind, by his feelings, none of this was as real as Kip wanted, as he was hoping for.

“Hey…”

Kip could feel a small, soft track of kisses being traced down his cheek and his neck, sending shivers down his spine. The jolt pushed him over the line, finally getting some sort of control over his body in this situation he had put himself in, grabbing Cassidy by the shoulders and shoving him down against the bed. Hovering above him, Kip tried to steady his breathing, watching as the confused eyes looked back up at him from the disheveled blond.

“I… I need to hear you say it.”

Kip could feel the hands snaking their way around his neck, gently pulling him closer. He resisted, insisting on doing this first. “I need you to say it.”

Cassidy looked back at him, not being entirely sure where this was going as Kip shook his head back at his silence.

“I need to hear it. I…”

Kip leaned in closer by his own will, stealing a quick kiss from his lips. He wanted to do so much more, but he couldn’t before he would know this was real. That this wasn’t just a trick, not his mind lying to him, this wasn’t happening just because Cassidy thought it would fix him. No, Kip needed to know this was because he wanted it, because they both wanted it, before he could allow himself to proceed.

“I love you.”

Cassidy remained silent for a moment, Kip could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks as the words finally left his lips, burning his insides harder than they ever did when he couldn’t say them out loud. It was out of his hands now, all the hope he had he had put out there in the world. All he could do was hope that this wasn’t a fragment of his imagination like so many other things before, that this one thing he could feel with his whole being was actually real.

Kip was certain he could see a smile, before he was pulled down to Cassidy’s level by the back of his head.

“I love you too, Kip.”

The voice was barely a whisper, the last word of it melting into the kiss Cassidy pulled him into.

----------------

His eyes fluttering open, Kip started at the ceiling of the bedroom for a moment. He didn’t remember falling asleep, he had no idea what time it was, what day it was, what anything it was. The only thing he knew was that the bed and the bedroom were familiar to him, and the tingling feeling on his lips was something he had carried with him since last night.

His head slightly tilting to the side, his eyes dimmed a little at the sight of the empty half of the bed next to him. His hand lazily reached for the pillow, only to find it cold – it was obvious Cassidy had been up for some time now, without bothering to wake him up. That’s how this usually went, as Kip was the one out of the two of them that needed more rest in his currently still mostly messed up state.

Except after last night, Kip might have expected something to change, but…

Pushing the thought aside, he carefully sat up, observing his surroundings. The room was fairly dim still but he could at least see, so at least it should be day time. Getting up from the bed, Kip fished a pair of socks from the drawer, slipping them on before making his way out of the bedroom. As soon as he opened the door, he was attacked with a bolt of sunlight, but for the first time in forever it didn’t feel like it was immediately too much for him. Kip still had to shield his eyes a bit as he made his way down the stairs, but it honestly didn’t feel too bad.

Kip actually had to admit, his entire being felt lighter than it had in the previous days, weeks, maybe months at this point. He had honestly lost count how much time had passed since he had lost the title and Cassidy had started to care for him, but at this point Kip felt better than he ever had since that fateful night when everything had started to go downhill for him.

He headed towards the kitchen, hearing the water running over there. Kip stopped at the doorway, a little smile crossing his lips as he watched the shirtless blond make an attempt to prepare breakfast, turning the coffee maker on before he focused on getting the toast into the toaster. As he wrapped the bread bag shut and turned on his heels to head towards the fridge, Cassidy froze in place briefly as he saw Kip standing there, clearly not having heard him come in.

“…Hey.”

Kip nodded back to him, watching as Cassidy walked up to him, grabbing him by the hand and leading him to the kitchen table, gently sitting him down. “I was going to bring you something upstairs.”

Kip chuckled at him a little as he took a seat by the table. “It’s okay, at least we won’t get crumbs in the bed.”

Cassidy stopped, looking at him for a moment. It was so rare to see him without the sunglasses, but Kip could have sworn he also had a much brighter energy to him, something he had rarely seen from Cassidy before. Kip’s smile slowly faded from his lips, him tilting his head in a slightly concerned manner. “Is… Is something wrong?”

“No,” Cassidy finally replied after a short silence, smiling back at him. “I just… Realized something.”

Before Kip could question him further, Cassidy grabbed him by the front of his t-shirt, pulling him closer for a soft, deep kiss.

So it all really wasn’t just in his head, after all.

#fic #setting: belt corruption arc #character: orange cassidy #character: kip sabian #ship: orangekip #aew fanfiction #wrestling fanfiction

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quinloki · 1 year

Text

A Light Touch

Fem Reader x Eustass Kid

CW: language, assault, violence, sexual themes and situations, implications of non-con, loss of limbs, blood. 18+ Only.

Chapter 1 - Table of Consent -

Chapter 10: Buried

"No, it's okay officer Coby, I wasn't expecting any different." You admit, disappointment written on your face that Coby can't see over the phone.

"I'm sorry miss (Y/N), for all the ways the system works, the ways it doesn't, can be frustrating." He admits candidly. "I'll do what I can though, I'm going to at least add a note to the original case file. It won't change the dismissal of the assault, but it'll be a paper trail if things escalate."

"I appreciate that." You say, and you mean it, despite the fact that it doesn't help you right now.

"Are you sure you don't want to file a restraining order?"

"I'm sure. I know it can create an additional paper trail, but I'm worried it'll cause more escalation and less actual protection. Are you sure he's not a registered Devil Fruit User?"

"The DFU's public access, with a few rare exceptions, but he's not listed in anything I have access to. What you described doesn't sound like any effect I'm aware of, but I have some friends who can do some digging for me." Coby states, and you can hear him taking notes as he talks.

"I appreciate everything you're doing, truly. You could just blow me off since the case was dismissed, so I really do appreciate this."

"Aww, thanks Miss (Y/N). I'm just doing what I think is right. Please feel free to call me if anything comes up."

"I will, thank you." You say your farewells to Officer Coby and hang up the phone.

You were in Kid's guest room. It was almost the size of your apartment, maybe a little smaller. There was a large bed against the middle of the far wall, and it at least looked comfortable. Tonight, would be your first night in it. Emma and House had put all your things away for you when everyone got back, and they hadn't teased you too much. You were grateful they had at least given you a little bit of a ribbing, it would've made the entire situation worse if everyone suddenly treated you like you were made of glass.

The guest room came with a couple chest-of-drawers, a nice closet, and an attached bath. A full attached bath, which was really nice since most of the rest of the house was occupied by guys. Guys who you had come to trust over the last few weeks, but not having to worry about any legitimate accidental bathroom moments helped you relax.

You were on the 3rd floor with Kid and Killer. Heat, Wire, and two more guest bedrooms were on the second floor. The main floor was a living room, kitchen, dinning room, den, and game room. The basement was a damned shooting range of all things, spanning from one end of the house to the end of the property line, as far as you could tell. The whole place was huge, and functional more than anything.

There was a workshop separate from the house, but still on the property, a green house, and pool outside. When Kid had said he had a guest room, you had expected a 10 by 10 room tops, with an old bed and a drafty window that was only drafty because no one used the room.

Instead, you walked into an episode of This New House: Metalhead Edition and didn't really know what to do with yourself. There wasn't a big marble hall or anything, but the woodwork – from the floor to the accents on the windowsills, was skilled. Much like Victoria, the whole place was functional and elegant.

The house was further from your place than the shop, but not by too much. Given how quickly Kid and Killer got over to your place the last few times, it was obvious that they had been coming from the shop and not from here.

There was a light knock at your door. "Mouse?"

"Yeah, come in." You say, walking toward the door even as Kid opens it.

He clicks his tongue when he sees you. "No miracle, huh?"

"Not today. Coby did say he was going to look into some stuff as best he could, so maybe later."

"Oh?"

You nod. "Seeing if he's unregistered, adding information about the assault to the original accident file so there's still a paper trail despite the dismissal. Considering he's not required to do any of that, it's comforting."

"Not to be the real bastard that I am, but you don't look comforted." Kid points out.

You offer a sheepish smile, "I'll get there. I mean... in a couple weeks' time I lost my hand, my car, feeling safe in my home, went to court twice, was nearly... um... you know, and I've still got another month before I'll even be able to start adjusting to a new hand. Sure, I'm not fired, and the job I was hoping to get is still holding space for me, so I didn't lose a job opportunity, but-."

Your eyes are on the floor and your vision's blurring rapidly. "I'm sorry."

"Your – what the he-." Kid's voice stops as you wipe away the tears you couldn't stop. You could hear him growl, clench his hands, heave a sigh, and after a moment he speaks in softer voice. "What's getting to you, Mouse?"

"Y-you an' K-Killer have done so much and, and I can't even be cuh-cuh-comforted by it. I feel like I'm sp-spitting on your huh-help." You manage through sobs.

"Tch." Kid grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Look, if a guest bedroom and a couple of assholes like me an' Killer were enough to make you feel comfortable after everything you've been through, then I'd be mad at you for not valuin' your own hide enough." There's a sharp tone in his voice at the end, and his right hand comes down on your head and ruffles your hair. "It's fine. I'm surprised you ain't fallen apart more often'n then this, honestly."

"I'm surprised you're okay dealing with a crybaby." You admit, sniffling hard and wiping away the last few tears as you look up at him.

Kid looks away a little guiltily, and seems to take a second before replying. "Someone turning on the water works to be a manipulative bitch is annoying, Mouse. Someone crying 'cause they're stressed or breakin' ain't the same." He clarifies, before looking down at you. "You got the stomach for some grub before bed?"

"... Yeah, I don't know that I can eat much, but I should try."

"Wanna take the fun way down?" Kid offers, smiling down at you with a grin that's inviting and unsettling in equal parts.

You open your mouth, consider your audience, and put your arms up in front of you in an X shape. "Absolutely not."

Dinner with Kid, Killer, Heat and Wire was a little subdued. The guys seemed to have as much on their minds as you did. Killer had made you a salad with some chicken in it, everyone else was having pasta.

"These guys do their best work at night, so I load them up. I hope the salad's okay." Killer explains.

"It's perfect." You assure him. "I wasn't sure I could do a whole meal anyway. Aren't you all up when the shop's open? How late are you gonna be working tonight?"

"Eh, we usually get into things until 3 or 4," Kid explains, having the grace to talk between bites of food and not during them. "Killer does his best work in the morning, the weirdo. He'll be here most nights unless we need 'im for something. Hip and Mosh are going to take up the two guest rooms on the second floor while you're here, Mouse. We'll introduce you tomorrow."

"I'm getting bodyguards?"

"Until we can handle Decken, you get no less than two friends at any given time." Killer explains since Kid's mouth is full. "If we were doing illegal fights, Hip and Mosh would be our headliners.

"Er... I feel like I shouldn't ask, but 'handle' Decken?"

All four of them go silent, and Kid stares at you for a long moment. "You really wanna know, Mouse?"

"... When you saved me, it felt like you were letting me decide if he was gonna live or die." You admit after a moment. "Whatever he wrote in that letter was enough for you decide to make that choice on my behalf but..." You make a face, you're not sure how to put it to words. "I guess, if you're going to kill someone for me, I want to know why."

"What he's done before now isn't enough?"

"I mean..." You manage to look straight at Kid. "I'm not devaluing myself, but no. If it's down to him or me, then I'd rather live, thank you very much, but I'm here now, won't he give up?"

"Some stalkers can wait years," Wire says quietly. "Especially if they have resources and nothing but time."

"And we're not going to go storm his place and handle him tonight," Heat adds. "We're gonna make sure it's the last option left."

"Much as Kid tries to come off as one, we aren't heartless or cold-blooded." Killer assures you, even as Kid scowls. "He'll get his chances."

. . . . . . .

"Mouse? You up?" You can hear Kid as he knocks.

You sit up in the bed, you think at least, you're sure the bed is trying to eat you. It's fluffy in all the right ways, and firm in the best ways, and magic. Very magical. You weren't expecting to get any sleep, but you can't even really remember your head hitting the pillow last night.

"Technically." You call out. "You can come in."

Kid opens the door but doesn't step inside. He takes one look at you and starts laughing. You tilt your head, and he laughs harder, to the point that he's just wheezing for air. After a second he steps back behind the door and takes a few minutes to catch his breath.

"What in the hell is so funny?" You question, scrambling out from under the covers and nearly swimming your way out of the bed.

"Fucking mascot," Kid says, trying to explain, but he falls back into a fit of laughter again. To his credit it sounds like he's trying to hold it in and get himself under control. "You looked like a mouse! Like an actual little - Pfft – it's a big bed, but I forget how small you are."

You've covered the distance between the bed and the door and are looking at Kid with half a grin on your face now that you're awake and less confused. You tussle your hair, scattering whatever bed head may be adding to the scene, and give him a few minutes to compose himself.

"What did you wake me up for?" You ask after a moment.

"A couple a reasons," He says. He's bent over from laughing and finally at eye level with you for once. "First, it's after 10. Killer said you were out like a light last night, so you've slept a good bit. Second, I wanted to show you something today."

"Not the 'fun way down', I hope?"

Kid snorts. "Nah, something better. Killer's still in the kitchen, if you want a decent breakfast then you should change and come down. Ah, something you don't mind if it gets dirty, and some boots if you have 'em."

"... Boots."

"Sneakers're fine too."

"I'll be down in a few," you say ducking back into your room.

Jeans, t-shirt, sneakers, and your hair into a ponytail, in five minutes you were making your way into the kitchen, and Killer was in the middle of cooking. Kid gives you a quick look up and down and then catches your gaze.

"So, how did you sleep, anyway?"

"I think the bed's magic," You admit with a smile. "I don't even remember my head hitting the pillow, honestly, and if I woke up at any point it couldn't have been for long. I think I slept 12 whole hours."

You sit down and after a few minutes Killer sets an omelet down in front of you. You stop as you go to take a bite and sigh.

"I know I've said this a bunch already but thank you." You say, trying not to let your emotions overflow again. "Like, thank you a lot. I don't know how I'll ever repay you guys."

Kid and Killer exchanged glances and Kid ruffles your hair. "You do say it a lot, but we get it Mouse."

You eat in peace and when you're done Kid takes you to the workshop behind the house. It's certainly a workshop on the inside, but the outside looks more like a concrete bunker than anything else from the outside. There's landscaping and vines tangled all around it, but it still looks like it could survive an impact from anything short of a car-sized meteor.

Inside it was filled with the strong scent of wood, metal and heat. There were a ton of woodworking and metalworking tools, three kinds of welders, and a bunch of different workbenches. Half the scent of "heat" was probably coming from a forge in the backside of the room, and it looked like some serious ventilation was all that was keeping the rest of the area from roasting.

"Wow." You murmur, as you take everything in.

"I haven't even shown you anything, Mouse." Kid scoffs.

"You mean aside from the coolest workshop ever?" You quip. You're not even looking at him as you move around and look at all the things. "I couldn't do things mom decided were 'dangerous', because she didn't want me to heal in front of people. No gymnastics, no martial arts, no shop stuff in school." You let out a dramatic sigh. "All I could do was read books about building cars and doing greasy maintenance work."

You smile, finally looking over at him. "I mean, I survived, and thanks to you I've seen my favorite car and I imagine the shop that restored her. Now I'm seeing... hm... is calling this place 'the heart of it all' too poetic?"

Kid grunts, "it's a little over the top, Mouse, but I guess it's not wrong." He motions for you to follow him. "C'mere."

Eustass walks past a tarp with a door behind it. The door's heavy and has a seal, but he opens it with a smooth practiced motion. "We won't go in here all the way, it's a chore to clean up properly, but I wanted you to see it."

"Eh?" You step through the door and into a wet-room. There's enclosed stalls to shower in, lockers and uniforms. It is really clean, especially compared to the workshop. There's another set of heavy doors, but before those is a thick-glass bay window.

The window shows a Cleanroom electronics style workshop. There's a ton of prosthetics in various stages of completion and use. From arms to legs to hands and feet, it looks like Killer wasn't kidding when he said Kid had a solid side business making custom prosthetics.

After a few moments of rapt appreciation, you look up at Eustass and smile almost wickedly.

To his credit, he looks a little concerned. "What?"

You gesture to the room filled with prosthetics, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here-."

Kid groans before you can even say anything more and you're practically howling with laughter. It took you long enough to get him back for the pun at the hospital, but the setup made it worth the wait.

"Ahh, haha, seriously though, this is all amazing." You admit, wiping tears of joy from your face. "You're a pretty cool guy, Kid."

"Glad you think so, Mouse."

Something in his tone causes you to look up and notice that his ears are turning red enough they're blending in with his hair. His embarrassment sparks yours and your face goes pink. He turns to say something and the two of you are caught by one another for a second before you both look away.

After the most awkward moment to ever dare exist passes, Kid clears his throat. "Hip and Mosh are gonna be here soon, we should head back to the house."

You mentally beat your pounding heart into submission and step back. "L-Lead the way."

Hip and Mosh were distinctive people for very different reasons. Hip looked like she was the person who taught Emma how to fight and Mosh looked like he could lift a mosh pit. Kid was over six feet and Mosh had to be over seven – he was every bit as broad shouldered as Eustass was as well, and that made him look even bigger. When he shook your hand after introducing himself, half your upper arm disappeared into his hand.

Five foot and change hadn't ever felt tall to you, but you also hadn't been regularly hanging out with people who could be professional basketball players.

"You won't have nothin' ta worry about while we're here, (Y/N)." Mosh assured you. His voice was almost a kind of meek alto, but you felt like anyone who mistook that soft voice for a sign of his capacity was in for a surprise.

"Aww, Emma said you really were like a mouse, and she wasn't kidding." Hip says jovially, ruffling your hair. "Once you get your new hand, I could teach you how to fight if you want, us shorter folk gotta know how to take down the big'uns."

"Ah, huh, yes?" The words slip through your lips before you were really registering what was being said.

You heard the sound of skin smacking skin and looked to see that Kid had face palmed. "Hells, Mouse, you didn't just say yes to that." He groans.

You looked between him and Hip for a moment. Something seemed to be breaking in Eustass, as he'd gone a bit pale, and something was causing Hip to smile in the most delightful way.

"Perfect! Perfect, we have an accord, Miss (Y/N)!" Hip says enthusiastically, shaking your hand so much your teeth were almost clattering.

"Cut her some slack, Hip." Killer says, coming out of the kitchen and joining the rest of you in the entryway. "She's been through so much, she probably doesn't realize you were being serious."

"Eh?" Your frazzled brain, still more stuck on Kid blushing earlier than anything else, was speeding through the last few minutes of introductions. "Eh! You'll teach me how to fight?" You grab Hip's hand in return and your whole face brightens. "Really? Really really?!"

"Really really!" Hip assures you, brightening along with you.

"That's perfect. That's -," your face goes red and you're trying not to cry again. "I couldn't slow him down, and all I could think was that there had to be some way of fighting for someone like me."

Hip makes a restrained squeaky sound and just full on hugs you. "Oh, you poor thing! I'll for sure make sure you can defend yourself. It takes a long time to learn how to fight really good, but every second you can buy yourself is a better chance o' someone being able to help."

You heard Kid sigh defeatedly. "Fine, if she wants to learn to fight, then you should teach her, Hip."

You wriggle a bit and look up at Eustass from your continuing hug into Hip. "You don't want me to learn?"

"The captain struggles to win against me an' Emma." Hip explains, as Kid's face breaks into a deep scowl. "I think he's worried you'll be kicking his ass one day."

Next Chapter

#A Light Touch #eustass x reader #one piece eustass kid #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #eustass kid x reader

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dailycharacteroption · 10 months

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Creature Corner: Undead part 2

(art by Irina Krivosheeva on Artstation)

Allies

The undead is not a place one usually expects to find allies, but it’s not impossible. Like we said yesterday, the undead have the potential for a lot of interesting backstories, which ultimately tie to their undead state. With that in mind, today we’ll go over a few good examples of how undead might be allies to the party.

The most obvious way to have undead allies is to make them yourself or bind them under your control with the necromantic arts. Now, obviously you have to be a necromancer to do this, and be of dubious moral character since, as we discussed yesterday, animating and controlling the dead, in addition to the crimes of subverting the will of a sapient being and defiling corpses, is already a dark act due to the way that Pathfinder explains how it works, with the twisting of the energies of life and death into an unnatural and dangerous state. Either way, animate dead can create skeletons, zombies, beheaded, and other minor undead, while create undead can create stronger entities. However, stronger undead are not automatically under the creator’s control, requiring binding spells unless you can negotiate with them for service. This is especially dangerous with classes and archetypes that can create undead but not necessarily control them, such as the reanimator alchemist.

However, there is at least one type of undead that is not constantly struggling with (or surrendering to) darker urges, and that is the ghost. Most non-evil ghosts have a vested interest in being freed from the fetters that bind them, making it in their best interests to ally with sympathetic adventurers and heroes. In fact, ghostly victims of the main baddy of a dungeon are a favorite way for GMs to slip in an ally in the middle of a dungeon that can help, but not too much. Similar bound undead might also be useful in this regard as well.

Of course, undead do not need to be good or even non-evil to be allies. After all, some undead are driven by revenge or a vendetta. A revenant avenging their murder, a vampire seeking to depose a rival or even an old master, a lich who understands the danger of another evil, and so on. All of the above and more might temporarily ally themselves with the party if it means achieving their goal. Whether or not they will betray the party, or even stave off their dark hungers long enough to see it through, however, is another story.

And then there are plenty of undead that may simply have complex motivations. Some may be staving off their urges or easing them with clever outlets, such as a ghoul only wanting to feed on the flesh of other ghouls. Others may instead have deep backstories and motivations which supercede those hungers when it really matters, but there is always the question of for how long.

Also, keep in mind that while the stuff about undeath being an abomination of the cosmos and a violation of funerary rites in most civilizations, remember that that’s only expressly true in the core Lost Omens setting. Some societies may have different relationships with their dead, including the iruxi in 2nd edition with their undead ossature guardians that rip themselves out of the walls they were interred inside to defend their descendants. Meanwhile, entirely different settings may have a different explanation for how undeath works, such as necromancers that help keep the dead out of trouble and doing good work until they can finally move on, and so on.

With that, I think we have allies pretty well-covered, but tomorrow we’ll look at the undead through their more traditional role of antagonists!

#pathfinder #creature corner #undead

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the-great-lightwood-bane · 2 years

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Never Alone

Chapters on AO3: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21

Malec | Rated general | tw violence, reference to rape/non-con, and vampirism, all at canon levels | Dæmon AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Fix-it, Canon Era, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Developing Relationship, Other Additional Tags To Be Added, Slow Burn

Summary: In a world where Shadowhunters’ dæmons never lose the ability to change shape, Clary spends her eighteenth birthday learning why Hunter can still shift.

Or, a shameless fix-it featuring BAMF Magnus and Alec, logical problem-solving rather than the disaster that was Jace, Izzy, and Clary — and, of course, Malec falling in love (in a slightly less difficult situation).

A/N: Written for the TSC What if…? Bang (@tsc-what-if-bang). Prompt: What if Clary and Simon didn’t go to Pandemonium that night?

My mind immediately went to why Clary and Simon wouldn’t go, and combined with the sad lack of dæmon AUs in this fandom, this fic was born!

The amazing art (above) is by @magnus-the-maqnificent! I'll link to their tumblr post here once they've posted it.

As I know it might get hard to keep track of everybody's dæmons' names and preferred forms, I've made a tumblr post with a list here.

Many many thanks to MugiwaraLexi for being an amazing beta — your support and advice has been invaluable!

This fic is fully written and edited, and I’ll be posting twice a week on Monday and Thursday for most of it, except for from August 23rd to August 30th (no posting as I will be away). Sorry for the delay, but after that, I should get into a regular posting schedule!

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or below the cut. (Future chapters will be posted on AO3 and linked above.)

Prologue — Clary

Summary: Her mom was finally — finally — going to explain.

Clary doesn’t go to Pandemonium on her eighteenth birthday.

A/N: First chapter! This one’s Clary’s POV, but all of the following chapters will alternate between Alec and Magnus. (I’ll be posting the first Alec chapter in a few hours.)

Clary felt excitement bubbling in her chest. Hunter hopped eagerly around the room in his rabbit form, before leaping into the air, changing into a bird, a butterfly, and back to a rabbit again.

Her mom was finally — finally — going to explain.

Clary had first realised that she wasn’t normal when she’d been fourteen, and her dæmon still hadn’t settled. Hunter was often in rabbit form, but he could still change to any animal he wanted, while all of her friends’ and classmates’ dæmons had chosen a preferred animal and could no longer change.

She’d thought for a while that she was a late bloomer or something, but puberty had come and gone, and Hunter could still change shapes as effortlessly as ever. She’d grown increasingly worried about it, wondering what was wrong with her, until her mother had finally explained that there was, in fact, something different about Clary. And then her dæmon, Aaron, had shifted from his swan form to a different one.

Unfortunately, Jocelyn Fray had refused to explain anything more than that to her daughter. Instead, she’d declared that Clary was “too young” and promised to tell her everything — including why neither of their dæmons had settled into one form — when Clary turned eighteen.

Today was her eighteenth birthday, and also the day that she’d gotten accepted into the Brooklyn Academy of Arts. While she considered Simon’s offer of going to Pandemonium to celebrate, she wanted to know why she was like this. She’d waited four years; maybe she could’ve waited another day, but she didn’t want to.

So she said as much to Simon — he was the only person she’d ever told about Hunter — so they decided to save the celebrating for the next day.

Hunter leapt up on Clary’s lap, and she curled her fingers around him to keep him in place. “I know you’re excited and nervous, but I am too, and you’re only making it worse by jumping around,” she told him.

“I know, I know, but we’re going to find out why!” Hunter replied.

Clary’s response was cut short when her mother came in and sat down in the chair opposite Clary. It was almost formal for a moment before Jocelyn huffed out a laugh and wrapped Clary in a hug. “You’ve grown up so much.” Clary refused to have the oh-look-at-my-daughter-she’s-all-grown-up conversation right now; she wanted answers. “Are you going to tell me why Hunter can still shift?” she asked, cutting her mother off before she could start.

“Yes, I am.” Jocelyn smiled, looking slightly sad. “It’ll take quite a bit of history and context. I can only hope that you don’t hate me at the end of it.

“I probably wouldn’t have told you about all this if it hadn’t been for Hunter, but I need to explain everything else first. Take this.” She held out a long, thin, silvery-grey stick, shaped vaguely like a pen. “It’s called a stele, and it’s a bit of a family heirloom, I suppose.”

“We Frays have heirlooms?” Clary asked, surprised and somewhat sceptical.

Jocelyn sighed. “Yes. Now listen. All the stories are true…”

Clary listened in silence as Jocelyn told her about demons — not dæmons, but evil demons — and about Warlocks, Vampires, Werewolves, and Faeries, about an entire world that she’d never known existed, hidden beneath glamours. And about Shadowhunters, the children of Raziel, a preternaturally powerful race created by the Angel to protect the world from demons — and Clary was, apparently, one of them. She explained how most people never knew about the Shadow World because of the glamours, although some had the Sight, often due to hidden faerie ancestry. All members of the Shadow World had the Sight, including Clary. Jocelyn had taken her to a warlock to remove her memories of the Shadow World.

“You took my memories?” Clary broke in, furious. “Why would you — you had no right—”

“I wanted to protect you,” Jocelyn told her. “And we can go to the warlock and ask him to give them back if you want to.”

Clary huffed, but she was more interested in the rest of the explanation than in a proper apology for taking her memories. “And Hunter? Why can he still change shape?”

“Shadowhunters’ dæmons never settle,” Jocelyn replied. “It’s better in battle — like this, there’s no chance that you’ll be helpless because you’ve lost your weapons and your mouse dæmon is completely unequipped to help you fight. Generally, the dæmons will still have a preferred form, for when not fighting — Hunter’s rabbit form, for instance, or Aaron’s swan.”

Clary nodded. “That makes sense. Are Downworlders the same?”

“Downworlders’ dæmons do settle, like a mundane’s — well, except that werewolves always have wolf dæmons — but they can go as far from their people as they like. Shadowhunters generally undergo training to increase the distance their dæmon can travel, too, but we can’t naturally go any farther than mundanes.”

“Is that — you said that we’re Shadowhunters, but we’re not living in an Institute.” If this world existed, and if Clary belonged to this race of Nephilim, why wasn’t she part of it all?

“Yes.” Jocelyn sighed. “That’s because we’re on the run.” “Why? And from whom?”

“From the Clave, partially, but mostly from — from your father.” And so Clary learned about the Circle, Valentine Morgenstern, and the Mortal Cup her mother had stolen from the Clave and hidden in a tarot card.

They sat in silence for a few moments as Clary processed all that she’d learned. Her father, who her mother had told her was dead, was actually an evil, xenophobic, bigoted leader of a genocidal cult — and he was still alive. But what she struggled with most was how her mother had been on his side, had helped him — for years. Why?

Eventually, Clary spoke up. “Does Luke know?”

“Yes. He was once Valentine’s parabatai.”

“Luke’s a Shadowhunter too?” Had everyone been hiding the truth from her?

“No. He used to be until Valentine arranged for him to be bitten by a werewolf.”

Clary let out a long breath. “I — I need to sleep on this.” It was nearly ten at night, and though she would usually stay up later than this, she felt exhausted by the day’s revelations. “Yes, of course,” Jocelyn said. “And — think about if you want your memories back or not, love.”

She nodded and went upstairs to bed.

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dreaminginthedeepsouth · 5 months

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Three days of progress.

November 27, 2023

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

As I write on Sunday afternoon, Israel and Hamas are in the third day of a pause in the Israel-Hamas war. Groups of Israeli hostages and Palestinian prisoners have been released in three exchanges and humanitarian aid has begun flowing into Gaza. Critically, the Israeli war cabinet appears to be open to extending the temporary pause. See CNN, Israel's war cabinet has discussed the possibility of extending the Gaza truce, source says.

President Biden released a short video statement on Twitter urging an extension of the pause in fighting to allow a “surge” in aid to Palestinians. Biden said, in part,

We have worked urgently to surge aid into Gaza during the pause in fighting. We have moved approximately 200 aid trucks into Gaza each day – loaded with food, water, medicine, fuel, and cooking gas.

Today, 13 more hostages – including a fellow American – were released by Hamas under a deal brokered and sustained through intensive U.S. diplomacy. We continue to press that additional Americans be released.

And we will not stop working until every hostage is returned.

A two-state solution is the only way to guarantee the long-term security of both the Israeli and the Palestinian people. To make sure Israelis and Palestinians alike can live in equal measures of freedom and dignity.

We will not give up on working toward this goal.

As the hostage-for-prisoner exchanges unfold, it is becoming clear that President Biden’s personal involvement at critical junctures helped to achieve the agreement. Biden’s involvement is detailed in an article in the Times of Israel, Behind the scenes of the intense talks that led to the Israel-Hamas hostage deal. For example, when hostage talks stalled over the absence of identifying information about the hostages, Biden intervened:

Unsatisfied with the pace of the talks, Biden called Qatar’s Emir Tamim bin Hamad Al Thani for the first time since the outbreak of the war and “made very clear that where we were was not enough,” the administration official said. During their “very intense call,” Biden told the emir that the sides would not be able to move forward without identifying information . . . Shortly after that call, Hamas produced identifying information on 50 women and children it said it could release in the first stage of a deal.

I urge anyone interested in the facts surrounding Biden’s personal contribution to achieving the pause to read the article in the Times of Israel—a story missing from the New York Times on Sunday. A reader (Merrill W.) sent the following note:

This Sunday's New York Times reached a new low in efforts to degrade President Biden. While President Biden triumphantly masterminded four days of hostage releases, the NY Times decided that a story about Trump’s pardon of one of his criminal-grifter supporters was worthy of front-page placement while our president's central role in the hostage release was not worth mentioning. If nothing else, this a clear case of deplorable bias at the NYT.

I scanned several versions of the NYTimes editions on Sunday (online US, US pdf, and NY pdf), and found no discussion of President Biden’s role in the hostage release. The apparent bias in the Times is not in the reader’s imagination. The Columbia Journalism Review published a must-read note by David M. Rothschild, Elliot Pickens, Gideon Heltzer, Jenny Wang, and Duncan J. Watts titled, Warped Front Pages.

Rothschild et al. examined the coverage on the front pages of the NYTimes and Washington Post in 2016 and 2022 to see if those leading newspapers had “learned” anything from their biased coverage of “Hillary’s emails” to the exclusion of Trump’s “innumerable personal, ethical, and ultimately criminal failings.”

Rothschild concluded that the newspapers had learned nothing from their sorry performance in 2016:

We found that [in 2022] the Times and the Post shared significant overlap in their domestic politics coverage, offering little insight into policy. Both emphasized the horse race and campaign palace intrigue, stories that functioned more to entertain readers than to educate them on essential differences between political parties.

Worse, both papers tended to emphasize negative stories that aligned with Republican talking points rather than stories that focused on the accomplishments of the Biden administration:

Exit polls indicated that Democrats cared most about abortion and gun policy; crime, inflation, and immigration were top of mind for Republicans. In the Times, Republican-favored topics accounted for thirty-seven articles, while Democratic topics accounted for just seven. . . .

In the final days before the election, we noticed that the Times, in particular, hit a drumbeat of fear about the economy . . . as well as crime. Data buried within articles occasionally refuted the fear-based premise of a piece.

Still, by discussing how much people were concerned about inflation and crime—and reporting in those stories that Republicans benefited from a sense of alarm—the Times suggested that inflation and crime were historically bad (they were not) and that Republicans had solutions to offer (they did not).

There is more in the article that deserves your attention, and I have edited out comments about WaPo (for brevity). But the research by Rothschild et al. suggests that the Times and WaPo are not only defaulting to “horse race” coverage, but when they venture into policy, they tend to amplify Republican talking points in a way that distorts reality.

. . . . which is what happened over the Thanksgiving weekend. Biden’s personal diplomacy helped achieve a landmark breakthrough in the Israel-Hamas war. That fact was not deemed worthy of emphasis by the NYTimes or Washington Post.

The inexplicable bias of two of the nation’s “newspapers of record” is something that we should both address and ignore. We should proactively spread stories containing facts like those included in the Times of Israel. We should let journalists and editors at media outlets know what we think of their biased reporting. And we should not let their bias demotivate us.

Media outlets hammered the economy and ignored assaults on reproductive liberty, the Capitol, the dignity of LGBTQ people, and freedom from gun violence. And yet, Democrats were able to prevent the highly anticipated “red wave” of 2022. So, we can prevail in 2024 despite the ongoing bias of major media outlets. We did it before, and we can do it again.

#Robert B. Hubbell #Robert B. Hubbell Newsletter #media bias #diplomacy #hostage negotiations #Israel-Hamas war #NYTimes

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seb-owns-these-tatas · 1 year

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7th Dimension (Chapter 7.7)

7TH DIMENSION MASTERLIST

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 7.6

7TH DIMENSION WATTPAD VERSION (I am entirely ahead on this application now. 7th Dimension in Wattpad has now accumulated more than 10 chapters. There are minimal scenes back in the previous chapters which has been altered there, so sorry about that to those who only read my updates through Tumblr. Heehee.)

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: (Part 8) Mind Training with Gojo Satoru had been beneficial to the both of you. You were given a mission to bake him sweets and in return of earning a 10/10 rating from the Great Teacher Gojo would result for a Shopping Spree treat from the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive. Additional Summary for this chapter: Bound to take sketches from your dimension to theirs. Howbeit, was it also possible to acquire pictures from Satoru's dimension back to yours once you have the chance to go back?

Warnings: Fluff chapter ahead? | This is quite cute---made me punch the walls for a while because how I'm caught smiling every through it all. Satoru's being so adorable and annoying at the same time. Like---*kicks my feet in the air*

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to be posted here in Tumblr when it has already been published in Wattpad back then. I apologize!

7th Dimension Taglist: @dailystsg

SORRY IF THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS AND GRAMMAR ERRORS IN EVERY CHAPTER I WRITE. I ain't a professional writer! I'm just a potato-hoe! Please do let me know (Send an ask) if you wanna be tagged on this multi-chapter fanfic, bb's!

Words: 5.3+

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits, also those posted are not mine especially the GIF's. (I dunno how to make GIF's 😭) I only own the plot of 7th Dimension. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline and the characters themselves. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be for the sake of the story.

GOJO SATORU WAS LEFT GLARING and scowling over a white, mammoth plushie that you were holding to yourself. It covered the entirety of your face, mantling a lot that were of displayed for people to see your expressions. The stuff toy had been hilarious to look for his standpoint because of how much of a giant it was.

Comical yet irksome somehow in certain sections that he had been heedless of.

Satoru was scooched down before you. Long legs on either side of him along with his elbows outstretched that topped above his clothed knee. Kooky as the image was while he gave the plushie an overcritical scrutiny. His notions consisted of cavils and a fraction whispers of complaints over the adorable soft toy you were strangling to death.

"Ah, out of all the choices you've picked, it had to be a large stuff-toy. You could've just asked Yaga to make plushies for you instead." he blatantly complained, pulling a face of disgust for the soft toy you held.

Was he hating the idea of acquiring the said prize; the twee image it was giving, the pleasing reactions he was receiving upon being rewarded by his abundant tickets that has been given to you, or the self-contained fact that you were conferring all your attention over a non-living soul other than the man you were with today?

Satoru was left in a muddled, grumbling mess. Subliminal words garbled to entertain himself as he watched and observed how you were behaving for the plushie.

Those melodious, littlest squeal that momentarily slips in between your mouth, it sounded suppressed as if you did not want Satoru to have the idea that you were utterly mirthful for a soft toy he had been giving glares upon, not wanting him to rejoice for his duck-soup gift he had effortlessly obtained from the basketball arcade.

To no use of restraining those sounds, Satoru could technically hear it all because you weren't actually being furtive at any rate.

He'd heard another teeny-weeny giggle. Another aberrant sensation that was gradually slithering in an unknown crevasse that resided within parts that weren't meant to come upon. This anomalous situation felt like a confined room ought not to be visited, probing it to be a perturbing hullabaloo as Satoru sees fit.

Your tittering felt like a pesky mosquito buzzing through his ears. One he'd allowed to fly; juxtaposed where one that he'd also allow to swig his own blood on because he knew it was you.

An off-the-wall metaphor, but it was really the exact feeling you were giving.

Pale as snow. Its face outlined to be chibified in a pattern and a way where Japanese artists are notorious over designing such cutesy patterns. Satoru did not despise adorable stuff. In fact, he also had the partiality for dainty things. Everyone who surrounded him had described him to be an utter man-child. The facade he always flaunted towards all and sundry. He relishes upon souvenirs to be given to those he genuinely cared about. Materialistic as he was deemed to be; his thoughtful temperament that individuals brush off due to the constant antagonizing repartees that left his mouth whenever he couldn't resist.

Yet, this Neko plushie---a damned white cat stuff-toy that you've been regularly giving heed to every second that passes by---Gojo was finding it inconvenient somehow and he couldn't explain why.

"You even had the choice for it to be cursed too." The white-haired sorcerer added another self-thought whisper, not risking his nonchalance through it all. He'd subtly taken heed prior to your response before obtaining the said prize. How you've both jabbered away on the notions for Jujutsu left you on the authentic side. All words that slipped past your mouth after it thronged and dripped in exasperation.

Gojo discerned it to be an honest-to-goodness section---once you were nosy towards a particular subject, you wanted to have the exact details upon it. A thorough run-down that all your questions should be provided with answers because if you were left dissatisfied, then you were guaranteed to be ticked off on a certain amount of time. The sort of infuriation that weren't meant to be dismissed. This was a miniscule portion of an attitude he learned afresh.

Therefore, this lead on to Satoru constantly being tenacious over chanting the sobriquet he had for you, over and over again until you've both reached the front of the line because of how you've went uttermost hushed after firmly calling him an idiot for not explaining well.

It was the intentional quietude that he was not used to after hours of throwing wisecracks upon wisecracks with him; the tiny crease that pinched in between the furrow of your brows, the vague squinch of your nose when you've momentarily have given him the cold shoulder.

Hence, for the first time ever---Satoru felt awkward upon how to react or inveigle you out of your raffled state when he wasn't even trying to rattle your cage. This was the type of ineptness that he desired to be fleeting, a fugacious feeling he believed it to be because of his lukewarm attitude he always had in regards to his continuous jests and quips he'd been giving and receiving with people---though, much to this forsaken oddity with you, it has given him nothing but an augment of necessity to keep you on a rather upbeat mood no matter how he was also hooked on your chagrins.

The gaucheness has been like an itch he couldn't tolerate but to scratch to lessen the peculiar prickles.

Satoru's knuckles now rested upon his cheek as he squatted before you. His gaze persistent upon judging the entire scene behind his Stygian sunglasses, currently giving the unlucky Neko plushie his captious daggers. He'd went on upon his piped down bleats, ought to avoid taking another route to your strange unbearable noiselessness that he lowkey disrelished.

This made it seem like keeping you illiterate on the basic terms of Jujutsu and the useful history he could provide you with was better left unsaid if you were guaranteed to be constantly coaxed out of your authentic petulance. Although, everyone knew for a fact that Gojo's mouth wasn't one to be ceased even if it was amplified down to a level that he, himself could only be heard.

He remembered correctly that he had taken at least a bunch of 'Tiny-Chan~' and a covenant to buy you another ice-lolly---which you had endlessly pestered him to be of blame because of his loutish manners to leave all the paper bags to you, preliminary to the moment he had snitched them off your hands after the call with Ijichi. It has taken a sheer promise of another sweetened popsicle that Satoru was also inconspicuously anticipating to buy for himself as well before you actually and finally acknowledged him.

But then, somehow---he questioned himself on the idea if he was really an actual idiot because it felt like you've just baited him to actually give something you liked in return. A mischievous stunt that you actually pulled through that tiny height you had which the heavens had unfortunately bestowed upon you.

"---Or another Mike-o Wazowski you've described cursed-spirits to be. I should've just brought you a cursed-spirit then. You might have found them more adorable. Hehe. Although, I doubt you would if I actually bring you the ugliest ones. Your reactions might be hysterically funny to catch sight on, to be honest."

"Satoru, you've been mumbling nonstop like a weirdo and acting so hostile over my cute plushie when you've been cheating this whole time. I told you, I had to have the last pick because of your Infinity shenanigans. Might as well deal with it." you've went on and stated with a heavy stand. Hell-bent for the idea that he cheated and used his abilities all the while especially through the basketball game.

"Infinity shenanigans? quite a low-blow to put my innate technique into words, huh? It doesn't even work that way like how you're imagining it to be. Psh---," he skeptically scoffed, your opines difficult to digest for Satoru's proficiency towards the essence of Jujutsu. The idea you had for his abilities pooh-poohed by the strongest, "---I've been telling you a ton of times already that I wasn't cheating too!" Satoru exclaimed further like a child, exasperated for your stubborn opinions.

You've given him a quick glance over his expressions, peeping through the top head of the plushie and was welcomed by the image of him, sporting an animated grimace other than those grins, smug smirks and smiles he consisted every second of the day.

The bond you had today with Satoru swotted you in further analysis of his personality, attitude and characteristics. Satoru Gojo comprised more than what a person's first impression would obviously analyze him for. Arrogant. A menace. Playful. Vain. To all intents and purposes, he consisted of vast multifarious dispositions that made him more expressive, appearing to be more than what you've perceived him to be. Shrouded behaviors that he probably didn't mean to convey for an unidentified woman which expected to return to her rightful dimension once the deal was done for.

When the subject matter was about his students. Satoru switches into a meditative, pensive state that you never knew he comprised of. Shocking you to say the least because you've quickly understood that he was utmost considerate for their well-being and fostered for their development and mental protection.

Mental protection. How could you have said that?

Satoru made it clear that he did not want his students dwelling on the future that you were fated to undergo once the healing process for your amnesia takes it place. His students weren't duty-bound to take a part in this business you were having with him.

Hence, adding more facts about your learnings through his behavior, you've raised a thought that he didn't just had grins and cherub smiles. Satoru was capable of owning scowls that made him look like a child which can be tempted enough to taunt further for his dislikes.

One that made you want to continue and just annoy him further. The kind where you were also having the jollification over his annoyance.

You stifled your giggles and smiles, biting your lip as you did so when he'd briefly looked away. He was striking on the perception that he appeared to loathe on such a harmless, voluminous Neko stuff toy you were holding.

The paper bags that were filled of bits and bobs that Satoru has bought you for today were situated beside him, your unshakeable aspiration over taking the plushie as a prize clearly had brought you and Satoru on a lenient verbal debate over which was better to be taken as winnings. You've had the choice of choosing a gadget---an excellent exchange of a Nintendo Switch that would've been handy and could have answered to your boredom. Your phone still being held for safekeeping with Satoru that you highly believed it wouldn't be sheltered from how nosy he was. Bearing in mind, back at that Hatagaya incident that he had already chosen and took a picture of himself---setting it as your wallpaper for no damn reason.

You've staunchly expressed your disapproval over the Nintendo Switch because you've noted how it came with no free games, your rational thoughts processed that you would eventually entreated Satoru to purchase them again for you, leading you down into adding more shameless debts or dues that made you diffident for the pampering he'd allowed you to shower in.

Was he always like this with everyone? Acting like money has never been a problem to him?

The white-haired cyclops knew that it's what you were thinking---assuring you further that he would buy every game you wanted because he would much prefer it rather than having to carry everything that he bought for you.

However, you've held your grounds and chose a prize where you would've stumbled foolishly over and over again if he wouldn't lend a hand upon carrying all the things he procured.

Perhaps, he had mollycoddled you a little too much today.

It would've been a comical occurrence to see you miss your footing every once in a while, but Satoru let it slide.

Surprisingly so.

The Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer being a porter; a cargador. The honored one carrying all the items you've taken at least two to three seconds of staring upon pieces he subtly felt that you've had a thing about then evade from purchasing because of your self-effacing behavior over knowing that it wasn't your money to start with.

In which Satoru had eventually whisked everything he'd identified you've looked on with favor. He was caught on to be reflecting upon his actions whenever you were both outside, leaving stores upon stores---ruminating why he was overindulging to your non-verbal requests when you weren't even saying a word nor made it obvious that you wanted them in the first place.

"Whatever. Besides, this large cat plushie looks like you, don't you think? I'm designing him soon..." you've chewed the cud; the threshold of your consciousness being babbled. Simultaneously joining in the hubbub of laughter and shouting that reverberated around the arcade establishment, mixing in.

Bringing the stuff toy down, you've peek through the head again, regarding Satoru and seeing that he was murmuring incoherent words you've not caught on again. His long fingers scratching the back of his head and coming across as though he wasn't listening to any of what you've muttered.

What was he even saying?

You've shrugged his strange behavior off and blinked to yourself. Keen eyes ferreting around the arcade as if there was one thing you had to do more.

Whereby, this sense of surveying for each booth or games landed on one. A separated kind where it didn't consists of spunky, virtual battles and artificial combats of versus fantasy characters. This stall was created and functioned to be used as an arrest of souvenirs that were worth to be photographed for; to capture memories worth to hark back for.

The Photo Booth.

Was it also possible?

Those subliminal thoughts stressed upon the question, brooding over an idea that was possible but also impossible at the same time. Your hushed questions had become fervent, dropping down one or two at a time inside the back of your mind.

If you were given the chance to finally come back to your dimension, would it be possible to have your own sketches as well? Or rather pictures that would be of evidence or a reliable documentation that everything that happened today has been a bona fide memory. A remarkable and uncanny fate that no scientist could have an answer to back on your world, not even the person who had the highest IQ would get to elucidate or refute to.

Living in another world you've found to be freakish---otherworldly in a broad amount of facts because the people surrounded you had been defined and distinguished to be beyond normal. This was another universe where you've actually had a profound purpose---hapless to have a chance to find value over something that you had no idea with right at this moment because of an accident that destiny bequeath upon.

Or would this just be an evanescence bubble of your own imaginations, forged and fictitious to hurt you in the end because there was more to this so called providence you believed in?

Was it bound to give you agony?

Despair?

Woe?

Or happiness?

Were you transported to keep one and all to their befitting, auspicious future that you could uphold upon cursed, miserable claims of expectations that you would foresee soon?

"Hey, Satoru." you've lightly mused on, tone sounding to be as if you were deliberating on the spontaneous idea, "---If I finally have the chance to go back to my dimension, do you think I could bring pictures with me too?"

You've looked vacantly over the booth just meters ahead from you. Your abrupt inquiry catching Satoru over stumbling on his own feet through his own ruminative thoughts. He'd blinked from behind his sunglasses, breaking off from his dwelling and swiftly standing on full tilt. His height back from being lofty rather than sitting on one's haunches in such a silly manner.

The question deserved at least a second before he reconsidered. He hummed through his logical thinking and cocked his head to the side. One arm crossed over his clothed chest, supporting his elbow that rested on his closed fist. The other hand positioned underneath his chin, thick thumb and forefinger squeezing upon his cheeks that compressed his own skin. Luscious lips unconsciously jutted out, in which you had never gotten a mental picture of on account of your own distractions. A fetching and appealing sight you've not have gotten a chance to see.

Satoru's gaze went elsewhere, intently mulling on your suggestions and speculations like it was worth enough to change the world.

"According to your experience, by the sketches you've had from your dimension and to ours. It might be doable---Oi, Tiny-Chan!"

Without any fuss or delay, caught in your own excited bubble, you've began to tug onto the hem of his leather jacket, immediately and excitedly pulling him towards the booth. He'd let you pull him over, welcoming you both in a teeny-tiny space, not giving an ounce for a whistle-stop through your abiding elation he'd apprehended.

Satoru has given you a look, expectant that you were going to put the damned, large stuff toy down but before he knew it, you were already tugging the black curtains open and plonking along the seat. The confined space making it impractical for Satoru to even manspread or accommodate himself if another long-legged man was to be present. His lanky height making it nonviable for you to move comfortably unless he would squeeze in and be cooperative to make the most out of the cramped space.

The photo booth was made for 3-4 people. With Satoru's fit built---his broad shoulders, back and stubborn thighs and legs along with his uncompromising behavior, this booth was made to be seated with him and you alone.

Howbeit, an inanimate object just had the luck to take his rightful area. The space that was meant for him.

Satoru's face briefly fell at that. The plushie receiving a dirty look from the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer alive.

You were sliding in the game card as Satoru yanked the black curtains open, bending down from behind the opened hatch as he held the blinds open. You hadn't caught on the hasty disparaging glimpse he'd given towards your plushie. A fleeting lour that pulled the ends of his lips down as if it was the most ignoble thing he'd seen that was positioned neatly with ease. It's chibified face being a mirage that reflected upon his sunglasses, the figment of his imaginations hearing its goody-goody laughter; his well-deserved area that a lifeless soft toy had unconsciously snaffled.

"You bringing that in? can't you see how minuscule this is for the both of us?"

He was bending his height down to a level, taking a glance to see you struggling to comprehend the Japanese letters that appeared on the monitor screen, your forehead scrunched in a way that tells Satoru how you've not understood a thing or two. You've complained back at him, holding a hand out protectively over your large Neko stuff toy while your pointer finger chewed on what to initially press upon the screen.

"Well, I'm not forcing you to join me---," Pause. "----You wait outside then. He's not leaving my side."

Satoru couldn't help but raise a brow at that. The simple action worth to be expressed as a 'I think the fuck not' or an utter non-verbal quip of an 'Excuse me? you just did not say that to my face.'

Gojo firmly shook his head, emphasizing the whole idea that he was not letting it happen, not in a million years would he let a plushie win over his supposed to be side of the cramped room, "Ha! Nope!" he popped the 'p' along his words, determined and bull-headed to join in the photograph, "---Not a chance! I'm joining in the picture! This is going to be futile. That thing needs to go,"

He quickly grabbed onto the soft toy. Satoru had haphazardly chose a section through the screen without even taking another look at it as he had two tasks at hand. One hand on the monitor screen while the other outstretched to reach for the lifeless dummy that was smirking through his illusions. He'd shortly glanced how the time started to run down in ten seconds.

"Fly high, Neko-san!" Satoru whisked the plushie beside you, tossing it out of the booth with no remorse. The white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer knew where it went and landed without paying any more regard to it.

"What the---! Fly high, seriously?! Did you just yeet him outaway like that?! What did it even do to you?!" you've hissed back at him, your eyes following suit as it went wide, peeping where your plushie went and flew behind him, it was precisely perched along the cluster of paper bags that you've both abandoned for the mean time.

The latter went to plonk himself beside you like a lightning bolt, squeezing himself in as the time already started. It was 5 sets of poses that should be accumulated within a 10 second smile. He'd taken up a lot of space that you were pushed to the sides, making you glower when his towering height wedged through like a sponge.

Straightaway, Satoru was already beaming through the camera, all wide and his teeth on show, coruscating as if it shined brighter than the sun. He'd lowered his sunglasses a bit right above the tall bridge of his nose, setting forth the Ether on view to be captured, posing for the camera when he'd noticed that you were glaring beside him.

The white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer had raised a vague guess and thought that you were feeling uncomfortable through the cramped space that he recklessly reacted upon his careless reflexes, clinging his long arm around your shoulders, hanging loosely at first before he decided to bring you closer to his side in attempt to create the best set of pictures he could think of.

You were shoved with the warmth in his bosom; warmth that could be defined as an oasis of serenity you never knew you've delved into. The plight of what your world has offered for you; the other side of the coin that Satoru established just upon hours of being with him.

Was this also a part of his abilities then? Did it involve in manifesting you from experiencing idiosyncratic discoveries in such an amount of time?

"Tiny-Chan, Say cheese!" he avidly betokened, beaming through the camera. His amiable, snug gesture of enveloping an arm over your shoulder making you give him the heart-eyes, recreating the image of a smitten woman who peered up from his side, speechless as she appeared to be. The camera capturing a smiling Gojo while you, on the other hand, estimated to be like a twitterpated woman who was gawking whereas he had been on the contrary because the Satoru was utmost picture-ready.

It has been one of the the most effulgent smile on his face you've distinguished it to be.

You've cleared your throat and blinked from your stupor when you've felt and seen the flash of the camera fill the booth again.

That was already two pictures then.

The machine started to count once again. You were forthwith this time, consciously struggling to pull yourself out of your own reverie that Satoru have foolhardy pulled you in. A genuine smile on show, your eyes turning into crescent shapes; a harebrained impulse of an action---your hand collapsing to fall over Satoru's clothed inner leg, resting your palm over it.

Caught in the spur of the moment, it was simply just a gesture to maximize the jammed compartment that you were both situated in.

Yet, Satoru's toothy beam minimally closed at that meek, soft touch. The congested area gradually becoming more confined rather than how it was supposed to be, garnering a dubious calefaction that he unforeseen, startling the strongest deep-within.

That shouldn't have been possible.

The camera flash flickered again. You were blind over how he was brought to a whim. This was already the fourth picture to the last. The machine seeming to be capturing you both in the midst of conversing at the present time. Definitely not the proper time to do so, but you've began to tattle towards the Jujutsu Sorcerer, gently nudging his leg over and over again to cut him off from his concentration and unusual pondering. The skin of your palm abrading over the fabric of his own pants.

Satoru had seen you pouting on the side through the camera screen. Your words even catching him more off-guard then ever, appealing as a subdued rustle of the wind. A whir of your words susurrating beneath your breath, "Why did you had to throw away 'Toru' like that..."

He'd turned his head at a break-neck speed from the unexpected epithet he heard from you, peering down to gaze over the space you were comfortably snugged in. Suddenly wrapping his mind on the proximity he'd set you both. An unfamiliar and foreign touchy-feely sense that was beyond for his ken.

Your focus had been on the camera that neared its countdown, deliberately ignoring Satoru on the side of the screen. The unsettling drum of your heartbeats thumping one by one in a pitter-patter as if it grew unbearable with each passing second.

You suddenly wanted this to be over with.

"Toru?" Gojo blinked through his sunglasses, repeating the sobriquet as a drone. A faint, soft whisper of incredulity, one that sounded too affectionate to be heard. It was probably another wild reflex but you've snapped your head to the side, giving your heed to him that you've lately realized the camera flash went off again to the both of you gazing into each other's eyes.

Those blest eyes that always yanked you out of your physical existence to bring you towards the celestial sphere.

"---You're calling that lifeless dummy over a nickname meant for me?" Satoru veiled his struck on sensibilities with a smug smirk and his notable complacent demeanor.

Toru.

The sobriquet repeated like an echo within the deepest parts of an underground chamber, fawning over to forage the beacons.

Bewildered. Be all at sea. Satoru Gojo had no idea why but he wanted to hear it again and again as if the nickname should have been fabricated for him and not for a exanimate plushie.

"I-I had it patented because I knew you were bound to upbraid and tell me that it had been bought by your abundant tickets. Psh. Don't get so full of yourself, alright?" you've clicked your tongue, flustered from the unpredicted choice of moniker created for your soft-toy. The diminutive passing out of your mouth of one's own accord. You've swatted his heavy arm off your shoulder, wrenching the curtains open and paving your way out of the booth.

Once out of the threshold, the photo booth becoming more confining, suffocating to the point that it would've been minacious if you've stayed longer. You've shrieked when you've seen how far your plushie really went.

"Really, Satoru?!" You've audibly cleared your throat, hearing a humiliating voice crack in between your exclamation as if it wasn't stable to begin with, marching your way over the Neko plushie that has been literally thrown to the sides.

Waiting for the pictures to finish developing, you were holding onto your stuff toy for dear life, Unwary that the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer tarried a bit inside the compartment. Satoru had been sitting inside the booth for at least less than a minute now.

You've seen his expensive shoes from underneath the pitchy drapes that you had to lightly kick it to shove him out of whatever he was doing inside. With pursed lips and kicking one's heels, you've seen the developed pictures when it finally dropped out of the holder.

"Hey, what are you even doing in there? you takin' your own selfies?" you've given his Adidas another light shove with yours, making him react with a short, distracted hum that vibrated through the core of your stomach, whipping up another tight hug around your plushie.

The developed pictures were now on your hands, your eyes briefly pausing at the particular, spesh one that made you covertly smile to yourself because of the flutters that the tiny, expanding butterflies aspired to give you from a indelible picture which has been your utmost favorite.

You subtly hoped Satoru was not one who's fond of keeping photographed pictures.

"Sa-to-ru! You suddenly deaf or what?" you were heedless of your beaming smile, the blood rushing through your face as you were downright elated over the developed pictures. Calling his name per vowel in an attempt to emphasize further. Eyes fazed, zeroed in on the snapshot at hand.

"Fine. I'm having all of this. It's not like you're bound to keep them anyways. You don't seem to be like that kind of person." It sounded like a bubbly judgement for him. Your smile now stifled, altered into an automated grimace when you've seen him emerge from the curtains. It was funny to see how such a towering lanky man had been inside the booth all along that your restrained laughter went nominal from the moment that Satoru has aimlessly grabbed onto the one you had bisected and chose as your copy.

Did he just whipped the favorite one you've taken a liking to?

"Oi, gimme that." he quickly grabbed onto the picture you favored. The best one you've wanted to treasure. Your face falling when he was brisk enough to slip them along his side pockets, "---Did you just judge my personality, Tiny-Chan? Oh, you really wound me."

You didn't risk a chance. Under no circumstances did you try to even steal it back from him because Satoru was dead set to take his claim on that specific picture you've wanted to cherish.

With an insincere smile pasted upon your face, you've grumbled through gritted teeth, "You really didn't seem like it. That's mine. Give it back."

"Hm." Satoru's grins broadened, owning that impish expression which forewarned you that the white-haired menace knew it was a choice of your preference. The print that you were keen on keeping. "---Yours, you say?" Pause. "---How about a no? you've basically been judging my whole being since day one, so this is mine now for payback."

Perhaps, digging through that deep-rooted bulwark he'd built, Satoru also held an adoration for the fresh portrait that were now kept inside his pockets. A photograph that has only taken a second of creating an apocryphal world that sheltered the actuality of his dimension, providing a bed of roses he'd not ever tolerated for once in his life. The inexplicable, nameless, undivulged will-o-the-wisp that he needed to evade from because if he'd stayed longer---the denouement would either be parlous or in the doldrums.

Don't be shy. Say hi? I don't bite. Heehee. <3 Will post the next chapter for this the day after tomorrow!

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