#something something dog devotion metaphor

[dilfspitdrinker]

reminder that Tess made that man her dog. Joel answered to her, she called all the fucking shots, he listened and protected her. She had him handled, trained, leashed. Joel was Tess’ guard dog and everyone knew it too.

[fatallyaddictedtofiction]

Let me consume all the dog metaphors

[azullumi]

“of impermanence and devotion to your sacred withering bones” ; sunday

premise — he’ll take pieces out of his flesh to mold into your wounds, bandaging you with his skin; he never liked seeing you hurt.

tags — established relationship, religious themes and metaphors, soft and loving sunday (i advocate), mix of the lovely trio (the fluff, the slight angst, and the comfort), reassurance from him, gender-neutral reader, never proofread, 1.1k ; one-shot

note — my parents chose thought daughter so now i’m writing fanfics on a thursday afternoon.

he’ll love you like religion.

needlessly, tirelessly, with bruised knees and bleeding palms, with blood-shot eyes and clasped fingers, worshiping, devoting, yearning, calling to whoever will listen—to you who will listen. it suffocates him yet he’ll clench at his chest and utter your name even if there’s no voice in his being and he is left like a pathetic, whimpering dog that was made to be abandoned. he’ll dig his own grave with broken nails and wounded hands, a coffin of tender touches, and the earth will fill his lungs and he’ll hope for flowers to sprout from his mouth when he plants his confession into the dirt. can you hear him? do you hear him?

“please take care of yourself more.” sunday says as he reaches for the bottle of disinfectant, pouring enough of it over the cloth he was holding to drench it before gently dabbing the fabric on the area of your wound. it stings and you hissed, clenching the sheets beneath your fingers as you watch him work.

“i only fell and scraped my knee, i don’t think it’s anything that bad.” you say in defense to your clumsiness. sunday was all gentle and careful in cleaning and treating the wound on your knee as if you were a child and he was the nurse tending to your ‘big’ wound.

(a god does not bleed but you do.)

he sighs, “it could have been worse.” and dresses your wound with a gauze, the material pristine white as no blood taints the material.

“but it wasn’t.” you rebut quite quickly, your gaze firm at his yet he doesn’t meet yours. he is kneeled in front of you, an open kit by his side and a chair on his other—and he chooses to be on the cold ground, his clothing slightly wrinkled and its appearance similar to spilled water on the floor beneath him. he never dares let himself appear as indecent with his disordered clothes and unkempt appearance in the form of an unsymmetrical coat and creased pants but here he is, in all his glory and messiness, laid out like the map of a devotee’s heart before you.

(he’ll beg even for a moment of your gaze but his cowardice will hold his head down to the ground—he is never like this, he was never his own when you look at him.)

“what could have happened if i wasn’t there to immediately help you? you’re too careless.” he scolds yet there’s no hint of harshness in his voice, just gentle and sweet worry lacing into his tone. something lies, seemingly dormant, in the still air that embraces you and he finds himself waiting for something to happen.

“sunday, it’s just a small wound. you don’t have to worry, i’m fine.” you assure him, hand cupping the side of his cheek and brushing your thumb over his cheekbone—it’s soft and slow, you feel warm, he feels warm. he leans into your touch, your hand soothing the tension that lies in his bones and his expression softens. silence settles in the room as he basks in the gentle affection that is bestowed on him. he holds your hand he turns his head to kiss the palm of it; his eyes are close and his lips lingered on your skin, comforting, relishing, soft, you.

“i have a question but before that, can you look at me, please?”

“i am,” he whispers, his lips beginning to trace your palm down to your pulse, all the while he keeps his gaze away and shut, “and my love, you never have to beg or plead for anything.” you know he’ll give you everything.

(sometimes—always, he feels like he is undeserving of the divine grace of your attention, of your affection, of your adoration, and you feel like your love is just a meager offering, unable to fulfill him. can you see him each other?)

finally, he looks at you—golden eyes born from the sun meets yours. his halo is situated just right on his head, pierced wings behind his ears, and his hair reminds you of the sky above you that you once gazed into when you were a child playing in the fields, before you were deemed as his, and now your gaze is held on the ground right where he is kneeling down. stray strands of your hair fall over your eyes and the way the light kisses your skin makes you look delicate, ethereal.

“do i love you enough?” you ask. have you ever been enough? have you done enough? is your mere and bare existence enough for someone like him?

“since when have you not?” he answers, filled with gentle affection. his tone is akin of a devout preacher, reassuring like a verse from a scripture.

(sunday never thought of you as lacking, not with the broken and missing pieces of your skin, tainted and muddled by blood and dirt, left to rot in your wake like a sin unrepented.)

“you’re the wine that overflows my cup,” he says, each syllable of his words carrying the weight of his utter and suffocating devotion, “and i’ll continue to consume you even in death.” no grave will ever hold his body down.

you cup his cheeks with both of your hands, his lips leaving your skin yet the warmth of his kisses remains. “you’re too good with your words,” you say, a small smile drawing on your lips, “perhaps you’re only telling lies to please me.” 

“my dearest,” he murmurs, lightly grazing his hand against your ear as he pushes your hair aside, “i’ll lay down my life for you, but i will never deceive you.”

(an unyielding faith of a martyr, his commitment is steadfast and his love is a fervent prayer, uttered and spoken only by him. his thoughts are spilled on the carpet, his confession ringing and echoing back to him as he repents like a sinner for loving you too much.)

“i’m a burden.” you whisper, longing for the feeling of his lips on yours. “i’m afraid i’m too much or too little for you to have.”

“i’m okay with that,” it’s a litany of devotion, his words a sacred vow he’ll keep for eternity that will come, “i love you.”

forever become a burden, become human in a fragile and delicate way as if your heart is made to break, so he’ll get to hold you in his hands.

also tagging, the one and only @toorurs !! i am dedicating this to u because u LOVE last day of the week guy A LOT and i’m also too lazy to make another section but yeah this is for you my boo, hi beloved you’re the greatest of the greatest, you’re the sweetest of all (i feel like im singing a song wadahell) and i hope you know that you’re very very cool and very very funny and i’m not the type to laugh while texting but i always do it when talking to you. i try not to do a backflip when u like and reblog my posts (i cant even do a headstand dafuq) !! i hope you know that you’re not loser, maybe a hater, but definitely not a user and you have me as a friend always no matter what questionable and weird things you say 🙏 like okay alpha sigma you’re the boss. this feels like the dedication page on a book or the acknowledgment part in research where you say thank you to whoever you want like damn. i’ll do the remaining words for dedication on upcoming works so that you’re always reminded that you’re somewhat involved in my life even if you’re like 1826725276 fucking miles away

© azullumi — do not plagiarize, copy, repost, nor translate any of my works.

[esggs]

[ #1, Lord!Sukuna x knight!reader, heian-era trueform Sukuna, cannibalism as a metaphor for love, d/s relationship, graphic details, gnc reader, 600+ words ]

pt.2 (jealousy)

Ryomen Sukuna is to feast tonight. You, his right-hand knight, his first line of defence, his ever-faithful dog, his closest confidante, have prepared a banquet: you’ve slaughtered an entire Suguwara battalion. A fine stew they made, but Sukuna is still unsatisfied. 

“Be there no noble or peasant to fill my belly? No ample morsel in all these fertile lands?” Sukuna drawls, brows curled in annoyance. His entire court stands fearing their fates. The stew is finished, so is the rice and the wine.

“Then must I fare pale today?” His anger is terrible. Play your part, strong knight, save these trembling men. 

“O Lord,” You kneel onto one knee amid a parting crowd. “Point your finger and I shall hunt. My bow shall I draw, my sword shall I swing. You shall not go without your heart’s content.”

“Is that all you offer me, then?” His silken robes tinkle as he leans forward. 

“For you, I give you my teeth and nails,” comes your feverish vow. “My self and my soul, too. Pledged yours am I.”

“Hearty words, but my stomach goes unsated.”

“Then request, Lord. The sky itself will not be spared if you desire it so.”

“Will sky-air fill my hunger? I shall dine on something more precious.” His eyes burn crimson-flamed. “Your meat.”  

For a second you are taken aback, but the next one fills Sukuna with your aroma. Your unsheathed sword screeches against the marbled ground as you drag it with you up to his throne. In his lap you lay yourself and present your sword to him: Take it. Carve my flesh out as you desire. It’s all yours, anyway. 

If his courtiers, wives, concubines, soldiers and subjects gawk at the spectacle, Sukuna does not care. He caresses a gentle hand through your hair lest they cover the unwavering sincerity in your eyes. “No,” he declares, “Your deflowered sword shall not touch your skin. You deserve–,” his head leant down to yours, you breathe in the warmth of his exhale, “–a touch more worthy of you.”

You see the delight in Sukuna’s eyes before the horrifying pain rends through the centre of your chest. With one hand he’s broken your sternum apart and digs elbow-deep into your bloody mess of organs. Even with your reversed cursed technique it’s hard to keep awake: the hollow in your chest, the bloodloss, the unimaginable torture of it all pulling you under, away from your Lord’s blazing eyes that are all that you can perceive. You can feel every stretch of his finger inside you, every ripping tissue, every pulse on his heaving breath that echoes a desire that only you bring him. Only you and – found it – Sukuna, robes drenched in your blood red as his eyes, rips your heart out of you. It still beats for him. 

You can only lie limp cradled on his thighs and left arms as he sinks his teeth in, devotedly. An eye on his meal, another on his audience, and two on you. He does not say a word as he eats. What is there to say that you do not already understand? He eats your heart with overwhelming love and respect. 

Sukuna takes his time to chew through each bite, savouring the taste of your rich blood and strong sinews. This heart that nourished you since your birth, the one that stored memories of your childhood loves and dreams, all melt on his tongue. The flavour of your cursed energy, unparalleled. It pairs well with his own. 

He licks his fingers clean when he’s done. Not a single drop of blood of yours is wasted. You’re too pale, lips blue and palms white; Sukuna carries you to your chambers in his own arms. He does not offer to help you regenerate, he knows you can do it yourself. He trusts you. 

When you wake up, you find your sword next to you. Sukuna’s own blood, you can tell by its taste, is drying on your blade.

pt.2 (jealousy) masterlist

a/n: obsession x consumption x devotion my beloved trio

[macfrog]

masterlist

series

➵ cowboy like me | dbf!joel | completed

back home in austin after five years away, you're looking for something to do with your summer. what you don't expect, is to find that something in the form of joel miller. quietly charming, ruggedly handsome, flannel-donned joel. you know. your dad's best friend.

➵ sex on fire | ceo!joel | ongoing

you've worked for joel miller for three years now, as his personal assistant. answering calls, organizing his schedule, fulfilling every request he could dream of. it pays well, you know you're good at it, and you get along with all of your coworkers. there's just one you get along with...a little too well.

➵ sweet child o' mine | neighbor!joel | completed

joel miller has lived next door - since forever. you’ve been a pain in his ass - since forever. one drunken night changes everything - forever.

one shots

➵ jet (post-outbreak!joel) - you and joel have an agreement: follow his movements, follow his orders, stay alive. what happens when, one night, he asks you to break the deal?

➵ ghost (post-outbreak!joel) - your loyalty to joel - and your ability in yourself - are tested in st. louis. the reward might just be worth the risk.

➵ call me (joel x phone sex operator!reader) - you moonlight as a call girl, receiving mediocre call after mediocre call. one night, one joel miller dials in, and grants you the most exciting ten minutes of your career.

➵ soaked (boston qz!joel) - joel jacks off in the shower. that's pretty much it.

➵ all three dogs (gen fic) - “dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted.”

➵ wish you were here (jackson!joel) - you and joel skip jackson’s annual holiday party in favor of some alone time.

➵ psyche and cupid (jackson!joel) - valentine’s day with joel doesn’t go to plan.

➵ san angelo - it's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar - where fate delivers him to you.

➵ birds of a feather (gen fic) - joel surprises ellie on her sixteenth birthday.

[on-leatheredwings]

I just love the thought of cannibalism being used as a metaphor of love. I wonder if you saw a film called Bones and All ? I could definitely see reader and one of the batboys, especially Tim as the main couple Lee and Maroon. I don’t want to spoil anything in case you haven’t seen the movie but the raw devotion of consuming your lover, becoming one is just so tragic and beautiful. I feel the batboys would be enchanted by the idea of being inseparable from their darling so the others cannot tell them apart. Just the thought of always caring each other within them, being as close as no one was ever allowed to be before (and no one ever will be) will have them going crazy (even more than they are now).

The movie has a beautiful quote in one of the most heartbreaking scenes in movie I have ever seen “love me and eat me” and I just think it’s so fitting from both sides of the relationship. The yandere because they long for love so consuming that their partner would see no other way of showing their love that they become one, forever intervened. The darling because they feel consumed by the yandere, their obsession and constant longing for something more no matter how much of themselves they give up to survive their affections.

gosh sorry for the late response

HAHA I DID SEE BONES AND ALL ! I SAW IT IN THEATERS TOO!!! I WAS THE ONLY PERSON THERE BUT I ENJOYEDDDD i thought timmy and taylor were a great pair to cast

i'm shaking like a dog i love this

the raw devotion of consuming your lover, becoming one is just so tragic and beautiful.

thats exactly what i like to convey... just pure devotion and almost sanctity in the yandere-darling relationship... unconditional and never wavering. all the boys fit this but i think i do like tim and damian in this role the best teehee <3

tw body horror

I feel the batboys would be enchanted by the idea of being inseparable from their darling so the others cannot tell them apart.

i have got to write a horror fic about yandere batfam... they definitely would go to extremes and just think of it as normal. why shouldn't you feast on them? why shouldn't they trade pinkies with you? trade eyes? tongues? people SHOULD view you as one entity because that how they all feel in their soul? the boys and their darlings are one being, two bodies. if anything, merging/trading body parts would be rectifying a mistake of fate.

[itsclydebitches]

I really want to take a moment to appreciate the conversation between Roy and Trent in 3x02, as a part of Ted Lasso's larger commentary on toxic masculinity.

Because these two are classic nerd/jock archetypes, yeah? (At least on the surface. The fact that they're far more complex than that is kinda the whole point.) Roy Kent is the handsome, talented, scariest motherfucker around, able to treat people like shit and still earn the devotion of the fans because he possesses the coveted Sports Skills. Trent, in contrast, is the queer kid who was never able to participate in sports himself, instead needing to turn to writing about them to find that in. As he tells Ted, for him sport is the metaphor and his words, delivered with an "edgy" style that pulls no punches, defend Trent in a way he's never been able to defend himself physically; they gain respect in a field where he'd otherwise be considered a joke. ("Is this a fucking joke?") Plus, given the implied backgrounds and present day characterization, I don't think it's much of a reach to believe that scathing articles like the one Trent wrote contain a certain amount of bitter satisfaction: Roy is "over-hyped," "mediocre," "disappointing," and driven by "rage." If that doesn't sound like a bullied kid finally getting back at all the jocks Roy represents, I don't know what does.

Notably, they repeat a version of this history during Trent's first week at Richmond. He's easily the most anxious we've ever seen him, jumping at loud noises, hands twitching in his pockets, very self-consciously trying to form a connection with the players and failing miserably. Trent is without his armor now - that of a high-profile journalist, safe behind his cutting words - and he's unable to rebuild any given that he's being denied the chance to write his stories. Why is that the case? Because top dog Roy Kent has decreed that no one talk to him. Now, we know based on Roy's characterization and what's revealed later in the episode that this is done out of a desire to protect his players from the abusive press, but outside of that context this looks a lot like the popular kid playing the part of a bully. Trent is the new kid entering class, being clocked as the outsider, briefly welcomed by someone with no prior bias (Dani)... and then that's shut down real fast from Roy. Funny as Ted Lasso is (and I was legitimately cracking up throughout the episode) there's also something extremely disquieting - in a very familiar way - at watching someone go from, "Hi! :D" to "FUCK YOU!" all on the say-so of someone with a lot of authority and social power. This dynamic continues throughout the whole week, with Trent growing more and more on edge until, finally, he just gives in. When Roy starts popping balloons he doesn't stand up for himself and demand that he share their office respectfully, Trent just tries desperately to ignore the bullying - and it is bullying, given that Roy stops popping the moment Trent leaves - and then quietly runs away, acting apologetic as he goes. When the players refuse to discuss strategy with Trent he tries to leave again, defeated, which is a far cry from the doggedly confident reporter who would wait for Jamie after practice. Woven among the humor, Trent is at his most vulnerable here, looking more and more like the victim in a hostile, traditionally masculine space.

Of course, given that this is Ted Lasso, the situation is far more complex than just, "Bullies exist and that's #bad." The locker room scene is initially set up to look that way, in large part because it takes place in a locker room/bathroom. AKA, two spaces where bullying tends to occur unimpeded - and we've already seen that in Ted Lasso back when Nate was the underdog, cowering before the rest of the Richmond team. Roy's control over the group is so complete that no one dares challenge his order to ignore Trent (except, of course, Ted himself. The guy who sparked Roy's growth from the get-go) even though the group is clearly very relieved when the ban is lifted. Roy screams at Trent, making him jump, and orders him into the semi-privacy of the showers. It speaks volumes to me that Ted feels the need to give a reassuring nod and that Trent clearly needed it because, again, outside of the fact that they're both obviously adults now and that on a surface level this moment is meant to make us laugh, this is all very reminiscent of the bully pulling the nerdy kid somewhere where he can hurt him without consequence, all while everyone sits there and watches, not really wanting it to happen, but not willing to stop it either. Everything from the setting, to Trent's defensive body language, to Roy pushing the wallet against his chest in a move reminiscent of the classic shove to start off a beating, all of it heavily implies that kind of bully/victim dynamic.

But, as said, it's not that simple. Because Roy isn't the bully here and Trent, crucially, isn't just the victim. The scene goes on to reveal that Trent is the one who has caused Roy harm, by printing a unnecessarily cruel article when he was just seventeen years old. (A revelation that pairs very nicely with his introduction this season - "Love that" - reminding us that just because Trent approves of others standing up to bullies doesn't mean he's never been one.) That was a decision that "wrecked" a young Roy, to the extent that he kept that quote in his wallet for years, only now reaching a point where he can admit how much that hurt him. Trent's explanation is understandable given his heavily implied backstory. Not that he was trying to build his career, but that he would do so by "seeing the worst in people" and hurting them first before they could hurt him. Roy was right all the way back in Season One, Trent is a colossal prick... but that's likely because others were colossal pricks to him first. Here then, we see that cycle of abuse once more, the same one Nate is currently trapped in. The difference, however, is that when Ted says, 'Your ego is hurting us, Roy' Roy listens and when Roy says, 'You really hurt me, Trent' Trent listens, and the three of them together put a stop to the cycle then and there. Trent apologizes. Roy forgives him. Roy lifts the ban and by the end of the episode they've reached a place where they can speak honestly with one another. Not just about Roy's feelings - which is a HUGE thing for him to make Trent privy to - but about the complexities of Trent's career too. We've already seen that balancing the truth with compassion is fine line for him to walk - as evidenced by him texting Ted, but still publishing his article about the panic attacks; leaving his job, but still sniffing out the Richmond story - but here we get the reversal of that. Trent has already said, 'I'm working on emphasizing the ethics of my profession' and now Roy comes in with 'I'm working to admit that a cruel article isn't necessarily an inaccurate one.' He did play like shit at Chelsea and though Trent didn't need to break the spirit of a seventeen year old, the players do need to come to terms with the fact that they're in a high profile career where everyone is judging their performance (something Ted himself is all too aware of). This is the kind of nuanced understanding that's only possible post-apology/forgiveness, wherein the story has reminded us, 'Victims are capable of becoming bullies themselves and they need to own up to their actions just as much as they deserve an apology themselves.'

All of which is REALLY important for the framing of Nate's arc because he is in Trent's position, poised somewhere between victim and bully. It's obvious the ways in which Nate was a victim of the Richmond team, of his father, and even of the public, but it's significant that he's still a victim even as he now consciously hurts others too. Rebecca had a long speech this episode about how charming Rupert is, how he'll pursue you and in the process make you feel like you're the most important person in the world, someone chosen... and though she was talking about Zava, all I could think about was Nate. He's still being charmed and wooed by Rupert, what with the compliments and the new car, but all of it comes with reminders that he's worthless without that approval (surely a cleaning lady must have parked there...). Rupert is the top dog at the moment, his oh so benevolent popularity extending to Nate, encouraging him to model that behavior in order to keep his interest... but inevitably Rupert will toss him aside, just like he did with Rebecca. He'll become bored and Nate will have to grapple with the fact that, in his effort to avoid being a victim, he became the bully instead, just like Trent had. Rebecca is waiting to help Nate understand the ways in which Rupert can demolish your sense of self-worth. Trent is waiting to help Nate understand how to own up to your mistakes. And of course, there's Ted Lasso in the wings, the American outsider who can offer a much needed, compassionate perspective on the whole of it - as well as some personal insight into panic attacks during interviews. The entirety of the Richmond community, thematically, is being built into a reflection of Nate's struggle; a collection of experiences and wisdom and kind-hearted insight that can help him if (when!) he chooses to accept it.

[izzyspussy]

So, if the dog motif is made into a more blatant metaphor, and we say Izzy is a dog bred for one thing, then trained for blood sport, then his owner suddenly quits dogfighting after becoming enamored with a newbie livestock rescue ranch owner and expects Izzy to immediately take to herding just because he tossed him in the enclosure with the sheep, and then the ranch owner gets cold feet and goes back to his high powered city businesswoman leaving the ranch and the sheep and Izzy's owner behind, and Izzy finally Gets herding and starts doing the job but only after the owner who had wanted him to in the first place has become the wolf/poacher/cliffdrop Izzy needs to protect his sheep from...

More info on these breed groups to help you pick which you think fits Izzy's personality best:

Herders* are easily distracted from tasks that aren't challenging enough but incredibly focused on activities that fit their instincts, attentive, energetic, sociable, eager to please, use barks and nips to make the animals in their charge move where they want (the inventors of "all bark no bite" - unless of course you are a predator in which case say goodbye to your carotid artery), and will do their jobs effectively with or without supervision. If you do not give them animals to herd, they will herd you. *I'm including livestock guardians here, as you might have sussed from the description, even though it's not their official classification. Personally, I think the instincts and (non-combat) temperaments are similar enough, and lots of breeds from both classes are often used for the other type of work or both. Listen, you're already humoring me, so just go with this too, okay? <3

Sporting dogs are not typically that sociable with other animals, have a very good memory, are devoted, loyal, eager to please, curious/adventurous, and resilient. They are highly trainable and can learn basically any trick or call, but will be anxious, distracted, and uncontrollable without clear and consistent direction.

Scent hounds, like the examples I listed, have exceptional stamina, endurance, and agility, are persistent, tenacious, and often will not quit even when told to until the job is done to their own satisfaction or they can't do it anymore. They are naturally gentle and patient, but can get loud and mean if they don't get enough alone time or breed appropriate work to do. They are also known for their pretty voices.

Working dogs are the type of smart and stubborn that makes them opinionated about the rules and commands they're given, to the point that they might choose to purposefully disobey, or even engage in malicious compliance. They are highly trainable and devoted, but they really make you earn their obedience and loyalty. If you are not at least as smart, competent, and confident as they are, you can't handle them - and they are not afraid to prove it.

Terriers are also smart and stubborn and will make you earn good behavior. They need consistency and are very territorial, very energetic, and equally persistent and unwilling to quit as hounds. They don't have a lot of patience and are emotionally/mentally sensitive, easy to frustrate or upset.

Companions are also territorial, intensely loyal, need a lot of attention and are likely to get jealous of other pets, babies, and new friends/partners. They don't have a lot of self-awareness, especially regarding their size (i.e. very large breeds that think they are lap dogs & very small breeds that will try to start something with much bigger animals). Maybe that last bit is more applicable to Con than Izzy lmao.

[babyhatesreality]

The Sinner and the Saint Ch 13

Pairing: Mob!Boss Bucky x f!reader

Warnings: NSFW, f!reader, language, reader is referred to by her stage name of Angel, reader is an exotic dancer, pet names, angry/controlling/domineering/asshole-ish mob boss Bucky, sir/daddy kink, everybody has secrets, reader is insecure and self deprecating, mentions of past d/s smut, reader in a dangerous situation, dom/sub relationship, angst.

YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMPTION. MINORS DNI. THIS IS AN 18+ STORY ONLY AND IS NS/FW. I DO NOT CONSENT FOR ANY OF MY WORKS TO BE COPIED, REPRINTED, OR TRANSLATED ONTO ANY PLATFORM EXCEPT MY OWN. Likes, comments and reblogs deeply appreciated.

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

You giggled into his mouth for the third time in a row.

Bucky's hands were holding your face to his tenderly, unwilling to release your lips from his kiss. He had an incredibly important meeting tonight during your shift at the club, which would cause him to miss your stage time. It was the first time since you'd gotten together, and he was not dealing well with it. You playfully pushed against his rock hard abs in another attempt at freedom- he'd held you captive in his arms for going on ten minutes now- but that only made him growl at you and tighten his grip. You giggled again and jerked your head backwards.

"BUCKY," you gasped, finally able to breathe through your mouth. His answering grunt reverberated on the underside of your jaw, where he'd instantly relocated his lips after you "so rudely" (in his mind anyways) pulled away. Your knees nearly buckled as he hit that sweet spot along the column of your throat, but you had to remain strong. "You are going to be late."

"I'm the boss. They can wait," he murmured, continuing the exploration of your neck with his lips.

"You told me that this was the only time the others could meet, so you have to go with their schedule."

"I'm still the boss."

"I'm NOT the boss, though, and I can't be late either."

"I own your boss. You can be late."

"Oh, I think Natasha might heartily disagree with you there, and NO, I can't."

When he heard those words, Bucky finally straightened up and looked you dead in the eye. "You wanna bet?" he said, his voice taking on that dominant tone that turned your insides to water. He cocked one eyebrow at you with that dangerous look that you knew better than to question.

It had been a blissful two months. Bucky was charming, sweet, wickedly funny, and it was obvious that he adored you. But in the quiet moments, his dark and feral side came out. And the quiet moments ranged from any time he noticed you were thinking poorly of yourself to anytime you got too sassy. Then he got quiet. And you were in trouble.

You had gone into this relationship knowing that he was a Dom, and once you had both discussed your limits, needs, and desires, this man fucking delivered. You had been fucked in every conceivable position and location, and been worshipped in those ways as well. He was utterly devoted to you. But he was quick to snap you back in line when you needed it. You'd always been a bit of a pain puppy, so anytime he had spanked you for your own good it had always felt so right. So right that someone loved you enough to correct you, discipline you, and help you with that glorious mix of pain and pleasure. It was the best of both worlds.

Not to mention the orgasms afterwards had always sent you over the moon.

He wasn't overtly controlling, but you had learned that a cocked eyebrow in your direction meant you were dangerously close to doing or saying something that he didn't like, and unless you were gunning for a sore ass you'd better back off. Not that you necessarily minded the sore ass- but it was a metaphorical pain in the ass to try to mask a burning backside when you were a freaking exotic dancer.

"I'm sorry," you said, tilting your head contritely and looking up at him with your best puppy dog eyes.

"Sorry what?" he replied, his eyes darkening with lust.

"Sorry, Sir."

"That's better," he growled low, before pulling you in for a kiss again. You surrendered, knowing that he was going to dig his heels in now. It wasn't that Bucky Barnes didn't go down without a fight. The man simply did not go down when it came to the fight. Besides, kissing Bucky was one of the best things in life, so...why were you arguing with him again?

Finally, when HE decided it was enough, Bucky released your lips with a sigh, then gently touched foreheads with you. "I'm sorry about this, Angel."

"Bucky, it's okay, I promise," you said in that soothing tone that usually made the stress crinkles in his eyes go away. "You've seen me dance every shift for the last two months. One night off isn't going to kill us." You gently ran your fingers along his smooth cheek. He'd shaved for this meeting- you knew this meant it was important. Even though he refused to tell you anything about his...job...he had told you that this was a huge, not-to-be-missed deal.

"Yeah, but...." he said, your big scary mob boss melting into an adorable pouting puppy of a man. "I'll miss you."

"I'll miss you too, but it will be okay."

"I...I don't like being away from you."

"You've been away from me maybe a grand total of 3 hours in the past two months. How do you even know you don't like being away from me?"

"Because every single one of those seconds I was away from you burned a hole in my chest." You melted on the spot. The way he could sweep you off your feet with his words was unparalleled. "I don't wanna miss anything. I want every second of you I can get."

"Well, come over to my place the second your meeting is done, and make me forget we were every apart," you said coyly, giving him your best shit-eating grin. He rolled his eyes, grinning in response.

"Ha ha, very funny," he drolled. "I'll have Clint pick you up after your shift and take you to the house."

You took a deep breath. Here goes. "Well, about that..." you bit your lip and looked away, just knowing that he was cocking his eyebrow at you. "I was thinking that maybe I could go back to my apartment tonight, and that you could come over to my place instead?"

"No."

Not even a moment of thought. You weren't surprised, but you had held the tiniest bit of hope. And it made you a little mad. "But Bucky..."

"I said no."

You looked up into his face. His don't-fuck-with-me-I-am-made-of-steel mask was firmly fixed on his face. You took a breath, then adopted your own no-nonsense look. "Baby, I've been paying for that place for the past two months and I've barely been in it for more than an hour in that entire time."

"This is supposed to sway me to your side? What have I been telling you about moving in with me?"

"I know, I know, but...I just need a little more time."

"Time for what?!"

You sighed, your shoulders slumping. "Can we please not do this now?" you asked quietly.

Bucky gritted his teeth and dropped his hands, flexing them in irritation as he took a step back. He took a breath of his own, before replying in a tightly controlled voice. "Fine, we won't do this now. But you know this isn't the end of it."

"I know, and....just....we'll get there, okay?" His ice blue eyes snapped to yours, making you rearrange your words instantly. "Sorry...I'LL get there. Sorry, Daddy." At that, his face relaxed a bit. "But...maybe if I go to my place tonight and then YOU come over....well, it might be the push that I need to..." you dropped off, still blushing at the thought of moving in with him. And Bucky sensed it immediately. He stepped right back towards you, his hands back on either side of your face.

"To...?" he prompted, willing you to say it. You sighed and smiled.

"To...be okay with what I already know I'm going to do," you whispered shyly. You fooled yourself into believing you didn't know why you were so nervous about this. This man had tied you up, splayed you open, and had his feral way with you more times than you could remember, but for some reason, this was what still brought the blush to your cheeks. The other memories brought the blush to other places.

If you were being honest, you knew exactly why you were so nervous. The feelings that you had for Bucky were so deep and intense, it stole your breath every time you thought about them. Being away from him was torture. It felt like the blood in your veins ran with shattered glass when he wasn't near. You needed him. Desperately. And to have that kind of intensity was overwhelming and overstimulating. But you would rather go through all of it than spend a moment without him.

In response to what he saw in your eyes, Bucky fervently pressed his lips to yours again- demanding, begging, worshipping. You placed your hands on top of his as you moaned into his kiss. Finally, he let you up for air again. "Now that's worth you going back to that...." He stopped as you pursed your lips at him in consternation. "....that PLACE of yours," he finished gallantly, both of you aware that he'd really wanted to call it that 'dump' of yours. "Clint will still pick you up and escort you to your apartment."

"That's not necessary," you said quickly, still feeling like an imposition every time he did this. "I used to walk home from the club alone all the time. It's only like 15 blocks, I'll be fine."

The steel mask slipped back in place. "That's not an option," he said in his dominant tone. "You WILL be escorted back to your place so I know that you're safe. Don't toy with me on this."

"Yes, Sir," you whispered, slinking your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest to hide your feelings of guilt at both making him mad and putting Clint out from doing something probably more important, as well as the joy of his need to protect you. He sighed and wrapped his arms around you, laying his cheek on top of your head. His metal fingers gently drew lines up and down your back.

"Baby, I need to know you're safe," he said in a surprisingly husky tone, like his throat was closing. "I can't handle it if I don't know you're safe. Please don't ask that of me."

"Okay, Daddy, I'll go with Clint," you said, leaning back and looking at him full in the eye so he knew you were serious. "I'll be good, I promise." The tight eye crinkles disappeared, making your smile even bigger.

"Thank you, Angel," he said softly, before giving you one last kiss. "Now go kick some ass on that stage tonight."

"I will. You go kick ass at....whatever it is you're meeting about. What was it again?"

"Lame attempt. You know I'm not telling you."

You giggled again and shrugged playfully, making him laugh.

*****************************************************

You were trying to wait patiently in the dressing room. It was three hours past the end of your shift, and Clint still hadn't shown up yet. Bucky had arranged for Clint to pick you up at the back entrance where you usually exited, but there was no point in waiting outside until he got there. Besides, Bucky would probably pitch a fit at you being outside and alone, and you really didn't want to piss him off. Not when you were both this close to the next step in your relationship.

You shivered in delight, examining the way your eyes lit up in the mirror at the thought of moving in with him. Some part of you screamed that it was too soon- probably the part of you that was still wired with the super conservative only-child mindset you'd been raised with. But the greater part of you knew that you loved this man with a passion that you'd never believed was actually possible. He was your drug. And you were hooked for life, no going back. You weren't sure how long he was going to feel this way about you, so you had to make the most of every moment that you were given. Carpe Diem.

Your phone suddenly gave a short vibration, letting you know you had a text. Your body was suddenly flush with feeling when you realized it was from Bucky. What kind of hold did this man have on you, that just getting a text from him made you feel this way?

Much to your disappointment, however, it was incredibly brief. "Clint late" were the only two words he'd written. That was it? Three hours late and he was telling you something you already knew? You shut your eyes, trying to remember that he was in an important meeting and that he probably couldn't text more than that. You tried to remember to be grateful that he had told you himself instead of sending one of his men to do it. And who the FUCK had that many men at his beck and call all the time anyway?! Just what exactly- NOPE.

You stopped that line of thought in its tracks. You knew who he was. You knew...sort of...what he did. He kept things from you to protect you, and probably to protect his business too. He was a master at operating from the shadows, and he wasn't going to throw away his entire life's work just because he was fucking you. You probably didn't want to be in on the day-to-day of his empire anyways...right?

You sighed heavily, and text back "Ok" followed by a sparkly heart emoji. He knew you hated waiting- and had used that to his wicked advantage a couple times. You chewed on your lip in thought. So if Clint was late, what did that mean? Probably that he wasn't going to be coming at all. So then who WAS coming? Steve was with Bucky, as was Sam, one of his...what was that word?....caporegimes, that's right. You brushed aside the annoyance that those two, along with Clint and Natasha, were the only 2 employees that you knew who worked directly with him. Why didn't he trust you to meet more of his family? Why...no, STOP.

You didn't want to bother Natasha. She'd been on edge all night, clearly in on whatever the deal was, but needing to stay on the premises to keep up appearances. Gamora wasn't working tonight, and you had kept your distance from the others, afraid that you'd accidentally reveal your relationship with Bucky. There was no way in hell you'd ask Nebula to walk home with you- she managed to make you feel her icy sneer from all the way across the floor tonight after her set. Ugh. Fury needed to stay on the premises, Rhodey was still on mic for the next two hours, and little Sprite...well, you still weren't even sure how Sprite was old enough to work here, so that was out. You couldn't bring yourself to spend money on a cab or an Uber for 15 blocks. Besides, Bucky wouldn't be happy if you told him you got in a car with a driver that he hadn't personally selected. Screw it. You were walking. You needed the time to yourself, anyways.

You quietly slipped out the back, so as not to attract attention. You gripped your keys in one hand and your pepper spray in the other. You knew how to take care of yourself in this city. It was fine. You were fine.

You let your mind wander a bit as you walked, wondering what Bucky would think of your apartment when he actually saw it. Then as your mind started drifting to all the surfaces in your apartment that the two of you could christen, you heard a small scuffle. Instantly on alert, you felt the tension and heightened adrenaline flood your system. Chances were it was a mouse or a leaf, but you wouldn't take any chances. You let your ears do the listening. And they told you that there was someone walking along the street behind you, quite a bit away, but still there.

You forced yourself to take a deep breath. This was New York City. People walked everywhere. It wasn't like you had a claim on the sidewalk. You kept your pace the same and your posture neutral, getting a grip on the fear before it turned into something that it wasn't. You listened carefully as the footsteps didn't increase in speed, but they got closer. The person clearly had long legs and was taking longer strides than you.

"Hey sugar."

The voice from behind you scared you, calling out like that from a distance. You clenched your muscles, determined not to answer or show fear. You picked up your pace ever so slightly...and so did the footsteps.

You willed yourself to stay calm, taking a deep breath. And that's when you suddenly realized that you didn't hear anything behind you anymore.

Before you could stop to think about the wisdom of your actions, you whipped around. The street was empty. No one was there. Your wide eyes scanned the area, but you saw nothing save the garbage blowing in the wind, the small alley that you'd passed ten seconds ago, and the reflected glow of the neon signs propped up in a few windows. You took a step forwards before you realized how insane of an idea that was. You turned back around the direction you had been going and power walked the rest of the way home with no further incidents. It had probably been your overactive imagination- that guy could have been calling out to anyone, and he'd clearly found them. He wasn't pursuing you.

When you'd finally gotten to your apartment, locking and bolting the door behind you, you released a long, shaky sigh. You decided to hop into the shower, letting the heat and steam soothe your nerves. You convinced yourself more and more that you had overreacted as the hot water did its magic. As you dried off and put on a pair of cotton shorts and a teeshirt, it suddenly occurred to you that you should text Bucky and let him know you'd gotten home safely. You bit your lip, knowing that he'd be irritated that you walked home AND that you'd been fine, ultimately. He didn't need to know about your overactive imagination. A devious smile crossed your face. Maybe he'd punish you for your naughty behavior...

Just as you were picking up your phone to text him, a loud and sudden BANG in the hallway outside your apartment scared the shit out of you. "ANGEL!" a voice bellowed from the hallway, followed by three more earth-shaking thumps on your door. You knew that voice...and the sound of a metal hand pounding on wood.

Still catching the breath that had been knocked out of you, you rushed to the door, quickly unbolting and unlocking it before he broke it down. The second you twisted the knob, Bucky came barreling into the room, absolutely seething.

"Why the FUCK didn't you stay at the club?" he roared at you. His normally handsome features were twisted with rage. It scared you so badly, seeing him like this, that you were completely frozen in place. Bucky took that opportunity to get right into your personal space, placing his hands on either side of your face, gripping it so tightly it ached. "What the FUCK were you thinking?" he hissed, before kissing you with a fury that knocked the rest of the wind out of you. He kept his lips pressed so painfully to yours that you found yourself gripping at his wrists, trying to pull his hands away to give you some relief. He wasn't having it though. He kept your lips locked until he was damn well ready to release you, pouring his anger and fear and terror and frustrations into that kiss. He backed you up against a wall, keeping you pinned in place until he had to release to you to take a breath.

He leaned right down, his icy blue eyes locking on yours. "You ain't gonna be able to sit down for a WEEK after I'm through with you," he growled. He suddenly dropped his hands and pushed himself away from the wall, turning away from you and breathing heavily as he tried to get a hold of himself.

"And hi to you too," you said after you regained enough breath to speak, attempting a bit of levity to break the tension.

Wrong move.

Bucky whipped around so fast you almost missed it. "Don't you try getting cute on me now, it's not gonna save your ass," he hissed, before running his hands over his head, trying to dump the excessive furious energy he felt. "Do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

Actually, yes you did, but that was definitely not going to calm him down. "Bucky, I'm fine," you said, adopting that soothing tone of voice that usually worked when he was angry. Hopefully it would work now. "I made it home just fine, just like I used to. It's okay."

"I TOLD you Clint was running late, why didn't you stay put?"

"You told me he was late three hours after he was supposed to show!"

"I text you the second I found out, ten minutes before the end of your shift."

"Well, it didn't pop up until three hours later. I don't know what happened. I was trying to wait, but I thought that you all had just gotten caught up in your meeting and you finally confirming that he was late was you saying that he wasn't actually coming."

"How the FUCK did you get to that conclusion?!"

"It was three hours after he was supposed to pick me up! What the hell else was I supposed to think?"

"You watch your tone, little girl. I'm pissed as hell and you don't wanna make this worse on yourself. I told you I couldn't handle knowing if you weren't safe. And then you pulled this stunt." He stepped back, gesturing to his entire self. "Well, here ya go. I can't handle it. And I'm not used to feeling like this. You've completely unhinged me all because you couldn't be bothered to keep yourself safe like I asked you to. And I'm furious and relieved and angry and scared and I can't figure out if I want to bend you over the edge of your bed to spank the shit out of you or lose myself in you because I am so goddamn relieved that you are okay." He finally spluttered to a halt, having lanced the boil of his feelings. That's when you noticed his blue eyes were wet.

Bucky never cried.

You stepped carefully to him, and when he didn't react angrily, you bolted into his arms, wrapping your arms around his waist and burying your face in his chest. "I'm so sorry, Bucky, I didn't mean to cause you that much worry. I really didn't, I swear. Please believe me."

His arms were already around you as he sighed heavily, squeezing you even tighter. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he said begrudgingly. You couldn't help but giggle at the pouting tone in his voice. "I do believe you, Angel. You're still in trouble, but I believe you."

"Thank you, Daddy."

"But for fuck's sake, can you please just stay put next time?" Bucky released his tight grip and leaned away to see your face. You were relieved to see the tiny twinkle in his eye. "No, fuck it. There won't be a next time. I'm not letting you out of my sight again. I'm having you surgically attached to me tomorrow."

"And I suppose I have no say in this?"

"None."

"Well, that's going to make my job interesting. How do you feel about stripping?"

"....you're going to need to find a new job."

"Okay, NOW you're going too far."

Bucky finally laughed, and the air released around you both as you snuggled into each other. He sighed again, but this time it was full of relief. "When I think of what could have happened to you on that street..."

The footsteps from the alley suddenly sounded in your ears, and the fear that you had felt came rushing back. You jerked back, looking him full in the face. "What do you mean?" you asked cautiously.

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" he asked, his eyebrows wrinkling. "It's New York City. It's late. You're walking out of an exotic dance hall. Anything could have happened to you."

"Yeah, but..." you trailed off.

His eyes narrowed. "But what?" he asked. You bit your lip. If you told him what happened, you wouldn't be surprised if he followed through on his threat to make you two conjoined twins while you were sleeping. And whereas you loved the heart behind his worries, you absolutely did not want to make him worry or get upset again. Besides, you had just been overreacting. Nothing had happened. You were fine. Just an overactive imagination.

"But nothing," you said. "I'm sorry I made you worry about my safety."

His eyes took on that feral glint that immediately sent shivers down your spine. "Sorry ain't gonna cut it, little girl," he growled with a wicked smile. He put his metal finger under your chin and tilted your head up. "I believe someone needs to be punished."

Chapter 14

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Happy Finale Friday everyone! Back again with another round of the fic I've been reading this week. You can find previous rec lists here.

A reminder I'm putting my fingers in my ears and ignoring discourse here for all buddie/bucktommy/buddietommy configurations, though these last two weeks I've been pretty down bad in my messy and hurting Eddie Diaz feels and it's manifested in the form of pining fics.

I'm always on the lookout for more henren fic to read, so please send recs my way!

31 May 2024

7x10 coda by @ghosthunterbuck was the Eddie pov fic that was exactly what I needed to read after the finale. Obviously spoilery for the episode so I'm not going to go too into detail here as to the what, but for the why - I think it perfectly captures Eddie's head space going forward, his emotional journey, canon compliant relationships, and the family dynamics at play. The last line got me good.

i love you like a dog with a bird at your door (and sequel) by @shitouttabuck (and this gorgeous fanart by @midbam too) absolutely stole my heart. A slowburn buddie fic, set post-season six. In which Buck reflects on his childhood in how he demonstrates and feels love with dogged devotion, and his love for the Diaz family. Through the ups and downs of life together at work and at home, and with some A+ 'moving in to take care of each other' vibes. I just loved getting swept away in the sweetness of this fic, it really warmed my heart. PLUS just...incredible deft, light handed and excellent use of metaphor that encapsulates Buck so so well.

love on the brain by @lizzybizzyzzz yes yessssss sexy henren fic!!! In which Karen oh so casually asks if Hen's going to pose for the firefighter calendar, Hen bluescreens for a bit, but then ropes in Athena to help out with a surprise. Set pre-6x06 (and the follow up delves into it and takes an angstier turn), this was just delightfully fun and I loved Hen stepping a little out of her comfort zone to show off for her wife. Those poses *fans self* where do I get me a Hen calendar?

meditating on your lips by @coldbam look I can't possibly summarise this one better than the actual summary. Buck comes out, and Eddie has some interesting dreams:

“I take it the date went well then? Cleared some things up for you.”

“You can say that again, Hen. Not only am I now a proud bisexual man, it turns out I’m excellent at sucking dick!”

Eddie chokes on his coffee.

No notes. (And then I proceeded to read all of coldbam's backlist and had a DELIGHTFUL TIME. Gardening fic! Phone sex! Athena/Eddie friendship. Pining!!!!! What fun!)

I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See by @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels is from a few years back and was my favouritist of tropes, Buddie secretly writing to each other anonymous penpals, simultaneously falling in love, but all threaded through on the concept that they never clicked as work besties as they did in the show. I loved the balance of canon and reinterpreting the series through this lens. Deeply sweet and romantic and fun, and also heartwrenching.

drive you into a corner (and kiss you without a sound) by @hauntsorchards in which Eddie joins the 118 and can't seem to stop kissing Buck when he does something heroic, delightful or goofy. But it doesn't mean anything, right? In which the entire firehouse deserves a raise for putting up with them.

looking for an ocean breeze/so i can fill my mind with ease by newtkelly was the bucktommy fic ALL over my dash earlier this week and for good reason. Look I love a pun based fic prompt, and “Can I top you off?” was the perfect wedding scene one. It captured Tommy's sardonic humour so well, as well as exploring some of Buck's potential hang ups. And also now we know what we know...works very well on a kink exploration level. A sexy and fun 7x06 coda.

be you in time (it's easy) by @mycenaae my favourite fic exploring Tommy's reaction to seeing Captain Gerrard on the guestlist as a post 7x09 coda. Excellent bucktommy dynamics, as well as my very favourite thing...the Tommy and Hen and Chim groupchat. Please let this become a thing show, because it's perfect.

don't just stand there by @smallandalmosthonest AND FINALLY my favourite buddietommy WIP posted it's final chapter this week. Here's my summary from before: In which Eddie interruptus and Buck is maybe kinda sorta okay with that actually. A+ accidental exhibitionism kink discovery, with fantastic dialogue characterisation and just really really fun established bucktommy and buddie dynamics all wrapped into one. The final chapter is chefs kiss on flipping the narrative perspective and tying everything (and everyone) together!

Happy hiatus - treat each other kindly, and bang it out in fic form if you have to! If you need me I'll be over here revelling in Eddie going through it fic (oh Eddie indeed.)

[ardenigh]

kevs?

additional notes in varying order of importance

- idk yet how i want the white accents to show up so it changes every time. is he redhood or not? none of my business yet

- eule-vos as a revan sort of functions as a morally chained and regulated version of whatever was going on with the revan anecdotes in kotor 2. he's still a win-at-all-costs type of guy. he'll still look at people in terms of what they can do to further his goals. he's the butcher on a leash. he's toeing the line for now because bastila and carth get weird when he doesn't but he'll also swan dive past it once they are out of line of sight.

- so ig, like, the butcher on a leash but he can step out of it whenever. he just doesn't want you getting nervous because that will be a whole nother issue to handle. he can heel just fine alright

- its like 1 am and i'm thinking about that post compilation that's like. guard/attack dog metaphors applied to people. or like how the devotion between an attack dog and the one holding its leash is as tenuous, sometimes, as the leash itself i don't know man whatever that's about. eule has shades of that. i think it's hard for any revan to not be a little unnerving on this front

- smth smth hk voice to give the illusion of control until the end comes or smth you know? like master like droid is all i am saying

- if, to solve a problem, a guy has to die - but he's with someone he values and who would disapprove of an outright murder - eule isn't above puppetmastering a circumstantial rube-goldberg execution machine yk. like, after a point does culpability even lead back to you? not really right? it's okay he will make it happen don't worry he can work within your moral constraints. you don't have to feel bad about it and you especially won't if you don't know

- (with all this in mind, outings with hk and canderous are also great times to cut loose a little)

- i don't think he struggles to love per se so much as i think that he can't do it conventionally it's always going to be built with an undertone of implacable duty or something like pity. and if he loves you he'll do it to death, only it won't be his and it might be yours. no single person is worth letting the galaxy fall, not to him

- everyone who has taken darth revan ever and smushed them together with the entire concept of having loved rome more... genius

- as is par for the course he is not a romancer he is barely a crusher alright the only remotely similar thing he's ever felt was for yuthura ban for about .4 minutes and looking back it might have just been that she's amiable and understands the shedding of morality for a goal but also, like, she's really purple and that's super eye catching (read: kev eule-vos is my walking excuse to never not bring up yuthura ban)

[tachiguin]

Analysis of BSD Tanizaki (Character and Theories) in Reference to Real Life Tanizaki Jun’ichirou

By popular demand of (1) person in the comments of a post I’ve made briefly touching on this subject, I have compiled all of my thoughts on the portrayal of Tanizaki Jun’ichirou—and by extension, Naomi—in Bungou Stray Dogs in reference to the works of the real life Tanizaki Jun’ichirou-sensei (who I’ll be calling Tanizaki-sensei to differentiate from his fictional counterpart). Disclaimer that I don’t have the academic background to write as an expert on this subject. I will be citing all of my sources in the text.

Tanizaki-sensei (1886-1965) was an author who was well known for writing about sexual obsession and fetishes, and the exploration of Japanese versus Western culture in his works. His female characters were particularly reputable for having strong personalities (drawing upon the dofuku - “poisonous woman” or femme fatale troupe), and frequently fulfilled the domineering role in sadomasochistic relationships with men. This recurring theme is most likely the basis for Tanizaki and Naomi’s relationship in Bungou Stray Dogs.

In a similar vein, motifs such as dreaming, delusions, and fantasies (oftentimes of the erotic nature) frequently appear in Tanizaki-sensei’s works. This could be the basis for Tanizaki’s illusion projection ability, “Light Snow”, which is named after Tanizaki-sensei’s great novel, Sasameyuki (1948), also known as The Makioka Sisters, the title of the English translation, which was changed due to the nuance of the original title being difficult to convey in English. 

Going on a slight tangent here, Tanizaki-sensei also wrote a handful of works depicting blindness, such as A Portrait of Shunkin (1933) and A Blind Man’s Tale (1931). In these works, blindness can be interpreted as a metaphor for blind devotion and obsessive worship of one’s love interest, even to the point of martyrdom. For example, in A Portrait of Shunkin (1933), the character Sasuke destroys his own eyesight for his vain mistress, who did not want to be seen after an incident destroys her beauty. Tanizaki and Naomi’s deep affection for each other is reminiscent of these themes (Tanizaki’s willingness to throw away his morals for Naomi, Naomi taking gunfire in Tanizaki’s place).

Unfortunately, we aren’t given any other concrete pieces of information about Tanizaki or Naomi that can be reliably connected to something in regards to the real life author...

The Unreliable Narrator

Which brings me to my first point in regards to fan theories surrounding Tanizaki and Naomi. I have mentioned in previous posts that Tanizaki’s descriptions of himself oftentimes contradict what we are actually shown (not good for combat, cowardly and average, etc), which means that Tanizaki is an unreliable narrator of his own backstory. To what extent he is unreliable, we can only speculate.

However, the theory that Tanizaki cannot be trusted to tell the truth about himself is supported by the real life counterparts’ use of this narrative device in his works. A journal article by The Columbia Companion to Modern East Asian Literature explains that “[Tanizaki-sensei’s stories] are often told by a personified and thus not necessarily reliable narrator,” which is especially evident in both Naomi (1925), a post-hoc account of the protagonist’s marriage, and The Key (1956), two juxtaposed diaries of a married couple.

Since Tanizaki-sensei tended to employ biased narrators in his stories, Tanizaki being an unreliable narrator of his own story would be a clever nod to his real life counterpart.

Moving on, the theory that Tanizaki may be lying about himself opens a world of possibilities regarding what the truth actually is. One popular fan theory is that Naomi is actually an illusory ability construct created by Tanizaki’s ability “Light Snow”.

Sculpting the Ideal Woman

Another recurring theme in Tanizaki-sensei’s works is a character’s desire to “shape” a woman into their vision for what that woman should be. This takes a variety of forms: in The Tattooer (1910), the protagonist “[desires] to create a masterpiece on the skin of a beautiful woman”, thus transforming her into a “real beauty”. In Aguri (1922) the protagonist dreams that “he would adorn [her] with jewels and silks. He would strip off that shapeless, unbecoming kimono... and then dress her in Western clothes”. The desire to make a woman more “Western” is also apparent with the protagonist Joji’s intent in Naomi (1925), the book that BSD Naomi is named after.

However, I must caution that BSD Naomi is actually quite different from how the character of Naomi is in the original novel; BSD Naomi is kinder to the people around her, and isn’t portrayed as selfish or manipulative. The two Naomis’ do share their penchant for mischief, and their bold, tomboyish personalities, as well as their surprising intelligence and aptitude for planning.

Back to the main topic: other BSD fans have pointed out that this theme of “making Naomi” in the novel supports the theory that BSD Naomi was created by Tanizaki’s ability. Considering that this pygmalion-like desire also appears in many other stories written by Tanizaki-sensei, the connection makes sense. Notably a role reversal between the “sculptor” and the “sculpture” always takes place in such stories.

Losing Control

In Tanizaki-sensei’s stories, female characters who are transformed to fit a man’s ideal are rarely subservient by the end of the narrative. Instead, the change oftentimes pushes them into a more dominant role, where they are the ones doing the controlling, rather than being controlled. In Naomi (1925), the protagonist narrates that “I forgot my innocent notion of "training" her: I was the one being dragged along, and by the time I realized what was happening, there was nothing I could do about it.” As the alternate title, A Fool’s Love, may suggest, by the end of the book Naomi has made a fool out of the protagonist, having “made careful plans and lured [him] on”, ultimately ending up in a position of power.

This could be indicative of Naomi’s own autonomy as an ability construct: we see her arguing with Tanizaki and defying his instruction, possessing talent and knowledge that Tanizaki does not have, and making decisions independent of Tanizaki’s will. For all intents and purposes, Naomi is no different than a human being.

Of course, whether or not this theory will prove correct is a different matter. It should be noted that one variation of this theory speculates that Naomi did exist as a real person, but died in middle school. Unable to cope with the loss, Tanizaki unconsciously created an illusion in her image. This idea is reminiscent of A Portrait of Shunkin (1933), where it is said that in the years after Sasuke’s mistress and lover passed away, “he created a Shunkin quite remote from the actual woman, yet more and more vivid in his mind.” The character Sasuke was said to exaggerate his mistress’ talents to the point that his accounts of her were unreliable, and her passing contributed to his over imagination of her likeliness.

Secret Relationships

Another theory I have seen circulating the fandom is that Naomi and Tanizaki lied about their relationship, telling others that they are siblings in order to cover up their romance. In Naomi (1925), a similar ruse is hatched by the character Naomi, who goes behind her husband Joji’s back and sleeps with other men. Joji discovers this subterfuge from the character Hamada, who confesses, “I didn't know about you at all. Miss Naomi...said you were her cousin.” As such, Tanizaki and Naomi may similarly be lying about the nature of their relationship, which would be a nod to the original novel.

Of course, though I am partial to this theory, since I would be sad if Naomi turned out to be an illusion, I cannot with any confidence claim that it is more likely than the other theory I mentioned regarding her, or any other theories that might be circulating.

Return from the West

Moving on from theories involving Naomi, evidence that supports the theory that Tanizaki will change allegiances from the Armed Detective Agency to the Port Mafia can also be found with his real life counterpart. As I touched on a bit before, Tanizaki-sensei wrote about and was influenced by Western culture and traditions. However, after Tanizaki-sensei moved from Yokohama to the Kansai region in 1926, his fascination dwindled, and he completed works such as Some Prefer Nettles (1929), which “[presented] subtly and effectively the great transformation in Tanizaki's life from a worshiper of the West to a believer in the value of the Japanese heritage” as explained by Donald Keene in “Five Modern Japanese Novelists”.

One such work that compared Western and Japanese culture is “In Praise of Shadows” (1933), which associated shadows with traditional Japanese aesthetics, and light with the West. In the essay, he writes “If light is scarce then light is scarce; we will immerse ourselves in the darkness and there discover its own particular beauty.” In Bungou Stray Dogs, darkness and shadows are associated with the Port Mafia, while the light is associated with living morally upright. As such, Tanizaki-sensei’s shift from his fascination with the West (the light) to finding beauty in the darkness (Japanese traditions) could be paralleled in his fictional counterpart switching sides as well.

Moreover, although I am far from informed enough to speak confidently on this subject, I’d be amiss not to mention this meta written by bsd-bibliophile, which explains how the Port Mafia authors were faithful to the styles of traditional Japanese literature, whereas Armed Detective Agency authors were influenced by Western writing. Coincidentally, or perhaps intentionally, the comparison of Japanese versus Western traditions is the subject matter of “In Praise of Shadows” (1933), as I explained above; it would be a very clever reference to Tanizaki-sensei’s shifting interest if the theory that Tanizaki will switch sides ends up being correct. 

In Conclusion

Despite knowing very little of Tanizaki’s backstory, and having limited on screen appearances of him in the story, much of what is established about Tanizaki can be traced back to his real life counterpart. We can also attempt to reverse engineer the character Tanizaki by making conjectures about his backstory and future character development based on what we know about Tanizaki-sensei. The theories that Naomi is an illusion, Tanizaki and Naomi are not real siblings, and that Tanizaki will switch sides are all supported by themes, motifs, and narratives that frequently appeared in Tanizaki-sensei’s writing. As such, I am very excited to see which theories will prove true, and how Asagiri-sensei will execute them in Bungou Stray Dogs going forward. 

credits: bsd-bibliophile is a great resource for PDFs and ePubs of the works mentioned here, manga caps were scanned and translated by Easy Going Scans or Dazai Scans, highlighted passage in second visual is from the official Light Novel 3, left image in third visual is the first edition cover of Naomi novel

[rayshippouuchiha]

A Gift For You. I’m still a bit shy, so I ask forgiveness in sending this as one huge ask.

𖦹

 

Please note this is an UraIchi fic and NSFW.

- - - - -

“You could break me”, Ichigo murmurs, eyes hazy with lust and devotion for all his words are affection and blunt honesty. There’s a hunger that’s lingering behind his eyes, one that’s been teased out of him again and again and again.

He doesn’t ask for it to stop nor could he care less how it makes him look. Or, to be more precise, Ichigo couldn’t care less how it leaves him anything beyond desperate and needy.

Ichigo doesn’t care that he’s practically splayed out like a slut that’s been tossed around the night. How he’s leaning into every touch like a starved dog, ready and willing to do anything for its master. How he’s given himself over completely in these moments, submissive in every move and inviting with every breath.

Kisuke takes the words for what they are. A statement, a fact. An offer. A promise.

Ichigo has put himself fully in his hands, given Kisuke power over him and control. Things so many people have tried to take from the younger man, but also things he entrusts completely to him and him alone.

It would be humbling if Kisuke didn’t hunger all the same like Ichigo, no matter that he had been the one teasing him. No matter than he had already been using him for years and didn’t deserve to be the one holding the metaphorical leash.

“I could”, he answers, pushing away the lingering guilt he held for their shared past. Ichigo would have rolled his eyes if he wasn’t so far gone. A good thing he is. Kisuke submerges himself further in the connection they hold, the power he controls, the gift that it is and the treasure that he’ll take care of in so many, many ways.

“And I will.”

A moan answers him, having locks of orange firmly gripped between his fingers as he takes a kiss, then another. As he delves deeper into it, tugging the strand just a bit harder until he’s certain he’s stolen nearly all the breath Ichigo holds.

Breathless panting echoes the otherwise empty room, devoid of other people at least. Ichigo is his treasure and his alone. Of course, like all treasure he needs a special pedestal to put him on. A slightly manic gleam enters the inventor’s eyes as he takes in the sinful picture that his lover is before him.

He knows just the right. pedestal. His treasure will look absolutely divine writhing upon it, secured. There’s no other worthy enough and Kisuke would know.

He built this particular “pedestal” after all. He even already put Ichigo’s name on it, had it adjusted properly for his height and size and everything it needed. Absently, a hand slips into his pocket and fingers a remote. He could break the younger man before hi mE. He can break him. He will.

The corners of his mouth upturn into something a little darker. He’s going to enjoy every moment of it, too, and he’s certain Ichigo will, too.

Oh darling feel free to give me gifts like this anytime. That was fantastic!

[macfrog]

all three dogs

Of course you must learn to love, to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love. andrew kane, how to be a dog

inspired by this gorgeous post (good idea to read it before you read this), and this gorgeous ask (thank you @iknowisoundcrazy). also shoutout to @mrsmando for being the queen of character study. i am not sure what this is, exactly? is it about joel miller, or is it about some dogs? i do not know. but it was fucking cathartic, so here, i guess. here's how i see joel at his worst.

summary: "dog metaphors are all about devotion, devotion to a person, a concept, a place etc, to be a dog is to be devoted."

warnings: little graphic i guess? blood and guts. violent joel. sarah dies and joel shoots up a hospital to save ellie. angst. i think that's it

word count: 1.3k

main masterlist | follow @macfroglets with notifs on to be the first to hear when i post 🖤

he loves you, sarah says, fork digging into egg.

he’s dependent on me, joel quips, not the same.

i think it’s the same.

when the first dog is born, he gives his heavy head a shake, and his ears flick to life. his fur is still damp from the blood and fluid of his mother’s body. he still smells like her – looks like her, too. he is still connected in some way to where he has been; the umbilical cord coiled and dripping.

she licks and licks and licks until he is clean. watches contently as he pads off into some distant future, where he will lose that boisterous gleam in his eye, the gentle wag of his tail. but for now –

for now, he is brown-haired. brown-eyed to match. he has a daughter. he is bright, and alive, and he makes jokes when they bubble up to his tongue. he is good. he knows love like a first language, as if each swipe of his mother’s tongue on his coat melded it into his makeup.

he does not know the warmth of another man’s blood on his hands. he has not drawn the screams and howls of pain from another’s throat.

she is the sun – his daughter – the most radiant part of his life. his life, which spins on its axis around her. always looking for her, to her, at her. vitamin c, she tells him, and he accepts the glass of orange juice. she tells him to swear and he says, on my life. she tells him he’s lame and he says, i know.

he trots faithful and pliant at her heels. circles her legs and passes over her shadow, waiting to be told different. waiting to be shooed away.

only – when he is told, he doesn’t listen. he can’t. what is a planet with no sun to orbit? what becomes of day, when its light begins to drain?

she digs her nails into his skin. pushes and scratches and begs him with shallow gasps to take his hands off her stomach. to let her go. to go away.

i know, baby, i know i know i know i know –

he tells her she’s going to be okay. because what the fuck else does he know? he’s just a dog. he’s just her dog. all he knows is her.

the sun is being eclipsed. the world begins to darken.

i’m just gonna get her killed, joel weeps, i know it. i have to leave her.

when the second dog is pulled from his mother, he wails in a collapsed heap on the cold tile floor. the world is dim, colorless. the sun is gone. he does not know how he ended up here.

love is akin to violence. it speaks the same language, inflection and cadence blurring between words. he is only as strong as his fists are able to break bone. he has run out of road – a panting, ragged, old dog, tongue hanging lopsided and jumping. ears dented with the pieces of him lost to fighting.

something quakes within his chest, a deep, unstable movement. a shifting of the tectonic plates that make up his bones. he shakes violently, feeling for the thrash of his heart against his chest wall. something in the darkness commands him to act – to move, though it never reveals where to or what from. just fucking move.

and then – the eruption of his temper. like waves on rocks, breaching in violent and unpredictable bursts. spray of black ocean on the jagged cliff edge. i made this decision for your own good, he reasons, stood in the pink-papered bedroom. the snow flutters silently outside. his hackles slowly furl. she scoffs. she knows as well as he does: he’s as good a liar as he was a pet.

but for all his anger, for all the fear he misdiagnoses as weakness – there is a glimmer somewhere on his back. a pale light catching in the broken face of his watch; lighting the kinks of his dark coat. it begins to push him; to stir him like the tide.

something is controlling him again. pulling on his collar. someone is lighting the way.

where is she?

fuck you.

it takes as little time for the dog’s ears to prick as it did for his lungs to suck in a breath. his upper lip twists, canine glinting in the trembling fluorescent light. shining with saliva and the rusted tinge of blood. joel thinks it over less than once. his eyes flood black.

i don’t have time for this.

when the third dog rips his way into the world, he tears everything around him to shreds, too. his teeth are already bared; his claws are already swiping. his eyes are black as ink; he cannot remember that soft-footed pup he once was.

there is nothing left to hide. not anymore. he has existed in the darkness too long to try. his shirt and skin are stained with dirt and sweat and blood. his fur is matted; his fangs are brown and rotten. if she saw him, if her light cast its golden spill onto his bloodshot eyes and mottled coat – she would never know who he is. she would not recognize her own father.

but he was always this way, it seems: he has always loved catastrophically.

everything is red. saturated in threat; a screaming, nauseating red. it turns his stomach just to look, to peer down the chamber of his gun. the blinking of the alarm light. the maroon stains on his hands. the metallic smell seeping from the slumped vests. the thick pools he steps through, the footprints following him around every corner. they will catch up to him eventually. they always do.

his paws hurt. pads skinned raw from all the running. his lungs ache, now, too. his throat lurches for breath, closes in on itself and then sticks, choking him. he cannot remember the heat of the sun on his arms. he does not know when he last said her name.

he doesn’t remember when he last said anything. he speaks in growls and barks and bites. when his mouth opens, his lips curl by instinct. he swallows his drawl and replaces it with something sharper. something poisonous. there’s foam lining his gums.

all he has – of this he is sure – is his brute force and the quick snap of his bite. the shattering of bone, the mauling of flesh. the brawn and breadth of his body; the squeeze of a trigger with one thoughtless pull. all he knows how to do is swing.

and so, one heavy boot steps in front of the other. crunching over broken glass and scuffing over bullet shells. whereisshewhereisshewhereisshe. it loops through his head like it used to when he could see color and feel the wind in his ears. like chasing his tail. catchitcatchitcatchit.

where did she go – the moon? which cloud is she hiding behind? how many men do his maws have to tear apart to find her?

and what will she think when she sees him again? his collar missing and his claws dripping crimson. when she feels the rips in his ears, sees the scar on the side of his head. what will she do, when she runs her hand down his dirty coat, and in place of a loving lick or nuzzle of the nose, he sinks his teeth straight into her wrist?

swear to me. swear to me that everything you said about the fireflies is true.

the dog lowers his head obediently. his ears fall flat. tail curls between his back legs. the wind pushes hard against joel’s chest, threatening to take him with it. i swear, he says.

ellie’s gaze falls. she nods once. tightens her fist around the dog’s leash.

okay.

-

lots of inspo drawn from:

how to be a dog by andrew kane

grit by silas denver melvin

monster theory: reading culture by jeffrey jerome cohen [seven theses]

[marcusagrippa]

oooohhhh i am sick i am sickened i am diseased i have contracted the pestilence ummmmm ohhhhh noooo i thought a little bit too hard about the rome au and now i think i'm a rexwalker shipper (???). solely because of octavian and agrippa making me fall in love with the devoted lieutenant and oblivious overly ambitious general trope (with a side of dog metaphors). anyway anakin at philippi being a sickly little bastard in his tent and having visions of the future in a fevered delirium and rex taking care of him or something idk.

[dearreader]

hello fellow members of the tortured poets department. i’m very excited to talk about this next song as i think it ties into a lot of other songs, specifically on evermore my favorite album. so let’s talk about i look in peoples windows

previous day's here:

standard tracks: masterpost

anthology tracks: the black dog, imgonnagetyouback, the albatross, chloe or sam or sofia or marcus, how did it end?, so high school, i hate it here, thanK you aIMee

this song is one of the shortest songs on the album but i think it says the most. so much so that i haven’t properly figured out how to articulate it. i actually came up with several different interpretations for each lyric AS I WAS WRITING THIS. it’s truly a masterpiece of a song and leaves so much for the listener to ponder and reflect on.

the song feels like it’s a part of moving on and grieving something. the wondering about this person you once were entitled to know all their whereabouts and now don’t know anything (a possible follow up or callback to the black dog and another interpretation of that same event or idea). you’re wonder what they’re doing and what would happen if you saw each other one more time.

while the actual meaning is simple the lyrics and story taylor tells can be taken in many different ways. which then leads to many different interpretations of what the song is or could be.

one interpretation is the song opening with her muse reviving her via mouth-to-mouth resuscitation (“i had died the tinest death/i spied the catch in your breath/out out out out out out” “do i really have to tell you how he brought me back to life?”). but they part ways, she’s northbound and is taken away while the muse board a train south. this idea of the muses air reviving her and being separated from it can be why she’s now “a feather taken by the wind, blowing” because she’s without him to guide her and she’s now unsure what life hold for her. because of that she isn’t sure where she is or where he is. so she’s looking for him again, wondering what could happen if they meet again and see each other. would she be swept back into his airstream? who knows.

another idea following this similar interpretation can be that after he revived her she was supposed to be northbound, but instead she got swept away in his airflow/jet steam as she followed his train south (“my baby’s fly like a jet stream” “windows flung right open/autumn air/jacket around my shoulders is yours” “life was a willow and it bent right to your wind … the more that you say the less i know/where ever you stray i follow” “when you blew in with the winds of fate”). this is a common idea that’s shown on the album, her making her life about whomever she’s with to show devotion and them not caring/reciprocating. so with this metaphor we see taylor describing how her whole world was him, which isn’t anything new, but the opening merely discusses taylor meeting this muse and not them parting ways. but by the time we hit the pre-chorus we’re shown she’s now alone, something happened and they lost each other. so now she’s floating aimlessly completely alone in a world she doesn’t know and is stuck looking for him.

the opening can also be referencing back to willow. the mention of a train and that he “borders your train south” meaning he didn’t take taylor’s train home. but this song is feel like ADDS a lot of context to willow. taylor describes her muse as being able to conquer any form she takes and guide through her. she’s the ocean on a rough, stormy night? he’s a boat gliding through it flawlessly. she’s a willow and he’s the wind blowing through her leaves, moving her every which way. this then lets us see that she let him in easily and guide her however he pleased because she loved him. this continues then when we hear “you know that my train can take you home/everywhere else is hollow”, she’s begging him to join her world, that no one else will ever match or compare. but with this idea i look in people’s windows then feels like a sequel, a sad sequel. he doesn’t take her train. he blows her away (i spied the catch in your breath/out out out out out out), sending her away while he takes a different train. separating them. which means she isn’t allowed to know his whereabouts (the black dog) and she’s cursed to look for him, meaning she could be hollow now because she’s without him,and wonder what would happen if they saw each other again.

those are just a few interpretations, and there’s probably more out there. but the second verse details her questioning the last thing she saw of her muse:

“you had stopped and titled your head/i still ponder what it meant/now now now now now now”

because any interpretation we follow can lead to this idea. the last thing she saw was him questioning his actions/watching her leave. like he was second guessing it was considering if this was the right thing or something else. she doesn’t know. that’s why she still thinks it over now. she’s still so lost in his world she analyzes everything trying to make sense of their goodbye.

from here on she describes all the ways she’s looking for him. people on streets, looking at christmas parities from windows, watching family’s sit down for dinner, etc. they’re all creepy. they’re all unsettling. and she’s openly admitting it. that she’s so hung up and lost without him she’s looking for him everywhere she goes. she doesn’t know what it will produce or lead to but she is cursed by not knowing and it’s killing her.

this is why it’s one of the best songs on the album. it’s very short and open to the listeners interpretation. but it really shows us an aspect of taylor we hadn’t seen prior of her write about prior. she’s being honest about her feeling lost and looking for him. it feels very honest and brutal. one of the top ten tracks on the album. i’m so serious.