#nothing against the latter tho

[lesboymetaknight]

My favorite couple trope silly x anxious (sometimes they are both autistic which is even better.)

[tea-you-later-losers]

everyone look me in the eyes:

sometimes,, a series is best as an isekai to allow for someone to overcome the trauma of their past life to learn to life a full existence of love and appreciation for simply Being (Faraway Paladin, Ascendance of a Bookworm, and MAYBE, begrudgingly, mildly, Jobless Reincarnation)

and SOMETIMES it makes no sense for it to be an isekai because the past life has NO effect in EITHER character personality and growth OR helping them out in the new world (By the Grace of the Gods, Magical Revolution)

[randombush3]

take me home

alexia putellas x reader

notes: idek i was just bored. i don’t even like this 😬

words: 2247

summary: it’s late, but you have a visitor you can’t turn away. (think ‘style’ by taylor swift)

warnings: (repurposed) smut. i don’t wanna talk abt that shocking portion of the fic tho so shh

The nights are lonelier than you had expected them to be when you moved here. Barcelona to London was a big change – a scary one, though it is difficult for your pride to let you admit that.

You, with your ambition, lost sight of what was supposedly tying you down, paying it as much attention as the other person in the relationship was. When you left, nothing really changed. You haven’t heard from her since.

So, as you sit in front of your TV, the bright colours of Sex Education illuminating the white walls of your otherwise dark apartment, you ask yourself once more why you are surprised. Why, every time you spend an evening alone, attempting to master the English language, your heart can’t help but crack a little bit more.

Eyes growing wearier by the minute, you cheat your immersion by texting a friend: no one particularly interesting. She is telling you about her vision for a song. A pianist she heard the other day has inspired her, and she wants your help. You often lend an experienced hand to the ones who need guidance when it comes to producing, but it’s midnight and you can’t be bothered at all. You realise that, in Spain, she must be out in the warmth of the city’s night, sitting on someone or other’s balcony, smoking a cigarette. A quick once-over of your own situation prods at a regret you have decided to ignore.

You’re in London for a reason.

The grating chirp of your buzzer causes your phone to be flung from your grip, landing on the rug beneath your bare feet with a soft, muted thud. Another ring of the buzzer has you groggily heading towards the intercom to the left of your door (painted red since yesterday, as urged by your mother who is all for personalising and making a place feel like home).

“Hello?” you question, too lazy to consider the shockingly short list of potential visitors.

The voice that replies wakes you up, practically setting your body aflame, syllables washing over you as though they come from the font at the altar. Holy. Well, you decide that they are equals.

And, oddly enough, despite moving to another country – despite leaving without saying goodbye, tears in your eyes only cried once your backs had been turned against each other, hands on either side of a door that wasn’t going to open again – you obey her command, slipping on your shoes without hesitation. You step into the lift, examining your tired reflection in the smudged mirror, wondering whether licking your thumb and smoothing out your eyebrows is really going to fix the dark eyebags that act like reverse eyeshadow on your face.

The car that waits outside your building, shadily parked by the pavement across the road, honks once, headlights off. You sigh, accepting your fate, and cross, pulling at the handle of the passenger side, opening the door onto a potentially disastrous night.

“Hola,” says Alexia. Her hair is loose, falling around her shoulders in professional curls. She is in London for a reason, too. From her white shirt and silk trousers, you deduce the kind of reason.

The air is tense, thick with unsaid words and the knowledge of what happened when you last spoke, but you slide onto the leather seat of the rented Audi anyway. “Hola,” you say back. She drives.

There are many questions you’d like to ask her, the first being how she found your address. They sit on your tongue; hopeful, waiting to be said. You swallow and succumb to the heavy silence, listening to the whir of the engine and roll of the tires on the wet tarmac of the roads she drives you down.

She has no map. She knows not where she is taking you, nor why she came in the first place. (The latter is a lie. She misses you. She tells herself she doesn’t.) In truth, she is surprised you don’t notice how she is going round in circles. Maybe you don’t get out much. Maybe you are just as miserable as she has been.

You moved away eight months ago. She has craved your presence for nine. No, ten. Maybe even for a lifetime.

Maybe you feel the same, though she wouldn’t know.

Maybe you want to come home.

Maybe leaving her has only shown you what was always there. What is no longer waiting for you in your apartment after late-night studio sessions or long, draining meetings. What is not a set weekend plan anymore: football matches; dinners with her team; nights at clubs together, dancefloor commandeered and dominated, dingy bathroom not long after. Then, Alexia realises that she has gambled, and that bets can be lost.

Though, if you had found someone else to dance with – to love, really – you’d probably be with them right now.

She wants to say something. Apologise, perhaps. Or ask how you are, solely to discover your current relationship status.

You get there first.

“It’s been a while since I have heard from you.”

She glances across the dashboard, turning right onto a long, tree-lined drive, not caring whether this may be trespassing. It’s hard to look at the road when she could be looking at you instead.

“I have been busy,” she offers.

“I see.”

She bites her tongue, eyes squinting in frustration with herself. Her grip on the steering wheel tightens, though you hardly notice, too occupied with searching for your self-control. You’ve never been blessed with much of it, but it exists within you to a certain extent. Surely.

You know you are wrong when she parks once more outside of your building, this time getting out. You follow suit, taking her hand wordlessly, leading her inside.

Instead of looking into the mirror, she presses you up against it, hands on your hips as you nod, bottom lip trapped between your teeth. Her eyes are wild, and you’d think she were drunk if she hadn’t been driving you around for the past twenty minutes. You don’t have to tell her to kiss you. She already knows what to do.

The lift doors open on your floor. You tug her out, taking her home. To your home – a word no longer shared between the two of you.

Your apartment is as dark as you left it, Netflix asking if you are still there as it interrupts Sex Education. You are now accidentally on the next episode.

She laughs quietly when she sees the TV, mouth opening against yours, sound in your mouth as you work to be consumed by her. You’ll probably regret this tomorrow morning.

Alexia takes off her coat, draping it over the back of the sofa. You smile to yourself, choosing to not be conflicted by how comfortable she is here. She knows you well. You like to tidy on your own, and you will set aside her coat somewhere else later. She gives you the freedom – the break in your kiss – to tell her to redress. To get out.

She waits a second more when it does not come.

You undo the top button of her shirt while she stands, paused in your new apartment, breathing in the lingering smell of fresh paint. There are scuff marks on the skirting boards, and she is reminded that it has been eight months. That you have had time to create another life here. It seems as though you, now onto the second button, still manage to mould yourself around her, however.

“Ale,” you murmur, tracing your pinkie finger across the exposed skin of her chest. “It’s okay. I…”

And she heavily relates to your failure to get the words out.

Instead of bearing the silence that should follow, she ignores the alarm bell in her head that warns her not to break her heart all over again, and leans in to kiss you once more, lips soft and familiar and addictive.

Your body feels electric against hers as she kisses you harder and harder. Your mind, for once, is at peace. The first time it has been since you moved here.

You take her to your bedroom, kissing your way down her neck as she lifts your hoodie over your head, muscular arms well-versed in this action. There have been others, you’ve heard.

Topless, you sit on your bed, crumpling the fresh sheets. “I heard that you’ve been out and about with some other girl,” you say, catching your breath. She stands in front of you, looking down, eyes fixed on yours despite the cleavage on display being such a tempting exhibit.

There is guilt here with the two of you, now. She wants to make you feel like you are the only person in the world, but she knows you won’t believe her.

“What you heard is true,” she replies, reluctant to admit it. “But I… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

You scoff, lying back anyway. She kneels over you, a leg either side of your waist. “I’ve been there too. A few times.” The pang of jealousy that strikes her low in her stomach spurs her on as she reconnects her lips with yours.

You watch as concentration takes over her, letting her touch you, kiss you, caress you. You haven’t even told her to slow down. If anything, you wish she’d speed up and just get to it already, remembering just how good she makes you feel.

She explores your body like she knows it but wants to learn it all over again, kissing the scars and the freckles and the tattoos that litter your body, all equally important features of the woman that sends her soaring above the clouds. You keen under her touch, whining as your patience depletes.

“Please,” you breathe. Alexia slides down your body, her lips skimming the hollow of your throat. You gasp as she kisses the valley between your breasts, the slight tickle of her hands ghosting your ribs making you feel a thousand things at once.

It all crashes into one as she kisses you over your underwear. Your hand laces through her hair, tousling it. You prefer that over how her stylist does it, anyway.

Her lips brush the waistband of the black fabric, hooking her fingers underneath the elastic, giggling at the way you raise your hips in anticipation. Instead, she chooses to swipe through your folds, circling your clit as you protest half-heartedly. You grip the bedsheets as her fingers dip inside of you, tucking and curling. “Good?” Your back arches as at the welcome invasion. You silently beg for her to leave you more breathless than you already are. She somehow hears your thoughts and inches your underwear down, slotting herself between your thighs, lying on her stomach.

Warm lips caress your inner thigh, teasingly making you ask her for more through your involuntary moans. Alexia’s hot breath ghosts over your clit. “Joder,” you swear. You crane your head up to watch at the first bold swipe of Alexia’s tongue against you. Her lips are hotter than her breath as she kisses you, open-mouthed and needily. Her tongue glides through your wetness, stopping at your entrance. Another urgent moan spills from your lips as her tongue slips inside of you, her hands cupping your bum, bringing you closer to her.

You squeeze your eyes shut, death-gripping whatever you can hold onto, as her tongue makes its way up to your clit. The disappointing emptiness is not felt for long; tongue quickly replaced by two skilled fingers. You groan as she curls inside of you.

Your orgasm builds, months overdue. You grind into her.

She pulls away.

Your eyes flicker open at the loss of contact. “What?” you pant.

She kneels up and brings her hand to her mouth, her soft lips enveloping her glistening fingers. Her eyes stare up at yours, intense and lustful, her lips turning upwards in a devilish smile. It is the sexiest thing you have ever seen.

Her hair hangs down as she leans over you, shirt still just as done-up as it was when you had last been focused on things other than how good it feels to have Alexia between your legs. The pause, hot and breathy, enables her to pull the white material off, lacy bralette barely covering anything.

You undo the clasp at the back expertly, throwing the bralette somewhere that will prolong her nakedness in your bed. You groan, a common sound now, at the sight of her, hands cupping her breasts as she grows bashful.

When her thigh connects with your centre, she loses her shyness. She can feel how wet you are, and, really, she feels sorry for you.

Once more, she slips her fingers inside you, adding another this time. Your back curves upwards, your muscles trembling. Alexia’s free hand rests on your navel, holding you down as her tongue swirls around your clit.

She sends you reeling; catapulting you head-first into a land of bliss.

When you have both showered — much, much later — you let her distance herself from you in your bed. She’s a stranger now, you tell yourself.

Alexia leaves London the next day, with no plea to take you home with her.

You spend another evening in front of the TV, deciding that yesterday was only a blip in your routine. But, you know, deep down, that she will be back. Or vice versa. You’ll never go out of style.

[gojos-fr-bae]

Liar pt.1

GIF by bakemono04

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

Pairing: Gojo x fem!eader

Warnings: Pregnancy, blood, mass k1lling, heavy themes kinda, angst, not proofred

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Finally done😭 This took so much energy and honestly I'm still deciding how I feel about it. Hope you like it tho.

You looked up from your bed, buried in your blankets as you watched your husband hurriedly get dressed in his sorcerer uniform, buttoning his jacket and rushing to reach for his phone before realizing that you were awake.

He looked deep into your eyes, his being covered by his signature blindfold, and although you couldn’t see them, you could tell that they held a chaotic medley of heavy emotions.

He slowly leaned closer to you, placing his right hand against your cheek and pressing his forehead against yours.

“Where are you going?” your feeble voice whispered.

“I have to work,”

“Do you have to go now?”

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll be back before you know it,” His heart ached as he lied to you. He knew his words weren’t true, but he had no choice.

“Promise?”

“Ofcourse, baby, I’m-”

“The strongest, yeah yeah, I know,” You croaked, feeling sleep begin to take over you once again.

Satoru chuckled softly as you slowly began to drift back into your dreams. His left hand slowly rubbed your swollen tummy.

“Keep our little Kikufuku safe until I get back, okay? He said softly, placing a kiss above your belly and then your forehead. 

As you hummed in agreement, he slowly moved away from you and walked towards the bedroom door. Every fiber of his being was telling him to stop. To turn back and stay with you. But alas, he had a role to play, and he was needed elsewhere, and there was nothing he could do about that.

As he closed the door behind him, he dragged his body away from you, from your child, and to his students and fellow sorcerers. He begrudgingly trudged himself towards the Shibuya station. 

He didn’t want to go but he had no choice, no matter what he wanted, he had to go…

He HAD to go.

Week One

You stirred from your restless slumber, shivers running down your spine from the cold latching to your skin. You groaned at the aches and pains that have been plaguing you for the majority of the latter half of your pregnancy. 

As you were still waking, you heard your doorbell ring. You slowly pushed  yourself off the bed and lugged yourself down the stairs.

As you opened the door, you were met with a somber looking Ichiji. He could barely meet your eyes as he whispered an apology, bowing his head and holding a letter out to you.

“What’s this,” you asked, heart racing because you knew exactly what it was but you didn’t want to accept the glaring truth.

“It’s from G-Gojo Sensei,” He feebly whispers, voice cracking slightly. 

Your shaky hand reaches out to grasp the letter, thanking Ijichi before closing the door. You made your way to your couch and went against every fiber of your being to open and read the letter.

Dear Y/N

Hello my love. If you're reading this it means something has happened to me.

I’m sorry I couldn’t keep my promise. I know you deserved better and my biggest regret is not being able to give you a life you deserved. 

I don’t know how long I’m going to be gone, and as much as it would pain me to let you go, I can’t bear the thought of you having to deal with all the burdens that come with being with me.

If you choose to leave, I fully understand and don’t blame anyone other than myself.

Please take care of our kikufuku, I know you will be the best mother in the world.

Always know that I love you more than life itself, I always have and always will. Please never forget that.

-Satoru

Your hand covered your mouth as a sob was ripped through from your lungs. Tears flowed nonstop from your eyes as you cried and cried and cried.

You clutched your belly as you tried to stop crying for the sake of your baby. All you could think about is how you were going to raise the baby alone and you only ended up crying even more. But you decided to be strong. You had to for your little mochi.

Month One

You squeezed your mother’s hand as you pushed through the most excruciating pain you may ever experience. The nurses were trying to coach you through your breathing as you went through labour.

“One more push,” your doctor instructed you, causing you to put all your energy into birthing your precious angel.

Suddenly, the room was silent except for the crying erupting from the newborn.

“Congratulations, he's a beautiful, healthy boy!” the nurse whispered, placing your son on your chest. 

Tears blurred your vision as your precious angel on your chest, your mother hugging you and at that moment, all you could think about is how much you loved and would lay your life down for the happiness of your little prince.

“As he slowly opened his eyes, you were mesmerised by the sea of blue that met your eyes, matching his white hair. 

“Hello Kaito,” you said with a happy but simultaneously sad smile as you gazed down at yours and Satoru’s child.

Like father, like son.

Month 2

Satoru

Gojo layed silently, eyes bare and staring into the seemingly unending void of the prison he has been submitted to, and all his mind would drift to his thoughts of you and his presumably unborn child.

In the prison, no time would pass, and considering you were 8 months pregnant when he was praying to every being willing to listen to him that you wouldn’t give birth to your child without him by your side. He wouldn’t be able to forgive himself if you had to go through that and handle the Jujutsu higher ups without him.

Although he was surrounded by darkness, his mind was racing because on top of all of this, he was trying to understand why he had seen his best friend’s being in the station, but that wasn’t his priority. That was getting back to you and his baby, but from the looks of it, it wasn’t going to happen any time soon

Y/N

Ever since you had given birth to your little prince, you had been constantly harassed by your husband’s parents as well as all the upperclassmen of the Jujutsu world. You hadn’t even been able to leave your house for the past week because It was surrounded by men trying to take your son away from you. 

You had always known that bearing the son of the strongest sorcerer in the world would come with its consequences but you and Satoru had always agreed that you would be able to face these things together. However, ever since his sealing two months ago you have been under constant pressure and harassment from the Jujutsu world telling you to give up your son, but you would rather take them all to the grave with your bare hands than even think of giving up your son to them. 

All of this had been building up even before your little mochi’s birth and it had reached a point where you don’t think you can handle this anymore. Although you were also a sorcerer, and a special grade at that, you wouldn’t be able to protect your baby from the dangers and toxicity and dangers of the Jujutsu world. You had to leave.

You wanted to raise your son in a place where he could be safe and grow happy and healthy. And although you didn’t want to leave your job and your students at Jujutsu Tech, you had to do what you had to do for the sake of your child. Even if that meant abandoning your marriage with Satoru.

Your heart ached as you looked back at Japan from the airport, baby in hand and family and friends bidding you farewell before you slowly made your way to the boarding gate. Tears filled your eyes as you thought about your now technically ex husband. You looked down at your now bare left ring finger, thinking of the future you could have had together, but you had  to do it. Not just for yourself, but for your son as well.

You had to leave.

Month 3

YN

It had been a month since you had left Japan and although it had been extremely difficult to settle in a new country with new cultures, a different language, and different people whom you know none of. Finding a new home and job to be able to provide for your son, but it was beginning to feel worth it by the end of the month you had finally begun to feel comfortable.

However, as you looked over your son, clutching his blue and white monkey plushie, your mind couldn’t help but drift off to Satoru.

Was he back?

Was he still sealed?

Would you ever see him again?

Although you knew he would never find you where you are, what if you met him one day. You had kept in touch with megumi throughout the move considering to you, he was always going to be your son. But other than him and your parents, you never really spoke to anyone back home, and you decided that you need to look forward and focus on bettering yourself and making sure you give your baby a happy home. And you weren’t going to turn back, at least not anytime soon.

Satoru

Gojo Satoru is free.

He had finally been released from the prison realm and before he could do anything, he went on a rampage, killing every curse and curse user within a 20 km radius, painting the city in all of their blood.

He finally stopped seeing red and immediately thought back to you. He warped back into your shared home, hoping to find you asleep and wrapped in the warm duvets on your shared bed.

His heart began to race as he warped into a dark, empty and cold home.

“Y/N!” He called, running through the house searching for you before reaching your presumably shared bedroom.

As he burst through the door, his eyes met your bedside clock. Three months. He had been gone for three whole months. Panic began to seep into his bones.

This means you must have already given birth. Were you okay? What if you didn’t even survive labour?

He quickly rummaged through the drawers, moving to the vanity, and his heart sank as laid atop the table were a picture of you in a hospital holding a bundle of blankets covering your precious child. The life you created together. As he held it with shaking hands, tears cascading onto it, his gaze shifted from the image to a letter, and to his regret, your engagement ring.

In the letter, you told him about the harassment you and your son had to endure, turns out you had a boy, and how you had to flee the country for both of your safety.

His heart shattered and he hated himself more than he ever had anyone else. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no no” He whispered, hand gripping your ring so tightly its gems began to cut into his palms.

He was overrun by countless emotions. Guilt, grief, regret, self hate, anger, all of them.

Sobs Ripped through his chests so violently that it ripped his throat, causing it to bleed. His knees gave in and he clutched the ring and picture to his chest and he cried. And as he cried, something inside him died. His happiness, joy, his smile, all left him at once, and his eyes lost their shine.

That night, Satoru passed away, and left behind Gojo, an empty shell of  what he once used to be. What he could’ve been.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8

I tried. Longest imagine I've ever done, I'm so tired. lemme know if ya'll want a pt.2

@porridgesblog , @giannitaa , @c0pkiller

© gojos-fr-bae

[b1mbodoll]

Any thoughts with Enhypen hyungline and omorashi?

pairings: en- hyungline x f! reader

warnings: omorashi + degradation + oral + praise + dacryphilia + dumbification + daddy kink + pet names + filming

💌: was gna post dis tmr but i couldnt wait also thank u for this question bcus i have many thoughts on the subject!!!! class is in session so listen up

heeseung

♡ heeseung is definitely into making you wet yourself. he lives for the sweet sounds you make when you make a mess on his cock. his eyes are glued to your pussy, loving the slick sounds of him fucking your wet cunt and the sight of your piss making a mess of his cock and pelvis. praises you nonstop while you ride him, large hands gripping your hips to push and pull you over his cock, “such a good girl f’me, pretty. my good girl, yeah?”

♡ he’s always saying the filthiest things in bed but in such a sweet way, calls you his pretty angelgirl while telling you he’s gonna stuff ur sloppy pussy with his cum til he physically can’t anymore :(

♡ he’s so in love with eating your pussy too it’s literally an addiction. quite literally makes out with your cunt, nose pressing against your clit every now and then as he tries to push you over the limit with just his mouth. heeseung thinks its the hottest thing ever when his mouth fucks you so good it causes you to pee <3 cums in his fucking pants as your release drips down his chin cus he just loves it sm. makes him proud that he’s the only one that’s able to make you do that n likes that you’re kinda claiming him in a way ??

jay

♡ jay’s into omorashi both ways. he likes to take care of you and refill your drink frequently so when you guys are making out he can tease you til ur crying n shaking, piss soaking yours and his clothes as you slump against him from the relief

♡ also enjoys pissing on and inside of you, whether it be your mouth or ur cunt <3 his favorite has to be the latter though, nothing strokes his ego more than when he’s fucking you and you’re begging for him to fill you up, doesn’t matter if it’s his cum or his piss you’re so desperate to reach your climax you just sigh and thank him over n over when he finally empties himself inside, pussy clenching ‘round him n taking everything he has to offer

♡ like heeseung, jay is also a sweet talker however, he can’t help but to degrade you every now and then. likes when you get teary eyed and try to deny the fact that ur his nasty little whore even though you both know he’s right because if you weren’t, you wouldnt be begging for his piss

jake

♡ sweet, sweet jake <3 he’s the perfect blend of sweet n rough. he personally likes to piss on you (he wouldnt mind the other way around if its something u wanted tho he’s whipped) he just thinks it’s so arousing yet romantic that you’re willing to let him do something like this. big fan of praising you as well, he has to let his girl know she’s doin’ such a good job for him

♡ “y’look so cute like this, honey. fuck, wish i could keep you at my feet forever. you’d like that wouldn’t you? wouldn’t ever hafta lift a finger, i’d take care of you, doll. would do anything for you if you’d jus’ let me do this whenever i wanted.” he’s spewing nonsense now but his brain isn’t working and you’re no better, tongue lolling out as the warm stream of his piss splashes against your cheeks ‘nd down onto your tits.

♡ afterwards he bathes with you ‘nd takes care of you as you try to get ur brain back to normal after getting fucked dumb :( dresses you n pulls you close, pressing soft kisses all over ur face while whispering how much you mean to him <3

sunghoon

♡ sunghoon’s def into pissing on you as well, however he has a meaner approach. it starts with him releasing on your chest ‘nd neck but it always ends with his wet cock in your mouth. he takes videos every time he does this ‘nd has plenty of polaroids where you’re looking up at him innocently as if you didn’t just let him fuck his piss down your throat

♡ don’t get me wrong, he’s a great bf !!! hoonie spoils you ‘nd does his best to keep you happy all the time <3 he’s usually such a sweetheart with you but the way he’s able to fuck you like he hates you makes your head spin every time

♡ “you’re such a fucking perv, you know that right? so nasty too. nice little girls wouldn’t be swallowin’ their boyfriend’s piss, fuck!” he curses through clenched teeth, fingers weaving through your hair as he shoves his cock deeper, if that were even possible. you don’t think you’ve ever felt this full in your life and you don’t want it to end, gulping down everything he gives you. too focused on sucking him dry you don’t even realize he’s started snapping photos of how fucked out you look, who knows? maybe he’ll show them to jake, jay ‘nd heeseung if they’re lucky

[tacticalanklenuzzler3000]

Ellis Twilight x Reader x Jude Jazza

MDNI 18+ ONLY

hehehaahaha ahahahehehehehmhmhmhmhmtngmngfmfn

happy birthday Ellis my beloved. pretend like I posted this on the 4th.

I fooled all of u into following my side blog so you can watch me write smut about anime guys instead of big military men rhahagahahahgaa

cw: mfm threesome, reader has a vagaina and breasts but no size description, reader is gender neutral, my boyfriends are kissing each other! we are bisexual! HAPPY PRIIIIIDEEEEEE, lewd? fingering, overstimulation, kissing, uhhh slight pet play?? words like cunt are used, praise kink go crazy go stupid, degradation kink go silly, self indulgent look away from me

do they hate each other? a little bit yes, but they can turn that part of their brain off to bond over the love of your body. you are the bridge for their emotional gap and what an honor this is for you.

thankfully they don't bicker back and forth much, considering Ellis is so passive. he will accommodate the both of you, even if Jude is snapping at him.

tho all of his mean snaps and sharp words die on the soft curves of your body (sort of.) it at least gets him to shut up long enough to kiss your skin.

even so, you were a bit hazy on how you ended up with the 2 of them in your bed. your back to Jude's abdomen and Ellis on his knees between your splayed legs. their fingers were cold against your skin, goosebumps following right behind their fingertips.

"you aren't kissing me right.." Ellis whines in that whispery tone. he moves to pepper kisses along your cheeks. "want it like this.." his voice almost as soft as a whisper.

you whine at the loss of his lips, watching him sit back up on his knees. in one easy motion, Ellis moved his lips from your cheeks to Jude's lips.

even caught deep in a kiss, Jude looked irritable. you figured that was just his permanent expression.

2 pairs of hands pet and groped at your pliant body. when you closed your eyes, savoring their touch, you could tell who was who if you thought hard enough. however, thinking was last on your list of things to do right now.

Ellis used his fingertips mostly, drawing shapes on your thighs or trailing them from your throat down your sternum. he'd call you a sweet pup, so soft and easy [/praise♡]

Jude would knead your skin like dough and push his manicured nails into it. every soft swell would be subject to his groping and pinching. he'd squish your soft hips and splay his hands on your plush tummy, all while calling you a needy dog, a mutt in heat. you're so easy [/degrading♡]

a tight coil started building in your abdomen. was it jealousy, wanting all the attention to be on you? jude did complain about how needy you were.. or was it your slowly winding orgasm from Ellis's long fingers circling your clit? you chalked it up to the latter, lips parting to a soft pant.

the 2 finally pulled away from each other, their lips kissed red and glossy.

"..hah..." Ellis's cheeks were dusted a satisfied pink. his deep jewel toned eyes were hazy with a happy lust when he looked down to you again.

"can you do that for me?" he asked, eager, hunching over you again.

"quit hoggin' 'em," Jude complained, tugging you closer to his body.

" 'm not," Ellis countered, kissing up to your lips again. Jude was quick to suck his teeth at the sight. he was never the best at sharing

he found your mouth again. Ellis was nothing if not earnest. with the way he pressed himself against you, it felt like he could never get close enough. you never met someone who kissed with their whole body before.

absorbed in the attention Ellis gave you, you hardly registered Jude's cold hands moving down your legs. tucking his fingers behind your knees, he brought them up to your chest.

you were tucked into a ball between them the new position was essentially presenting your tight heat like a meal on a platter. and that glint in Ellis's eyes told you he was awful hungry

his curly hair tickled your chest and stomach when he kissed down your soft body. the softness of his touch was quite the contrast to Jude's pinching and groping.

Ellis leaned his head against your thigh and sighed, dreamy and warm. goosebumps quickly bloomed against your skin. he and Jude watched with blown pupils as Ellis's ring and middle finger sank effortlessly into you. you squirmed some, from his fingers, the position you were folded into, or the 2 pairs of eyes on your naked body, you weren't sure.

slender fingers prodded and scissored between your walls, searching for any spot that would make you squeal. palm up, ellis circled and pushed until the tips of his fingers were just on your sweet spot. you curled your toes in anticipation, breath hitching for just a moment

"there it is," Jude's keen eye didn't miss your subtle reactions.

Jude slipped a hand free from one of your legs. Ellis was quick to take it in his own, setting your ankle on his shoulder. working together for so long has given them almost a 6th sense. it's like they communicate telepathicly.

your theory of mind reading is essentially confirmed when Ellis pushed his fingers knuckle deep into you. Jude's free hand found your needy clit immediately after and you felt like you could already see stars.

you stuttered out a moan, head falling back in pleasure. if Ellis's fingers were any deeper, you were sure you could feel them in your throat. and if Jude's constant circling of your clit was any faster it would boarder on overstimulation.

" 's good ain't it?" Jude teased, moving his hand away from your clit to grab your chin.

you whimpered, cheeks dented from his fingers pushing into them. you could hear the devilish grin in his voice when he forced you to watch Ellis between your legs.l

Ellis moaned from deep in his chest, latching his mouth to your cunt. he practically had hearts in his eyes looking up at you, moan vibrating your already sensitive clit.

"yes- fuuck.." you whined, nodding eagerly. you hoped with enough enthusiasm, and they wouldn't edge you.

their needy hands, sultry voices, and mixed scent were driving you to your climax even faster. it was making your already mushy brain turn to pure goo.

"so pretty.." Ellis mumbled, lips barely leaving your skin.

you flushed red, not sure if he talking to you or your pussy at this point. he was drunk off your body, moaning and whining as his tongue pushed into you. your hips desperately bucked and squirmed, to get closer the source of pleasure or run away from it, you weren't sure.

Jude mumbled something about being 'like a dog,' but you chose to ignore it not knowing if it was meant for you or Ellis. however, he was proven right when Ellis was all but nuzzling into your palm. you tried not to pull his hair like reigns, but with the way he way he was kissing and sucking at your clit you couldn't help it.

at this point, Jude had released your other leg, letting it fall open to accommodate Ellis's wide shoulders. with both hands free, your poor body was subject to his relentlessness.

his teeth quickly found your shoulder, and fingertips quickly found your nipples. already kissed and sucked hypersensitive by Ellis, Jude's pinching and palming of your chest was boarding on too much of a good thing.

all of it was too much. you could hardly get a full lungs worth of air, most of it being pushed out with your moans.

"aa, th're almost there.." Ellis mumbled against your fluttering cunt. his soft voice was so laced with lust that you could almost feel the words hot against your body.

"y-yes! almo-oh-st.. fuck-!" you nodded, hips struggling to buck with the tight grip Ellis had 💔

"maybe when we're done, we'll teach ya t' watch that mouth, huh?" Jude nipped at your ear, giving youa few more firm circles of your clit.

finally

that was all you needed. your nails dug into Jude's forearm and your legs clamped tight around Ellis's head. you figured he'll be alright without air for a minute while you rode out your long deserved orgasm.

Jude gently pats your tummy with a quick kiss to the side of your sweaty temple. it's his version of saying "good dog" when you finally come down.

Ellis doesn't know when to stop. he will keep kissing and trying with your pussy if you let him. don't let him unless you've cleared your schedule.

thanks for reading! tell me what you liked and support ur local writers with a RB! :3

[immajustvibehere]

Quiet, Solitude Hour

Arthur Morgan x gn!Reader

summary: On a hot afternoon, you find camp deserted with only one lazy cowboy to keep you company.

warning: slightly suggestive, Arthur is some years younger than he was in the game (it's up to you how much tho)

960 words, 5 minutes reading time

Credit to oolonglatte on Twitter! The drawing inspired this fanfiction :)

Camp was uncommonly deserted today. The majority was out on jobs, including Dutch and Miss Grimshaw, whose absence left a void in the usual hierarchy of overseeing and assigning chores. The sun blazed overhead, and whoever wasn't working was seeking shelter in the next saloon or going for a dip in a nearby lake. Even Mr Pearson, who normally remained within the bounds camp, had wandered off with Tilly to fish at a creek.

Having just completed the task of unloading hay from the wagon and neatly arranging it beneath a modest, hastily assembled shelter, you were convinced that you were the only one at camp. But then you saw a wispy thread of smoke rising from Arthur's tent. Not the black sort of smoke you get when you light a campfire, no, someone was smoking a cigarette. It must be Arthur, though his body was well hidden behind the crates that surround his tent.

You grinned as a prospect for diversion and amusement presented itself. You walked up to him, the grass and soil beneath your feet masked any audible approach. Slowly, Arthur’s body appeared. Recumbent upon his cot, Arthur wore nothing but jeans and boots. It looked as if he had hastily unclothed after a ride and now was trying to cool down. It was clear that he hadn’t expected anybody to be here, because even his belt was discarded in the grass, the jeans’ button and zipper had been undone nonchalantly, the latter halfway at best.

You observed the dark hair on his body that thickened beneath the curvature of his navel, only to lead down where it was swallowed by the shadow cast by his jeans. Arthur wasn't one to run around topless very often. You tried to remember when you ever saw him like this, only to realize it must have been years ago if ever.

You smiled contently. Arthur's eyes were closed and when he led the cigarette to his mouth, this happened on instinct and with a perfectly studied movement.

It felt forbidden, watching him like that. So you snuck away, heading for the create in the shadow where the gang kept some bottles of beer. The crate was buried in the ground to exploit every damp coolness that the earth had to offer. When you returned, two moderately cool bottles in hand, Arthur remained blissfully oblivious to your presence. The hand unoccupied by the cigarette, it had since shrunken significantly and would only be good for two more drags, was tracing circles on his lower abdomen. You watched as his fingers sifted through the strands of hair, a gentle caress which underlined that his thoughts were miles away.

Gently, you allowed the bottles to emit a soft chime as they touched and spoke softly: "Hope I'm not interrupting something?" More calmy than you had expected he'd react on the disturbance, Arthur's eyelids parted at a leisurely pace to meet your presence.

"'Course not", Arthur sat up slowly, smiling when you came closer, offering him a bottle. The remnants of his cigarette were extinguished before his fingers grasped the offered refreshment. Then he shifted along the cot, patting the fabric next to him. You sat down and only when your arm lightly brushed against his, Arthur seemed to wake up from his daydream.

He jumped up and put the bottle down on a table.

"Sorry I wasn't expecting someone to be here. Ain't proper to run around like that", Arthur grinned cheekily for a fleeting moment, before he stretched his limbs, righting his jeans and grabbing a shirt.   "Oh, come on!", you giggled, "It's damn hot today, I don't blame you."

Arthur's eyes rested on you for moment. He must have noticed that you also had more buttons unbuttoned than usual, because, though he put his shirt on, sleeved rolled up to expose his forearms, he didn't bother buttoning it, but only cramped the edges into his jeans.

"What've you been up to?", you asked as Arthur sat down next to you again. You still saw some of the drowsiness in him. The hot air had made him tired and if you hadn't disturbed him, he might have dozed off soon.

"Jus' been out riding. I was looking into a lead Hosea told me."

"Is it a good one?", you asked, smilingly. You didn't know where you took the courage from all of a sudden, but you put your hand on top of Arthur's that was resting between your bodies.

"Y-yeah, think so...", Arthur almost choked on the answer, surprised about the hand holding. Well, it wasn’t entirely unexpected, because the two of you had been sweet on one another for some time now. But Arthur's method of dealing with his feelings was to stay away from camp as much as possible, because there was no way you felt the same and he wanted to get over this silly crush. He hadn't expected you to...like him back. Not even talking about daring to do the first move.

"Nobody's going to be back for another hour…", you said, standing up to look around camp. Your hand was still loosely holding Arthur's who was watching you in awe.

"We should make use of this", you grinned suggestively.

Arthur's Adam’s apple visibly bobbed as he swallowed.

"Ya sure? Y/N I didn't know you felt like this...", Arthur said, visibly flustered.

"Now you know", your cheeks were flushed from the confession.

You sat down on Arthur's lap, facing him. Arthur's hands immediately wandered to your hip, holding it in place while looking up to you. Slowly, you pulled out the edge of the shirt that Arthur had crammed into his jeans, undoing the work he had done only a minute ago. But Arthur didn’t mind that at all.

[imaginariumwanderer]

So I finished the latest story...

This is pretty horrifying from a cookie's perspective. One of cookiekind's main forms of happiness is their ability to express their various colorful flavors/personality. I suppose it's the same thing as tripping a living human of their sentient and individuality. Ego death. Leaving behind hollow flesh

We be committing unspeakable crimes against nature with this one✨

We be crumbling our colleagues while slowly losing our mind with this one✨

On another note, "eyecing" make its glorious return. I have no memory of it being used before the Mystic Flour update. Can anyone point out the other times it was used, if there's any?

????!!!!! OMG HIIII

MORE CJ PAWLIKOWSKI VOICE ACTING YES YES YES

Don't do it, don't give me hope...

I know he's the last to be released u don't need to tease me like that

So the other-space here clearly refer to the Dark side of the Moon, right? Is there any other-space I don't know about? Also, I guess this confirmed Shadow Milk is the only one able to do this astral projection thing. On one hand, it increases his chance of appearing a bit more before his own update, on the other hand, we most likely won't see the other Beasts having any talking-role any time soon

The implications here...

So the Beasts may likely have their own voices of their Light just like the Ancients does. And "Soul Jam"... Without an (s), Shadow Milk is specifically referring to his Soul Jam here, I can't believe my headcanon of the Light of Deceit/Knowledge whispering things to him is becoming true

It's a thing unique to Shadow Milk and not the other Beasts too. Interesting how both the voices of the Light of Truth and Deceit operate differently from the other Lights' (referring to the theory that the Light of Truth have never make an actual appearance since all instances of it in-game were all Shadow Milk's disguise)

... Clownage. Whelp! time to integrate that into my daily vocabulary!

Alright, so we got confirmation Smilk is not only aware of Dark Enchantress' plans but he's actively helping her out. Whenever he's oblivious to her other, secret plans (stealing the Beasts' Soul Jams) or he's aware and already have a counter measures to it though, is still up in the air.

My money is on the latter. Shadow Milk have shown time and time again he's way more knowledgeable than he let on. The way Dark Enchantress was depicted in his previous "play" does show us a certain level of... Appreciation(?) but who's to say he actually trusts her? It really does feel like a "I rub your back if you rub mine and then we'll backstab each other" kind of deal. Now I'm curious about the other Beasts' opinions on Dark Enchantress as well.

Where's Dark Enchantress anyways? We haven't seen her make any on-screen appearance in a while. I, um, I missed her a lot actually. I missed the diabolical meema

Laughing at Wind Archer cookie repeatedly telling Smilk to stfu from the moment they've met. He's saying what we've all been thinking

Also laughing at Shadow Milk basically only here to make cryptic riddles and mocks our Wind Archer. He really does have nothing better to do lol

Yeah that's right, FRIENDSHIP will save the day!

For real tho, tons of intriguing implications about the Ultimate Cookie with this one. I gotta mulls over them for awhile...

GUYS NEW SMILK'S SPRITE JUST DROPPED

HE'S ROLLING HIS EYES. HE'S SO DONE I'M DEAD

"In conclusion, this changed nothing!"

Kidding, kidding! I was getting real worried for Wind Archer there despite knowing full-well it's not crk's style to let something happen to a character unless they're a minor villain or an elderly *grinding my teeth trying not to bring up Elder Faerie again oops too late-*

The unexpected yet sweet moment of empathy Wind Archer have toward the Ultimate Cookie combined with the stunning animation toward the end were definitely my favorite part of this little adventure. Although I half-expected for him to have his magical girl transformation like White Lily and Dark Cacao right then and there-

"Beast-Yeast EP 5 coming soon to theaters near you! Remember to stay tuned, mkay? Okie dokie? Pinkie promiseee?"

[niyana-the-ambiguous-mobian]

As grim as it sounds, the way Mario and Luigi look at each other when the former holds out his hand to the latter feels like them both wordlessly accepting their fate if they don't lunge for the star in time: if they're gonna get engulfed in flames, then at least they're gonna die together (kinda like the incinerator scene from Toy Story 3 but if it was a millisecond long)

Just 👏 like 👏 the 👏 incinerator 👏 scene 👏 from 👏 TS3.

For real tho, that whole little scene before their star power-up says so much about these two and their deep bond.

For a split second, Mario thought he was a absolute goner until Luigi managed to step in with a freaking manhole cover and stop the blast,

and he looks so shocked and in awe that his little brother, his shy and timid brother who had flinched in fear at a crumbled up piece of paper being thrown at him earlier in the film, was now holding back a blast of fire with something heavy and twice his size in order to protect him.

(And mind you, even though he's wearing gloves, Bowser's fire is basically like dragon fire and the heat was probably starting to burn through the fabric and parts of his skin too since he had his face pressed up against it as well, but he still held strong against it even when the metal was starting to melt)

And as Luigi looks back at him, almost as if he's reading Mario's mind as to why he was crazy enough to do something like this, he merely answers, "Nothing can hurt us, as long as we're together".

The same exact words his brother said to him as an ease of comfort mere moments before they got separated within the tubes and was now using it again in the same manner in this moment of peril.

Knowing that whatever is going to happen, Mario accepts the fact that he isn't going to face it alone and reaches out his hand, full of determination and ready to face it head-on with him as the cover starts to give way.

And with that, Luigi takes his hand, masking the same look and full of courage before they take off towards the star before the flames surround them both.

Just like they both said, nothing can hurt them, as long as they're together .

Goddamn, I just....I can not get over this whole little scene, you guys. It speaks just wonders for the both of them.

[fernlessbastard]

Quackity's a workaholic.

He would spend nights working instead of sleeping, but eventually, when Las Nevadas was developed enough to mostly run itself, that it isn't just work. He could never truly sleep, never wanted to fall asleep, scared of his own mind when not focused on something, only sometimes pushing himself to rest through alcohol or pure exhaustion.

Wilbur on the other hand never had issues falling asleep. It came to him naturally, or maybe it was the constant exhaustion (especially after revival). He could never really sleep though. He would fall asleep, but not rest, half conscious most of the time, or experiencing terrible nightmares and waking up in the middle of the night.

Inspired by your recent art, Quackity would sometimes just stare at sleeping Wilbur. But, Wilbur would often stare at sleeping Quackity in the morning, admiring his lover when he's all soft and calm, and thinking of ways to surprise him with something nice when he wakes up. Maybe he should make him breakfast.

Ok so I love this cause I absolutely adore the "opposites attract" HCs with Q but it'd always be like "well they both definitely have sleep issues" but this is a way to have both and like that's a major slay

Three little hcs regarding their sleeping habits: 1. they both have a tendency to wake up when the other does, just automatically - they're just synchronised (most of the time at least one of them falls right back asleep tho); 2. Wilbur's weak sleep is significantly worse when Quackity's still working - like, he will finally come to bed and Wil's asleep but then Q sits down on the bed (quietly as fuck) and Wilbur's like "hey"; 3. they switch around their sleeping positions, but Wilbur absolutely loves being the small spoon - partly cause he's always cold, but mainly cause he wasn't held enough as a kid/hj

Aaaand in the spirit of the ask, a little headcanon that's tied up with this (plus more at the end):

Common one, but I'll elaborate - Quackity's warm, Wilbur's cold. So, of course Wilbur's cold after revival cause his body's kinda fucked up and all that. Quackity - for a normal human (or a normal animal hybrid I guess idk works with duck too) consistently has a pretty high body temperature. He prefers sleeping mostly undressed (maybe with shorts on but that's not a guarantee/lh), he usually has to unbutton his shirt a bit lower than standard (I mean he's also a whore but it's a 2 in 1 y'know), etc etc.

Now, with Schlatt that resulted in limited cuddling even in the honeymoon phase cause the other also had a higher body temperature, and they'd just end up sweaty and uncomfortable.

With Eret the relationship started with a generic, platonic, positive message ("you matter ♡ -Eret" which they gave out to people in general just as a nice gesture, but nothing romantic) and ended with Q alone at the altar, so it's probably safe to say that didn't really come up.

With Karl and Sapnap though his body temperature was both too much, and not enough - Sapnap, as a demon hybrid, was much warmer, so with him cuddling wasn't really the most comfortable long-term, and while Karl was slightly on the colder side, Quackity wasn't as warm as Sapnap, so Karl would mostly cling to the latter. They'd try to make it all "even", but the emotional and physical distance was still noticeable.

And then there's Wilbur.

In pogtopia they didn't really cuddle much, but whenever they touched shoulders or leaned against each other Quackity noticed that Wilbur would frequently lean in for just a second longer than normal. This came back 10x stronger after revival. With a lot of Wilbur's nerves and blood vessels fucked up, he's pretty cold most of the time. The first time they cuddle he absolutely sinks into the embrace, making a comment about how nicely warm the other is. Quackity doesn't expect it to hit him as hard as it does. He giggles, slightly flustered, and dismisses it as Wilbur just being colder. From then on it repeats, and soon enough Quackity returns the favour by unintentionally hitting Wilbur with something along the lines of "you're like, the perfect temperature". See, Wilbur's always been on the colder side. He'd hear comments about how cold his hands were - not to even mention post revival - and he never really thought much of it, until Quackity's comment just hit him like a ton of bricks, and he just felt so perfectly in place in Q's arms. They just form the perfect temperature equilibrium; not too warm, not too cold - just perfect.

Little bonus: Quackity starts occasionally taking a jacket or sth with him even though he doesn't need it but he knows Wilbur will probably get cold (and need a second jacket).

Another little bonus that connects this HC to a different one about Quackity having sensory issues. VERY tldr is that sometimes he just gets this intense physical discomfort in his limbs (AuADHD moment), and only way to lessen it is intense stretching, OOOORR using Wilbur as his personal ice bag. There'll be nights where Wilbur will try to move his foot cause "it's probably too cold and bothering Q" just for Quackity to "scold" him for moving it cause it was pressing perfectly into his calf and keeping him from losing his mind cause of sensory issues.

Also they both have food sensitivities, but Q's are more broad, and sometimes they'll spend hours arguing(/lovingly) over what to get on pizza, or when they go to a new food place sometimes Wilbur will just look at Quackity who's staring at the idk olives he accidentally ordered in his food (cause he didn't know the dish contained them) and he will just silently slide over his plate so that his boyfriend can peacefully pick all of them out and give them to Wilbur. When Wilbur encounters food sensitivities - say, in a restaurant - Quackity will go full Karen mode and make sure his boyfriend gets only the food he wants.

Continuing the topic of mental health, sometimes Wilbur will struggle with hygiene during depressive episodes, to which Quackity will either motivate him with showering together(/nsx), a shared bath, if he's doing worse, or in the worst case scenario he'll help him clean himself up with a damp cloth (no judgement, no comments even, just love and support)

[pedge-stuff]

it's not that kind of cold shower (pedro x gn/m!reader)

a/n: POLL RESULTS ARE IN... and this was the result! would y'all still be interested in a "pedro takes care of sick reader" fic, too?

(this story specifically comes at the request of two anons, who requested bathing/showering while sick, and emetophobia. I don't have much experience on the latter, so I apologize if it's incorrect??)

you knowwwwww it had to be the Dieter pic, tho.

as always, same vague universe as “marked.” drop a line if you have a sug.

summary: 2am on the bathroom floor.

——————————————————————————————————

You wake up alone.

This doesn’t register, at first. You roll over, running a hand over your face as you blearily open your eyes. You’ve gotten used to having a bed to yourself, with Pedro’s current production schedule. (Although the dogs always end up migrating from the foot of the bed in the middle of the night.)

Except, the bed beside you is still a little warm. Pedro is home— has been home, for two days now. He took a car straight from the Disney lot to LAX, and was on a flight to JFK about three hours after the voice work for Mando wrapped. Something about “needing to see his boy,” which he swore was Edgar, with a wink and a kiss blown over Facetime.

The room is dark, still, and quiet. But as you sit up, a sliver of light becomes noticeable under the crack of the bathroom door. You blink the last dredges of sleep away, waiting for him to finish his middle-of-the-night pee. It’s nice, having him here. Waking up beside him always kinda feels like a luxury; you savor it while you have it. His next job— some stupid commercial for a game on an app? He explained it twice but neither of you really understand it— doesn’t start until the end of the month. If you fall asleep before he finishes peeing, you’ll miss an opportunity to fall asleep wrapped around him. These are sacred in their scarcity, at the moment.

Except, the toilet never flushes. After a few long moments, you swing your legs over the side of the bed.

A quiet knock yields nothing. Frowning, you gently push the door open.

Knees to his chest, head propped backwards on the edge of the tub, Pedro is lying on the bathroom floor. His eyes are squeezed shut against the fluorescents.

“Baby,” you whisper, “Pedge, what’s going on?” You kneel down, rubbing a gentle thumb over his kneecap. He’s just in a t-shirt and boxers, the cold tile leaving his exposed calves littered with pinprick goosebumps.

Without opening his eyes, Pedro grimaces. “I dunno,” he says quietly, in a rasp that makes you wince. “Woke up feeling like this.”

“Nauseous?”

The muscle of his jaw twitches. “Hate throwing up.”

“I know, love, I’m sorry.” You bring your hand upwards, carding a few fingers through his hair before palming his forehead. Alarmed, you brush it with the back of your hand, as well. “You’re really burning up, Pedro, Jesus.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows reflexively, but says nothing. Then swallows again.

You reach for the closed lid of the toilet, before returning to your feet. “If you need to throw up, throw up. You’ll feel better afterwards.”

Busying yourself with filling a glass by the sink, you purposefully don’t look, attempting to give him some privacy. But he doesn’t move. Barely lifts his head up, when you offer the water. A sheen of sweat glistens on hollow of his throat, and the collar of his sleep shirt (yours, actually— some soft old 5k thing he always reaches for) is damp.  

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Thought I escaped the curse this time.”

The curse, of course, being your nickname for the way his body absolutely freaks out at the panic of having downtime. Without fail, every time he gets a break, he’s down with something— at best a cold, at worst, what was eventually dubbed the “shittiest Christmas present ever” last year. It’s like his immune system decides it’s on vacation, as well. You’ve started planning around it, blocking off the first few days he’s home just in case. After two days, though, it really seemed like he was in the clear.

Your train of thought is interrupted by the sounds of a grown man gagging. All you can do is kneel behind him, rubbing a hand softly down the length of his back. The muscles flex and tremble beneath as Pedro coughs and coughs. Any part of you that might have been grossed out, is eclipsed by concern. You can feel the heat of the fever through the thin cotton of his t-shirt.

When he finishes, you flush without looking while he reassumes his position against the tub. “M’sorry,” he says, after a sip of water. “Go back to sleep, I’m good.”

“Don’t apologize, and don’t be dumb.” You press a kiss to his shoulder before resting your cheek there for a moment. “You gonna puke again?”

His jaw clenches again. “I don’t think so?”

Abruptly, Pedro sits up, and you tense in anticipation of another round of heaving. Instead he reaches back, grabbing the collar of his shirt to tug it over his head. Lacking his usual gusto, he tosses it towards the hamper in the opposite corner of the bathroom, and misses spectacularly.

“I won’t tell the Lakers,” you tease, “if they call to offer a job.”

Pedro huffs a quiet laugh. “Snitches get stitches.”

“Real tough threat from the man on the bathroom floor.”  

He pouts. “You have to nice to me, I puked. I could be on my death bed.”

You press another kiss to his shoulder; the skin is clammy. “America’s Peepaw Pedro Pascal Found Dead at 47, In Bathroom Like Elvis But Way Less Cool. Turn to A7 for story.”

“Now who sounds old! Who reads celebrity death announcements in tabloid magazines anymore?” The joking puts you at ease, a little. He is less green in the gills than he was when you found him, although the tops of his cheeks are still flushed with fever. It seems like he has to convince himself to reopen his eyes after every blink; his eyelids rest at half-mast.

“Mm. You got me there, I guess. Do you feel okay enough to go back to bed?”

Pedro runs a hand across his chest. “Think I might need to rinse off first.”

He braces himself on the edge of the tub, and you reach out a hand to steady him as he slowly rises to his feet. If his knees audibly crack, well, you didn’t hear anything.

Pulling off your own sleep shirt (his, also stolen; some old Fleetwood Mac shirt that hangs to your fingertips), you tuck it into the towel rack, and move to turn the shower on.

“What are you doing?” The invalid has paused changing with his boxers halfway down, in a way that would be so fucking funny if it wasn’t equally, achingly endearing.

“You are leaning on the counter to stand up right now. I’m not gonna let you slip and fall to your actual death in the shower.”

He looks down at his own hand in betrayal as you adjust the water to an acceptable lukewarm— not so cold as to be unbearable, but cool enough that it might take the edge off the fever. Pedro frowns mournfully as you step out of your own boxers.

You roll your eyes. “We will do this again when you can enjoy it.”

The shower is plenty big enough for the two of you, and you position yourself behind him, legs splayed, arms wrapped around his waist. Cheek smushed between his shoulder blades, close enough to let the warmth of his skin deflect the chill of the water.

It’s not really a shower for washing. Moreso a “stand under the water until you feel human again” type of rinse. But you twist anyways for the body wash Pedro likes, when you are sure he isn’t about to faint into the glass door. He sighs as you rub the gel across his shoulders, reaching around to wash the sweat from his chest and stomach. It does something to you, having him here— within arm’s reach, pliable, soft with sleep. Comfortable beside you.

You stay there awhile, letting the water wash over you, until you feel him sway, ever so slightly.

“Love,” you say softly.

“Mm?”

“Are you falling asleep?”

Pedro reaches blindly for the handle, twisting until the spray subsides. You place a kiss to the wet center of his back. Revel, one last time, in the feeling of his body against yours, before you hand him his towel.

There is a coordinated, albeit wearily measured, return to bed. Pedro foregoes a new shirt, choosing instead to fall face-first on top of the rumpled duvet. You track down some Tylenol PM, with fingers crossed that maybe this is just a 12-hour thing. But, just in case, the bathroom waste basket is also placed beside the bed.

Finally, you slip beneath the comforter, maneuvering your patient until he is at least partially covered as well. And then, in turn, allow him to manipulate you into precisely the position he wants to be held: your face tucks into the damp, curling hair at the base of his neck, arm wrapped snug around the middle of his torso, legs entangled.

In the morning, you’ll deal with the next hurdle. Hopefully not the next hurl. But for now, you sleep.

[atyd1960]

The more I think about it the more I'm confused about Snape's so called "redemption arc":

We don't know much about his years at Hogwarts outside of the time James hanged him from his underwear and he called Lily a Mudblood, but we know that:

1. He had a disdain for Muggles ever since he was born or at least ever since he was 10 y/o bc that's when he meets Lily and Petunia and treats the latter like garbage.

2. He was friends with Mulciber and Avery- known death eaters, especially Mulciber who we know was particularly close with Baldy due to the time he came to Hogsmede with him for his job interview with dummydore.

From that we can assume that he was a witness and a participant in A Lot of hate crimes against Muggle Borns ever since he was a minor. One of which was the time Mary was the victim.

3. We know HE invented the spell James used to hang him from his panties, which must mean that he used it against others, probably muggle borns, and his DE friends must've used it as well.

4. We know he invented the spell Sectumsempra to use against his enemies?? (Sorry it's been a while since I read the books I don't remember the exact quote.) and his enemies are almost certainly the Marauders. Also maybe his dad but that's a discussion for another day.

5. We know he was one of Baldy's dearest death eaters, even tho he was a Half-Blood with no status and no connections, which means he definitely did a lot of horrific things to Muggles and Muggle borns and the members of the Order of Phoenix.

6. We know he heard Trelawney's prophesy after eavesdropping in a bar, and immediately ran to Baldy with it. He knew that by telling Baldy about the prophecy an innocent baby will be killed, and he didn't give a shit. I cannot stress enough how much that information in vital for his character. Taking a baby's life so that Baldy might give him a sit closer to him by the table. And nothing would've happened to him if he shut his mouth and didn't go to Baldy. He didn't have his life or even his status\loyalty on the line. He just sacrificed this anonymous innocent baby for kicks and giggles.

7. The only point in which he cared about his actions was when Lily's life was on the line. This wanker really didn't care that he just gave Baldy (a man who made it his life' mission to kill Lily and the likes of her) a reason to kill Lily's son and husband, who were practically her only source of joy while she fought against his people in the war. He just wanted the girl he slurred and stalked and mistreated in high-school to live with all her friends and family dead. And thought he was doing something good. I don't even know how to begin to describe how fucked up that is.

8. He went to Dummydore and asked him to save her. After he got her, her husband and her kid to be under an even worse constant death threat than they were before because of Lily's blood status and their participant in the order. And after he spent the last 3-4 years killing Lily’s friends and the people who share her blood status.

9. That was also the point in which he offered himself to be a double spy right?? Again real heroic of him to risk his life after all the shit he did because he was in love with a girl whose life he ruined. He never cared about all the shit he did and all the people he murdered and he never actually wanted to help innocent people or do good by the world or even by Lily.

10. After Baldy died for the first time and the first war ended, Harry had nobody left, and Dummydore put him with Petunia and Vernon. Snape knew better than anyone else what the Dursleys will do to Harry. He knew everything, and he didn't do shit. Not only did he not do shit, but he also made things worse for Harry by bullying and harassing him since the moment he stepped foot in the castle.

11. Extending on the last point- Snape bullied, harassed, abused, mistreated and discriminated against students at Hogwarts ever since he started teaching there, I'm not gonna start elaborating on all the times he did those things because that would take a different essay of similar length.

12. Yeah I don't really know what to add here? That's pretty much it I think.

So to conclude: am I really expected to forgive him because he loved Lily and had a hard time with James when they were 16 and he spied for Dummydore for a bit?? Being a loser in middle school and then becoming a double spy doesn’t make up for… anything. Especially since he never stopped being a terrible person.

[swannieluv]

｡ﾟ･The Bold Mendacity - 𝟕. Like mother, like son.

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐆.𝐈 𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 (𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜) 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 <3

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐜: 2,7k

✦⸼࣪⸳ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆!!: Description of poverty, a bit of self-degreding(?), flood.

✦⸼࣪⸳𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨: ♡

✦⸼࣪⸳ A/N: Hiii. Hope you enjoy the chapter, I guess this chapter's the one I put more effort into until now. I thought it was interesting to play with perspectives so... I also think my writing has been getting better along with the chapters, not sure tho. Reblogs and comments would be highly appreciated <3

Life definitely wasn't easy for the poor, this lesson was learnt by Freminet from a young age. While Fontaine was characteristic for the wealthy who would throw banquets and squander their lavish lifestyles as if it was a trend, there was the poor worker class who lived with nothing but the spares of what was supposed to be “human rights”.

But for Freminet, it wasn't an inconvenience as long as and his mother were together. The latter would spend most of her time working outside while Freminet was left to the loneliness of the small cubicle, making sure their poor house wouldn't flood with the water that entered through the countless holes in the ceiling because of the intensity and cruelness of Fontaine's rain to the poorest. It was his role to take care of the house while his mother was away.

They didn't have the financial conditions to buy new furniture – though he didn't know the reason; no mother would have the heart to expose their child to the cruel reality – so most of the ones in their home were repaired by Freminet when he was bored.

He would always be waiting for her to come through the front door, holding the just repaired objects she would bring home everyday. Objects that never were seen again by Freminet. Yet if his mother was happy with it, he would bear a smile for her too.

Though he was a rather obedient child, Freminet would often find himself wanting to explore the underwater. His mother didn't have anything against his hobby of diving.

Even if she didn't have the time to take him diving more than once in a week and the lack of money to invest in his abilities, his mother never once tried to shut Freminet out of his passion, making sure her son had a life in which he could be happy.

A child shouldn't suffer because of their parents' mistakes, right?

She many times thought of leaving Freminet behind and Fontaine behind. Her dream had always been living abroad, after all. If she did run away, her life would begin from the start somewhere like the places in the postcards she so carefully kept inside the old drawer.

On the other hand, those feelings were always buried and forgotten whenever she met those innocent blue eyes again. While one could consider Freminet as a living chain she was bound to, there was no doubt Camille was happier than ever since her son's birth.

And so his mother, Camille, worked harder and got to buy him the diving equipment he needed. She knew that their situation demanded her to save money, she had to save as much as she could so as to give Freminet a chance to escape this hell hole of a life.

So on the top shelf, out of her son's reach, was a pot of coins labeled as “Fremi’s dreams”. Every single cent she could spare was kept safe so Freminet could have a small portion of the childhood he deserved, saving enough money to realize whatever wishes Freminet kept for himself.

It should have been like that. But joy is short-lived in a poor person's house, especially if you live in a bad location.

Camille worked as a waitress in a local restaurant in Fontaine. Getting paid enough to survive, but not to live comfortably. The amount of stress she had to undergo just so she could raise Freminet and pay the debt left behind by his father was admirable.

It was just the usual working day for her, who was greeted with the scorching sun rays as soon as she stepped out home. How would she know there was going to be such a storm when the skies were cloudless?

Her soaked figure had just reached the front door before hesitantly turning the doorknob with her calloused fingers; a feeling of dread in her throat as soon as she stepped inside. What met Camille wasn't her joyful son with a new repaired object, but a crying one, and water.

In Freminet's arms were countless coins he so hard tried to save from the water’s way. His eyes were red as he hiccupped; the poor child was scared.

A hole in their ceiling made the rainwater leak all the way to their small living room, flooding it alongside with the other rooms. There wasn't something such as a hole this big before, so her eyes widened as she noticed the consequences of it.

The broken part of the ceiling had fallen exactly on their shelves, exactly on the coin pot. Almost six years of hard work were lost in a blink of an eye, the water taking it all away as the coins passed through her feet.

Freminet was crying not because of the water, but because he had failed his mother. His only duty while she was out was to take care of the house, and look what happened. His hot tears getting cold with the cruel raindrops that fell on his face.

So with a tear-stained face and a shaken smile, her words to the poor boy were:

“I'm sorry, Freminet.”

There were few occasions in which his mother would take him to have some fun outside of those moldy walls.

Freminet was on the way to the temple, holding his mother's hand tightly as he would always be told to do. The face of the woman beside him carried a bit of bitterness.

With his child innocence, he couldn't understand the reason behind her constant nervousness and worry. But if there was one thing about his mother that Freminet strongly believed, is that she had the best of intentions and should always be trusted.

Freminet knew exactly where they were going: to the Temple once again for food. He had never quite understood why they needed to wait in line for hours before getting a small portion of basic aliments, instead of going to the market like the families he used to see through the window.

“Stay by my side, will you? I know you're a good boy, Freminet."

Her soft smile was enough to reassure him through the bad moments, just like the sun after rain. Freminet's mother was his world, she was his solace, his abode. The only one who cared about him when the world seemed to have forgotten them.

“Yes… I'll stay here with you and won't go far.”

And so they crossed the Temple's silver gates along the small crowd of injured and hungry Fontaineans. From afar, one could see the volunteers preparing themselves to attend to all those people's needs as they could. There weren't any melusines, something he found odd since they're always present in Fontaine's ambience.

As usual, everyone formed a line and waited. Freminet wasn’t one to complain about things; so when he does, it's because he definitely feels it. The only word he could come up with to describe the situation was: boring.

Freminet put a hand on his pocket; his finger met with the cold metal of nails and other small gears he had. His hand touched the surface of something he repaired earlier: a mechanical dog small enough to fit in a hand. He thought of giving it to his mother when they go home, believing she would be proud of him for being able to fix it up.

Although what he saw when looking at her was the poor woman's pale face. It absolutely startled Freminet; his mother was the strongest person he knew, so what could be so dreadful to cause this effect on her?

Camille took a deep breath before putting a smile on her face, betrayed by the shakiness of the hands she put on his shoulders. Freminet's mother then met his level and whispered for him in a calm, yet commanding, voice:

“Freminet, mommy's just going to have a chat with an old friend. Okay?”

Just as Freminet's lips parted so as to form a sentence, she had gone. He was left alone, nervous to know what was happening and why his mother left like this. It was when he saw someone in the corner of his vision, a child coming his way.

He froze in place. Freminet had been taught so as to not stare at people and leave as soon as someone he didn't know tried any contact with him. However, he didn't know where to go. So what should he do? Stay or run to wherever he could?

The more Freminet thought, the more anxious he got. His hands started sweating from his nervousness until he finally took the decision to run. His mother wouldn't mind him disobeying if that meant he was safe, or so he thought.

As he rushed through the people, his eyes found an escape route. One of the doors to one of the gardens was left open by someone. For him, the outside would be the perfect hiding spot since he could just climb a tree or hide in the tall grass.

Was it stupid to run away from a child? Maybe. But who could blame poor Freminet when he was that nervous?

His plan was simple: stay hiding behind one of the marble pillars; and if they tried to go after him, he would run again somewhere else. This way, he would know his way back to his mother and be safe again. It was supposed to be a good plan, except that he didn't expect for the other child to suddenly fall in the lake.

He walked to the lake's edge, waiting to see if they would just emerge from inside the waters or not. From what he was seeing, the lake was too shallow for one to drown. His hands fidgeted as he tried to get a better look on where they were.

Why weren't they coming out?

Freminet thought carefully before entering the lake. His mind echoed his mother's teachings on how helping someone else was a good thing, if that didn't mean putting his life in danger. He was disobeying her for the first time in his life, wasn't he?

And that was likely his best decision in life.

Back at home, Freminet looked through the window once again. But he wasn't lonely, he now had someone to talk to, the child he saved was now his first friend ever. That meant his trips to the temple with his mother were not going to be as boring as before, and he was anxiously waiting for the next one for the first time.

“Fremi?”

His mother's tender voice caught his attention; he had been working harder to help her in order to make up for the stress he put her through at the temple. She didn't get mad or anything at him, as she understood his side when he explained his reasoning to run.

In her hands was a plate with hard bread to eat so as to not let him go to bed with an empty stomach. It was the best she could bring from work, even though she herself would stay hungry until the next day. He couldn't help but notice her thin frame, a consequence of her selfless nature. She then left the room before he could say anything, looking slightly shaken.

One of the most common mistakes of a parent is to think their child is oblivious to their suffering. Freminet wasn't dumb, he could notice her sadness hidden under her small smiles and silence.

So he spent the next day fixing an old pendant his mother had found on the way back home some other day. It was a mystery to them on how it worked, so it had been left to dust on the same shelf the coin pot used to be.

“Mom!”

He ran excitedly to the front door, hugging her before she could even take off her boots. In one of his hands was the pendant he had been so eager to fix, now clean and working. It was the thing that took him the longest to adjust.

“I fixed it for you.”

Her face lit up at the sight of the pendant. Camille had thought her son had just given up on that thing, he even said to himself that it was too difficult to fix. Yet, she kept it due to how pretty the pendant looked like.

“It's… thank you, Freminet.”

It seemed like all her stress simply disappeared. Her arms embraced him in a warm hug as she felt like crying, but one of her principles was to not cry in front of Freminet. She would never do it, not in a happy moment.

As the first musical notes started coming out of the object, she couldn't stop thinking about how gifted Freminet was when it came to dealing with mechanical stuff. A part of her felt guilty for how she had been exploiting his abilities without his knowledge, but she couldn't help when it was a way to get more money.

They spent their time there, by the door, listening to the melody coming from the pendant. At the sight of Freminet's happiness, she could help but smile. But this time, it wasn't a fake one to appease him or anything; her smile was genuine.

Freminet's mother was everything to him; his pride and joy of every single day. Seeing her in front of him with a smile on her face is what keeps him going every single day.

“Mom… I made a friend.”

“A friend…” she repeated his words with a surprised tone, “that's awesome, Freminet.”

She kissed his forehead before bringing him closer, hands caressing his head ever so delicately.

“You have a friend now, and that's better than anything else. You don't need to make many friends, but have trustworthy ones.

“Mom’s happy for you, Freminet. You can always count on me to help you, and remember: friends should always trust and care for each other.”

So now that Freminet has a friend, he'll do just like his mother said and make sure to take care of her friend. He'll try his best, even when his shyness makes it impossible for him to do something; he'll be there for them.

“[Name]?”

Their fingers unconsciously went to their throat. The day they lost their head wasn't something easy to forget no matter how much they've tried, the feeling of humiliation and hatred that boiled inside their veins would never be forgotten. Maybe if they had the courage to run away—

“Why are you crying?”

Freminet carefully approached them, holding the flower crown he had previously made in his hands. He might not know the circumstances behind their tears, but he tried to understand them.

Seeing he was met with no answer, he just placed the flower crown on their head. The daisies adorned their hair perfectly, it suited [Name] as if it was truly made especially for them. Maybe it was, not that Freminet had the courage to say it.

But what was more fitting was their meaning: new beginnings. A new life should be lived without fear from your last one, so why should they stay chained to the guillotine? It's easier said than done, even more with the circumstances around their death.

The flower crown was a painful reminder that they should be living this new life at their fullest, so why weren't they? [Name] felt like a caged dove for all their lives, but never once they had the will to change their destiny. It was quite hypocritical of them.

Freminet couldn't say [Name] didn't have their flaws, everyone does. But what bothered him the most was the way they tried to dismiss their feelings as if they weren't important.

And so he gathered all the courage inside of him and gave them a hug. His face wasn't embarrassed this time, but peaceful. He would help his friend just like his mother said, giving pats on their back as they sobbed on his shoulder.

“Let's celebrate your birthday while watching the fireworks. Okay?”

Freminet may be shy and a bit awkward, but deep inside he had a big heart and a weight to carry on his shoulders. A storm can destroy him, but as long as the people he cherish are well, he'll be fine. Even if that meant sacrificing his own happiness.

So even if his only worth lied on tinkering with mechanics or in the little diving he did when he could, Freminet wanted to try and go out of his shell.

Because just like everyone else, Freminet had his faults. And his main one was innocence, painfully reminded by the daisies he plucked from the ground with his bare hands.

[idledearest]

i can just imagine in miss holloween they do enjoy trick or treating but hate the fact that they have to be "child-things" to probably blend in better, to their dismay bc they completely despise and loathe children.

so taking the form of one is nothing but an insult and an offense to their greatness. (especially wiggly, after having to deal with hannah in black friday. pokey against her in yellow jacket)

i also like to imagine they DID try going trick or treating as adults or at least in their mascot forms but that either; the former, got them weird and judgemental looks from parents for thinking these grown ass men are concerningly greedy and rabid for treats and demanding to have it all which lead to them getting doors slammed shut in their faces. queue the gruesome and in-depth death threats and feral shouting from the LiB until they got bored and moved on. of course, pokey, not satisfied, would take it too far, which then got the cops involved and wiggly had to reel him in once again.

or, the latter, traumatised children and gave them nightmares and had the police called on them for causing a public disturbance. which was super fun for them but ultimately didnt get them any goodies in the end. at least they got a "serial killer" mascots hoax thing going on. it's always fun to cause paranoia and fear, especially on halloween.

of course they had to deal with the cops in each scenario but for once, they want no interruptions whatsoever. after all, they're reasonable gentlemen and are keen to a moment of peace.. for themselves only.

so, frustratingly, they had to settle with the typical child trick or treaters schtick. but hey, at least they can get away with causing trouble like property damage and burning shit in halloween because theyre just "innocent kids".

one thing tho is they still definitely sound and talk the same as they usually do, which would be funny just hearing deep, unhinged, abnormal and raspy voices coming from these forms.

[butch-reidentified]

ima go ahead n answer both these at once if that's good w yall.

here's the referenced post for anyone who missed it.

I've posted a LOT about adoption before. feel free to search #adoption, #ethical adoption, #adoptee or #adopted, etc in my tags for those posts. if you can't find them bc Tumblr is shit at searching lmk and I will try to dig em up. I have a Google doc of organized/categorized Tumblr links because of the search function being such a joke

anyway that said. what I meant is that it is sooo obvious to most adoptees from a young age that it's a consumer industry and we are a product for sale. most of us who always knew we were adopted have that horrifying realization very very young, far too young to know how to deal with it. yes I am glad when other people figure this out too but it's a bit irritating for non adoptees to act like this is some mystical wisdom they alone could've uncovered when it's part of the trauma inherent to adoption to realize you were purchased 🤷

I'm not against adoption like some adoptees are, but I could write ESSAYS on my criticisms of the industry and how it SHOULD work. in fact, I have written essay length posts about it in the tags listed above. but ultimately nobody gives a fuck & NOBODY of any political orientation wants to hear that adoption perhaps isn't the utterly selfless flawless silver bullet solution to unwanted kids that everyone treats it as. yet statistically we KNOW most adoptees are extremely damaged by it, the research is there but nobody talks about it. nobody likes you if you talk about it. the walls go up real quick.

one of my favorite things is how adoption seems to be the ONE area that absolutely nobody respects lived material experience about. even loads of leftists/radfems who are always going on and on about the importance of listening to people's real, lived experiences will aggressively talk over us adoptees if we dare have the audacity to critique adoption/the adoption industry or acknowledge that it's fuckin traumatic even for an infant being yanked away from the only stimuli you knew for 9 months and put somewhere where you can't recognize yourself in anyone or anything for the next 18+ years. and that's best case scenario! scenario where they don't abuse you or spend your childhood guilt tripping you because they oh so selflessly took you in when nobody wanted you and now look how difficult you are, crying all the time n shit... just as 1 common experience I know many share from my own life and talking to other adoptees.

but nearly every time we try to talk about this, even if it has nothing to do with criticizing the adoption industry and we are JUST tryna get painful shit off our chest, some non adoptee or 8 is/are gonna jump down our throat (and often even say all the same shit our parents guilted us with as kids lmao)

it's also 1000% a feminist issue bc SO many mothers are forced into adopting out a kid they wanna keep, or adoption being available is used to justify forcing women to give birth instead of aborting an unwanted pregnancy when those women would otherwise choose the latter. not to mention the designer baby shit & the preference for white male babies... and the fact that it's human beings being literally sold as a good. Just because it's legal and isn't outright sex slavery or "forced labor" (tho adopted kids are so often viciously abused and often in those exact ways) doesn't make it right to buy or sell a human being, doesn't make it not human trafficking. & I say this as an adoptee who was ALSO trafficked as a teenager.

[lesbiankordian]

Parallels between Bungou Stray Dogs and Divine Comedy

I believe that in the current chapters Asagiri is purposely sneaking in parallels to Dante Alighieri's Divine Comedy. This post will cover the similarities and possible references between bsd's current arc and that book. At first I thought the Meursault prison corresponds to Hell, but now I believe it's actually Purgatory.

Introduction

Similarities

Final thoughts

Divine Comedy (in which the author - Dante - made himself the main character) talks about one's path to breaking free from sin and their growth as a person. It's divided into three parts: Hell, Purgatory and Paradise. During the first two parts, Dante's guide is Virgil (Beatrice comes at the end of Purgatory). In Hell they're going downwards, to the lower circles; in Purgatory they're going upwards, to the higher terraces.

The difference between those two places is that in Hell the souls are suffering endless tortures for their sins, meanwhile in Purgatory they're atoning for them and will eventually leave that place. Depending on what we think is more similar to what's happening in the Meursault prison, we could either interpret it as Hell or Purgatory.

As I said, I believe that it's Purgatory, as the characters are going up, starting from the lowest floor, and that journey helps them (Sigma and Dazai) to grow as a person.

When it comes to Fyodor, I'm not so sure. His goal is to get rid of the abilities, which he compares to a sin. This point acts more as an argument for the Meursault prison, or even his arc overall, to be Hell (not that it's like Hell for him, but more like that's how he thinks of the current events other characters are going through), as his idea of making the ability users free of the the sin is killing them and that's nothing like Purgatory. One could argue tho, that it is similar to the latter, because he wants to release the people from the sin, his idea how to do it and methods are just different.

His character and ability are based on Crime and Punishment and that's literally what Dante's Hell is - endless punishment for one's sins. Moreover, Fyodor sees himself as the God's subordinate and Divine Comedy talks about the souls' sufferings because of their wrongdoings to God. It also talks about Dante's path to getting closer to God (metaphorically and literally), and Fyodor thinks of himself as someone between God and the people.

This analysis won't focus on him, but I wanted to point out the (important) religious themes in both of the stories.

What's also interesting is that Dazai and Fyodor (as the most dangerous ability users) had their cells located on the lowest level - similarly to Hell, where the worst people, traitors, were at the lowest ring. Although Dazai is a traitor to the PM, I don't think he parallels those from Dante's work, as they were meant to symbolize that betrayal is bad, but Asagiri shows that what Dazai did was good for him. They correspond to them in their "lack" of humanity and various commited crimes.

Now more of the similarities!

1. Briareus

Purgatory, Canto XII; bsd chapter 98

The prison officer's nickname is "Hundred ability Briareus". In Greek mythology Briareus is one of the Hundred-Handers, who helped Zeus and the Olympians to overthrow the Titans.

Quick comparison to bsd: while bsd! Briareus gets killed by a person who's "working" for a prisoner, og Briareus eventually becomes a guard of those he was fighting against.

Briareus is also a character in Divine Comedy. He has two appearances: in Hell he's a giant inhabitating the Ninth Circle; in the first terrace of Purgatory he's one of the giants whose sin was pride. I'll focus on the latter, as it's more similar to the scene from chapter 98.

Dante's Briareus is a sympol of pride and bsd!Briareus says how powerful he is. Moreover, they're both more or less carved into the ground / wall (Dante's Briareus as a form of penance, bsd!Briareus by Chuuya's ability) of the first terrace / floor.

That would mean the Meursault prison is our Purgatory.

(more under the cut)

That scene also reminds me of the beginning of the Fifteen light novel, where Chuuya is really confident in his ability and makes fun of PM for being weak - interesting how he's the one to meet and kill Briareus (in Divine Comedy the meetings help Dante to become free of the sins). Also, the PM member from Fifteen is rather scared of Chuuya and shows him no respect, as opposed to the prison officer.

2. Flames and separation

In Canto XXVII, so almost at the end of Purgatory, Dante has to go through the flames in order to go to Paradise. Virgil can't come with him, as he's not Christian. Instead, he encourages Dante and reminds him of his free will.

In chapter 106.5 Sigma and Dazai also are in a situation involving flames, and even tho none of them actually go through them, they split up - Dazai doesn't leave the lift. Just like Dante and Virgil.

That, and the fact that a big part of Sigma's character is about being used (so not having free will) makes me believe they're paralleling Dante, making Dazai Virgil, their guide through the prison.

Sigma is in the process of finding themselves - similarly to Dante, who with the help of Virgil learns truths about love, good and bad, etc. This heavily reminds me of the conversation from chapter 105.5 about why Dazai chose them and his relationship with ADA.

Here's a comparison of their conversations:

After Dante goes through the flames and leaves Virgil, he sees the march of the Church, and Sigma may find Fyodor in the next chapters. Moreover, Beatrice says the Church is divided and sinful. The people are going into the direction of the tree of knowledge of good and evil (the tree that Eve and Adam got their apple from). Fyodor's view on the world really fits that description, take dead apple and the manifestation of his ability as an example.

3. Water

In Canto XXXI (where Beatrice is the guide) Dante goes through the waters of the river Lethe, which makes him forget his past sins. In XXXIII (the last part of Purgatory) Dante dips in Eone and becomes fully purified.

That obviously reminds me of Fyodor and Chuuya, and then Sigma and Dazai, drowning.

Chuuya - he's currently a vampire (who, because of that, might not remember his past for now - Lethe?). Both the transition to a vampire and being dipped in water have metaphorical meanings involving changing as a person. That situation, along with Dazai's words, could have helped him gain consciousness, at least for a second (you know the whole "his eyes were back to normal" thing), and "cleanse" him from the vampirism. Moreover, in his speech Dazai talked about their relationship, and the one who was by Dante's side when he went through Lethe was Beatrice, his lover. She also talked about love (Canto XXX) and Dazai's farewell was really emotional and more authentic than what he usually says. (Of course I'm not saying they're lovers, just pointing out the similarities)

Sigma - before drowning in Meursault, there was a different panel that showed them being in water. Fyodor talked there about Sigma's loneliness in this world - is Sigma's amnesia similar to Dante going through Lethe? (Or: before coming into Purgatory, Dante had to be washed, because he had to leave his worldly life behind. I think that fact corresponds to Sigma's life even more). Then we got the recent chapters where Dazai saves Sigma. I didn't find many "cleansing" themes in that scene, except for that panel, which reminds me of baptism (it cleanses the person from sins and is done with water):

What we can also get from these similarities is that Dazai doesn't necessarily have to correspond to Virgil, but also Beatrice, another guide.

4. Dreams

Throughout his journey, Dante has dreams that help him understand things better in one way or another. In one of them he sees Beatrice, who I already compared to Dazai. Atsushi "hallucinated" as well, in chapter 105. In that vision he sees Dazai who makes / motivates him to move. Atsushi's much like Dante as well - they both are on a journey to become a better version of themselves, but also idealise their mentors.

5. Ango

Just like the spirit, Ango is helping Dazai and Sigma to go through the prison (upwards). Dazai also calls him an 'angel'.

Purgatory, Canto XVII; bsd chapter 101

6. Mykola

The game Fyodor, Dazai and Sigma are playing was made by Mykola. One of the most famous works of the real Mykola Hohol is Dead souls, which some believe that he wanted it to be the Russian Divine Comedy. The book was meant to be a trilogy, but only one volume (that was meant to correspond to Dante's Hell) was created. I even found a reference to it, in which Chichikov (the main character) is compared to Dante:

That point acts more as an argument for the game to be Hell, not Purgatory, but the relatedness to Divine Comedy is there. Or maybe it's more that Mykola wants the game to be like Hell, not Purgatory - either for Fyodor or Dazai, it's supposed to end in death. The other one's experience would be like Purgatory, tho, as he'd successfully leave the prison.

Or maybe, it's his journey that he wants to be like Chichikov and Dante's (since he wants to become free). Either way, that person is supposed to go through Purgatory later.

Also, does it mean the game is going to end before it was supposed to? If it hasn't already.

edit: more similarities in the reblogs!!

To sum up, I think one character doesn't have to correspond to just one person from Divine Comedy - and vice versa. Dazai is Virgil, but at the same time Beatrice, another guide, and also has some parts of Dante - he grows and goes through the Purgatory.

We don't have only one Dante - both Sigma and Atsushi share his traits and both go through their own paths to knowing themselves better (with the help of Dazai, too).

Bram and Aya's relationship is the one where, in my opinion, the levels of danteness and virgilness are most equal. Aya is Bram's guide, literally caries him on her back, but also shows him modern technology. Bram also helps Aya and guards her. Not to mention, they're at the highest part of the airport now, which means they have gone upwards.

I argued the Meursault prison is Purgatory, but I also found some similarities to Hell. It can be that it shares both of their traits, maybe depending on a character and what's happening to them.

The question is: is Asagiri writing this arc with so many similarities to Divine Comedy on accident or on purpose? Because if it was just the themes and archetypes that were alike, I wouldn't ask this question, but some of the things I listed are too resembling of Dante's work for me, especially Briareus and what happened in the lift. Not to mention real Hohol's connection to Divine Comedy.

If you have thoughts on this subject, please share! I've spent so much time thinking about this, I don't know anymore if I've gaslighted myself into thinking Asagiri must be doing it on purpose or not (but at the same time!! the similarities!!!). Yes, Dante is way older than every bsd author, but 1) we also have Shakespeare and 2) I believe it's a reference to Divine Comedy as a book, not that he'll be a new character (it'd be so cool tho). But even if it's not Asagiri's conscious doing, the similarities are still very interesting and I enjoyed looking for them.