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beardedjoel · 11 months

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closer | part ten

joel x f!reader. non-apocalypse au

series masterlist | main masterlist | ao3

chapter summary: joel is doing remodeling working on your parents’ house, but sneaking around is proving harder than you’d thought. 7.8k words.

chapter warnings: 18+ MDNI, age difference (joel is 42 and reader is 25), inexperienced reader, soft!dom joel, posessive! joel, nipple play, dirty talk like filthy mouthed joel this chapter, praise kink

a/n: i still can’t get over all the attention this story has been getting, thank you all so much for reading it makes me emotional!!! also jealous joel is my lifeblood please enjoy

Joel lays awake, watching you sleep next to him again. Shit, you look so beautiful when you’re just peaceful like this, with none of the usual worries he can see constantly running through your head when you’re awake. You’re a worrier, more likely than not to be nervous at any given moment, and most of all, a pleaser. While that works to his advantage so much of the time, he hopes you know that you deserve everything good he gives back to you. He does love your dynamic together, the way you’re desperate to keep your status as his good girl - it practically makes his blood start to run hot just thinking about it. He just wonders if you know that despite all of it, you always please him, always interest him, no matter what happens.

He wants to let you stay like this forever, living in a peaceful bubble, but he tries to remind himself this is all just likely fleeting. Soon enough you’re going to move away, start this new job full time, meet new people and be a normal twenty five year old. Joel sighs lightly as he starts thinking about it too hard, the prospect of losing you to someone else, someone more ‘age appropriate’. Whatever the hell that means, Joel thinks with a scoff. It should be enough that you two like to spend time together and it feels like your bodies were practically made for each other every time you join them and feel the absolute mind-blowing bliss that only you’ve been able to provide for each other. You even fit perfectly under his shoulder when you’re just sitting on the couch together. It’s all too… good to be true, Joel thinks to himself, trying to put a little mental distance between himself and the gorgeous girl sleeping in his bed.

He doesn’t get very far with it because you stir, and it’s maybe one of the most adorable yet sexy things he’s ever seen as you let out a sighing little moan and stretch a bit. Your eyes flutter open and see him looking at you, and you immediately smile seeing Joel’s warm eyes looking back at you. He immediately jumps at the chance to hold you, having held back for fear of waking you up. You nestle yourself into his chest and breathe in, loving that this is the first thing you get to experience this morning.

“Hello,” you say groggily into his skin, and he pulls you in tighter.

“Mornin’, pretty girl,” he says, and your heart nearly explodes at this pet name. How is it possible you’re waking up next to the most attractive man you’ve ever seen and the first thing he does is tell you that you’re pretty? This can’t be your real life, right? It has to be some long con, some dream that’s been lasting for weeks.

“You think I’m pretty, huh? Even like this?” you look up at him, knowing that you almost always wake up with messier hair than the average person and puffy eyes.

“Even more so like this. Means I got to be with ya all night,” Joel replies, playing with your tangled hair in his hands. He uses his grip on your hair to angle your head just right for him to lean down and kiss you, and you lazily let him move your head wherever he needs it as you kiss him back. He pulls back, gathering you into him around the shoulder again and sighs.

“Today’s the day, right? Starting work at my parents’ place?” you ask him.

“Mhm,” he replies. “You ready to pretend you don’t know me?” he teases you.

“Not even in the slightest,” you say, laughing a little.

“Gonna be hard to take my eyes off you, y’know.”

You feel your cheeks go a little warm, knowing the intensity of the stare he’s talking about. “Me too,” you say shyly before groaning at the thought of playing it cool all day today with Joel.

“We just have a little time before you gotta sneak out of here,” Joel says after glancing at the clock. “Want me to make you anything?”

“What? No, you don’t have to,” you say a little too quickly.

“Don’t have to, but I want to,” Joel counters.

“How about cereal,” you suggest. Joel groans a little at your simple solution but nods.

“Whatever you want, darlin’.”

You head downstairs with him, Joel quickly making coffee for you two while he offers you a few choices of cereal. It’s fun to learn a little about him by the options he presents to you - a sugary cereal, some grain heavy healthier one, and granola that seems more in the middle of the other two, so you go with that one. You two eat mostly in silence, Joel hurrying with his meal so he can quickly get ready and meet his crew at your parents’ place at 8:00.

“Alright, I’ll see you later on then?” you say, standing near the back door in Joel’s kitchen, getting ready to leave. He has his hands planted on your waist, and leans down to kiss you, his hand snaking around to your lower back, pulling your body flush with his.

“Mhm,” he murmurs, his lips still sliding against yours. He reluctantly pulls himself off of you, a glint of desire flashing in his eyes as he looks at you. Sometimes it hits you that this man has that look in his eye because of what you do to him, the way he sees you.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you say, biting the inside of your lip.

“Like what?” Joel coos. “This?” His eyes are hooded, looking at you like he could never get enough of the sight of you right in front of him, like he has dozens of ideas of all the filthy things he wants to do to you written behind his eyes.

“Yes,” you breathe, “Exactly like that.”

“What’s wrong with it, hm? Does it make you all wet, sweet thing?” he says, low and suggestive.

“Yes,” you breathe out again, barely able to say much else as Joel’s body presses to yours.

“Good, wanna keep you wet all day for me, darlin’,” he says, lightly running his lips along your cheek and down to your neck.

“Fuck, Joel,” you whine, grasping around his neck and fluttering your eyes closed.

“Sorry, baby, time for me to get ready,” he says suddenly, moving his head away from you.

“So unfair,” you murmur, frowning and standing there despondent as he steps away from you.

“I know, but what fun would it be if you got everything you want all the time?” he teases you with a smirk. “You can let yourself out, and I’ll see you in a bit,” he says, turning to walk back towards the staircase.

“Oh, shoot, your shirt,” you call after him, tugging at the fabric. “Let me go change back into my clothes.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it,” Joel says, smiling back at you. “You keep that one.”

Your hands are still bunched around the fabric, and you hold on tightly for a few moments, knowing this will be your new favorite article of clothing now that he’s given it to you. You head out the back door, peering your head out and sneaking your way over to your apartment, once again feeling like you’re in some kind of movie where you’re an agent doing special-ops espionage because of the way you take every move so seriously, paranoid your parents will see you leaving Joel’s house.

Joel starts working on your parents’ shortly after and he brings along two people from his crew to help speed things along. It was a rather uneventful morning, they spent their time removing tiles and keeping mostly to themselves. You pop your head in to check in on them, but let them know you’re about to go see an apartment complex downtown so you won’t be around for a while, but they can call you or your parents for anything. You could swear Joel frowned a little at what you said about apartment hunting, but maybe you’re imagining things. He keeps up a polite, professional persona around his crew, indicating he’d heard you and giving you a close lipped smile. When he makes sure the other two guys aren’t looking, he gives you a quick wink before you walk away, smiling to yourself.

The apartment wasn’t really what you’re envisioning for yourself, but you figured you had to start looking somewhere. It’s in a good location, which was a plus, but you couldn’t quite set your heart on it - you really can only focus on getting back and seeing Joel again. You’re truly starting to have a love/hate relationship with the way he seems to take up your entire mind, leaving you unable to even do something as simple as apartment hunting without him feeling like a major distraction.

You arrive back at the house to find Joel and his crew - you learned their names are Ian and Chris - almost finishing up for the day. You stand in the doorway, leaning against the frame as Joel fills you in on what they’d accomplished. You can’t help but notice that Chris’ eyes linger a little bit on you after they lit up when you entered the room. His head had snapped up at the sound of your voice, his eyes locking onto yours, but you immediately averted your gaze, feeling completely uneasy about it. Sure, he’s an attractive guy and close to your age, it seems, but you mostly shrugged it off, just waiting to be alone with Joel.

Chris keeps up some idle chatter with you while Ian finishes packing up his things, explaining that they drove here together so they have to wait on each other. You listen politely, but really can only think about the pounding in your chest, the unresolved feelings and desires Joel had planted in you this morning before you’d parted ways.

“So what do you like to do around here?” Chris asks, and you realize you actually have to focus enough to answer him.

“Nothing… yet, I guess. I just moved here,” you reply. Can’t really say the truth, which is that you’ve been having wild amounts of sex with his boss for the last few weeks, can you? “I probably should get out more,” you say with a smile.

“Yeah, for sure, I know a lot of spots, if you -” Chris starts, but he’s interrupted by Ian and Joel coming into the room. Joel narrows his eyes at Chris, seemingly sizing up the situation, before turning to Ian.

“You boys ready?” Joel asks, and they both nod. Chris waves a goodbye to you, and you stand up to let them out.

Joel stays behind for a moment, letting them know he has a few remodeling details to iron out with you and your parents. You shut the door behind Chris and Ian and make your way over to the kitchen. Upon hearing the front door close Joel breezes into the room with you, leaning down and planting a kiss on your lips. He pulls back and gently holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger, looking down at you with a completely different expression than he had all day.

You lean back on the kitchen table, slowly lifting yourself onto it so that you’re sitting on the edge. Joel slips in between your legs and presses himself close as you continue to devour each other’s lips, taking your time tasting each other and placing little bites on his lower lip.

“I feel like we’re going to be really bad at sneaking around,” you say with a chuckle.

“Kind of turns me on, havin’ to resist ya all day,” Joel says, his voice low and gravelly as his lips brush against your neck now.

“I hate it,” you reply. “Just want you all day, all the time. Especially after the stunt you pulled this morning.”

“I know, baby.” His breath tickles along the skin of your neck, trailing down to your collarbone. Joel noses you there before placing a small kiss, his lips drifting down slowly to your collarbone.

“You stay wet for me all day like I asked?” he asks, his voice gruff and alluring as his hands grip at the fabric of your dress. You let out a small moaning “mhm” sound, and Joel pulls your dress down until your bra is exposed. It’s lacy and pretty, and while you weren’t sure Joel was going to see it, you seem to be putting on your nicest underwear lately just in case he does. Joel runs his hands over the bra, inspecting it.

“Y’know I like this, but honestly…” he trails off, reaching around to your back and unhooking the bra. “I like when you have nothin’ on under your clothes, makes it easier for me to imagine these perfect fucking tits when I look at ya.” He pulls the dress further down, exposing your chest, and quickly follows with the bra, sliding the straps down your arms. “There we go,” he coos, tracing a finger over the swell of your breasts. It swirls around one of your nipples and you scoot your hips into him at the feeling of it.

Joel’s head leans down and takes the hard bud into his mouth for a few beats, then his tongue slides over to the curve of your breast, his lips landing there and he sucks hard, then flicks his tongue. He repeats it several times over your chest, continuing to return his warm mouth to your nipples in between giving you small hickeys. Your eyes roll back a little as you flutter them shut, small whimpering sounds escaping your lips.

“You like when I mark you, sweet girl, huh?” he murmurs close to your chest, the vibration of his deep voice rumbling across your skin, sending electric sparks through you.

You give him a nod, and mumble out an “Mhm,” so caught up in the pleasure of this moment. “Want to look down and know who I belong to.”

“Oh yeah? And tell me, who do you belong to?” He bites lightly on your nipple and you moan quietly, arching into the sensation, feeling heat pool between your legs now.

“You, Joel, all yours,” you say, breathy and moaning with each new place his mouth touches. You’re aching so badly for him, your cunt probably dripping already just from these few moments he’s spending on you. His hand pulls up the fabric at the bottom of your dress and reaches under, and you’re panting in anticipation, finally about to have Joel in the way you’ve been thinking about all day long. A distant noise suddenly takes you completely out of it, and Joel’s hand freezes where it is on your thigh.

“Shit,” you whisper, sobering up from the intoxication of Joel’s mouth on you. “That’s the garage. My parents…”

Joel pulls back, and you whine quietly, the aching between your legs screaming at you to do something about it, even more so knowing you can’t right this second. You’re off the table and quickly trying to get dressed when you hear the door starting to open. You dart over out of view and quickly hook your bra, pulling your dress over the top of your body and checking to see it’s not too disheveled looking. You walk back to Joel just in time to see your parents entering the room, making sure you’re standing a good distance apart from him. You can still feel his lips where they were on your skin and you have to physically plant your feet not to go bounding over to him to pick up right where you left off.

“You guys are home early,” you say in a chipper voice, trying to smile convincingly as if Joel didn’t just have his lips all over your tits right on the kitchen table you are all standing next to.

“Doctor’s appointment,” your mom says, motioning her head in the direction of your dad. You nod, and Joel stands somewhat awkwardly until they seem to acknowledge him.

“Howdy,” Joel says, waving to your parents. “Just finishing up for the day, you’re right in time to get filled in on everything.” You’re angry that he’s so good at this, that he’s not completely falling apart right now. Maybe he is on the inside, but you’d never be able to tell looking at him right now. Your parents listen intently as Joel talks, thanking him what feels like a dozen more times for the work he’s doing. You can tell that the conversation is winding down, and you feel a little panicky, not wanting to let him leave your sight just yet.

“I was just about to offer Joel something to drink, to relax while we sit down for a few minutes after he worked all day,” you blurt out, desperately trying to keep him around for a bit longer.

“That’s a great idea,” your dad says, giving you an approving look. They’re beyond grateful that Joel was willing to do this work on the house for them before they were fully unpacked and settled in, meaning much less work down the line for them. So, you figured that they would very much approve of keeping him company with a cold beverage after a long day of work.

“You two enjoy, we’ve got groceries to unpack,” your mom chimes in, and you suddenly realize they were under the impression they were joining you two for this if they didn’t have something else to do. You breathe a discreet sigh of relief and turn to the fridge.

Joel watches you pouring two glasses of iced tea, chatting aimlessly with your parents for a few extra moments. You’re half listening, trying to focus on anything but how the feeling between your legs isn’t seeming to go away.

“Your daughter was awful nice to the crew, so can’t thank you enough for havin’ her here in case we need anything.” Your ears perk up at the mention of you, and you turn towards the conversation, holding the glasses in each hand. Your parents are both smiling, looking happy that Joel seems pleased, and you’re beginning to wonder if they’re as charmed by him as you are.

“Ready?” you ask Joel. He nods and leads you to the back door, sliding it open for you. You step out and the glasses immediately sweat into your hands with the warmth of the day.

You two sit at the outdoor table tucked off to the far side of the patio in the shade, and you hope the angle to the house is just right to shield you from your parents inside. You lean back, taking a long sip on your iced tea.

“They really adore you, I think,” you say with a cheeky smile, wiggling your eyebrows jokingly.

“Dunno why, I’m just a guy fixin’ their bathroom.” Joel shrugs, taking a drink as well. “Damn that’s good,” he comments quietly, looking down at the glass.

“Hey, don’t say it like that, there’s plenty to be adored here. You’re doing them a huge favor, it’s very kind.”

Joel snorts a little, seeming uncomfortable with the compliment. “Yeah, okay, guess you’re right,” he finally replies. He gets still and quiet for a moment before looking up at you again. “Apartment huntin’ today, huh? When’re you moving out?” Joel asks.

“Uh, yeah, I’m not sure yet. I think I was looking just to feel productive, or something. Things are going well with unpacking everything, but I want to make sure they’re really set, you know? My mom is a bundle of nerves if things aren’t perfect, so… I don’t want to hear about it down the line.”

“Hmm, I hear ya,” he says thoughtfully, “My mom can be similar in her own ways.” Your ears perk up a little, seeing as he hasn’t mentioned much about his family before, and you like him opening up to you. “For someone with everything so in order, she sure is a frazzled lady most of the time.”

You laugh, able to relate to that. “Must be a mom thing,” you joke, and he finally flashes you a smile.

“So… not any time soon, then?” Joel asks tentatively with avoidant eyes. You press your lips together in a small smile at the fact that he seems to be so worried about when you’re leaving.

“No, probably not. I like it here for now - I think I needed a change like this before I start my new job. I lived somewhere really busy for so long, my brain didn’t even know it needed this break, I think.”

“City girl movin’ out here to the suburbs of Austin… sure you’re not bored?” He smirks a little at you.

“Don’t forget I grew up in Texas, too. I do miss my friends and familiar things in Chicago, but I’m definitely not bored here.” You raise your brows a little and Joel chuckles. ”And how can I leave when I have you next door?” You’re half teasing, but Joel furrows his brow immediately, looking deeply into your eyes.

“Don’t miss out on any opportunities for me, darlin. That wouldn’t be very fair to yourself,” Joel says sternly, but still keeping most of the sweet way he speaks to you intertwined in his tone.

“Yeah, I know,” you reply sheepishly, regretting what you said. “I was just… I’ll keep that in mind.” You pause for a moment, chewing on your lip. “I think I want to stay the whole summer, if they’ll let me.” You flash your eyes up to his, trying to convey the feeling you’re having towards him, that you don’t want to leave him, you want this summer to last for as long as it can.

Joel’s lips twist back up into a smile, and his eyes lock on yours, soft but needy, a silent ache behind them that you can’t quite read. “Good,” he replies, leaving it at that.

“Do you think I was believable in there with my parents?” you ask, absentmindedly tracing your finger through the condensation on your glass.

“Could use some work. You were a little flustered,” he quips sarcastically, his gaze looking your body up and down with a smirk.

“Well that’s because you made me flustered,” you scoff.

“It’s too easy, darlin’. Don’t blame it all on me.”

“Wh- no it’s not,” you retort, despite knowing it’s true. “I’m not that easy.” You cross your arms defiantly to try and drive your point further.

“Baby…” he coos, locking his eyes onto yours. “Are you tellin’ me that right now I couldn’t get you wet, practically beggin’ me on the verge of comin’, with just my words?” His leans back in his chair further, surveying your reaction.

Now you are flustered. “Th- that wasn’t the question, Joel.” You can’t believe him being so forward when your cunt has barely stopped aching from the way his mouth was on you inside the house. You silently curse him in your head, but mostly because he’s right.

“But it’s true, ain’t it?” He tilts his head, the devious smirk growing on his lips.

“M-maybe,” you stammer out, slightly shaking now, your hips shifting in your seat.

“Say, ‘yes Joel’,” he pauses, looking at you with dark eyes. “And I’ll tell you what you want to hear.”

You lick your lips, breathing out a long breath. “Yes, Joel,” you murmur quietly.

“There’s my good girl,” he says, an emphasis on the last two words that makes you squirm excitedly a little bit. He looks at you as if to say, ‘see? knew all it took was my words’.

“D-do it,” you say suddenly, and Joel leans forward, looking at you intently.

“Do what?” he asks innocently, although you know he already knows exactly what you’re asking.

“What you s-said. Talk to me, and see what happens,” you squeak out before you can lose the nerve. Joel looks at you from under his raised eyebrows, glancing around quickly before turning his attention back to you.

“Right here?”

“Right here.” You nod.

“Oh, you are a dirty little thing, you know that?” He shakes his head slowly, leaning onto the table even further. You’re sitting close enough that your knees have been touching this entire time, and you’re suddenly very aware of the connecting point between them. “Wouldn’t have guessed it, just lookin’ at ya for the first time, y’know, that you’d turn out to be such a little slut for me.”

You gasp lightly, fighting the urge to avert your gaze from his. You try to look unfazed, taking a sip from your iced tea, but you swallow it heavily, giving you away.

“Thought you were just a shy little thing, who’d have thought you love beggin’ for my cock so much,” he continues, “Doin’ anythin’ for me to be my good girl and get this cock inside of ya.”

You flutter your eyes shut for a moment, feeling the familiar restless urge to squirm in your seat. You take a deep, steadying breath, trying to fight Joel’s words to prove a point. “I wouldn’t do anything,” you say, putting on an air of confidence.

Joel laughs a little, low and suggestive. “Right,” he says before tracing his hands along his glass now, and your eyes flick to the way his fingers are rubbing along the condensation, water dripping onto his fingertips. Nope, you immediately think, averting your eyes to the grass in the distance. Joel tuts. “Y’can’t even look at these fingers, sweet girl, without wonderin’ how they’d feel inside of you right now.”

You shake your head, trying to suppress your smile and the aching building in your core. Joel’s so fucking right, you can already feel yourself getting embarassingly wet.

“I can tell ya how they’d feel, though. So fuckin’ good, baby, buried in your wet pussy, all for me. Makin’ you feel so good while I fuck you hard with my fingers, just how you like it. You’d want that right now if you could, wouldn’t you, sweet thing?”

“Fuck,” you grit out simply, setting your jaw. The picture he’s painting is exactly what you’d like from him right now. You press your thighs together tightly, trying to ignore the throbbing ache that’s now distractingly present between them.

“You couldn’t stop there, you insatiable little thing, though, could you? Always askin’ for my big cock to fill you up. Askin’ for me to fuck you till you can’t think straight.”

“Joel…” you murmur, closing your eyes, the sight of him too much combined with the words right now. Your breathing quickens, and you have to stop yourself from moving your hand in between your legs just for a minuscule amount of relief from the sexual tension you’re feeling.

“Yes, darlin’?”

“Keep going,” you mutter, eyes squeezed shut.

“What’re you doin’, sweetheart? You could just have me touchin’ you right now instead.”

“I want it so bad,” you say, breathless, all the recent words he’s been saying washing over you, sending nearly painful throbs to your cunt. “Keep talking.”

“Baby, you’re just desperate for it, aren’t you?” You can hear the smirk in his voice, and it pisses you off but mostly turns you on. “Bet even when we aren’t together, you think about me and get all wet, don’t you? Need to touch yourself just to stop from goin’ crazy over it.”

You nod furiously, peeking your eyes open now and seeing him completely enraptured by your expression, heavy lidded with desire but painfully repressed.

“Oh, look at you, needin’ me so bad right now. I can see it written all over you. Just like the first few times I noticed you watchin’ me. Knew you were gettin all worked up over me before I even talked to you, just like right now. Probably soakin’ right into that chair…” he tuts. “Say the word and I’ll touch you, give you what you need.” You don’t respond, simply feeling the tension inside of you building close to a boiling point, and it’s starting to feel so achy that it feels good. You rub your thighs together a little bit to relieve it, and a small whimper escapes you.

“You know I want to give you this cock, fill you up and fuck you till you’re screamin’. Don’t you want to be a good girl and take it like I ask?”

‘Yes!” you call out, unable to stand it anymore. Your hips are writhing on the chair as your thighs move together. “Fuck… please, Joel… I need it,” you say quietly, feeling completely exhausted and broken down just from his words.

“Lemme see,” Joel asks, nodding down at your lap.

You pull up the long, flowy dress you were wearing over your knees, then up your thighs. You glance around quickly, seeing nobody around, but you scoot your chair a little closer, trying to hide most of you from view to anyone but Joel. You spread your legs wide, then pull the dress the rest of the way up.

“Good girl,” he breathes out in amazement, seeing the large dark stain on your underwear that’s starting to also seep onto the portion of your dress that you’re sitting on. You peer down at it too, speechless at the effect of his words before covering it up and looking at him expectantly. “C’mon,” he gestures, and you stand up, following him across the yard quickly, hoping that if your parents saw you two, they would just assume you were going up to your apartment alone and saying your goodbyes to Joel.

You two rush up to the door of your apartment, and you fumble with the door, dragging him inside and shutting the door. He slams you up against the wall next to the door hard, pressing his body close. The feel of his hard cock through his jeans so close to your throbbing pussy is almost enough to make you come after the way you’re worked up from all his dirty talking.

“So fucking wet, and all from me just talkin’ to you,” he says, shaking his head. “Told ya it was too easy,” he murmurs, his head close to your neck, breath tickling you there.

“Joel… I swear if you touch me only once right now I might come,” you say, completely breathless, your body begging for the release as your hips press into him hard.

“Fuck, you can’t be serious, sweet girl…” He pulls his head back to look you in the eye, an incredulous look on his face.

“I am… I feel like I’m about to explode, please fucking t-touch me.” You shake under his stare, under the small touches he’s giving you over your body. The throbbing between your legs is completely taking over every thought, every movement you make.

“Now hold on a minute…” he starts, and you buck your hips forward with a whine. He dips his head back down to your neck and kisses it, traveling up to your lips. Your desperate, whining sounds moan into his mouth as he kisses you, and you devour his mouth immediately. His hand slowly travels up your thigh, bunching the fabric of your dress along the way. The other hand pulls on your nipple through your dress, and you nearly scream, another pulsing sensation and rush of wetness coming between your legs. Your hands dig into where they’re wrapped around his back, sliding forward and scratching down his arms. You’re almost angry now with the anticipation, and you feel a growling noise wanting to escape from you.

“Joel,” you demand everything with his name on your lips, and he decides to give in, pulling the dress up enough to slide his hand under. He tears your soaked panties to the side and presses a finger to your clit, rubbing it slowly. You cry out, the climax already starting to rage through your body and your hips shudder forward into Joel’s finger. He presses down hard, circling it frantically now that you’re already coming. You try not to scream, burying your face into his shirt and moaning. The build up to this seemed to translate into just as intense of a release, your whole body tense, burning and tingling with pure, overarching pleasure.

“My - f-fucking god…” you yell out, biting onto the fabric of his clothes now to muffle some of the sound. Your hips push down onto him a few more times, and you release a breath, feeling your body relaxing back against the wall.

“You are somethin’ else, you know that, beautiful girl?” Joel says, nuzzling your neck and making you shiver with the way his facial hair is brushing against your skin.

“What the hell, Joel,” you say with a small laugh. “How do you do that to me?” You collapse into him, head resting on his chest, your breathing finally evening out. He pulls you off the wall and into his arms now as he takes his hand out from under your dress.

“Beats me, sweetheart. You just like what I’ve got to say, huh?” he teases, rubbing your back in large, soothing circles.

“I really do.”

Joel really doesn’t like the way Chris was looking at you yesterday. He doesn’t even want to get deeper into the thoughts he was having about the way Chris was talking to you at the end of the day, either. He had a look in his eye that Joel couldn’t mistake for anything other than lust, the craving desire of your perfect fucking body, and he wasn’t going to stand for it. Not only is it unprofessional when they’ve been invited into your home to work, for Christ's sake, but on a personal level it just leaves him bothered. The thought of Chris lusting after you and succeeding makes his blood boil a bit more than he would care to admit, but he can’t help the feeling all the same. Chris has always been a good worker, skilled enough, and the reason you chose him for this job was that he was easier to spare from the current project he was on since he’s on the newer side with the company.

He hasn’t acted or done anything that warrants reprimanding or firing yet, but Joel saw the look he gave you when you appeared to chat with them yesterday several times. It also didn’t get past him the way Chris had lingered his eyes on your ass when you were leaving the room. The way he was torn between elation at seeing you in your pretty little dress, so fresh and beautiful looking, and absolute anger at the way Chris’ eyes roamed over your body quickly when you weren’t looking at him was a constant war inside of him now.

The second day of renovations rolls around, and after stewing about it all night while you had plans with your parents, he’s half irritated at Chris and half horny since he hadn’t gotten to fuck you last night to soothe his slowly bruising ego. Maybe Chris would be a better fit for you, Joel starts to wonder - he’s right around your age and a nice guy overall. It’s not a crime to be attracted to you, or even ask you out once the job is finished, but not a second before, the businessman in Joel thinks to himself. And yes, he’s being very hypocritical, he realizes.

You’re perched in the living room with your laptop when they arrive, and you kindly let them in although Joel received an extra key from your parents in case nobody was home when they needed to work.

“Good morning, guys,” you call out sweetly as the three of them file in with their tools for the day.

Ian mumbles a good morning, Joel tries to keep his greeting neutral, and Chris almost has a little smirk on his face as he greets you. You narrow your eyes slightly, feeling somewhat exposed all of a sudden, but try to remain friendly before jumping to conclusions.

“Anyone need any coffee or anything?” you ask, taking a sip from your own mug as you stand next to the coffee table in the living room.

Everyone shakes their head except Joel, who does request a cup of coffee. He waves the two others on to the bathroom to get set up without him as he follows you into the kitchen. Your gaze immediately softens at Joel once you two are alone and you start to pour him a cup of coffee.

“This is gonna be worse than yesterday, I think,” you say quietly, quickly wetting and then biting your lip in the way that makes Joel absolutely wild. You’d spent the entire evening trying to comprehend what Joel had brought out of you earlier in the day. Who ever heard of a man making you come practically by only talking dirty to you? You felt a little pathetic, but if there’s anyone you want to be pathetic for, it’s this gorgeously broad, dark eyed man in front of you right now.

“I know, baby,” Joel whispers as he takes the mug, his fingers purposefully brushing along yours, sending a set of sparks straight up your spine. You fight the shudder but Joel sees it anyways, smiling smugly down at you for a moment. “We’ll make sure to make up for all of it later,” he promises, a low, suggestive tone filling his tone.

You nod with a twist of your lips into a small smile, then you shoo him off to avoid any suspicion and return to the living room where you had been working while you waited for the three boys to arrive.

You can hear the idle chatter and noise of them working down the hallway for a few hours, Joel’s voice cutting through and going right to your heart. It’s hard to focus on your work knowing he’s right there, muscles probably bulging and flexing as he works. You can hear the occasional sound of power tools and the quiet, casual conversation between the three of them to pass the time. They saunter out into the living room a few hours later, and you look up from your laptop, where admittedly you’d only been half working this whole time - you wish the internet wasn’t so damn distracting sometimes.

“Just about to eat lunch at my place, if that’s alright. We don’t want to intrude,” Joel announces to you, ever the picture of professionalism.

“Sure you three don’t want to just eat in the kitchen? It’s no problem,” you ask, trying to survey your eyes over all of them to gauge their reactions.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Joel starts, but you cut him off.

“I’ll join you guys, I should probably eat something too,” you say, giving a polite smile. Chris and Ian looked convinced, glancing at each other and then nodding, walking their coolers over to the kitchen table and sitting down. Joel flashes you a playfully irritated look behind their backs before joining them. You make a quick sandwich and join them at the table, sitting cross legged on your chair.

“How’s everything going?” you ask, opening the conversation up.

Chris seems to jump on it, answering first. “Great, we’re really coming along.” He smiles, and you aren’t sure how to feel about the way his eyes look, a strange hunger behind them. You nod politely and continue eating.

“What were you working on?” Chris suddenly asks you, and you start a little, chewing slowly for a moment.

“Oh,” you say, quickly flicking your eyes to Joel, who is completely unreadable right now as he crunches on a potato chip. “I’m starting a new job, so just getting some remote stuff done before the office opens up for us all,” you tell him. Chris nods enthusiastically and presses you for more information. You explain your new role in marketing for the company, that you’re going to be leading a team of people eventually so that’s exciting, and while Joel and Ian are listening intently, Chris is really stealing the show. Maybe he’s just friendly, you think to yourself, nothing wrong with that. You do, however, notice his eyes quickly dip to your nipples that you know are poking through your shirt, and it makes you want to cover up. It was stupid of you to not wear a bra with people in the house, anyways.

You carry a pleasant conversation with everyone, a kindling fire burning under your skin just being across the table from Joel, unable to recognize the way you really feel about him in the open. It’s enough to make you feel achy between the legs, and you hope you aren’t getting flushed thinking about the way that man was talking to you just yesterday.

After a few more hours of work, Joel, Chris, and Ian come out of the bathroom as you’re taking a break from work to organize some boxes of papers your parents had moved with - documents, recipes, old appliance manuals. They probably don’t even need a good majority of this stuff anymore, and you really don’t know why they didn’t do this before moving in, you think with a sigh at this boring task in front of you.

Joel stands at the kitchen table and fills you in again, saying they should finish this bathroom tomorrow and be able to move on to yours afterwards, if everything goes to plan. Joel is distracted for a bit, helping Ian pack up the last of his things when Chris walks up to the table and leans down, his palms splayed against the surface of it.

“This might be forward, but would you ever want to do something sometime? With me? I think we’d get along,” he says, his tone of voice very suggestive as to what he means by getting along with him. You open your mouth and then close it quickly, stunned by the direction things are taking.

“I - uh - I don’t -“ you stammer, trying to reject his advances, but he interrupts you before you can form a coherent thought.

“You have a boyfriend or something?” Chris asks, and you narrow your eyes slightly at the way he says it. “I’m just saying… I think you’re really beautiful.” Your eyes look past him, darting around the room, unsure of what to do right now. You have zero interest in any of what he’s saying about you two making plans together, your mind completely set on another man.

“Oh, no I don’t, but I -“ you start, but you’re interrupted by Joel clearing his throat in the entryway to the kitchen. You were facing the opposite way, not seeing him come in, and it startles you.

“Time to go, Chris,” he says coldly, and you know then that Joel overheard this conversation, or at least part of it. You feel the pit that was growing during your entire encounter with Chris sink into your stomach at lightning speed. You look desperately at Joel, but his eyes are on Chris, and you know him well enough now to see the silent irritation glowing in his dark irises.

“I’ll see you,” Chris says, a little less cocky this time, almost like a kid caught doing something wrong. They leave the room, out of your sight into the living room, but you can hear a quiet conversation starting between Joel and Chris. You don’t know if it was deliberate on Joel’s part to make sure you heard this, or he simply couldn’t wait until they were outside. You stand up slowly, trying to be quiet as you get closer to the conversation, feeling completely caught in the middle right now. Could Joel be angry with you too? Maybe you hadn’t rejected Chris’ advances soon enough, you’d gotten completely tongue tied. Did Joel even care if you went out with someone else?

“What’re you doin’?” you hear in a hushed, angry tone. “You think that’s professional?” Joel’s fist clenches and releases as he tries to hold himself in from completely lashing out. He can’t let the personal aspect of all of this cloud the way he reacts to his employees.

“N-no Joel, I don’t,” Chris’ voice replies, sounding small.

“You leave that girl alone while we’re workin’ here. Y’know how bad you’d be makin’ my business look? And in front of my damn neighbors?” Joel snaps, laying into him. He’s trying to keep it as neutral as possible but his anger keeps threatening to bubble over, picturing how uncomfortable you’d looked when he reached the doorway. He breathes out a staccato breath to release some of the tension as Chris’ eyes dip to the floor.

“Yes, of course. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again,” Chris stammers out.

“Alright, kid. That’s all. Do better,” Joel says, giving a final scolding and a clap on his shoulder.

Once they leave, Joel stalks into the kitchen where you’ve been listening around the corner, a near feral look in his eyes.

“Go upstairs,” he says, short and commanding.

“I- Joel - “ you begin to stammer out, wanting to explain your side, and Joel looks at you, fire flaring across his eyes.

“I don’t want to ask again, sweet girl.” Despite the pet name, his tone is thunderous now and you realize you’re just slightly afraid enough to immediately obey. You know for a fact Joel wouldn’t hurt you, but you don’t want to test his patience in a time when he seems this wound up.

You nod quickly and rush to the sliding door, stepping outside and heading upstairs to your apartment, checking behind you several times but Joel isn’t following you. Once you’re inside, you stand a few steps from the door, catching your breath from the emotion of the moment while you wait to see if Joel is coming to see you.

You wait for what feels like an eternity, despite it likely being only moments. A swirling mixture of anxiety and weirdly, desire, is churning inside of you, confusing you even further. The door swings open slowly, and Joel steps inside, the feral look in his eye faded slightly but still present. He looks… detached, almost, like he’s not moving of his own accord. He shuts the door with a strange calmness before locking his eyes on you and beginning to stalk over to you.

You are not afraid, this is Joel, the man who has done only good things to you, never pushed you beyond what you were comfortable with, and yet, you can’t help but wonder if you should fear him, so large and imposing right now. The look in his eye turns downright greedy and devious as he quickly closes the gap between you, his lips coming straight for your own.

#fic: closer #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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princelylove · 6 months

Note

Thank you your highness for answering all my questions on ranking yandere Joestar and Jobros. This time, can I ask for the Jofoe too? I can't rank them myself because all of them are so dangerous, I seriously see all of them have equal rank.

I'd love to hear your opinion on this, please enlighten me with your knowledge my prince ~

~ 🏵️ anon ~

I just realized I forgot funny valentine. That's on me. Oops. I don't know, have you considered just... not being american? Super easy to avoid him just get on a boat and don't come back. Kidding, I'll write something serious for him later on. They're all bad, but a general easiest to hardest:

Doppio is a hard worker. He devotes a good chunk of his time to carrying out orders for the boss, he doesn’t really have time for a darling, but… Boss will allow him to have a crush. It’s a little treat. As long as Doppio keeps his distance, it’s harmless. He spends his weekends following his darling around- he asks Diavolo to look into you for a little reward. He does well on a couple of jobs in a row? Here’s your favorite color, and what you wear for pajamas most nights. Doppio has a lot of self control, he’s not going to cave just because you’re gorgeous and he has some free time. He’ll keep his distance until Diavolo gives him permission to engage- which he won’t be receiving any time soon. Doppio’s darling- I feel as if “crush” is significantly more appropriate- likely won’t know that they have a secret admirer who already knows every little detail about their life until it’s time for Doppio to receive a proper present. Maybe for Christmas Diavolo will let him bump into you in the street.

Yoshikage Kira is safe if he’s obsessed enough. He’s a bit impulsive with collecting his girlfriends, but he doesn’t like you for your hands. He likes you, as a whole. Ugh. That’s so annoying. He doesn’t want to have a real partner- do you know how much effort it is to have one of those and keep up his streak of roughly fifteen years of killing? He’s not going to just let his little habit go, but… maybe you’re fine with him having something on the side, to hold himself over. Maybe. He’d have to ask after pursuing you normally, and if you say no, or Kira decides not to ask at all since ‘hey that’s weird and we’re trying to be as normal as possible here’… well. He’s been lying this long. Might as well add another to the lie bin. Since he wants to be as normal as possible, he doesn’t express any of his yandere tendencies until much later on- and he can be satiated if you play into his fetishes and preferences enough.

DIO has matured a lot in his life, surprisingly. He’s not going to kill off his darling just because he’s in a mood. He’ll do it for a proper reason. You’ll have warnings. You’ll have easy, simple rules established very early on in knowing him. Really, are you trying to provoke him into punishing you? Simply ask if that’s what you want. He spoils you so, doesn’t he. DIO cares a lot about his darling actually wanting him- if he’s forcing it, it ruins the experience. He understands you need to have a proper relationship with him, complete devotion won’t happen in a day. Make no mistake, you will be his, he’s just fine going slowly. He’s certainly got the time for it, and it’s not like he’s holding you captive. No, no, never captive. Possibly if he snaps because you keep outright rejecting him and it’s really setting his abandonment issues off. He’ll just send a little toy to keep you company when you feel the need to go on a little outing. Vanilla Ice will hold your bags for you, or maybe Mariah can show you around. If neither of them are someone you want to socialize with, he has options. Lots of options.

Enrico cares less about you having a choice. To him, he knows better, and is often frustrated with your judgement. Please listen to his advice- he’s only here to provide you with the resources you need to flourish. If Enrico has no problem talking to DIO as his equal, then he certainly has no problem telling his darling ‘no’ directly. He recommends passages in the bible to read that directly coincide with what’s going on in your life- You often find little handwritten notes in your cell on your desk. The first time it happened, there was a bible sitting on your bed, with a note being used as a bookmark. It was between the pages of Isaiah- stuck in the pages about sin and confessions. It makes you gag how neat and proper his handwriting is, “My doors are always open for you.” When you don’t come, he leaves another note, with a page and paragraph you’re supposed to read before whatever it is he has to say. If the slightly passive aggressive notes don’t reach you, perhaps a more personal approach is needed.

Dio in his youth is… unstable. He hasn’t learned that patience is king. He knows what he wants, and he’s going to get it now. Denying him is the stupidest move you could possibly make, he has all of this newfound power and confidence and isn’t going to waste it by letting you just get away. You may scurry off if he frightens you too much, he does love the chase. He just can’t help himself when he catches you- you look good trapped under him, he needs a little reward. It’s not going to hurt, it’s just a small bite… Have fun with a chunk of your neck missing because little dio got excited and couldn’t help biting as hard as he could.

Diavolo is a classic creep. He’s a bit repressed. Over a decade of restraint will do that to you, but Diavolo doesn’t realize that touching himself to the cameras he placed in your room and the places you frequent isn’t going to satisfy him entirely. Maybe Doppio can spell it out for him- he should indulge! Live a little! The last time he ‘lived a little’ he made the worst mistake someone in his position could possibly make, but hey. He was young, you can’t really fault him for that. Diavolo monitors you as if it’s part of his job- there’s absolutely nothing he doesn’t know about. Your other suitors are taken care of by la squadra esecuzioni, they have a bit of a running joke that they’re praying for you to get around a bit more, easy jobs are welcome when the boss works them like dogs. Diavolo is happy to watch you, he keeps a tab open of whatever you’re doing while he works. Indulges by having Doppio follow you on your errands, lightly suggesting he should record. You often receive expensive gifts from a ‘secret admirer,’ with typed notes attached. It’s only a matter of time until that isn’t enough to hold him over, and he sends someone to collect you. No, now that he’s thinking about it… No one will treat you as well as he would, it’s better not to leave you to the hands of someone just doing a job. Diavolo fully intends to love you, and won’t take a ‘no’ once he’s broken his streak of self control.

Kars did not always want a mate. He’s not really the romantic type, or someone who clings to sentiment, but there’s just something so adorable about you. He loves life, although he normally isn’t fond of humans. He loves seeing the life in your eyes, the way your chest moves up and down in fear as he gets closer… He’s salivating at the thought. Kars tells himself he wants a pet at first- he already has a sizable family. He has a son figure, he has a… He’d call Santana a pet, really, he has someone his age to socialize with… He supposes he could use a mate. Kars hasn’t had one of those since he was just a little one, and it’s not really something he missed. When you express that you don’t want to bow down and give everything up for him, Kars is more than confused. You must be making a joke- he’s heard of humans telling obvious lies for humor. How amusing. Now, come when you’re called, or he’ll send Santana to retrieve you. He prompts you often, but you can tell he doesn’t really care about the answer. You bore him sometimes with your ‘Please don’t hurt me’ and your ‘Please, please, let me go’ nonsense, how could he be expected to always find it fun? Your resistance only amuses him when you do something about it. Good, you’re running. Kars would love to play chase with you.

#🏵️ anon #request granted #yandere dio #yandere enrico pucci #yandere kars #yandere vinegar doppio #yandere diavolo #yandere yoshikage kira #yandere yoshikage kira x reader #yandere kars x reader #yandere dio x reader #yandere vinegar doppio x reader #yandere diavolo x reader #i normally use characters' first names but i feel bad calling doppio 'vinegar'

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whattraintracks · 3 months

Text

22. Puzzling - TMNT 2012

Don't worry, guys, that wasn't supposed to happen.

When the bit of Kraang tech he's examining (read: poking randomly in the hopes that something will happen) explodes, Donatello's not sure if he or Raphael shrieks louder. He thinks it's Raph. Which would be way funnier under different circumstances.

He blinks against sooty particulates. "Huh, well, that wasn't supposed to happen."

He's amid a cloud of unexpectedly thick, slightly pink smoke. Which is on-brand but frankly annoying. He waves at the air in a vain attempt to disperse it. Maybe he can move this operation to the kitchen, work under the exhaust hood. He should probably install one in here. He gives up flailing his arms, and backs away from the desk. Step one to solving any problem is getting some distance. Step two is—oh, that's weird. The cloud doesn't seem to have moved since the initial explosion. What kind of particles are these? He hasn't seen Kraang tech do this before.

The moment he remembers Raph is also the moment he trips over him. With a yelp, he hits the ground. Hard. Raph giggles. Rude. He's going to have at least two bruises tomorrow. And his scream was definitely louder than Raph's, so he's lost any right to make fun.

"Dude," Donnie groans, pushing to his feet. At least he's away from the Kraang smoke, "Why'd you trip me?"

"I don't know," comes the high-pitched reply, "Why're you so big?"

By the time his eyes clear, he's pretty sure it's a genuine question, not an insult about his height. It makes more sense once he looks down, down, down to find Raph miniaturised.

Donnie throws his hands to his head. "That wasn't supposed to happen, either!" Raph just giggles again.

"Leo!"

As far as they can tell, based on Raph's appearance and memories, he's about five. Donnie can't even remember being that young. Which he counts as a good thing because kids are weird. Or maybe that's just mutant turtle kids. He doesn't have experience with normal children to establish a baseline. Leo and Sensei do, though, and they seem unperturbed by Raph's behavior. Even Mikey takes the whole thing in stride. He is, in fact, absolutely thrilled and oscillates between gathering blackmail material and doing whatever Raph asks.

Donnie will admit he's having trouble making sense of it all. First, and he thinks he’s mentioned this, that was not supposed to happen. He can't figure out how a broken Kraang tech part without any detectable energy source could have caused something like this. Which naturally leads to the question of how he's meant to fix it. Raph has no idea what happened, either, so he's no help. Worse, he just might be the most confusing being Donnie has ever met. Take yesterday, for example.

He's not sure what time it is when he stumbles out of the lab for breakfast, so it might not technically be in the range of the day at which it is appropriate to call a meal breakfast. His brain is too full of viscous pink Kraang smoke to care. It must be some mealtime because everyone but Master Splinter is in the kitchen when he arrives. Leo is at the island supervising Raph and Mikey's mess-making by the stove.

Raph perks up, "Hey Donnie! I wanna tell you a question."

"Ask nicely, Raph," Leo reminds, hiding a smile behind the rim of his tea cup.

"Please, I wanna tell you a question." He barrels on, "How do you open your labrador?”

Open his what? Donnie stares at the space above Raph's head, trying to parse the question until a nudge from Leo resets his brain. "Say what?"

"Your labrador!" He flings his arms out, nearly knocking himself to the floor. Mikey catches the lip of his shell just in time.

“What Labrador? Raph, I don't have a—”

“Yeah, you do!” He's angry of a sudden. Of course, he is. But it's weird. It's not the first time Donnie's made him mad since the incident, but he's never gotten in anyone's face or stormed off with a huff. He just screeches until he gets whatever it is that he wants. It's Raph's anger, but it's not. “It’s how you get to the place you do all your smart stuff!"

Mikey swoops in, crouching to squeeze Raph gently, then translates, “He means the door to your lab, bro.”

“The door? Oh. Why would—?" Donnie sighs heavily, sinking into the stool next to Leo. “Raph, that’s the lab door,” he enunciates, “Not a Labrador. A Labrador is a dog breed."

Just like that, Raph's face unscrunches into something thoughtful. “So it’s not a labrador?”

Well, at least the exasperation is familiar. "I literally just said that. It’s a normal door.” Leo clicks at him warningly. Come on, what is he supposed to do here? Seriously, this feels surreal. Maybe this whole dialogue is a dream, and he's hunched over his desk right now. He straightens his shell to test for any worse-than-usual aching.

“Okay," Raph says. Then he turns around. Just like that. As if the entire conversation never happened. Never mind his original question or whatever he was trying to ask. He makes no sense, literally none at all.

But, you know what, fine. Donnie has to eat anyway so he can go back to the "place where he does all his smart stuff" or whatever. So he can figure out how to get his actual brother back, who at least makes sense most of the time.

Leo finishes his tea, returning Raph's enthusiastic wave goodbye, and then there are three. Mikey and Raph finally settle down to eat whatever noxious concoction they've whipped up as Donnie cleans his dishes. Freshly fed, his brain refills with extradimensional smoke and engineering.

"Well, that's boring!"

He fumbles with his mug at the sudden shout. A glance over his shoulder finds Raph, who had been eating quietly, now glaring at him.

“You should name that boring normal door Labrador so we can just call it that anyway," he says firmly.

He's not sure why he tries to ask, “Why would I—”

“Or or!" And it's like a switch again, anger suddenly dissipating. "We could name it something cooler! Like Thundoor from Crognard!”

“Thundarr,” He corrects. It's too late, Mikey's joins in.

“That’s awesome, little dude!" Mikey laughs buoyantly. "We should name all the furniture!”

“Yeah!”

And Donnie is so tired and so lost, and Raph is too much and too little of his brother at the same time it’s not even funny anymore. He doesn't think it ever was.

“Come one, Dee!" Mikey hoists Raph onto his shoulders, naturally content to ignore the messy kitchen. "Help Raphie and I name everything in the lair!”

Donnie tries to shake his head as Raph reaches for him. “Can you! Can you, please? Just for a little bit, please, Donnie, please?” Oh, now he recalls his manners.

"No, Raph." He bangs his mug onto the drying rack, ignoring Mikey's frown. "I don't have time for your nonsense questions and weird games. I'm trying to fix you."

It's not until he slams closed the lab door that the words trailing after his dramatic exit finally click. A puzzled sort of muttering from Raph: "Fix me? But I’m not broken."

So maybe he got a little too worked up, as tired as he was. But he's better now! He's eaten. He's slept five hours. He's determined to sit here until he cracks this thing.

And then someone bangs on the door.

He drops his head with a groan. How is he supposed to heroically solve all of their problems in these conditions? “Who is it, and what do you want," he shouts into the pages of his notebook.

"Once a second!"

One second, he mouths to himself. He listens to Raph struggle with the door for a lot of seconds and hopes he'll give up. He probably won't. Donnie better unlock it before he hurts himself. Or worse, starts screaming. Only because Leo would find some way to blame Donnie for it.

He shoves the door open, not at all irritated. Or vindicated either, when Raph falls on his shell and his sai skitter across the floor. Wait. “I thought Sensei took those out of your—Hey!”

Five-year-old Raph may not be much of a ninja but he is pretty slippery. He scrambles under Donnie's arm and launches into the rolling desk chair.

“Raphael." He glowers, summoning his inner Leo, "You are not allowed in the lab—”

“Without you,” he recites, spinning the chair so Donnie only catches glimpses of his cheeky smile. “But you’re here too! So it’s okay.”

It most definitely is not. Raph has no understanding of lab safety right now, so if Raph stays in here, then Donnie will have to keep an eye on him, and if Donnie has to watch Raph, then he can't focus on his work. He does not want Raph in here, and he says so.

“Donnie, I'll be so so so good. Please!” Oh, Mikey absolutely taught him how to do that with his eyes. Not cool, Mike.

“Raph," Donnie faux whines back. "I need to work. Go play with Leo or Mikey."

"Ugh," Raph flops onto his shell, letting his head and limbs hang. “But Sensei and Leo are medating, and Mikey’s with Red."

“Meditating," he corrects, "And I know you know her name is April.”

“Casey calls her Red.”

“Yeah, well, Casey��s a—” Raph looks at him with wide, innocent eyes. A promise on his face that anything Donnie says will be repeated. "It’s polite to call people by their name."

Raph hums, continuing to spin idly, “But I don't call you Donatello, I call you Donnie. And you call me Raph or sometimes Fai.”

Not a bad point. But what was that second thing? Fai? Oh. His brain retrieves fuzzy, forgotten memories. That's right. When they were both little, that had been his nickname for Raph. Just between the two of them. He can't remember when he stopped using it.

“Right," he says slowly. "But those are nicknames. They're a shorter version of your name.”

“Oh, okay.” Then Raph rolls out of the chair, clunking to the ground shell first, and wanders away to explore the lab.

Donnie retakes the seat, resigning himself to further interruptions. Part of his brain is devoted to thinking up better excuses in case this is one of those conversations Raph returns to without warning. The rest of his awareness is on Raph as he pokes and prods at books and equipment and even poor Timothy. It takes the better part of a half hour for him to realise he's still sitting at his desk not moving a muscle.

He growls, gripping his head. Raph is on him in an instant. "What's wrong? Can I help? Do you need a book? Do you want one of mine? I can get Leo! Or Sensei, or—"

"No," Donnie snaps.

He gapes as Raph's beak trembles and his eyes fill with tears. "You're crying. Why are you crying? Please stop crying." He slides to the floor next to Raph, "I'm sorry? It's just. I'm trying to focus! I need to fix you, but I don't—"

“I don’t want you to fix me!” He shouts, scrubbing his face and hiccupping. “I just want to play! Why won’t you play with me anymore?"

“Raph, I," Donnie looks down at his hands, "I don’t have time,” he finishes lamely.

“Yes, you do! You’re just being mean!” He runs out of the lab. Probably to someone who actually understands him. Someone who tries. Donnie wonders if he’ll ever stop messing things up for Raph.

Because as far as they can tell, this version of Raph went to bed one day, and the family he found upon waking was suddenly different. Of course, Raph is frustrated and confused and probably a little scared. He's not just normal Raph in a smaller body. Donnie might've realised that sooner if he'd spent more time with him instead of causing one mess after the other and then hiding from it all in his lab.

Donnie doesn't remember when he was five, but he's heard Sensei's stories about their childhood. The ones about his younger self hanging on Raph's every word. That one embarrassing retelling of the biggest fight Donnie ever caused by announcing Raph was his favorite brother. His father's memories of them doing everything together, at least until Donnie really got into science. So he steps out of the lab and locks it behind him. His brother, this brother, needs to come first.

He must look contrite enough that Leo only grills him a little before he points to Raph's room. After a single breath of indecision, he sits, shell against the door.

“Hey, Fai?” he starts, tugging at his fingers, “I’m really sorry. I have been pretty mean lately, haven’t I?” It takes a few moments, but a little thud echoes on the other side of the door.

Relieved, he continues, “I’m not as good at this as I used to be. I might need your help. But I’m out of my lab right now, and we can play whatever you want.”

Donnie hits the floor before he realises the door has swung open. Little Raph is looking down at him, eyes still watery but excited. "Really? Anything? Even Space Heroes!"

And Donnie almost can't believe it's that easy. He smiles with Raph's infectious joy. “Space Heroes? Who are you, Leo?”

Raph collapses into him with a laugh that banishes the rest of his tears as Donnie reaches out, tickling him just like he's seen their big brother do. He's still giggling when Donnie staggers to his feet. “Think I could use some bedding to build us the Dauntless?”

Raph cheers. Launching into an explanation of his favorite episodes and characters as he directs them around the lair to collect supplies. If this isn't blackmail material, Donnie doesn't know what is. Raph will never be able to deny that he likes Space Heroes ever again. Once Donnie figures out how to reverse this Kraang-smoke-induced de-aging that is.

He does still have to. They need Raph as he should be: their teammate, their protector, their equal. But if he were here in those roles right now, Donnie knows he would have heard a thousand times over that he needs to sleep, to eat, to take a break for at least five minutes, Don, come on.

So he'll try. He'll take breaks to hang out with his favorite brother. He'll get a lot of experience building sheet spaceships and pillow forts. And by the end of it all, Donnie will realise his little brother really does just want to play and ask silly questions that probably don’t seem so silly to him. He'll decide this little version of Raph isn't a puzzle of confusing emotions. He's the same pieces he's always been, unfiltered and untethered from all the pain and fear of their older selves.

And so, even after Raph returns to 16, whenever the thought creeps up on Donnie that he's not doing enough, that he needs to fix it. He'll lock his lab behind him and say, "Hey, Fai! Wanna play something?"

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the-not-so-dark-age · 8 months

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"If you stare into the abyss, the abyss stares back at you"

CW: spoilers for ch. 236, 237 and S2 - Shibuya arc

Heaven/hell, enlightenment/darkness, life/death, good/evil, blue/red contrasts that all represent the contrast between Gojo/Geto that's been going on since the start of this season; but these images are interesting for one more reason imo.

It's as if Gojo is staring into Geto/Kenjaku's red soul, while also staring into the empty black hole that is himself - and Geto/Kenjaku is doing the same: staring into Gojo's eye, but empty darkness stares back at him. They look into their own reflections, but they only see an abyss staring back at them.

And this made me realise how similar Gojo and Kenjaku can actually be, because: who are they?

"Are you Gojo Satoru because you are the strongest or are you the strongest because you are Gojo Satoru?"

And, again:

"Who is Gojo Satoru?"

Gojo's curse (and ultimately what may have really brought him to his death), is the fact he never managed to find a definitive answer to Geto's terribly haunting questions: Gojo never created his own sense of self beyond being The Strongest Sorcerer and that's what always kept a certain degree of distance between him and the other people (even if he cared about them, and I'm not doubting this at all); Gojo remained as untouchable and unreachable inside his Infinite Void of loneliness, and he died alone on the battlefield just as he lived alone, being watched from afar by other "normal" sorcerers. The only real connection peer to peer he ever made was with Geto when they were still on the same level, and he kept that connection even after Geto's homicidal turn and death, and that's why Geto is so special to him, as he was the only one to breach through the barrier around Gojo and to eventually expose how Gojo always risked to be a sort of empty shell, an abyss, under the layers of strenght - and it seems Geto was right.

So now I'm asking: who is Kenjaku?

He too doesn't seem to have a real bond (aside from the old friendship with Tengen...which needs more explanation) a real partner he cares about genuinely, only ever using the temporary allies he makes (like Mahito&Co); not even Sukuna looks like this to me, since he regards Uraume as a valuable ally, even if far below his strenght level. Kenjaku kept changing bodies for centuries, living so many different lives while also keeping his own very specific personality and his very clear goal of human forced evolution...so it seems he's not an empty abyss like Gojo.

But who's beneath all of that?

If you take away the weird brain-exchanging technique, which is Kenjaku's strenght just like the Six Eyes+Limitless were to Gojo, what is left?

Is Kenjaku a real soul or the product of all those endless souls he got to know, see, appropriate, use during his very long life? What if by merging with the (apparently) only friend he has, Tengen, to then merge with humanity to force its evolution, he actually wants to experience the feeling of not being alone? (it would be a sort of Evangelion ending lol)

Gojo wore the mask of The Strongest, The Chosen One, The Honoured One for his whole life (except for the spring of his youth spent with Geto - and when he goes south, when he dies, he goes back to that time when he really felt he was someone), but there was nothing under the mask; so what if under all of these lives, these bodies which are masks too, Kenjaku is another empty, dark abyss? What if it could lead to his downfall, just like it did for Gojo?

One more thing: in ch 236, Gojo basically says he wasn't satisfied because Geto wasn't there with him too, meaning he still felt alone even in the company of his students and other allied sorcerers. I think another way to express this concept is to say Gojo's only regret is that he was alone, without Geto. Gojo regretted not having Geto, who was a symbol of a happier time outside that abyss of loneliness, but now they're together and Gojo has gone back to his old happier self.

And Kenjaku too speaks of regret, as he talks about not remembering anymore what even is regret...is he so deeply buried under all the masks he wore in his long life, he doesn't remember anymore what regret and loneliness are?

Is there a way to "go south" for Kenjaku? Is there even a south (and old self) he can go back to?

And the theme of identity, of being someone beyond mere strenght is brought into the story again by Kashimo basically asking Sukuna the same thing Geto asked Gojo in Shinjuku (even though Kashimo feels more like Sukuna, alone at the pinnacle of strenght, contrary to Geto who felt as if he was watching Gojo, the strongest alone, from below).

I'm very curious to see what these two characters will do in the next chapters, and if finding "love" will mean abandoning the status of The Strongest Alone for Sukuna, and a potential defeat, and maybe even "going south" (that little drop of possible Sukuna backstory ... Akutami feed us!!!)

#jjk spoilers #jjk 236 #jjk 237 #jjk s2 #shibuya arc #gojo satoru #kenjaku #sukuna #kashimo hajime #geto suguru #the shinjification of kenjaku. there. i said it #this whole thing probably doesnt make any sense. opsie. sometimes jjk brainrot hits me back

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faithfromanewperspective · 8 months

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dangit there goes the ask/follow/unfollow thing again! anyway. tell us about your mixed feelings about ragnor.

okay. this one's a juicy one. i'm not going to lie, ragnor pisses me off in a lot of ways. he's hilariously grouchy, he's not a bad guy, he's actually kinda loveable and he's doing what he does from a place of centuries of trauma but there are some things I simply can't overlook and this all put together, he's the perfect realistic example of someone who has been dehumanised and discriminated against by shadowhunters for centuries and yet still winds up interacting with them, and behaves accordingly.

Ragnor is older than Magnus, he was his friend and mentor which I find super sweet. He's rough around the edges but has a caring side to him, and we see that when he takes Magnus under his wing. He makes a great friend group dynamic with Magnus and Caterina and I do love that aspect of him.

Ragnor doesn't have the formative good experience with Shadowhunters that Magnus does, nor did he grow up with the distance from them as Caterina seems to have (imo she has more autonomy in her relations with shadowhunters as she's a healer, she's street smart and knows how to break the law without getting in trouble, she mainly deals with mundanes and so the shadowhunters she does help tend to not be The Clave Inner Group). He has been hurt by Shadowhunters: from the warlock head on the wall they didn't understand why was traumatic in tftsa, to the way he was very shaken after matthew and christopher blew up the academy, to the way we kinda get the vibe that he was there, before the Accords, interacting with them as much as he had to but knowing that he could be killed for pretty much no reason (and we see that taking a toll on him). He's not as reckless as Magnus, and prioritises survival for himself over anyone else--and after living hundreds of years in such a world, who can blame him? For 'haring of to Capri' for 'his nerves' during chain of gold. For working with Shinyun when she Thorned him after imprisoning him for literal years in tlbotw. For the way he talks about and treats the TLH gang, which I will get to.

Rangor and the Victorian Herondales Before I get to that, I want to trace that thread (of the connection between Ragnor and James and Christopher specifically) back to when Charlotte hired Ragnor to watch Will's family for him, when he was 12 and she was only 18-19 or so. In CP1, we see that they seem to get along and work together fairly well: Charlotte respects him, and maybe he finds her less intimidating as though she's an Institute head she's not part of the Bigoted Powerful Group of shadowhunters and she's grown up in a world of the Accords. Clearly he has no problem with her, she pays him well, they get along fine, appropriate boundaries are maintained (what are those, Magnus Bane?) he watches the Herondales for her, all is fine. Things are purely business. They discuss Tessa a little (if I remember correctly) but all is respectful, Ragnor seems to be fine with both Will and Tessa.

Fast forward to the Academy, Ragnor got a job as a professor, the warlock head drama is dealt with, he's doing his job, he's a bit curious about James, the first ever grandchild of a demon, he's willing to be there to educate him, whether about Shadowhunter things or warlock things, he doesn't get weird when James' powers appear like all the Shadowhunters do. He knows he's teaching Christopher who is an inventor and likes to explode things, but Matthew's looking after him even if Matthew is acting like a brat--Ragnor never seemed to have a problem with Henry, now he's teaching Henry's son and his protegee, from what I remember of Nothing But Shadows he seems generally pretty normal about this (correct me if I'm wrong), at least no more hysterical than the regular person. Then the building explodes. Ragnor wasn't in it, Matthew made sure of that, we get the sense he was fairly nearby--but so were literally hundreds of people.

And I don't want to minimise his trauma in any way. It is real, it does make perfect sense when we think of him already being in a vulnerable position as a warlock, even if it didn't make sense it would still be very valid and very real. A building explodes. Of course that is traumatic. Even if Christopher didn't mean for it to happen and it was Matthew, really, who mixed the explosives. Ragnor doesn't have to go and look at it from either of their perspective, to figure out why--he's allowed to just be traumatised. He's got a very realistic portrayal of PTSD from that event actually. But at the same time, he's an adult, and they, even if they are children of an oppressive tribe/cult, are children. And he chose to teach them, knowing what Shadowhunters are like, how their entire job is literally violence. That doesn't negate his right to be traumatised, he doesn't need to parent them or make space for their feelings, but there are a couple of things I just can't sweep under the rug.

Ragnor and the TLH gang There's a reason why I referred back to the Victorian Herondales: Ragnor has been watching out for Cecily and her parents, keeping track of them being alive at least, since she was a child. He teaches her son. He doesn't have to like Christopher, of course he links him to his trauma, but for a 16-year-old to hear 'hide the breakables, hide the whole house, Christopher Lightwood is here' when you're someone who really just wants to help people, is gambling on a dream of being able to use your passion for that (and frequently doubts it) and would feel terrible for when you do accidentally violate OH&S badly because you're a child and someone else set you up to do something you would hate to do (even though you're careless enough that you would inevitably do something like that on your own)--that would be brutal. I wish we were able to explore a bit more about what that was like for Christopher, I wish we were able to see someone (Cecily or Gabriel perhaps) work through that guilt and self-forgiveness with him. But in my opinion Ragnor could have done that much better. He didn't need to talk to Christopher, could have said that from the get-go and Tessa just ushered James and Lucie and Thomas up to talk to him or something. Like yes, his 'nerves [were] in a state' we can see that. It's good of him to know he needed to get to Capri. But I'm a little too protective of Christopher to just let him off the hook for that. Like I'm not super mad--just you know. Mixed feelings.

And then there's James. TMH was a fever dream, yes, but that whole scene 'oh ragnor loves causing trouble' like. There was backstory to that, to James taking bets from him, and Ragnor knowing what to say, like there's some sort of truth or dare going on and they're just causing trouble, having a good time and being little shits about it. Like this clearly wasn't the first time James had gone drinking with Ragnor (and it leaves me with so many questions. Like Ragnor clearly thought James was alright from the Academy days, he's grown up now, enough to have fun, he trusts him not to kill anyone with that gun when we know how self-preservational Ragnor is, and they weren't as protective of teenagers then as people are now--he wasn't necessarily in the wrong). Like he didn't have to realise what state James was in at the time (in fact it was probably good to just be normal and friendly, who wants to be parented anymore at 16). There's definitely a lot of trust there (and I do trust Ragnor with whatever he had against the barmaid that she deserved to be knocked over and have to prise a bullet out of her prosthetic). And he sees James again 6 months later and is like 'oh I wonder what will become of you Herondales [includes Lucie which at least someone does] so be it bye' so like. they're cool enough. But something about that whole thing was extremely irresponsible. How would he have felt if James had drowned in the Serpentine that night, if Ragnor had managed to convince Magnus to hang out with him? I don't know. I am glad none of us had to go through that. There would be quite the ripple of guilt around the cast. Rangor wasn't bad but he wasn't smart: it was Magnus, reckless, caring, weirdly-fascinated-with-the-Herondales Magnus who had never met James before who noticed something was wrong and decided to step up. You can see how I lost a bit of respect for Ragnor there (even though he did also do some things that earned my respect).

And then he talks about the TLH gang as any cynical Downworlder would about some Shadowhunter youths, as if he doesn't know them? He does know James, he doesn't have to like Christopher and Matthew because of the Academy thing, he's decent enough in how he talks about Anna and Thomas, but he's kinda disrespectful of Cordelia (like doesn't that word basically mean 'slut'? or am i mistaken?) when he's got nothing against her (other than her being Alastair's sister I guess, Ragnor did teach Alastair and we never see what he thought of him, they're similar in many ways but Alastair was part of the bully group at school apart from his first year). Like with the history between Shadowhunters and Downworlders I really think Ragnor deserves a serious apology, and restitution; but I also think that the TLH group are the kind of people who would be able to facilitate that: not with the Clave as a whole but just with some Shadowhunters, and sometimes that means just as much. I hope they do, post-canon, I hope that's why Ragnor in the modern series seems better to the shadowhunter youth than he was to James and Christopher and Cordelia (and he doesn't teach at the Academy anymore, good for him). I hope he does realise (and I'm going to mention Christopher's death sorry) that he was a good guy and only a child and manages to separate him from that traumatic experience and let Christopher's friends (for he's already been out drinking with James a few times right and does have that curiosity, plus I'd bet James does want to explore his warlock heritage at some point) be humans to him, as Charlotte was when most Nephilim didn't treat him as human. I hope Ragnor in post-canon(historical) does get to mend the rift between him and the Shadowhunters, if only partially.

Ragnor in the TDA era And then, just when I think 'oh he's alright actually' he shows up with Shinyun and he had something awful happen to him again and his cowardice came through. Which is understandable given his trauma. But surely you think about how destructive this plan is and nope out at some point? I think that's all that needs to be said for tlbotw. Yes he does vow to do better when he gets a second chance at the end, owed to, yet again, Magnus being reckless. So he deals alright with Kit and Ty. He actually takes care of them a little the way he should've at least attempted to with James. He does all he can really for another deranged black-haired autistic teenage boy, even if it does involve lying--necromancy is so much worse than lying. He's a confidant for Kit or at least available to be that, which Kit also desperately needs. So he's alright for that. Overall, yes. Mixed feelings. He's an interesting guy. Can't wait to see his arc in TWP.

#ragnor fell #tmh #nbs #tid #tlh #tda #tlbotw

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belloangelus · 2 years

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I rarely ever write stuff but I really needed to put this down into words. I initially tweeted this but figured I'd put it on here. Last night I watched the interview Ricky Olson did a few years back for Backstage by HeartSupport. There are certain things that when you hear them put into words, they hit a raw nerve and you can't help but burst into tears. I don't know what it was he said but something about his honesty affected me. I cried while typing this.

I don't think I've ever been good at being honest with myself about my feelings and emotions. I've never been suicidal but I have been in very dark places. I have felt absolutely no self worth and have shut myself off from everyone around me in the past.

My high school years sucked. I dealt with deaths in my family since I was 5, then 6, then 7, then 13, 14 and a few more deaths of those close to me in my 28 years on this Earth.

I've always fought with myself about my body. I think the last time I remember being truly confident in myself was when I was in elementary school. I've had periods in my life where I was ok with my body but then something would happen and I'd be down on myself.

I'm trying to be better for myself. These last few years have been real shit. Now that the world is getting back to normal, I think I've finally come to a point in my life where I see all that I've missed out on.

I have held myself back so many times, mainly out of fear. Fear of something going wrong, of making a fool of myself, of how my family will see me, what my friends will think, whether or not it's appropriate to do? I've lived in fear and anxiety since I can remember. I know in my heart that my family loves me and they'll love me always.

But there's still this voice in my mind picturing every "what if?". And I try to ignore it but I think my fear of disappointing those I love or not doing what they want me to do just weighs so much on me sometimes that I don't know who I really am. I don't know what I want. I feel like I've been vicariously living through others experiences in life.

I've never been on a date, never had a job, never been to a real party. I've only ever observed from a distance. I feel like everything I've ever done was for the approval of someone else or because someone else wanted to do it first and I just went along. I feel like I haven't had an original thought or idea in my head in a very, very, long time.

A couple of weeks ago something changed inside me. I dont know what it was that caused it but I finally found myself fed up with feeling guilty about doing something for myself. I think it was when I realized how old I was going to be this year. It was like a slap in the face. I realized I was going to be 28 years old..fucking that much closer to 30. I finally woke up like what the hell have I been doing with myself?

I've been out of high school almost 11 years and I am in basically the same spot I was when I graduated. I did the whole community college thing because I was too scared to go to a University and I didn't know what degree I'd even want. I didn't get a job because my parents said I didn't have to, as long as I went to school.

I did that, got my AA degree and then took a year off. Then I decided to get an online degree through one of the in state University's. It's been six years and I still haven't completed my degree. I only have a few classes left but I am so burned out by it all that I just don't even care to finish it.

My parent's insist, "I've come all this way, just finish it", I suppose I should but do I really want it? Did I ever really want it? Or was I just going along with what was expected of me? I honestly have been doing it so fucking long that I don't know anymore. I think at some point I did want it, the degree, the graduation, the sense of accomplishment.

At some point it became a burden, a nuisance, something weighing on me. I no longer feel that completing my degree will make me any better of a person. I have no idea what I'm going to do.

When I was little I always dreamed of falling in love, getting married, having kids, being a housewife for fucks sake. But my reality has been far from it. I still do dream of falling in love, getting married, of just being loved. I hope I find that someday, but I need to find myself first.

Who am I, truly? I have no idea. There are inklings in my brain of who I think I am but I don't know. I feel as though I've been in a constant battle with who I truly am and who I've been.

I never really believed in the existence of fate or destiny. Ive always kind of looked at life through a lense of chance and whatever will be, will be. But recently I've questioned the way I look at life.

In other tweets I've mentioned the band Motionless in White but I felt as though my tweets came off as like "hey, look at me, I like your band". I don't want this to be like that. My point is that I feel like I was meant to find these guys. In fact, it was an absolute fluke that I did find them.

I happened to see a few of their photos and a little video of them on Tumblr. The blog I was on had nothing to do with music or bands, she just happened to reblog a few things about them. My first impression of them was "😐jeez, who are these guys?" I admit I stereotyped them. I thought "Ugh another weird metal band 😒, they probably scream all of their lyrics and are just weird." I just rolled my eyes and kind of tried to move on.

There was a little clip on this same Tumblr that worked as the chisel that began to chip away at my stereotypes of the band.

The clip had Ricky, Vinny, and Justin during the livestream of their album signing. What caught me off guard about this video was how regular they all seemed. I thought 'huh, they look way different from their stage personas'. They were funny and kind of cute, especially Vinny. More importantly they seemed like normal guys.

This is where it kind of began; my interest in Motionless in White. I started out learning more about the group. I watched their tour updates on YouTube, but I still was iffy about if I wanted to get into their music. Up until then, I hadn't listened to any of their music. I started with their newest stuff and honestly, I didn't like it. Then I watched Vinny play drums on Twitch and I was like I need to hear more of him play.

So, I listened to their new album again but this time I really listened. I let the music in. And that's when I felt the pull, the power, the energy of it all. I could tell these guys cared, they worked hard, and made some awesome music.

Once I heard their new album I had to listen to their previous album, then the one before that and before that. I can't remember the last time I felt so many emotions while listening to music. I felt like an explorer discovering some never before seen place. I found something new, to me at least, on my own. It wasn't a friend or family member who told me about them, it was me.

I was looking for a change in my life, I needed a change, a way to find who I really am. Over the past two weeks I have felt more alive and real than I have in a really long time.

How does Motionless in White relate to my fate or destiny or who I am? I've always experienced deja vu. What exactly is deja vu, I have no idea? I think of it as your ability to see the future, somehow.

A few days ago I was doing something completely random when I had a major episode of deja vu. Usually I'd just shrug it off like huh weird deja vu. But this time was different because it related directly to Motionless in White.

I remember having this particular deja vu dream many months ago, way before I ever heard of the band. But somehow, in some inexplicable way, my brain dreamed about them, about me sitting watching a video of Ricky talking about his travel bag.

I guess what I'm trying to get at is this, I feel like I was meant to find these guys. It sounds so cheesy but I truly believe it. Then last night, I felt more convinced when watching the interview Ricky gave about mental illness and depression. He said that sometimes you need to talk to someone who has no connection to you, kind of like talking to a wall. To just let it out. That's what this is, my therapy, talking to a blank wall. Just letting it all out and lifting a weight from my shoulders. Everything I mentioned here, I don't think I've ever admitted or told to anyone, even myself really.

I want to finish my ramblings with a genuine, heartfelt thank you to Motionless in White and to each of its members; Chris Motionless, Ricky Olson, Justin Morrow, Vinny Mauro and Ryan Sitkowski, who I admire and appreciate! 🙏🤘🖤 Thank you guys so much❤

- Dara I. aka BelloAngelus

#motionless in white #vinny mauro #ryan sitkowski #ricky olson #chris motionless #justin morrow #depression #fear #suicide #mental health #anxiety

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ledvideo · 1 month

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Viewing angle analysis of LED display

Before discussing the viewing angle of the LED display, we need to clarify what the viewing angle is. Viewing angle refers to the maximum angle at which users can clearly observe all content on the screen from different directions. For LED displays, this parameter is particularly important because it directly affects the audience's viewing experience.

Definition of viewing angle of LED display

The viewing angle of an LED display usually includes indicators in both horizontal and vertical directions. For example, the technical parameters of a display screen may be marked as "Viewing angle: 140°/140°", which means that the maximum viewing angle of the display screen is 140° in both horizontal and vertical directions. Beyond this angle, image quality will degrade, and color distortion or reduced brightness may occur. Provide you with LED display specifications.

The horizontal viewing angle refers to the angle range within which the viewer can still view the image normally within a certain angle to the left or right from the vertical normal of the display screen (the vertical imaginary line in the middle of the display screen). The vertical viewing angle is the upward or downward viewing angle based on the horizontal normal line of the display screen.

Factors affecting the viewing angle of LED display

Die packaging method: The size of the viewing angle is mainly determined by the packaging method of the LED die. Different packaging technologies will lead to different light scattering angles, thus affecting the viewing angle.

Viewing angle and distance: Viewing angle is related to the angle and distance of the viewer. Theoretically, the larger the viewing angle, the wider the audience can see.

Cost: Customizing viewing angles for specific scenarios may result in increased costs. Here are the commercial LED display price ranges.

Brightness: Generally, the brightness of an LED full-color screen with a larger angle may be reduced accordingly, because the light is scattered in a wider range, resulting in a decrease in brightness per unit area. To provide you with knowledge about nit brightness.

The impact of viewing angle on application scenarios

Outdoor advertising: Outdoor billboards require a large viewing angle to ensure that pedestrians in different locations can clearly see the advertising content. The price of outdoor LED display is determined by ten aspects.

Stage background: In stage performances, LED displays usually require a wide viewing angle so that everyone in the audience can have a good visual experience. How much does it cost to rent an LED stage screen in the United States?

Control room monitoring: In a control room, the viewing angle of the display may not need to be as wide as the operator is usually in a fixed position.

Commercial display: LED displays in commercial displays need to determine the appropriate viewing angle based on the display environment and the audience's expected viewing angle. Provide you with commercial LED screen technology, advantages and selection guide.

When selecting an LED display, the appropriate viewing angle should be determined based on specific application needs and budget. At the same time, taking into account the development of technology, modern LED displays can already maintain high brightness while providing a wide viewing angle to meet the needs of a variety of application scenarios.

Thank you for watching. I hope we can solve your problems. Sostron is a professional LED display manufacturer. We provide all kinds of displays, display leasing and display solutions around the world. If you want to know: How to extend the service life of LED display?Please click read.

Follow me! Take you to know more about led display knowledge.

#led display #led display manufacturer #led #indoor led display

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olivereactsaboutgarbage · 2 years

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Nana Episode 33 - Hachi's Choice

Isn’t that the movie about the woman who lost a child?

Ah... Yasu and the blonde from Trapnest are still hanging out... neat neat neat.

Now it’s Yasu’s job to comfort Cool Nana after she learned of Beloved Pooch Nana’s pregnancy. The blonde from Trapnest gracefully exits. Good for him, he’s an irrelevant character so it’s nice for him to know when to not have screentime.

Yeah, this is basically what he’s like. 100%.

Anyway, Takumi walks into Beloved Pooch Nana’s apartment to find that she has vanished. That’s fun.

Where has she gone, you ask? Junko and Kyosuke’s house. Eh? They’re not irrelevant yet? Originators of the Blackface that they are? But they’re not even in the opening...!

That’s an interesting euphemism.

Junko and Kyosuke are being good supportive friends for Beloved Pooch Nana. Man, what have they been up to lately? There should be a spinoff show about Junko and Kyosuke. It could be called... “Originators of the Blackface”. I would watch that.

I wonder how Beloved Pooch Nana’s explanation of why she didn’t want an abortion reads to people left-of-me on the issue. Does she seem poorly written/written as stupid? I am not of the mind that abortion is always wrong, mind you, but I am of the mind that it is often the act of killing a human being (exceptions: stillbirth-type scenarios), and should be treated with the appropriate weight. From what I can tell there are those who hold not only the opinion that abortion is never incorrect, which I already think is a little blase, but even perhaps, the opinion that abortion can be a moral imperative even in cases where the wellbeing of the mother is not especially threatened? Simply because the child may have an uneasy future? Forgive me if I seem like I’m demonizing people I disagree with. That’s not my intention. In my experience, humanity as a whole is capable of a wide range of viewpoints... and personally, I am very stupid, so I don’t have the necessary intellect to gauge the “normality” of viewpoints. I’m just focusing on deciding which viewpoints I think are true. All that is to say... while I think it’s valid to kill a human being for things such as, say, being so bad at plans that he only does murders instead every single time (see my One Piece readthrough for more details), or causing a child to be pregnant (hopefully won’t come up in One Piece), making everyone’s life a lot more complicated does not automatically a scoundrel make. As for “taking the child’s potential suffering into account before deciding so quickly to avoid abortion”... your outlook on the world would have to be awful bleak to so easily resort to a mercy-killing. Despite the miseries of society, it is a common human trait to seek to alleviate suffering. It’s because of traits like this that survival could be said to often turn out to be worth it.

tl;dr i don’t think this scene is that notable so far

Wait, Junko is now insisting that BPN cast aside Nobu and become “faithful” to Takumi due to the way circumstances have worked out such that Takumi has pledged to help raise BPN’s child? For the sake of... what, exactly? Monogamy? That doesn’t seem that important. BPN’s life is one thing, and BPN’s child’s life is another. Neither one should chain the other into a particular mode of operations. The mere existence of a child should not tie that child’s mother to that child’s father. Especially in scenarios where the father is going to be heavily distanced from both! Where it DEFINITELY shouldn’t matter much! As long as BPN isn’t behaving duplicitously or maliciously, she should be able to pursue whatever social relationships she wants, with the subjects and statuses of her choosing. And you know who has even less say on this matter than an unborn child (if such a thing is even possible, given fetuses’ common proclivity for not speaking)? Junko, that’s who...!

tl;dr uhhhhhhhhhhh

tl;dr

Begone, Originators of the Blackface! Back into the depths with thee...! I shalt not watch your spinoff show after all.

Hm, I may have spoken too soon when assessing BPN’s thoughts on the option of getting an abortion as something someone lefter-than-me would see as bad writing. It seems like Junko’s final conclusion was that BPN had a choice between getting an abortion or breaking up with Nobu, and chose incorrectly when she chose the former. Personally, I would be inclined to reject the dichotomy outright. As I’ve already said in different words, I think personal freedom, at least within the confines of that which one is able to achieve, trumps most other things. The simplest solution is not always the best one. The most societally-acceptable solution is the best one even less often, thanks in part to the miseries of society which I mentioned earlier. If BPN were inclined to seek out a complex solution to a complex problem, even if doing so were to breach the boundaries of social norms, I really don’t think Junko had the right to discourage her on principle.

I’m sick of talking about this.

I think tomorrow I’ll just make two One Piece posts instead of having to deal with this again. Nana will return after that.

what the fuck is this even supposed to mean

Oh, Takumi wants to marry BPN now? That’s interesting. Y’know, Takumi kinda reminds me of my dad:

He’s Japanese

He does music

I don’t like him

That’s it

My dad has a certain distaste for long-haired men as a general concept, and he certainly isn’t married to my mom, so there are a few key differences as well. Although the fact that my dad isn’t married to my mom may have more to do with my mom’s (not unreasonable) reaction to his unfaithfulness than to his particular dissimilarity from Takumi, so in that sense, maybe it’s less that there are key differences between my dad and Takumi, and more that there are key similarities between my mom and Junko? Although I find it highly unlikely that my mom would ever be the origin point from which blackface would be spawned into the world. Hmm, much to think about... I miss the days when my stupidity allowed me to empty-headedly fall facefirst through Nana episodes with nothing of note to say about them.

Guitar.

#nana #is what i'm consuming #i take no joy in saying guitar this time because i ended up thinking about a bunch of serious topics

0 notes

blzzrdstryr · 3 years

Text

Reveries of turmoil

Yandere!Childe x fatui!reader

[Previous chapter]

Just as you predicted that short and stifled conversation was a portent of future changes. Childe stopped trying to talk to you outside the business, he even avoided your eyes in those rare moments when you looked at him first. Normally obnoxious and persistent Harbinger seemed to deflate in your presence, as his swaggering and blustering attitude disappeared within mere moments.

You would be overjoyed for this turn of events, if you didn’t have any experience of dealing with and tolerating Tartaglia. Childe, as you already established, is a chaos personified, an erratic whirlwind that twists and ruins everything in its way wrapped in human skin and caged by human bones. It wouldn’t be a surprise if some nasty complications arose out of this faux armistice and sneaked upon your unsuspecting self.

Ajax wont do anything drastic, you reassure yourself - the Rite of Descension gets closer and closer with each passing day, he just can't afford to fail this, meaning that he will have to keep you on-field. It would be logical to do so, let you work, but logical sometimes means predictable and nothing about Ajax is predictable.

Fortunately he continued to keep this strange distance as days passed. Was your little episode and words you said to him enough to stop him in his pursuit? Maybe it truly hurt him, maybe it made him see how miserable he was making you, maybe his obsession with you ceased to exist, it’s flames fizzling and going out just as fast as they ignited. You doubt all of it, yet continue to hope for the better, despite the evidence of the opposite shoved in your face.

Ajax will never let go of you, not in the way you want. He killed and tortured people right before your eyes, sometimes had you assist him in doing so. Most of the time this was done in Tsaritsa’s name, for the future of Snezhnaya and her people, just another working assignment regardless of the blood curdling screams and alien agony.

However, in some rare cases the torment of others isn’t something that is totally impersonal to you, sometimes you’re the main cause. Childe is possessive, terribly so. He watches over you like a dragon guarding his gold, scaring away other possible admirers. And if his title and reputation wasn’t enough to keep away whatever poor sod who decided to tempt the dragon, well, other way more grim methods were used.

You never personally witnessed these kinds of torture, but you heard rumours and sometimes saw the bodies after, images that keep reappearing in your nightmares. Maybe this lull is nothing but a quiet before the storm, a short breather after he commits some unforgettable atrocity again.

He personally summons you the day before the Descension. You brace yourself for incoming nonsense, except nothing comes. “Agent [Last]”, he says, his voice tense and restrained.”I need you to attend the Rite of Descension with me. You will be disguised as a civilian", and then he dismisses you, no hint of mind games he likes to play in sight.

You want to hope that he changed, you succeed and fail at the same time - this new Ajax is pleasant, he’s cold and disinterested, just like any boss should be, yet you just can’t relax and focus wholly on doing the job - it’s a privilege only those who haven’t met Tartaglia can afford.

He’s a sea, treacherous and ever changing, calm and serene in one moment, yet violent and crushing in the other.

You spend the day torn between the anxious thoughts of Tartaglia and what he might do and the preparation for upcoming ceremony - it's a once in a lifetime event, it's Tsaritsa’s will and hope, it's Ajax’s eyes focused on you. You can’t afford to fail, you have no right to do so.

Wearing a simple Snezhnayan overcoat with nothing hiding your face is surely strange after years of donning a fatui uniform. Tourists and Liyuens alike pass by, not paying you any attention. Both vision and delusion glow under the thick fabric, asking you to use them.

You walk faster.

The top of the Yujing Terrace is lit with sunlight and full of human sounds, as merchants and other workers haste to finish their tasks and join the people at the top. You look around, quickly noticing the familiar ginger - he stays half-turned to you, his eyes focused on the figure of Tianquan. You quickly avert your gaze, as if not recognizing him, and shift it towards other people - you spot two vision holders among the crowd too - an electro and geo one, and a strange person cladded in the exotic clothes with some sort of flying fairy(?) floating around.

You walk to the altar placing Liyuen flowers nearby the multiple offerings of food, wine and gold, their simple white petals contrasting against the gaudy luxury of the rest.

"Qingxin flowers?", someone suddenly says, a speck of genuine surprise evident in the phrase. Their voice is too close for your comfort - you quickly turn on the heels, alarmed by a person somehow sneaking up on you only to be met with a pair of the golden eyes.

It’s a nicely dressed Liyuen gentleman, with the air of wisdom and elegance surrounding him, an inner dignity shining from beneath, and most importantly the one you saw wearing a vision at the back of the coat. You try to look as calm as possible, despite the senses telling you otherwise - after years of service any vision holder unadorned by the Fatui colors is perceived as a threat.

“Yes, it is”, you quip back, not wanting to look suspicious: “Is this improper? Qingxin as an offering?”, you mimic a light concern - something that would be appropriate for the foreign merchant who might have offended the god of commerce.

“No, not at all”, Liyuen laughs: “just in all of my years, I have never seen anyone offer these flowers”.

“Huh”, you smile, looking at the man before you. Is he a simple liyuen you thought of him at first? He has Geo vision - the symbol of Archaic Lord’s recognition - and the way he said “all of my years” carry more weight than usual, a mark of something hidden beneath the mundane phrase.

“Something tells me, you must have attended every rite of Descension”, you continue, the starter vague and innocent enough - a perfect way to fish out more information. For some reason, his golden eyes widen a bit, it’s subtle and quick enough to go unnoticed by most people, but you’re not the most people - all Fatui agents are trained to catch even the smallest changes and educated in multiple fields, physiognomy included.

What could have caused such a reaction and why did he react the way he did? The Rite of Descension is a prominent event in the life of every Liyuen, even if it’s annual, as thousands of thousands of people traverse great distances to see their god fly down from the heavens and grace his subjects with the wisdom of countless years. You remember seeing Liyuens living in Snezhnaya consistently take a leave every year for a week, when the prominent date showed on the horizon, missing working days and no doubt a lot of nerves, only to see the archon of their homeland.

So why did that man looks so surprised?

“You’re quite perceptive, aren’t you?”, he responds, voice calm and pleasant, despite the masterfully hidden surprise: “And yes, I have always tried my best to be at every Rite to this day. Rex Lapis shares his experience with his people, so it’s an incredibly important day. And what about you? What brings a foreigner here?”, he makes a gesture at your obviously snezhnayan clothes.

“Well, I am a travelling merchant as you can see”, you raise your hands, showing him more of the coat: “Having blessing from the God of Commerce won't hurt, right?". He, again, reacts in the way you haven't anticipated, a handsome face adopting a contemplating expression for a short second.

"Rex Lapis rewards diligent people, work hard and he shall bless you too", he says with an air of wisdom around him, like an old enlightened monk passing his knowledge to the disciples surrounding him: "And you shouldn't keep your vision beneath the layers of cloth. I feel its chill just standing here, who knows what it will do to your body?".

Then he simply turns away and goes to the exit of Yujing terrace, and it’s your turn to suppress the rising agitation - how did he know, where’s he heading now?

“Wait”, you say: “why are you leaving?”

“I dedicated my whole life to my job, which consists of a collection of small and incredibly repetitive tasks, they took up most of my attention and I slowly, but surely became a creature of habit, deaf and blind outside its limited field of experience and comfort zone. Time never stops, so I decided to leave the work I’ve been entrusted with, and I want to start it by breaking my strongest habit - religiously attending every Rite of Descension”.

“Ah”, you reply, equally impressed by his speech, and feeling that you are talking about two completely different and unrelated topics: “well, good luck on that”.

More and more people flood the terrace as one of the main threats to your plans finally arrives - stern and ambitious, Ningguang looks as elegant and intimidating as ever, geo vision and the tassel attached to it, shaking with every graceful step. She throws a short glance at Tartaglia - he stands surrounded by the rest of the agents - yet her face doesn’t change even a bit, whatever hostility she may hold for your faction masterfully suppressed.

You quickly look around - tourists and citizens arrive at the last minutes and milleliths come with them. Soon, all of the exits are heavily guarded by at least four soldiers, all carrying spears and clad in armour - surely a necessary precaution, given the presence of Fatui and their Harbinger.

There are no milleliths among the crowd though, not in the on-duty uniform at least. You study the group again, this time looking for anyone with weapons, as someone lightly pushes you away - it’s that foreigner again. “I am sorry, we need to go closer”, the pixie-like creature apologizes, as it flies after the stranger, and you conclude that there are no armed people, except you, Tartaglia, milleliths, Ningguang and that strange person.

“The hour is upon us”, Tianquan starts, after looking at the bright sun above, two women around her slightly bowing down, as she invokes the power of geo. The gold glow surrounds and illuminates her whole figure, before condensing into hard rocks of the same shade. They shine and fly around her for a bit, leaving the yellow trails behind before starting to spin around the shrine in the middle of the rock table.

Soon the golden inscriptions on the shrine start to glow too, before it sends a bright orange beam into the blue sky. The crowd "Oh!"s and "Ah!"s as the clouds deform around the pillar of light.

Tension, so thick it can be tasted, descends in the waves upon the Terrace as some - carefree and ignorant - hold their breaths in excitement and anticipation, whilst the rest focus in caution - Fatui and Qingxin alike. You shift, taking out both vision and delusion out of your coat, as your eyes frantically shift between Tianquan, Tartaglia and the spiraling clouds above, your whole being ready to aid Childe in his mission.

And then something unexpected happens: a majestic dragon does descend to his people. By falling straight to the ground. Serpentine body slumps around the crushed offerings, elongated tongue escaping the confines of the maw.

A long second of absolute silence passes before Ningguang collects herself, checks the body and orders milleliths to close off all the exits, as the crowd erupts into turmoil and chaos realizing what exactly has happened. You disguise amongst the panicking masses, hiding two glowing orbs in the deep pockets of your coat,before looking at Tartaglia again - he in turn intently stares at the blonde foreigner, who quite clumsily tries to sneak past the soldiers.

Milleliths catch onto that running after the stranger and you use this opportunity, turning invisible in the same second. People around you are too panicked to question your sudden disappearance or the unnaturally cold breeze swaying past them, as you make your way - Childe has already departed, chasing after the group of soldiers, and Ningguang is seen leaving too, giving the last orders, before turning to the Yuehai pavillion.

You contemplate for a second, unsure what to do - Tartaglia has ordered you to aid him in case of Qixing intervention, there was nothing about the death of your target and the glimpse into Tianquan’s actions might be a key to solving the mystery of said departure. The thing that you plan to do is opportunistic, reckless even - who would have known that Ajax will rub off onto you? You chase after Ningguang, careful to keep yourself invisible.

Who is Rex Lapis’ murderer?

She goes up to the aged man standing at the stairs of the pavilion, they exchange a couple of words before Ningguang steps up on the little floating island and it starts to levitate! You run after her, still unsure what to do - the platform is too small, Tianquan will no doubt feel the chill coming from you, but the opportunity to learn what Qixing are planning is too good to miss.

In the end, you come to compromise, jumping after the rising platform, as your hands clutch into its rough protrusions and you grit your teeth, enduring the pain and cold from the vision overuse. The little island rises higher and higher, as people and buildings underneath turn into small dots. Your fingers start to slide off a couple of times, yet you grab onto the island with a renewed strength everytime that happens, asking Tsaritsa to let fortune favour you.

The platform finally stops moving, and you pull up, once you hear her heels clicking away.

Jade chamber, as it turns out, exceeds all rumours, luxurious and opulent, shining above the prosperous city, it glows under the sunlight with a golden radiance. You would have stopped to admire it if it wasn’t for your goal. You sneak after Ningguang, following her to the office as she takes out papers and folders from the shelves. She focuses on them, as you carefully step near her, glancing at what she’s reading - it’s reports of fatui activity throughout the months, leading to this day, thankfully vague and very far from reality.

Does it mean that she also has no idea of what or who caused Rex Lapis’ death and tries to find his killer? Or does it mean that she looks for a way to deduct Fatui's next actions?

You don’t have time to contemplate, as the frost worsens and you feel cryo energy exhausting from the overuse - one more minute and you’ll become visible. You quickly walk away - you don’t have enough time to reach that platform, so you do the most logical thing - fling yourself out of the window, opening the wings of the glider halfway the jump.

You push the most of your invisibility, letting go of the cryo powers once you're only a couple of meters above the ground. In the end you find yourself tired and frozen to the very bones, slowly coming back to the Northland bank.

***

You approach the building as the Sun begins to set - its pink-orange rays dying everything in the warm glow. The bank looks glorious like that, sinking in the reddish tones, it looks like an illustration out of children’s books - a place of something miraculous, a place of something hopeful.

“Hi”, you throw to the tired Vlad and he nods, after suppressing an escaping yawn: “Is boss here?”

“Yeah”, he croaks, drowsiness evident in his speech: “came back like an hour or two ago. Can’t really remember”.

“Huh.. Well, thanks”, and with these words you enter the bank, pushing the doors and preparing yourself for the confrontation to come.

After chatting with Ekaterina and confirming that yes, he is in his office, you head for the staircase, all of the information you learned today buzzing inside your head.

Childe sits, hunched over the papers, as you enter, not paying you even the sliver of attention. For some reason he’s in a different clothes.

“Eleventh Harbinger”, you start the standard greeting, all formal and stiff: “this subordinate has finished the task”.

This finally prompts him to raise his head, cold blue eyes look at you, no hint of the usual obsessiveness in sight: "you may speak, agent" he succinctly says, putting the writing feather aside. You quickly report to him all you have seen today, without your own thoughts involved - they’re just baseless theories, after all.

“So you say, Tianquan was reading the reports about Fatui activity. Haven’t you destroyed those reports earlier?”

“Those papers contained nothing about the current situation, they were actually far from reality, I doubt that any of those reports survived the fire”.

“Seems, I’ll have to take your word for it”, a sigh, he leans closer in his seat, propping left cheek on the palm: “Why did Tianquan look at them? What was she trying to do? Pin her crime on us?”, he glances at you again, gesturing that you can speak your mind and you do.

“Highly unlikely, sir. From the short time I spent watching her and her reputation, I have an impression that Qixing Tianquan is a person who prefers to plan her every action. If she or any other Qixing higher up, were the one who murdered our target, then every needed preparation would be done months, if not even years in advance. She would somehow cast us as the killers right at the ceremony, in front of thousands of Liyuens, making us a scapegoat for public outrage and creating alibi for herself”.

“So, that’s how you think”, he hums, blue eyes deep in thought: “Your entire conclusion is based on the mere impression. With Tianquan’s ambition I wouldn’t be surprised if she was the one behind this...”, a vague hand gesture: “catastrophic situation”.

“When I sneaked inside the Jade chamber, she looked very frantic, it didn’t show on her face, but her movements were harsh and quick, lacking any of her elegance. She looked like she tried to keep herself together”.

“Anyone would try to do that, especially after killing a god”, he looks somewhere to the left, no doubt imagining battling the dead archon: “Well, my conclusion isn’t based on anything solid either. We don’t know who killed Rex Lapis, but we still need to somehow obtain his gnosis”, the last part isn’t addressed directly to you, it seems that Ajax just decided to voice out his worries.

“You can go”, he says, standing up from the table. You are touching the door handle, when you hear him asking:”what’s with your hand?”. The tone is nothing like that time, yet shivers still go up your spine when you remember what happened that day.

"Frostbite, from my vision", he comes closer to you, hand outstretched to yours: “Can I?”, he asks and waits for your faint nod, before gently pulling it closer to his face.

“It’s a second degree”, he mumbles, inspecting the white-blue discolorations and small angry blisters - the skin throbs and aches at his touch, yet most of it remains numb, muffled, like sounds underwater: “You should get it treated”.

“I should”, you agree, eager to leave this room and situation: “I will ask medics for some..”

“I already discharged them”, his hand suddenly shifts, now resting atop of the door handle, his frame suddenly looming over you: “I have a medkit here, with the ointments and balms. Maybe you should stay here and let me patch you up?”

Why did you even think that Childe could change?

***

Ajax has you sitting on his chair, with sleeves rolled up to the very elbows, as he frets around you - checking the temperature, pulling the warm water closer to you and taking out needed medicine out of the kit. It’s mostly silent, except the tune he quietly hums - Childe looks peaceful and content like this, maybe he likes caring for you.

“Does it hurt?”, he takes a discolored finger, probing around the blister, as the warm hydro energy engulfs your damaged hand. The burst of sensation explodes at this action - pain, tingling, throbbing, even relief.

“Bearable”.

“Understood”, Childe gets back to his task, continuing to rewarm your hands, still humming that tune as he does so. He takes out the healing ointment, when the healthy color and warmth returns to your limbs and spreads it on the skin, bitter herbal scent filling the room in an instant.

“[First]”, he says, as he rubs the place between the index and middle fingers: “I think we need to talk. About that day and your reaction”.

“And what about it?”, you respond, too quickly and snappy for the calm-facade - the memories of that day, of what you thought he will do to you, of how he witnessed you falling apart - all of these are too much, a maelstrom of conflicted feelings rising every time your thoughts stray to this topic. He finishes applying the balm and now switches to the bandanges, wrapping treated hands in them.

“Don’t you think you treat me too harshly, [First]? I understand I may have been… unpleasant in the Past, but I thought we moved past that. What have I done to warrant such ire?”, he says it with his usual smile, but there's a tense, heavy tinge in his words. It’s subtle enough to miss, but you knew Ajax since you both were fourteen, so the strain doesn’t go unnoticed.

Everything, you want to coldly respond, but you stop yourself again - Ajax is still a Harbinger, even if he trailed your steps at the training camp like an overeager and highly murderous puppy not even a decade ago, no matter your own feelings or sentiments or even experiences he still holds that power over you, whether he realizes it or not.

“There were.. things”, broken bones, coppery scent of blood, someone else screams: “training with you wasn’t pleasant for sure”. Childe laughs at the last part, yet the tension clouding in the air doesn’t dissipate, turning more tangible instead.

“I see”, a long pause: “I want to prove you're wrong, I want to prove you that I will never do something against your will”.

You already did. You stay silent at that, anger and fury and frustration boiling underneath, burning and scorching your insides like a magma moments before the eruption. His hands finally wrap the last layer of bandage, tying the ends into a neat little bow, yet he doesn’t let your palm out of your hold, as his lips hover over it, breath burning the skin even through the fabric. And then he releases it, not doing anything.

“Good luck with that”, you finally suppress the inner storm, and stand up from the chair, quickly heading to the door. The place where he almost kissed your tingles and throbs with a renewed strength. Your cheeks burn for some reason.

#Yandere Genshin impact #Yandere genshin #Yandere Childe #yandere genshin x reader #Yandere tartaglia #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere childe x reader #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #my writing

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scriptmedic · 3 years

Text

TENSION PNEUMOTHORAX MULTI-ASK

Hey there lovelies! Thanks so much for your asks!

First off, basics: check the ( thoracic trauma ) tag and the ( pneumothorax ) tag. This is ground we've covered before!

There's also a chapter in Blood on the Page: a Writer's Compendium of Injuries (amazon link; yes, I am the author) on pneumothoraces. I believe it's in section 2.2: Penetrating Trauma > Chest.

I genuinely thought this chapter had already posted, but it hasn't.

So have a free chapter on me! (Below the cut)

Tension Pneumothorax

Lethality Index

5 / 5

What Is It?

Tension pneumothorax is a life-threatening injury that occurs when air gets into the chest but is outside the lungs. The buildup of air begins to put pressure on the lung, the heart, and the great veins. The condition is rapidly lethal.

Breathing is a pressure system. To inhale, the body pushes the diaphragm down and expands the ribs, which creates negative pressure in the lungs; that negative pressure draws air into the lungs from the outside world. To exhale, the diaphragm comes up and the chest relaxes — it gets smaller — pushing the air out. Easy peasy.

Tension pneumothorax changes this closed system to an open one, where air leaks from the lung into the sac around the lungs (the pleura) and gets trapped there. Positive pressure then builds up in the pleura, compressing the lung.

The fact that there's air in the lung is known as simple pneumothorax. (Pneumomeans air, and thorax means chest.)

What makes a tension pneumothorax such a big problem is that the air pocket in the pleura becomes large enough that it collapses the lung.

In addition to collapsing the lung, having that much pressure on one side of the chest is a big problem. It actually causes the organs of the chest to shift, to skooch over to the other side. In that shifting, the heart and other lung wind up pinching off blood flow through the heart, reducing blood flow everywhere.

Clinical Signs

· Severe, worsening shortness of breath, with rapid breaths.

· Diaphoresis (sweating).

· Elevated heart rate.

· Narrow pulse pressure (the “distance” between the systolic (top number) pressure and the diastolic (bottom number) pressure; e.g. 90/80 instead of 120/80).

· Engorged veins in the neck (jugular venous distention, JVD).

· Cyanosis (bluing of the skin of the lips and nail beds). (Late)

· Cold, clammy skin. (Late)

· Tracheal shift — the trachea is no longer midline in the neck, and instead is pushed away from the affected lung. (Late)

· Loss of consciousness. (Late)

· Death. (Late)

Symptoms

· Pain at the injury site and possible pain in the rest of the chest.

· Trouble breathing and panic.

· Feeling of impending doom.

· Dizziness, disorientation.

How Does It Happen?

Tension pneumothorax develops when a character suffers penetrating trauma to the chest that allows air to move between the outside and inside of the chest. This can be the result of a stabbing, shooting, impalement, or other penetrating trauma. It's especially common when the lung itself has been lacerated.

Immediate Treatment

Keep the character upright.

Provide oxygen, if available.

If the character is in respiratory failure — if they're dying — someone might give them mouth-to-mouth resuscitation or use a bag-valve-mask (BVM) to ventilate them. This actually makes the pneumothorax worse, but it may be beneficial in the short term because of increased gas exchange.

Needle Decompression

Needle decompression is the act of taking a big fat IV catheter and sticking it into the chest on the affected side. (There are two landmarks in common use: between the 2nd and 3rd ribs, on a line drawn straight down from the middle of the clavicle, or between the 5th and 6th ribs, in line with the front border of the armpit. These are technically called the 2nd intercostal space (ICS) at the midclavicular line, and the 5th ICS at the anterior axillary line.

Needle decompression works by giving the air trapped in the pleura an effective way out.

The problem with needle decompression is that, especially with larger characters, it isn't necessarily effective. Oftentimes the needle is simply too short to reach the pleura, especially in larger characters with strong pectoralis muscles or fat deposits, including breasts. Other times the catheter may kink or get backed up with blood.

Definitive Treatment

Needle decompression has the potential to be a definitive treatment for the injury, but only if it's effective in the first place, and only if the needle is hooked up to some form of drain system to make sure that air can escape.

Surgery / Hospitalization

Diagnostics will include a chest X-ray and likely a chest CT, though if the character is in mortal danger, these will always take a back seat to a clinical diagnosis – i.e. by signs, symptoms, and history – and providers will treat first and image later.

The definitive treatment for tension pneumothorax is placement of a chest tube or pigtail catheter in the chest. A chest tube is a large, straight tube, while a pigtail catheter is of a smaller diameter and is curled, like a pig’s tail.

Both are simple, quick procedures in the ER. They both involve putting a tube into the chest at the 4th or 5th intercostal space (between the 4th–5th or 5th–6th ribs) vertically aligned with the armpit (axillary line).

The end of the tube will have something called a Heimlich valve, which is a one-way valve (air can go out but not in).

Another option is a procedure called a finger thoracostomy. The surgical landmark is the same as for all other procedures, but the act is simpler and more brutal. The site is identified and the doctor — who is likely an ER physician — simply cuts down through the chest wall until they're touching lung. This is done in extreme circumstances, where the character is about to die. Otherwise, a chest tube or pigtail catheter is preferred.

In the Austere Environment

Characters who suffer a tension pneumothorax in extreme conditions are likely to die, unless a knowledgeable character with the correct equipment is around.

In settings before about 1950, the character is also likely to die, and they'll die gasping. Treatment of the tension pneumothorax requires understanding pressures inside the chest, which weren't readily measurable till then. Trauma surgery simply hadn't advanced to the point of understanding this rapidly lethal wound until that point.

The Rocky Road to Recovery

Capabilities Retained

Characters will retain the use of all four limbs and will be cognitively unaffected (barring brain damage from an extended period of low oxygen levels).

Disabilities: Temporary

Your character is likely to have a sensation of pressure at the catheter insertion site. Once the lung is reinflated, they can walk and perform most normal activities while the wound heals.

They will be instructed not to fly for six months after the pneumothorax. This is because altitude affects pressure and can cause reexpansion of the pneumothorax.

Disabilities: Permanent

Tension pneumothorax shouldn't cause any permanent disabilities, unless there are other complicating features of the injury.

Features of Recovery: Hospital Stay

Characters with no other complications, who respond well to the pigtail, can actually be sent home with the catheter in place. Characters with other injuries or who got bigger tubes will likely be admitted.

Features of Recovery: Aftercare

Characters will be instructed to walk up to their capacity, and increase their walking daily. They may want to use a pillow or other object to hold when they cough, because that can be painful.

If a character is sent home, they must come back for follow-up X-ray within 48 hours, to make sure the pneumothorax hasn't reexpanded.

The catheter should be removed after 3–5 days if no other issues arise.

Complications

Pigtail catheters are good for patients because they're smaller than chest tubes, which means they hurt less and can often be sent home in the patient.

Pigtail catheters are bad for patients because they're smaller tubes, which means that they might kink and then fail to vent out the air they need to get rid of.

Flying before the recommended date can cause another pneumothorax, though this is unlikely to be severe enough to collapse the lung again. However, the character might experience significant shortness of breath and exhaustion.

The New Normal

If the lung tissue itself wasn't damaged by the object, your character will return to their full function within 2–4 weeks. (No Disability)

If the lung was damaged by the injury, they may have other complications with the lung.

Future Risks

Even when they think they're healed, significant, rapid changes in altitude within the first 6 months could cause your character's pneumothorax to recur. No long-term risks are known.

Total Recovery Time (Typical)

Uncomplicated: 2–4 weeks

Complicated: Minimum 4 weeks but typically longer, depending on the damage

Sensory

Sights

The hole in the chest might be small, or it might be fairly large. Through a large enough hole, characters can see the injured's lung expanding and collapsing with each breath.

Sounds:

The wound may make a sucking noise as the character breathes. (This is known, appropriately, as a sucking chest wound.)

Medspeak

Tension pneumothorax is abbreviated in a chart as TPTx or TPx, and is colloquially known as a "tension pneumo."

Chest tubes are listed in various sizes; pigtails tend to be 12 French or 14 French, whereas chest tubes are larger: 24 Fr to 36 Fr. Pigtails are inserted over a guide wire, which is called the "Seldinger technique." They are held in place with a kind of stitching called "purse string" suture.

A TPTx that also has significant pooling of blood in the pleural space is a hemopneumothorax, or a "hemopneumo."

The landmarks are almost never said as "intercostal space," but referred to as the "ICS."

Key Points

· Tension pneumothorax is a rapidly lethal condition, developing from slight trouble breathing to deadly within minutes to an hour.

· TPTx collapses the lung and puts enormous pressure on the heart. It also kinks the great vessels.

· TPTx is treated by allowing the built-up air to escape. This is done with a needle, insertion of a tube, or cutting down until the lung can “communicate” directly with the outside world.

#this post is not medical advice #this post is writing advice #blood on the page #tension pneumothorax #pneumothorax #asks #recursive tagging

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mxvladdy · 3 years

Text

Unrepentant: Chapter One

Yoz! Finally, I sat down and edited this! (Yaay I'm slow as fuck)

I loved writing Diavolo's True Form piece (Located Here) so I wanted more and really to write this headcanon I've had since he was introduced! It is suggested to read his true form before this but you do you and live your best life.

Anyway idk how long this will be but all the true form stuff will be in this fanfiction :)

Hope ya like!

Word Count: 4k

Rating: General

The Devildom moons glint high above you outside your bedroom window. Their perpetual radiance casting dancing shadows across the walls. The solace of your empty room envelops you like a warm hug. It pulls the stress of the day away off your shoulders leaving you sleepy. Dropping your book-laden bag to the floor you flop face-first into the freshly washed sheets of your bed.

Exam season was rolling in fast and all of the academy was gearing up for the students' and teachers' inevitable breakdowns. From personal experience, you saw firsthand what happens when a demon gets stressed out. Even the lesser demons you know can cause some major damage when they reach their boiling point, though it pales in comparison to the havoc the big seven cause. Just yesterday Beel lost control in the middle of cram school after the teacher refused to let them out on time for dinner. Poor Lucifer was still scrambling to pay for the damages and trying to find a replacement in time for next week's lessons. Then, on the same day at the other end of the campus, Satan all but totaled a classroom in a fit of rage after another student dared to try and correct him. Bless the Old Gods themselves that at least Levi and Belphie were easy to deal with during these times. They were both book smart and beyond capable with their studies, they just lacked the wherewithal to put the effort in. Well, Belphie was more guilty than Levi when it came down to it. Most of the time Lucifer could be seen dragging Belphie to class by the ankle, face stormy with rage. It was humorous to watch-just from a distance.

As for you, you figure it was best to just be out of the direct line of fire. One too many brushes with death in the Devildom for your comfort. During this time of year, it became almost a sport. You got really good at dodging large pieces of furniture and spells during exam week when the brothers finally start coming to blows. Not that you fault them, they were just letting their aggression out as any good primordial being would. But, the lack of sleep and constant fear of annihilation by bookshelf is murder on your grades. After a few meetings with Lucifer and Diavolo, you all decide you should stay in the palace till after exams.

The palace.

You smile softly to yourself tracing a thumb over your clavicle. Your finger ghosts over the healing black marks running down your skin. It was rocky at first, rebuilding your relationship and trust, with Diavolo after your "run in". He acts like you were made of spun glass and eggshells, physically trying to keep as much distance between the two of you as possible. All the while you had to butt head with seven of the strongest and most bull-headed men you had ever met. Their protectiveness towards you tried your patience in ways you never expected. It took what you are pretty sure was your guardian angel to finally get the brothers to relent. With Simeon acting as your chaperone you start to live again. It was nice to finally feel comfortable around the demon again. Seeing him return to his normal candor and temperament again was a breath of fresh air. Thinking of him makes you flush, the cool air of your room burning your cheeks as you recall all the stolen evenings in his and Barbatos's company. All the hours spent laughing at their outlandish assumptions of modern human social norms while they tried to guess if they were correct or not, and then there were the nights where it was just you and the prince. He was nothing but cordial and proper, just conversations between two friends.

A nice glass of port and dinner...maybe an errant brush of fingers when there was no need to touch a time or two. Perhaps a gaze held too long to be considered appropriate.

You groan into your pillows, feeling your heart flutter. You couldn't deny he was fascinating, and yes, perhaps you were a little infatuated with him. Who wasn't? You say it on the daily how other demons fawn over him. He is one of the strongest of their kin after all. Power is a huge part of the Devildom hierarchy, and he exudes it in spades. To a demon, he is the peak of their ideal. Yet, to you, from a human perspective, you enjoyed his personality and jovial nature. It was a side very few got to see of him and you cherish each moment you got to enjoy in the privacy of his quarters.

Of course, watching him crush an unruly usurper without a second thought was kinda hot. Hmmm-

A sharp rap at your door startles you. Was it time already? "Door's open Simeon!" You yell over your shoulder grabbing your robe and go behind your room divider to undress.

"Good evening!" The angel chirps entering your darkroom. With a wave of his hand, he lights your fireplace. The bright flames dancing to life to chase away the cold of the perpetual night.

"Show off." You come back around your divider to face him. He shrugs with a bashful smile offering you the tray he brought with him. His lithe fingers grab the few bottles he needed, leaving the rest for you. You unscrew the lid on one of the jars of salves specially crafted for you. You inhale, humming in delight, and the fresh scent of honeydew and lavender wafting up at you. "This one is new!" You beam dipping a finger in your eye the soft green goop. It was warm to the touch and made your finger go numb.

Simeon nods, twirling his hand in the air to make you turn around. "You mentioned stiff joints last night so I made something to help." His hand strokes over your back while he mutters to himself. "This is healing up nicely, though the color is becoming more opaque." You nod in acceptance. The curse- taint- whatever it was when Diavolo injured you hadn't stopped at just mental damage when it struck you. It took root on your body, burying itself deep and spreading through you like an uncontrollable flame. It wraps and twists itself around your arms, shoulders, and sides joining and merging with itself to rest around the tender skin of your neck. You found it beautiful in its own right. Like those ornate chokers in Levi's animes or the ones Mammon wore in some of his high-end modeling shoots. Yours was just as gorgeous but very permanent.

"These are coming along nicely," Simeon remarks looking over your back. He rubs some of his sweet-smelling ointment into your sides. He traces over some of the more intricate lines, they radiate power heating his celestial skin in a way you could not sense. The marks pulse in warning, threatened by his celestial power. Simeon frowns, taking his hand away. "It looks like Lucifer marks have been consumed completely now too."

"Really?" You crane your neck trying to see Lucifer's mark at the base of your neck. It figures Lucifer's was the last to be consumed. Solomon had hypothesized that since he was the eldest and thus the strongest it would make sense that it would take longer for Diavolo's blight to consume it. So far he has been correct.

Over time you watch as all the brothers' marks were taken over. Their bright colors bleed out to be replaced with an iridescent black. It was a little unfortunate since you loved the colors of their marks, but there was nothing you could do about it.

Simeon hands you a jar over your shoulder while he inspects the growing marks on your back. "I increased the dosage in this, your arms were still itchy, correct?"

You nod, taking the jar. You grimace as your nails scratch the delicate glass. Your skin wasn't the only thing that physically changed after Diavolo's magic took root. Your nail plates gleam black now, no longer clear and flimsy like human nails normally are. They are sharp now with lethal tips. They could gouge stone like it was tissue paper and even pierce the hard shell of a demon's skin. Beel had been impressed by the nick you gave him during P.E. It healed quickly so no harm was done, but it frightened you still.

Tutting, you shoot your fingers a scathing glance. As a defense mechanism, this new addition was great, but daily life was a pain. Your hands tore through everything if you weren't careful. Delicate pillows and sheets were kept far away from you lest they turn into ribbons. It was beginning to look like the brothers had adopted an unruly cat let loose in the halls.

Asmo fussed over you for days trying to figure out the best way to care for them. He wasted some nice clippers on you until he landed on a heavy-duty nail file. Your manicure only lasts a few days at best, but it was better than turning your pillows into pin cushions. Aside from your skin and nails, you could see better in the perpetual night of the Devildom. The blue haze of the twin moons is cleaner now. Every surface their light lands on shines like a beacon illuminating farther than you could see before. Gave Mammon a good scare walking the halls in complete darkness, you didn’t need a light anymore just the moons.

It was utterly fascinating to you, and Solomon. The mage takes every opportunity he could to poke and prod at your changes and charts them down with feverish excitement. So far, much to his displeasure, you show no more magical prowess than when you first arrived in the Devildom but he was certain you should. For now, no one knew what to expect so you were to just monitor yourself and check-in with Solomon and Simeon daily till they deemed this settled.

"There," Simeon finishes examining your back and neck, making sure he covered the entirety of each mark. "Looks like everything is in order. I'll leave you to rest for the evening." He wipes his hands helping you back into your robe before tidying up the small mess he made.

"You sure?" You ask following him to the door. "I feel like we haven't hung out for ages! I could fetch us some tea." You smile up at his soft face. You miss just hanging out with him. As of late all he has been to you is an on-call nurse. It would be nice to talk with him and Luke about something other than you for an evening.

Simeon smiles but shakes his head. "Perhaps tomorrow, Madame Scream has a few new cakes out this month. Luke has been talking my ear off about them and I'm sure he would love your company too." He eyes the door knowingly. "But for now someone else wishes to steal you away." He bids you goodnight then, leaving you clasping the doorknob and looking about into the pitch-black hallway.

It's in the moment you lock your door and turn to crawl into bed that someone knocks on your door. Your heart leaps in with an indiscernible emotion before beating fast with excitement, your brain following along slowly after it. You couldn't stop the smile crossing your face as you made your way back to the door. Something deep within you knew who it was. "Dia!" You swing the heavy door open and hug him tight. The moment your body makes contact with him you feel amazing. The grind of the day is gone, chased away by his warm arms encircling you. "I thought you were busy all evening?"

He chuckles swaying from side to side. "I was! But, what kind of prince would I be if I didn't throw my weight around every so often?" He leans down and nuzzles his face in your crown. He smiles into your hair. You were smelling more and more like him each day, it was titillating.

Dia breathes deeply taking in your sweet clean scent and savoring how his smokey amber smell was mingling with it. It was faint now, perhaps only strong enough for him, Barbatos and Lucifer can discern. Soon though lesser daemons will take notice of his scent mingling with yours. He makes a quick note to tell Simeon to look into a stronger ointment, it will be needed soon. Diavolo pulls away, clicking his tongue. He glances down at where your nails punched through the thick fabric of his waistcoat to graze his skin. "Do you have time for a drink? Barbatos went topside today and purchased a bottle of whiskey barrel age wine. It smells simply divine ." His gold eyes glance up to the large grandfather clock in the corner of your room. It was far past polite visiting hours, but he couldn't give less of a damn, despite the warning of his closest circles.

The nobles were beginning to notice how much he favored you and thus the court was beginning to talk. They were beginning to question his loyalty to the goal of the program, his fascination with one mere human raised concerns throughout his family members. "Why are you spending so much more time with that one?" They ask claws and fangs clinging as they nash and hiss at him, so many of his bloodline still refuse to use glamour believing it was an insult to their heritage. "They are of no importance, playing favorites could lead to a disaster for your crown." He knows many of them would love that.

For him to lose his neck and the crown so the old ones could rule again was a dream for many of them. Diavolo grimaces inwardly, they weren't wrong either. He was infatuated with you. Even Lucifer was beginning to express concern. While having you and the program was raising his ratings and the morale of the general populace, those of royal blood were beginning to create factions again. So far many were loyal, but the ones starting to make waves were the oldest in the circle.

He had plans in place of course, pieces on the board ready to move at a moment's notice. It would be messy when it happens and with you still in his kingdom...such actions were best to be avoided. No, for now, the brothers were enough protection from potential defectors and nay-sayers. He will do as he pleases, especially when it revolves around you.

"That does sound good," You agree tapping your chin in thought. It's been ages since you last drank a human liquor. All Diavolo's ports and sherries, while delicious, did not affect you. You missed the warmth that settled in your stomach after a good drink. "A good drink could calm my nerves. Give me a minute to change?" You step back into your room to scurry back behind your room partition leaving the massive demon to stand at your doorway.

"Nerves? Do you need more time for your finals?" He lumbers in coming to stand by your bed. He licks his lips staring at your rumpled bedding. It was still warm from you sitting there with Simeon. Deep down in his stomachs turns detecting the cherry sweet scent of the angel covering your sheets. He wanted to rub his body on the bedding, erasing that weakling's scent from what was his- He pulls himself back forcing his fangs back down. He trusted Simeon, no one was better suited for healing demonic wounds than an angel.

The prince observes your shadow scurrying about behind the paper screen. "There!" You jump from behind the screen in an oversized shirt. The fabric drapes down to rest just past your knees, the sleeves long and folded several times. "Ready to go?" You come back to his side slipping on your slippers.

"But of course!" He offers you his arm. "Though I am perhaps a little overdressed for the occasion, no?" He ribs, teeth flashing in jest. You accept his arm squeezing it tight and look him over dramatically.

"Yes, very much so...What good is a nightcap if you are still dressed in your day clothes?" You tug at his pressed white tie. For the first time that day, Diavolo laughed freely.

The walk from your room to his was a long one but filled with idle safe conversation. You jump from talks of the upcoming garden parties to what this week's lunch menu will be. Neither of you was blind to the prying eyes and ears lurking in the shadows of the corridors. You were unfazed by them now after months of coming to visit Diavolo and Barbatos during the evening. You became accustomed to their judgmental gazes and gossip over time. You nod politely to one of the visiting earl's and his entourage. They pass, many eyes looking you over curiously. "Earl Jan and his entourage have taken a liking to you." Diavolo rumbles watching the demons wander off to one of his many smoking parlors. "He finds your many human idioms and stories refreshing."

"Really? I have classes with a few of them they-"

"Young Prince." Diavolo stiffens by your side lurching to a halt. His hackles rise.

"Pleasant evening Lady Marquess?" The prince calls out not bothering to even turn around to acknowledge the baroness. You turn though curious as to who drew such vitriol from the normally genial demon.

The baroness scuttles out from where she had been standing, the shadows around her falling off like an elegant cloak. Her pale mandibles click in distaste when your eyes meet hers. Her hundreds of spider-like eyes latching onto you unblinkingly before flicking to Diavolo's tense back. "You missed our meeting on the upcoming festivities. I have some more requests on the dress requirements for the ball." She pauses head listing down to look at you again. Even without lips, you could feel her scowl of disgust. "It would be good for your little pet. Their dress attire at the last one was... lackluster."

Bull. Asmo and Levi had designed your outfit for the last ball. It had been amazing, the crowds looking on with jealousy and lust as you clung to Dia's arm. You don't have to look at Diavolo to feel his displeasure. "Such asinine topics like that can wait till tomorrow." He sniffs pulling you closer. His free hand comes up to grasp your hand around his bicep. “Good night Madame.”

You keep your eyes forward letting Dia escort you. The Marquess hisses quietly under her breath, something dark and biting in their native tongue. Diavolo goes rigid in head-snapping about inhumanly fast. The temperature in the hallway drops.

"Dia." You call in warning, breath wafting up in great puffs from the chilled air. He ignores you, turning his full attention to the interloper. He replies in turn voice simmering with rage. She wilts, head tilting down into a mockery of the usually appropriate bow when speaking to him. Beneath the fringes of her bangs, you could see a smirk playing on her lips. She struck the exact nerve she was looking for. "Dia," You pull on him more adamantly. "Come please?" His shoulders loosen at your words. His gold eyes drifting down to look at you.

"We will speak of this later matrona." He leaves the matter at that leaving with you in haste. The rest of the walk is tense, his eyes now darting to each shadowy corner in case another guest jumps from them.

"I apologize for that." Diavolo sighs the moment the doors to his private quarters close. He loosens his tie and tosses it to his smoking chair by the fire. "Make yourself comfortable, I'll be out in a moment." He smiles at you before disappearing into his bathroom.

You take a seat kicking off your slippers to dig your toes into the plush hide of some animal you didn't know the name of and pour out two drinks for you and Diavolo. Waiting for him to reappear you eye the treats laid out on the table next to you. They looked too good to ignore. Popping a few tarts into your mouth you groan at the sweet citrus and mint creme that coated your tongue. Your ears twitch at the creak of the bathroom door.

Burly arms drape over your shoulders as Diavolo bends to nuzzle your neck. "Too good to wait?" He chuckles. You flush hyper-aware of the sugar cookie crumbs on the corner of your mouth.

"You said help myself." You reply after swallowing.

The prince hums. "That I did." He raises a thick finger up to collect the crumbs around your lips. "Ah- Barb outdoes himself again." He licks his finger coming around to take the seat next to you. Diavolo busies himself for a moment propping his feet up on his footrest and taking the drink you prepared from the table along with a good handful of sweets. Despite his casual demeanor you still could feel his agitation thrumming through your markings.

"I'm sorry." You blurt out. He looks up at you with a frown. "That confrontation in the hall, what the Marquess said was about me wasn't it?" You didn't know what her heated words meant, but the context of the exchange was quite clear.

A glint of pain flashes through his golden gaze. Diavolo goes for his drink, downing half of it in one large gulp. "You have nothing to apologize for. " He licks his teeth deep in thought before dropping his head back with a grunt. "What are politics like in your realm? Are they all-" He waves his glass vaguely.

You sit for a moment thinking hard on what you remember of human politics. "Most countries are no longer run by royal families. Though they still have a lot of sway with laws and the like." You take a sip. "But, back when royal families were more prevalent I would say they were like this." You mimic his little hand wave with a little smile.

"Homicidal and power-hungry?"

"Quite so." You chuckle looking into the fire. "Perhaps I can take you on a mini trip to go visit some old palaces?" Diavolo perks up intrigued.

"Where do you have in mind?"

"Maybe Italy?"

His eyes grow dark. "And why there?" He bites out. You shrug feeling as though you just crossed an unspoken line.

"Just-well. Your name, at least in human culture, is Italian, and you slip into it so casually. I thought you would like it..."

"I am not looking for you to humor me." He cuts you off. His glass thunking heavily on his oak side table, amber liquid sloshing over the side. "I get enough of that from the court. I only wish to spend time with you." You acknowledge him with a faint nod curling into your seat. "Ah-no, no mi giglio." Diavolo reaches for you, scooping you up to sit in his lap. "Forgive my agitation. If it is somewhere you wish to go then I would be happy to take us... The south is beautiful this time of year I hear." A shuttered look crosses over his eyes before he blinks it away. "Shall I get started with preparations?"

He pulls you in closer, your heat seeping through the thin layers of clothes separating the two of you. He feels you melt into the soft planes of his body. His closeness soothing the itching of your bandaged and oiled skin. Dia falls silent listening to you nod off on his lap but does nothing to stop you. Closing his eyes he instead enjoys the feel of his pseudo mark upon your body vibrating in harmony with his magic. Stroking your neck and spine he is unable to control the flood of unwanted memories bubbling to the surface of his mind. As you sleep peacefully unaware of your wishes he spends the rest of the evening watching the flames die down, lost in a waking nightmare.

#obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me fanfic #obey me au

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sanktyastag · 3 years

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I know people have already talked about the changes Mal has gone through in his show adaptation vs his book self - most of which are changes people generally agree are for the better, since they’re sanding off some of his less endearing character traits. But something that baffles me are the changes that they didn’t make as a consequence to the changes that they did. And by that, I mean, some key pieces of dialogue.

And even more specifically, this dialogue choice:

And to explain why this line of dialogue doesn’t make sense to me in the show, I need to talk a bit about the original book context for it:

In the books, Alina has been harboring a one-sided crush on Mal for years. And I don’t mean she thought it was a one-sided crush, when really they were both mutually pining for each other. I mean that Mal genuinely didn’t have romantic feelings for her in the beginning. Or at least, not ones he acknowledged:

“Wrong. I was planning how to sneak into the Grisha pavilion and snag myself a cute Corporalnik.”

Mal laughed. I hesitated by the door. This was the hardest part of being around him - other than the way he made my heart do clumsy acrobatics. I hated hiding how much the stupid things he did hurt me, but I hated the idea of him finding out even more.

This is something Alina battles with herself over for most of the beginning of SaB, before she’s taken to the Little Palace. She had a close relationship with Mal in Keramzin, when they were both just two kids in an orphanage. And then they join the second army and Mal is suddenly a popular, capable, respected soldier in people’s eyes, while Alina is stuck battling her own resentment at her inability to fit in, as well as some pretty gnarly feelings of inadequacy.

Feelings of inadequacy that are a reoccuring issue with her - in the beginning, she describes herself as a mapmaker “and not even a very good mapmaker”. With Botkin, she’s unable to keep up with the other Grisha in physical combat, and with Baghra, she’s unable to master her Grisha abilities. It can be summed up nice and tidy in the Siege and Storm quote, when Alina isn’t using her powers because she’s in hiding with Mal:

I was so frail and clumsy that I’d barely managed to keep my job packing jurda at one of the fieldhouses. It brought in mere pennies, but I’d insisted on working, on trying to help. I felt like I had when we were kids: capable Mal and useless Alina.

So at the beginning of the books, Mal gets the chance to gain acceptance and respect from his peers, and Alina is stuck feeling inadequate and ineffectual. The natural progression of this type of rift is that they would begin to grow apart: Mal would make friends and find a sense of belonging, and Alina would remain alienated and isolated from her peers. Which is exactly what happens. It takes less than a year for them to change from being inseparable, to a normal, casual friendship:

“So what are you doing here?” When we’d first started our military service a year ago, Mal had visited me almost every night. But he hadn’t come by in months.

And that’s pretty much how their relationship stays until they’re reunited after the Little Palace. It comes to a head with Mal talking about his jealousy over seeing her with the Darkling, and with Alina admitting she’d been happier at the Little Palace than she’d been in a long time, largely because she’d finally found what Mal had found in the second army: A place she fits in and feels accepted:

“That night at the palace when I saw you on that stage with him, you looked so happy. Like you belonged with him. I can’t get that picture out of my head.”

“I was happy,” I admitted. “In that moment, I was happy. I’m not like you, Mal. I never really fit in the way that you did. I never really belonged anywhere.”

“You belonged with me,” he said quietly.

“No, Mal. Not really. Not for a long time.”

And this is where that “I’m sorry it took me so long to see you” line drops. It’s specifically about Mal acknowledging that he started taking Alina for granted when they joined the second army, because he was so caught up in finally feeling like he could belong somewhere, and feel pride in himself, he stopped prioritizing their friendship. Which is a very understandable thing!

The books don’t really go into this, but at this point in the story, it feels like something Alina might finally be in a place where she could understand how he felt: living a life where you’re taught to be grateful for other people’s charity, and that you’re a burden on other people, and then suddenly being put in a position where your existence isn’t just tolerated, but celebrated and respected, is a very validating and heady experience. It’s easy to get caught up in a new life where you don’t have to think about how ashamed you felt in your past, and can instead be the person you’ve always wanted to be. It’s a shared experience of theirs that I feel like would have been worth exploring. What actually happens is that they seem to play resentment tag around each other throughout the trilogy, with one of them getting the chance to be respected amongst their peers, and the other feeling inadequate and resentful about it, and then something coming along that flips the dynamic, over and over again.

But I digress - so here is the context of that line in the book:

“I missed you every hour. And you know what the worst part was? It caught me completely by surprise. I’d catch myself walking around to find you, not for any reason, just out of habit, because I’d seen something that I wanted to tell you about or because I wanted to hear your voice. And then I’d realize that you weren’t there anymore, and every time, every single time, it was like having the wind knocked out of me. I’ve risked my life for you. I’ve walked half the length of Ravka for you, and I’d do it again and again and again just to be with you, just to starve with you and freeze with you and hear you complain about hard cheese every day. So don’t tell me we don’t belong together,” he said fiercely. He was very close now, and my heart was suddenly hammering in my chest. “I’m sorry it took me so long to see you, Alina. But I see you now.”

Now, when we look at the show... none of this is really relevant? We never get the sense that their relationship has changed from what they were like in Keramzin. Mal doesn’t grow distant from Alina - it’s almost the opposite. The only reason they aren’t together at the beginning of the show is because their units weren’t together. It’s not Mal creating distance, it’s their job. And the second that he gets the chance, he seeks her out. In the flashback, as well, we see him immediately look for her, and he goes so far as to hit someone with a glass, because he was told the guy said something shitty to Alina, just so he can be with her in a cell.

Similarly, instead of them sitting at separate tables in the mess hall, Alina simply doesn’t get served at all (because Racism), and so Mal goes out of his way to steal food from a Grisha tent, just to cheer her up.

He’s present, attentive, loyal, and completely in tune with her emotionally. He is, I would argue, also completely in love with her (which is something I think they flipped from the books - I get the impression that Mal’s been in love with Alina for a long time, and Alina is the one who hasn’t quite made the leap from “best friend” to “romantic interest” in the show, although that’s obviously a personal interpretation). So what, exactly, is he apologizing for in that scene? What about her didn’t he see?

The only way I can try to make sense of the scene now, is that he’s apologizing for perhaps not realizing she was a Grisha? Or maybe for inadvertently “making” her repress her powers for all this time, because she didn’t want to be separated from him? And that works, I guess, except that the lead up to this apology is Alina saying that Mal looked at her “with fear in his eyes” back in Kribirsk, after he finds out she’s Grisha. And that’s, again, a book thing. In the books, Mal apologizes for just standing there as she’s taken away, for not chasing after her. In the show... he does chase after her. He does literally everything in his power to go to her. There’s no pause, there’s no moment of doubt. The last time she sees him, he is afraid for her, as she’s being taken away, but he is not, for one moment, afraid of her. So I just... don’t get where that line comes from.

It seems weird to completely erase all of Mal’s flaws from the books, but then keep the dialogue where he apologizes for how those flaws have negatively impacted their relationship, without recontextualizing the apology into an appropriately impactful moment.

#the show sometimes treats these characters as if they're their book selves #and it's VERY discombobulating because the accusations they fling around don't ring true for these characters AT ALL #alina: yeah i'm sure you wrote to me in between all your exploits with beautiful grisha women #like what? show mal... doesn't... seem to sleep around? (which was a weird choice to remove because that wasn't a negative character trait?)#like they deliberately show us him NOT sleeping with zoya #even though he did in the books (where this line would have been more fitting)#because again #show mal seems VERY hung up on alina and not really interested in other people #so i just. don't understand where alina's accusation is stemming from?#instead of being an understandable insecurity like in the books #it now seems like completely unfounded paranoid jealousy in the show #malina #malyen oretsev #alina starkov #shadow and bone #also low key i'm annoyed they scrubbed mal of all his flaws #like give those back! he needs those to feel like a realistic person!#you don't have to keep ALL of them. or you can make new ones up if you really don't want to go in that direction any more #but damn. let a dude be selfish or hurt or unkind sometimes.#he deserves to have feelings about what happens to him #and they don't have to be 100% happy healthy emotions either! working through and dealing with trauma is messy! show that!

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ihearthes · 4 years

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Golden Rod

(inspired by Golden MV)

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x Reader Insert (2nd person) Rating: Smut (18+ only) Word Count: 2829

“Thanks for the ride, Ryan!” you call, waving at Lambert’s assistant as he drives away to the garages on the Vesta. “Ciao!”

Excited to show Harry your new lingerie, you enter the villa where the team has been staying. “Is he done for the day, Ben?” The words are muffled behind the cloth mask you’ve insisted is essential despite the drop in Italy’s coronavirus cases.

The Fulwell 73 producer points upstairs without a word before bending over the video footage he’s scouring with the director. The opulent surroundings have been modernized, and you grin while mounting the stairs to the top floor where the master suite consumes the entire space. From the expansive open windows, you view the Tyrrhenian Sea, causing you to literally pinch yourself. How had life blessed you in such a way? Giddy, you continue up the stone steps.

Kicking off your sandals, you curl your toes into the cool, smooth tile. Fuck. This had been the perfect day. Swimming in the infinity pool during the morning with endless fresh fruits at your fingertips whenever you stepped out of the water to feel the warm sun on your skin. A socially distanced lunch of Insalata Di Mare Campanese (Seafood Salad) with Molly in a local restaurant. A trip to the stores with the adorable stylist Ryan -- where he’d introduced you to a new designer of gloriously sexy lingerie!

You’d bought four pieces.

Harry was going to love all of them, and you couldn’t wait to showcase them in your own private fashion show on the secure top floor of the Italian villa.

Stopping in the marbled bathroom, you draw in a deep breath at the chill on your heated feet. Quickly, you wash your hands, singing “Happy Birthday” twice like you’d been taught to ensure 20 seconds has elapsed. No way were you going to be responsible for inadvertently passing along the virus to your boyfriend during the Golden music video shoot. He’d end up missing out on filming the music video and the upcoming Don’t Worry Darling if he tested positive. Carefully removing your mask, you toss it into the laundry hamper before washing your hands a second time.

Tiptoeing out of the bath, you wonder where the man of the hour might be. Napping? Nope. Not in the bed. On the loggia, you spy Harry settled in a chair, staring into space.

“Can’t blame you, Styles. That’s one hell of a view.” Gazing over the colorful boats moored in the sea near the coast, your eyes feast on the sky with its tints of reds, pinks, yellows, and oranges as the sun begins to sink into the water. Honestly, you expect to hear a sizzle as the bright ball of gases descends into the blue serenity of the sea.

“Indeed.” His quiet voice doesn’t sound normal for Harry, and you approach slowly, like one might a wounded deer. Wouldn’t want to frighten him away.

“Harry!” The gasp leaves your throat, and you press your hand to your mouth to capture the sound too late as it has already escaped. “What the hell happened to your knee?”

He shrugs, finally glancing in your direction. “Skinned it. Hi, love. Did you have a good day?”

“I had a beautiful day, but what the fuck did you do to your knee?” Crouching down, you examine the spot where blood is flowing. It’s not an overwhelming amount, but enough that you want to clean it. “My poor baby,” you coo, “Let me clean that for you.”

Rising, you glide to the bathroom again.

“Bring some ice too, love,” he requests, tacking on a “please” at the last minute.

Stopping in the suite’s tiny kitchen, you search the small freezer for ice as requested. Ransacking the cabinets in the bathroom, you manage to locate cotton balls, an antiseptic, and a bandage. Returning to Harry, you kneel at his feet. “This might sting a bit.” Cautiously, you cover the cotton ball with the antiseptic and press it to his wound.

He winces, but the only sound he releases is a mild hiss.

“Sorry, baby.”

“It’s not a big deal, love.”

As the blood vanishes with its absorption into the cotton ball, you agree with him. The wound is relatively minor. Should form a scab in the next day or so. Carefully, you remove the adhesive from the bandage and press it over the small scratch.

“Don’t worry, darling,” you tease, “you’ll heal soon enough.”

“Gonna run that one into the ground, aren’t you?” he jokes.

“Might as well,” your shrug, grinning. “Don’t worry, H. You’re so golden.” His smile gives away his mirth at the pun. “Soon enough, you’ll be done filming, and moving on to something else. And I’ll give you hell about whatever the next thing is too.”

“I’d expect nothing less,” he confesses with intense eye contact, and your insides start to flutter.

As an afterthought, you hold up a bag of frozen peas. “No ice, H. I’m so American that I forgot Europeans don’t do much ice. Will this do?”

“Sure.” Grabbing the bag of peas, he smirks before placing it on his crotch.

You raise an eyebrow. “Your dick needs ice?”

His eyes rake over you. “Kind of went running without an athletic supporter today.”

Planting your hands on your hips, you glare at him. “Why would you damage the goods like that?”

Raising his shoulders, he grins, “The fans will love it.”

Your lower lip juts out as you pout at him. “Does that mean it’s off limits to me?”

“It’s sore, love. Not broken.” Harry emphasizes, but that doesn’t make you feel any better.

“But I’ve got lingerie,” you state clearly.

He sits up quickly, shifting the bag of frozen peas on his crotch. “You do?”

“Yep.” You allow the ‘P’ to pop. “Ryan introduced me to a new designer. I bought four sets.”

“Fuck,” he breathes.

“Not with your dick wounded,” you remind him with a tiny hitch in your breathy voice.

“Fuck,” he repeats.

“Should I model the first one or wait until tomorrow?” You’re definitely pushing the envelope here, yet how dare he give fans priority to his most precious bits?!

Eyes darkening, he sweeps his gaze over your light trousers and loose shirt. “Ummmm...now please.”

“Are you sure? Wouldn’t want you to hurt your dick more.”

The exasperated roll of his eyes makes you smile. “I wanna see, love.”

Examining him, you come to the conclusion that he’s an adult and knows what he wants. With a nod, you grasp the handle of the bag from the designer. “Be right back!” Hurrying to the bedroom, you set the bag down before rummaging in it for the most sedate look: a white lacy baby doll bit that hits mid-thigh and comes with a long peignoir. Putting on frilly high heeled slipper with it, you strut in front of him with the robe tightly covering your body, watching as his eyes darken.

“Like this one?”

“Shit, love. It’s…”

When you part the edges to reveal the concoction underneath, Harry has to catch his breath, shifting in the seat as he adjusts the frozen peas.

“Hot?” you taunt.

“Mhm. Come here, and check my temperature.” His voice is throaty, and you recognize the signs quite easily.

“Nope. Three more to go before I get within touching distance, H. Sorry.”

“Dammit,” He mockingly shakes his head. “You know I could easily see all of them on separate nights. Let’s just start with this one.”

Purposely, you push your lip out in a pout. “But then the other lingerie would get jealous, and Ryan went to a lot of effort to get me a private viewing. After all, this stuff isn’t available to the general public.”

“No?” He sighs, and you catch the hitch in his comment. “Bring on the second one then.”

Confidently, you swagger from the room. With shaky hands, you withdraw the bright red lace camisole and boy short. Is this the appropriate one to wear next? The red might just push him over the edge. Best to stay out of his reach then. Smirking, you pull the outfit on and waltz onto the balcony with a twirl, your hair on pointe as its curls bounced with you.

“Holy fuck. That’s the second one?” His strangled cry makes you laugh in joy.

“How’s that cock feeling now?” you gesture in the direction of his crotch.

“The peas have melted I believe.”

“Mhm. Maybe you should go get something else from the freezer then.”

“Nah. I’d rather you come get this bag for me. I might be too injured to walk inside.”

“Oh, you’re so funny. I know this game. I get close to you, and the other two lingerie outfits never see the light of day. Nope. You want more frozen food for your genitals, you can get it yourself.” Laughing, you smack your rounded ass as you amble into the bedroom again.

“Fuck!” Harry yells behind you.

The dialogue combined with the strutting has your pussy feeling damp as the waves of arousal rush over you. Sure you’d fucked last night, but today was a new day, and you wanted to feel that dick inside you -- regardless of the damage he did by jogging in the city for the video.

The third one is pink -- and you’re well aware from experience how much Harry loves pink. The baby doll dress is silk and lands just at the top of your thighs with a black lace bodice that laces in the middle. Kind of laces anyway. Plenty of boob still visible. Or barely hidden. Whichever you prefer.

“Oh my god. You’re killing me!” Harry whines as you parade just out of his reach. When he starts to rise, you shake a finger at him.

“No, no, H. You need to recuperate from running today. Better stay seated.”

He chokes as you twist around to show him all sides, including the g-string with its bare backside.

“You’re evil!” he calls as you dance back into the bedroom.

This is the final one, and you prepare carefully. It takes extra time to put on, and you smile as you observe your image in the room’s mirror. Deftly, you slip a couple of condoms in the bodice of the bralette.

You find a playlist of romantic Italian music and set it to play on the Bluetooth speaker in the bedroom, ensuring the volume is high enough to be heard on the loggia.

Harry gasps the moment he sees you. “You’re not wearing anything under that!”

Playfully you glance down at the last lingerie set. “Oh, damn. I guess when I put the garter skirt and stockings on, I must have forgotten the panties. Forgive me?”

His head bobs up and down as he gulps.

“Now,” you murmur, approaching him. Grasping a pillow from a nearby chair, you plop it on the floor in front of him, settling on your knees there. “I think the best thing is if I take a look at this dick to make sure you didn’t do too much damage.”

Removing the no-longer-frozen peas, you toss the bag to the side. No one will be eating those. Ever. Silently, Harry waits while you carefully peel down the top of his elasticized shorts and remove his cock. You have to catch your breath every time you get to glimpse it, and today is no exception.

Your mouth waters, and you lick your lips as you hold his rigid length in your hand, your eyes flickering up to his where he’s staring intently at you. Maintaining eye contact, you run your tongue over the tip of his cock, paying extra attention to the slit there.

“Mmmm,” you murmur. “The tip seems to be okay. Let me check the length.”

Using your saliva as lubrication, you run your hands down his shaft to his balls. “Doesn’t appear to be broken,” you smirk, “In fact, seems pretty solid and firm to me.”

Harry raises an eyebrow, “Might want to apply some suction there, love, just in case.”

You don’t really care what he means by that last phrase. You’re more than happy to test out the equipment to ensure that it’s in full working order. Spreading his legs more firmly, you lean in, sliding his entire dick into your mouth until the tip hits the back of your throat. Harry grasps the hair at the back of your hand, bunching it in his hand as he guides you along his length. You hear him sigh, and you’re confident he’s tilted his head back and closed his eyes, but when you glance at him, you find that his eyes are still on your lips.

Fuck. It turns you on even more, and you can feel your pussy dripping onto the pillow. You make a mental note to remove the cover and wash it before leaving the villa.

As your lips glide along him, you’re frustrated at not having full access to him. As you apply suction to his tip, you pop off him with an audible sound. Both of your hands reach for the waistband of his shorts, and you gently encourage him -- “Lift your bum, H” -- so you can fully remove the garment, throwing it over your shoulder and hoping it doesn’t sail into the pool below. Harry smiles, adjusting his stance into the biggest man spread you’ve ever seen.

Before you return to your ministrations on his cock, you grasps your chin, drawing your face forward and upwards until he can lock lips with you.

“Not much longer, love, or I’ll explode.”

“I don’t mind,” you purr.

“Mhm. But if we’re fully going to test the equipment, then that should include more than a bj.”

“Ah, I see,” you grin. “But of course. We want to be thorough.”

First, though, you are compelled to play with his balls, so you take him into your mouth again, adding one hand to his length while the fingers on the other play with the balls underneath. Fuck. You could do this all day. Breathing through your nose, you deepthroat him and suck for a solid ten seconds before you release him completely.

With a grin, you stand, kicking aside the pillow. “Hmmmmm...trying to decide the best way to do this.” Your voice has a catch in it, and you wipe your mouth before bending over and capturing his lips in a searing kiss. Tongue darting forward, you taste him, allowing him to suckle your tongue briefly.

As you come up for air, Harry moves his legs together while slipping his hand between yours and nudging your legs apart. With one finger he teases your clit, flicking it from side to side as he watches your face and eases another digit inside you. Oh hell. This feels…

“Fuck, H.”

“You’re so tight, baby. Come sit here. Let’s test out the equipment. Make sure everything works properly.”

At his invitation, you step forward as he shifts his bum down on the chair a bit.

“Shit. I forgot…”

With his words, you remove the first condom from your bralette where it has conveniently been nuzzling your nipple, the hard corner of the foil packet hardening your nip.

Grasping his dick, he uses the tip to slap at your pussy a few times before using your internal juices to lubricate himself. Your eyes roll back into your head as the two of you work together so you can slide onto him without any additional moments wasted.

When you’re fully seated on his dick, you grind just for a moment.

“Hmmmm...seems sturdy enough,” you pant.

“Oh, you’re so funny,” he drawls, but his eyes roll back in his head when you glide along his length, your stockinged thighs surrounded by his large hands. “Fuck, love.”

“Working on it,” you laugh breathlessly as the rhythm becomes easier. His hands move to your arse as he assists you in riding him.

Draping your arms over his shoulders, you shake your tits in his face, and he grins as he bends his head to press a kiss at the juncture of your boobs.

As your climax begins to arrive, your movements become less steady and more sporadic. Harry, knowing you as he does, reaches between your bodies to tease your clit as you throw your head back and cry out two thrusts before his seed spurts into the condom and his eyes roll back into his head. Spent, you collapse on his chest, still joined.

“I think,” you whisper as you kiss his neck while playing with the curls at the nape of your neck, “we can agree that the equipment still works just fine. No damage here.” Picking up your head, you glare at him. “But no more, H! What’s mine is mine. The fans get enough of you.”

He laughs as his arms surround you, and he buries his head in your shoulder.

“Of course, love. Whatever you say.”

A/N: Reblogs are love, my readers. If you liked this even just a little tiny bit, please take a second to reblog so that others might find it. Getting likes is nice, but it doesn’t help me grow my readership. Thanks for your consideration!

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #my writing #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #1d imagine #harry styles reader insert #original writing #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #sorry I'm so slow at getting this one finished!#please let me know what you think

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dickwheelie · 3 years

Text

this is a few days late but it’s still technically Hanukkah, so! here’s a fic about Jon and Martin celebrating Hanukkah in the safehouse (shhh timelines aren’t real) because I like to project and I really like the idea of Jon being Jewish. a lot of us are having weird holidays this year, away from friends and family, so the boys having a weird one too seemed appropriate. in particular, Jon not having a menorah because I don’t have one this year either :(

the stuff in this is based on my own experiences celebrating Hanukkah growing up in a pretty secular household, so if you see anything that’s “wrong” then that’s why, lol. the prayer is accurate as far as I know though, it’s the same one my family and I sing every year.

(also this is not a good representation of how to make rugelach! if you really want a good recipe, hmu and if you ask nicely I might share my mother’s 😁)

enjoy and Happy Hanukkah!! 💙🕎✡️💙

___________

“I just feel bad,” Martin said, watching from the sofa as Jon put the challah in the oven. “You’re doing all this cooking, and I’m just sitting on the couch like a lump. And this is supposed to be your holiday.”

“Martin, for the tenth time, it’s fine. Besides, the holiday doesn’t actually start until sundown,” Jon called, cheerfully enough, from the kitchen. Jon liked cooking, Martin knew, and he didn’t really see it as a chore in the same way Martin did. Still, this was a special day for Jon (well, eight days, really), and Martin wanted to be of some use. He’d offered to do everything from peeling potatoes to rolling matzoh balls, but Jon, ever the control freak in the kitchen, had stopped him at every turn. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty about not helping out as Jon bustled about, trying to make Hanukkah dinner for the both of them.

More than helping out, really, Martin just kind of . . . wanted to share this with Jon. The way Jon talked about it, it sounded as though he’d had more Hanukkahs alone than with friends or what little family he had. Martin wanted to make Jon feel like he didn’t have to be alone this year, and even if Martin was new to this, he was game to learn. Jon had already told him about the holiday and all the different foods he was making, but there was still some distance there, a disconnect, that Martin knew Jon wasn’t putting between them on purpose. It seemed to Martin more like a force of habit than anything else.

After setting the timer for the challah, Jon nodded, satisfied, and came over to join Martin on the couch. He slouched against him comfortably, and Martin automatically put an arm around his shoulders. Jon had a bit of flour on his nose, and Martin gently swiped it off, which made Jon’s face wrinkle up like a disgruntled cat. Bloody adorable, Martin thought.

“I get a bit of a break before I have to start on the latkes in a few hours,” Jon said. “Got to make those right before dinner so they’re fresh.”

“Can I please help with those?” Martin said, half-joking.

“Fine,” Jon laughed, “yes, Martin, you can help with the latkes.”

“You won’t regret it.”

“I’m sure.”

“Is there dessert?” Martin asked, offhandedly. He hadn’t noticed Jon getting out any sugar or making anything sweet that day. “Do people eat anything sweet on Hanukkah?”

“Well, there’s gelt,” Jon says. “Chocolate coins. But the grocer’s didn’t have any. Unsurprisingly.”

Martin laughed. “Yeah. Probably not a huge priority in the Highlands.”

“People also make rugelach, sometimes.”

“Arugula?”

Jon laughed, not unkindly. “Rugelach. Different from the vegetable. Very different,” he said. “It’s a pastry. A kind of holiday cookie, I guess you could call it. Sweet dough with chocolate or cinnamon inside. It’s simple to make, but I didn’t buy the right stuff for it, and honestly I have enough cooking to do.”

“Yeah? How d’you make it?” Martin asked, innocently enough, though an idea was brewing.

As Jon explained, he waved his hands in the air, miming the process. “You just roll out some pastry dough, cover it with chocolate or cinnamon or walnuts or whatever you like, cut it into strips, and roll them up.” He thought for a moment. “They look a bit like seashells.”

“Huh,” Martin said. “Seems easy enough.” He’d never made dough before, but how hard could it be, really. The hardest part, he figured, would be actually making the things in their tiny cabin and even tinier kitchen without Jon finding out.

Soon after that, the oven timer started beeping, announcing that the bread was done. Martin took advantage of Jon busying himself in the kitchen to slip out the door, giving him some offhand excuse about wanting to get some air, to which Jon waved him off.

In the baking aisle at the grocer’s, Martin quickly realized he was out of his depth. He stared at the display of flour and sugar and baking powder and all sorts of other stuff, utterly at a loss as to what one needed to make pastry dough. He tried, once again, to Google a recipe on his phone, but once again, there was no service and no wifi.

Well, there was always pre-made, frozen dough. Not ideal, but it’d probably work in a pinch. Much faster to make, too, Martin thought as he dropped a couple cans of it into his basket. The filling, at least, he knew he’d be able to handle; he grabbed a few bags of baking chocolate and a shaker of cinnamon, and brought everything up to the checkout counter.

Martin didn’t even know which lucky stars to thank when he arrived back at the cabin to find the kitchen empty, and Jon passed out on the bed in a post-challah, pre-latke cooking nap. Martin gently closed the bedroom door and immediately set to baking.

Going by Jon’s vague descriptions, he rolled out some of the dough into a flat oval shape, but the pre-made kind wasn’t meant to be used all at once, and the end result was a sort of lumpy mass. Digging around in the cupboards, he was able to find some flour, which helped make the dough less sticky, at least. Eventually, he was able to get it flat enough to cover it with the filling, like Jon had told him. Half of the dough he covered in cinnamon, liberally shaking it out all over the dough. The other half he covered with the baking chocolate, which came in little chunks, but he figured it would melt in the oven just fine.

Next, just as Jon had described, he cut the dough into even strips, thin and rectangular, and rolled each of them up, so the filling made a little spiral shape inside. The chocolate ones were a bit chunky and awkward-looking, but, well, it was the taste that counted, wasn’t it.

Martin turned to face the oven, realizing he had no idea how long they ought to bake for, or at what temperature. He checked the instructions on the tins of pre-made dough, deciding to go by whatever they suggested. It wouldn’t do for the dough to be raw, he figured.

Soon enough, the pastries were in the oven, and Jon was still dead to the world, none the wiser. Martin felt quite satisfied as he cleaned up, mentally patting himself on the back for a job well- and stealthily-done. He’d hide them in the oven, he decided, until after dinner, and then he’d surprise Jon. Smiling, he went to join Jon in bed, curling up next to him as he slept, until he fell asleep himself.

Martin woke groggily several hours later to Jon gently shaking him awake, telling him it was time to make the latkes. He’d already got the batter done, a thick, floury mixture of potato and onion, and a pan of oil was bubbling on the stove. Jon showed Martin how to drop spoonfuls of batter into the pan, patting them down to shape them into little fist-sized “pancakes.” He let both sides brown in the oil until they were nice and crispy, before transferring them onto a paper towel-covered plate to cool. It was simple enough, and Martin was able to finish up the batch as Jon set the table, bringing out the challah and matzoh ball soup he’d made, as well as sour cream and apple sauce to dip the latkes in.

Once the latkes were done (and Martin was quite proud to say they’d come out very nicely), Jon retrieved some red wine he’d gotten in the village and poured them both a glass. Then, as Martin was getting ready to sit down, Jon glanced around sheepishly, gesturing at an empty space on the kitchen counter.

“I, ah, normally I’d have a menorah to light. But obviously I didn’t bring one when we came up. And out here, well, it’s the same as with the gelt. No real place to buy one.”

“Oh,” Martin said, heart sinking. He reached out to squeeze Jon’s hand. “That’s a shame. I’m really sorry.”

“Really, I just wish I could show you,” Jon said, shaking his head as he took his seat at the table. “It’s really lovely. You light a new candle every night, and when they’re all lit . . . I’m sure it’d look nice here, especially.” He gestured at the space in front of the darkened kitchen window.

“Yeah,” Martin agreed, wistfully. He’d seen photos of menorahs before, and he could just picture it, he and Jon gathered around, lighting candle after candle as the eight nights passed.

“Well,” Jon said, turning back to face Martin at the table, “we may not have a menorah, but I can still do the blessing.”

“Blessing?”

“Yes. You’re supposed to do it while lighting the menorah, but, well. I’m sure this will do, given the circumstances.” Jon reached his hand across the table, and Martin took it.

“Alright.” Jon cleared his throat, almost self-consciously, and then began to sing in Hebrew, a melodic, practical tune that sounded comfortable and familiar on his tongue, like a well-worn shawl. “Barukh ata Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha’olam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav, v’tzivanu, l’hadlik ner, shel Hanukkah.”

Martin couldn’t really sing along to the words, but he nodded along to the melody, and when Jon was done he looked up at him and smiled, and Martin beamed back. They both raised their glasses and drank.

They ate heartily, or at least Martin did, because Jon kept shoving second and third bowls of soup at him, and insisting he finish off the latkes. Not that Martin was complaining, of course; it was all delicious, and Jon did praise him for how nice the latkes had come out.

They left the dirty dishes for later (or, knowing the two of them, tomorrow morning), and after dinner they went straight for presents. Though his options were limited without online shopping or anything outside of the tiny village, Martin had managed to find an adorable little painted china Highland cow in a local antiques shop.

“I know you think they’re cute,” Martin said as Jon lifted it out of the box.

“How did you know,” Jon deadpanned, but he grinned as he brought it up to his nose and stared at its little painted snout. “I love it, Martin, thank you.”

Jon had gone the homemade route, and knitted Martin a scarf. And a pair of mittens. And an entire bloody sweater.

“Oh my god, Jon,” Martin said, staring in disbelief at the mounds of knitwear before him. “How did you find time to do all this? How did you find time to do all this without me knowing?”

Jon looked away sheepishly. “I, uh, I’m a fast knitter.”

Martin shook his head fondly. Unbelievable. But he immediately took off the sweater he’d been wearing and pulled on the one Jon had made. It fit rather well and was as cozy as it looked. “Thank you, Jon,” he said, feeling the sleeves, knowing that every loop and stitch of the fabric had been purposeful. He could practically feel the care and love Jon had put into each one of them. “I love it,” he said, leaning over to kiss Jon at the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Jon said, cheeks darkening, “Happy Holidays, then.”

“Oh,” Martin said, rising from the sofa, “I’ve actually got one more thing. Sort of a last-minute gift.”

“Hm?”

Martin went over to the oven and took out the trays of rugelach. He’d checked them earlier to see if they were cooked through, but hadn’t gotten the chance to taste one yet. “Tried my hand at a bit of dessert,” he said, selecting a couple nice-looking ones and putting them on a plate for Jon to try.

Jon had followed Martin into the kitchen, and was staring at the pastries lined up on the trays. “Oh, well, thank you,” he said, surprised, taking the plate Martin handed to him. “What are they?”

Martin cocked his head at him. “Rugelach,” he said. Wasn’t it obvious?

Jon’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “Ah,” he said, voice strained with positivity. “Of course. Right.”

Martin was starting to get a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Gingerly, Jon took one of the rolled-up pastries, and bit into it.

Martin tried one as well. It was one of the chocolate ones, and it was . . . crunchy. Very crunchy. The chocolate, it seemed, had only partially melted in the oven, and the pastry dough itself was a bit hard to bite through. Besides that, it wasn’t very sweet, the chocolate being too dark and the dough being too salty.

He tried a cinnamon one. Again, the dough was crunchy, and the cinnamon was overpowering without any sweetness to it. Martin considered the possibility that perhaps he ought to have added sugar.

Jon, for his part, was doing his best impression of a person who was very much enjoying the pastry they were eating, honest. “Mmm,” he said, demonstratively, as he swallowed one of the cinnamon ones. “Thank you, Martin, these are . . . delicious.”

Jon was actually reaching for seconds, which Martin knew he was only doing to make him feel better, so he reached out a hand and placed it on Jon’s, stopping him short.

Jon looked up at him. Martin shook his head wordlessly. Jon cracked a smile.

“They’re not good,” Martin said, putting them back on the trays one by one.

“Martin--”

“It’s okay,” Martin said, smiling back at him, “I know. They’re rubbish. I didn’t even use a recipe, of course they were gonna turn out--”

“Well,” Jon said, stubbornly, “you tried. It’s the thought that counts. Thank you, Martin, really,” Jon said, bringing up Martin’s hand to kiss the back of it. “It was very sweet of you to put all this effort into it.”

“Next time, I’ll look up a recipe,” Martin said, bringing one of the trays over to the kitchen bin. Jon was quick to assist him.

“There’s seven nights of Hanukkah left,” Jon said, after a moment’s thought. “We can always try again. Tomorrow, we’ll get more ingredients, and I’ll show you how to do it properly. It really is easy, you just need . . . well. Sugar, for one.”

Martin laughed as he tossed the last of the batch away. “Okay. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

“I mean it, though,” Jon said, looking at him fondly. “Thank you. For this, and for the cow, and for sharing the holiday with me. It’s . . . this has been really . . .”

Jon was gesturing in the empty air, struggling for the proper word, but Martin understood well enough. “Yeah,” he said. “And thank you, for sharing it with me.” He pressed a kiss to Jon’s cheek.

“Happy Hanukkah, Jon.”

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #martin blackwood #jonathan sims #gwyneth writes #oh shit this is long #it's 2.4k #btw not pictured in their spread is gefilte fish which is a staple in my holiday dinners #but again idk if you could find it in the scottish highlands lmao #not a ton of jews out there i imagine #anyway happy hanukkah yall i love you

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