#heaven north pole

[astrovedawisdom]

Heaven at the North Pole? The Mind-Blowing Secret Hidden in Hindu Mythology!

Heaven at the North Pole Hey there! Ever thought the North Pole could be more than just ice and Santa? What if I told you Hindu mythology hides a wild secret about it being heaven? Yep, the heaven North Pole myth blows your mind! Ancient texts whisper about a cosmic mountain, a celestial hub, right up there in the Arctic. Is it real? How does it tie to the stars? Grab a cozy blanket, because…

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

If I ever am blessed to have children they will read NO picture books that use therapy language and gentle concepts to introduce "kindness" or "sharing." Only elaborate mildly traumatizing adventure stories. And Frances the Badger (who teaches fear and discomfort and dealing with things, the opposite of gentle concepts)

[theglowsociety]

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[maho6any]

Moonshine Peaches

Country Dilf!Choi San x F!Reader

tags: age gap, best friend’s dad, deep south, vacay in the mountains, southern accent(YUMMM), pet names (peaches, sweet pea, baby, etc.), teasing, dom san, fingering, oral(f!receiving), overstimulation, size kink, don’t get caught, san wants that cookie BAD, praise, BIG ARMS, headlock, reader is on birth control so he's INNIT...

wc: 8.6k

summary: Your best friend would not quit nagging you at joining her to go visit her family’s house in the mountains deep in the rural corners of Tennessee. Summer was here, some fresh air would be nice. Why not?

notes: a gift from me (raised in deep Tennessee) to you. Makes me miss home, but I get to visit this summer again so YIPPEE!!

tracklist- american teenager, she keeps me up, secret

You hadn’t seen a power line for miles. You might as well have been in heaven. Lying in the bed of your best friend's dusty taupe pick-up truck, the sun cast beautiful flowing masterpieces on your skin through the tall, looming forests of Fraser firs that coated the mountains like a blanket.

The air was chill and fresh, your ears still not used to the thinness, your hearing slightly muffled as the wind rushed past them. The sun was warm, and the air was comfortable, perfectly cool. The long, curving roads wound and turned seemingly endlessly. Around every corner was either a breathtaking view of the far countryside, tall green hills with vast acres of forest below that you would be bound to lose yourself in. Or vast, green fields with a couple of groups of brown spread about, which you could only assume were cows.

Your best friend was driving in the front seat, all windows lowered as “American Teenager” blasted from her little, busted-up radio. The sun caught her skin beautifully as one hand rested out the window and the other steered. She sang loudly and happily, you joining in from the back.

As the song played, you thought long and hard about the decision of coming out here with her. You and Arin had been together since freshman year in high school. She had been living with her grandma when you guys met, both city girls, it seemed.

Until you came over to her house for the first time, and her walls were littered with deer heads and fishing poles. She laughed at your reaction, excited to tell you all about her family and her lifestyle. About how she grew up deep in the rural south before moving closer to the big cities to help pursue better education and better job opportunities.

She lived with her grandma in the city, while her divorced parents remained in the countryside, with separate housing. Her mom lived in a modest trailer off a dirt road closer to the north, while her dad lived in a rustic, wooden house deep in the Smokies. 

Years later, both of you in your sophomore years of University, she had brought up the idea that to kick off summer break, you should come with her on her annual visit to her dad's.

You knew next to nothing about her father, only that he lived in the woods and was divorced. She never really talked about her parents, and you never chose to pry.

Ecstatic, to say the least, were you to hear that she wanted to bring you along. You always connected well with nature, and a week's trip into the woods would probably cure every little thing bothering you in an instant.

So here you were, 4 hours into the trip, 2 hours left as you both cruised through the mountains, literally never feeling freer in your life. 

Your lungs felt cleaner, and your bones felt like they were melting into your skin as you deflated in the truck bed, falling deep into a nap as your friend continued driving home, knowing the roads with the back of her hand.

The truck rumbling and your speed decreasing awoke you from your nap. You rose, stretching and yawning, cursing yourself for sleeping on such a bumpy surface. When you took in your surroundings, you noticed you weren't on the road anymore. Instead, you were deep in the forest, and every surrounding area was just tall, looming trees. The birds sang and the wind whistled, the sun barely peeking through the green canopy of leaves way above. The truck was slowly climbing up a narrow dirt road, even deeper into the mouth of trees.

“Are we almost there, Arin?” You continued to glance around, enamoured by the pure beauty and richness of where you were right now. 

“Just about a mile more and we’ll be up the driveway.” You snorted, and she sighed, expecting this. 

“This is the driveway? Bitch this is not real, you live in Narnia.” Arin laughed, waving her hand, urging you to crawl back through the back window into the backseat so she could talk to you better. 

Shimmying back in the window, you lay on your stomach in the back seat. “It is really beautiful out here, though, Arin.” You smiled and she smiled back, a bright, radiant one.

“Yeah, I missed it. But after a couple of days, I'll get sick of getting bit up by bugs and all the coyotes and their incessant howling.” She groaned and shrugged.

“But it's always nice to see my dad. He’s a super, like, handy guy, always fixin’ stuff and whatnot. I gotta ask him to look at my truck because it’s been making that weird scraping sound lately. I know he could fix it no ish.” You listened as she talked, continuing to talk about her childhood. Spew random facts about the local wildlife, and the best scenic spots as well.

Before long, a clearing appeared, in the middle of which was the most beautiful, quaint cabin. Fragrant cedar wood with black trimming; the house also had a decent-sized fire pit, close to the edge of the clearing where the forest swallowed everything up again.

It was so strange, the presence the cabin seemed to have. It was the center of attention, oddly out of place, but it still felt like it belonged. Like the forest accepts it as part of it. Maybe you were overanalyzing things, but you couldn’t deny how beautiful the whole scene was.

“Alright, and here we are.” Stopping the truck beside another, taller, and newer truck, she shifted into park and took out the key. She turned to you and grabbed your hands in hers. “Okay, so, let's get the luggage, I don't know where my dad is right now–” she stopped to mull and try to think if she might have a clue.

“He could be sleeping, I don’t know. But I know he’s here because his truck is here. I thought he would be out front to greet us like he said… guess not.” She shrugged and let go, opening her door and walking to the truck bed. You followed suit, stepping out onto the gravel with a satisfying crunch. You and Arin began sorting through luggage, trading bags and freaking out when you both realized you left the cooler back on campus. 

“Fuck!” Arin yelled at the sky in utter defeat. “We had to leave the whole cooler. I had moonshine peaches in there.” You sigh, upset about the cooler, consoling your friend. You rubbed her back in soothing circles as she dramatically let her forehead fall against the truck bed.

Before you could open your mouth to say anything, a thick, strong arm snaked around your waist and gripped you tight, fingers digging into your stomach. You were lifted into the air, your back pressed against a firm, built chest, before a scream started to bubble up. Arin screamed at the same time as you, feet also off the ground, with an arm around her waist, too.

“Gotcha.” A teasing voice sounded from behind you two, you were set down in a split second as Arin broke into a big smile and ran to hug the person.

“Dad! What the hell you scared the shit out of us.” You stood by the truck and watched as the two of them hugged.

Oh god.

Oh my god.

Yeah, this was insane.

Her dad was insanely hot. Sporting a black compression tank top that traced every curve and dip on muscle from his chest to his abdomen, dark blue jeans that hugged his thick thighs, and a beige pair of chaps. He had an orange and black flannel tied around his waist and a sturdy pair of cowboy boots on him. And don't even get started with his face.

Plush lips, defined nose, eyes like a hawk. His black hair was tousled, strands falling over his forehead, and a clear pair of glasses sat on the bridge of his nose. His large, meaty arms wrapped Arin tightly in a hug before turning to you and smiling. He had that same radiant smile his daughter had. His pretty eyes crinkled as he laughed at your expression.

He reached forward and rubbed your upper arm apologetically. “I’m sorry for scarin’ you darlin’.” The pet name made the neurons in your brain go haywire as he stepped closer to you, his arms coming up and around to envelop you in a hug next.

His arms flexed as they closed around your waist, hand locking at your hips. Instinctively, your hands came up and wrapped around the back of his neck. A rather intimate hug that was over before it even began.

“I can't believe this is my first time meetin’ you, peaches. You’re all Arin ever talks about whenever she comes down and sees me. Makes me think she misses you more than her old man.” He pouts playfully, looking at Arin, who was rolling her eyes, then looking back at you. He smiled and leaned down to half whisper in your ears.

“See-” he pointed a thumb behind him at her. “She doesn’t even love me.” Arin stomped over and playfully pushed her dad away from you, picking up your luggage and walking away.

“Dad, stop being a baby and help us make a mess of your house with all our stuff.” You started picking up some luggage, and just as you went to reach for the last bag, Arin’s dad grabbed it. You looked up and locked eyes with him, seeming like he was already looking at you before.

He smiled at you again, warm and welcoming. “Mr. Choi.” You forced the words out of your mouth, trying not to trip over them. “It's nice to meet you, thank you for letting me stay.”

San waved a hand at you and scoffed like it was no big deal. “You are more than welcome, c'mon now. My daughter has never been happier since becomin’ friends with you. You’re doin’ me a favor by not sending her home to me all angsty and irritated. And please, call me San. No need to be so polite with me, sweetheart.”

You laughed softly, taking every inch of your willpower to look anywhere but his arms, holding the suitcase like it weighed nothing. Arin came back out with a new pep in her step as she wrapped her arm around yours and began leading you away. “Quit holding her up, now I have to show her around.” 

“Bye, honey, love you too.” He waves to his daughter.

 “See you soon, peaches!” he calls to you. You quirked your head around to look at him while Arin led you away, catching him staring you down intently just as you turned the corner into the doorway.

When he's out of sight, you turn to your best friend, trying to calm your racing heart. “Peaches? Is he serious, Arin?” She shrugged. like it was no big deal, leading you down the hallway to a set of bedrooms.

“I don’t know (Name), he just has nicknames for everyone, he always calls you that.”

After a couple of hours of unpacking and getting settled, you and Arin were sitting on the living room couch, cuddled into each other, reading your respective “assigned books” for the summer. You both were readers and were eager to reach a 50-book goal by the end of the summer. So you guys pick books for each other and read them together.

The fireplace crackled, and a warm, calming atmosphere descended on the room, nearly lulling you to sleep. You hadn’t seen Mr. Choi since meeting him outside earlier that day. You wanted to ask Arin where he went, but you thought she would think you were weird for wanting to keep tabs on her dad. So you just didn’t say anything.

But you must have been thinking about it too hard because a minute later, Mr. Choi walks into the living room.

“Arin, honey, will you go start up the bonfire for me, please? I wanna show (Name) here down to the lake.” Your eyes widened and stared at Arin pleadingly not to leave you by yourself, but she had already stood up and began making her way towards the fire pit excitedly. 

“Oooh! You’re gonna have so much fun out here with us. Go with him, it's so nice. I'll catch up when I’m all done.” And she disappeared. You turned to her dad, a nervous smile on your face. He looked completely relaxed, studying your anxious body language carefully, holding eye contact for just a second too long. But he suddenly turned around and began walking to the front door.

“Cmon, follow me.” You hesitated for a second before finding your feet again and walking fast to catch up with him.

It was warm outside, the sun in the last stages of a sunset, the sky a deep blue merging with vibrant oranges. Fireflies danced around the air in a light show of yellow deep within the forest. The wind rushed by silently, and the trees swayed in response to its whispers.

San wordlessly led you down the driveway a bit until he turned onto a small and obscure dirt path that led into the woods. The woods were silent but also so full of life. You felt as if you whispered something everyone and everything within a mile would hear.

But the toads were croaking, and the cicadas were singing in a way that could lull you to sleep again. It was a lot darker now that you had strayed from the house, the only light coming from the sliver of sun left through the canopy.

San stuck close to your side, careful not to lose you. He still hadn’t said a word, and it was beginning to unnerve you a little.

After a little more trekking, you came to a small lamppost that signifies the end of the path, and further past, you noticed a boat tied to a pier and one of the most gorgeous little lakes you had ever seen. Surrounded by tight walls of tall, dark trees, it stood still, and only the slight sloshing of water could be heard.

“Woah.” You walked past San and onto the pier, taking in the view before you. “This is doing more for me than any ibuprofen I've ever tried.”

That gets a heart laugh out of him, a handsome one at that. He's walked up closer behind you as you continue to gaze at the lake.

“Y’know I reckon it’s perfect weather to go swimming in, whaddya say?” Your eyebrows raise as you turn to see San staring at you with a sly smile and a teasing look in his eyes.

You immediately know what's coming. Quickly, you zip your body around and position yourself behind him. His gaze and his body follow you just as fast.

“Don’t you dare.” You warn, nervous giggles bubbling out as you speak, and genuine adrenaline rushes through your veins. San stayed put and didn't move, his shoulders hunched like he would pounce at any moment, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he kept his eyes locked on yours.

“Don’t dare what, sweet pea? What am I going to do?” The smile on your face was impossible to keep down as your heart raced.

“It's gonna be cold!” You squealed as he suddenly jerked forward like he was going to get you. He chuckled and suddenly relaxed his body. He stood up straight and put his hands up in surrender.

“Alright, alright, you can stop givin’ that look now I ‘m not gonna do it.” He smiled and backed away from you slowly, your eyes narrowed, hesitating to turn back and look at the lake again.

“If I turn around and you–” San leans his head forward and makes a stupid, confused face, pointing at himself as if to ask, “who me?”

“--yes, you. I’ll kill you.” He crossed his big, strong, thick arms across his chest and stared at you with an eyebrow raised in a challenge. But he quickly switched to playful intrigue when he caught the way your eye flicked down to his biceps and glued onto them for just a second too long.

You locked eyes with him again and stared for a good minute before you slowly turned back around to the lake. There was no sound of movement behind you. Maybe he really was done playing games. You turned around to give him shit about his behavior but he wasn't there anymore. Confused, you wondered if he jumped in or went back to the cabin.

You turned back around to the lake only to come face to face with none other than San himself. He had bent down so your noses were brushing, and he smiled before picking you up bride style and falling backward into the water with you in his arms.

Before you could scream, you had fallen in the water, wrapped in San’s arms. When you both emerged from under the water, you were both laughing hysterically. Splashing at each other and trying to swim back to land.

“Is this how you treat all your guests, Mr. Choi?” You panted as you lifted yourself onto the edge of the pier, legs dangling off the edge as you sat facing the lake. San remained in the water, swimming to float in front of where you sat, looking up at you.

His hair and his tank top were now soaking wet, and the gold rays of the sun shone off his damp skin beautifully. You were staring, and he had noticed.

San swam closer, now directly in front of your legs. The toads croaked louder, and owls began calling into the deep forest. You craned your neck down to give him your full attention, your feet swung back and forth in the water, tracing patterns in the lake.

San watched you for a moment, This was the most relaxed you had been since arriving on the property. The sun slowly began to sink behind the mountains in the distance, and a chill wind bit at your skin as the sky faded into hues of blues and orange.

“My little girl’s got herself a real pretty friend dun’ she?” His large hands clasped around each of your ankles, tugging teasingly like he’d pull you in. Your breath hitches at the warmth of his hands around your cold, wet legs.

“Mr. Choi-” He laughed annoyedly, akin to frustration as his last name slipped from your lips yet again.

“C’mon, baby, what did I tell you?” You quirked an eyebrow in question, then he yanked you down back into the water. But instead of letting you sink, he kept one arm firm around your waist while the other held your shoulder. Your faces were inches apart, and he gazed into your eyes, not even blinking.

“You can’t seem to remember my name. Let's practice, okay?” His voice lowered to a whisper, with his chest pressed to your own, you could feel the rumble in your body from his words. The hand on your shoulder moved to your collarbones, drifting gently in barely there touches. Up the side of your neck, across your cheek until his thumb was on your bottom lip, pulling down slightly as he admired the plumpness.

“My name is San,” he mumbled, moving to trace the tip of his nose up and down the side of your throat. “Repeat it after me, peaches.” He mumbles in your ear, smirking against the shell when he feels you jolt. 

“S-San..” You tried to say it steadily, but your voice trembled just slightly. Of course, he caught it.

He breathed in deeply and smiled before moving his lips right in front of yours, hovering right above them, so close that a gust of wind could close the gap between them.

“I love how you say it, (Name).”He drawled lowly right against your lips.  It was the first time he had ever said your actual name around you, and you couldn’t deny the way he basically moaned around it had your heart racing. “You seem scared, babydoll, don't tell me you’re scared o' me?” His eyes lock with yours in an intense staredown, lids narrowed with his lips stuck out in a faux pout.

Your hands shot out and gripped the straps of his tank top in each hand to hold yourself steady. He smelled so good, and the slow, condescending tone of his whispers was enough to make you a little dizzy.

“‘M not scared…” You whispered, gnawing at your bottom lip nervously, the tangy taste of blood flooding your tongue.

San held his mouth open right above your own, the thin layer of skin only slightly brushing, tickling almost. His breathing was shaky, and his eyes darted all over your face quickly like he was chasing a laser on it. His arm around your waist squeezed like he was restraining himself, his forehead resting against your own, and his hand cradling your jaw like it was sacred.

His brows knitted in frustration in the most pitiful expression when his eyes roved all over you, your body pressed to his, and the adorable “please” look in your eyes. “Mmm wanna kiss ya’ so bad,” San whined so quietly it was like he was talking to himself.

“Wanna touch you, taste you….” San’s chest hurt. He felt like such a sick guy, wanting his daughter's best friend as badly as he did. Every story he heard of you from his daughter painted you as such a sweetheart, and here you were in front of him finally, and oh…

There was no way San was letting you leave after this trip without him getting his hands on you.

“Wanna thank you for being so good to my daughter.” The smile on his lips contradicted his words. Like his body knew that the lie he just told was ridiculous. This had nothing to do with Arin. And he knew that. He wanted you for you. He wanted you for himself. Even if that makes him a bad, bad man.

You whimpered, you wanted to kiss him, but that means the line would officially be crossed, and there would be no going back. Your lashes fluttered, and his chest rose and fell, his hands came up, and his calloused fingers traced feather-light patterns on the back of your neck.

But before anything could happen, you could hear your name being called in the distance. “(Name)! Dad! Bonfire’s good to go!” 

Quickly, you and San separated with the speed of opposing magnets. You scrambled onto the pier as San stayed in the water, laughing at your frantic attempt to get back on land.

You sneered at him and stood up as your friend ran onto the pier. She saw how soaked to the bone you were and scowled. “Dad, did you push her in? He always does this shit…” he walked over and stared down her dad who was oh so innocently climbing back onto the dock.

“Nope, she got scared and fell into herself. Honest. I think she’s just a little jumpy.” You wanted to kick him, how did he act so innocent like he wasn’t the one who almost jumped your bones in the lake?

 Arin stuck her tongue out at her dad and turned to you. “Cmon y y'all will dry up by the bonfire really quick.”  You watched as she walked away, turning your head to see San’s eyes trained on you. The look in his eyes wasn't anything short of hot-blooded. You stayed for a moment, feeling like even if you moved an inch, he’d grab you and have his way.

His tongue clicked, and he nodded his head at the house, a grin creeping onto his lips. He walks past you as he speaks, a hand coming down and squeezing the side of your waist like an encouragement to move.

 “C’mon, sweetpea, snap out of it.”

You sat in a wooden rocking chair around the pit, the woods dark and looming all around, with the only source of light being the roaring fire in front of you. Arin sat to your left, rambling about a trip she took out of state with her sorority, scrolling through her endless gallery, insisting on telling a story for every picture.

Unfortunately, you were unable to focus. The fire dried all the lake water from your body, but not the wetness between your thighs. Your skin burned, and as you flicked your eyes over to San, who sat directly across from you two behind the fire.

As Arin talked, San’s eyes stayed locked on you and you alone. A stare hotter than the fire itself. Anytime Arin looked up from her phone, San’s eyes switched over and gave her his full attention. But every time she looked elsewhere, his eyes were all over you.

Tracing up your legs, staring at your tummy, up your torso, back onto your eyes. This was too much. He literally would not stop staring. It was taking every ounce of self control San had to not jump up and snatch you up, drag you beyond the tree line, and fuck you on the forest floor untl you were crying from overstimulation. All he wanted to do was play with you. Get his big, rough hands on your soft, pliant body. To have you writhing and bending at his will on his sheets and putting every orgasm you’ve ever had to shame.

If anyone needed to snap out of it, it was San. His fingers twitched as he forced himself to stay still. He found it so cute, the way you refused to look at him too long, or you’d get overwhelmed, thighs shifting in your seat, and your hands playing with the string on your shorts.

This went on for what felt like forever, San continuing to tease you when you looked at him, whether that be him playing with his big hands, measuring his fingers with his eyes locked on yours. Or playing with his belt buckle, the metal clink was quiet against the ambience of the forest, but loud in your ears. Just when you decided you had had enough and wanted to go to bed, San suddenly stood, clapping his hands.

“Well, ladies, I will leave you to it. I’ve got shit to get done tomorrow so I will be heading to bed.” Arin immediately began to boo and mime tomato throwing at her dad.

“Old man!” She whispered, shouted. “Don't forget your Tuesday pills, Gramps.” San rolled his eyes and waved her off. “I’m sure you’ll understand one day, you young folk have got all that energy in ya. My battery runs out faster than yours.” Arin rolled her eyes in response, leaning over to whisper to you.

“Guy can’t even stay up past 9 pm, I'm worried (Name), he's already got half a foot in the grave.” You both burst into a fit of giggles, San hearing what his daughter had said.

“Now you know I am not that old. Plus, even if I'm a little up in years, I still got it.” Without missing a beat, he moved into an obnoxious pose, flexing his arms and tipping the cap on his head. “Ladies.” He flamboyantly chirped, smiling handsomely,

“Ugh, oh my god, Dad, whatever.” They laughed, the light atmosphere easing the tension around the fire.

“Alright, keep me up any longer and I'll nod off standing. I love you, honey.” he came over and planted a kiss on his daughter's head. Arin smiled and lovingly tapped his ankle with her foot. “Love you too, Dad, it's good to be home.” He began to walk away. 

 Arin did the unthinkable.

“Ahem, Dad… what about (Name)? Hmm? Not gonna tell her goodnight? Rude.” Your eyes widened as all attention was on you. The tension returned as your eyes locked with San’s again. His eyebrows raised in surprise at his daughter's remark, but quickly shifted into a lazy smile.

“Of course, how rude of me. So much for southern hospitality.” San walked over and reached his hand down, squeezed your shoulder, and placed a chaste kiss directly on your forehead. “Goodnight, peaches.” He stood, waved, and walked into the darkness back to the house.

He was totally doing this on purpose. Teasing you in front of Arin. It was like he enjoyed seeing you embarrassed. Your best friend never made a note or commented on his behavior, seemingly accustomed to it, as if this was just how he was. Really friendly.

You sat huddled next to Arin, enjoying the sounds of crickets and owls from deep within the wood, the wind blew the orange flames of fire every which way like a frantic dance. It wasn’t until late into the night that you both decided to retreat to bed. You both stood, Arin extinguished the fire, and you both began walking back to the house.

Walking in the front door, you shut and locked it behind you, discarding your shoes on the front porch. The front entrance was barely illuminated, just a candle mounted on the wall in the kitchen, the light spilling from around the corner into the foyer. It was silent, just the wind from outside muffled and the occasional creak of the cabin settling. Arin walked down the hall, turning and making her way to the bedrooms. You followed close behind, almost unnerved by the unnatural stillness of the home.

Arin walked into the bedroom you two were sharing, turning on the lamp on the nightstand by the bed. You both began your respective night routines. Skincare, pajamas, medications.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching Arin wrap her hair in a silk wrap.

1 day down. 5 more to go. You almost asked Arin if she could take you back to the city so you could call an Uber home. You would say you were sick or that your mother slipped and fell back home. When really you just knew you would feel like the worst person on the planet if you lost your moral compass and fucked her dad.

When she finished, you stood and closed up the drawers and picked up anything off the floor. A far-off rumble of thunder groaned from outside, the wind picking up and swaying the tree leaves in a graceful dance. 

You glanced over at the nightstand, an alarm clock sat next to the lamp.

11:23.

Arin sat at the top of the bed, shimmying under the covers while you lay on the other side, closest to the nightstand. You looked over at her, genuinely happy that she had thought of you when she was planning her vacation home, but you sincerely wished she hadn’t.

Or did you?

Too much thinking for so late into the night.

You turned to look at her, a nearly apologetic look in your eyes. “Thank you again for taking me with you, Arin. It's so refreshing to get away from the city. My lungs feel cleaner already.” Arin smiled and lay down under the comforter with her phone on her chest. 

“Who else would I take silly. Thank you for being so cool around my dad. I know he can be a little much.” She smiled embarrassedly, shrugging her shoulders. Oh, she had no idea. You reassured her with a gentle punch to her stomach.

“He’s not any worse than you are.” Arin’s mouth fell in mock surprise at your teasing.

“You just wait until I’m awake enough to care.” She narrowed her eyes at you, turning around with a giggle to settle into the bed.  You turned your upper body to switch the lamp off, shrouding the bedroom in darkness.

“Goodnight, Arin.” You rubbed her shoulder lovingly, returning the gesture by squeezing your hand. “Night, Name.” The wind howled louder outside the cabin, another crackle of thunder boomed in the night, the sky opened, and the rain began to fall, fat droplets hitting the roof like a soothing white noise. 

The alarm clock glowed an eerie, aggressive red on the nightstand.

2:13.

Arin slept soundly beside you, a loud crack of lightning that cast a bright white light about the room. Shadows splayed on the wall, and the house shook slightly. Your throat was so dry if you tried to take a breath, you would for sure choke. You needed something to drink.

Standing from the bed quietly, careful not to wake her up, you draped the comforter back over her and smoothed over your spot.

In nothing but a black tank top and athletic shorts, you stood by the entrance to your room, peering down the dark, looming hallway that led to the kitchen. The lone light in the kitchen cast shadows surrounded by warm, glowing light. The sound of the AC buzzing faintly in the background as the rain beat against the roof and windows. Silently shutting the door behind you, you made your way down the hall with one mission. A glass of water and a breather.

You walked to the kitchen sink, grabbing a cup out of the cabinet and pouring yourself a glass. You tipped your head back and chugged the glass, the cold water soothing your headache and chilling your insides. With a deep sigh, you set the glass on the counter. You rubbed your eyes, sleep overtaking you again as a yawn bubbled up.

You looked out the window that was placed above the sink. The outside world was dark, the rain pattering against the glass, and the droplets racing down the pane. The wind blew branches from trees around the perimeter of the house, causing them to beat against the walls and windows. A cacophony of different sounds that melded together to harmonize into a sleep-lulling white noise.  

“Hey, peaches…” Soft lips pressed against the shell of your ear as the smell of pine and vanilla engulfed your senses, an arm wrapped around your waist while the other gripped the sink, caging you against the counter. A broad chest pressed against the back of your head as the hand around your waist pressed its fingertips into your lower abdomen. 

San kept his voice quiet, like you were in a bubble, and the slightest noise too loud could burst it. “What’re you doin’ up so late, babydoll? Can’t sleep?” he whispered it teasingly, like he was making fun of you in your ear.

You craned your neck back to shoot him a glare. His eyebrows raised at your expression, before he relaxed at the promise that you’re about to give him a challenge. You looked back at the window in front of the sink. “I’m sick of all your teasing, Mr. Choi. I can’t tell-” the arm gripping the sink came forward and curled before pressing against and around your throat, gentle enough not to restrict airflow or hurt you, but just enough to warn you that he could if he wanted to

The hand holding your waist traced little circles on your abdomen, pressing down every now and then before slowly grazing down further until it played with the strings on your shorts. Twirling them around his thick, rough fingers.

Your head spun at his sudden decision to put you in a headlock, your eyes whipped down, and all you could see was the bulky muscle of his forearm curled around your throat so possessively, you almost let your knees buckle underneath you. His lips oh so gently nipped at the lobe of your ear, kissing down your neck and back up again.

“Aww, baby’s tired of the teasing?” His hand slipped past the waistband of your shorts, dancing over the hem of your underwear. “Want me to just ruin you already, huh? Is that what you want, sweetpea?” His fingers slipped past the waistband of your underwear, tugging away from your skin before letting it snap back against your flesh with a quiet pop. 

You nod quicker than you would have liked to, your body answering before your brain could rationalize your thinking. He laughed under his breath at your eagerness, then used the hand from the arm around your neck to grip your hair in his fist. He held it, guiding your neck to angle downward so your lips were pressed against his bicep.

“Bite down for me, baby.” You hesitated for a moment before opening your mouth, closing your teeth around a spot on the muscle, instinctively running your tongue along the spot to soothe it. San winced, barely, before dipping his fingers past the waistband of your underwear and cupping his hand around your pussy.

“Gotta keep you quiet, sweetheart. Don’t need your pretty little noises being heard. Be good for me and keep it down, and I’ll make you feel so good.” 

You furrowed your brows and focused on the feeling of his finger dragging up between your folds, stopping to massage your clit in slow, sensual circles. Your jaw tightened its grip on his arm, the muscle flexing in response to the stimulation. 

San dragged his finger back down, slipping his middle and ring finger inside of you, your thighs squeezing around his wrist in response as his arm slightly tightened around your neck. You moaned into his arm, your own hands coming up and gripping the arm snaked in your shorts and subtly but not so subtly ground your clit against his wrist as he fucked his fingers into you, working you open and trying to perfectly hit that breathtaking spot inside you.

Deep in your cunt his fingers curled just perfectly, grazing your g-spot and causing a full body shiver to travel through you as your clit bumped the palm of his hand simultaneously. 

San pressed his open mouth against your cheek, mocking your heavy breathing and whining teasingly with his own voice, smiling when you clenched around his fingers. His eyebrows knitted to copy your pleasure ridden face. God if he only had a mirror in front of you both right now.

“Nasty, nasty girl.” He clicked his tongue, pressing the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot inside of you, rubbing in pressurized circles. Your voice began to slip, the feeling too intense, toes curling as you drooled all over his bicep.

“San… oh my god, so good…” your head lolled back, no longer bothering to silence yourself as the rain outside grew so heavy it felt like the house was encased in TV static. 

San groaned, moving his arm around your throat and gripping your neck with his hand. He angled your head up and leaned his head down. Tracing his lips against yours as he continued to work further to your orgasm with his fingers, his lips slotted with yours desperately. You let yourself whimper and cry into his mouth, his tongue sliding down your throat and drinking your sounds up happily. He nibbled on your bottom lip, grinding his palm against your clit and massaging your spot harder.

“That's it. Don’t worry about anything else. Focus on that feeling. Focus on me.” His thumb rubbed into the side of your throat soothingly. A fire flickered in his eyes when he looked into yours and watched the way you practically melted at the look he gave you. And that was all he needed before he whipped you around to face him, slipping his fingers out of you.

He ripped your shorts and underwear down and off your legs, tossing them somewhere into the darkness of the kitchen. His arms hooked under your thighs and lifted you up… up.. Until your legs were on his shoulder. He had you high up on the wall, back pressed against the cold wall. His big hands sank into your plush thighs as he held them on his shoulders, his face snug between your legs. He was standing… holding you on his shoulders like you weighed nothing.

You went rigid for a moment, for being so high up, and San between your thighs. It all happened so quickly.

His hot breath was clouding your cunt, the warm feeling causing your thighs to shiver and your eyes to roll in anticipation. His hands squeezed your thighs tightly in warning, his eyes meeting yours for a second.

“Quiet. I just need to taste you, just once… one time.” He buried his face in your soaked cunt, his nose bumping against your clit and his tongue sucking like a fucking man starved. Like he was drinking you.

Your whimpered crackled from your chest in no time, your hands flying to his hair to get a grip so you wouldn't fall off his goddamn shoulders. “Sannie.. Nghmm… can’t stay hah.. Quiet..” The noises were obscene.

The slurping and the wet open-mouth kisses. He would close his plush lips around your clit and suck like his life depended on it, which nearly pushed you over the edge in seconds. You were dripping down his chin, drops of your slick, and his saliva fell onto his tank top. Just filthy.

He ground deep into your cunt, shaking his head side to side feeling your body jolt every time his nose grazed your clit. “Gonna come for me, peaches?” he whined into you. “c’mon, you can do it. Give it to me, I need it… please. Please, baby, please.” Your fingers tightened their grip on his hair as you started to feel yourself falling apart, a breathless and silent “cumming” being mouthed by your wet lips.

“Yes. Yes,” he moaned into you like a mantra, coaxing you through your orgasm and helping you come down. San quickly let your body drop so that now your legs were wrapped around his waist. He carried you hurriedly through the living room, down the hall, and into his room, right across from Arin’s. His room was dark, the only light coming from his window when the sky lit up with lightning. 

He laid you on the edge of his bed, ripping off his tank top and lifting your legs up so your ankles rested on his shoulder. The view was gut-wrenching. His tall, rippling body. He looked so smooth, the ridges in his abs and his pecs so perfectly shadowed, it was like he was painted. His arms held your leg open on and his shoulder as he craned his neck to the side and looked you over like he wanted to snap you in half.

His legs hidden below the bed, but the sight of his hot, thick cock laying on your stomach nearly had you reeling. The pink tip twitched against your belly button as San did everything in his power not to start humping himself against your tummy.

One hand traced up your stomach lightly, around the peaks of your nipples, up your neck, and up against your lips. 

“Open.” San commanded, tapping his fingers against your cheek. You complied, feeling as he slipped his fingers in your mouth onto your tongue, pressing down.

 He leans forward, his chest grazing yours as he rests his forehead against yours. He guided his hips backward and angled the tip of his cock against your slick cunt.

“Shhh,” he whispered against your skin, pressing wet kisses on your ear. With the patience that San didn't wholeheartedly believe he had, he pushed himself inside of you. He pulled back to get a better look at him sliding in, but he paused, transfixed,

He stared at where you two connected, your cunt hugging him for dear life. He twitched inside of you before inching in more, opening his mouth to let out a low, perverted groan.

“She's takin’ me so well, sweetheart. Swallowing me up so good…” His fingers curled down into your mouth when he bottomed out inside of you. His tip is sitting heavy right against your spot. Your eyes rolled, and you could clench at the feeling of him twitching in you.

San winced and brought a hand to grip your right hip, his thumb spreading over your stomach to your belly button and kneading your tummy gently while he held your hips down against the bed, He bit his bottom lip, eyes flicking up to yours in desperation before moving back down and locking his gaze back on your pretty pussy,

“Fuck, dont move babydoll. I’ll cum…. Just.. mmmf… be still. Let me…” he stayed still for a second, before pulling his hips back and moaning out loud and the slick sound your pussy made. He slid back until his tip was the only thing inside of you, before rolling his hips and burying himself back in you deeeeepp.

Your whole body twitched and your hands came up to grip the wrist of his hand that was currently fucking your mouth with his fingers. Every roll of his hips had your whole body shuddering in pleasure, and still his eyes stayed glued at your cunt. He was mesmerized by the movement, watching his own abs roll as your stomach slightly bulged every time he pushed back inside. In and out, in and out…

San forced himself to rip his eyes away from where he pistoned inside of you. He lolled his head back and squeezed your waist even tighter, slipping his fingers out of your mouth and placing his hand on the other hip. He dragged your body up and down on his dick dropping his head back to stare at your body so pliant and willing for him.

The hands on your hips gripped you with iron strength, as San used your body as a fleshlight, fucking your cunt down on his cock, You took the sight before you in, San completely fucked out, pussydrunk.

His skin glistened from the heat of your bodies, stray strands of hair stuck to his forehead and covered his eyes, and the tip of his tongue poked past his lips as he focused completely on getting you where you needed to be. His abdomen rolled into yours so smoothly it's like he was dancing, his whole body shoving itself deeper into you, closer to your body.

He pushed your legs down so that your knees were bent and pressed against your chest, effectively folding you in half. His cock sank impossibly deeper inside of you, pulling a deep guttural groan from you.

Quickly, San pressed his lips back on yours, swallowing your cries with his mouth and licking soothing patterns into your mouth. He was so deep in your guts it felt like he was touching your ribcage, the way his body covered yours underneath him, his hands holding your legs up.

“Hush, baby, you’re being so loud. Be a good girl for me and hold it in, please, mkay? You can do it. Take it deeper, I know you can sweetpea...” He pistoned his cock into you, his head roughly kissing that spot deep in your tummy that had your back arching and your breathing staggering.

San’s bedroom was hot, and San’s body engulfed yours like you were all his. He rested his forehead against yours and his eyes roved down your body arriving back down to where his cock slipped in and out of you so smoothly. So deep and so determined. His eyes remained glued to the sight once again. His head swam with all the nasty things he wanted to tell you. To do to you.

Obsessed was an understatement, he adored watching himself slip in and out of you, the way you sucked him in so eagerly, the way your cunt dripped for him, a thin creamy ring around the base of his cock.

He locked eyes with you again, his hand squeezing around your throat, the spots of your peripheral vision slightly blinking out as his other hand came down and slowly rubbed slow circles on your clit.

San bit his bottom lip, watching as your face contorted into a cock drunk expression, not even caring to keep yourself quiet as he continued rubbing deliberate circles on your sensitive clit.

His hand cupped around your mouth and pressed down, his eyes boring into yours in a silent warning.

“What happened, baby? You were doing so well keeping it down.” He pouted mockingly at your pathetic attempts at silencing your moans. “Can’t take it after all, huh?” A particularly targeted thrust knocked the wind from your lungs for a second, nearly pushing you into your orgasm. “Answer me, peaches.”

But you were all fucked out, San was turning you inside out on his cock, and all you could think of was his name, and how badly you wanted him to fuck a baby into you.

His mouth lowered to your throat, kissing up your neck before landing by your ear.

“Can I cum inside you pretty baby please? Please?” He groaned, biting the shell of your ear lightly, continuing to fuck you into his mattress like he needed you to breathe.

He moved his hand away from your mouth, allowing you to answer.

“Im- ngh ah! On the p-pill. Oh, San, yes, yes, please inside, please!” Before you got too loud, San pressed his lips to yours, swallowing your moans in lingering, deep kisses. Slow and sloppy, his eyes rolled back as his eyelids fluttered shut.

“Yeah, c’mon beautiful...” He sighed into your mouth, slowing his hips and aiming directly for that stomach-wrenching spot inside of you, deliberately rolling his hips to repeatedly and heavily press against it. So quick it was unbelievable, your orgasm crept up your spine and curled around your stomach.

“Right there, right there, right there…” You prayed into his mouth, eyebrows knitted in concentration. San laughed, sucking on your bottom lip as he moved the hand on your clit up to press his entire palm on your lower stomach.

“Right here?” He tilted his head as his eyes remained glued to your face, watching every single little change in your expressions, enamored, with a sinister smile on his flushed face. “Cum for me sweetheart. Let me have it.”

He pushed down, the pressure becoming too much as your body spasms for a split second, before the orgasm crashed into you.

San kissed you even deeper, trying his hardest to muffle the sounds that spilled from your pretty, swollen lips, his groans falling down your throat and nearly drowning out your own. His whole body twitched, and he finally let go, his hands gripping you so tight as he came so deep in your guts you felt him in your chest.

“Taking it all so well.” He pulled from your lips, his hips rolling gently to work you through your high. When your legs finally stopped shaking, he slipped out of you with slick, vile slowness, his eyes stayed glued as he watched his cock slip out of you, moaning quietly to himself when his tip popped out and his cum began seeping out of your cunt.

His eyes flicked up to you, splayed in his sheets, hair messy, drooling, chest heaving with exertion. So pretty for him. He crawled up the bed, coaxing you to lift your head on the pillow. He chuckled at your fucked out state. “When you can find your feet again, Bambi, we can go take a shower. I’m sure this old man did a number on you.”

You glared at him, his expression nothing short of goofy, pulling a smile from you. “Stupid.” You mumbled. San smiled back, hands reached forward and gripped the sides of your face, pulling you into a slow, deep kiss. He pulled back with a wet pop.

“Smile all pretty like that and ‘m just gonna have to fuck you again, sweetpea.”

Your heart stuttered before it dropped, suddenly remembering the predicament you were actually in. 1 day down. 5 more to go. Just how fucked were you.

[tomicscomics]

12/27/2024

He's about to deck your halls.

The saints' RPG adventure continues every Monday and Friday through December!

___

JOKE-OGRAPHY: 1. Continuing from the last few cartoons, an angel is running a fantasy RPG for some saints in heaven, namely Sts. Thomas Aquinas, Joan of Arc, Francis of Assisi, and Nicholas of Myra. At long last, they've all introduced their characters. Surely they'll finally get to play the game now! 2. St. Nicholas was an ancient bishop whose legends of gift-giving became the inspiration for the modern Santa Claus. The name "Santa Claus" even comes from a foreign pronunciation of "Saint Nicholas." In stories, Santa lives at the North Pole and is known for having a magnificent white beard. In fantasy, dwarves are also known for their beards, but also for their compound-word surnames ("Beardhammer," "Oakenshield," "Hearthstone," etc.). Thus, St. Nick makes a dwarf character named Klaus (as in Santa Claus) Northbeard. 3. St. Nick is also known for slapping a priest named Arius at the Council of Nicaea in 325 A.D. At that Council, Arius shared his heretical view that Jesus did not have the same, equally divine substance as God the Father, but was instead a creation with a similar but inferior substance. According to legend, St. Nick, who was a bishop at the council, was so enraged by Arius's heresy that he slapped the man in front of everyone. Thus, in this cartoon, Nick references his impulsiveness and temper and creates a barbarian character, because -- according to RPG-logic -- barbarians can channel their rage into superhuman strength. 4. At the council, the fathers used the Greek term "homoousios" (same substance) for the orthodox belief that Jesus was of the same substance as the Father, and the term "homoiousios" (similar substance) for the Arian belief that Jesus was of a similar but inferior substance. In this cartoon, Francis notes that Nick's character description could technically apply to both Nick's character and also Nick himself. To this, Nick says they have the same substance, but Thomas argues that they have similar but different substances, because Nick is not the exact same as his character. To describe this difference, Thomas is about to use the word "homoiousios." However, Nick dislikes that word due to its use by the Arians, so he throttles Thomas while shouting, "Why iota...!" He shouts this because it sounds like, "Why I oughta...!" which is something people shout when they're flying into a rage (as in, "Why, I ought to strike you!"), but instead of "I oughta" he says "iota", because the difference between the words "homoousios" (which he likes) and "homoiousios" (which he hates) is a single Greek letter: an iota. 5. As Nick assaults Thomas, the angel shouts, "Hey! No PvP!" In game terms, "PvP" stands for "Player vs. Player," describing games or game modes where the players face off against each other instead of working cooperatively or fighting against fake enemies and Non-Player Characters.

[sl3epyaf]

WHB Kings as parents

Adopted or biological- These are just my headcanons of the kings as parents.

Now do I think the kings would be good parents? Ehh.. maybe? It honestly depends.. but also for Beel for an example I feel like he'd accidentally forget you somewhere or just legit leave you with Bael- (I promise i'm not slandering him I love him sm)

Update: I did make a small fic but tweaked the concept:

Beep beep

Honestly the best parent out of the kings- considering his experience in raising his brothers when he was an angel- well overall the best dad tbh.

I feel like Lucifer would tell you stories about heaven if he deems them safe enough for kids

So maybe about the scenery, about his past etc.

He'd definitely teach you important life lessons- once you're old enough to atleast understand somewhat.. that's when the life lessons start.

Might even teach you medicine incase you're curious about it

You and Gamigin are the chaos twins but Lucifer still loves you both.

Your future lovers better PRAY to God that they pass the Lucifer test, if they don't they can kisses their asses goodbye without an anesthetic

I don't think he knows shit about parenting

Atleast Levi will make sure someone (Foras cough cough) keeps an eye on you 24/7 to make sure you're safe.

Leviathan will not be the most affectionate to you but he still cares for you

If you mention wanting something expect to find it in your room. Don't ask him though, he'll deny it 100%.

You'll have the best fashion ever, if you're his child then naturally you have to look good as him, just not better, he'll get envious.

Your future lovers also better pray to someone that they'll pass the Leviathan test (Failure rate 99,9%). If they don't they're turned into coffin monster food, simple as that.

This can go either two ways

He'll leave you with Bael

And Bael will curse him out for it..

But Beel will send you tons of gifts that he's either found or gotten while he's been out, which may or may not include wine because he doesn't know that it's not safe for children to consume- but atleast you'll have a stash for when you're an adult?

Bael also curses him out for this and he may or may not have stolen a bottle or two because he's tired of Beelzebub's shit.

Second option- he brings you with him at all times which is like- good job your life is a constant roadtrip.

You'll need a few- hundred phones to for your pictures unless you have godly memory

When Beel forgets something he asks you about the memory and 100% wants you to send him pictures of the moment if you have them.

Beel will also 100% want to create tons of memories with you so he doesn't forget that you're his child.

Your partners might have to pass the Beelzebub test a few times because he'll forget..

but on the good side atleast they can sorta memorize the answers in advance for the next time they have to retake the test?

The best dad #2

I mean come on, mf had a wife and kids.

He'll often take you out to visit earth and during that time he'll ignore the people swooning over him, your enjoyment is his top priority.

If you're in an amusement park/arcade he might charm the employees to give you free plushies..

Honestly though Asmodeus might be the reason why you're single.. If your partner is a devil I can guarantee you that they'll run to the fucking north pole to avoid taking the Asmo test that determines whether or not they're good enough for you.

And Asmodeus has the highest standards, he wants the best for his child..

But other than that he's on the same level as Lucifer- maybe honestly even higher?

If you end up as a spoiled child it's all Mammon's fault.

Mf will buy you anything you want including stuff from earth

Nobody also dares to fuck with you considering how big Mammon is-

I'll be 100% honest if you're holding a birthday party or just any event Bimet will be there and he will try to charge people for everything- A guest wants to use the bathroom? Pay him 50 bucks.

And of course Mammon is watching him not giving a damn- in fact he might tell you to look up to Bimet..

When it comes to your partners I'm honestly not sure- I feel like Mammon would have them prove their worth to him in some kind of way considering you deserve nobody but the best.

The Mammon test might include having your partners give him treasures that he hasn't discovered yet.. so uhh- welp, that's nice.

You're Beleth's child now, congrats you're switching fathers like it's musical chairs!

No but- Beleth will look after you 99,9% of the time. The only time when he's not looking after you is nap/bed time.

During that time you're 100% with Belphegor and he'll make sure you get ZERO nightmares. Your sleep is important to him (Just like you are- he just doesn't have the energy to take care of you all the time)

Imma be 100% fr- You're gonna have piercings.

Your partners have to worry about the Beleth test more than the Belphegor test considering his only requirement is that his sleep (and yours) doesn't get disturbed.

You might end up as short as him-

Jokes aside you'll have a FUN childhood. Satan will 100% let you on his motorcycle.

If you don't want a motorcycle later in life I'd be shocked honestly.

He'll also teach you the classic Satan yeeting method- (Aka ass kicking to the Gehenna devils)

Does Satan really know how to parent? Not really but he'll try his best

If something annoys you/makes you sad prepare for it's funeral- whether it's a devil or an object. How dare something/someone annoy you or make you sad.

When it comes to the Satan test I feel like It'd be a motorcycle race.. If your partner doesn't win they'll get their asses kicked out of Gehenna and into Paradise Lost..

[blackbullet99]

Why I HATE “Momtara”

(and Dadko)

I’m not really sure how to start this. I’ve been re-watching A:TLA, I was watching The Library and The Desert, or “The Fury of Aang” which is what both episodes were promoted as on Nickelodeon when they first aired, like one big movie. 

Great episodes, really shows how well written Avatar is. I love the world building in the former episode, and the latter is a great insight into Aang, it’s one that really challenges him, shows how far his anger and grief can take him, without it feeling forced.

It’s also a great Katara story, really emphasizes how she’s the heart of the group, who keeps everyone together when the others are either depressed, physically incapable of navigating the terrain, or high as kite. 

Then I remembered the Anti Aang fandom sucks or something, because we can’t have nice things, so… 

Many stupid people will say “Aang never supports Katara” or “Aang makes Katara perform eMoTiOnAl LaBoUr” and that’s simple not true.

One of the main I love Kataang is because of what Aang gives to Katara, when he first shows up he brings a sense of fun, joy and whimsy to her life. He values and respects her, not just as a friend, but also as a waterbender, Katara can be openly vulnerable around Aang, both have lost a great deal in life, he can comfort her just by letting her know he’s there for her, Aang will go above and beyond for Katara in any way he can, both will risk everything to save one another if in danger, and in the first darn episode he offers to take her to the North Pole so she can learn Waterbending kicking off the series.

Unfortunately many people will hyper focus on the rare moments of negativity or just vulnerability to frame Katara as a 30 year old woman who needs to hold up Aang’s head as if he were a 6 month old baby. As show here…

Right off the bat OPs yapping about “Momtara” crap. This point more than any other, is a stupid one to bring up. Both Katara and Sokka are concerned with telling Aang that his homeland was invaded because there’s no easy way to say it. You can’t blame Aang for crashing out once he eventually discovers the truth. OP also acts like Katara comforting Aang over this while he’s in the Avatar State is also somehow a bad thing that happens all the time. When if anything it shows Katara’s strength as a character, she isn’t deterred, put off, or judgmental about Aang’s rage, she instead emphasizes with Aang and just understands that he needs a friend. There TWO, count ‘em TWO instances where Katara brings Aang out of the Avatar State. 

Does OP not realize that both Sokka and Aang realize that they were wrong for their behavior and both actively apologize to Suki and Katara for being sexist and big-headed respectively, both girls reconcile with them and the boys don’t do anything like this again in the show, having learned their lesson. Heaven forbid characters have flaws they overcome (and this coming from a Zuko stan).

Also Katara was crazy jealous and petty when Aang was getting attention from those other girls, I mean she pretty justified, but it doesn’t paint her as a shining example of maturity.

Okay, now it just seems like OP is bitching about Aang for having realistic human feelings. Some old dude brings up something that Aang is personally ashamed of, he bails and Katara comforts him. Other than she had to find him in a storm (something Aang apologizes for and Katara understands BTW) what’s the issue with Katara just comforting a friend about a sore subject for him.

I like how in the second point OP tries to make Aang sound as problematic as possible by “triggering Katara’s trauma” by leaving. While this definitely upset Katara, and it reminded Katara of when another loved one left. Katara already had issues with her father leaving at the start of the episode, and was already felt hurt and tense with her father long before Aang left.

Speaking of which, I understand Aang leaving in the middle of a storm was wrong, it was something he shouldn’t have done, but, that’s the POINT, it was a misguided attempt to face the Fire Nation on his own to save lives and not put his friends in danger, the he realizes he can rely on his friends for support.

THAT’S THE WHOLE POINT OF A STORY ARC AND A PROTAGONIST LEARNING A LESSON AND GROWING AS A CHARACTER!!

I really hate when ZKs bring up this episode, because they only ever use it to hyper focus on Aang being more angry and irritable than he usually is. I’m not saying Aang’s anger or lashing out at others is justified and he isn’t framed as being justified in lashing out at other trying to help, but his anger is understandable giving he literally lost Appa, the only living thing from his past and his culture. It’s one of the ONLY times in the show Aang actively gets angry and lashes out at others, something that very seldom happens and is no indication of his character overall. (Not to mention he isn’t even blaming Katara for losing Appa in this scene).

Same thing applies with this scene. Aang is conflicted and frustrated over wanting to end the war but he doesn’t want to take a life, and no one seems to have any alternative solutions. Again he shouldn’t yell at Katara, but OP disingenuously tries to frame it as Aang blaming Katara for his problems when that isn’t even what he’s doing, nor is getting angry with Katara even a constant thing with Aang, sometimes friends get angry with each other every once in a while, doesn’t mean they have a toxic relationship.

Hooray, more “Momtara” BS. The thing OP misunderstands about Katara’s character is that Katara is motherly, it’s a role she took up when her mom died, but this doesn’t mean Katara is forced to be everyone’s mom. Her “motherly” traits are more so an extent of her compassion and empathy towards, something she extends to everyone, this doesn’t mean the other members of the Gaang are like her children, they pull their own weight, and most of the time are more than capable of supporting themselves, and she clearly doesn’t view herself as a mom. 

She views Aang as a friend, a peer, not a son, she has a crush on the guy for corn’s sake, she views Toph as peer and a friend too, when they argue, she ain’t afraid to stoop to the latter’s level or lower, with Sokka they have a pretty typical sibling relationship, more often than not Sokka actively looks out for Katara and often he’s the one leading the group, making sure they have everything they need, planning strategies and sticking to schedules.

In short Katara is motherly, many times she is the one who keeps the group together and she has no issue supporting or comforting anyone who needs it,  but she is in NO WAY a substitute for an actual parent, nor does she want to be seen as one.

BUT WAIT! THERE’S MORE!!

“Montara” is stupid, but I get where that comes from. I’ll never understand how and why Zuko is considered a father figure. First off, we see Zuko serve tea for the others once or twice. This doesn’t mean Zuko is the ONLY ONE to help Katara with chores is some BS. We see the other members of the Gaang help consistently in the past, it’s brought up in “The Chase”. We never actively see Zuko and Katara work in tandem taking care of the others. ZKs like their own idea of Zuko and Katara’s relationship more than their actual relationship, but they ain’t ready for this conversation.

ZKs need to understand that maturing the most does not mean most mature. Zuko definitely matures the most in the series, and has a wonderful, genuine redemption arc, but that’s doesn’t mean he’s the most mature of the Gaang. For all OPs bitching about Aang crashing out, so does Zuko, and more frequently, sometimes over trivial things.

At the start of Sozin’s Comet he crashes out and starts burning sh!t because the others (including Katara) are taking a break. It’s hypocritical to hyperfocus on a total of SIX times in over 60 episodes where either rightfully upset, makes a mistake he learns from, or lets his temper get the better of him, while dickriding Zuko and praising him like a god acting as if he’s never done anything like this before. The only reason why Katara wasn’t involved much during Zuko’s crashouts it’s because she wasn’t around as they were enemies (it fell on Uncle Iroh to understandably help Zuko), and because when Zuko did upset, he was more willingly and actively violent as show in “The Chase” and “Sozin’s Comet”.

Zuko and Aang do not have a father/son bond. They’re both equals, foils, both grow together as people, they both go a journey together to learn Firebending for one thing. Zuko training Aang and being concerned for his well being doesn’t make him a father-figure. Toph also trains Aang and at times is concerned for his wellbeing, does that make Toph Aang’s mother-figure?

Ignoring the fact that

Katara hardly acts motherly to Zuko because they only became friends with 5 episode remaining.

The first time Katara shows any compassion to Zuko, her instinct is to heal him like an injured child and her comforting Zuko over him betraying his uncle is hardly different than her comforting Aang in The Storm.

Preparing the provisions they need ain’t worth diddly-squat, not only is it something people like Sokka and Aang have done, but it’s the most bare minimum thing and isn’t indicative of Zuko and Katara’s relationship. 

Also Katara and Aang are literally equal partners throughout the whole f*cking show! The two interact and work together as friends, peers, equals!! Katara never looks down on Aang or sees him as beneath her!!! They are two years apart!!!! Will you braindead ZK dickriders stop adultifying this 14 year old dark skinned girl and trying to making Aang and Katara’s relationship Oedipus II, this legit pisses me off!!!!!

Sorry.

Actually, no I’m not, this whole post sucks eggs. Bunch of idiotic nonsense made by a ZK obsessed fake-fan who doesn’t understand A:TLA. OP should just read a fanfic and quit their whining.

[iamthemain-character]

Dragon Bite

draco malfoy x reader she/her TW: highly suggestive (no smut), biting, draco is lowkey insane, i put 5k words in this bad boy, this was written for my favorite critic so i couldn't get her to proofread this is a request. you know who you are. <3 image used was found on pinterest, linked in the image :)

harry potter masterlist

Draco is a constellation in the far northern sky. Its name is Latin for dragon. It was one of the 48 constellations listed by the 2nd century Greek astronomer Ptolemy, and remains one of the 88 modern constellations today. The north pole of the ecliptic is in Draco.[1] Draco is circumpolar from northern latitudes, meaning that it never sets and can be seen at any time of year.

In some settings, dragons tend to guard hoards of treasure — typically by lying on top of it.

It was one kiss. And not even a real one. Being drunk on firewhiskey and giving into a dare didn’t count. Everyone had a Spin the bottle or Seven Minutes in heaven story, nobody was more stupid than sixth and seventh year Hogwarts students. And you were no different. It had been one of the illicit parties happening in the Hufflepuff common room, with drinks and magical concoctions flowing far too freely. But everyone was ready for graduation, high on life and the prospect of the future. So when a dare–or maybe it was a game, you couldn’t really recall–had pushed you and Draco Malfoy together, your usual logic and apprehension were absent from your thoughts. What you did remember, however, was his lips. They were soft, which had surprised you, and much like his skin, they were a little cool. But things had heated up plenty in the moment, as he had taken charge, maneuvering your mouth together in a way that was far too good for a casual kiss. You could remember the way his hand had cupped the back of your neck, ringed fingers catching in your hair as he directed you. You couldn’t recall if the kiss had lasted a second or an hour, but when the two of you had broken apart, he was gone in an instant, leaving nothing but a tingling sensation on your lips. 

Your heart had given you plenty of trouble after that night, fluttering frustratedly every time you saw him after that. But he had never acknowledged it, had never even so much as looked at you again, so you stuffed those feelings away, refusing to let one kiss with a snobby boy ruin your life. And after graduation, you moved on, and it became easier to forget the blonde boy with the delectable lips. 

That was, until now. 

After leaving Hogwarts, you had become an author, receiving notable acclaim with your most recent book documenting the history of potion making and how it differed according to the geographical region. The newfound fame and fortune had certainly been overwhelming at times, but you were grateful for the new doors and opportunities your success had brought. What you weren’t enthralled about, however, were the numerous events you suddenly had to attend. Your agent assured you it was good for publicity, but you honestly didn’t care for the rooms full of stuffy air and stuffier people. Though it was a good excuse to get glammed up with professional makeup and designer dresses. 

The glitter and satin soon lost their shine as you sat in the crowded ballroom. The aesthetic hors d’oeuvres sat half touched on your plate, the little delicacies not nearly as tasty as they looked. And even if they had been delicious, your stomach was currently housing a storm worthy of the anger of poseidon. To top it all off, the room was hot, the sea of black suits and neutral toned dresses taking up too much space, a little too close to you. Even your agent had abandoned you to do some “networking”. 

Unceremoniously, you threw back the last of your champagne, rising from your little spot of isolation to try to find a restroom. You bore your clutch as your shield, protecting you from the stray elbows and backsides of the crowd. Eventually, you emerged on the other side, quickly exiting out the side door. 

The hallway was darker, and much more quiet than the ballroom. A few stray people lingered here and there, but they were much too engrossed in their own conversations to pay you any mind. As you wandered around the hall, however, you soon realized that this elaborate building had no signs. Countless doors lined the hallway, leaving you clueless as to where a restroom would be, not to mention if it was even in this section of the historic house. 

Taking your chances, you opened the first door you saw, slipping inside. Inside was not a bathroom, but rather a study, with ornate carved wood shelves lining the walls. Antique books filled every space, stirring delight within you. In the middle of the room there was a dark mahogany desk, the carefully placed decor indicating it was more for aesthetics than real use. 

On the far side of the room was a tall window, the delicate panes allowing the moonlight from outside to shine in. The moonlight was silhouetting a figure standing by the window, back leaned against the alcove. The white light was bright as it highlighted the figure’s nearly-white blond hair, neatly combed back, brushing the collar of their suitcoat. It was a picturesque scene, but you had no interest in making small talk, so you reached for the handle behind you. 

The figure, however, took notice of your presence. Turning their head, green-gray eyes land on you, and your heart suddenly meets the pit of your stomach. There was only one man who had ever had eyes like that, eyes that lingered deep in the back of your mind, reminding you of a “meaningless” kiss. 

“It figures Lady Anorak would find her way into a library.” The taunting tone remark only solidified the identity of the glowing figure. 

“Draco Malfoy.” You greet, straightening your shoulders. It had been years since you had last seen the man, and the time had been kind to his features. His bone structure was strong and sharp, his lips still perfectly pink as they curled into his signature smirk. His eyes once again brought butterflies to your stomach, the way they shamelessly glanced you up and down. You couldn’t quite tell, however, if he was checking you out or judging you. 

“I’m surprised to see someone like you here.” Draco remarks, pushing himself off the wall, sauntering over to you. 

You huff, crossing your arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

His amusement only grows as he gazes down at you, an unreadable expression behind his eyes. “Usually these events are for notable members of society. Stuffy, boring, too long. Not for someone as...free spirited as you.” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms defensively in front of you. “You’ve lost your tact with insults.”

“Who said I was insulting you?” Draco replies, his face not giving away any insight as to what he was really thinking. 

“So you’ve grown out of that now?” 

His smug smile grows, tugging up one side of his mouth.You can see the sharp little points of his canines, giving him a slight vampiric look. “Only as much as you’ve grown out of being such a wonk.” 

“Well, being a wonk happens to be the reason that I’m here in the first place.” You retort, tossing your head a little. It's infuriating, how easily Draco is riling you up again after all this time, but you just pray that your old crush on the man doesn’t return. 

“Is that so?” Draco asks, lifting one of his brows, looking a little curious. “And how is that, Lady Anorak?” 

“I wrote a book.” You explain, summoning all of your pride to fuel your confidence. “The Melting Pot: A study of potions across the globe. Perhaps you’ve heard of it? It was featured in The Daily Prophet.”

The corners of Draco’s mouth turn down as he considers your words, turning them over in his mind. “Was that you? I suppose you have a bit more acclaim than I gave you credit for. But it's still a very bookish bore thing to do.” He glances back at you, taking in your body for the second time. “You don’t seem to be basking in the evening’s glory, however.” 

You grimace, thinking of the suffocating room you had just fled from. “I wasn’t aware there was much to bask in other than excessive egos and endless champagne.” 

If you hadn't known better, you would have said the slight shift of Draco’s chest would have been a laugh. But his face remains unchanged, that damned small smile on his lips. “And so you decided to come steal my hiding spot?”

You roll your eyes, uncrossing your arms and meandering over to the desk, leaning against it. You could feel Draco’s eyes watching your every step, eliciting a strange feeling of both attraction and nerves in your chest. “I didn’t know it was your hiding spot.” 

Draco just shrugs, running a hand over his hair, slicking back a small piece that had fallen out of place. “Well, now you’re trespassing, so if you’re going to stay, you’ll need to pay the fine.”

Now it's your turn to lift your eyebrow, your stomach giving a little flip as you think of just how many things you could give Draco Malfoy. “And what is this mysterious price for such a grievous crime?” 

Draco takes a few steps closer to you, his eyes burning up your skin as he looks over you a third time. “Trespassing on my personal hiding spot, and you’re unremorseful. I’m going to need substantial repayment.” He says, his voice lowering a little. 

Your stomach twists, and you mentally scold yourself that it's in desire and not in anxiety. Yet when you look into those gray eyes, their greenish hue glinting in the moonlight, you can’t help but feel that pull towards him you felt all those years ago. 

But just like that moment all those years ago, the moment is cut short by a female voice at the door. “Draco? Are you in there? The Vickorat family wishes to congratulate us on the engagement.” 

Your stomach twists, a feeling of nausea burning your insides, replacing the excitement that was just there. 

Draco’s face immediately is schooled back into a blank, calm and even expression. “Coming Astoria.” He says, his tone lacking any of the warmth or playfulness it had just a moment ago. He looks back at you, his eyes study yours. “It seems I will concede this time, Lady Anorak. Enjoy your books.” With that, he turns and leaves, walking out of your life for the second time. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The intense interaction between you and Draco didn’t leave your mind in the coming weeks, but you packed it away with the other memory of him. Instead, you threw yourself into the preparations for your second book.

You were sat in the aesthetic office of the publishing house you went through–Bramble Sons & Co.-sitting in front of a woman named Christine, who had been working with you since your first book. 

“We honestly think your ideas for the second book are great, but we did have a few questions from the editor about the manuscript.” 

You sighed deeply, steeling yourself for the critiques to come. You already second guessed your writing constantly, and going through the editing process had nearly broken you last time. Still, you straightened your shoulders, preparing for the barrage of comments. 

As you did, however, movement caught the corner of your eye. You glanced over to the hallway outside the office, spotting a man walking past the large glass windows who looked suspiciously like Draco Malfoy. 

“Excuse me one moment.” You said to Christine, getting up from your chair, trying to subtly speed walk over to the hallway. 

As you glanced after the disappearing figure, you spotted the familiar combed back blonde hair, and your heels clicked on the wooden floor as you approached behind him. 

“Draco.” You called, and you almost misstepped as he turned around, looking down at you. 

His damnable suit adorned his lean figure, his hands stuffed in his pockets. “Lady Anorak.” He replied casually, as if his presence at the publishing house you worked with wasn’t odd. 

“What are you doing here?” You queried, arching your brow at him. You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. 

Draco shrugs, irritatingly composed as he continued to gaze down into your face. “Am I not supposed to be?”

“You and I both know that this is not a place you regularly frequent.” You retort, your tone unamused as you glared at Draco. “So why are you here?”

Just in that moment, Ms. Wasthdrop, the manager of the publishing house, stepped out from her office. She smiled brightly as she saw you, approaching and coming to stand beside Draco. “Ah, Mr. Malfoy, I see you’ve met our new star author.”

“Indeed I have,” Draco says calmly, but you see the glimmer of mirth in his eyes. 

“I actually was going to reach out to the authors today.” Ms. Wasthdrop continues. “We have exciting news to share. Mr. Malfoy is the new owner of Bramble Sons & Co.” 

Of all the reasons you could think of Draco being at the publishing house, this was not one of them. “Oh.” Was all you could manage to say, trying not to let your confusion show through your expression You could almost see the ghost of a smug smile dancing on Draco’s lips. “Welcome...Mr. Malfoy.” You add, trying your best to seem polite. 

Draco gives a small nod in return. “Thank you. I look forward to seeing more from our...star author.” 

Your cheeks flush, and you watch as Draco and Ms. Wasthdrop disappeared into the latter’s office. You weren’t exactly sure how to feel about working with a company that Draco now owned. It felt odd, like he had some sort of claim over you. You couldn’t yet decide if you liked the feeling or not. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

It just so happened, however, that the universe gave you an out. You received a letter from an alternative publishing house, Thornston’s, offering to buy you out. They were offering a better cut of the profits to you, and you couldn’t help but wonder if this was your chance to remove yourself from Draco. But at the same time, did you really want to do so? He hadn’t changed anything with the publishing house, hadn’t made any new demands for your books. Maybe he was just into investing suddenly. 

It was with these warring thoughts that you agreed to meet an associate of Thornston’s to discuss your possible switchover. 

“I am so grateful you’ve taken the time to meet with us.” The rotund man you’d come to know as Mr. Peasley stated, folding his hands on the table. “Unfortunately, I cannot say I bring good news. We recently had a change in ownership, and our new owner has informed us to retract our offer.” Mr. Peasley stated, looking genuinely a little guilty. 

New owner? You pause, leaning your head towards the man across the table. “Did Mr. Richmond retire?”

Mr. Peasley shakes his head, looking eager to share the gossip as he also leaned in. “That’s what he’s claiming. Yet I heard from his assistant that our new owner offered Mr. Richmond a substantial sum of money to sell immediately.” 

You tried to keep a nonchalant demeanor as you continued digging. “So, who is this mysterious new benefactor?”

Mr. Peasley glances around. “Well, it’s supposed to be kept hush-hush, but…”

You place a hand on the man’s arm, offering a friendly smile. “I promise, my lips are sealed.” 

Mr. Peasley returns the smile, his excitement evident. “The young Mr. Draco Malfoy purchased the firm.” 

The confirmation of your suspicions fills you with a myriad of emotions. You kept your expressions carefully schooled into casual interest, not letting the surprise nor the irritation show. “Oh, really?”

Mr. Peasley nods, continuing on with little encouragement. “The strangest part is that Mr. Malfoy doesn’t seem to be doing anything different with our company. He simply just up and bought it.” 

“How strange.” You remark non committedly. Inside, your mind was a whirl of activity. First, Draco purchased your original publishing house, also seemingly for no reason. And now he purchases the one you were switching to, but forces them to retract their offer. No matter how you turned it in your head, it felt like he was trapping you in a corner, and you didn’t appreciate it. 

By the time you bid farewell to Mr. Peasley, you were pissed. You weren’t sure what game Draco was trying to play, but he was mistaken if he thought you’d simply lay by and be a piece for his amusement. You got in your car, immediately heading for his townhouse. 

The elegant building sat in a row of similar townhouses, the neighborhood having belonged to rich pureblood wizards for decades. The door of the Malfoy flat was painted a dark green, a gold M swirling with snakes. You had always noted that the door was indicative of the dramatic nature of the family who it belonged to. 

Now, however, you didn’t give a second thought to the decorative entrance nor the snakes that hissed at your approach. You knocked on the door–the harsh sound echoing in the quiet neighborhood–and you tapped your foot impatiently as you waited. 

To your surprise, it wasn’t a house elf that answered the door, but Draco himself. You took notice of his black slacks that sat temptingly on his hips, slouching a little with the lack of a belt. Additionally, his white shirt was tight across his pecs and shoulders, his lean muscle flexing as he crossed his arms. “Lady Anorak, to what do I have the plea-”

“What the literal fuck Draco.” You snap, eyes dark with anger as you glower at him. He may have looked attractive always in this moment, but you weren’t going to disregard his blatant disrespect for your literal career. 

He raises his eyebrows, smirking a little at your spiteful words. “Something amiss in your potions, darling? Mixed up a real worm with wormwood?” 

You push your way past him, and he just smiles more as your shoulder brushes his chest. He closes the door, looking over you as you stand in his foyer, displeasure written in the wrinkle of your brows. “Care to explain why you’re trying to ruin my career?”

Draco quirks an eyebrow, sticking his hands into his pockets. “Last I checked, I’m helping you publish your books, so-”

“I know you bought out Thornston’s.” 

Draco’s expression flickers, his smile fading and being replaced with a stony blank expression. “Who told you that?” 

“Does it matter?” You scoff, irritated at his lack of remorse. “You purposefully denied me the opportunity to have greater pay, to possibly advance my career. What could I have possibly done to you to make me want to suffer this way?”

Draco straightens up, his green eyes shadowed in the antique lighting of the hallway. “Oh, I’m sorry that I’m ruining your life, keeping you loyal to the company that gave you your career.” His voice is low, a little rough as he speaks. “And here I thought the Lady Anorak would be smart enough to know a good business opportunity when she sees it.” 

“Don’t try to make this about some nonexistent morals!” You snap, annoyed at him trying to make you feel guilty. “This is about me having the opportunity to do more than just get by. Though I suppose someone who was fed with a silver spoon his whole life wouldn’t understand that.”

His sharp jaw twitches, and he strides forward, quickly towering over you. His eyes seared into you, as if he could read your beating heart. “You want money? Fine, you have it. I’ll double whatever portion you receive. You want more creative freedom? I’ll fire your editor. You want to run the damn house? We’ll put your name on the door. Right under mine.” He leaned in even closer, his face dangerously hovering over yours. “You work for me, and only me. You don’t get to go run off and sign with a different publishing house. I’ll buy out every last company in London if I have to.” His words were a growl by the time he finished, his eyes narrowed on you. “You’re mine.” 

Your anger was dwindling, being replaced as you became more perplexed by his actions. It didn’t help that his words stirred up a flutter in your lower belly, heat blooming up to your ears. You jut your chin out, looking up defiantly. “I don’t belong to you.” 

He lets out a dark laugh, his hand coming up, caressing your hair back, then grasping it at the back of your head. “And that’s the problem. I need you to belong to me. My Lady Anorak.” He murmurs, his eyes glancing over your features, as if he’s drinking in a piece of fine art. 

Your heart gives another treacherous leap, your skin tingling as the cool touch of his fingers in your hair burns into fire in your veins. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” You say quietly, your voice firm. “The only woman that belongs to you is Astoria.”

Draco’s jaw twitches again, the sharp edge even more apparent as he tenses. “Astoria doesn’t belong to me, or with me.” He takes in your surprise, giving a little huff. “Do you really think I could keep her after I saw you in that study? Looking so fierce, so alluring in your perfect little dress. I couldn’t keep my ring on another woman’s finger when all I could think of was if your lips still taste the same.” 

You feel like the breath has been taken out of your lungs as you blink a few times, your lips parting in surprise as you hear Draco’s words. “You...you broke up with Astoria?” 

“The same night. I may be an arse, but I know when I can’t be loyal to another woman.” He replies, his hand moving to your neck, his thumb running over your lower lip. His pupils almost swallow up his green irises, the flame of desire evident as he stares at you. 

“Because you...” You can’t bring yourself to say the words, feeling like you can’t trust the feelings brewing up in your chest.

“Because I need you.” Draco breathes, and you can smell the mint of the tea he must have been drinking. A smell that haunts you every time you’ve brewed amortentia. His hand tightens slightly on your jaw, his nose brushing against your cheek. “I need you in my life, in my hands. So no, I’m not sorry for preventing you from leaving Bramble Sons. I’d do it again if it means I get to keep you close.” 

The words make your body feel warm, that spark of hope you tried to bury long ago rising up. Draco continues to hover his face tantalizingly close, his eyes flicking over your features like he’s deciding which one to kiss first. “Do you have any idea what you did to me at that party?” He murmurs, his voice husky. Your heart skips as you realize he thinks about that drunken kiss as much as you do. “Walking away from you that night nearly drove me insane. And I have been losing my mind more and more, haunted by how it felt to have you. And then, you walked back into my life, looking so perfectly beautiful in your little dress, with your smartass remarks and incredible mind. And all I have been able to think about is having you again. And I��m not walking away this time.”

He’s ridiculous. And a little crazy. But you’d always known that, and yet your heart still flutters for him. So you don’t leave, instead taking the small step to close what little remaining space was between the two of you, your chest pressed up against his. “You could have just asked me out like a normal person.” You murmur, leaning up, his lips just a touch too high to meet. 

He smiles, giving a huff of laughter. “It’s much easier to get you to say yes if you have no other option.” His voice is a low rumble, pride clear in the quirk of his lips. 

“I wouldn’t have said no either way.” You tell him, your hands sliding up his arms, resting on his biceps. 

He shivers at the sensation, closing his eyes for a moment before they refocus on you. “No? You agree then, you’re mine?”

Your heart squeezes in your chest, the words that have lingered on your tongue unspoken for six years ready to pour out. “All yours.” 

What little restraint Draco was practicing snaps at that. He dips down, pressing his lips against yours. His hand shifted, the thumb and pointer finger that had been framing your jaw sliding downward, until he was holding your neck firmly in his grasp. His lips demanded yours to part, his own pulling at your lower lip a little. He kept moving your mouths together, as if he couldn’t quite settle, craving more, needing more.

Draco pushed you back, until you were pressed up against the wall, his other hand coming up to grasp your hip. His fingers dug into the soft curve, like a dragon’s talons staking claim of their treasure. Your hands went to his chest, clinging at the thin white material, trying to ground yourself as Draco’s demanding kisses turned any thoughts into hazy ideas. He growled at the touch of your hands, his hands slipping down to your thighs, grasping them firmly as he lifted up. You wrapped your legs around his hips, using the wall and his hands support your weight. His desire was obvious as your center pressed against the front of his trousers, a jolt of desire running through you as you feel his hardness. 

He groaned, and he pulled his lips away from yours, moving them over your jaw, pressing a trail of open mouth kisses down your neck. His teeth scraped over the tender skin, and you could feel his two pointed canines pressing into your flesh. Before your brain could register any pain, however, he was soothing the spot with his tongue, swiping it over the red marks. He kept working downward, not stopping until there was a path of love bites from your jaw to your collarbone. He smiled proudly, his eyes dark with possessive admiration. “So beautiful.” He murmured, running his fingers over the tender spots. 

“Oh, so now I’m beautiful?” Your voice was breathless, but your teasing nature couldn’t even be hampered by the heat Draco elicited in you. 

The sound that escaped him was caught between a growl and a groan, and he pressed his body into you again, his hand tightening on your throat. “You know damn well what I mean. You’re fucking breathtaking.” 

“Do I know?” You continue, your voice and eyes challenging him. You know you’re playing with fire, but you’re too lost into the moment to really care. 

Draco’s eyes darken, and he pulls you away from the wall, moving to the stairs. “You’re going to know exactly what I think about you by the time we’re done.” 

He carries you up the stairs, not lessening his grip on you until he throws you onto the bed. He doesn’t hesitate a moment, crawling on top of you, caging you in with his arms, his hands on either side of his head. “You look so fucking good like this.” He murmurs devouring you with his eyes. “I should have done this a long time ago.” His hands slip under your dress, running up your thighs, playing with the waistband of your underwear. 

Heat flares in your body, a little tremble of excitement running through you. “You should have. Now you have to make up for lost time.” You breathe out, your heart delighted with the fact that you finally are in this moment with Draco. You reach out to the top button of his shirt, undoing it, watching his reaction. 

Draco’s hands tighten on your hip, his eyes intensifying with hunger. “That is an incredible idea.” He murmurs, his voice husky with desire. “But only if you want me to.” He’s aching to have you, but he refuses to let go fully until he’s sure.

You lean up, pressing a kiss to his lips. “I want you to. I want you.” 

Draco groans, and he dives deeper into the kiss with you, finally letting go of any hesitation as he lets himself take you. Your clothes quickly end up scattered around the room, the air hot with the movement of your bodies. 

By the time the passion calms down, the two of you are thoroughly blissed out, your bodies feeling the delightful ache of being known. Draco lays down on top of you, pressing his face into your neck, his lips administering sweet kisses. “You’re so perfect. So beautiful, so smart. God, I’m never letting you go again.”

You smile, running your fingers through his hair. The pale strands are soft to the touch, deliciously messy from your touch. It's such a contrast from his usually perfect slick back, filling your heart with warmth as you relish in the fact that you alone get to see him like this. “I think I’ll let you keep me.” You tease. 

Draco smiles, lifting his head so he can gaze down at you, his hand drifting over your waist and hip. “You better. Or else I’ll have to keep you locked away, all for myself to indulge in.” 

You softly laugh, your smile growing. Your heart feels light, content and happy in this tender moment, your bodies warm together in the sheets. “Only if I get to keep you too.” 

Draco’s eyes soften, and he nods, dipping down and pressing a soft kiss against your lips. “Always.”

[crepes-suzette-373]

Oh, I just remember I never actually posted the Zhu Bajie thing here. I just rambled in Twitter.

Zhu Bajie, the pig in Journey to the West, has got both vague parallel and also reverse-parallels to Sanji.

Bajie is a skirt-chaser/likes girls and is connected to food (he likes to eat vs Sanji being a cook). His main weapon is a rake that produces flames (Diable/Ifrit Jambe). Then, at the end of the journey, his reward is to be "purifier of altars", that is, he's allowed to eat the food offerings people make to the gods (Sanji wants to find All Blue for the ingredients).

Even the backstory somewhat has parallels. Before reincarnating as a pig, Zhu Bajie was a commander of Heaven's army, Tian Peng (military officer, like Germa having a history of having powerful military). Marshal Tian Peng is one of 4 Marshals who serves the Emperor of the North Pole sky (North Blue). The emperor's name is 紫微. The first word of this name is the word "紫" purple. I've long said the name "Vinsmoke" was based on the poetic word for cigarette smoke, "purple smoke" 紫煙.

But I really don't see what's the point in noticing this parallel unless it's just to reinforce that Luffy = Sun Wukong (plus half of it seems like a reach even to myself).

[talonabraxas]

The Four Aces Tarot Talon Abraxas

The Aces represent the roots of the four elements. They are quite above, and distinct from, the other small cards in the same way as Kether is said to be symbolized only by the topmost point of the Yod of Tetragrammaton. In these cards is no real manifestation of the element in its material form. They form a link between the small cards and the Princesses, who rule the Heavens around the North Pole. The Meridian is the Great Pyramid, and the Elements rule, going Eastward, in the order of Tetragrammaton, Fire, Water, Air, Earth. Thus, roughly, Aces-Princesses Wands cover Asia, Cups the Pacific Ocean, Swords the Americas, Disks Europe and Africa. To make this relationship clear, one may go a little into the symbol of the pentagram, or Shield of David. It represents Spirit ruling the four elements, and is thus a symbol of the Triumph of Man.

The idea of the element of Spirit is very difficult to grasp. The letter Shin, which is the letter of Fire, has to do double duty by representing Spirit as well. Generally speaking, the attributions of Spirit are not clear and simple like those of the other elements. It is very remarkable that the Tablet of Spirit in the Enochian system is the key to all mischief; as, in the Hindu system, Akasha is the Egg of Darkness.

On the other hand, Spirit represents Kether. Perhaps it was never in the mind of the Exempt Adept or Adepts who invented the Tarot to go so far into this matter. The point to remember is that, both in their appearance and in their meaning, the Aces are not the elements themselves, but the seeds of those elements.

[daddysboydean]

heaven is a place

“Open up,” Sam says. They’re standing outside a warehouse in downtown LA, letting loose between jobs. Dean hates California, but Sammy kept going on about the god damn ‘healing powers’ of California sunshine and salty ocean air. It’ll make us feel good, he promised. If Dean’s being honest, more heat is the last thing he wants — give him temps so cold they make his bones ache, hunting the abominable snowman in Alaska or evil elves in the North fucking Pole, whatever. But it’s Sam. It’s Sam.

So here they are, ten to midnight with some shit they scored off one of Sam’s old classmates. Dean’s never done this one before but Sam has, something about college parties and getting lit. Sam sticks his tongue out, berry pink like the underside of something sweet and alive you’re not supposed to see, and it makes Dean think of pussy lips. Wet and slick. A pale purple circle with a smiley face stamped on it sits in the middle of all that pretty pink. Dean tilts his head up, just a little because he’s tall but his brother is taller, and licks the pill off Sam’s tongue.

The warehouse is a club called Heaven. Heaven is loud, hot, thick with sweaty bodies packed shoulder to shoulder and dancing to the DJ’s techno drone. Concrete pillars rise up to a ceiling lined with metal pipes that look liquid, T-1000’s mimetic polyalloy shapeshifting in the strobe light glow. Dean says as much, the words spilling out of him in a blur so he’s not even sure what he’s saying as he says it.

“You're such a nerd,” is what he gets in response. A little part of his brain wants to argue back that that’s his line, but Sam’s cool breath against his ear makes Dean shiver and forget.

The way the room is all lit up in reds and smokey shadows reminds Dean of the pit, of being on the rack with his insides exposed and boiling in the heat. Dean’s in his mechanic’s coveralls, navy blue and covered in grease stains, the ones with ‘Singer Salvage’ embroidered above the breast pocket in white cursive. He’s got the sleeves rolled, pant legs tucked into his boots, unbuttoned at the top to expose his collar bones. A look Sam called slutty with a psycho-hungry shine in his eyes, but the pain memory of being downstairs makes Dean’s skin crawl like he’s naked under the knife again. He grinds his teeth and whimpers into the ecstasy rush, and the sound is lost to grimy industrial beats blasting through the speakers. He grips Sam harder against him (for comfort, for release, does it matter?) and rolls his body up along his brother’s, like how you dip your finger in the last specks of sugar on a plate so you don’t miss any of the sweetness. Edge to edge, gotta get every last bit.

And that’s how they fade into the crowd, just two more bodies trying and failing to eat each other whole. They can do that here, in front of God and everybody. Dean can run his hands under the white wife beater wrapped tight around Sam’s chest, drag his nails over skin and feel Sam's stomach muscles clench and sigh underneath. He can pull Sammy close by his belt loops, hips against hips, and let his eyes roll back at the friction. No one cares here because no one knows.

Dean has spent years chasing the brutal thrill of dive bar whores and good girls looking for a nasty time. Cheap perfume and the sharp sting of a woman’s hair against his face, bending himself into a shape that never fit. Every room the wrong size without his gigantic brother in it. He looks at Sam’s face, shining blood red in the lights and just as hot, and he knows. He knows it like an exorcism incantation, like stripping a gun. Without thinking. Next to Sam is the only place he’s ever belonged.

All Dean’s atrophied little pieces are touch-starved and Hell-stained, and all he needs is for Sam to kiss them better.

It’s a filthy bright weight in Dean’s veins, like he’s made of ribbon, like the music is curling through him and around him and he’s curling around Sam. Everything’s in shades of faded cherry red but he’s candy-colored when he sticks his tongue into Sam’s mouth, neon love filling him up so good.

Dean thought if he could pile on enough good, maybe it’d cancel out the darkness he brought back from the pit, where all his nastiest parts were thrown on the rack and peeled back for examination. John toeing lines with Dean, Dean obliterating those lines with Sam, hooking at truck stops for cash and scraps. Watching people die because he couldn’t save them until he held the knife himself and watched people die because of him. The guilt, the guilt, the guilt.

But really, Dean’s not even trying that hard for redemption. How can he be when this is what he wants? No matter how many lives he saves, no matter how many times they stop the world from ending, no amount of good will ever be enough to absolve him of this incessant need to fuck his brother up the ass. It’s a poison under his skin that itches and itches but won’t let up.

And this thing’s always been rotten to the core, sour-soft and collapsing in the middle. Like hell can Dean say no, though. They’d have to do more than draw and quarter him to keep him away from Sammy.

Sammy, his baby, grinding against him in time to the dirty bass beat.

Sammy, his baby, unzipping Dean’s coveralls so they’re half undone and Sam can slip them off Dean’s shoulders, tying the sleeves around his waist and leaving his arms and chest bare. Sammy always needed to be close, to be touching, even as a kid. Skin to skin, all tangled up in each other in Baby’s backseat and crummy motel beds. Dean is covered in a slick sheen of sweat and Sam runs his hands through it, spreading the wetness around and squeezing Dean’s skin tight, reminding him that he’s here and he’s safe and he’s wanted under his brother’s calloused palms. Dean is vaguely aware of the burn mark on his shoulder, hand print shining shell pink against the rest of him, still so new Dean’s shocked each time he sees it. Sam slides his fingers over it, tracing the outline so gentle it makes Dean’s toes curl inside his boots.

He’s overheating from the X and the memories, rolling so fucking hard and it’s too much pain and pleasure mixed together, the wires all crossed and it’s making Dean short circuit. Sam reads Dean’s signs like they’re a book he knows by heart and leads him through the crowd, out the heavy doors and into the night, giving him what he needs when Dean can’t ask for it himself. Dean doesn’t think he’s ever felt anything so good as the dry Santa Ana winds blowing over his fever-hot skin, free from the stink of dancing bodies and too much synth.

Outside, Dean’s light like Kansas cottonwood fluff floating along the breeze with his eyes closed shut. He senses his balance is off, but in a secondhand way, like it’s not really his body that’s falling.

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Sam laughs, and Dean slow blinks past the chemical bliss when he feels Sam’s hands on his shoulders, propping him up against a fence like a tire that’s about to tip over. The wire on his back makes him shiver in the heat.

“Why aren’t you as fucked up as me?” Dean slurs, cottonwood fluff in his mouth this time. He rolls his head back, and the fence rattles around him.

“I am. I’m just better at taking drugs than you,” Sam says, as if being a druggie is something to brag about. Dean’s about to say it but then Sam’s trailing his finger down the curve of his neck, throat pulled taut with his head thrown back like it is, and Dean’s brain blanks.

“Jerk,” is all he can choke out.

Sam pulls out a beat-up pack of cigarettes from his jeans, must’ve nicked them from somebody inside with his sticky witchy fingers, and sticks one in his mouth. “No, you’re the jerk, I’m the bitch,” Sam says around the cigarette. He pats his pockets and comes up empty, then gropes around Dean’s coveralls for his Zippo. Dean loves the familiarity of Sam touching him like this, casual, no thought, no barrier to entry where his brother is concerned. They’re all one piece, and Dean counts himself lucky. Everybody craves closeness like this, but few get it.

The flint click-pops a metallic burst in Dean’s ears, and Sam blows out a cloud of minty smoke. Dean takes a deep breath in, coming back to himself a little bit.

“Kools? Really?” Dean says when Sam pockets the green soft pack. Sam assures him that ‘it's a thing.’

“Menthols are good on ecstasy,” He says. Probably another druggie trick he learned at Stanford. Vick’s VapoRub was mentioned, but Dean said fuck no to putting that shit under his nose.

Sam hands the cigarette to Dean, but it takes him a few tries to grab it. His hand-eye coordination is shot. Sam leans on the fence facing Dean and holds it, filter-side first, to Dean’s mouth. Dean opens his lips to take a drag and lets his tongue lick the salty pad of Sam’s fingertip. The smoke and skin light Dean up from the inside and make his jaw ache from the pleasure of it all. Sam says he’s peaking. Once Dean has a firm grip on the cigarette, Sam flops over so his back rests on the fence. More rattling, and Dean spaces out on the sound for a minute before remembering he’s got smoke in his mouth. He puffs it out minty-cool and looks over at Sam, sharp-jawed with glitter on his cheeks that flickers sliver under the moonlight. His hair is getting long, fuckin’ hippie, it’s sticking up in a hundred directions with sweat and grease. Dean loves him more than he’s ever loved anything. He loves Sam so hard and so deep, it drips down to his mutilated core, and it’s almost enough to make him whole again.

He wants Sam to feel how he feels, a cunt hair away from perfection, so he reaches up with the hand that’s not holding the Kool and scratches Sam’s scalp, and he swears, it’s almost like he’s doing it to himself, the way his eyes roll back in his head at the soft feel of Sam’s mop tickling the insides of his fingers, where the skin is so rarely touched.

“I can feel that in my cock,” Sam moans, low like it pains him, but Dean keeps going ‘cause there’s good pain and there’s bad pain, and he knows this is the good kind.

Two years from now, it’ll be Sam’s turn to go to Hell. Dean will grieve and again he'll stuff himself into a mold that doesn’t match his shape, hoping that maybe this time, maybe this time he’ll shrink to match. And when Sam comes back with his own special brand of fucked in the head, Dean will do his best to protect him the way he always has, mind, body, and soul, only it won’t matter. Won’t even touch all the ways Lucifer messes Sam up during his extended stay in the pit.

But here, half-past four against a chain link fence with the California heat sticking warm to their skin, they share a cigarette. Sam rests his head on top of Dean’s and Dean curls his fingers through Sam’s. They’ll walk twenty minutes to Venice Beach and watch the sun rise over the Pacific, all baby blues and bright golden yellows coming over the horizon, edge of the world and no red in sight.

ao3

[mrscoriolanus-snow]

"I can not dance"

Christmas lights have always been your favorite. They never cease to amaze your eyes. This particular house has added music!

Tom blyth x F!reader

Walking had always been a staple in your new found relationship. There was something so relaxing about holding hands with your lover as you strolled through the homey streets you lived on. Tom couldn't get enough of it. He needed those walks, to bring him down from the possibly stressful day he had. Or to just be near you..

"Tom!" Tom swivels on his feet when he hears the faint gasp escape your lips. The lights from the home glowed pretty colors, whites and yellows. For Christmas, that has always been the single biggest weakness of yours. Lights.. Anytime you were driving or he was, you would ask him to stop, just so you could look at the lights.

Tom couldn't blame you. Not because he loved them, but because he loved you. Watching you get happy over, what were simply lights in his mind, made his entire day.

"Tom they are gorgeous! It's like heaven met the north pole!" You exclaimed, like a little kid on Christmas morning.

He excitedly looks up, snaking his arm around your shoulders "And how would you know how heaven looks?" Tom's eyes avert to yours when he says heaven

"You've made me see it once or twice." Your finger hooks into the belt loop of his pants, before you pull away with a wink. The confidence this man always instilled in you was crazy. You would never have said something like that around someone else.

His baby blue eyes, blow wide, as he looks straight up and at you. A small triumphant smirk plays at his lips the more he thinks about the statement. "Darling you baffled me." Tom's arms come around your waist from behind, before he quickly spins you around. Both hands resting on your waist.

The small smirk now turned into an innocent smile "let me make it a third time hm?" the words drip from his tongue elegantly, as he begins to sway the two of you

"Mm how about a fourth? This happens to be my third time seeing heaven" You hint to the lights and the soft music playing from the home. Your arms come up slowly to drape around his neck, while a small laugh pierces the silence between you two.

He says nothing, but you do "Actually... make it a fifth... I just so happen to be looking at my version heaven" The words you say, put Tom on a stand still, and the world around him seems to stop, but not for long. In this very moment, he knows he's with his forever and you know you're with yours.

Tom's eyes search yours momentarily, then he leans down. A sweet kiss is shared between the two of you. The snow falling around you both, elegantly and slowly. Every time, you swear by it, that your boyfriend kisses like a starved man. Every. single. time. there is nothing that changes the way he kisses. No matter how many times you two may have kissed, he still kisses you like its his first time having a girlfriend.

"I forgot to mention-" He pulls away a little, and you look up at him questioningly. "Snow lands on top" GOD. Your lover is cute, has blue eyes AND is corny!! You love him. You just stare at him for a moment and crack up. laughing about it all the way back home.

[kamdicegirl]

After arriving home from Santa’s ritual, the father and son go through painful transformations. The Devil takes in the form of Santa himself and reluctantly takes Henchmen to the North Pole to reverse the curse.

Meanwhile, Bendy sneaks out to stroll around town and meets with a beautiful woman named Alice who claims she is an angel assigned to the demon to earn her wings by helping him.

However, Bendy goes through a painful transformation into a goat like form!

Bendy arrives at the North Pole to meet up with his dad in his new form.

According to the Stickler Elf, the Devil has taken the role of Santa and Bendy has taken the form of Krampus, the anti Santa who delivers punishment and torture to naughty children.

To turn back to normal they have to perform their duties and deliveries. Bendy gets to scare naughty kids into cleaning up their act or stay in bed before Santa arrives to their homes, with the help of Alice.

When Bendy learns that Cuphead is deemed Extremely Naughty and to be placed in his Basket of Tricks, he refuses. Alice comforts him believing that it is alright to show mercy but discover his name vanished, which meant they completed their mission.

Alice is then granted a pair of wings as God promised and brought back to Heaven.

The Devil is forced to be kind towards Cuphead and reluctantly gives away the Choo Choo that he and Bendy wanted. After that, the Devil and Bendy’s names get on the Nice List.

The curse is lifted from the father and son and instead of getting a Choo Choo, Santa says their ‘gift of niceness and mercy’

They don’t take it well and wake up depressed on Christmas morning until they spot a giant train for Bendy and the Devil to ride on. Santa did come after all, and their happiness that they had every Christmas was brought back. It was truly a Christmas miracle!

[boudicca]

TRYING TO FEEL HUGS FROM HEAVEN JACK OFF TO SOMEONE WHO'S PREGNANT LITTLE BLUE DRESS FOR THE STRANGERS LITTLE BLACK DOG IN THE MANGER BACK TO BACK WITH OUR FISTS AROUND NATURAL WINE FROM THE CORNER FIGHTING OVER THE CORK WE WERE BORN TO BE CLOOOSERS AND TO FIND EACH OTHER! LIKE NORTH POLES OF MAGNETS WHEN YOU SEE YOURSELF IN SOMEONE HOW CAN YOU LOOK AT THEM? POPSTAR FINGER COSTUMED TELEGRAM SINGERS BEATING A DEAD RINGER WITH A SPYYYWARE LIPSTICK BACK TO BACK WI

[hellerfanboy91]

Supernatural Revisited 5x16 Dark Side of the Moon

At long last, Supernatural has given me an episode with stuff to actually talk about. Not only is this a lore-heavy episode, but it is also one of the fan favourites and one of the better offerings of series five. It does a lot of worldbuilding in showing how Heaven works as well as revealing aspects of Dean and Sam's lives which are more than a little bit sad. It also advances the plot a bit while having some nice psychedelic imagery here and there to augment the otherworldly atmosphere.

'Dreamlike imagery' would also be an apt, if banal, descriptor. Coincidentally, it is vaguely reminiscent of 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me. That episode also happened to have Dean suggest that he and Sam 'get stoned and sync The Wizard of Oz up to Dark Side of the Moon', referring to the Pink Floyd album. If the episode makes more references to Pink Floyd other than the image of the lunar eclipse, they passed me by. I have listened to a part of the album once and, like Led Zeppelin, it was not my cup of tea. Ayreon's rock operas are a lot of fun (especially 010011001 and Universal Migrator) and incorporate so much prog, metal, and general sci-fi psychedelicness, and in comparison TDSotM sounds old hat and tame to me.

Anyway, this episode wastes no time getting to the point. In the cold open, Dean and Sam come a-cropper as two dumbass hunters shoot first the one then the other in revenge for Sam's having started the apocalypse. I must agree wholeheartedly with Paula on the subject of hunters in this show whose names are not Dean, Sam, or Bobby: they are all as thick as two short planks. It really is no mystery at all that their life expectancy is so low. Alas, the viewer never does find out how precisely Dean took his revenge on the idiots.

After being double-barrelled at close range, Dean wakes up in what turns out to be Heaven, whereupon he and Sam go on a journey along the axis mundi to the centre of Heaven at Cas's orders. The purpose of the journey is to find the angel Joshua who God talks to. Along they way, they are chased by Zachariah who wants Dean and Sam back in their bodies. In order to allow Michael and Lucifer to use them as vessels, Dean and Sam must be in their bodies, after all. After Joshua saves Dean and Sam from Zachariah, he takes them to the Garden and basically tells them God has left the building and cannot be bothered to do anything to help stop the end of the world. The episode ends with Dean and Sam newly resurrected, having lost all hope in divine help, and Cas in despair after losing faith in God in a scene which, once again, reminds me very much of Du måste finnas from Kristina.

It has unfortunately been a little while since the show has offered me any real opportunities to talk about mythology and the like, but this episode raised the topic of axis mundi and I am unable to restrain myself. The word is Latin for World Axis, and it is simply put the centrepoint around which the world turns. The simplest scientific usage of this word is in cosmology, and refers to the imaginary line between the north and south pole which the Earth revolves around. However, its usage becomes more mythological, spiritual, and esoteric the further down the rabbit hole one goes.

Axis mundi is a religious concept in Abrahamic faiths and was perceived as being the centrepoint of the entire world in mediaeval Christian thought. It was also thought of as tying the realms of Heaven, Earth, and Hell together, and that the centremost point was the Garden of Eden.

In shamanistic traditions (of which there are many but which Abrahamic religions generally shun if not demonise altogether), the axis mundi is the idea of being able to traverse the worlds by going into a trance of some variety. A shaman is thought to be able to travel between realms and worlds along the axis mundi, and may even be considered as becoming an axis mundi. The purpose of travelling to other worlds was (and is) to gather knowledge.

Trees are frequently used to represent the axis mundi as they exist in three different realms at once: their roots are in the underworld, their crowns in the sky or heaven, and the rest of them occupies the space between. A particularly well-known example is Yggdrasil, the World-Tree in Norse mythology (pronounced 'Igg-dra-seel', not 'Yuggadrazil' or whatever). While the concept of where precisely each of the Nine Worlds were is unclear and probably varied a lot in Ancient Scandinavia (and pre-Christian Anglo-Saxon England), generally Yggdrasil is and probably was thought of as connecting them all. The idea of humans being made from trees is also extant in Norse mythology, with the first people being Askr (Ash) and Embla (Elm), thereby being inextricably tied to the concept of trees and other worlds from birth.

Noteworthy is the story of Odin's having hanged himself for nine days on Yggdrasil in order to gain knowledge of the runes, i.e. he travelled the axis mundi to gain knowledge. Very shamanistic. Odin also travelled to what might be the roots of Yggdrasil to Mímr's Well and sacrificed his eye to gain the mead of poetry.

The tree in the Garden of Eden can also arguably be seen as a world tree, though likely as a remnant of pre-Jewish religions and mythologies in the Middle East. After all, Eve goes to the tree and gains the forbidden knowledge of good and evil.

I am also reminded once more of The Dark Tower in which the Dark Tower is the axis mundi of the multiverse. The Crimson King's plan is to destroy the tower and thereby cause all of 'creation' to come undone and return to the Primordial Chaos where creatures like Pennywise originated. Similar to Supernatural, The Dark Tower involves crossing between worlds and times.

Long long ago in her review of 2x01 In My Time of Dying, Paula likened Dean to a shaman in his ability to access different planes. Not only has he existed as a ghost for a time, but Dean has also been to Hell (just like Jesus) and to Heaven. He has also travelled in time as well as to at least one parallel universe. Later in the show, he will travel to Purgatory, Apocalypse World, Death's Library, and the point of The Winchesters was that Dean travelled between universes.

Such being the case, it is appropriate that the journey along the World Axis in 5x16 Dark Side of the Moon be essentially Dean's. In fact, this is another Dean-focussed episode. While I never going to complain about Dean being the focus, it does have the perhaps unintended effect of Sam seeming like an afterthought, but more on that later.

After getting shot, Dean wakes up in the car on a road at night to find poco!Sam holding an armful of fireworks. He is in a memory of 4th July 1996 when he and Sam set off a load of fireworks in a field (note the absence of John). This is one of Dean's happiest memories which is both sweet and sad at the same time.

All of Dean's happy memories revolve around his family and there appears to be nothing else in his life. Readers from cultures where family IS everything might find that a strange statement, but in North American (and western European) cultures family is less prominent and the individual is not (theoretically, at least) seen as a cog in the family machinery. Dean has no personal achievements he feels proud of or friends he can remember. There is only Sam and Mary and an absence of John. His life is barren, and his Heaven equally so.

The next memory of Dean's is one I referred to years ago in my essay Dean Didn't Have a Problem with John: one of Dean's happiest memories was when John and Mary had had a fight and 3 year old Dean got to be alone with his mum for a few days. In case you missed that, Dean's happiest memory once again involves John's absence. There are indeed still many viewers who claim John was not as bad as all that, and whatever his real thoughts on the situation may be, Jensen himself offered some John apologia a few years ago (so bad was that that I almost gave up these analyses).

But -- without bringing 'Jeffrey Dean Morgan just wasn't available' up -- how can the fact Dean's esteem for John seems to be way down in the boiler room be explained other than Dean genuinely does not like John? And how to explain the expression on Dean's face later in the episode when remembering what happened when John realised Sam had gone missing 'on Dean's watch? Need I bring 1x18 Something Wicked up? Or Sam's statement that Thanksgivings at the Winchesters' involved John being blind drunk? I honestly fail to understand how people can pay attention to things like this and come away with the idea that John was 'doing his best' or 'Dean didn't have a problem with John' (looking at you, Jensen). Even in this very episode, Dean calls John a deadbeat dad while talking to Joshua.

Sam's best memories are also about family, but his are about running from the Winchesters. Specifically he wanted to get away from John, but he also wanted away from Dean. Of course when he raised the subject, Dean worded things to say Sam wanted to get away from his family, but what Dean really meant was Sam wanted to get away from him. After having seen that Dean's happiest memories revolve around Sam and Mary, Dean's reaction to realising Sam only ever wanted to get away was completely understandable. It was not fair to Sam, though. Sam also grew up with John as a parent and never had a stable, safe, or comfortable life. In some ways, he was like Quasimodo or Ariel and longed to be able to live among 'normal' people.

As a result of decades of grooming, Dean perceives being subordinate and subservient to family as a matter of course. Because of this, he is resentful of Sam for not being subjugated to his family's will. They have both been through the experience of John's parenting, but Sam has retained more of his personal freedom and individualism than Dean. Does this make Dean feel like weak failure? Perhaps. But his abandonment issues also come into play and explain a lot.

However, I mislike the term 'abandonment issues' much the same way as I mislike 'mummy issues' or 'daddy issues' as it shifts the focus away from the reason for the 'issues' and almost puts blame on the person with the 'issues' in a ridiculing, dismissive way. Perhaps a better way to describe the problem is that Dean is insecure in every relationship with everybody because the most important relationships of his life so far have been characterised by blame, misuse, emotional distance, and abandonment. John severely damaged Dean, and Dean expects the same stories to repeat themselves in any relationship he is in. He is primed to see it, and thus instinctively sees Sam leaving John as abandoning him. This is a defence mechanism keeping Dean alert for potential harm. It is unfair of him to jump to the conclusion that Sam wanted to abandon him personally. Sam did 'technically' abandon him, but only incidentally.

But the fact their Heavens are so different, and that Sam's does not include Dean at all, underlines the fundamental differences between the two. Dean is other-centred and gains his worth and happiness from other people and what he can do for them. This is what John groomed him to be. Sam in contrast is self-centred, by which I mean he achieves happiness and fulfilment by doing things which make himself happy, not others. Neither of these is inherently bad, and both are survival mechanisms the brothers developed to survive John. But it means their brotherhood is lop-sided. Dean strives to make Sam happy, and Sam strives to make Sam happy. But nobody cares whether Dean is happy.

I could go a level deeper and say that Dean's drive to please others may not be entirely altruistic. It could be that he has suffered clinical depression for so long that his brain can no longer produce happy chemicals. If that is so, he would get no sense of satisfaction or achievement from anything he does. Only other people smiling, laughing, or praising him can make him feel anything like happiness. He has put John and Sam in the place where his happy chemicals are supposed to go. The biggest problem there is that this dooms him because Dean will never be that important to anyone.

Except Cas.

All of this raises the question of whether Dean and Sam are soulmates as the episode implies. Ash tells Dean and Sam that usually people are alone in Heavens of their own making, except for rare occasions where two people share the same Heaven and can interact with each other. Where Ash found this knowledge is not explained, but for argument's sake assume he is telling the truth.

For the first few times I watched this episode, I was firmly of the belief that Dean and Sam started in different Heavens. Dean had to travel to find Sam, and then they kept hopping between memories. This can be interpreted in two ways. Travelling along the road or the axis mundi is travelling between worlds, and this is precisely what Dean did to get to Sam. This being the case, I instantly concluded Dean and Sam were in different Heavens when I saw this episode ten years ago.

But was Dean's road and the Scalextric track a route between different Heavens, or just to different memories in the same Heaven? I am no longer so sure. The episode certainly can be interpreted as at least telling the viewer Dean and Sam share a Heaven and are therefore soulmates, but... really? The Cambridge Dictionary defines 'soulmate' thusly:

soulmate

someone, usually your romantic or sexual partner, who you have a special relationship with, and who you know and love very much:

And Merriam-Webster defines it as follows:

:a close friend or romantic partner with whom one has a unique deep connection based on mutual understanding and acceptance

Neither of these definitions sounds remotely like Dean and Sam's relationship. There is no mutual understanding or acceptance. Were they not brothers, they would not have anything at all to say to each other and would not spend any time around each other. Which is to say that the show can tell us the brothers are soulmates all it wants, but it is not a convincing claim and I really wish the writers etc would allow the two to be separate entities.

Anyway, returning to the 4 July scene, the fireworks trigger a memory of Dean getting shot in the cold open. It is at this point the fireworks disappear. Cas soon talks to Dean via the car radio (and note, as Paula said, how comfortable Dean is with angels in his dreams now). Cas tells Dean to follow the axis mundi -- which appears to Dean as a road -- to find Sam. When they next speak via the television in Sam's memory, Cas instructs him to follow the road to the Garden of Eden and Joshua.

The axis mundi takes them to three places outside their heaven(s); Ash's Heaven, a Zachariah's trap, and the Garden. Considering how long it has been since Ash's last appearance and his minimal presence in series two, it is peculiar that he should be the one to find and rescue Dean and Sam, but I do not hate it. Pamela's presence is also odd since she was a non-entity. She also irritated me a little by blaming Dean for her death then hitting him over the head for it. 'Oh, but it's cute and she's just a woman and she didn't hurt him anyway.' Pfft, if Dean gave her a 'playful' cuff over the head the Dean antis would be foaming at the mouth about misogyny and abusive behaviour. Spare me. Besides, is she an adult who can make her own choices or not? She chose to help Dean and Sam in 4x15 Death Takes a Holiday knowing the possible consequences. Nobody forced her into it.

I almost forgot Pamela kissing Dean at the end of the scene. Why? There was nothing between them whatsoever when Pamela was alive, and she was always creeping after Sam, not Dean. Was this an instance of 'We haven't presented Dean as heterosexual for a while, so he'd better smooch a woman'? Thank Azathoth's magnificent scrotum the show will never do anything like that again. Could you imagine if what was supposed to be the last series of Supernatural ended with Dean confessing his love to a woman we have not seen or thought about for years and are now supposed to care about? Even the notion!

While on the subject, Dean is also supposedly to blame for Ash's death, but Dean had no more to do with Ash's death than Sam, Bobby, Ellen, or Jo. Dean of course does nothing to defend himself against Pamela heaping the blame on him bewcause after 30-odd years of being blamed for other people's mistakes he has internalised the idea that he is to blame. And nobody is any rush to tell him otherwise. A few weeks ago I watched 7x04 Defending Your Life when Jo's ghost tells Dean 'you carry all kinds of crap you don't have to', and that is as close as I can remember anybody getting so far to telling Dean 'it's not your fault.'

Anyway, in the Roadhouse when Dean and Sam find out the nature of Heaven in the Superverse, i.e. that everybody is essentially locked in a room by themselves and made to spend forever reliving their best memories. Ash says that Dean and Sam have been to Heaven many times, implying Ash has seem in Heaven before. The angels wiped Dean and sam's memories of Heaven, though, meaning they had no idea. Ash is saddened to hear that Ellen and Jo recently died. Ash has found out how to travel between the different rooms in Heaven and can go and visit anybody whenever he likes. This means he can go and visit Ellen and Jo and they can spend time together again. His sadness is therefore a bit confusing, but I supposed they should have had decades left to live and lots of stuff left to do.

Ash eventually helps Dean and Sam get back onto the axis mundi with what he believes is a door to the Garden, but actually leads back to Dean and Sam's childhood home. All seems well for a moment, until Mary tells Dean about remembering the night she died and smelling her own burning body. Worst for Dean (and note that almost everybody in this episode focuses on Dean while almost forgetting Sam exists) is Mary saying that at least her death meant she could get away from Dean. She never loved him, or so she says. He was a burden whom she never loved.

This is of course not the real Mary, but rather an illusion conjured by Zachariah as part of a trap. The douche in question arrives with his goons before monologuing about how humiliated and disgraced he is after failing to get Dean to say 'yes' to Michael. In revenge, he will torture Dean and Sam regardless of whether they say yes or not. He also likened himself to Lucifer, saying he was more creative in his torture etc than Lucifer. It was around this point ten years ago when I realised I had long since had enough of Zachariah as a villain. Stick a fork in it, it's done. I think part of the issue is that Heaven seems so lackadaisical about trying to get Dean to say yes. They have seen him break under torture in Hell, so why would they not capture him and get him to do the same? Why send just one angel and his goons over and over again?

In the long-long ago, Paula likened the angels to the Great Old Ones in Lovecraft's mythology. They are not necessarily malevolent, but they certainly do not care in the slightest about humans or life in general. They think nothing of killing people as long as it gets them what they want. In theory, this was an interesting way to go about things, but in practice it just means the snarky demons have been replaced with arrogant angels. I really hope Dean gets to stab Zachariah in the face one day soon.

Before Zachariah has time to begin the torture, Joshua interrupts and announces that God had business with Dean and Sam so Zachariah better step off. Joshua then takes Dean and Sam to the Garden, which to them appears as the Cleveland Botanical Gardens. Before getting into their palaver, a brief shortcut. Two lines of dialogue in this episode stood out to me; Cas saying to Dean near the beginning that the axis mundi is a road 'for him', and the other was Joshua saying the Garden is different for everybody who sees it.

This might sound familiar if you have ever read about near-death experiences and people's visions of travelling down a dark tunnel towards a light, or paddling down a river towards the sun. Whatever the cause of these experiences, it appears as though culture has an impact on how they are perceived. It makes sense that the axis mundi would appear as a road for Dean because he has spend the majority of his life in a car on a road. For somebody else, it might appear as a path through a forest, a journey downriver, or a hike through the mountains. Eden takes the shape of the Cleveland Botanical Gardens for Dean and Sam, perhaps because they once visited.

As for the conversation between Joshua and Dean (Sam is as good as absent from the conversation, and the camera pretty much forgets him), the content boils down to God not wanting to have any involvement in the Apocalypse and wanting Dean and Sam to stop looking for him. The episode would have us believe Joshua is mediating God's words, but it does not give us any particular reasons to do so. The message could be from Michael, which might explain why Joshua focuses on Dean rather than both brothers. If the words are not God's, one can wonder whether Joshua knows that. Does Joshua want the world to end?

As for the question of 'why does God let evil exist', there are a few simple solutions. God might not be powerful enough to do much about evil, in which case he is not omnipotent. But he might be powerful enough and chooses to do nothing about it, in which case he is not benevolent. Apologists and philosophers might try to muddy the waters by offering solutions such as 'free will is the root of evil and suffering' or 'without suffering, 'Good' would have no meaning'. Perhaps one of the worst is 'God allowed evil to exist so that he could manifest his glory.'

You understood that correctly: God allowed people to be raped to death, enslaved, married as children, and all other manner of horrors so that he could use it to make himself look good. He let your family members die young of cancer and your friends die of suicide. God allowed the Holodomor, and the Holocaust, and the Killing fields of Cambodia. He allows little boys to be forced at gunpoint to rape their mums and sisters during farm invasions. He allows men to have their genitals cut off by terrorists and for women to be repeatedly stabbed in the back while being gang raped at what was supposed to be a music festival. He lets little boys hide for their lives up a tree in a pogrom and be forced to watched a Jew-hating mob kick parts of his mum's friend's body around the street. And he does it for his glory? So he can be merciful, compassionate, and forgiving?

Get the fuck out of here with that shit, you psychopathic bastards.

All of this is of course sophistry and apologia, or in simpler words: cope. It is all cope designed to protect belief against cognitive dissonance.

This is the eternal problem with monotheistic religions such as Christianity, Islam, and Judaism: if there is only one god who made everything, that god must also have made evil and suffering, and chooses to do nothing about it. Dualistic faiths such as Zoroastrianism (the great-grandfather of Abrahamic religions), polytheistic, and pantheistic faiths avoid this completely. Evil exists and does not need explaining in order to preserve faith in a benevolent deity.

Much simpler would be to say 'I don't know' and leave it at that. A short storyline in the show Skins was about Maxxie and Anwar. Maxxie was gay and his friend Anwar was a Muslim. Anwar came to the conclusion that he had to make a decision between being friends with a gay man and being a 'good Muslim'. He decided that he had to be a good Muslim and ended his friendship with Anwar. But at the end of the episode, Anwar's dad said something to the effect of 'I don't understands gays, but I'm a human, not God, and I don't understand God's ways. God made you gay for a reason. Maybe one day I'll understand why.'

I can have sympathy for people struggling with belief, or losing belief. It is one of the load-bearing beams people build their lives around. I have no interest in robbing people of their religion, and as long as they keep it to themselves and their private lives, I do not care what religion a person belongs to. One of my oldest friends is an Evangelical Christian who knows exactly what I think of his beliefs. A handful of my students at any one time will be from Muslim backgrounds (though not a single Muslim woman I have taught has worn a head covering of any variety). A small youtuber I have been watching for a few years has recently started taking an interest in his Jewish heritage after his uncle died to feel a connection to his past and family traditions, even though he does not follow the religion. About once a month or so I watch Supernatural with two friends who mix buddhism with ásatrú practice and bits taken from various Native American beliefs.

The relevance of this is that all of these people have something in their lives which gives them purpose, helps them in difficult times, and connects them to people around them. Losing the belief entails losing a huge part of one's life and either having to find new things to put in its place or live with a void. At the end of the episode, Dean, Sam, and Cas have all lost faith and hope and have nothing to put in their place.

Cas has had the scales removed from his eyes in a mirror-image of Saul on the road to Damascus and realised his life was wasted in service to a god who did not care. As mentioned earlier, Cas's attempt to talk to God at the end of the episode brought Kristina's near loss of belief to mind. God had kept Kristina going through the turmoil of moving to the other side of the world to become a stranger in a foreign land, isolated from the people around her by language. She lost a child and had a stillbirth, then was denied even the comfort of intimacy with her husband. through all that, her belief in God loving about her and waiting to take her into his care after death kept her going. Then for a moment she almost lost her belief. for Cas it was not a moment or an almost; the entire basis for his existence was ripped away and could not be replaced. One would not blame him for looking for the nearest Alko.

Sam has lost hope in God coming to help them, as well as perhaps his own possible salvation. That was probably the last desperate hope he had of being saved from becoming Lucifer's meatsuit and now there is nothing. To rub salt in the wound, Dean now sees the reality of their brotherhood and Sam has lost his place in Dean's life. The necklace Dean wore around his neck had been a symbol of their relationship and Sam's importance to Dean. It ended up in the bin. It reminds me a little of the story arc in Sex and the City when Carrie cheated on Aiden with Mr Big. After Carrie and Aiden made up, Aiden no longer wanted to let her go to sleep with her face against his neck; the trust had been broken and she had lost the place she had in his life.

It is a shame the show forgets this change so quickly. At least Jeremy Carver tried to make it remember in his tenure as showrunner.

As for Dean, his happiness and purpose revolved around being needed and useful, especially by and for his brother. Sam had a starring role in one of Dean's happiest memories, but Dean did not feature in Sam's at all, except by his absence. Their bond was entirely one-sided and Sam simply did not value him the same way. Other than being humiliated and shamed, Dean now believes his life has always been pointless. The Mary who told him she had never loved him was not real, but those words still came out of her mouth and Dean is not going to be able to to forget it. The first few years of his life at least were untouched by events which came later in life, but they are slowly becoming poisoned by the man he has become. I am reminded of the Doctor Who episode Waters of Mars where the women commander survives until the end, but before she goes back into her house she looks completely broken and traumatised. We know what happened after that, and it is no surprise that Dean will soon be in the same position. He is surplus to requirements.

As far as Dean is concerned, nobody cares anymore whether he lives or dies. Nothing new (see above RE: 3x10 Dream a Little Dream of Me), but now he feels it keenly. Can I go and crawl into bed and not come out for a few days now?

After almost reaching the end of this analysis, only a few points remain. One of these is the fact that it is definitely possible that Mary might not have loved her sons. Disney has taught us that parents always love their children and always want the best for them, but this is not reality. And given the fact that John and Mary were date-raped by angels into having children, it is possible they never really bonded with their children properly. John, after all, treated his child awfully and had a bad marriage with Mary. And when she is later resurrected, Mary wastes no time in abandoning her sons for some 'me time' and eventually joins their enemies.

The angel date-rape also brings Harry Potter to mind. Unless I have misremembered, a huge part of the reason Tom Riddle was the way he was even as a child is that he was the product of magical rape whereby his mother Merope Marvolo used a love potion on Tom Riddle Snr which led to the conception of Tom Riddle Jnr. This is a vaguely similar situation to John and Mary.

This was also in the same book (Half-Blood Prince) where Romilda Vane tried date-raping Ron and Hermione was angry at him for it. 'Women are just more trustworthy' my arse.

Apropos Mary, I am unsure whether bringing Sam Smith back was the best idea. Mary was 27 when she died, but Sam Smith looks 35 at least in this episode. This is not such a big issue, but the fact she is supposed to be so young gets lost. This becomes an issue upon Mary's resurrection later in the show when she was supposed to be 10 years younger than her sons but looked like she was in her early to mid forties.

Returning to the subject of Dean's Heaven, he makes a comment at one point about the lack of sex-related stuff. This was indeed quite silly, but I never found it noteworthy that sex was absent from Dean's Heaven, or anybody's Heaven for that matter. A lot of the viewership sees Dean as a hypersexualised womaniser but that has never rung true for me. Dean's silly comments like that come across as just humour because the real character is quite unlike the version of himself he shows most people.

Near the beginning, I mentioned that most of the Pink Floyd references are lost on me. Pink Floyd has enough cultural presence for some of their official merchandise to be on sale in a Tokmanni shop in the little shopping centre opposite my home in Finland, but I remain clueless. However, I am just cultured enough to have caught vague Paperhouse vibes from the surreal otherworldly visuals at the beginning of the episode, particularly the eclipse and starry night behind the wooden house as Dean stops the car outside.

And that’s all, folks.

You can read more of my analyses here:

Series 1

Series 2

Series 3

Series 4

Series 5

Sundry

You can read Paula’s review here and Demian’s here.

P.S. he wuvs hugs <3

P.P.S. I will soon be quite a bit less busy with work, so should be able to write and post these more frequently. 5x17 99 Problems should be up next week or the following Monday.

[dykensteinery]

what colors do you associate with the characters from frankenstein? like I associate victor with the color blue, and the creature with a dull yellow, etc

aesthetically i'd obviously go both for a natural and unnatural (?) green for victor alongside black. symbolically, i feel that pure white is very good; what colour is first thought of when one thinks about light? specifically the blinding sort? i'd say it's commonly white. enlightenment, do you know where i'm going with this... the whole hubris & knowledge thing, also posing as a symbol for both knowledge & (self) destruction. also like, the heavens, lighting, north pole, etc. one of my friends said there's something transgender about it; loss of innocence & something about virginity (like the virgin mary?)

victor's the only one whose colour i put much thought into you can tell she's my favourite ever LOLLL.

lizette... firstly i want to say that i see him as her 1818 appearance: auburn hair and dark eyes. i think black would suit her well! or just very dark colours in general. but i also think he tends to wear what caroline would have wanted of him? so maybe bright, soft & more "feminine" colours, or whatever. like blue. but in association it's black or darker colours. oh hold on maybe bright red can be very good?

justine is orange to me. i think clothing-wise she's imitate caroline's fashion sense & colour preferences, considering that she "thought [caroline] the model of all excellence and endeavoured to imitate her phraseology and manners" (ch. 6, 1831), so i don't see why fashion sense wouldn't carry over. buuuuuut!! orange :)

robert walton reminds me of a pale blue, that of both frost & flame.

and henry clerval is just pink because i said so.

i agree with dull yellow for the creature :)