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silkscream · 1 month

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CHAPTER 9: GOD IS A CIRCLE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader, geto suguru x reader

Your angels do not react. They only look at you with concern, shielding you from the blazing sun with their wings. They stare as you laugh, doubling over, falling backwards into the green grass. You only remember that you’re alive when they trace the contours of your body with their fingertips.

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: explicit content (18+ mdni) , unprotected sex, high sex, threesome, oral sex, fingering, graphic depictions of violence and blood, recreational drug usage, biblical imagery, angst

ੈ✩ wc: 5.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: i was barely conscious when i wrote this. sorry bout it

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

August, 2009

Bliss is never eternal. If it was, you’d think the world would stop turning with everyone busy with their greatest indulgences. It’s not like you were much of a hedonist anyway, not even with Satoru’s influence.

You feel intoxicated with him and Suguru, but it’s not enough to keep you from reality. Yaga-sensei proves this the moment the boys are ordained the task of protecting the star plasma vessel—a fourteen-year-old girl with more spirit than you ever had at that age. You admire her spunk, her unwillingness to take shit from either of the boys. It entertains you endlessly.

“How do you deal with them?” she mutters to you. You learn that her name is Riko Amanai. She loves the ocean and has a sweet tooth like Satoru. Her favorite flavor is anything blue.

“I keep them in check.”

“Are you my bodyguard too?”

“Not really,” you laugh. “But I’ll be around.”

Riko likes you. She clings to you more than you anticipate, considering this isn’t your mission, but you understand. She’s vulnerable despite her confidence in her fate as Tengen’s vessel. Talks a big game with blue eyes shining bright, similar to Satoru.

She pouts at your absence. You think nothing of it, knowing that she’s in good hands between the boys and that caretaker of hers. The bounty on the girl’s head is daunting, but the boys are the strongest, and you watch them evade the enemies easily.

It’s when they end up in Okinawa that something in your chest feels a bit empty. A bad omen, anxiety pooling in your gut.

Satoru texts you pictures from the beach—sea creatures from the ocean and the aquarium, selfies with Suguru that are often blurry. He texts you how much he misses you, how much he craves the parts of you that you think may be too intimate to even talk about out loud, let alone through text. Suguru sends you pictures of Riko and Satoru on the beach with the creatures they pick up from the ocean, of sunsets he knows you would enjoy.

You ache for their return.

satoru: gonna stay for another day jsyk

you: having fun?

satoru: yeaaaa

satoru: tired as fuck though

satoru: but riko likes the beach. thought we could give her one more day

you: you’re sweet

satoru: not as sweet as uuuuuuuuu

satoru: she says hi btw

satoru: shes mad ur not here

you: she likes me more than you

satoru: >:(

you: i’ll see you soon. get some sleep please

satoru: anything for u baby

Something has gone terribly wrong.

You have no reason to be worried—Satoru is more than capable of handling that assassin, no matter how swift his movements may be. It was whiplash to see a sword go through him, and it was whiplash to see Satoru react like it was a paper cut.

Now, in the Tombs of the Star, you feel a chill run up your spine as you escort Kuroi out. She’s still emotional, wiping tears after her goodbye to Amanai. Trepidation strikes you the same way it did in that forest all those months ago. The air has grown cold, but you can’t sense any other cursed energy but your own.

“Kuroi,” you breathe.

“Yes?” She sniffles, wiping her tears quickly.

“Go on without me,” you say cautiously. “I think I better guard the Tomb just in case. For Geto.”

“Alright. Thank you for being there for them.” Kuroi smiles at you with a warmth you aren’t sure that you deserve.

“I wasn’t the one protecting her.”

“I know, but she admired you a lot. We missed you in Okinawa.”

You pull her into a hug, one that you wish you’d given Riko moments prior. It’s a parting gift.

When she departs, you’re left alone in a dark hallway. You expect a spirit to jump out — something monstrous, an amalgamation of your nightmares. But this is a sacred place, you suppose. One meant for sacrifices and blessings. You’ve never really believed in blessings. The world is built on too many curses for that.

Something in the air made you want to choke, swallow back bile. Nothing like your old anxiety spells. It’s something else, you’re sure of it. And yet, it was quiet enough to hear a pin drop. The rustle of fabric.

He couldn’t go undetected, not completely. Not when your intuition was on overdrive, making you sick with it. Your senses acute.

“Haven’t seen you before.”

His voice is raspy, the sound of skinned palms on pavement. Deep the way Japanese whiskey burns down and sits in your stomach a little too heavy. There’s a split on the corner of his mouth as if he’d been nicked by a thorn. He smiles at you with lazy, bovine eyes and a snake-like smirk.

This man is not a figment of your imagination — he’s real as can be as he towers over yet, and there’s not a lick of cursed energy you can feel, even when you’re this close to him. A human.

You think about Satoru and the sword that went through his chest. You look at the sword that the stranger in front of you wields. Within a second, you rush to touch him, but your technique doesn’t activate as soon as you want it, too. He slashes you across the stomach, crimson permeating the torn fabric of your uniform.

“Weak little girl,” he chides. “You’re too pretty to kill, though.”

You gag, nearly vomiting on the ground.

“You their girlfriend or what? Would’ve thought they were fucking each other, to be honest.”

You shake your head weakly, your vision blurring already. You hear a bark of a laugh. Not even your bared teeth can be taken seriously, not when you’re bleeding out on the ground. He tuts as if he’s scolding you.

“He’ll kill you,” you hiss. The man laughs again. You must be referring to one of your boys. He grins wider when he realizes.

“Which one? The one with the bangs?” he scoffs. “Because I already killed the Gojo brat, sweetheart.”

You feel your heart drop, sinking like an anchor as the feeling drags your body down with it. You look at him with wide eyes, and the sadistic stare you get back tells you he wants to humiliate you. It would hurt less if he just killed you.

Satoru would never die by the hand of a non-sorcerer. Not a fucking chance. But the notion doesn’t stop the itch behind your nose, your eyes threatening tears. The man crouches, his face looking down at you in mock sympathy, and places a rough palm to your face, swipes your quivering bottom lip. You taste blood.

You clutch his wrist immediately and he raises his hand.

Something metal whips the side of your face, something heavy. Your sight of vision narrows into black.

When you wake, you aren’t sure if you’ve arrived in a nightmare or had just left one.

For one, Satoru is saturated in blood. The scratches on his face are brutal. He looks half feral, half shell-shocked. It’s nothing you’ve seen before.

Despondency paints Suguru’s face into a shadow of himself. There’s something off about their cursed energy.

You don’t want to ask them how the rest of the mission went — you can already tell what the answer might be. If everything went according to plan, there wouldn’t be a blank stare in each of their eyes. If everything was fine, they would return to you like themselves — animated and flirty and teasing. If everything was the way it was meant to be, maybe you wouldn’t have the slight scar of a side wound aching at the side of your gut.

Instead, they’re all business. It’s like they look through you when they speak to you.

“Is Riko…” you trail off.

“She’s dead,” they say.

They deliver the news to you, expressionless. Mirroring each other.

There’s a blankness in Satoru’s eyes. Cold. No one exactly knows how to deal with being killed only to bring yourself back again. The thought of his mangled body surrounded by flyheads makes your stomach churn.

He had always been god-like, prodigal. After being reborn, he really was a God. Untouchable. You’d think him to be cockier or more cruel, but on the surface, he’s devoid of anything, really. He’s stony-eyed, instead, a little empty behind the face. There’s a spark of something when he sees the large bruise on your cheekbone and the ghost of a slash on your rib.

He won’t say much about the man who killed him. Only that he had no cursed energy and a son. You remember a scar bending with the curve of a mouth and sharp green eyes.

It’s quiet at Jujutsu Tech afterward. Yaga continues classes like he always does, and all of you do your best. There are fewer missions that are being demanded of you. You think it’s because of the failed mission. Despite this, Satoru takes on whatever he can, even volunteering for the tougher ones just so he can let off some steam. Suguru often tags along with him, leaving you alone to sulk.

You don’t think you have any reason to sulk. It’s not like you were killed, anyway.

You feel them both pulling away. You don’t bother to pry — they at least seem to be occupied with each other. They were best friends before you ever got close to either of them. You knew your place. You’d give them space, knowing the gravity of the trauma they’d experienced on the mission, and yet your heart ached all the same. It was a familiar hurt, the same you’d felt in high school about Satoru. It was only peculiar now because those feelings applied to both of them.

But then there are times when Satoru sneaks into your room like he always does. He likes to nip at your shoulder with teeth that feel sharper, meaner. Hand around your throat, the calluses squeezing flesh. He likes to pin you down to the mattress, likes to hear the squeak of the bedframe as he fucks into you mercilessly.

Suguru takes you, too, but not so desperately, not so obviously. He lures you in, instead. You realize that he’s different than Satoru in the way that he has the patience for games. It explains the teasing, the touching. He’ll have you wrapped around his finger just from talking to you, and within the hour, he’ll be fucking into your soaked cunt in the locker rooms after sparring.

You suppose this is the way they both let out their frustrations, how they cope with the trauma of losing Riko. They were tightlipped about her.

Both of them had changed in ways that were beyond your comprehension.

Satoru gets colder. Similar to the way he was in high school, when he barely acknowledged you. He doesn’t like to look at you for very long, as if the mere fact of his gaze on you would hurt him, hurt you. It was stupid. He didn’t care about your fragility before, so what point was there to care about it now?

Suguru is mostly the same, just quieter. Hell, he’d always been quiet, other than the times he’d fuck you or when you’d be alone with him. His sarcastic streak was weaker. He touched you less.

You can’t stand any of it.

Satoru isn’t meant to be someone so vulnerable. It’s out of character for him.

You soothe his nightmares when he wakes you up in the middle of the night clutching your waist with nails digging into the skin underneath your shirt. He’s always shaking, always mumbling something nonsensical.

Selfishly, you find that it feels nice to be needed. To be his only form of salvation during these times.

In his waking moments, Satoru is himself again. Belligerently so, with his recklessness. It’s up to you and Suguru to tame him, often. Satoru is almost a different version of himself – familiar and still annoying — but he is much more adamant about his power, nowadays. A God complex in the making.

Satoru gets greedier. He likes to wake you up with his nose nudging your clit, tongue already making a mess of your hole. No amount of pushing his head away with your hand would make him stop, though you blame yourself for indulging.

He likes to tease you for the semblance of control. You suspect that beyond playing with you, he finds solace in Suguru, instead. They aren’t particularly shy about it—sometimes you walk into Satoru’s dorm and find them entangled with one another, clothes off and warm to the touch. They always welcome you into their arms, forcing you in between them.

You feel like you’re at an arm’s length from them at all times despite this.

November, 2009

You settle on a routine. It’s less than pleasant, but you’re used to it. Convincing yourself that it’s normal, at least.

Yaga puts you on more solo missions — you’ve improved your technique. The precision of it is tough, always a wildcard given the unpredictability of destruction beneath your fingertips. Regardless, it’s gotten better. It doesn’t traumatize you so much to be a vehicle of decay anymore. You’re numb to it.

It’s odd — you’re carrying the burden of something you didn’t experience. Satoru finds that you are a mirror for Suguru, the same temperament and all. Always leaving the party to smoke cigarettes together. It doesn’t make him pissy necessarily, but it makes him pout. Clingy to the both of you.

“Stop being antisocial,” he whines.

You and Suguru look up at him in question. He had followed you out of the party when you saw Satoru’s hand on the waist of a girl you didn’t recognize. It was nothing, probably, but it wasn’t something you had ever had to deal with. It wasn’t like he could pry anything out of you, anyway.

“We’re not,” you defend, waving a cigarette around. “It’s too hot in there.”

It was true, to be fair. You were too warm in there and the outside air was nice. That, and you figured that Suguru would follow you, and he always wanted to steal you away for kisses.

Satoru had technically intruded on that, interrupting the moment Suguru had pulled away from your mouth. He eyes you wearing Suguru’s jacket and softens.

“You wanna go home, don’t you?” he asks.

“I can stay if you want,” you shrug.

He sighs. “Can you guys at least hang out with me?”

“Needy,” Suguru teases, stomping the butt of his cigarette on the ground and ushering you in between the sliding glass doors, hand on the small of your back. He nips at Satoru’s neck on the way in.

As if in apology, you don’t leave Satoru’s lap for the rest of the night. You don’t really get to. He even follows you to the bathroom and considers taking you over the counter for the hell of it.

It’s been difficult to touch you, lately.

In late August, the Zen’in outcast had killed him. Satoru had never thought of death as an option that was even possible. It’s why his mind was frenzied in his last moments, panicked as the two of them were surrounded by fly heads. He had not anticipated death, hadn’t anticipated the impact of it, how Suguru would have to return his corpse to Jujutsu Tech. How you would be shedding overflowing tears.

He’d like to think that your face or Suguru’s was in his mind when he took his last breath, but truthfully, he doesn’t remember. His mind was blank.

And when he had risen from the dead and shot a lethal hole through Toji Fushiguro, his mind was blank then, as well. The euphoria had faded. He had fulfilled the ordained role of a boygod, his hands were bloody, and he killed a man who would leave behind a son. He thought of his supposed immortality, his transcendence beyond something human, and then he thought of you.

You were the most human thing about him.

Your warmth, the flush in your cheeks. The way he had taken you back when you were in school, none the wiser about the world of curses. Sometimes he thinks you are one.

It wasn’t meant to go this far, but he had taken the leap and continued to wade in the pool of it all. He does not think of love when he thinks of his family, but he thinks of love when he sees you and Suguru. Something beating, something alive.

It was why he was constantly tipping the line between overflowing completely and being numb — Satoru was no stranger to his indulgences. You, on the other hand, were something else entirely. Fragile underneath his hands. Sometimes, he didn’t even think it was worth it to keep you in the bear trap he had set for you.

And then Suguru would kiss away your tears when Satoru was too rough, too cold, and he would succumb to his desires again. Instead of being something akin to a god, he often dreamt about being ordinary.

Maybe if his birth didn’t throw the planet off its kilter, he could truly be good to you instead of wanting to cut you open and live inside of you. Satoru would always be safe in your skin, but he had started to doubt that you would ever be safe in his.

You were the first to know him, he thinks. You had met him as a child and didn’t assume his divinity, rather, you were oblivious to it. Even as a little servant, you refused to kiss his feet. It relieved him. Satoru knew you always meant more to him than a toy, but in his emerging adulthood, he had taken you as a form of escapism and couldn’t cut you off. You had fastened yourself to him like an extra limb unknowingly.

“I don’t get how you can be so overbearing to her yet so distant at the same time,” Suguru remarks.

Satoru makes a face, scrunching his nose.

“Don’t play dumb.”

“I genuinely don’t know what you’re referring to,” Satoru says blankly.

“The teasing goes too far. And you get insensitive because you’re a prick, and then you barely text her back when you’re on missions.”

Satoru scoffs, fiddling with the pencil he twirls in his hands. Suguru was right, he supposed. He noticed you were a little hollow, all blank stares. Sleeping in while Satoru did not sleep at all.

“They’ve gotten harder lately. And it’s not like I’m–”

“Not what?” Suguru snorts. “Her boyfriend?”

Satoru says nothing to this. Instead, he tackles Suguru onto his bed, slides his palms underneath his shirt and up the smooth planes of his abdomen. He sighs, setting his head on Suguru’s chest.

“It’s not like she cares.”

“She does. She loves you.”

Satoru’s face reddens as if what Suguru says isn’t fact. On Satoru’s end, however – his feelings for you were an understatement. Calling it love seemed fruitless. He’d like to be fused with you, never letting you go. Stuck in the bliss of your skin kissing his in the early mornings forever.

“Think something got knocked loose when I died,” Satoru mumbles, his eyes blank.

Suguru looks at him in question, not following.

“I’ll make it up to her.”

January, 2010

“What are you getting Suguru for his birthday?”

“I don’t know,” Satoru shrugs, a blue raspberry lollipop filling up the hollow of his cheek. Tongue matching the blinding saturation of his eyes. “A blowjob?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Don’t be homophobic! You like watching.”

“I’m serious,” you roll your eyes.

“We’ll take him out,” he grins, shoving his hands in his pockets. Always stupidly attractive, his beauty borderline mythological.

You knew he was lying, knew that he would be away on that Wednesday, that his calendar was always filled a month prior with what the higher-ups needed from him. You thought it was unfair, given that he was still only a second year, though you still knew better. The glaring truth of his strength ever since the failed Star Plasma Vessel mission was conspicuous, a reminder that started to become egregious to you.

Satoru takes some of your takoyaki in unspoken amusement with you rolling your eyes, passing the tray towards him. He pouts despite the gesture, reaching over to poke you in the cheek.

“That can’t taste good with all the sugar in your mouth.”

“You’d be surprised.”

You fixate on the television. Satoru had gotten lucky recently, convincing Yaga to convert one of the common rooms with the connected bathroom into a dorm for himself. He had the Gojo money to “donate”, and he’d been on his best behavior in the past few months, which was rare. It wasn’t like Yaga really gave a fuck about their boarding situation as long as the missions went smoothly.

The room was big enough to fulfill that dream of pushing two beds together. A TV set and dingy couch to match. He needed the TV to fall asleep at night, especially if you weren’t there to stroke his hair. It was the only light source beyond a Hello Kitty lava lamp that Suguru had gotten him as a joke gift.

Satoru had recently started an obsession with Godzilla for some reason, forcing you to watch one every few days before bedtime. You were going in order since Christmas – tonight was the one versus Hedorah.

“You never look at me anymore,” he whines.

“What are you talking about?”

You’d rather say something biting, like how it was the other way around. How he’s been shoving your face into the mattress. How you’d come back to your dorm and see Satoru in between Suguru’s legs without much acknowledgment to you until he’d finish.

“You look at me like I’m a mosquito bite or something. What’s wrong? You don’t think I’m pretty anymore?” he grins, settling his cheek into his palm.

“Not at all. You’re hideous,” you deadpan, crossing your arms. The remark earns you a light kick to your shin under the table.

“Wow. Rude. Personally, I think you’re God-sent.”

“I thought you wanted me to watch this movie,” you mutter, trying not to let him know how much his comment affected you. You always flushed when he said things like that still, and it would always be out of the blue.

“You know I like talking during movies.”

“Right. It’s one of your worst qualities,” you sigh.

The pillows around you are discarded when he suddenly pins you down to the carpet, your face right next to an old ash stain from one of Shoko’s cigarettes. He grins as he parts your mouth with the pad of his thumb, and you’re as obedient as you always are. There’s a ribbon of saliva from his mouth stretching as he takes the lollipop from his tongue to yours.

It wasn’t difficult to get his dick hard, really. He’d known that ever since he’d seen you sprawled on the grass next to the track field when you were fourteen, the way your chest was heaving and your underwear was just slightly visible underneath your gym shorts when you parted your legs.

Satoru thinks you’d laugh in his face if he’d told you about all the times he thought about you when you were teenagers despite the fact that he didn’t speak to you at all. He knows that he would deserve it.

It’s funny. He used to resent you then. He knew he could have you if he’d simply tried a bit harder, if he didn’t so abruptly toss you aside in middle school. Even so, you were everywhere for him—in his dreams, in his house against your will like a chained ghost. Back then, he hated that he loved you, hated that you were weak, hated that, at least besides Suguru, nobody knew him except you.

He wonders briefly if he was high on the taste of you or if the candy is laced with something— he wouldn’t be surprised, since Shoko and Suguru were enablers for the two of you even when you tried to be responsible. It didn’t matter anyway. Your body always made him this frenetic.

It’s when his fingers graze the heat of your cunt that Suguru barges in. He blinks at the two of you entangled on the floor and merely laughs.

“You guys just started?”

“Mmmf,” Satoru grunts. His hand’s wrapped around your neck, now, and your eyes are closed.

Suguru’s musk fills the room. White pine and sugary maple — he’d used Satoru’s deodorant before the mission. There’s still a blood splatter under his cheekbone the color of ripe plums. This was the usual weekend routine. Mindless fucking with a movie in the background. At least one of you would be too exhausted to muster up the energy to go into the city. It was easier to indulge inside, especially when the temperature kept dipping.

Your eyes flutter as Satoru bites your neck down to your collarbone. When you look toward the couch, you see Suguru with a plastic baggie of something you don’t recognize.

“What’s that?”

“Shrooms.”

“How the hell did you manage that?” Satoru quips, his hand digging into your hip.

“There are some freaks in Akihabara,” Suguru shrugs. He eats the mushrooms like they’re crumbs at the bottom of a chip bag. “Got this shit after my mission in a fucking vending machine outside a love hotel. Can you believe it?”

“What, did you get a room there or something?” Satoru snorts. “Whore.”

“Why would I, when I can home to this?” Suguru’s eyes are viper-like, serpentine as he smiles lazily. You’d eat from his palm if he asked you to. In sickness and health—it was stupid. You crawl to him and you do.

Satoru doesn’t take any. He knows full well that psychedelics fuck with his Infinity, that it would only make his insomnia worse. The last time he’d tried acid, he had nightmares for days, seeing green eyes of a hunter. Blood slashed from a blade to his neck. Flyheads swarming.

The drugs make you giddy. Another hour and the room spins in an orderly fashion, the ceiling dancing around in a kaleidoscopic pulse. Suguru had limited your dose, knew you’d freak the fuck out if your self started to disconnect. He’d been there enough times to despise it. Ego death was torture for the introspective kind.

He sucks a hickey into your neck while you’re mindless. It’s amusing how invested you are in this episode of Sailor Moon. Satoru lays his head on your thigh, playing with you lazily. You’re happy enough to take it, grinding against his hand as Suguru distracts you with a kiss. It’s tender and slow, not unusual for him, but with the two of them together, everything is usually frenzied.

He gets you in his lap, the sacrificial lamb you are. Always eager to walk into the predator’s gaping maw on your own accord because of his beautiful eyes. Suguru is no beast, but there’s something twisted about the way he plays with you sometimes.

He likes you to beg for it, but it’s not the taunting way that Satoru does. Suguru will inch his face close enough to yours to smell the artificial sweetness of your breath, then pull your hair when you lean in to kiss him. He’ll touch your thigh under the table, not unlike Satoru, but his fingers will dance around your core in a way that leaves you unable to speak to your fellow peers.

You wonder if they’ve learned their cruelty from each other. But this time, he’s sweet.

It’s the hallucinogen fogging his brain. It makes him like a teenager in love. Open-mouthed, pawing love handles. You’re wearing Satoru’s t-shirt, something monochromatic and stupidly expensive, and Suguru tears it off of you as his mouth waters.

Coughing, Satoru tilts his head, supports it with elbows on the carpet. His temperament is neutral, teasing even, but for some reason, looking at him makes you sober up to some degree of lucidity that’s sensitive to him. The part of you that wants to please him at all times.

You crawl to him and say his name. It’s child-like. The shrooms make your eyes wide, colors innocence onto your face from the bliss. It reminds him of when you were younger—bruised knees and twigs in your hair from tumbling in the forest with him. Something tugs at his chest.

“You tryin’ to seduce me?” Satoru jeers, tongue licking his teeth. His palm on your face is hot.

You smile and nod. His gaze lowers and he snaps the waistband of your sweats against your hip. Hand on your thigh again, taunting your synapses. You think he’ll take you with his usual ferocity, but he steals your breath with a kiss instead.

The kiss never ends. Maybe they switch in between, but you don’t notice. Your eyes are shut, tight enough to see phosphenes like a galaxy. Blue and purple bleeding into your irises. You feel them pulling you apart, cock filling you up, hands everywhere.

“Fuck,” someone gasps. Something like groveling, desperate hair pulling.

“Inside,” you beg. “Please.”

Satoru watches, mesmerized. The heat of your body, sweat pooling into the divot above your clavicle—it all makes his mouth water, but he stays still on the couch as Suguru pins you to the floor. It’s the most the Six Eyes has felt in months, for some reason, and he hadn’t even taken anything. He half-wishes he could get his hands on something other than you to inject into his veins—maybe then he could learn to be calm or fall asleep at regular times. Anything to stop the odd ache in his chest whenever he looked at you.

He’s never been a man of God. He was God himself. And then he sees you moan out, bliss-wrecked and flooded with light, burning like seraphim. He’d come back to life a thousand times just to see your face. It made him sick.

Satoru kisses you before you knock out on his bed, eyes half-open and dazed. You’re refusing to go to bed, citing euphoria for your desire to run a few laps. Meanwhile, Suguru is asleep on the couch, fucked out and satisfied.

You’re coaxed into sleep. It’s not hard once you start rambling, shut up only by the feeling of Satoru’s fingers running across your scalp. He lays awake like he often does, talking to the moon. He sighs as you nuzzle into him, your whole body curling towards him to ward off goosebumps. You’re nearly bare considering you didn’t bother to put on clothes after you and Suguru had finished.

Satoru pulls the blanket over you, sighing. He’d had the leftover beers in the mini-fridge just to feel a buzz, even the taste of German ales made his nose wrinkle. It still wasn’t enough to put his mind at ease. He stares at the stained carpet, then Suguru’s sleeping shadow, then your face. He shuts his eyes.

It’s been months, yet the memories still cage you. It’s like something wraps its hand around your throat in your subconscious. In each dream, you are aching for their return, and they come to you like newly-bloomed flowers.

It feels like you’ve been waiting for them for centuries, your body stuck in the grass with a bruise over your left eye that doesn’t stop aching. You don’t even know how much you’re bleeding until they return to you again, caressing your sides and pulling away at the sight of a wound.

Your angels are not dead. It’s enough relief for you to keep going, but they still look at you with furrowed brows. Blood spills from your mouth.

“I missed you. I missed you. I missed you.”

Despite the pain, the vision is familiar. You’re too distracted by their beauty, how their mere presence is arcadian in itself. You don’t need anything else. You could die here.

Here, between them and their celestial bodies, in the green, green grass. Spider lilies bloom around you like kisses in blessing as the golden evening swallows you up. There’s a sinking feeling—a literal one, of you descending into the ground in a way that feels like a loose feather falling.

Your angels reach for you until they grasp the whole of you and turn you inside out. They pull apart the mess of you, reshaping you, undoing tangles and knots and bending the stem of your being so you can be reborn in their image. They love you enough to do so.

And when you look back at them with love in your eyes, you flinch. They’re eclipsed by something terrible, too far away for you to reach. It’s bloody. It has a voice like skin scraping pavement, full-bodied whiskey.

You stretch your hand out only meet a sweaty palm. When you open your eyes, a pair of blue ones stare back at you.

#gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk x you #geto suguru x you #geto x you

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 months

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Hi hi! Have you seen the new Rook and Jade cards?

TWST REALLY SAID HAVE A MERRY CHRISTMAS AND A HAPPY NEW YEAR (they dropped these card designs when it was still Christmas day in my time zone www) 🤡 IMAGINE THE PURE DISTRESS AND TERROR I FELT WHEN I SAW THE NEWS FOR THE FIRST TIME, I ALMOST CHOKED ON MY BREAKfAST The New Year Attire card artwork looks fantastic this year!! zs,j bdhjvkas3t77135f38odwOYdtSIvyiadiyisa I THINK THE tHIRD ANON SAID IT BEST, TREY, ROOK, AND JADE LOOK LIKE YAKUZA DRESSED NICELY TO USHER IN THE NEW YEAR 😭 and Ortho's there to be their cute and innocent errand boy nephew (when in reality he's committing just as many crimes as they are); I KNOW this kid's not above pulling out a laser beam and threatening people to get what he wants.

Trey finally gets another event SSR (man deserves it after like 4 Rs OTL) and not gonna lie, he kinda looks like my grandpa in that outfit... I really like the pattern on his rose print scarf and the flowerpiece though; you can also see the classic Heartslabyul solid sleeve-checkered sleeve combo. The parasol he's holding is nice too, it makes me think about him whimsically twirling it around as he walks through confetti.

This isn't one of my favorite looks for Ortho, but again I really appreciate how the designers and artists used their creativity to reinterpret the traditional NY garb into robotic parts! You can tell Ortho's "clothes" are more blocky and rigid than the others', yet it still retains the festive feel of the line. There seem to be cables and wires attached to the piece pinned to his chest, and, of course, three doggos at his waist to symbolize Cerberus~

Trey and Ortho being on the same banner... It feels like Ortho was dropped off for Trey to babysit, and Trey's the kind old grandpa who dotes on his grandkid.

... Okay, that's enough of being civil 😇

t315751vAUVgddfiyCUvILNDADFFIYAIBFQEOBNABHOACsdaafjkuc??F<>>Mw/q12yft7BLINJZ>?????m,A'PSCPK[QJNsn;nbegquo PLEASE, I'M SCREAMING AND CRYinf aG ON THE GORUNDA RN OTL Of course TWST would release a new Rook SSR not too long after I said Rollo has replaced Rook in my heart as the superior pseudo French anime boy, OF COURSE. WHY DiD THE YM HAVE TO GIVE hiM SUCH A SMYSTERIOSYF SMU g FACE TOO..... . . . ........ . . . .... . . . . AND THAT LIGHTING??//????? ? ?? ? ?hELLO??? ?? ? ?? ? ????? ? GORGEOUS 😭 THE FAN??? ? ?? ? ? ? ?? ? ?? HOW HE's POSED AEJQWHLBIWQ WIHT IT, weL,Ccopmaifn G YOU INTO YHTE SHOP... I'M GOIBNG TO DUCKIUFN G CHEW HSis FINGNERS OFF, HOLD ME BACK BEOFRE I DOn kqw fhgutiuqfvwofueiyviHnsoguewtqtbwipFFQEGFVIVOQE8?>vLM;N;AEGFLQMJEINP I'm not super into Rook's outfit though; the peacock imagery incorporated into his robes and stuck in his hat are kinda... too much for me? The colors are also weirdly blocked out; it looks odd to have the hat as being the one prominent part of the outfit in red. I would have expected... I don't know, more red throughout the entire outfit? BUT IT'S OKAY, ROOK'S FACE STILL LOOKS GOOD AND THAT'S ALL THAT MATTERS HERE

ADKJBLBSLiyfiysafvoyvgad8fVEFQGIYUOVBVADLM;vsomjvsM,.38920TH??:vL;,AD'PGDMA'PFSm J WORD, NEW YEAR'S J WORD IS HERE 🤡 I'M SO GLAD HE';S NOT THE SSR, I CAN EAISLYR MAX HIM OUT BLESS YOIU MCIUAHRD MOUSE 🙏 ABSHLDVUYADVOQDWADOLBIPfsp ip BIG FAN, HUGE FAN OF HIS POSE HERE OTL rUBINGNG HIS HANDS TOGETHE R AND BENDING SLIGHTLYT FORWARD, INCLinING HIS HEAD TOWARD YOU...... .. ............ . .... . .. . . . . . . .... I CAN SMELL THE USED CAR SaLESMAN ENERgy COMING OFF OF HIM it's working on me He looks like he's still wearing a suit and threw extra shit on top... THAT'S LITERAELLY THE SAME HAT HE WEARS FOR HIS OCTA dORM UNIFORM, HE JUST SLAPPED ON A DIFFERENT HATbaND ACCESSORY. AND SAME WAY OF weARING THE SCARF, JUST USED A DIFFERNT SCARF THIS TIME

I love the fact that Rook and Jade are on the same banner this was made specifically to target me/j, shady bitches deserve to be next to other shady bitches 🤣 Imagine how much pettiness and fake smiling will be had between them????? ???? ??? ? I’ve been dying for more interactions between these two, so this is really a treat for me!! 😋

To summarize: yeaaaaaah uh my rolls are in trouble come 2024 🪦

#twst #twisted wonderland #Jade Leech #Rook Hunt #Jade Leech thirst #Rook Hunt thirst #Rollo Flamme #Ortho Shroud #Trey Clover #notes from the writing raven #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers

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momolady · 4 months

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2023 Year End Stats

Not to be stereotypical or anything, but for me at least, 2023 was an odd year. I bled for 6 months straight, dealt with the worst pain I still can't comprehend, had a hysterectomy, moved in with my partner, got some cats, dealt with a lot of stress, watched the world burn. Yeah, it's been pretty good to outweigh the bad.

But anyways! I've done the math and put together a list of my stories that performed the best this year. At least in terms of notes anyways. I'm also going to share my stories that didn't perform as well and hope they get the love they deserve.

Anyways, let's get on with the count down. Forty total stories have published on Tumblr this year. Sixty-six were published on Patreon. Top monsters were orcs (7), Vampire (3), Fae, Minotaur, Romm Monster, Lich (all 2).

Top Ten Stories:

10. Kahann the Naga

This one would probably be in my top ten favorites to write of the year. This dark, twisted romance between a lonely, isolated girl shipwrecked on an island with the dangerous and sexy Kahann struck the dark romance itch I've been wanting to scratch.

9. Keir the Orc

Comfy farm romance that features annoyances to lvoers. What else could you want? Orcs are always fun to write, I feel I could do it with my eyes closed, but thankfully I don't wanna do that.

8. Atharo the Lich

The pink lich, this one had imagery in it I couldn't get out of my head. the visions of this pink lich still huant me and I wish I could conjur such sstrong imagery still.

7. Asier the Drider

A simple premise we cann understand. Getting packages and ordering online is probably yhe msot fun we can have without leaving our homes. But what if your neighbor was annoyed by this? And what if that neighbor was a drider?

6. Auberon the Room Monster

The enchanted library. i think I've written more about the romance and mystery of bookstores an libraries more than anything. But this story was special, with lots of worldbuilding wrapped like a blanket around these characters. The room this monster stays in is the library, and who doesn't wanna spend time with that guy?

5. Marek the Vampire

This murky, dark, and swampy tale is one of those that stays with me. The idea of a different sort of vampire, one in the bogs and wetlands of a strange peninsula that gets flooded every year haunts me. The image of him is one of my absolute favorite creations and I hope I get to visit this peninsula village again.

4. Placide the Paralangua

This story marks the beginning and growth of my Charcourt universe. Liek Hearthway Hollow it's a town filled to the brim with straneg creatures, only it's the Paralangua, alligator type monsters who throw a festival every year to celebrate their history and the continued growth of Charcourt. Is it a cult? Maybe. There's a new five part tale of this area up on Patreon now.

3. Ben the Werewolf

Enmies to lovers, I think most people get on board with this trope. This tale of Hearthway Hollow delves into the relationship between two high school enemies who reconnect after years and manage to put aside their competitivness to find one another. The lead in thisstory is also Rowan's little sister.

2. Leraye the Demon

Demons are always fun. My demon characters have ways of weaving themselves in and out of the world we know, sometimes as proper members of society, often not. Leraye is one of those that visits our world as a full time member, seeing out the comforts of a Chinese bakery whose owners are a family with ties into the reality he avoids.

Florenz the Vampire Bat

This would for sure also be on my favorites of the year. This dark story wove together elements of fantasy, horror, and romance that I love to death. The lead is sophisticated and dashing, the lead is adventurous and excitable. The chemistry between the leads while writing this tale was so good.

The Ten Least Appreciated Stories

10. Juniper the Tiefling

I am deeply disappointed this didn't do as well as I expected. This story was based on characters me and my bff made for a one shot DND session. So this story was more personal to me than others. but more than that, I feel it had some of my best banter!

9. Rocco the Guard

Another personal tale based on ideas me and my friend came up with during a visit where we watched the Owl House together. I also greatly enjoyed the leading lady who was smart, spunky, and chaotic in the absolute best ways.

8. Ozzie the Werewolf & Tryfon the Naiad

It has a trans lead, it has polyamory, it was set in hearthway Hollow! I thought this story was serving up gold on a platter. But maybe people weren't in the mood for gold. The comedy in this is top notch, at least I thought.

7. Laertes the Fae

Another story where the dialogue I feel sparkles and pops with every interaction the characters had. This did only recently come out, so maybe it'll grow after this.

6. Ransom the Shapeshifter

Another personal story based around lore me and my bff created for our Stardew Valley characters. It also featured a nonbinary lead and monster, I thought people would be excited for this. I loved playing with the avant-garde sci-fi aspect and being a little weird. But maybe that's why people didn't like it too much lol

5. The Leshy

Another story that would be in my top ten for my personal favorites to write. I loved the complexity of the leading lady and crafting her has made her a personal favorite. The characters and world of this story will be one that stays with my thoughts as I think about the cozy, dark streets anfdthe moss covered steps of the buildings.

4. Jaqueline the Dullahan

This story has it all! Chocolate, Halloween, a sexy dullahan chef, and it's a lesbian romance. Maybe I don't have enough wlw readers but this story came from a ko-fi prompt I wrot and just grew into a full fledged story. I really enjoyed the atmosphere of this story and how it felt like a cozy fireplace with hot cocoa.

3. Beast the Symbiote

Beast is a character I have been wanting to get out into the world for years. She's such a complex villain character, and who doesn't love that. I feel like she is one of my coolest characters. Lucky Devil was also a character I had been dying to get out, she's been in my head since I watched Magi Madoka and she took form slowly over the years. She is in part based on me, and I want to do more with this lovely couple.

2. Fia the Selkie

I'm starting to see a pattern here. Male reader stories aren't ya'lls cup of tea? Too bad, I have some amazing male readers and commissioners I adore working for. Fia was this comforting warm blanket of a story. A struggling musician and the lovely Selkie he's come to be with. I really love this story, please check it out if you want some comfort.

1.Ria the Orc: an AU

I'm actually a wee bit pissed about this one. Another male reader, and Ria is a character I've come to absolutely love. This was written for a commissioner I've come to consider a friend, and writing for him has become an amazing experience. Ria and her beau have also become such real, loving characters in my head. This was an AU of the modern monsters Ria where she is in Obresh and participates in the Reaping. Who doesn't love Reaping stories? C'mon folks, give these ten stories the love they deserve!

Thank you all for an amazing year! Next year I will hopefully publish and you're going to see bigger and grander things from me, I owe that to all of you. Keep a look out for my Ozren novel hitting the shelf soon. Thank you so much and I hope I continue to write stories you love.

#top ten #year in review #2023 #monster romance #monster fuqqer #monster smut #orc #vampire #lich #fae #writblr #writing community #creative writing #personal

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machinesonix · 23 days

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Somehow I have made it this long without realizing that none of the screen adoptions of Dune so much as mention the Butlerian Jihad. Like I guess it's burned into my brain so hard I sort of assumed it was part and parcel of the universe. Don't get me wrong, I think that's probably the first thing you learn if you want to dive deeper into the setting, but it still hits me like if the LotR movies showed us the big flaming eyeball tower and was like ‘Oh, that's why there are bad things, but don't worry, that's just background stuff.’ Yeah, you can understand the movie, but if the story is just like Frodo vs. The Witch King you are losing out on any of the conversation about the corruptive allure of power or theological undertones. So without further ado let's pretend this is for the benefit of interested new fans roped in by the movies and not part of my desperate attempt to silence the howling specters of literary analysis that live in my blood.

The Butlerian Jihad is an event set ~10k years prior to the events of Dune in which humanity won their freedom from the machines that they had enslaved themselves to. As a result, it is a religious taboo to create a machine that thinks like a human. That's frankly the bulk of the information presented by Frank Herbert in the text without dipping into books 7+, but whether or not those are canon is frankly an enormous can of worms, which really makes sense when you consider the size of the worms. But boy howdy, Frank loved his subtext and parallelism. Everyone has a foil character, every theme is hit from multiple angles, and Villinueve has been doing an excellent job of capturing a lot of that in repeated imagery and dialogue. The Butlerian Jihad happens off camera, but it's themes are absolutely critical to the big picture.

The Butlerian Jihad was a holy war. It was not merely a rebellion against the machines, it was a crusade against them. The prohibition against thinking machines isn't just a law, it's in the pan-universal Bible. Absolute psychopath Pieter DeVries himself claps back at the Baron for insinuating he might have a use for a computer, and this is a guy who has been hired specifically for his preternatural absence of morals. Let's hold onto that idea for a minute.

Probably my favorite scene in the first book is the one where planetologist Liet-Kynes is dying out in the desert. As the last of his strength fades to dehydration he hallucinates conversations he had with his father concerning terraforming Arakkis for human habitability. He's told that the means are not complicated. There is already enough water on the planet, the Little Makers just have it all trapped deep underground as part of the sandworm reproductive cycle. You just need to isolate enough water to start irrigating plant life, and once it's established that'll keep the water on the surface on its own. The hard part is making sure everyone on the planet is environmentally conscious enough to foster a developing ecosystem. Nobody can drink any of that water while it's being collected, because they'll just introduce it back into the water cycle where the Little Makers are. It's going to take generations, so that sort of water discipline is going to have to go above and beyond a social convention. People need to be willing to die before they'll take a sip and compromise the plan. Ghost Dad Kynes concludes that the only mechanism in the human experience to enforce this consensus is religion.

In the context of this whole parallelism thing, you have probably noticed that the Butlerian Jihad is not the only holy war in the narrative. Paul sees a new jihad as the only way of creating a future where humans can flourish. Now you might be saying ‘Wait now, Machines. I thought the point of Paul’s holy war was to avenge Leto and disempower established power structures by taking away the control of the spice!’ And you’d be right. The thing is, without getting into spoiler territory, Dune Messiah is not going to be about how everything just gets so much better now that Paul has destroyed the economy, government, and untold billions of human lives. This isn’t the endgame. Dude can see the future and the way he does it involves looking into the past. Paul lives in a society defined by a holy war and his goal is to redefine society.

Putting it all together you can see what I mean about the Butlerian Jihad being essential to the themes even though the story never shows us a thinking machine or a narrative beat where the absence of computers changes the outcome. It helps us see the big picture. I’ve seen a lot of dialogue lately on whether Paul is a tragic hero or a consummate villain and I’m not here to answer that, but I am here to underline the critical detail. Paul intends to be seen as a tyrant. Just like Kynes’ hallucination says, religion is the lever to make a value stick around forever. He wants to traumatize humanity to hate chosen ones and emperors the same way the machines traumatized humanity to change them forever. The Water of Life ritual doesn’t invert his values, it lets him realize these visions of war are the means, not the ends. He is absolutely not happy about it, but this is Paul’s terrible purpose.

#dune #paul atreides #dune meta #dune part two #butlerian jihad

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beeslibrarycorner · 2 years

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It's Time For Bed Sleepy Head

Peter ballard x reader

Word count: 483

Warnings: none

Plot: Reader can't sleep, so Peter steps in to help.

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You whine as you tossed and turned, the moon showing through your apartment window. Peter was sound asleep snoring softly, mouth slightly parted. You squirmed just wanting your brain to shut off for the night, glancing at the clock on the bedside table. It's only 12:30, you still have a chance to get a good night's sleep. You didn't realize your squirming woke up your boyfriend until he groaned and put his arm around you.

You froze not wanting to wake up Peter, praying that he would fall back to sleep if you stayed still. Then his head popped up and squinted towards you, to the clock on the bedside table and then back at you. “You're still up?” he said his voice a bit deeper from being half asleep, waking up a bit more. “Yeah I am, but that doesn't mean you have to be up with me just go back to sleep my love”, you whisper, running your fingers through his hair.

Peter shakes his head sleepily, clicking his tongue “My sleepy girl, you're so tired I can feel it.”. He rolls from his stomach to his side to face you better, pouting when he sees how tired you look. “My poor baby girl needs her sleep, you need your eight hours”, he murmured as he inched a bit closer.

He gathered you in his arms, one arm wrapping around you and pressing you to him while his other hand brushed the hair out of your face. You're so close your noses are touching, “I think I have the solution to your problem y/n”, and you realized what he meant, you shook your head no. He shook his head yes a small smile growing on his face, “It's ok baby, everyone needs help relaxing sometimes. My powers are going to help you fall asleep.” You whined in protest not wanting him to use his powers for something as stupid as this.

He clicked his tongue again pressing his forehead against yours as he held his palm to the side of your head. His fingers tangling into your hair, “It's time for you to go to sleep, sleepy head” he murmured and then you felt it. A pressure against the center of your back that went up your spine and around your shoulders, relaxing you physically. Then imagery crawled into thoughts slowly, they were memories. The time you and Peter went to the beach, the time you went into the city together, the smell of your favorite bubble bath; All of your favorite things.

You melted into him, feeling him chuckle as your eyes started to flutter. “See that wasn't so bad baby, now you can rest.” he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. The last thing you feel before you fall asleep is Peter rolling onto his back and cradling your head against his chest.

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tags for this fic: @m0mmat0rtle

#peter ballard x reader #001 x reader #stranger thing season 4

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anxious-witch · 3 months

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Also something I never talked about, but other 100% have is Jance recreating "The Creation of Adam" from Michelangelo. Which is my favorite painting by my favorite artist so since we are all having jance feels today, have my two cents.

This painting is often seen as purely religious imagery. But Michelangelo was in fact not only a man of science, but also a pretty openly gay man for that time.

So when he painted it, he also subtly put the shape of a brain behind God, implying we are created by our brain, our thoughts and feelings. "It's not God that made me, I made me", kind of sentiment.

Jance recreating that???? I cannot tell you how floored I still am. I am not saying this was intentially to this degree on their part, but augh. Life imitates art, indeed. I think Michelangelo, for one, would really love this.

Even after all this time, he can still say fuck you to the church through others recreating it to show off such deep love and care. A creation of something entirely human, if you will

#rio rambles #joker out #jance #okay okay I promise I will stop now I just nxkxxkkfkf

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snek-panini · 1 month

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For Binderary Book #2 we have a tiny (letter quarto) book! Here is It's Getting Hard, This Holding Back by @zehwulf (Hi, I asked to bind your fic back in January. Surprise, it's here!). This is for sure one of the cuddliest things I have ever read, and if you want to read something extremely soft and silly and asexual where everyone's favorite angel and demon fail to communicate till the end but it's funny instead of heartbreaking, then oh boy is this the fic for you. It remains a favorite for me and I read it when I'm sad.

I've fallen into the habit with my letter quarto binds of using materials that I already have on hand, and I did the same for this one. The cover paper is a pearly white scrapbook paper that I bought but didn't use in another project, and the spine is actually an off-cut of the platinum silk moire that I bought for binding Persuasion. I like it better on the spine than I did for the Persuasion endpapers; it was really well-behaved, didn't wrinkle or stain, and holds a hinge crease well. I don't know how well it's going to wear but I'd use it in this context again in a heartbeat. It's annoyingly hard to photograph though, as in the pearlescent paper and the metallic silver HTV. This book is so much prettier in person.

More photos under the cut!

Top view showing the ribbon bookmark and endbands. This isn't exactly a short fic at over 13k, but the typeset came out at less than a hundred pages so it was too short for handmade endbands. The blue is pretty though, and it matches the endpapers. Endpapers are scrapbook paper from Joann's (and I got some glue on them but don't look at that part). I bought them for an unspecified project because I thought they were pretty, but I accidentally grabbed an extra sheet. Fortunately you only need one sheet of paper to make endpapers at this size, so I still have a set to do another book with later on. And this bind, being all whites and silvers, desperately needed some color, so this was a good way to do it. The typeset is quite simple compared to a lot of the other ones I do, but I just felt it fit the story that way. I love an elaborate, flourish-y typeset when it fits the story, but this one's more about the core of things and the characters' interior feelings than the exterior obvious motifs. It was tricky to nail an aesthetic without some more overt imagery, but I think the simplicity fits it and I'm proud of this one.

#bookbinding #fanbinding #snek makes books #good omens #fic rec #i love this one actually #it's so cute #and the paper and cloth have nice textures #it's good for holding

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theladyofrosewater · 18 days

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Does anyone else think about the first diaries poster or is it just me.

like first of all, did we ever know who drew it? as far as I remember nothing in this same art style was ever published. It kinda looks like Sean Dillon's art but I'm not sure

I'm not going to lie if we ever got an official graphic novel I'd rather they bring back a similar style instead of the anime one she made for all the mystreet and rebirth posters.

The characters chosen has always been a thing that bothered me. Like Shad, Aphmau, Garroth all make sense and look pretty good in the composition, Alina looks good too but Dante just brought his whole ass family like I could have done without Nana and maybe Dmitri since he just looks like a mini Dante

The giant-ass Diaries font is killing me, just slap that baby in the middle it'll look fine

SPEAKING OF FAMILY where the fuck is Vylad I know this is supposed to be a season 3 poster (if I remember correctly) but the boy is just too important to leave out. Also why is Leona here like I love her she's my favorite side character but WHY???? she's just the babysitter. she's placed beneath what I think is Zane on the poster just like how Dimitri and his sister are posed with their dad so was this a hint to Leona finally being confirmed as his daughter???? were we going to get an arc about Leona learning who her dad was but it part of what was abandoned??? ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES JESSICA WHY IS SHE HERE

Also Lilith Garnet could have been completely cut and why is her hair brown I thought she was blonde

Katelyn is here but no Travis or Lucinda to accompany her this is a personal attack, she is also such a light blue stuck with the reds that my eyes immediately go to her

why does Gene look like a knock-off jeff the killer I can't take him seriously

Laurance should have Zenix beside him, he didn't get him in the divorce for nothing

Zane is just sulking in the corner, he looks like he got put in time out I love it.

Why are we still keeping the cross imagery on Garroth's armor why is it not a star or Irene's symbol, also clean shaven Garroth gives me nightmares, I know it's not canon but he needs his stubble pls

Dimitri and his sister are just adorable in the corner, 10/10

Look I dislike MCD Aaron for his wasted potential but I REALLY like the effect of Shad literally holding his body together cracking Aaron's skin, give that effect to the other shadow knights PLEASE it looks so good

WHERE THE FUCK ARE LEVIN AND MALACHI??!?!

yall please add onto this I want to hear your thoughts.

#theladyofrosewater #minecraft diaries #aphblr #aphmau #mcd #I am not tagging all of the characters #so pls reblog it with your thoughts #aphmau minecraft diaries

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ihavemanyhusbands · 11 months

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Santa Comunione

Part I // Hannibal Lecter x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

Summary: Hannibal Lecter often does things just to see what happens… and seducing a holy woman is one of those things.

WC: 3.9k words

Warnings: MINORS DNI THIS FIC IS 18+, Corruption, Blasphemy (?), Religious Imagery, Italy arc (Rome instead of Florence), Canon divergence, Self-Harm, Some whump, Angst, Eventual smut, religious trauma (i think?), I’m not a religious expert btw tho i grew up Catholic, mentions of wounds and scars, Ofc Hannibal has a God complex, Catholicism, dead dove do not eat, reader is a nun lol, lmk if i missed anything!

A/N: Unsure of why this idea suddenly possessed me but it’s been a real delight to write. As usual, thank you to Stray, G, my wife beelmons for all the help hee hee <3 I do not condone or encourage any of the actions depicted, you’re responsible for your own media consumption.

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“Angel of my life… my body, my blood, my soul, are all yours;”

– Victor Hugo, from The Complete Works; “ The Hunchback of Notre Dame,”

——————

It was easy to get lost in menial tasks.

You’d mastered the ability to slip into your thoughts as your hands diligently worked. Whether it was mending clothes, polishing candelabra, or even refilling prayer candles for all the tourists visiting the basilica.

In the summer, it was especially useful in order to manage the larger crowds — A sea of anonymous faces that quickly faded from memory. Bright shining eyes and rapacious hands reaching to touch things they shouldn’t; Always hungry for a taste of something holy.

The pack of bodies made you anxious, their cloying scent overpowering the all-too-familiar myrrh and incense. Their shrill, excitable voices could be especially grating in such a place, where echo was ever-present. Even more so after reminding them that a low volume was imperative, for such sacred spaces had to be respected.

It was a true test of your virtues, more often than not. Patience, especially, was one you were still working on, even after so many years. It proved to be the hardest to fully harness, no matter how much self-discipline was employed.

In repentance, you found yourself praying more often than not, the repetition of the words putting you in a meditative state.

Angel of God, my guardian dear, to whom God's love commits me here, ever this day be at my side, to light and guard, to rule and guide…

“Mi scusi?” A deep voice brought you back to the present, much too close for comfort.

Startled, you winced a little and quickly looked up. A tall, well-dressed man stood right in front of you, amusement at your reaction tugging at the corners of his full lips. He was handsome in a way that was reminiscent of Renaissance paintings; Like an aristocrat, or a fallen angel perhaps.

“Si, signore?” You asked, keeping your voice low.

He gestured towards the candles. “May I?”

You handed him one, already lit. His fingers just barely ghosted over yours in the exchange, and your breath caught. The small flame cast shadows on his angular face, giving him a more severe look. A bit macabre, too, in a way…

Don’t think such things. He is but a man.

“Grazie,” he said, the smile still not leaving his face.

“Prego.”

You averted your gaze, intent on resuming your work. He stepped to one side, looking over at the statue at the far end of the room — Bernini’s Ecstasy of St. Theresa.

“The pain was so severe that it made me utter several moans,” he recited. “The sweetness caused by this intense pain is so extreme that one cannot possibly wish it to cease, nor is one's soul content with anything but God.”

You followed his line of sight, and before you could stop yourself, you said. “You must see her up close.”

He looked back at you, tilting his head slightly to one side curiously. You tried to keep your eyes on the statue, still beautiful despite endless days of looking at it.

You cleared your throat, continuing almost absently. “There are many proofs of God’s love, but this one might be my favorite. We are most like Him in that through immense agony, we can become holy.”

Your gaze snapped to his, and you stared at each other in slight disbelief for a moment. Just what had compelled you to share such a thing?

“Are you able to accompany me?” He asked. “I’d be delighted to hear more of your thoughts.”

That made you remember yourself, so you shook your head. “No, signore. Do go on, though. It really is a sight to behold.”

“Very well,” he nodded. “May I ask your name?”

You hesitated, but told him out of politeness. He repeated it slowly, as if savoring it on his tongue. Your traitorous eyes were drawn to the way his lips formed around it, and he didn’t fail to notice.

Before you could even think of asking for his name in return, an elderly couple came up to you asking questions. You muttered a quick scusi in his direction as your attention shifted, both frustrated and relieved.

He lingered for just a moment longer before continuing on his way, and you forced yourself not to glance back at his retreating form.

Usually, the few brief conversations you had with visitors barely registered in your mind. Seldom did anyone really gain your interest, but on the rare occasion someone did, you had to immediately tamp down any inane desires.

For you, chastity often oscillated between being a cruel companion and a comforting blanket. There were times, in the darkest hour of night, when you couldn’t help but yearn for things you’d long lost. Sensations, images, smells… all vanished from existence.

You had not always walked the path of piety, but the days before you made that change were not ones you let yourself think about any other time. Especially not when those old feelings stirred like ashes in a charred hearth.

Once you were by yourself again, you caught another glimpse of him in the crowd; His long, sturdy frame was hard to miss. He was engrossed in his surroundings — the gilded architecture, the magnificently carved marble, the myriad scenes of haloed saints soaring through the heavens.

You pulled your rosary out of your pocket, feeling the urge to resume your prayers. The smooth slide of the beads in your palm was usually reassuring, but you were too distracted to even conjure the words.

You squeezed it in your fist, the metal cross digging into your skin. Bright pain ran up your arm as it broke through, a rivulet of blood running through your middle and index fingers.

You released a breath as you relaxed your fist. It was a small penance for a momentary slip, serving also as a reminder of your vows. Pain was the best teacher, after all. It was one of the first things you learned when you converted.

Covertly, you wiped your hand clean with a handkerchief. You stared at the splotch of crimson on the white fabric, slightly entranced by the mundanity of your mortal blood.

Out of your notice, he observed your every move. He wanted to approach once more, to get a whiff of your life’s essence — A sharp note of copper, slightly sweet and endlessly enticing.

But he knew that, like any good hunter who had zeroed in on prey, he had to bide his time.

————

The setting sun streaked the sky in swaths of pastel, orange and violet and pink. The last of its golden rays illuminated the marble floors, setting ablaze the portrait of the praying skeleton.

His eyes lingered on this detail as he silently walked in, his long shadow dragging across it.

Most of the visitors had left by that time, but a few stragglers lingered for evening prayers. He was delighted to find that one of those stragglers was you, still unaware of his presence.

Your knees were on the worn cushion of the praying kneeler, your clasped hands resting on the bench in front of you. Your eyes were closed, face tilted up slightly in quiet reverence.

He saw the hem of your habit had ridden up a little, revealing a small portion of your calf. Just a sliver of flesh, really, but not one you were conscious of showing.

Glancing around, he approached slowly, bending down to fix it. You were mid Hail Mary when you felt the fabric being pulled, which made you stumble over the words.

You stiffened, but didn’t move. Instead, you peered from the corner of your eye to see a familiar figure straightening to his full height.

How curious that your prayers seemed to summon him, even if he was not who you called on.

Or was it?

A day had passed and you’d tried as best as you could to banish that whole initial interaction from your thoughts. His lupine features had begun to blur in your mind’s eye, the sound of his voice losing itself in the din of the crowd. What little you slept, you didn’t even dream.

But now that he was back, looming right behind you, you were on edge again. Shakily, you finished the last string of prayers you had left on your rosary.

Then you did the sign of the cross and rose slowly, turning to face him. Your eyes were darker in the low light, doe-like and fathomless. But there was no naïveté in their depths.

“I hope I didn’t offend you by taking such liberties, Sorella,” he said.

“Finding me or touching me?” You challenged.

He blinked, stunned at being put on the spot. "I figured you must value your modesty and didn’t wish to see you embarrassed. Forgive me.”

You looked him over, assessing. He seemed sincere, if a little clueless. The look didn’t quite fit him, but you wanted to believe it all the same.

“Thank you,” you said finally, glancing over your shoulder. “Come to see the statue once more? I told you it was striking.”

“Indeed, but not quite here for it,” he admitted. “I was unable to stop thinking of your assessment.”

“Oh, I assure you, I’m not nearly as interesting as you might believe.”

“I beg to differ.”

Your eyes narrowed slightly, and you noticed how quickly the light was waning outside.

“Expecting a private tour, then? It’s rather late for that. Doors are shutting to the public shortly.”

“Perhaps I can help you in some way or another. Think of me as a volunteer.”

You huffed in amusement. “Are you trying to get me in trouble?”

He smiled, gesturing around him. “We have God’s eyes on us here. Nothing to fear.”

Why you were even entertaining this, you weren’t sure. It’d been a while since you’d been intrigued by anyone — anything, really — and being the object of someone’s intrigue felt nicer than you wanted to admit.

You were surrounded by people all day, but that didn’t make you feel any less lonely. Not that solitude really bothered you… for the most part.

You were only human, after all. Full of faults you were meant to atone for.

“Very well, then. Usually, there’s more help, but it seems tonight it’s just us. Start with the candles, will you?”

And so he started extinguishing each candle as you took one last lap around the structure, making sure everything was in place and every last visitor was gone. The two of you worked like a well-oiled machine, covertly glancing at each other whenever you crossed paths. Soon enough, you were locking the doors of the basilica.

Silvery moonlight and a few orange street lamps were the only illuminations outside. The stars above were like the million eyes of an archangel keeping watch over the nocturnal creatures. That evening, it felt like being closely examined, waiting for any slip-up to impart judgement.

You nodded at the night guard as you handed him the keys, and then you descended the steps along with your new companion.

“May I walk you home? It’s not safe to walk alone in the dark,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Something tells me you’re not really asking.”

He smirked at your cleverness. “I wouldn’t forgive myself if something were to happen to you, when I could have prevented it.”

You wanted to roll your eyes at that, but you opted for being polite. You’d walked the same path many times and had long stopped being afraid of the darkness. What lurked in it, on the other hand…

“I am not so proud that I’d refuse kindness,” you said finally, nodding for him to follow as you turned around. “Wary as I may seem around it.”

“I’ve noticed,” he commented, falling into step next to you. “Has your God been cruel to you?”

You shook your head. “No, but men have. His most perfect creation, indeed.”

He smiled wryly, enjoying the sarcastic venom in your tone.

“We can appreciate divinity by bearing witness to imperfection,” he said. “It helps us relate to one another, sometimes on an unconscious level.”

You nodded slowly, peering over at his profile curiously. There was something truly mystifying about him — as if he was someone that only existed in intervals of time, like the cover of night — which was perhaps what kept drawing you in.

You walked through the cobblestone streets, speaking in hushed voices. You discussed things like art and poetry, quickly veering into more philosophical topics. His mind was like a maze, clearly difficult to navigate, but you did not feel discouraged.

You did always like a good challenge, even if it wasn’t good for you.

All too soon, you reached the old wooden door of the small convent. He noticed there was a small smudge of soot on your jaw, so he pulled his handkerchief out of his breast pocket and gestured to your face.

“May I?”

You nodded, frowning a little in confusion. He stepped closer, reaching up and gently wiping off the smudge. You forced yourself not to blush, barely breathing, keeping your eyes averted.

“There we go,” he murmured, pulling back and extending the handkerchief towards you. “Here, you can keep this until you get a chance to wash yours.”

“My…?” You started, but then his words clicked in your mind.

Your heart began thundering in your chest at the realization, beads of sweat forming on the back of your neck. You took it all the same, finally looking up at him with wide eyes.

You were met with the smirking face of a jackal – a beast turned man. The lamb in you knew this, even if his demeanor was outwardly friendly. The look in his amber eyes was so ardent you couldn’t tear your gaze away, rooted to the spot.

Had anyone ever looked at you like that? You couldn’t recall, and it didn’t seem to matter.

“What is your name?” You asked breathlessly. “I realize I never asked.”

“Hannibal,” he said. “Doctor Hannibal Lecter.”

————

Much later into the night, you were still unable to sleep. You tossed and turned, the sheets sticking to your feverish skin. You were plagued by contradictions, internally waging a war against a feeling that had suddenly yawned open in the pit of your stomach. Something too much like hunger, sharp around the edges.

With a frustrated sigh, you shifted onto your back and stared at the ceiling. You were no stranger to restlessness, but this time, you couldn’t be bothered to kneel beside the bed and pray. There was something far more pressing in the forefront of your mind.

It was that look, like he could see beneath the veil of your piety — through you, even. He’d seen you punish yourself, too, which was an intimate act all on its own. A subtle art that you’d perfected over time, or at least thought you had.

And still, you could tell he liked what he saw.

Yanking the covers off of yourself, you padded over to your desk, pulling the handkerchief out of your satchel. The material was much finer than anything you’d ever owned, gliding smoothly in your hands.

Gingerly, you ran your fingers over his embroidered initials, faintly smelling a note of something rich and earthy, like bergamot or perhaps clover.

Your eyes fluttered shut as you brought it closer to your face, absolutely entranced. It was at these late hours that consequences seemed nonexistent. The truth seemed less frightening when shrouded in darkness, with only the moon witnessing your downfall.

You brought it back to the bed with you, lying down on your back once more. With the silken fabric pressed against your face, you inhaled slowly. The linen shift you wore to sleep rode up past your hips, exposing your legs and part of your lower abdomen.

Your fingers moved on their own, barely dipping into the hem of your underwear before stopping. A sensation akin to electricity crackled inside your chest, seizing your muscles. Blood roared in your ears as your heart galloped frantically.

Was this what being on the edge of damnation was like? Too much like seeing your reflection on the forbidden fruit, bright red and infinitely tempting?

Your teeth scratching the skin, about to sink into the sweetest of knowledge…

As if scalded, you yanked your hand back, sitting up on the bed. You felt as if air had been squeezed out of your lungs, panting harshly, clawing at your throat.

The room felt unbearably hot, the walls seemingly closing in on you. You stumbled out of bed and gripped the edge of your desk, knees buckling. The pulsing between your legs quickly simmered into a dull throb, shame, and guilt following in its wake.

You were being tested, you had to be. What else could explain such recklessness?

At least you’d gotten yourself away from the cliffside and could still get back on the right path. Surely, the Shepherd would not shun one of his lambs for almost being lured by a wolf.

But how could you ever explain that inane desire of yours to be devoured, ravished, utterly adored in your last gasping breaths?

He was not blind to the way you’d bared your throat at the first glimpse of fangs.

This time, retribution would require more bloodshed — a lingering sort of discipline. After all, what was one more scar to add to the latticework of pink, raised skin all over your back?

You undid the laces at your throat and pulled your slip off, letting it fall to the floor unceremoniously. You reached into the bottom drawer of your small dresser, finding purchase amidst the few austere garments you owned.

Your hands no longer shook as you gripped the twisted handle of the cat o’nine tails — it was salvation at your fingertips, and you held on so tightly it left indentations on your palm. You focused your gaze on the wooden cross on the wall, prayers for mercy at your lips.

And the only other thought in your mind at that moment was ��Fifteen lashes should suffice.’

——

Perhaps you’d gone overboard.

In the sobering light of day, you lay on your stomach next to the open window, listening to the trilling of birds. You felt ill with the aftermath of your slight overindulgence of masochism.

Earlier that morning, you’d feigned stomach pain and nausea. The latter wasn’t too far from the truth, and the pallor of your face – which was also dotted with cold sweat – helped sell the lie.

None of the Sisters – much less the madre superiora – were privy to your violent bouts of self-discipline. Not only would they disapprove, but… it would lead to situations you did not want to bring upon yourself.

You were just drifting off to sleep, exhaustion finally overpowering you, when you heard a soft knock on the door. You pulled the blanket back upon yourself, hiding the incriminating evidence.

“Si?” You called softly, shifting your head to face the door.

It swung open to reveal the madre superiora herself, accompanied by… Oh, merciful God.

Hannibal tensed at the doorway, his nostrils flaring as he scented the coppery tang permeating the small room. Though the window had been open for some time, your essence still lingered – a narcotic in its own right. He kept his composure as his mouth watered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard.

“How are you feeling, Sorella?” the madre inquired, concern all over her gentle, weathered features.

“Still about the same,” you said, attempting to keep your eyes on her and not on her companion – none other than the man who’d tried to coax you away from the Lord’s pasture.

“Doctor Lecter here said he helped you home yesterday. He expressed concern for your well-being and has offered to examine you.”

“Free of any charge, of course, madre,” he assured. “I merely want to help however I can. If that is okay with you, that is.”

You merely nodded, not trusting your voice at that moment.

“Your generosity shall be returned doubly, Doctor,” the madre said with a smile. “I shall give you some privacy. Please let me know if you need anything.”

And with that, she left the room, shutting the door behind her.

Hannibal approached slowly, as if you were a skittish animal he didn’t want to spook. You eyed him peripherally, wary all the same. He knelt at your side, taking a moment to observe you.

“I was worried at your absence today,” he said as a way of explaining his being there, voice low. “I hear it is some sort of stomach bug?”

“Not quite,” you murmured. “It is something far more… visible.”

He slightly tilted his head to the side in curiosity. “May I take a look at you?”

“How can I refuse the most generous doctor?”

You shifted your shoulders to indicate he should pull down the sheet. He reached out to do so, finding some resistance. The fabric clung to your wounds, which had crusted as scabs began to form. As he had to use a little more force, you sucked in a breath through your teeth.

Upon seeing what you had done to yourself, he was momentarily flummoxed. His eyes trailed over the angry red welts, appreciating the macabre artistry. The scent of blood was stronger now; A few of the wounds had reopened and were weeping crimson. He stifled the sudden desire to catch one of the drops with his tongue.

“What have we here?” he asked.

“The consequence of sin.”

“And what sin might that be?”

You pursed your lips, refusing to give voice to your faults. Your silence only compelled his curiosity further, but he decided not to press. That didn’t mean he wasn’t good at getting the answers he wanted, though.

“I was unaware such practices were still… observed.”

“Not usually. It is my best-kept secret,” your eyes fluttered closed as he pulled the sheet further down, until the barest glimpse of the top of your ass was visible. “Something for my own.”

His response was a thoughtful hum, and he stood to get some supplies from a small bag he’d brought.

When he knelt once more, you could smell alcohol. “Let’s clean these up then, shall we?”

You nodded, attempting to brace yourself. The lacerations on your back sang with agony as he began to dab at them, your teeth clenched so hard you feared they might crack. Still, his touch was so tender — almost to the point of reverence — that you thought you might weep.

“We are most like Him in that through immense agony, we can become holy,” he quoted, perhaps attempting to distract you. “Is that not what you said? I admire your determination.”

As the sting just barely began to dissipate, you could speak again.

“Think I am redeemed in the eyes of Heaven?”

“Perhaps,” he said. “In my eyes, at least, you are.”

Near delirious with a pain that made your brain feel like glass — and that cursed longing you suddenly couldn’t tamp down — you arched closer to his hands as he dressed the wounds.

“What do you gain from all this?” You ventured, needing to know the answer.

“Must I gain something?”

“I can’t seem to find another explanation.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I am merely intrigued by you. I can’t help being drawn. Can you blame me?”

“Perhaps I just don’t understand what makes me so interesting.”

“In time you will see. I will make sure of it.”

----

#hannibal lecter fanfiction #hannibal fanfiction #hannibal lecter x fem!reader #hanibal lecter x reader #hannibal lecte x you #minors dni

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shoujomangathoughts · 7 months

Text

Shoujo Thoughts - Snow White with the Red Hair

This is another series that I've heard about for years and finally gave it a chance (watched the anime then immediately went to the manga). It's a series that I find very charming, relaxing and was a nice change of pace for me and my usual tastes.

I remember seeing people warning others how "you shouldn't read the manga" because apparently it gets boring and is overstaying its welcome story-wise. While I don't think everything that has happened so far is entirely necessary, I think this sentiment comes from people wanting the more romance focused parts from the beginning to remain throughout. If you haven't read the manga, Shirayuki gets (and takes) an opportunity to help her studies as an herbalist but this results in two years away from the palace, and therefore Zen. They're still together here and there, but the manga starts leaning in a more slice of life direction and the romance is a bit more subdued. I actually appreciated this and found the individual adventures and growth of Zen and Shirayuki more interesting at times as Zen tries to learn and be a better prince and Shirayuki continues her studies and tries to reach people.

Zen and Shirayuki do have a nice relationship though and I find the romance to be pretty well done. They both have that awkward energy and are trying to navigate their own lives as well as their relationship.

The presentation and world of this series is another captivating point for me. The anime was visually great and I thought the manga's art was really nice too. It has a whimsical style and shows you a lot of small interactions and details. It makes the world feel lived in and allows you to have a clear idea of the cast and their personalities. I specifically really like the visual of Lilias and its snow covered imagery (as well as the wintry outfits).

The main cast is also mostly likeable. The way they interact with each other feels natural and they each have their own charm that adds something unique to the dynamic. Even the part that had people frustrated with Mitsuhide didn't bother me as much because I could understand how that was a very in-character decision for him.

Favorite character : Obi

I do find that Obi is the most charismatic character in the series for me. He's obviously had a difficult life but he also seems so genuinely affected by having found a group of people that he comes to value. Every time he's around he adds something, whether it be a witty remark or demonstrating his ability to be a bodyguard. Yes he loves Shirayuki, but the series doesn't really show that Shirayuki loves him back (basically the series isn't really leaning into the love triangle direction). Though I do appreciate that she has on multiple occasions told him how much she values him because he does do and help her a lot. He also seems to have good chemistry with the rest of the cast (particularly in his interactions with Shirayuki and Zen though I also love his relationship with Ryu).

All in all, I've found this to be a really enjoyable series up to the current chapter (sad to see it's on hiatus, hope the mangaka is doing well). I'm not entirely sure how long it will continue as the scope of the story seems to suggest it still has a while left, but I'll be continuing it whenever it does come back.

It's been a little bit since I posted one of these but as always, thanks for reading!

#shoujo #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #manga #anime

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aprofessionalwithoutstandards · 8 months

Note

hello i am asking politely for your mommy Medic surgeon goresex thoughts. feel free to use the reply to this ask as your dumping ground if it would be easier than an original post!

Welllll if you insist! Putting all this under a cut bc despite my cool exterior I'm extremely ashamed of every thought I've ever had (and bc I wanna put this in some tags and if the juicy stuff is under a cut no one can complain)

Uhhh CWs for sex, gore, goresex, surgery kink, medfet, mommy kink (just the title and the persona for Medic, no specified role for the sub), needles, knives, boot stuff, whatever. This makes me feel like a real writer

Sooo first things first bc I think people won't understand this one at first: Medic tf2 is a man who is a mommy dom. To me and to a lot of other kinky people, there exists a non-gendered semantic difference between a "daddy dom" and a "mommy dom", so women can be daddies and, much more rarely, men can certainly be mommies. Kink educator Evie Lupine describes mommy doms as "giggly, joyful sadists". Sound like someone we know? He's mommy (Mommy doms are also typically more "nurturing" and smothering than daddy doms, I'll get to that later)

I really love characterizing Medic as extremely faux-sympathetic (with flashes of real sympathy every now and again), so he's telling you (or whoever) just how bad he feels for you, you poor thing, that looks like it really hurts, and it's, like, the extra hand he attached to your pelvis. If it does actually hurt and the procedure wasn't successful he will safely remove it, though

Although I definitely think Medic can be mean, I think ESPECIALLY in a gorekink/medfet context, he gives a LOT of praise. He's SUPER full of himself, he'd never deride one of his Crowning Achievements In The Field Of Medical Science!

Similarly, he's very good about giving compliments specific to like, all of a person's inside stuff. The size of your organs, the shade of your blood, the prominence of your veins, the sturdiness of your bones... Medic tf2 is leaned over you on the vivisection table lovingly stroking your liver and cooing about how much he loves the color

This one's kind of a big one for me tbh... I think Medic tf2 would intentionally (consensually, temporarily) incapacitate someone so he gets to take care of them. Misery-style. My favorite version of this is Medic "accidentally" taking too much of someone's blood out during a blood draw, so they get all sleepy and he needs to feed them (with his boobs) and let them rest (on his boobs). Despite it all I think he really does like to feel needed.

I think Mommy Medic can be veryyyy... smothering. Figuratively and literally. He can really heap on the compliments, especially with a character who isn't very used to praise, which is its own kind of sadism. And he literally suffocates you in his boobs/thighs/ass/tummy/whatever. That one's a little less psychological.

Okayyyy goresex time... surgery makes Medic horny and he wants to fuck people's internal organs. Tf2 is really fun for this because the medigun is a built-in explanation for how he can do that while the other person is still awake. In Meet the Medic he should've been straddling Heavy's hips and jacking off onto his large intestine.

I don't know how into drinking blood normal humanguy Medic would be, but he definitely likes touching blood. Getting it all over his hands. I think he'd maybe be more into making you (or whoever) drink blood, lick it off his gloves, off his boots, off his big hairy (eroticized body part of your choice here). One of those things that he probably intends as a humiliation thing but if you're enough of a freak you just enjoy for what it is.

The penetration imagery of the needle. I read something like that recently about the scene in Breaking Bad where Jesse does heroin for the first time and I haven't been able to stop thinking about it. You understand

On a humiliation note, I think Medic would think it's Very fun to "force" (lovingly encourage) someone to call him "mommy" if they're embarrassed about it, which I think most of his team would be. Medic using kink to help Sniper drop his inhibitions and give in to his urges and Have Fun is one of my fave bushmed dynamics and I definitely think getting Sniper to get over the hill and call him "mommy" for the first time would be a big thing for him. Of course this is all part of his plan to break you (consensually!) and have you (or whoever!) whimpering into his cleavage as he gets to nurture you

Imagine everything I just said but he's in a sexy nurse outfit that's extremely visibly too small for him. And also just COMPLETELY covered in blood. That's my vision

#ask #anon #tf2 #medic #medic tf2 #tf2 nsft #mick dicks #nsft #gore

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obrother1976 · 7 months

Note

top 10 favorite academic papers pretty please!!!!

love u anon <33 here u go:

"Taste and see that the Lord is sweet" (Ps. 33:9): The Flavor of God in the Monastic West by Rachel Fulton (this fully was a work of art. from the discussion at the beginning of what it means to taste to the fictional interlude of the reader talking to rupert von deutz.. im forever in love w this one)

WOUNDING, SEALING, AND KISSING: BRIDAL IMAGERY AND THE IMAGE OF CHRIST by Lieke Smits (didnt talk about anything else for like a week after reading this. this ones less on here for the way its written and more for what its about bc im obsessed w devotional literature and recountings of visions of christ)

Wilde's "Salomé" and the Ambiguous Fetish by Amanda Fernbach (the only thing u'll ever need to read on salome. kidding ofc but this was by far the most interesting discussion about salome that i've ever read)

Masochism and Piety by Robert M. Pierce (a classic for this blog. i've literally posted about this one time and time again and for good reason tbh. only thing that im still mad about is that i cant find the cited prayer tracts anywhere online </3)

Erotic Martyrdom: Kingsley's Sexuality beyond Sex by Charles Barker (i'll never get tired of reading about kingsley. and every time u hear the words "erotic" in a theological context trust i will be there lmao)

Praying the Rosary: The Anal-Erotic Origins of a Popular Catholic Devotion by Michael P. Carroll (this ones rlly just here bc it was so balls to the wall. personally i dont think theres much actual academic value here but i love it anyway)

Rolle's Eroticized Language in The Fire of Love by Brad Peters (could talk about richard rolle for days. & this paper is exactly about what i find so interesting about him & devotional lit in general - the reader/writer dynamic and which role the writer assigns each of them)

Sociology and the Problem of Eroticism by Chris Shilling and Philip A. Mellor (the one sociological paper in here lmao. i prommy thats not on purpose, im just more of a book reader when it comes to sociology)

Touching and Not Touching: The Indirections of Desire by Naomi Segal (esp the part about getting inside the body of the other. originally only started reading this for dead ringers related reasons but its so dear to me now. i just love discussions about the senses in general)

Totalitarian Lust: From "Salò" to "Abu Ghraib" by Eduardo Subirats, Christopher Britt Arredondo (was trying to get more into film studies and such so i just randomly typed in a few of my favourite movies to see if something popped up and then i found this masterpiece)

#the theme of this blog continues to be eroticised theology #wish there were some about nazisploitation on here but i have yet to find a single good paper on that...#i do feel a bit bad for the lack of sociological stuff on here but rn the only sociological essays im reading r about farming for my exam #so im mad at her (sociology) rn #ask

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epickiya722 · 3 months

Note

If you don't mind me asking, can I ask your top favorite fics that you've written (feel free how much that you want to list)? Why they're special to you? Is there a specific inspiration when you wrote them?

Thanks if you want to answer....

I'll tell you, all my fics are special to me and most of the time, I find myself having fun writing them. Writing isn't just a hobby, but a way for me to release pent up feelings I have or express an idea that came to me.

To name a couple...

Beware of the Bunnies - It's the first fic I wrote for "if Miruko was Midoriya's mentor". It was fun writing that fic, especially when it's a fic for my two #1 faves. I honestly didn't expect the amount of attention I got for it!

Not Red, Black - I sometimes like branching out from writing warm-hearted, funny fics and this is one of those times. Another AU idea I had, but if Miruko and Midoriya were eldritch-like creatures and related. Unlike its prequel, this one stepped more in horror imagery and I think the direction the fic took.

Forbid a Woman from Being Great - Yes, another Miruko fic and one I actually wrote out of spite. When it comes to this fandom (as with any), is how double standard they can get. With Miruko, I have seem people hate her for being "too aggressive" or "too mean", but praise other characters for those same traits or even give excuses for their behavior. Or with fanservice, the same people who complain about it also thirst over the male characters getting bloody and shirtless. I don't hate characters like Dabi, Shigaraki or Hawks but I can't stomach how their fans act when it comes to Miruko or any other character really. It was actually a Hawks fan that irritated me enough to write this fic as well as get me out of the writing funk I was in.

An Absolute Menace - This is a fun little fic. It's part of a series of Class A and occasionally B partaking in antics. With this one, writing Koda as this troll was new, but fun.

Let's SK8 Over the Rainbow - This is actually a SK8 series that I wrote and it's still one of my favorites. It started off as a headcanon (Reki allowing Koyomi to paint his nails) and then spiraled into a collection of short stories themed around colors and I love colors so much. One of the fics, You're Lime Green Jell-O, I dove into expanding a character that only appeared once in SK8. Her name is Miki and she has green hair and I remember seeing her and going "You, you're getting some personality, a story, etc." Best decision ever. I just loved writing Miki and I think it was the first time I wrote a whole story for a character that only had two lines in canon.

Tu es le Moment Auquel J'appartiens - Another series I adore. I wanted to write some jealous Vanitas since I don't think I had seen a lot of Vanoé fics where he was the jealous one while Noé was more oblivious. Not at the time, I don't know about now since I haven't read a VNC fic in a long time. The title translates to "You are the moment I belong to" which is a line of lyrics from the anime's first ending song that I love so much.

It's the Pink Hair, Isn't It? - Do not get me wrong! I do love the AUs I see where Sukuna and Yuji are brothers, but the idea of this fic came from what if they were identical strangers and not related in the slightest. Even funnier, in the fic, Kenjaku and Suguru are siblings that look like twins, but Kenjaku is older. My favorite scenes probably have to be Kenjaku and Yuji interacting and Sukuna and Yuji meeting. I've also been cooking up a sequel so I can write more of Kenjaku and Suguru being siblings and Yuji's brothers and I do mean all nine older brothers. (I relate to Choso so much.)

Your Heartbeat Is My Comfort - Ever see a beautiful piece of fanart and you want to write a fic about it? That's what happened here. I saw this FushiIta art post here and it was like BAM! I had to write a fic. It was also another I didn't write something comedic, but more somber, bit of tragedy yet comfort in there.

Maybe Someday We'll Meet Again - I'm all for the Teacher Geto AU! However, this fic came from a what if scenario had Suguru and Yuji had met when they were younger and I always how Kenjaku was even aware of Suguru's technique. So I put both ideas together and thus this fic was born. It isn't dark, but little less comedic than others and I tried my hand at focusing on more of Yuji's strangeness and innocence here along with Suguru's character before he became a curse user.

You Are My Special - Again, another time I went for less comedy and fluff and tried with something else. I actually don't know how to categorize this one in terms of genre. SPECIALZ was stuck in my head for a long time and it got when I really started thinking about the lyrics and decided why not try writing something from Kenjaku's POV about Yuji? It may have took forever to write, but I'm glad I did. I actually wanted to write a companion piece of sorts but from Sukuna's POV about Yuji.

The Pink Sky and Cherry Blossoms - I actually just posted this fic and I'm glad I waited to answer this ask because of it. I was rereading the manga and came to Uro's fight with Ryu and Yuta and instantly fell in love with her character and thought about how would it have been like if Uro met my other favorite, Yuji? They have some similarities going on there and it was eye-opening writing those into this fic, especially with Uro's character. I wasn't around when that arc came out, so I didn't know how the fandom acted towards her, but for me, I just felt there's more to her than the surface. She's the Miruko of JJK to me as Yuji is the Izuku. Just as I would love for Miruko and Izuku to be a duo in a big sis-lil bro/mentor-mentee way, I love the same for Uro and Yuji.

The Craving That Paints Your Lips Red - The last fic I wrote for 2023 and a sequel to another fic, I wanted to try my hand at the horror again. But more tame, but still "Oh my gosh". I'm writing a post about it, but I have thoughts about Yuji and Sukuna's relationship and sometimes I have this feeling that Sukuna wants to corrupt Yuji, kind of like shape him to be the next him almost. Not for certain, but it's an idea that kind of struck me. For this fic, I wanted to explore a more horror fic side of Yuji housing the King of Curses. The best part of this fic for me is how I unintentionally stuck with the idea that Yuji keeps getting back up no matter how many times Sukuna tries to break him.

That list got longer than intended, but again, I have a lot of fics I have enjoyed writing! I'm glad to have talked about them and I thank you for asking! 💜

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