#its just the most hyper yesterday

[legosreallyarekissable]

I’m calling this hyper mood “Jay Mood”

[luvrxbunny]

black oak

Pairing: Perv?BSF!Eddie Munson x Innocent!Fem!Reader 

Prompt: Voyeurism

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smoking (weed ofc),m! masturbation, f! masturbation, pillow humping, cum in pants (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.6k

A/N: im cutting it so close w these fics (i made this literally yesterday)

This started happening more recently now that you’re hanging out with Eddie more. You hang out with him after school and he walks you home, but whenever he leaves there's a consuming heat between your legs. It’s more tame when you’re with him, like a subtle hum in the back of your mind but once he leaves you; your mind hyper-fixates on him. 

You’re trying to sleep but Eddie is in your head. You writhe around in your bed as you think about everything he is; brave, kind, caring, and sweet. You think about his hands, his hair, his rings, and his voice. You wiggle around in bed until your pillow makes its way between your thighs. Your hips stutter against it and you freeze, looking around the room as if someone may be watching you before letting yourself succumb to the pleasure of the fabric against your slit.

You tighten your thighs around the pillow, tilting your hips up to press your most sensitive spot against the pillow. You mutter timid curses under your breath, hugging your teddy bear to your chest with your eyes shut tight as you picture his face reluctantly. You always feel so dirty picturing him like this, thinking of him in this way. You can’t help but replay all the times you’ve seen him lick his lips, his pink, wet, tongue peeking from between them, the way he bites into the bottom one when trying to nail a certain chord. You can feel yourself getting even wetter between your legs, whining as you soak your pillow. It’s not enough. 

You whine as you push yourself into a sitting position, straddling the pillow with a curve in your back to press yourself perfectly into it. Your head falls back at the stimulation and your eyelids flutter, you slowly roll your head forward and notice your drapes and window slightly open. You consider closing them, not wanting anyone to see, to hear but you feel a certain rush in your stomach at the exposure and shyly decide to leave them be. 

Outside your window, is Eddie. He does this almost every night, this is the first time he’s seen this though. He walks you home after you hang out with him, and if the hangout has left something to be desired he simply climbs into his tree and watches you. There is this beautiful black oak tree that sits outside your window. If Eddie wanted more of you, but couldn’t hang out with you more- due to your very strict parent’s ruling- he suffered silently. He asked you if you could stay longer one time; the sad look in your eyes as you explained how upset your parents would be, broke his heart, so he never asked again. 

However, when you showed him the pretty tree beside your bedroom, right outside your bedroom window- there was only one thought in his head. So it became a routine, if he didn’t have plans, and remembered to bring a lighter with his joint. He’ll light up and just sit on his branch outside your window. He usually witnesses you doing your school work, writing in your diary, and talking with your stuffed animals. If he’s lucky you’ll change your clothes there, although the way you change actually lets him see nothing. Tonight? He can’t believe his eyes.

His joint has long gone out, still in between his fingers as the bulge grows in his pants and his eyes bulge out at you. He’s fighting an internal battle, his hands are twitching to touch himself but he feels guilty intruding on such a private moment. He’s thought about you in this way before- he tries not to but mostly just cannot help himself. You’re so sweet, so caring toward him, so loving that he can’t help but feel this way for you. When you sit on his bed in your skirt, forgetting to tuck it under your butt- your panties pressed right into his bed… he’s hard in an instant. He’s thought of you while jerking off more times than he could count but in all his creativity he could’ve never imagined himself in a scenario as lucky as this. 

He quickly puts the joint in his pocket and fumbles with his pants. He’s whining to no one as he undoes his belt. “Keep goin’, sweetheart. Ooh, so good, baby.” He shoves his hand into his underwear, quickly wrapping his fingers around his cock, pretending that it’s you. He’s already thrusting his hips into his fist as he watches you reach blindly for something to hug into your chest as your hips speed up. Eddie’s hand kicks up to match your pace and a moan rips itself from his throat. He watches you bite into your lip and your eyebrows twitch before you mutter something he wishes he could hear. 

He zeros in on your hips, the way they move over your pillow, how desperately he wishes that was him. He pulls his hand away from his cock with a groan and rubs himself through his jeans. It’s less stimulating but it lets him pretend that it’s you and that makes it feel better than his hands ever could. His eyes roll back into his head as his hands find the same rhythm as your hips and he moans your name into the night air. He’s not worried about being caught, he can only think of you. He forces his eyes open to watch as your hips begin to stutter in their pace. He lets out a pained moan, wishing he could help you keep it steady, help you cum as fast, and as hard as you could. 

You’re muttering something again, your volume climbing as you near your peak. Eddie’s legs are shaking as he holds off for you, wanting to cum at the same time. He watches you drop your teddy and place your hands on the pillow, holding it in place as you furrow your brows and grind harder, humping your pillow as your lips part into an ‘O’ shape. His stomach tenses painfully as he moans your name to no one, under his breath, just for him as he imagines you above him. The utterance of your name from his lips just brings him closer to the edge as he begins to hear a muffled translation of what your moans sound like. He shuffles himself a bit closer to your window, trying to hear as much of you as he can. He hears you saying something, a name, one he prays is his because he couldn’t handle the heartbreak of hearing someone else’s fall from your lips at a time like this. 

He thinks about what you’d sound like saying his name as a moan, a groan, or even a whine or whimper if he’s lucky. He tries to fit his name into the blurry shape of whatever sound is falling from your mouth and it fits brutally well. He has to take his hands away, thrusting up into the air blindly, eyes rolled back and shut as your noises assault his senses. He can’t believe how well his name fits in your mouth, like your lips were made to form around it. “Eddie.” He can hear it, you’d say it high and breathy, on the cusp of cumming all over him, all around him, however you want. “Ed- Eddie” His eyes snap open to watch your lips as they form over his name again, “Eddie, please!” Your voice kicks up into a whine and your hips stutter to a stop as you fold over, shaking as you cum all over your pillow. 

Eddie is painting the inside of his jeans, his hips thrusting erratically into his hand as he bites his lip so hard he’s scared he’ll take a chunk out of it. Your name and images of you are racing through his head, they do every time he cums, he just can’t help it anymore. He thinks about how you said his name, how it sounded from your lips… the fact that you’re thinking of him when you hump your pillow at night. 

A strangled groan-whimper shoves its way from his chest as his balls tighten even more, producing as much cum as they can for you. His head slams back against the tree painfully and his eyes cross as he worships you in his mind, thanking you for making him cum, for letting him touch himself for you. His eyes open back up slowly, his hand overstimulating himself gently as you slowly overstimulate yourself, rocking your hips lazily over the pillow, your thighs twitching every so often. He watches you topple over onto your bed, leaving the pillow between your legs as you reach out for a different teddy, a smile spreading over your face when you find what you’re looking for. 

He’s watching you through lidded eyes, his hips still twitching slightly. His brows furrow until he sees what you’re after, his heart swells and warms his chest. It’s a teddy bear he won for you at a fair, he’s wearing a leather jacket and sunglasses, you said he reminded you of Eddie. 

He feels that little tingle he gets in his nose he gets when he’s about to cry and he tries his best to hold back as he starts climbing out of the tree, he always turns into a sap when he cums for you. He’s always wishing you loved him the way he loves you but for the first time, these tears are more positive. He peeks up at you one more time before dropping out of the tree and he gets to see you kiss ‘little Eddie’ on his head and snuggle him to your chest. He’s starting to actually think he may have a chance with you, and it’s the best feeling in the world. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[razorblade180]

Adam:You know I always found it a little odd people say “congratulations” if someone comes out. Like…

Ilia:*turns head* Beeee careful.

Adam:They are the same person they were yesterday and most likely the day before that. And the they’ll be tomorrow.

Ilia:It stems from having the courage to announce it.

Adam:I get that, “I’m gay” just doesn’t invoke triumphant victory. Sounds like you’re stating a fact. Why not walk in confidently with a flag and proclaim “I am no longer aligned with your notions!” As if you’re taking arms or you killed a demon. That’s worth a battle cry at least.

Ilia:What is this, a faction change?

Adam:Isn’t it?

Ilia:….I can’t tell if this is the most casual conversation we’ve had where I agree, or the craziest.

Adam:I don’t run anything anymore. I have too much to think about.

Yang: What is happening?

Blake: “World’s most dangerous ally”

Emerald:You say that, but I’ve seen Tyrian beat up a bigot and say “my evil is pure, but I am not pure evil” and I frankly haven’t been the same since.

Blake:That’s kinda awesome.

Weiss:Your ex really said “I don’t like humans, but love is love I guess.” I’m fucking sick. My father really made a hyper specific hater.

Ruby:Hey Adam! How do you feel about a Robot with human emotions and its on freedom!?

Adam:That’s cool I guess. I mean I wish I never had to sleep.

Ruby:Damn, your father really does suck. We could’ve shave at least 35% evil of this guy!

Emerald:What about the rest.

Ruby:*shrugs* We talk to you fine enough.

Emerald:….Okay, that stung a bit.

[animehideout]

Love Is The Most Twisted Curse Of Them All

Part 6

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

Check out Part 7 here 🆕

CHECK OUT PART 5 HERE.

a/n: Hii everyone I'm back with another chapter, since you requested longer chapters so ofc I had yo give you what you want babies💗 I really hope you enjoy it , your feedback is highly appreciated ✨💗.

wc: 2.8k+

Song recommendation to listen to while reading to set you in the mood you know: DOJA CAT - CANDY 💕

Your eye lids fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the sun light that pierced through the window. Your neck hurting from sleeping in a sitting position, you don’t even remember how you managed to doze off. You got off your bed, stretching, massaging the back of your neck, a warm bath would definitely fix it before starting your day at Jujutsu High.

“Ugh shit- that bitch” you sighed in annoyance, remembering that Satoru spent the night here.

You unlocked your door, heading to the bathroom, hoping that he has already left to school.

You tiptoed outside, grabbing your towel. Your eyes widened when you found Satoru standing right in front of you, shirtless. A towel wrapped around his bottom part, his wet hair falling on his face and droplets of water found their way on his chest.

You hated him to the Saturn and back, but you can’t deny that he looked extremely hot. If he was nice a bit, maybe this marriage could have worked out, maybe you could have become a real husband and wife. But no, he chose to be a dick. And you chose to be enemies.

“What are you looking at?” he started, raising his brow.

You rolled your eyes, completely ignoring his question. It was too early in the morning to start an argument with him. So you muttered a small “get out of my face” and walked past him to use the bathroom.

That morning was intense to say the less. Even though you didn’t sit at the same table for breakfast or even bother to look at each other, but being under the same roof felt completely wrong and made you ick.

You quickly ate your breakfast and left to Jujutsu High, leaving Gojo at home. You had a morning class with the 2nd year, and honestly you didn’t care if Gojo was going to school or not, all what you were thinking about was Nanami. You were excited to see him again, and maybe get to chat again. Since that day, he gave you a reason to be happy about teaching in Jujutsu high unlike Gojo who made it living hell for you.  

Busy in your deep thoughts a voice called your name “Y/N”

you quickly turned around, a smile found its way on your lips,

“Oh Nanami! Good morning” you greeted him,

your eyes glued on his perfect figure as he approached you so elegantly. His surprise appearance made you entire morning already, not even Gojo can ruin it.

“Are you going to Jujutsu High?” he asked

“Yes! I have a morning session, and you?”

“yea, same! I hope that it’s okay that I joined your morning stroll”

“OF COURSE” you said rather excitedly then paused clearing your throat realizing how hyper you were. “yeah s-sure” you added trying to sound calm and composed, you weren’t good at social interactions.

It was a new feeling that made you float. For someone like you who was locked inside for your entire life, this small simple social interaction ; literally just walking with a friend and having an actual conversation was special to you, even though it was considered a routine for others. The way you were trying to hide your excitement, made Nanami smile to himself, it was rare for someone to get him to genuinely smile.

“By the way! Sorry if I caused a problem between you and your husband yesterday I-”

“Huh? What prob?”

“Gojo seemed unhappy yesterday because-” 

“Oh no don’t worry about it! We’re in an arranged marriage so there are no feelings involved” you explained,

at the beginning of your marriage you didn’t want to say such thing but now remembering that Gojo spilt everything about your marriage to Mei Mei and Utahime, so why not do the same and spill it to Nanami?

“Oh I apologize, I didn’t know-”

“No that’s okay! We’ll divorce eventually so-” you chuckled awkwardly “Anyways, enough of him, tell me about your Jujutsu technique! We didn’t get the chance to talk that much yesterday”

“Oh yeah right! So basically-” he started explaining and talking not only about his technique but also sharing stories about his former job…a salaryman.

You walked inside the school, giggling and all. Your smile immediately dropped when you saw your husband Satoru there.

“How the fuck? I left him home?” you thought to yourself, full of surprises isn’t he?

He was leaning against the main door frame, crossing his arm infront of his chest, despite wearing his sun-glasses, by his body language you can tell he was glaring at you both.

“Enjoyed your time wifey?” he started

“Yeah! I did actually” you answered offensively.

Sensing the electricity in the air, so to not cause further stress for you, Nanami decided to just head inside and give you time with Gojo. Even though it was arranged, Satoru is still your husband and Nanami respected that.

“See you later Y/n” he smiled and walked past Gojo.

“Hah! Good morning to you too Nananmin” said satoru but of course he got ignored,

Nananmi has nor time or patience to get into childish argument with Gojo.

You sighed, getting inside as well but he got into your way, blocking the door with his huge figure.

“Huh? What now?” you asked

“I hope you’re ready for tomorrow”

“for what?”

“haha did you forget about our duel? Or you’re acting stupid on purpose as if you forgot so you can avoid fighting me?”

“Oh Crap! Its Saturday tomorrow” you thought to yourself.

You definitely weren’t ready for that, but to protect your pride and dignity you have to do it.

“I don’t run away from battles, Storu! Put that in mind” you slapped his arm away and got yourself inside.

Time skip to the night:

Another night, locking yourself inside the room. Your mind keeping you awake, you took your fight with Satoru too personal and too seriously. Only a few hours left till the break of dawn, the clock ticked closer to your duel with him. And you couldn’t help but feel your stomach twisting, your inner organs sinking deep within you.

“What if I get beaten up and everyone is watching?” you muttered,

thinking of effective ways and tricks to defeat the most powerful sorcerer. If someone else knew, they’d make fun of you for even considering that you stood a chance against him. Anxiety kicked in, the room narrowed around you, making it hard to breathe, prompting you to take your  ass out to get some fresh air. Maybe you’ll spend the rest of the night in the balcony, maybe the cold night air refreshes you, maybe the shining stars comfort you.

As you walked outside, you could hear some noises that quickly faded into the darkness, your brows forrowed, clenching your fists. Was it an intruder? You stood in place, trying to figure out where did the noise come from and it led you to the main bedroom, that it was next door.

Curiosity took over you, slowly turning the door knob, met with a sleeping Gojo. His eyes were shut but he his body was restless, tossing and turning on the bed, battling against the haunting visions that disturbed his sleep. You got closer to him for a better look, beads of sweat traced down his forehead, whimpering and panting

“is he having a wet dream?” you whispered,

but nah scared expressions etched on his face.

“oh is he having a bad dream?” you said in confusion.

“N-no –no.. I don’t w-wanna kill…..him” he muttered, scrambled words that didn’t make much sense left his mouth.

“What should I do!” you thought to yourself.

You remember having chronic nightmares, but there was no one to comfort you, so you understood well the fear and the feeling of being trapped there but no one to wake you up. But why would you consider helping him, is he deserving of that?

But you’re too good to be true, too good for him and for the world.

You gently reached out to wake him, but was met with an abrupt startle. His defensive instincts awoke, his eyes shot open.

Misinterpreting your presence with the confusion of his nightmare, thinking you were one of his enemies, he flipped you and pinned you on the bed. His hands gripping yours tightly that it started to really hurt. The bedroom that was once filled with his uneasiness is now filled with a stunned silence, realizing that it was you. His eyes gazed at yours, you could get lost in his ocean eyes. You can hear his heavy breathing, his chest rising on falling on top of yours

“Y-you? What the hell are- you- doing here?” he asked still panting, his eyes narrowing.

“I- I was trying to wake you up from your nightmare” you answered. “you seemed really disturbed an-”

your intentions were genuine but his pride and his unexpected vulnerability had already ignited a fierce reaction within him. Anger flickered in his eyes, as he pulled you out of his bed, dragging you towards the door.

“I don’t need your help” he snapped “Get the fuck out of my room, now!” he commanded.

No way he would allow you to catch him when he’s vulnerable, not you, not anyone. You walked to the balcony, cursing at him under your breath,

“This son of a bitch, I should have left your night terrors eat you up”.

But it took you by surprise as well  that Gojo Satoru can be vulnerable and weak at some points, you shook your head, he’s a human after all.

Time skip to the morning:

“Imagine if she kicks your ass” said principal Yaga

“Nah I’d win” said Gojo with a smirk.

“Good luck Gojo I’m pretty sure you’ll win… you know she’s just a normal person not special like you” said Mei Mei with a flirtarious smile.

In the charged atmosphere, you stood there facing your husband, Satrou.

“I hope you don’t mind me showing off a bit Y/n”  he smirked,

as he started attacking you first, determined and convinced to finish you off in a matter of seconds. But he didn’t know that you’d give him a hard time. You easily dodged his punches, that instead flew into the air like lightening inches away from your face. At first you were more focused on dodging and avoiding his attacks, and then strike him with unexpected hits.

“Fight back damn it! Don’t just dodge me” he said through gritted teeth pissed that he didn’t land a single blow on you yet.

“You don’t get to tell me how to do my thing Satoru”

The battle escalated, with everyone focused on you. It became intense, each one of you trying to get the upper hand.

“Come on Y/n” muttered Nanami worry and concern visible in his eyes, he wanted to interfere, so desperately but he couldn’t.

And it’s your time now to attack. Sensing a split-second vulnerability, you seized the opportunity with a quick move that caught him off guard. You closed the distance between you two and unleashed a powerful punch that landed on his jaw. A punch fueled by anger but most importantly, by determination and years of solo training.

That strike left him momentarily stunned, pain surged through his jaw. His hand instinctively moved there to alleviate the pain. Never in a million years, Gojo or even  everyone watching expected to see him get punched. Their mouths were hung open in utter surprise.

Finally someone managed to do it, and this someone was you, his lovely wife.

Frustration fueled his anger.

“You little bitch”

His arrogance and ego wouldn’t let what you did slip easily even if it means crossing lines. So he had to break that one rule, driven by revenge, he unleashed his Jujutsu technique. Using his privilege as a sorcerer. By the look on his face you knew you were fucked.

With a blow fueled with Jujutsu energy he sent you flying. Falling on your back. In a split second, he was on top of you, pinning you down, completely overpowering you. He held you in place, maintaining a strong unbreakable eye contact. A trickle of blood escaped from your nose.

“I see your smirk disappeared now, no longer cocky Y/N hm? Haha what? What are you gonna do now with me laying on top of you just like that night! Are you gonna gaze into my eyes and I gaze into yours?”

“You fucking c-cheated! It’s supposed to be a hand to hand combat you dick”

“Well I’m special, I’m Gojo Satoru, I d-” but he didn’t get to finish his words,

you summoned a burst of strength and took the chance with a kick directed at his private area. He groaned in pain, pulling away. Your strikes didn’t end there, you shifted your focus and kicked his face now. Finally, breaking free from him.

He looked at you in disbelief, wiping the blood that dripped from his nose. “we’re even now Satoru! Next time if you wanna beat me then try to hit harder”

Your students and school staff erupted into applauses and cheers. It felt great to win your very first combat that happened to be against the strongest man. Maybe now he’ll learn to respect you and treat you with decency and not like as if you were a weak human. You proved yourself today to you first, to Gojo and to everyone; being a normal person with no Jujutsu doesn’t mean you’re weak.

“Y/n-sensei that was awesome!!” said Yuji with a wide smile.

“Thank you Yuji-kun” you smiled trying to catch your breath, limping towards them.

“but your nose! It’s still bleeding , should I call Shoko sensei?”

“No no I’m fine no ne-”

“Let me help you Y/n!” offered Nanami and of course you can’t refuse.

“I see he’s treating your wife right! Watch out he might steal her away from you” teased Mei Mei

“As if I care!” Gojo rolled his eyes and then left to join principal Yaga  leaving Mei Mei standing alone.

You walked together to the school common room, sat on the couch waiting for Nanami to treat your wounds. From the intensity of the battle with Gojo to the gentleness with Nanami.

He kneeled on one knee in front of you, carefully tended to your bleeding nose. His touch was delicate and tender. You tried to maintain composed but his touch tugged at the corners of your lips, hinting a smile that you couldn’t fully suppress. You felt your cheeks heating up, trying to not look too obvious after scanning his face so you looked away.

“And we’re done!”

“Oh um- thank you Nanami” you said fidgeting with your fingers.

“You did great by the way!” he said and You smiled warmly, still learning how to react to a compliment, muttering a little thanks.

“Alright! Take care I have something to deal with”

........

“Your wife is full of surprises Satoru!” Said Principal Yaga.

“I’ve always been a nice guy Sensei, so I went easy on her”  he answered using a wet napkin to wipe the blood.

“Doesn’t seem like it! Don’t hide it Satoru, we’re both surprised and confused I know what’s on your mind right now”

He took a deep breath, “You always figure things out, don’t you sensei? Yeah I guess you’re right I’m confused”

“Succeeding in laying a nasty punch on you while your infinity is activated is something intriguing”

“I can’t swallow it Sensei! There must be a mistake!”

“No! I think that’s why the higher ups said that once her curse breaks and becomes a sorcerer she’ll flip the balances in the Jujutsu world…Satoru can’t you see?  Y/n is something else!! Could she be-”

“GOJO SATORU!” yelled Nanami, interrupting their conversation. Approaching them, furiousness and anger etched on his face, veins popping up on his neck.

He grabbed Gojo by the collar and yelled,

“HOW DARE YOU DO THAT TO YOUR WIFE?”

“you knew her only for two days so chill, don’t act like you care!”

“yes I CARE! I care when I see a bastard like you tries to humiliate others! Its your wife goddamn it”

With that Gojo pushed Nanami away, and said,

“What’s between me and her is none of your business, so stay out of the frame Nanami! She’s my wife not yours”

“Lucky for her you’ll divorce soon! Can’t wait for the day when she breaks free from your arranged marriage”

“d-did she tell you that?” questioned Gojo, his eyes widened.

“Guys, guys Ugh cut this shit!!” yelled principal Yaga who was busy talking on the phone.

“I was on the phone with one of the higher ups! They called for an urgent meeting..I’ll gather the others, classes are dismissed for today"

“An urgent meeting for what?” asked Nanami and Gojo at the same time.

“It’s Toji Zenin! He’s on the loose now!” said principal Yaga with a hint on concern in his tone.

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[tubborucho]

NOT a /neg to op, I just want to talk about it

I would not say Tubbo necessarily cares for BBH specifically. I would even go as far as to say though he does care, it’s a very much normal amount, barely more than for most of the islanders he’d properly interacted with before. And you know me, I am the biggest Soul Sacrificers hyper and supporter in all the internet, so I do not say it lightly.

Tubbo doesn’t care for BBH that much. Maybe he would a bit more if he didn’t have his own thing going on and crippling mental health issues, but it is what it is.

Those 5 hours were for Dapper, not for Bad. If there wasn’t Dapper’s life on the stake and instead it was Bad’s Tubbo though would try to help anyway, it would not nearly be on the same level.

Tubbo yesterday did not care what is going on with Bad and his memory. You’d think he would be more interested in it because of the shared dying/coming back experience. But he literally just wanted his money back and that’s it.

When he told Chayanne he would look into bringing Bad back (though he then proceeded to forget about it anyway), it was because his godson was worried, not he himself.

And so on. If you want, you can just compare his actions and words to Bagi, who cares a lot about practically everyone. This is not the same.

HOWEVER

What Tubbo holds for Bad is just as important: respect. There has always been deep down respect between them. Even when they were at odds with Ron kidnapping and Tubhole, and even when they are more regularly just want to annoy each other or ‘take advantage’ of each other (aka Tubbo asking Bad for cookies quests stuff back on the old island). There always was respect. It is here now.

Respect turned comradary after the Purgatory when Tubbo listened to Bad’s calls during the @v@ interactions.

Respect, when he did not try to scam Bad with this loan, using his memory issues.

Respect, when Bad went along with Tubbo’s Salesman schemes and Tubbo immediately including him properly, WITHOUT trying to scam Bad himself.

Respect turned valuing opinion, when Tubbo was calling Bad over to Tubchunk specifically to have him look at his machines and farms.

Respect turned trust with Bad being 3rd person Tubbo specifically outwardly allowed Sunny to wake up to and Bad being the only person Tubbo didn’t really try to hide the existence of the bunker and its location from (comparing how he acted around Phil about that and before Fit was shown it, after which Tubbo kinda gave up mostly)

I would love for Tubbo to get closer to Bad in a way of genuine and strong care, For him to intentionally try to help him out when needed because of Bad and not because of a kid/Tubbo just being kind and helpful as a person, It’s not the reality now, though.

But what we have is still amazing. I love those two so much.

[danieldrivesfast]

Thoughts on Lestappen and Lestappies? And the narratives they spin and their media literacy, or lack thereof?

At its core, I have no problem with anyone's ship. I am very pro-fanfic. Hell, I've been participating in a fanfic/RP situation for twenty years now. (I am old.) My love of the creativity and expression that goes into fanfic and fandom is very deep.

My problem is when people can't or won't separate their characters from the actual, real-life human beings they're based on. I feel like the very recent normalization of using ship names and "fandom speak" in actual sanctioned/corporate media has caused a lack of separation. There has always been a barrier between the personas in fanfiction/fandom and the real humans, but that's gone now.

When it comes to "Lestappen" fans, I think there's a perfect storm.

Charles is a pretty boy with sad eyes and a traumatic backstory, plays piano and writes music, from a whimsical little country full of the rich and powerful, fulfilling a destiny that belonged to someone he lost.

Max is the superstar son of an abusive man, de facto stepfather to a little girl, hyper-focused on his special interest, the biggest threat to his competitors while also being a compassionate protector.

These two guys have competed since they were children, have a history of a fierce rivalry, came through the ranks at nearly the same time, and are now going head to head to be champion of the world.

That sounds like the most cliche setup of Mary Sues as rivals-to-lovers with a touch of hurt/comfort I've ever seen.

So when you take down the barrier between actual humans and the personas that are accepted as "canon" in fandom, you get whatever is going on with the "Lestappen" fans. Max and Charles aren't even that close in real life, but the fantasy is too good to pass up.

The group of Charles fans that call themselves the "Lecfosi" are overall very toxic (not all 16 fans, but holy shit), and when you mix that with the shippers who can't separate reality from fantasy, it's a noxious situation. What they've been saying to and about Lando and his fans after yesterday is borderline delusional. It's unnecessary. I can promise you that neither Max nor Charles would appreciate their behavior.

I think the ship on its own is very compelling. It's the inability to separate that fantasy world from reality, then using the fantasy to be truly hateful to not only fans, but directly to drivers and their friends/family that's gross and wrong.

It's obviously not all shippers. It's also not only "Lestappies" who are toxic. They just seem to be the loudest about it. (And this was asked about them specifically.)

As far as media literacy - that's an entirely different essay that applies to a much larger group than any one group of shippers. I'm sure I'll get annoyed enough to unleash that draft eventually. 😅

[selineram3421]

I love true crime, call it an obsession or a hyper fixation. But may I request a one-shot Ft Modern-day Human! Alastor x Reader, where the couple have lived happily together for a while ( is even engaged), and the two are on the couch, snuggled up, and their favorite show is interrupted by the news late one night. Like a breaking news broadcast of a string of multiple murders of criminals, drug dealers, and rapists that have occurred in the city comes on.

Maybe the reader notices Al gets really tense and they ask whats wrong and he passes them off gets up and just goes to bed without a word. Meanwhile days pass and the reader notices Alastor is on edge, maybe not showing up to his job, calling out constantly, not planning their wedding, coming home super late, maybe she finds some bloody clothing in the laundry- just weird things yknow (just a lot of off putting things they've just started to notice)?

They confront him when he comes home at a stupidly late hour of the night demanding answers of why he's acting so strange, if he doesn't tell them they're basically going to take off their ring and leave him then and there.. and he just breaks down emotionally to the reader?

I dunno /) . (\ throw all the Angst and Fluff you'd like to. I just love this idea lol.

Pssst! What does Ft mean?

As The World Caves In

Human Alastor X Human Reader Oneshot

Warning! ⚠

⚠ using she/they for reader, food, tw mentions of rape, murder, dismemberment, fluff/angst, hurt/comfort, blood, all caps for really angry shouting dialogue ⚠

~

You met Alastor during college.

He was majoring in communications and journalism for radio/television broadcasting. The building was right next to the one you had your classes in.

One day you both happened to bump into each other and just clicked. Not a day after was it boring, both of you causing slight chaos by telling cringey jokes and being weird.

It was nice though, having someone to be weird with you.

He liked your weirdness and you liked his.

Then one day he asked you a strange question.

"What would you say to someone who asked for your hand?"

"It depends on who's asking.", you reply. "Oh, and if you like it put a ring on it.", you finish, holding your left hand out as if waiting for someone to do just that.

"Hmm..", he hummed and held your hand as if examining it. "Ok."

Bringing a ring out of nowhere, he places it on your finger and nods with a look of satisfaction. Meanwhile you look at him with your jaw dropped.

Alastor just smiles at you.

"I put a ring on it."

"Geez, take me on a date first!"

❇

"We did it!", you cheer after both of you cleaned most of the apartment and did laundry.

"Finally!", Alastor said and dramatically sat down on the couch, acting faint. "Now we rest."

"Want to order take-out?", you asked sitting down next to him.

"Don't we still have yesterday's leftovers?", he says and pulls you close by the waist, placing a kiss on your cheek. "I could heat it up."

"That sounds divine.", you smile, also giving him a peck on the cheek. "I'll get things set up here while you get our food?"

"Sounds like a perfectly good plan.", he agrees with a nod and gives you one more peck before standing up. "Don't miss me too much darling~!"

He jokes while walking to the kitchen.

"Too late.", you respond and turn on the t.v. with the vox-b remote.

There's a chuckle from behind you as you flick through channels, looking for your show. After what felt like a long scroll down, you finally find the discovery channel. With a grin you click on it and wait for the show to start up with the end of "How Its Done."

"Almost Got Away is going to start after a commercial!", you tell your fiancé.

Its been a few years since that day. You still couldn't believe that it happened but the proof sat on your finger, and it was also archived on your Instu story.

The food doesn't take long to heat up and Alastor returns with two bowls of beans with sausage and rice, with a little bit of spice.

[can be seen as frijoles charros or cajun beans]

Both of you get comfortable on the couch, eating and occasionally talking about wedding plans, remembering to get drinks and taking a quick trip to the kitchen to get them from the fridge.

Just as you got comfortable again and the episode was starting, a flash of red and blue appears on the screen with bold letters.

"Breaking News!"

Two news anchors sit at a big blue table. One holding papers as the camera zooms in on them.

"Katie Prig and Tom Fosse bringing you some breaking news!", the woman, Katie starts. "There have been a number of crimes recently. About a forty-eight percent increase."

Tom chimes in. "A total of three missing persons have been found dead in the forest. Police say that the victims were female. Beaten and raped, before being killed and left in the woods."

"We are waiting to hear from police if any more bodies have been found.", Katie interrupts. "Let's check in with Mike."

Live feed is shown of a police cars parked at the start of the woods that has caution tape wrapped at the trail entrance, with k-9 dogs sniffing around. The camera zooms out, revealing a man in a blue jacket, with a news mic.

"I'm here on the south side of the city and its only been an hour of searching, the police have said there might be more bodies. One of the victim's bodies was found cut open and slightly dismembered.", he sniffs and moves his finger to wipe his nose.

From how close you two are sitting, you can feel Alastor tense up slightly as the corner of the man's lip on the screen turns upwards, its mostly covered by his hand and its gone within a second. The man goes back to a neutral expression.

"As you can tell the temperatures are dropping and since it'll rain tonight the officers are trying to cover as much ground as they can before any evidence is washed away."

A few dogs start to bark and the camera focuses on the k-9s and police officers running.

"Looks like there's a lead.", Mike says. "I'll send it back to you and Tom, Katie. We'll keep you updated."

When the screen switches back to the show, Alastor puts his bowl on the coffee table in front of the couch.

He's really quiet.

You look over at him and notice a frown starting to form on his face.

"Al?", you place a hand on his shoulder, effectively snapping him out of his thoughts as he turns to face you. "You ok? What's wrong?"

"Nothing Love.", he smiles, grabbing your hand off his shoulder and placing a kiss on your knuckles, just above the ring. "I just lost my apatite is all."

You nod in understanding and set down your bowl as well. "Wanna head to bed early then? I'll clean up, don't worry."

"Yes, thank you.", he agrees, letting go of your hand and stands up. "I'll get the bed ready.", he says before placing a kiss on your forehead and walking to the bedroom.

Cleaning up is quick, and you wash the dishes. Leaving the bowls on the drying rack before turning off the kitchen light and making your way to the room.

Alastor is already in bed when you walk in. After changing into comfortable sleep wear, you get in bed and turn off the lamp on your nightstand.

"Good night.", you say but don't hear anything back.

Assuming that he already fell asleep, you lay on your side and doze off.

.

A week passes and Alastor has been acting a little strange, but everytime you ask he just brushes you off with an "I'm fine."

You start to worry when he begins coming home late.

"Does the station really need you till 10 p.m. today?", you ask.

"I'm helping out a coworker with moving boxes and supplies.", he explains while getting his keys. "Don't worry, I'll call you if I leave early."

"Ok.", you say and follow him as he gets to the door. "Drive safe."

He smiles and gives you a peck.

"Don't stay up late for me. Lock the door and windows.", he says and walks out into the hallway. "Can't be too safe."

"I have a shift tomorrow around six in the evening.", you remind him, but see that he pauses.

"Darling..", he says with furrowed brows. "With all the crime going on, can you ask for earlier shifts?"

Now its your turn to smile.

"I can take care of myself. After all, I have Mr. Stabbington.", you say picking up a sharp pair of scissors and he frowns. "But if it makes you feel better knowing that I'm not out at night, then I'll ask for earlier shifts."

He grins.

"Ok now go! Or you'll be late!", you poke at him with your fingers and wave as he leaves.

Its not long till you're washing clothes that you spot what looks like a smeared blood stain on a pair of his pants.

"What the?", you say confused and try to remember if your fiancé got any recent wounds.

You set the pants aside for proper cleaning and continue to put the rest of the load in the washing machine.

A few days later after work, you get a call from the station Alastor works at.

"Hello?", you answer the phone, thinking Al is calling wanting an opinion on dinner or for something he forgot.

"Hi! I'm James, a coworker of Alastor's. I was calling to see if he is sick or something?", the man over the phone says.

"Sick?", you ask confused, walking up to your apartment building and going inside the building.

"Yeah, he didn't come in today and isn't picking up. The boss is kinda pissed. Is he alright?"

"He left early this morning..", you mumble quietly to yourself and wave to the security guard, making your way to the metal door and punching in the code to unlock it.

"Oh! He had a fever this morning but its going down now.", you say a quick lie.

"Ok, thanks for letting me know! Take care!", James says before saying bye.

You hang up and there's a sinking pit forming at the bottom of your stomach.

Why would Alastor skip work?

That feeling didn't go away and you started to have trouble sleeping.

When a scheduled wedding plan day came up, you got excited.

Flowers and colors were already picked out, today was supposed to be food. As you got the laptop open and notebooks set out, Alastor was dressed as if he was heading out.

"Were we going somewhere today?", you ask confused.

"We?", he says also confused.

"Yeah, its planning day Red.", you say smiling and walk over to him. "Remember its the food this time?"

A flash of realization crosses his face as he turns to look at the calendar on the wall nearby the kitchen.

"Oh."

Your smile goes away after noticing that he looks conflicted.

"Let me guess, you forgot and made plans.."

"I'm sorry. I was going to visit my mother.", he says with a slightly guilty tone.

A sigh escapes from your lips.

"Its ok. Go visit her and take some flowers.", you give a small smile. "Need any cleaning rags for the headstone?"

"No. I've got some in the car.", he says and pulls you into a hug. "Thank you darling."

He leaves soon after.

The thing you find odd is that he doesn't send you a picture of the cleaned headstone with fresh flowers like he usually does.

Weeks pass by and Alastor has been leaving work early or not going at all. Then arriving home late, lying to you about "his day at work" and now taking over washing the clothes after you asked about the red stains.

That sinking feeling gets worse, and now there's a burning sensation on your chest to accompany it. An aching in your heart.

One night you decide to wait with coffee.

Its late.

Hours have passed and the coffee has gone cold, both in the cup and in the coffee maker.

Sitting on the couch wrapped in a blanket, staring into the coffee as you waited. The cup is half empty, and over time your gaze shifted over to your ring.

As you put the cup on the coffee table, you hear keys unlocking the door.

Taking a quick look at the time, you see that its three in the morning. Laying down, you pretend to sleep on the couch, pulling the blanket up to hide your mouth.

❇

Alastor was exhausted.

Keeping up with the news, working at the station, doing research, visiting the crime scene areas once they were opened to the public again, and lying to his fiancé.

He felt terrible.

They were so excited about the planning but he had to turn it down every time.

That murdering rapist and other scum were still on the loose in the city. He had got three, but still needed to get the one from the news.

He had to make sure she would be safe. They loved talking walks in those same woods. The smiles that she would show him every time they looked up at the trees, seeing the sunlight kiss their face. Looking like glowing freckles.

He had to.

Opening the door, he walked into the apartment quietly and closed it as soon as he could. Making sure to lock it and put up the door stopper.

After hanging up his jacket, he sees them asleep on the couch. As quietly as possible, he sets his keys down on the entry way table before taking off his shoes and making his way over to them.

He sighs, seeing the cup of coffee on the coffee table. "I told you not to wait for me.", he mumbles, kneeling down and goes to pick her up.

"Its 3 a.m."

Alastor flinches back, surprised that she was awake.

They sit up and look at him with such a sad gaze, the blanket slides off and pools around their lap.

"Why are you out so late?", they ask.

"Work at the station has been hectic-", he tries but she interrupts. "I've been getting calls from your coworkers saying you've been skipping work or asking why you left early."

Shit.

"Try again.", they're glaring at him now.

"I've been visiting-", he tries to come up with another excuse.

"DON'T USE YOUR DEAD MOTHER AS AN EXCUSE!", they snap and stand up from the couch. "Why are you lying to me!?"

"Darling please-", Alastor stands up as well and reaches out for their hand.

"No, don't touch me.", she backs away, crossing her arms.

A look of hurt crosses both of their faces.

"Why are you lying to me?", they ask softly.

The dim lighting in the room helps him see a small glint of light reflecting off of the tears staring to form at the corner of their eyes.

"You've been acting strange for a while now, you're coming home ridiculously late, lying to my face about work, and I know you're not visiting your mother!", their voice rises as they continue, the tears start streaming down their face. "You would have sent me pictures of her headstone like you always do when you're done cleaning it! And then I find red stains on your clothes!", she hiccups.

He calls out their name and tries to reach out to them again but they step back and shake their head side to side as to say no.

It hurts to see them crying.

"We..we had a conversation. If any of us found someone new, we would tell each other before anything happened. So no one got hurt and so we could have time to accept and adjust."

"My love, that's not what's going on. I promise!", he quickly denies what they are implying.

"Then what is going on!?", she shouts. "If its not that then what!?"

Alastor looks down at the floor, wondering if he should tell her or not.

Would they still love me after knowing? Will they leave? Would they hate me? Would they see me a s a monster? I did it for them..

The rooms becomes quiet.

She sighs, causing him to look up at her for the sudden noise.

"If you can't tell me, I'm going to walk out. Right now.", she says and goes to take off the ring.

He freezes.

No. No no no no no!

"Wait, please-!", he rushes up to place his hands over hers to stop her. "Don't do that, please. I love you! I love you!"

They are still trying, pushing his hands away and crying.

In a panic, he tells her. "I've been going after criminals!"

"What?"

He didn't know when he closed his eyes, but they were shut tight and it hurt a little bit. Seeking some sort of comfort, he held their hands closer to his chest.

A feeling that he hasn't felt in a long time settled in his stomach.

Fear.

He was scared.

"Remember the breaking news from a month ago?", he says, but they don't speak, likely waiting for him to continue. "I've been going after the murderers and rapists. A few others as well."

"Is that why you've been out late? And lying about work?", they ask. "What about the red stains? Have you been getting hurt?"

"No. I'm not getting hurt.", he reassures them, resting his forehead against theirs. "Its..not mine."

Finally opening his eyes, he sees that they are slowly putting things together.

"You've been killing?"

In that moment he breaks.

Legs giving out, now kneeling on the floor as he wraps his arms around their waist, hiding his face against their stomach.

"I did it for you!", he sobs. "I couldn't bear the though of losing you!"

The beating of his heart is frantic. It feels as if it'll burst at any minute. He doesn't notice that they've placed their hands on him, one on his shoulder and the other on the back of his head.

"You love taking walks in those woods, what if one of them got you? I'm terrified of getting a call from the police station and they say that you've been the latest victim! I had to do something, those damn pigs barely get the job done.", he rushes out, gasping a bit as he takes in some air.

Their breathing is the only thing they hear from each other.

"We're supposed to get married soon.", he finishes off quietly.

Feeling her start to move away, he begins apologizing. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please don't leave me, please!"

Instead of leaving, they kneel down with him and hold his face in their hands, shushing him softly to calm him down.

"Alastor. I'm not leaving. I'm not leaving.", they whisper, using their thumbs to wipe away his tears. "Come on, stop crying honey."

It takes a moment for him to calm down and she pulls him into a hug.

"Thank you for telling me."

"You're not scared? Disgusted?", he asks, holding onto them tightly.

"I could never find you disgusting. Yes, its a little scary but you're doing more justice than the system.", they say and pull back slightly, giving him a small smile. "I'll always be on your side, even as the world caves in."

I don't deserve you.

He thinks as he stares at them in awe.

"I love you."

Finding his voice again, he quickly repeats what they've said.

"I love you. I love you, I love you.", he kisses them again and again, holding them closer. "I love you."

Alastor is so happy.

They didn't leave, they still love him, they aren't disgusted.

He's so relieved.

"You still need to make up for making me feel like shit though.", she says, causing him to chuckle.

"I'll make up for it, I promise."

Alastor really would do anything for them.

Even set the world on fire.

~

I heard the song during shuffle play and it was perfect for the title.

~Seline, the person.

Taglist@

@i-heart-fictional-boys @naelys-the-aster @ducky-died-inside @stolas-thebirb @c4rved-pumpk1n @kiraisastay @scary-noodlesblog @willowaudreykeyes

I don't know if there's more 😅. I tried to find all of them.

ML Alastor🎙

[kcyars99]

This is Imane Khelif. She is a boxer from Algeria. 🇩🇿

You're probably going to be hearing a lot about her from your bigoted uncle this weekend, especially now that everyone's least-favorite bigoted aunt, J.K. Rowling, has offered her incredibly worthless opinion on today's fight between two cis (aka BiOLoGiCaL for y'all that need that) women.

Things worth noting: 🇮🇹 The boxer who quit today's fight--Angela Carini of Italy--said her quitting wasn't political and that she was not passing judgment on Khelif's eligibility. She said the shot to her nose did something different to her than most hits she's ever taken.

🇹🇼 Last year, Imane (along with Taiwan's Lin Yu-ting) faced a ruling by the International Boxing Association that they--despite being cis or 'BioLoGiCaL🥴' women--had "advantages" of a genetic nature, leading to a decision not to let them fight.

🇺🇸 U.S. swimmer Michael Phelps, celebrated as the greatest swimmer of all time, has a genetic condition where his body produces half of the lactic acid of a normal cis man. For this biological quirk (along with his hyper-mobility) he is lauded.

🇩🇿 Algerian sports officials and other Algerian athletes have spoken in Imane's defense, including national team soccer player ​​Ismaël Bennacer who said Khelif is "suffering a wave of unjustified hatred."

🥇 The Olympics do not recognize IBA or its rulings and carried out their own set of testing standards which every athlete you see competing had to pass.

🇯🇵 Imane also fought at the Tokyo Olympics in 2021, where she was beaten in the quarterfinals by Irish boxer Kellie Harrington--another 'BioLoGiCaL🥴' woman.

🥊 For the weirdos who obsess over genitals, this person was born with a vagina. Meaning that by y'all's weird rules where you want to check in kids' pants before they compete, Imane would be deemed "girl athlete."

🏊 Meanwhile, Katie Ledecky today became the most decorated women's swimmer ever by pulling in a silver medal, after yesterday continuing her long streak of dominating everyone in the world in the 1500, where she holds the top TWENTY best times. Ever. And people on the internet spent the day calling her a man.

🧨 This should be a nonissue, but JOANNE and Elon and your bigoted uncle are latching onto it because they want to continue to push the deadly narrative against trans folks via any possible means. Even in a case where the person they're demonizing isn't trans in the first damn place. If she as a cis woman has more testosterone than other cis women athletes, well, that's not all that uncommon. Y'all wanna tell women with PCOS that they're not really women?

🩺 I don't know how many times I've shared that Open Ocean Exploration thread, by a literal biologist, explaining how common it is that people have sex variations that they don't even know about. I'll share it again since it's just about the most concise look at X/Y diversity I've ever seen. It's really wild to watch folks who copied off of my in high school biology act like they know more than actual scientists and doctors every single time I post it. --Find that post here:

#ParisOlympics2024

#OlympiansMadeHere

#olympicsboxing

(This originally called Joanne a bigoted uncle while still using her correct pronouns which I think conveys that she's basically the living embodiment of everyone's metaphorical racist uncle, gender be damned, but a few people felt it was misgendering her which was very much not the point so I changed it just to stop infighting since there's already plenty enough fighting with actual bigots to be doing.)

[schraubd]

Being Perpetually at the Mercy of the Arbitrary Negligence of the State is a Punishment

At the moment, we're seeing two somewhat orthogonal trends developing in conservative legal jurisprudence, both lawless, but in distinctive ways.

The first is an increasing indifference to textualism -- being perfectly happy to manipulate or flatly ignore statutory or constitutional language in order to achieve desired results. Yesterday's Clean Water Act ruling, where the Court held 5-4 that "adjacent" doesn't mean "adjacent" because, well, they don't want it to, is a prominent example. The "major questions" doctrine is another, including the invalidation of OSHA's COVID vaccine-or-test mandate despite the fact that it fell cleanly into the clear statutory language, is another. The Court's recent voting rights jurisprudence, featuring Shelby County's entirely-invented "equal sovereignty of the states" rule, is another. The Court's recent Second Amendment jurisprudence, which has functionally decided the first half of the Second Amendment's text may as well not exist, is a yet another.

The second, by contrast, is a sort of hyper-literal textualism that zooms in so tightly on individual words that it ends up blitzing past how people actually read texts. The opinion striking down mask mandates on planes is one example here; some of the opinions striking down the eviction moratorium fit as well. Though styled as "textualism", this sort of analysis really is a dangerous confluence of putative textualists being bad at reading texts.

Slotting into the latter category is a concurring opinion by 11th Circuit Judge Kevin Newsom in Wade v. McDade, arguing that the Eighth Amendment does not forbid any level of "negligent" treatment of prisoners by prison staff --  not negligent, not gross negligence, not even criminal recklessness.  Judge Newsom's argument is deceptively simple: the Eighth Amendment forbids cruel and unusual punishments. But a punishment, he says, can by definition only be imposed intentionally. There's no such thing as a non-intentional punishment. And negligence, in all of its species, is something less than intentional. Hence:

The undeniable linguistic fact that the term “punishment” entails an intentionality element would seem to preclude any legal standard that imposes Eighth Amendment liability for unintentional conduct, no matter how negligent—whether it be only “mere[ly]” so or even “gross[ly]” so.... So on a plain reading, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies only to penalties that are imposed intentionally and purposefully.

At one level, I appreciate Judge Newsom for saying the quiet part out loud here, because normally I'd spend time pointing out that Judge Newsom's position would warrant even the most grotesque acts of wanton disregard for the lives and wellbeing of prisoners. But Judge Newsom is quite happy to endorse (further) converting our prison system into a miniature gulag archipelago, so I guess I can skip that part and move to the textual question: is Judge Newsom's interpretation an "undeniable" inference from the term "punishment"?

And the answer, I think, is clearly "no".

At the outset of his opinion, Judge Newsom analogizes the negligent treatment of prisoners to that of parents and children: "Just as a parent can’t accidently punish his or her child, a prison official can’t accidentally—or even recklessly—'punish[]' an inmate." But in law, "accidental" and "intentional" are not an exhaustive binary. The whole purpose of the negligence and recklessness categories is to account for cases that lie between the pure accident and the specifically envisioned and desired consequence. And that makes sense, because while law contains different levels of "intent", legal fact patterns nearly always blend several of them together. 

Take a case where a speeding driver strikes a pedestrian with his car. Did the driver act "intentionally"? On one level, he was likely intentionally speeding (his foot wasn't literally glued to the gas pedal). On another level, he likely did not intend to hit the pedestrian (he did not seek to mow him down). Negligence captures the interstitial position where the driver intentionally acted in a fashion which foreseeably placed the pedestrian in danger (even if converting the danger into reality was not the driver's motivation). In this, negligence is very different from the pure accident not because it lacks intention, but precisely because of its intentionality.

Swap back to punishment. Imagine a more pre-modern society where we outsource punishment to private actors. I catch you stealing tools from my garage. As a consequence, I strip you of your clothes, take all the possessions you have on you (to make sure you have nothing you could attack me with), and drop you off in the middle of the woods without food or water which I can't be bothered to acquire for you, safely away from my house. You tell me "my pills are in my bag; if I don't take them each evening I might die!" I say "I don't care if you live or die. Oh, and watch out for the forest-dwellers -- they aren't always friendly." You do, in fact, have a seizure overnight and die. Are the actions I took "punishing" you?

Plainly, it seems the answer is yes. And this is so even if I genuinely was apathetic to whether you lived or died. Like the driver striking the pedestrian, my conduct is a mix of the purely intentional (I took your possessions, I dropped you off in the woods) and negligent/reckless (I do not care whether you have a stroke, I do not care if the forest-dwellers attack you). Being intentionally placed in a position where one's custodians do not care whether you live or die is obviously a punishment. Indeed, the fact that it's a "punishment" is the only thing that distinguishes it from pure sadism, abuse, or kidnapping. The fact that the seizure was not specifically intended doesn't change the fact that what happened to you in no way could be described as an "accident". It was the result of intentional actions, and the reason I acted in the way that I did -- with reckless disregard for your life or safety -- was very much tied to my desire to punish you.

In most prison litigation cases, there is similar "intent". The failure to, e.g., give a prisoner necessary medication isn't a wholly-accidental whoopsie-doodle (and if it is, then there isn't even negligence). It is an intentional choice. Indeed, a large part of what prison is, and what makes it such a terrifying prospect, is that it is a place the state sends you where the people who have control of your life do not and perhaps need not care if you live or die. Everything about that is intentional. Or put another way, the pervasive, heartless lack of intention is the intention -- being placed in such a situation is entirely the product of intentional choices at every step of the process.

There's a lot to dislike about the "deliberate indifference" standard which has taken over prison abuse litigation, but one thing it gets right is that indifference is absolutely a choice, not an accident. To fail to treat a person in your custody with requisite care is a choice, and it doesn't stop being a choice just because its foreseeable consequences were not expressly desired.

So what makes Judge Newsom go astray here? He seems to think we should chop up "punishment" into each potential negative experience one might have in prison. Being locked up, and being restricted from the yard, and being deprived of medication, and being placed in solitary, and being put into a cellblock with white supremacists liable to stab you -- each of these are separate (potential) "punishments" whose status as a "punishment" must be assessed atomistically. But this approach defies common sense. When someone is sentenced to prison for a crime, we don't think of it as a loose cluster of twenty or so discrete "punishments". It's one punishment. The punishment is being a prisoner and being subjected to the prison experience. Everything that happens in prison is part of the overall context of being punished. There is no need to parcel out individual moments and ask "but is this particular action a separate punishment", any more than we need to ask whether swinging bats in the on-deck circle or jogging out into the outfield is part of "playing a baseball game." It's all part of the game, and the hyper-zoomed-in focus on each discrete moment misses the forest for the trees.

In other words, while it may be true that something must be a "punishment" to fall under the auspices of the Eighth Amendment, all prisoners by definition are being punished. They pass that threshold categorically; none of them have been placed in jail by accident. At that point, the relevant question is whether the set of challenged actions or behaviors or what have you suffices to make that punishment into a "cruel and unusual" one. And certainly, being put in an Arkham City terrordome should qualify even (especially!) if the overseers assiduously do not care if you live or die. Perpetual, ongoing, systematic negligence (to say nothing of recklessness) towards persons who are helpless and in your care is one of the cruelest acts imaginable. Where that is part of the punishment, the punishment is cruel and unusual.

Judge Newsom concludes his opinion with the following:

Maybe it makes sense to hold prison officials liable for negligently or recklessly denying inmates appropriate medical care. Maybe not. But any such liability, should we choose to recognize it, must find a home somewhere other than the Eighth Amendment. We—by which I mean the courts generally—have been ignoring that provision’s text long enough. Whether we like it or not, the Cruel and Unusual Punishments Clause applies, as its moniker suggests, only to “punishments.” And whether we like it or not, “punishment[]” occurs only when a government official acts intentionally and with a specific purpose to discipline or deter.

This "whether we like or not" language is reminiscent of my Sadomasochistic Judging article. Judge Newsom seems to recognize the cruelty inherent in his position. But he leverages that cruelty into an argument for textual fidelity; the avoidance of cruelty is the hint that his colleagues have been led astray from the strictures of law. As I've demonstrated above, this isn't true; the text does not demand the cruelty Judge Newsom ascribes to it. But the pleasure of the pain of causing pain is too tempting to pass up. It's not good textualism that's motivating Judge Newsom. It's the ecstasy of bad textualism leading to bad results, whose badness is paradoxically metabolized as the purest and most faithful instantiation of textual loyalty.

via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/JxhXtDy

[almost-peterparker]

Possible

Chapter 1

Pairing: Sebastian Michaelis x reader

A/N: This will probably be on the longer side, I've been posting it on a03 as well.

Summary: //TW// abuse, strong language, violence, gore, etc. Also, the plot is going to be based on the manga! (Y/n) (L/n) was a relatively anti-social twenty-one-year-old. She had no real family, and she was really only close to one person, that person being Mara Kline. They were so close, in fact, that they did everything together. They would shop together, eat together, and most importantly (for Mara anyway), they watched Black Butler together. The two girls owned an apartment together, making this moderately easy. Mara had a very large hyper fixation on the anime, she was quite literally obsessed. One day, the two of them are riding around in Mara's vehicle. Mara, not paying quite as much attention as she should have been, allowed the two of them to get hit by another car. (Y/n) could have never imagined that this accident would cause the two of them to wake up in a familiar, yet unfamiliar setting. Nor could she have foreseen how it would change her life.

Word Count: 5475

Your eyes snap open as your alarm clock screams at you to get up after hitting snooze multiple times. Though, that wasn't what caused you to open your eyes. You had felt a weight on your bed. And as you squint through the sun's blinding rays, you can make out a silhouette. Mara is hovering over you holding a pillow as if she was going to smother you in your sleep, her dark hair dangling and framing her face as she eyed you. Her golden eyes were wide, apparently, she hadn't expected you to wake up before she ended your life. You groggily grab the pillow next to you, and you swing it blindly in the direction that you believe her to be in. You successfully nail her in the face with your pillow. You hear an "Oof!" as she backs away from your half-awake form. You sit up from your bed stiffly like a vampire from its coffin as you glare in her direction.

"Mara?" You question.

"Yes, (Y/n)?" She responds as if she had been doing nothing wrong.

"What the fuck?" You say as you finally blink the sleep from your eyes, staring at her. You can virtually see a halo over her head. "Well, you wouldn't quit hitting snooze on your alarms so, I only saw one reasonable solution." She smiles at you innocently. "Your reasonable solution was to just smother me in my sleep?" Your eyes narrow in her direction as she grins in response. 

This was the dynamic of your friendship. You could remember meeting Mara like it was yesterday. You had grown up in a pretty broken neighborhood, not many "good guys", so to speak. You weren't so good either. Whereas Mara was more fortunate and grew up pretty happy.

You had only met Mara about two years beforehand. The two of you met under some rather, unfavorable conditions. You grew up in a pretty shitty home, your father was a wanted murderer. Your parents were very neglectful; thus, you were always forced to sneak out of the house just to be free of them. By the age of seven, you became a great pickpocket due to your parents' neglect. You were rarely caught. Almost. The few times you had been caught ended up pretty ugly, you would end up being assaulted whether it be verbal or physical. You would acquire bruises and sometimes worse from the people you'd steal from. Worse treatment could be expected after your parents would find out. This worsened their neglect towards you as you essentially grew up without any form of love. You had plenty of scars and mental scars that you had acquired from your childhood. Though, you really just viewed them as growth points now. All of those experiences led you to the place in life that you were currently living in.

By the age of sixteen, you ran away. You began your own form of living. At this point, you were virtually undetected, you could steal from almost anyone and they never even noticed. You had become a great thief, so then, you can imagine how great you were by the age of eighteen. You were virtually undetectable now. And not to toot your own horn but, you were also considered quite the escape artist now if you ever were caught. You can get out of almost any situation now. 

But, back to Mara, the two of you still went to the same school but you were hardly ever present. You saw no point in attending. Though, your thievery was actually how you ran into Mara. As mentioned, she grew up rather well, meaning, she grew up with semi-wealthy parents who were never home. This naturally made her one of your targets at some point. She had just been jubilantly walking down the street, listening to music as she went. Though, she had been taking a different route home than normal, why? Her justification was a shrug and a simple 'I was bored, duh.' Anyhow, you had seen her inattentively making her way down the street. Mara was a very beautiful bronze-skinned woman, as aforementioned, she also had dark hair and golden eyes. She got quite a bit of attention.

Anyways, you'd noticed how well she was dressed and some of the items she had with her, as she went by, you also eyeballed a rather expensive necklace dangling from her pocket. Why? Again, the response to this after you'd asked her was a shrug, she said a guy she didn't much care for gave it to her, so she didn't care for it much either. This resulted in you snatching it from her pocket. But Mara was incredibly aware as she felt the weight of the necklace leaves her pocket. Though she didn't care for the necklace, she would be damned if she would allow someone to take something of hers. So, you briskly made your way down the street, not running, so as not to draw attention to yourself. Instead of calling for help a few minutes later as people typically did, you heard footsteps approaching you quickly. You spared a glance over your shoulder to see Mara charging full speed in your direction. You underestimated how fast this damn girl could run as you took off too. Mara was very well-versed in cardio and long-distance running.

You, however, were not.

Meaning, she caught up to you and practically tackled you to the ground. At the time, you'd been wearing baggy clothing and a hood over your head to make it incredibly difficult for others to determine your gender. Which seemed pretty important. Anyways, she had tackled you and flipped you over. You had expected her to start pummeling you the second she flipped you due to her weirdly strong nature. That wasn't the case because as soon as she pulled off your hood, she recognized you. "Hey...you're that girl from school. Don't we have a few classes together?"  So instead of calling the cops on you, like she probably should've, she told you that she wouldn't call them on one condition. That being that you had to tell her why you stole from others. Since you'd have rather not had the cops up in your business, you gave her a brief rundown, minus all the abuse and such. Anyway, this encounter somehow allowed the two of you to become friends. You believe it was because (F/n) pitied you, she disagrees though, she said she was just interested in you. 

This leads you to the point you're currently at, in your shared apartment as you glare at your friend for trying to assassinate you in your sleep over alarms.

You shake your head as you slide out of bed. "I was getting to it." You grumble as Mara just shakes her head, "You were not, you always say that. Anyways, you remember what today is, right?" She beams. "Of course, how could I forget?" You say while quirking a brow, "It's your birthday." That's right, it was Mara's birthday, meaning that she was now the same age as you. The two of you had roughly, a six-month age gap. So, nothing too large. "Meaning?" Mara questions excitedly.

"Meaning that just like the past two of your birthdays that I have spent with you, you're going to subject me to watching as much Black Butler as we can within a few hours while you fawn over Baldroy. Then, I'm going to take you to an anime merch store so you can find something either Black Butler related or just anime-related in general, that you absolutely need to have. So, then you can remind me that it is, in fact, your birthday so I can buy it for you." You state, smiling at her. The both of you only worked part-time due to Mara's parents literally paying for your apartment and virtually any essentials that either of you would need. So, your money was pretty much just "spending money", as Mara says.

She nods her head enthusiastically, you never understood how she could be so excited about doing the same thing that she does almost every day. You mentally shrug, not caring very much as long as she is happy. She quickly begins to move around your room, which was her preferred place to binge anime for some reason, as she sets things up for the two of you. As she was doing this, you went into the kitchen and proceeded to make yourself a bowl of cereal. When you arrived back at your room, the first episode was already on and paused. You walk in and you sit down next to her. She quickly, and rather excitedly hits play. You had watched this series enough times to practically be able to quote it. But who were you to deny (F/n) of this joy? As soon as Sebastian had started speaking on the screen, Mara said, "Hey, did you know that Sebastian's name is extremely similar to Sebastien Michaelis's, he was a French author from the 1600s who wrote a classification of demons in Hell." She always had some sort of fun fact for you as you watched.

After watching for about three hours, you had just finished the episode "His Butler, at the Funeral", Mara decided that was enough for the moment. She always hated seeing Madam Red die, it was one of her least favorite Black Butler moments. She rolls over on her bed and huffs before groaning. This causes you to raise an eyebrow at her. "What?" 

This causes her to turn to look at you, "They always kill my favorite characters." She says as she pouts. "Mara, you've seen the anime more times than I can count, you knew she died."

"I know...It's just sad. She didn't deserve it."

You shrug, "Well that's what happens when you start murdering people."

"She had a reason though!" Mara whined.

"Not a very good one, in my opinion. Now then," you say as you rise to your feet, "It's about midday now, do you want to go shopping? On our way back, we can get you a cake."

"Ice cream cake?" She asks as if you didn't already know that she wanted an ice cream cake rather than a regular cake.

"Yes. I will get you an ice cream cake, Mara." You respond while ushering her out of your room so that she can get changed.

The two of you get changed into more presentable clothing and then convene in the living room. "Oh! I wanna drive!" Mara smiles. "It's your birthday, shouldn't I be the one driving? You, letting you relax and such?" You respond, to which she replies with a shrug. "I just want to, you always drive. My birthday, my rules." She says grinning. You hold your hands up in mock surrender, "Whatever you say dude." 

You follow Mara out to her vehicle, she drives a black, 2011 Mustang. You loved her Mustang. It was just…nice. The two of you usually just shared her vehicle as well, other than work, you guys usually just traveled together. She hopped in the driver's seat, and she waited for you to follow suit. You climbed into the passenger seat and threw your seat belt on. “Alright, off we go,” Mara says, reversing. She whips her car out of the parking lot and drives down the street. Oh yeah, forgot to mention, Mara drives like she is absolutely fucking crazy. It's a wonder that she has never gotten either of you killed. Hence why you typically choose to drive. It was better for your health. 

After a seemingly endless, dangerous drive to the mall, the two of you managed to make it in one piece. Mara pulled the Mustang into the mall's parking lot. After parking the car, the two of you proceeded to get out and walk into the mall. Mara was already vibrating with excitement. You always saved plenty of money for her birthdays. In your mind, it was somewhat like repaying her for pulling you onto this new path of life that you walked. Mara and you began to bounce between all the anime shops. She was like a kid in a candy store, her eyes were practically glowing. She ended up purchasing a Demon Slayer poster, a tiny Itadori Yuji plush from Jujutsu Kaisen, and she had somehow managed to find a Baldroy Figure. He was holding a flame thrower and grinning with a closed-eyed smile. If there was something that anyone needed to know about Mara, it was that she adored Baldroy. He was by far her favorite character. You thought it was cute. You, personally, didn't really have a character preference when it came to Black Butler. You loved the servants. But you could see the pros and cons of almost every other character and therefore chose to remain neutral with your character opinion. Now, you love anime too. You just couldn't say you love it as much as your friend here does.

After a while of walking, the two of you stopped to have a bite to eat at the food court, you chose to get Chinese. After eating, Mara demanded that you read the fortune from your cookie out loud to her. Her request caused you to roll your eyes, but she reminded you that it was her birthday and she deserved 'princess-like treatment.' You broke the cookie and skimmed it before reading it aloud, "'A life-changing event will occur soon and you will reap fruit from it.' There, happy now?"  She nods before also reading hers out loud, "'Land is always in the mind of flying birds.' I don't even know what that means." Mara mutters. "It means you never realize what you miss until you're flying away for it. Kind of like how your parents go on trips all the time but then complain that they miss home," You shrug, "They're all just generic fortunes anyways. I don't believe they have much relevance." 

After you both finished eating you decided it was time to make your way back home. Not before stopping to pick up the ice cream cake, you had ordered from a local shop first. Heading out of the mall, the two of you got back into Mara's car and after a short trip, you had arrived at the cake shop. You directed Mara to stay in her vehicle whilst you went in to grab the cake. You actually knew the owner of the shop fairly well, he was around your age, maybe a few years older. His name was Santos, a very tall, friendly man with quite a passion for baking. 

You went into the shop, making small talk with Santos for a few minutes before he made his way back to the shop's freezer to grab your cake. After a moment, he walks back to the register, setting the beautifully decorated cake down. You paid for the cake, thanking him before heading back out to Mara's car. 

She seems very delighted after seeing the cake. "It's so pretty! He always does such a great job!" She praised the baker. You agreed. Then, the two of you began your journey back to your shared apartment. As you approached a stoplight, the two of you had heard sirens, you really thought nothing of it. Again, you still lived somewhat close to a bad neighborhood. The light shifted from red to green. Mara, not thinking anything of it, drove forward, again, she is kind of a reckless driver. She pulled forward very quickly, your gaze quickly turned out the passenger window as you heard the sirens blaring again. However, now they sounded too close. As you turn your head you see a large red truck absolutely flying in your direction. You could now see where the sirens were coming from, your eyes widened in horror as you watched the truck approach you way too quickly. Before you could even utter anything, the large truck slammed into your side of the vehicle. This caused Mara's Mustang to actually roll due to the force and speed that came at it. Glass and pieces of the car flew everywhere, and you felt several pieces fly into you. You, somehow still conscious but very much in pain, looked down to see a large piece of glass embedded in your chest. That was the last thing you saw before the Mustang landed its final roll leaving the two of you suspended upside down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You look around, only to see darkness. It felt almost as if you were floating. It was an endless void. Then suddenly, you can hear a multifarious voice whisper in your ear. 

"...gift...life..."

This left you confused, as you couldn't make anything else out of it. But as suddenly as you heard it, it was gone. After what seemed like a few more minutes, you suddenly see a very bright light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It felt like your head was splitting, causing you to groan, immediately registering the hard ground underneath you. You felt as if you didn't even have the energy to open your eyes. Therefore, you simply lay as you were for a moment. That was until you heard a very familiar voice groan as well. Mara. Suddenly, memories of the crash that you'd endured flash through your mind. Your eyes snap open, and you immediately sit up, looking down at your chest to see a fairly long vertical scar. "What's...going on...?" You mutter to yourself. "(Y/n)...?" You can hear Mara's question; you look around the room you're in only to realize you are in a cell... What the fuck? You see Mara lying across the cell from you. "Mara..." you say as you attempt to make your way to her only to realize that it feels like your body is made of Jell-O. She looks up after hearing your voice. She blinks a few times, apparently wondering the same thing as you.

"Mara?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?"

"Why on god's glorious green planet are we in what really looks like a jail cell?"

"I would really like to give you an answer to that one. But unfortunately, I'm at a loss."

After a few minutes, you realize you can actually feel your limbs now. You stand and stretch, "You remember what happened too, right? I'm not crazy?" You turn towards your friend. She hesitantly nods, "No I definitely remember my beautiful baby flipping. I also distinctly remember bashing my head in. when it happened." This causes you to nod, "I had a huge ass piece of glass that went right into my chest, and now..." You paused momentarily, looking back down at your chest, "It's like it happened but...it didn't? I clearly gained a scar from it." You looked back to Mara, approaching her. "You say you hit your head, right?" You asked, to which she nodded. You move her hair to the side as you see a scar that honestly kind of looks like Tanjirou's scar. "Dude, you kind of look like a whole ass main character right now." You say, examining the newfound scar. It seemed that there were no other new scars that had appeared either. "Oh my god! (Y/n)!" Mara exclaimed suddenly.

"What?" You asked, startled. "We never got to eat my cake!"

You sigh rather loudly, "That is definitely not what you should be focused on right now."

"So how are we here then?" Mara questions after regaining composure over the lost treat. "Well, let's think logically here." You say, thinking of any possible way that you could be here.

"There is no logic in this situation (Y/n)." Mara deadpans. "Apparently we should be dead but yet here we sit in a prison cell! You don't think that..." She pauses, trailing her words. "Oh my god (Y/n), we're in Hell!" She jumps up, clinging to you and immediately wailing. It's honestly comical. Mara continues, "I thought you would end up here because you're an asshole but...me?! I'm too pretty for hell!" 

You swear that in this moment she almost looks like an anime character. Something was obviously super fucked up here. "What do you mean that you thought I would end up here?!" You exclaim, immediately shoving off your distressed friend.

Apparently, the two of you screaming at each other was considered obnoxious. You soon heard footsteps. A bearded man approached your cell, "Shut up you lot! You'll be interrogated soon enough." You noticed that the man was wearing a very old-fashioned policeman's outfit. Like the weird tall hat, the button-down jacket, and all. You also noted the strong seemingly British accent he had. Mara's sobbing was immediately halted and with that, he walked away. 

You slowly turned to her; she did the same. "What the actual fuck...!" You whisper-yelled. "He was dressed like an old cop dude!" Mara whisper-shouted back.  You both stared at each other for a moment, absolutely perplexed.  As you sat in silence, you heard another pair of footsteps approaching your cell. Scratch that, it sounded like at least two people walking. The two of you locked eyes and stayed silent. After a moment, two guards showed up. They unlocked your cell, immediately putting cuffs on you. This caused you to huff and roll your eyes. You definitely did not like being handcuffed and could easily get out of them. But you knew Mara couldn't, so you decided to play nice and just follow the apparent officers. "Hey, why are we under arrest?! We were never given our rights or a cause!" Mara exclaimed. The officers just acted as if she wasn't even speaking. This caused Mara to grumble something about 'shitheads' under her breath. They led the two of you into a relatively large room with a wooden table in the middle. There were three chairs currently set up, two on the side closest to you and adjacent one on the other two. The officers had the two of you sit in the two chairs and gave no instruction other than to wait because whoever you were apparently going to be talking to was due to arrive soon. 

After they left the room Mara turned to you, "So, does this bring back any fond memories?" She asked with a shit-eating smile on her face. "Oh ha. Ha. Good one Mara, you're really a comedic genius, ya know?" You said with a flat voice and no expression on your face. This made her laugh, it's crazy how even in the worst situations, the two of you couldn't be serious at all. "So, I know you can get out of cuffs, why didn't you? You could have totally kicked those guys asses." 

You shrug in response, "I'd have to leave your ass behind and if I ever came back for you, I would have never heard the end of it." Before Mara could even give some sort of a response back, the two of you could hear keys being inserted into the door that you'd previously entered through. The two of you stared at each other before slowly turning to the door. 

"Right this way sir, they're in here." You heard one of the officers say. You saw the door open, and the officer let the guy he was talking to in. Your jaw nearly hit the floor. You whipped around to Mara to see the actual stars in her eyes. You knew this place was off! Other than the obvious dying and awakening here, this place seemed strange. The Officer let in someone who looked dead onto Ciel Phantomhive. He was adorned in his top hat and his overcoat cape thing. Right behind him, his stoic butler. And may I just say DAMN. There was literally no reasonable explanation for what you were witnessing right now. This had to be some sort of a joke. But how could it be when you had felt yourself die?

The Ciel doppelgänger took a seat across from Mara and yourself as the officer left the room. You were honestly surprised Mara hadn't said anything yet, glancing at her, she seemed speechless. She probably couldn't think of anything to say. That's rare. You remained quiet as the kid's cyan eye scrutinized the two of you. You glanced at the butler behind him, seeing that he was indeed doing the same. You broke the silence after a moment, "So, uh, what the fuck is going on?" The boy and his butler looked taken aback by your language for a moment before doppelgänger Ciel responded, "Who are you and where do you come from?" 

Your eyebrows rose for a moment. You then narrow your eyes at the kid, "Uh-uh short stuff, I asked you a question first, you snooze you lose." This caused the boy to glare at you, not liking the perfectly suited nickname that was acquired. "I'm interrogating you; I'll be asking the questions." 

Mara piped up, "Well, she did ask first. She can be pretty persistent; I promise it's just safer if you answer her first. Trust me." "Ciel" glanced at his butler before he resumed glaring back at you. "The two of you are suspected of being foreign spies. You were discovered in an alleyway in London. You were speaking incoherently, and the authorities were called on you. You were assessed based on your clothing and the strange flat glass boxes found on you. They were assumed to be weapons and you were assumed to be foreign spies. Thus, we were called. I am Ciel Phantomhive, the Queen's Guard Dog. This is my butler, Sebastian Michaelis."

Flat glass boxes...? Oh my god, your phones. No way. 

"Now I've answered your question, you're required to answer mine."  You looked at Mara, wide-eyed. She looked like she was about to burst a blood vessel. "Um okay, but you probably won't believe us, we're-" You were cut off by Mara. "HOLY SHIT! ARE YOU REALLY CIEL PHANTOMHIVE?? THIS CAN'T BE HAPPENING!"

This elicited a sigh from you, it was only a matter of time. She had been a ticking bomb since they'd walked in. "E-excuse me?" Ciel was taken aback by her sudden yelling. Sebastian seemed to feel similarly. You maneuvered your hands out of the cuffs you were wearing, unlocking with ease. You hadn't even realized you'd done it. You quickly slapped a hand on Mara's mouth, preventing any more shrieking.  Sighing again, you spoke, "See, I was getting to that part."

"How did you-" Ciel questioned astonished as he saw your currently free hands, Sebastian having his eyebrows raised as well. You cut him off by holding up a finger, "I'm gonna give you the run down, it's gonna sound crazy but at this point, I feel like I am. My name is (Y/n) (L/n) and my friend, Mara Kline, and I are seemingly from a universe that you don't technically exist in. You guys are fiction. Our universe or time period or whatever, I don't know, I'm not a scientist, is at least 120 years ahead of this one as well. We were in a fatal accident, at least that's how we remember it. We both remember dying. Then, like magic, poof! We wake up in the jail cell those assholes housed us in." You tried to make it as short and sweet as you possibly could. 

Ciel was silent, eye widened. He looked at his butler, Sebastian seemed fairly surprised as well, he looked like he wanted to say something. "Young master, if I may?" He asked for permission. Ciel nodded. "What evidence do you have to support this statement?" 

This caused you to quirk a brow as you locked eyes with the butler. "Really? The outfits aren't a giveaway? Neither are the accents and terminology that we've been using?" You heard Mara's muffled speaking coming from under your hand now as well. You turn towards Mara, "Alright, Mara, I'm going to take my hand off of your mouth now. No screaming, you got it?" You felt her nod in response. You slowly remove your hand. She takes a breath, "First of all, I can't believe I'm meeting you guys! It's a dream come true!" She exclaims while smiling, "Secondly, you mentioned, 'strange flat glass boxes', correct?" Ciel nodded in response. "Well, those will have all the proof you need. They're not weapons, they're our cell phones."

Ciel's brows furrowed as he looked at his butler, who also looked confused. "What is a... cell phone?" Ciel questions. "Well, the technical term is a mobile or portable phone. It enables a user to communicate almost anywhere in the world. They could be considered similar to how you use letters." You answer matter-of-factly. They still seemed lost. Mara sighed, having calmed, "Do you know where they are?"

"Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord." 

Sebastian pulled out your phones from one of his pockets before handing them to you. Mara attempted to grab hers, but she was still unfortunately handcuffed. She pouted. This left you to show your phone to the boy and his butler. They were astonished as soon as you'd turned it on. You explained a few simple concepts to them while allowing them to see and hold the device, proving that it wasn't a threat. 

They seemed content after a few minutes. Well, as content as anyone could be in their situation. Sebastian's eyes went down to your uncuffed wrists, and he said, "By the way, Miss, (Y/n), was it? Pray tell, how did you manage to get your handcuffs off?" 

"Oh right! That reminds me," You turned toward Mara, seemingly pulling the handcuff key from thin air, "Let me help you." You unlocked Mara's cuffs, and she immediately pocketed her phone, grateful they didn't see hers due to the amount of Black Butler content on it. Ciel, again, looked shocked, "How did you acquire that key." You shrug, "No one really pays enough attention." You responded. Mara grinned in response, "Who knew that your skills would help us one day?" 

That definitely piqued the Earl's interest. "Skills?" He inquired. "Oh, it's nothing." You respond. "Nothing?" Mara chimed, "Ol' (Y/n) here is a professional thief." This caused you to sigh and drag a hand down your face. 

"Mara?"

"Yes, (Y/n)?" 

"Remember when I had a conversation with you explicitly saying that you probably shouldn't just tell people that?" 

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Ciel had been having a silent conversation with his butler while your banter was occurring. He cleared his throat, causing the two of you to look at him. "I have decided that since the two of you are, in fact, not from this time period, nor this universe, you will be coming back to my manor with me." Mara almost lost it. She was pretty much bouncing in place. You sighed. 

"(Y/n), you will now be my 'self-defense' personal trainer from now on. Somewhat of a guard. If you can escape that easily while also being undetected, I want you to be with Sebastian and me on cases. And you, Mara, what can you do?" Ciel quirked his brow. Mara grinned, "I can cook really well!" You nodded in agreement to her statement. "Is that so?" Ciel asked, "Very well, you'll be assistant to the head chef."

Her eyes almost blew out of the socket. She'd be working with Bard. She looked at you, grinning and vibrating in place. 

"Good luck." You laughed at her condition while the other two looked rather concerned.

After this, Ciel asked what you knew about them. Mara and you had decided that it would be safer to not tell them that you knew everything that would happen if this world followed the anime. "Well, we know that Sebastian and you have a contract and that he's a demon," Mara stated, shrugging. Ciel nodded and then made sure that neither of you was going to spill that as soon as he took you away from here. You swore that you wouldn't, of course.

Ciel then ordered Sebastian to go inform the officers of what would be happening and for him to fetch the carriage. It took about twenty minutes but, you were finally able to leave. You stepped outside and took in your surroundings. Everything was vastly different from what you were used to. Sebastian assisted Ciel and Mara into the carriage, this nearly caused her to faint, of course. He offered you his hand, with his fake little closed-eyed smile. You had always found it slightly unnerving. You declined his offer and just hopped up into the carriage, taking your seat next to Mara. Your rejection had caused the butler's eyebrows to rise, but nothing more. He closed the door and then you were off. After about ten minutes, you were out.

You were awoken by Sebastian opening the door to the carriage. Also, Mara shaking you and completely freaking out. You looked to where she was looking, and your eyes widened as your jaw dropped. The manor was huge! Mara jumped out of the carriage before Sebastian could assist her, followed by you. You stood in awe as you took in the scenery. You couldn't help but think about how beautiful it was. Your thoughts were quickly broken by Sebastian, however. "Lady Mara, Lady (Y/n)."

"Welcome to the Phantomhive Manor."

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 7: I Hope I Never Lose You

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

Summary: Michael and you both find comfort in each other over some Chinese takeout, he starts taking Birdy’s advice, and somehow you both end up on the dining table.

Warnings: Angst, mentions of a car accident & child death, hurt/comfort, fluff, like this is sweet, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v, dirty talk, choking, marking kink, anywhere but a bed, gentle intimacy/aftercare

Word Count: 6.8k

A/n: So, this was supposed to be just fluff, but these two had a mind of their own and they ended up fucking. Again. But in this case it’s just passion and not necessarily to forget something. They’re just horny little bastards. But can you blame them?

The newspaper clippings feel brittle in your hands. The paper has been locked inside and moved around continuously for six years. Dark dots adorn the written text underneath the headline. The tears have long dried into the paper, but it has turned gray where the wetness used to be. 

Underneath the many articles that are held together by a pin, you find a picture. The quality isn’t the best – It was an old camera that took the picture nine years ago, not some hyper-modern smartphone with a camera quality that competes with reality.

Your eyes scan the face of the newborn wrapped in her pink baby blanket. The faces of the adults around her seem happy, the smiles honest. In every picture, the baby is being handed around. You have studied them for years, and you always skip most of them until you reach the most important one, and that is Maya, her back then still small arms holding the newborn as you’re sitting beside her. But you don’t matter, only the two children are the focus of your attention. 

Breaking News: 2 injured and 1 dead in a car accident off the M25 Motorway.

Your fingers scan the article as if it were Braille. 

Yesterday around 17:46, a truck crashed into a small van on its way out of Greater London. The three-year-old girl in the passenger seat and the truck driver, 41, were air-lifted to the hospital. The driver of the van, the three-year-old’s father, only sustained minor injuries. The doctors tried to save the girl’s life, but they declared her brain dead early this morning. The truck driver is reportedly stable after surgery, but he has still not woken up. Details about the nature of the accident are still unclear. Police are now investigating both the father and the truck driver for reckless driving to bring some closure to the little girl’s family.

You slap the drawer of your desk shut when you hear the sound of a fist banging at your door. You wipe the stray tear that escaped your eye, hoping your state of mind isn’t too obvious, and you lock the drawer again. 

Michael is about to knock again when you finally open the door. His intuition tells him something is wrong. You meet him with a smile that almost looks pained, and your cheeks are red; your cheeks only redden when you blush or you have been crying. 

“Hey,” you greet him. 

He steps past you into the apartment. “Hey,” he says. 

You offer to take his coat, but he does it himself, retrieving the folder inside. 

“I’ve got my records,” he tells you. “All of them. I wasn’t sure what we needed.”

You smile at him. “That’s okay.”

“Are ya?”

“What?”

“Okay?” Michael asks. 

Your mind is a treacherous place. You can feel yourself tearing up again at his question. The answer is obvious, but you can’t admit that you’re not okay because you feel stupid enough already.

The day has gone well except for a few minor bumps, and you broke your own heart by going through the drawer again that you keep locked, even from yourself, for a reason. If anything, you think, this is your fault. 

You take a small step forward. He watches you intently. Your eyes switch to his arms, then to his face almost guiltily. You could have just asked, but you’re not sure how to voice what you need. 

He puts the folder down and opens his arms slowly. You bridge the gap between you, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. You don’t cry, you only hug him, and he doesn’t hesitate to hug you back. You don’t have to tell him that you’re not okay, he can tell by the way you’re squeezing him. 

“Was it a bad day, or–”

You shake your head. “I just…” you swallow. 

“Needed a hug?” he finishes. 

“Yeah,” you say.

“Okay.”

It feels nice to be on the receiving end of a hug for once, but as you hold onto him and his hands roam your back, the intensity of his touch tells you that you are not the only one who needed a hug. 

“Are you okay?” you dare to ask, your voice muffled through his chest.

He chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, “I am now.”

“Okay.”

Michael leans down to press his lips to your scalp. “Ya hungry?”

You pull away to look up at him through tired eyes. “A little,” you say. 

“Let’s order somethin’, hm?”

“Chinese?”

“Sounds grand,” he agrees. 

He brushes a strand of hair out of your face. His lips ghost over yours with a soft smile before he finally kisses you. It’s a gentle kiss, his finger tilting your chin up, and he seems to pour all of his unspoken feelings into it. 

You melt into him, your arms still around his waist. Your fingers tangle in his shirt, not wanting to let go. He is warm and he smells good, and he feels soft all over. Sometimes, when things are too soft, they trigger you, but he is just the kind of gentle comfort you need. 

An hour later, the two of you are sitting at your dining table, Chinese takeout before you. Michael ordered himself some dumplings and spring rolls while you settled for sushi. He told you he hates sushi, which sparked a small argument because, “How the fuck can you hate sushi, Michael? Even the fried ones?”

He told you, “Because I hate fish.”

“It’s not fish, it’s literally vegetarian Sushi,” you said. 

He was hesitant to try a piece, but he did it for your sake. You have never seen anyone’s face contort so fast than when Michael put the piece of Avocado Maki into his mouth. He tried to look like it didn’t bother him, but you could tell he was trying hard not to gag. 

Needless to say, you have accepted that he doesn’t like Sushi. He truly looked like he was disgusted to his very core, and you don’t want to force him to like something that a lot of people don’t like, anyway. You’re not that type of person. 

He watches you as you finish your last few bites. It took you a while longer because you stole one or two dumplings from his plate while he wasn’t looking and he ended up giving you half of his spring rolls because suddenly, you wanted spring rolls, too. He didn’t mind.

You are a food thief first and a clothes thief second, you told him, and that elicited that beautiful smile and a soft laugh from him; he sounds so beautiful when he laughs, and you find yourself staring at him in awe across the table. 

You can't help but be captivated by the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs, and the dimples that he has. It's moments like these that remind you why you're so drawn to him. He has a good heart and the aura that surrounds him isn't dark because he's dangerous, he's just in pain, and beyond that pain, there is light to be sought out. 

“What?” he asks, his laughter dying down into a soft smile.

You raise your eyebrows, your face still propped up on your hand. “What?” you ask him. 

“Why’re ya lookin’ at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“That.” Michael points at your face. “I don’t know.”

A faint blush spreads across your cheeks. “Maybe I just like staring at you,”  you say. 

Michael's eyes widen slightly. "Wha'?" he replies. 

“I like staring at you.”

That seems to throw him off a little. He opens his mouth, but the words won’t come out, so he looks down at the table and chuckles a little awkwardly. His hand reaches up to touch his beard, occupying his nervous fingers. 

“Wait,” you eye him curiously, “Did I just get you flustered?”

He stammers, the blush on his cheeks spreading to what little you can see of his chest through the collar of his shirt. He has often got lost in the glow of your eyes. Even when you look tired, you are still the most beautiful creature in the world. You are real, you are human, and he appreciates that. He knows you are hiding something, but at that moment, when his eyes meet the mischievous glint in your eyes, he only sees the woman he met in the café that put a smile on his face – a real one, at that. 

You continue putting a smile on his face, even back at his house. Birdy is observant and a romantic, but she wouldn’t say that he looks happy with you for no reason. She meant it. And he does feel a flutter in his stomach every time he as much as thinks about you. He’s scared, still, but Birdy’s words moved something in him. He doesn’t want to lose you, and as you’re staring at him, he realizes that you might be feeling the same way. 

You’re a captivating person, enchanting even. He hasn’t seen such beauty in a while. Inside and out, you fill his heart with warmth. Your words have become his favorite audiobook, and your voice reminds him of a gentle symphony radiating all kinds of emotions to make the listener feel something. And he feels something when he sees you, hears you, and feels your skin against his. 

You tilt your head a little, still propped up on your hand, and smile at him. Your smile grows cuter by the second, and maybe you’re a little shy now. 

“I, uh…” he licks his lips. “I like starin’ at ya, too.”

“You do?” you ask, and now it’s your turn to be flustered. 

“Yeah. Yer beautiful.”

“Oh…” You look away. 

He reaches out to pull the hands that want to cover your face. “Don’t go shy on me now, love,” he says. 

You meet the honey of Michael’s irises, and it’s a sweet taste that explodes on your tongue and spreads through your body, functioning as a balm and warming you up. You forget about everything else for a moment and focus slowly on him. 

In your eyes, Michael Kinsella is a rare creature. He seems to have been taken straight from a work of fiction. He’s the dark, mysterious character with a world full of secrets but a heart of gold. And he loves with utmost devotion, something that is rare in most human beings these days. He has a tragic beauty about himself, his soul scarred from decades of pain, his life a series of traumatic memories, but he is still standing, and he is trying to be better. He’s trying to find a purpose, which is probably the most admirable because it is one of the hardest tasks in anyone’s life.

You look up to him. You’re not sure why, but you do. He’s shared so much about himself already, and something seems even more open now that he’s back. You feel a little guilty for keeping all of your pain from him after he opened up about his wife and entrusts you with helping to get his daughter back, which is a huge display of trust, but you don’t know how to tell him, and you don’t know if you even really want to. 

This is a part of you that is very personal, and knowing Michael, he will lose it when he finds out the truth. You haven’t seen him angry before, but you have been watching people closely all your life; he is shy on the outside and he can be nice, but he can also get really angry when someone crosses him or the people he cares about. You don’t want him worrying about you. 

He cradles your cheek and you grab his wrist instinctively, holding him there as you lean into his touch. “Where did ya just go?” he asks quietly. 

“Just thinking,” you admit just as quietly. 

“About what?”

You shrug, your eyes fluttering closed when he starts rubbing his thumb along your cheekbone. 

“Has no one ever taken care of ya before?” 

“No.”

“Am I the first man who makes ya feel…”

“Loved?” you ask. 

He nods. “Yeah, loved.”

“Most of the men I’ve been with were assholes. They didn’t care.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, my friend says I just know how to pick ‘em.”

Michael chuckles softly. “Is that why ya went fer me?” he says.

“You’re not an asshole, Mikey.”

Your words leave the air heavy with tension. He exhales, cradling your face a little tighter now and you whimper, your mind slipping further into a fog with every stroke of his thumb along your skin. 

He lets go of your cheek. You open your eyes lazily and look at him with a frown. He opens his arms. “C’mere,” he says. 

You’re out of your chair faster than you can think. 

Without hesitation, you respond to Michael's invitation. Your heart races with anticipation as you swiftly leave your chair behind. You seat yourself in his lap, pulling your legs up and curling into his chest. His hand comes to rest on your cheek again, this time holding you tight against him, his heartbeat thudding right where your ear rests. You melt into his embrace. You are scared of uncertainties, but his arms encircle you tight enough to form a shield against them. Everything else fades away, leaving only the two of you.

You take a deep breath, inhaling the scent that is uniquely him—notes of earthy cologne mixed with a hint of vulnerability. It's a fragrance that lingers in your senses.

“You smell good,” you murmur. 

He chuckles. “Thanks,” he says. 

“Like you… and me.”

“That’s ‘cause I used your shampoo.”

“I know.”

“Makes my hair soft.”

“I know.”

“And shiny.”

Your smile widens and you giggle into his chest. “It does look very shiny, yeah,” you say. 

He sighs, his turn to inhale your scent. It’s like a warm hug, and he can’t believe he gets to hold you like this. “God,” he almost growls. His nose is still buried deep in your hair. “Ya have no idea how much I love having ya in my arms, pet.”

You shiver slightly. “You do?” your voice sounds hoarse. 

“Yeah.” Michael holds you tighter, his lips attacking your scalp gently with kisses. It’s almost as if he wants to eat you, and you relax completely under his touch as he showers you with some much-needed affection.

You forget the folder on the table, the secrets between you, your day at work, and the stranger that freaked you out enough to send your mind reeling like a hamster running for its life in a wheel. You forget all about it and let him take care of you. You are too tired to protest, anyway. 

His hand comes to rest around your throat, and you moan softly. He’s setting you on fire without even trying. His touch is possessive and yet it carries an electric current that courses through your veins. 

You feel the weight of the world slipping away, replaced by an overwhelming sense of vulnerability. In his grasp, you find solace. He brings you back from the brink of losing your sanity, and you are eternally grateful he found the switch to turn the voices off. 

He whispers your name. You hum in response. 

“Thank you,” he says. 

“For what?” you ask. 

“Helpin’ me. With the job, Anna, myself, I–” He takes a deep breath. He doesn’t use many words most of the time, so holding up a conversation as vulnerable as this one still comes as a struggle to him. “I’m just thankful for ya,” he says. 

You smile, sitting up in his lap and making sure you straddle him so you can look into his eyes. Your hands rest on each side of his face now. “You’re so very welcome, darling,” you say. 

Michael rests his hands on the bare skin of your hips under your shirt. “While I was at the house, Birdy came t’see me.”

“Birdy?”

“Yeah, she’s– she’s family. I– She’s the one who’s been there fer me the most, and she always cares ‘bout everyone around her. She takes care of me. She always has. I don’t ask her to, but she does it anyway. She’s the heart and soul of this family.”

You tilt your head to the side. “Okay…”

“She asked me about ya,” he says. 

“Oh,” you gasp softly. 

“Not– not in a bad way. I promise, yer not in danger or anythin’, but… when Jimmy and I were fightin’, they heard your name. But Birdy… she understands, so I told her that I’m stayin’ with ya and she said… she told me I should be happy, and I am happy with ya, or somethin’ like that, and she said she’d try to keep the rest of my family off our asses so I can focus on Anna.”

You pause and look into his eyes for a moment before you say, “Aren’t you supposed to make me not like them?”

His chuckle sounds broken, but he smiles anyway. “Birdy’s nice,” he says. 

“I can tell.”

“And she said she likes ya.”

“She has never met me.”

“She still does.”

“Ugh, I can’t hate someone who likes me.”

Burying his head on your shoulder, Michael laughs. 

“Seriously, that’s unfair. Can’t she be a cunt like your brother and his snitch of a wife?”

His mind takes a moment to process your words before his laughter picks up again and he stares directly at you. “Did ya–” he clears his throat. “Jesus, did tha’ really just come out of your mouth?”

“What?” you ask. 

“The word ‘cunt’ as an insult.”

“What, I’m not allowed to say it?”

He pulls you closer. “I didn’t even know ya were capable of cussin’ someone out!”

“I’m not a total church girl, Michael,” you retort. 

The amusement in his eyes is clear. “Oh, I’m well aware of that,” he says. “Yer not the type o’ girl who prays.”

“It’s not what I usually get on my knees for, no.”

He chuckles, the sound resonating deep within his chest. You expected him to get flustered, but instead, his eyes glaze over and he smirks at you. His fingers graze the small of your back, creating a tingling sensation that travels up your spine. You shiver, your inside curling. You want to clench your thighs, but his thighs keep you trapped. You're burning, and the heat travels from your cheeks between your legs, straight to your core.

Michael eyes you hungrily. “And what’s that?” he asks, his voice husky. “What do ya get on your knees for, pet?”

“Well, Mr. Kinsella,” you whisper, “I get on my knees for one thing only...” Your fingers tangle in the hairs on the nape of his neck. He sucks in a sharp breath when you tug at them, the pain stinging his scalp, but it causes his blood to wander. 

“Yeah?” he breathes.

His eyes never leave yours. You trace a finger along the strong line of his jaw, reveling in the way his body responds to your touch. “Yeah… Just one thing.”

“Tell me.”

“You.”

His fingers dig into your skin hard enough to leave marks. “Fuck!”

“I would kneel for you, Michael,” you say. 

“Yeah?” he asks again. 

“Yeah.”

You can feel his breath on your lips as he leans in. "I want ta have ya at my mercy," his voice caresses your ear like velvet.

Your fingers travel higher, feeling the soft brown hair between your fingers. They feel like a gentle breeze on a cozy autumn night. They remind you of the coffee you sell every time the weather gets particularly cold, but inside the café, the world becomes a warm sanctuary. 

His hands are hot though. They are like a candle with a smoldering fire, and as it falls, it sets everything else around it on fire, too. His nails scratch over your hips slightly and your entire body quivers above him. 

His gaze darkens with primal hunger. “You have no idea,” he says, “how much I ache to possess ya.”

You started this. This is your fault.

His lips press to the shell of your ear – they don’t just hover, he’s pressing them directly to it, and he injects his words into your bloodstream. “I want to push ya to the edge, to make you mine in every way I can imagine. To mark ya, body and soul. I want to feel ya come around my cock over and over again, mouth, cunt, everywhere until ya can't remember your name anymore,” he whispers, “I want to hear ya moan my name so loud, your neighbors complain, and then I want t’ do it again and again and again until yer drippin' with my cum inside ya.”

Your jaw slacks and you let out a loud and needy moan. 

His hands move from your hips to your ass and he lifts you far enough to push your clothed core down on his half-hard cock. You instinctively hold onto his shoulders, your red face burying in the crook of his neck. 

“What’s wrong?” Michael coos. “Can’t take it?”

That’s not the problem. You want to take it and you know you can, but he is making you feel this way without even touching you, and that’s what makes your head so dizzy, you feel like you’re about to fall.

You can barely catch your breath, the anticipation building to a fever pitch. “Please, Michael,” you respond so desperately needy. 

“Get on your knees.”

Your legs are wobbly when you stand. He pushes his chair back slightly to offer you some room between his spread thighs. As uncomfortable as the floorboards are, you ignore the pain. You want this. You didn’t lie when you said he is the only thing you would get on your knees for. There is no space for God or Jesus, it’s only you, and it can’t be a sin to want to suck someone’s cock so badly as you want his. It’s only natural when someone lays their eyes on him, you’re sure. 

Michael's gaze is intense as he looks down at you. He reaches down to cup your cheek. “Yer so beautiful on your knees f’me,” he says. 

You clench your thighs, hoping to somehow soothe the ache in your core. The anticipation is almost unbearable, making you ache for his command. You want nothing more than to open your pants and touch yourself, your panties soaked and your cunt aching for attention. 

“Please,” you whimper. 

“Patience, pet. Let me admire you.”

His definition of admiring you is undressing you with his eyes, thinking about all the ways he can have your body right here right now, and he craves you like the most delicious drug. He craves the high, the feeling of being consumed by you as he tears orgasm after orgasm out of you. You look so pretty, and you sound so beautiful.

Your hands rub his thick thighs absentmindedly. He smiles. Deciding to have mercy on you, he undoes his belt with one hand. You watch intently until he starts to struggle and you help him pull his pants down. His jeans pool around his ankles, and you’re quick to free his cock from his boxers. It springs up against his stomach and you’re so turned on, you can feel drool trickling down your chin. 

Michael brushes your hair back. “Are you sure ya want t’do this?” he asks. 

“Yes,” you choke out. “Please, may I?”

He nods. “Of course, yeah.”

You adjust yourself and lean forward, your hands still braced on his thighs, and you lick a long stripe along the underside of his shaft. 

He grips the edge of his chair and grunts. His hand tangles in your hair instantly, not pushing you but simply holding onto you. Your tongue traces the veins on his cock, drawing pictures over the most protruding one. You move higher now, teasing his tip, and his head falls back. 

Michael stares at the ceiling which looks like the night sky in the darkness. The heat of your mouth engulfs him and he believes he’s in heaven.

You’re good at this, he won’t lie. The way you play with his slit, the mushroom tip of his cock, before taking him into your mouth. It’s only the tip at first, too, but you eventually hollow your cheeks and take him down your throat. It’s a bit of a struggle, but you’re nothing if not determined. Your hand makes up for what you can’t take, jerking him off right above his balls before you finally start moving. 

Looking down at your hooded eyes and tear-stained cheeks, he has to dig his nails into his palms to stop himself from coming right there. 

You start moving faster, paying special attention to his tip whenever you pull off. You suck on the most sensitive part of him and he’s alive; he’s so alive, his heart starts to race. He can feel everything, the heat of your mouth, the cold of the chair, and the sweat that is trickling down his forehead. 

He grunts, tightening his grip on your hair. “Fuckin’ hell!” he moans, guiding your head ever so slightly. He tells you what pace he prefers, and you keep it that way. 

Your head bops up and down in a steady rhythm, his cock heavy on your tongue, but the taste causes your mind to spin and ache for more, more, more–

His toes curl and he twitches in your mouth when you fondle his balls. Looking up at him, you can’t help but moan at the sight. His mouth is agape, his head tilted back to reveal his perfect neck, and the veins on his forearm are popping. You clench your thighs tighter as you continue to suck the soul out of him through the very tip of his cock. 

Michael has dreamt about this before, but neither your hand nor your mouth come close to what he jerked himself off to. You’re so much better. It’s a lewd thought, even now, but you are so fucking good, you push him further and further and right to the edge of the cliff. He throbs, he whines and he moans, his noises spurring you on even more. 

You want to make him come, you need to. You are more than willing to swallow everything he has to give and more. He sounds delicious and he looks even more so. You want to lick his chest hair that is poking out of his shirt, ride his thigh, maybe even rub your clit along his abs as you make yourself come. It is an utterly selfish thought, but the pleasure he brings you is overwhelming and drives you further toward the edge. And you’re only sucking his cock, which is something that has never turned you on before. 

“Love, I’m gonna– fuck, if ya don’t want it in your mouth–”

You cut him off by patting his chest, telling him that it’s okay, he can come in your mouth; you want him to. 

Your eyes roll back when he tugs at your hair, the pain mingling with pleasure, and the vibrations of your delicious moans are enough to make his balls tense under your touch and then he’s coming, hard, with probably the best orgasm he’s ever had in his life. 

You try not to gag as the rather salty taste of his cum fills your mouth. You swallow every last drop, suckling on his tip until he’s whimpering above you, overstimulated and spent. You pull off then, cum trickling down your chin and throat and down the valley of your breasts. 

Michael has zoned out, his eyes fixated on your face, your swollen lips, and the mess he’s made out of you – but he is probably the biggest mess out of both of you.

You blink up at him. “How was that?” you ask, your voice sounding way too innocent for what you just did. 

His breath shudders. “Do–” he swallows. “Do ya have any idea how fuckin’ hot that was?”

“No,” you say. 

“Fuck,” Michael growls, hoisting you up. 

He doesn’t pull you back into his lap, instead, he meets you halfway and captures your lips in a searing kiss. You moan into his mouth, his cum mixing with his saliva in your mouth; you’re addicted now, too. 

The empty takeout containers fly to the floor, the folder with his records and CV sliding to the other end of the table as he wipes it clean to lift you on it. You scramble to sit down as he pulls your hips flush against his. 

He turns into an animal then. 

Your shirt suffers when he can’t manage to get the buttons, so he decides to tear it open. You gasp, but not because you’re mad. It is probably the hottest thing he has ever done. 

Your bra joins your shirt on the floor, his lips wrapping around your nipple. He doesn’t gently suck like he did the first night; he pulls on it with his teeth, almost taking your entire breast into his mouth, and you never thought that possible. He assaults your chest with such vigor, you’re a quivering mess in seconds. He toys with your buttons, pulling and sucking at your sensitive nipples until they’re hard, swollen, and red. There is a hickey on your right breast, and he admires his work. He has marked you, and this time everyone will be able to see it when you wear even the slightest hint of cleavage. 

His pants are already gone. Yours are the only ones in the way. Lifting your hips, he pulls your jeans down. He misses your panties, which seems to frustrate him, but then he tears that piece of fabric, too, and you moan. Whatever got into him, you are wetter than the Atlantic Ocean and he will have no problem sliding right–

Your head flies back when his cock penetrates your tight walls, your lips parting in a silent scream. He thrusts into you without warning, pulling your hips flush against his, and you cry out. He manages to hit the secret spot inside of you just right the first time as if memorizing it, and your legs wrap around his waist. 

For a few seconds, Michael doesn’t move. He stays buried with his cock deep inside of you, head dropped into the crook of your neck, his jaw slack as he pants into your skin, and you hold him close. Your cunt adjusts to his size rather quickly, but he needs a second to revel in the feeling of your velvety walls around him. 

“You okay?” you ask. 

He nods. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.” 

Something snaps inside of him and in only a few seconds, the dining table is shaking underneath your ass as he pounds into you. You hold onto his hair, nails dragging down his back, trying to get his shirt off so you can reach more skin. He’s fucking you so deliciously, the moans tumble from your lips in ecstasy. 

Somehow, you manage to remove the last piece of clothing between you, and he dives in for a kiss. Your tongues clash. His hips snap against yours. Deep, hard strokes seem to be his favorite thing because it’s what he goes for this time, too. He hits all the right places, his fingers leaving indentations in your skin. 

“Fuck,” you moan into his ear. 

His tongue licks over your neck. “Yer so fuckin’ perfect,” he breathes. 

You clench when he hits your G-spot. His name comes in labored breaths out of your mouth, and he swallows them with his plump lips. 

“Can’t stop thinkin’ about fuckin’ you every second of every fuckin’ day, pet. Such a perfect little cunt, and only fer me.”

“Oh, God!”

You’re worried the table might break. 

He kisses your neck, sucking a mark into the skin over your pulse point. You’re going to be purple and bruised tomorrow, and you’re going to get several comments at work, but you don’t want him to stop. It’s good to be owned by him. You want people to know you’re his and no one else’s to have. It fills you with pride, and you know he feels it, too. 

Your eyes meet when he lifts his head, his thrusts faltering for a moment as he holds eye contact. You gasp, stroking through his sweaty hair. “You’re beautiful,” you whisper. 

He stifles his moan in your neck, holding you impossibly closer as he continues thrusting slow and hard. 

“Fuck, baby,” you dig your nails into his back, “Right there…”

He knows he’s doing it right, he can feel your pussy tightening around him, but he still makes sure to do it even more perfectly to give you the pleasure you deserve. 

His hand finds your neck, squeezing tightly just below your jaw, and your eyes roll back into your head. He remembered. 

Just when you’re about to reach between you to rub your clit, he forces your hand away and takes over, his thumb rubbing circles over the sensitive nub. The added stimulation together with his hand around your throat makes you see a sky full of stars in your ceiling, and you try to meet his thrusts as the knot in your stomach tightens and you’re about to fall off the precipice. 

He bites your bottom lip. “Ya like that, huh?” he asks, his thumb rubbing faster over your clit. “Ya like it when I fuck ya, pet? When I make ya come? When I show ya what it’s like to be properly fucked?”

You nod and pathetically whine, “Yes! Please, Mikey.” It sounds almost like you’re sobbing. “So good, please.”

Michael reads the signs of your body perfectly because he pushes you back and pulls your hips into his. It allows his thumb more space to touch your clit, and the angle at which he hits your cervix makes it all too much to bear. 

Your back arches off the wooden tabletop and you come without a warning, your walls spasming almost brutally around his cock that is still sensitive from the already heavy orgasm you gave him before, and with a few more heavy thrusts, a grunt escapes him and he falls on top of you as his cum spurts into your tight cunt. 

You catch him with a hand on the back of his neck, your legs still wrapped around his waist. He stiffens completely, every last drop filling you to the brim, and you whimper at the feeling. It’s incredible, and it’s a part of him you get to have inside of you. He’s a territorial person, but so are you.

He is the first man you have ever let come inside of you without a condom, but he makes it worth it. 

His bicep tenses as Michael lifts himself, a strand of hair falling into his face in the process. “Jesus Christ,” he says. 

Your chest heaves. “Yeah,” you say. 

“Are ya–” he cradles your face with an almost concerned look. “Are ya alright?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I didn’t mean to be so rough, I–”

“I liked it,” you cut him off. He’s cute when he overthinks something as simple as sex. You reach up and gently brush the strand of hair away from his face. “I'm more than alright,” you assure him. “I’m perfect.”

His shoulders visibly relax. “Perfect, huh?” he repeats, a hint of a smirk appearing on his lips. “Well, I'm glad you think so. Wouldn't want t' disappoint ya.”

You let out a soft laugh. “Trust me, Michael, there's no disappointment here. Quite the opposite, actually.”

He presses a tender kiss against your forehead. “Okay, good.”

You close your eyes. You’re both a mess and the position gets more uncomfortable with every second, but he has hoisted you up in no time after pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. He slips out of you, carrying your sweaty body in his arms toward the bathroom. You cling to him with a content smile, your legs shaking, but you can’t complain. 

Once inside the bathroom, he carefully sets you down. The room is filled with the sound of running water as he adjusts the temperature, ensuring it's just right for you. He remembers you prefer the sizzling temperature of lava; he likes it cold. After the first shower together, you managed to find a middle ground together that doesn't burn his skin or freeze you to death. 

As the water cascades down in the shower, he extends his hand toward you, silently inviting you to join him. You take his hand without hesitation. Under the soothing water, he tenderly washes away the clammy feeling of the day and the remnants of his cum. He runs his hands through your wet hair, massaging the shampoo into your scalp and spreading conditioner over the ends of your hair. You enjoy the way he's taking care of you so effortlessly and unconditionally, not expecting anything in return. But of course, once you're free of soap, you return the favor. 

With gentle movements, you lather the soap over his skin, reveling in the way it glides across his contours. Your fingers trace his muscles, exploring the familiar terrain of his body. You stop at his chest hair, running your fingers through it. He shudders, but he takes the display of affection without words. He's beautiful, and the added hair makes him look delicious enough to eat, but you have been through that; this is just about you two now, some gentle intimacy without anything beyond fleeting touches and shampoo. 

You stop over a scar on his hip. “What happened there?” you break the silence with a murmur. 

“Ya really wanna know?” he asks. 

“Yes.”

“Knife fight.”

“Oh.”

“But it was nothin’ serious.”

“Still,” you trace your finger over the scar, “I’m sorry.”

“Shh–” Michael pulls you closer and presses his lips to yours. “Don’t worry ‘bout it,” he says. “I’m okay.”

You kiss him back, wrapping your arms around his neck. As the water continues to rain over you, you get lost in the feeling of each other, your skin feeling like silk under each other’s fingertips. 

Wrapped in each other's arms, the world fades away. Your skin brushes against his. Your fingers glide over his back, tracing the contours of his muscles, as his hands roam over your curves. It’s sensual, but it’s no longer sexual. 

“Michael,” you breathe against his lips. 

He moves from your mouth to your cheek and then your forehead. “Hm?” he asks. 

“I really like you,” you confess. 

Michael stops, his hazel eyes meeting yours. You look so shy when you bite your lip and avoid his gaze. He smiles, tilting your chin up with his index finger. “I really like you, too,” he tells you. 

It’s not an ‘I love you’ but it best describes how you both feel for each other. 

“Closer,” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sound of the water. 

You crave him. He responds without hesitation, pulling you closer until there's no space left between you. You rest your head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against your cheek.

His lips brush your temple. “Like that?” he asks. 

“Yeah, like that.”

“I never thought…” His hands begin to roam your back and he tries to find the right words. “I never thought I’d feel like this again,” Michael admits. 

You don’t look up, but your grip around his waist tightens in understanding. 

“Yer bringin’ me back to life,” he says your name with so much certainty, “and I can’t thank ya enough for that.”

You try to keep your tears at bay. His confession is vulnerable, and you figure it’s not something he often does. He has bled his heart out for you the day before, and now his cages are gone and he’s continuously giving you his blood for you to filter and breathe it back into him – you’re bringing him back to life, setting his heart alight, and he wants nothing more than for the feeling to persist. You want the same for him, too. 

But Michael also wants to bring you back to life because he can tell you’re holding back, your shoulders tense with the secrets that threaten to weigh you down and drown you in the endless sea of your emotions. It’s hard enough for him to be so open, and he still has so much left to say, but he hopes that Birdy was right with what she said– he hopes you will open up to him once he finds the courage to tell you even the last bits and pieces of his story, and that he can help bring you back to life, too. 

“I don't want this to end,” your voice breaks.

“It won't end,” Michael whispers into the crown of your head, “not if I have anythin' ta say 'bout it. We'll take it one step at a time, but I'm not lettin' go of ya.”

“I don't want to let go either.”

“Then don’t.” 

“I won’t,” you say. 

Because you need him, and without him, you’re pretty sure you will not be able to exist anymore. 

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @mattmurdocksscars @roseallisonparker @1988-fiend @norestfortheshelbywicked @loveroftoomanyfandoms

[robo-milky]

Ya'll, I could not stop thinking about the details surrounding SY!Cloche losing her eye for the whole day yesterday. I assumed she stabbed her eye, not rip it out while being hyper aware 😭

Also, I like Leikata and the hinting romance between him and Pome student C! Will we be seeing more of those two somewhere in the future? And I'm very curious and I don't know if this has already been asked, but why is starygaze pie banned from the Pome dining hall?

(Sincerely, and loving your art and the watercolor(?) coloring you sometimes do, yuus-sentient-teddy)

UWAHHHH TYSM FOR THE LOADED ASK!!! It also makes me so happy you asked about Leikata <33 Glad that the faux watercolour seems to be a hit ^^ ( @yuus-sentient-teddy hope you don’t mind the tag?)

[Response]

Honestly— Ripping the eye out consciously *is* horrifying indeed, so I don’t blame you. It’s definitely brutal ;; Even though it’s just as bad, simply stabbing the eye out would be a little quicker. I’m weirdly flattered/honoured it stuck with you (and that you’re following the lore— it’s crazy!!)

Once again, I’m really glad you like Leikata! I think this is the first ask I’ve ever received relating to him— so congrats!! Tbh, I’d love to make more Leikata content and showcase more Pomefiore Student C shenanigans— but because of circumstances (injury + school), I’ve chosen to prioritize Cloche since she’s the most well-known. When inspiration strikes, there will definitely be more of Leikata and the pining Pomefiore Student C. ((The fact you’d bring up Pomefiore Student C at all!! ;u:))

Stargazy Pie is banned because of its questionable looks. If Vil banned barbecued meat/yakiniku, then there’s no doubt he’d ban Stargazy Pie too. Vil does acknowledge and understand that different cultures have different foods, but such a meal doesn’t fit the Pomefiore setting. Nutritionally speaking, Vil wouldn’t let it fly by either.

[radlymona]

(Don't post off anon) Your fandom artist reblog reminded me... I admit to being a loser & joining lots of fic exchanges and other fan creation event Discords lately, and I do NOT know how you can brush up against these spaces and not face the glaring reality that kids are picking up trans identities like emo fashion or sparkledog OCs. There are always places to pick your "pronoun role" and they're ALWAYS 50-60+% they/neopronouns. And as for the huge selection of "he"s? Sorry not to stereotype but I highly doubt a cis guy in his 20s is joining hyper fandom events to write slash fanfiction.

(Oh and also they all love to make characters trans and rape fic is progressive praxis. Of course. I feel like reading/writing porn of trans characters is its own fetish, but since they're armed with 'he/they' pronouns, it can masquerade as representation.)

(Ctd):

I completely get what you mean here and I wanted to expand about something related to this widespread gender crisis for teen girls.

While I don't want to oversimplify why there's been such a massive increase in female teens adopting trans identities, I think part of it is that it's essentially a substitute for being a part of subculture. Today's nonbinary xie/xir is yesterday's scene kid, is last week's goth kid.

The way that coming out of trans seems to spread rapidly within friend groups (I personally witnessed a version of the ROTG effect while in high school with former friends), feels like how one person would come out as goth (usually the 'leader' of the group) and then rapidly the rest of the friend group would come out as such so they wouldn't be left out of the group. It goes back to what you were saying about wanting to fit in. This isn't to say that everyone stops being goth after school/uni, but obviously let's be real - most do.

Moreover, the new names trans teenagers adopt often sound like the silly nicknames teens would use with each other in these subcultures like "blood" and "raven". I've lost the post but there was a trans activism insta page with a list of trans teens protesting the ban on puberty blockers in the uk. The list included names like "coven", which again sounds like something a 14 year old would go by in 2007 chat room. The difference is that 14 year olds now believe it's a legitimate name because of the online TRA slop they've been ingesting. It affects interests too, "Gender" was an interest a former friend of mine suddenly had, replacing all her other hobbies like writing and other creative endeavours. And I think this is reinforced by the isolation of the online spaces you've discussed above.

But the difference between becoming trans and becoming goth/scene etc. is that the former involves way more life changes, especially if you've medically transitioned. This of course promotes the sunken cost fallacy, because it's a lot more embarassing to change back to she/her pronouns after forcing your family to call you he/they for four years. A photo with a bad scene hairstyle is something you cringe at in your 20s, and laugh about in your 30s+. It's a lot harder to laugh about the time you thought you were a boy or a special genderless being.

And I have to wonder if this mass gender crisis would be as widespread if teens still had proper irl subcultures, not just online spaces to interact with other strangers who reinforce their delusions rather than naturally growing out of phases. Figuring out your identity and rebelling against social norms as an awkward teenager by adopting a dramatic fashion sense is a perfectly normal thing to go through. A 14 year old girl genuinely believing that she's a boy named Kai who needs to go on puberty blocks and cut off her breasts otherwise she'll kill herself is not.

[donkeys-waffles]

Snippet of Chapter 3 :) of Before Snow Falls

“I-I” he coughed, wetting his lips before continuing, “Did you take my phone out of my jeans pocket?” He tested the waters; it’s not like Hisashi would find much on his phone; all his links and camera roll were protected by a passcode. But the fact that its battery was completely dead was interesting.  

“You left it there Izuku.” Hisashi smiled at him, eyebrows curling together, gazing down at Izuku like he was nothing more than a silly child. “You took it from your own pocket.” He turned back to the cupboards, and Izuku gazed down at his own face reflected off the black screen. “It’s completely dead, yesterday it was at eighty percent, and I never leave the house on a low battery.” His mother had made sure his phone always had at least fifty percent battery life.  

Izuku coughed again and Hisashi set a glass of ice water in front of him tentatively. “Izuku, I’m sure you forgot to charge it before you left. You seemed so rattled yesterday it makes the most sense, don’t you think?” Izuku looked up to Hisashi, the man wore a reassuring smile across his face, and Izuku dropped his gaze again.  

A headache was settling at his temple, and he was suddenly hyper aware of how scratchy his throat was feeling. He grabbed the glass, chugging the whole thing in a few gulps. 

Hisashi turned his attention back to the stove where he was cooking fried eggs. Izuku glanced down at his phone. “You’re probably right…” He mumbled, he was very rattled yesterday, worried about the meeting with the detective.  

“Maybe you should lie back down Izuku.” He looked back at the man at the stove, concern laced his voice as he spoke again. “You just lost your mother, I’m sure you're scared. But don’t you worry, I’ve got you. Just go and rest and leave the rest to your Papa.” He said, not turning to meet Izuku’s gaze. The boy frowned but relented, walking back to his room with his phone. 

Izuku plugged his phone into the outlet in his bedroom, laying down on his bed he glared up at his popcorned ceiling. He gnawed at his lower lip. He slowly sat up, watching as his phone came back to life, he typed his passcode in watching the device reboot all of his files and contacts.  

Izuku blanked at the notification that popped on his screen, a text, he swiped, looking at the contents of the message.  

[sinceileftyoublog]

Fontaines D.C. Live Show Reivew: 10/9, The Salt Shed, Chicago

Photo by Zach Caddy

BY JORDAN MAINZER

It's clear that on Romance (XL), Fontaines D.C. are a changed band. The story behind their "bigger" sound and reach is well-known by now, the Dublin quintet ditching scene go-to Dan Carey for Simian Mobile Disco's James Ford to flesh out the ideas that started when they opened for Arctic Monkeys throughout the U.S. Taking inspiration from the hip-hop, R&B, and dance stalwarts of yesterday and today, the band members went their respective ways, reflected, experimented on their own, and then wrote and holed up in the studio together for months, at different locations. Knowing that they wanted to explore grandiose themes--life, death, and, yes, romance--beyond the confines of their native Ireland, it makes sense that Grian Chatten and company decided to break down any sonic barriers. And they've let us know every step of the way, from Romance lead single and industrial boom-bap banger "Starbuster", to album and current tour set opener "Romance", whose melodic vocals, chiming synths, and blasts of distortion present us with this new era of Fontaines D.C.

Photo by Zach Caddy

On Wednesday night at The Salt Shed, the band's reintroduction was as gradual as ever, as the members came out in bunches, building up "Romance" piece by piece, Conor Curley's guitar, Conor Deegan III's bass and Tom Coll's drums, Carlos O'Connell's keyboards, green strobe lights, and then Chatten's vocals. It took me the whole song to get used to not just how they sounded, but that there were more band members on stage than I expected, and how they looked. For one, Fontaines D.C. are touring with guitarist Cathal Mac Gabhann and multi-instrumentalist Chilli Jesson of Palma Violets. Moreover, multiple band members had dyed hair and wore Matrix-meets-Brat leather jackets and sunglasses. If you didn't know it before, it was clear this wasn't the same scrappy band who wrote Dogrel.

Photo by Zach Caddy

Throughout much of their set, Fontaines D.C. performed the songs that best emphasized their expanded sound. There was the post-grunge standout "Here's the Thing", replete with Chatten's unexpected falsetto, Curley's buzzing guitars, and Deegan III's menacing bass line. "Bug" sported acoustic guitars and whooshing synthesizers, shoegaze beauty "Sundowner" a gentle Curley on lead vocals. Just like on their previous albums, though, the songs that ended up being the live anthems were those where Chatten showed off his mighty pen. The loud-quiet-loud "Death Kink" takes its name from those who believe the idea that misery makes good art. "There's a certain kind of air in the smoke / Must be some amount of truth in the joke / For it to make you laugh, ha ha ha," Chatten sang, the audience laughing with him in unison. As a frontperson, Chatten spent most of his time rousing up the crowd, arms waving in the air like Craig Finn, or jittering around in circles reminiscent of Ian Curtis. The crowd ate it up; someone even tossed a blow-up doll over the barrier during "A Hero's Death".

Photo by Zach Caddy

Approaching the climax of their set, Fontaines D.C. made sure to get out of the way their clear-cut back catalog highlights: "Jackie Down the Line", "Big", and "Sha Sha Sha", the final preceded by a simple, "Free Palestine" from Chatten. Yet, I'm glad they gave prime real estate to Romance closer "Favourite", a stunning, glorious, reflective slice of jangle pop, the band playing it last before coming out for an encore. The song is, at once, hyper-specific and universal, perhaps most successfully exemplary of Romance's wide-reaching goals. During one verse, Chatten describes the type of hangover where your mind is running all over the place, thinking about how you might have had a good night, regretting some decisions, yearning for a simpler time when your immediate world was "bed radios and days spent playing football indoors," and nonetheless realizing that you were lucky not to experience the time "when they painted town with Thatcher." Anyone, Chatten posits, can feel nostalgic for a time while recognizing its ills.

Photo by Zach Caddy

That mental back-and-forth played out during the band's encore, too. "In The Modern World", played first, refers to a trip Chatten and Curley took, where they met another Irish traveler, who gave them a drug that numbed them to their surroundings and overall troubles. Its acoustic guitar line, Chatten's whispered rasp, orchestral synths, and layered vocals in the chorus certainly recall the Lana-esque faded L.A. glamor the band was going for. But the lasting sound of the night was "Starburster", a stream-of-consciousness-seeming rap inspired by Chatten having a panic attack in the St. Pancras tube station. The song is composed as if to surprise you around every corner, beginning with piano plinks, harmonic synths, a snapping snare drumline, and a chorus punctuated with Chatten's breathless gasps, replicated live by a sampled gurgle. "Starburster" is certainly one of Fontaines D.C.'s finest songs, and it will likely be played during every set for the rest of their career, but I feel like only on this specific tour can it close the night. If the band is trying to show that they've grown beyond the taut, literate punk blasts of their first three records, what better way than to unspool like nervous wrecks?

[amazingdeadfish]

What would these guys get each other for an friend/lover anniversary gift?

Also I just wanna say I love your fic! I really started only reading it yesterday but I gotta tell you, your writing HOOKS me, I’m not even half wayfinished with it, (I’m only on Part 3) but your characters and plot is sooo good!

I know it’s not really recommend to read this blog without finishing the fic but your art is just sooo delicious! (And I found the blog first).

Anyway I gotta quit rambling, I hope your hyper fixation never stops!

RANT ALERT

For the first few years, maybe decades, the two would probably give small things for anniversary. A small trinket, an item to wear, something shiny, something small. At some point both of their shelves and drawers in their respective residences (if you are to assume they even have a residence or a home) will be filled to the brim with seemingly meaningless things. But they are kept anyway because they either:

Have a hoarding issue (cough cough- Macaque- cough cough)

Or because they put too much sentimentality on things they are given by the ones they care about to the point where if you were to ever even suggest the idea of throwing it away they will take an obscene amount of offence to it and especially hoard it even more (cough cough- Mayor- cough cough).

But then obviously it will come to a point where anniversary gifts might become more meaningful. I think, maybe, at some point, the Mayor might buy Macaque a small plant. Something that won't be kept in a cupboard, and instead grow with them. They're a bit strange like that, and Macaque might not understand entirely why the Mayor decided to get him something like this. But he will care for it, and eventually the plant turns into a tree, and then the tree will offer fruit. You can decide what type. Either way, its a gift that never really dies, because once the tree is gone, you can plant another one with the same fruit. And it continues on and on and on.

Macaque on the other hand will probably finally learn what Mayor finds interesting in life other than the 'surprisingly not to mundane trinkets' he finds laying around to give. Maybe a pocket watch so the guy will stop loosing track of time whenever the two spend time together. Or maybe, instead of a material gift, he might just take the Mayor out for an experience instead. The gift of a memory. Like, grave digging. They would probably both enjoy that. Mayor more so.

EDIT: Macaque would most certainly, at one point, steal the "For the Love of God" sculpture for Mayor. If you have no idea what it is, it's a platinum cast of a skull encrusted with diamonds on practically all sides. Now THAT is an anniversary gift.

ANWAYS- thank you so much!!! I'm glad you like the fic series. I know you sent in this ask like... ages ago, so I hope you have made it through to the end or, have made sufficient progress on it! I too, hope the hyperfixation never stops, because if it does, then I have no idea how I am going to write out the other ideas I still have for the fic. It took a while, but the release of season five finally jumpstarted my brain into coming up with more ideas (for the better or for the worse, I actually have no idea) so as much as i hate to say it, Blue and Violet is not ending anytime soon :'DDD.