#what the fuck did i write
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indefinitely, forever ☆ okkotsu yuuta! [3/3]
okkotsu yuuta (post shibuya) x fem!reader
click here for: part one | part two | part three
- no spoilers from the manga, dwdw ;)
- alternative universe where yuuta is an SCP?
- [18+] three-part series, 10k+ words in total
(note: not proofread, expect grammar mistakes)
warning: contains SMUT, reader is a virgin, yuuta is a bit OOC/has that gojo satoru influence, romance, happy ending but contains slight angst and comfort, 2nd person pov, reader swears like a sailor
Yuta rolls his eyes playfully at you, large hands toying with the hem of your shirt. It was unnatural just how touch-starved he was; the relentless need to touch you, any part of you, imprinted into the deepest parts of his soul somewhere. "So, do you want to continue?"
"Continue what?"
"Like, if you wanna fuck.. or something..."
"Huh?!" Now its your turn to be continuously shocked.
"O-Only if you want to!" Yuta insists, clamping a hand over his nose and lips out of embarrassment followed by his classic shy gaze to the side. He turns a shade of red you have never imagined anyone could turn to, but Okkotsu Yuta had always defied the impossible.
You've already lost your first kiss to the floor while being chased down by the same man you just made out with.
So would it truly hurt to just fuck him?
No, it wouldn't.
It wouldn't at all.
His eyes watch your every move. He has a bad habit of staring at people, you note. You pry the calloused fingers off his face and capture his lips in another kiss, this time sensual and passionate.
"Are you sure?" He asks, just before he returns the kiss.
"Stop talking and just fuck me already."
"Will do, ma'am." He teases, sealing your protests with his lips.
Yuta wastes no time in helping you discard your top off, trailing butterfly kisses from your mouth and down your neck. Strong arms rest on either side of your body, hands large than yours clasping over the back and holding you down. His kisses now felt ticklish and feverish, each leaving a scorch on your skin akin to summer heat.
Heat pools between your thighs. You weakly tug at his collar to let him know that you want to see him; just as he had showed off before. Yuta ends the butterfly trail at your sternum, right above your breasts. He stands upright and grins wickedly at you.
"So eager to see me?"
"Shut up, you were the one eager enough to strip for me."
"Mhm," Yuta grips the back collar and pulls it off of him, greeting you with an all-too familiar sight for your eyes to feast on. You can't help but stare at his torso. No one would know that such a strong build was lying beneath the soft material of your sweater. The uniform he had on earlier did nothing for his form as it covered everything your eyes had glory to rest on now. Your fingers yearn for contact; they ghost across thickened skin, hardened with muscle from years of training and killing. "I bet you enjoyed the show, didn't you? Since you sided with me because of my body."
"Don't listen to Maki!"
He giggles, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. You huff, but the sight of him leaning into your touch has you feeling all-forgiving.
"Sorry. Good thing nudity is allowed here."
You were about to protest yet again but he dampens your voice with the palm of his hand. With his other, he unclasps your bra and pushes the strap off each shoulder, leaving a kiss on them as he did.
"W-Wait..."
Yuta ignores your pleads this time, resuming the trail of kisses down to your breasts. Your body instinctively arches up when he plays with the buds on your right breast, watching how it hardens in the cold. He latches onto your left breast next, his hot tongue swirling around the swollen areola and flicking it upwards. Pleasure strummed through your body and you grabbed both his wrists to steady yourself. Soft moans leave your lips as Yuta's tongue works wonders, his other hand nipping the bud playfully.
"Oh, fuck." You wrap your legs around his waist, caging him to you. With your bodies pressed against each other you could feel the dig of his crotch on your clothed half. Not wanting to lose the battle, you started to rut your hips in tandem with his suckling on your breasts, an awkward position to be in but it worked given the heavy groans you were receiving from the man. "Oh, Yuta..."
Yuta hums, switching to your other breast. "Must I give this one some attention too?" He pinches the nub in his hand and licks it.
"Mhm..."
"Hm?"
"P-Please." You were in too deep to really formulate anything.
He's pleased with your answer and continues to suck on it, earning a damn near pornographic moan from you.
The tension hung heavy in the air, once-clear windows fogging up from the heat you were both sharing. One moan after another, he drank up the breathy praises, doing his absolute best to please you. "So good, please don't stop..." Not that he ever would. The taste of your skin was addicting to him, and he worshiped your body in ways words never could, pouring every inch of love he had in him to the way he pleasured you. His hands grab at every patch of skin he could cover, running them up and down your body, over and over again in a routine only he knows. Yuta meets your lips in another fiery kiss, fingers dancing ever-so-lightly over the waistband of your pajama shorts, as if waiting for your permission.
You deepen the kiss, a hand shifting through the soft tufts of his black hair and another resting on his broad shoulder. You swipe your tongue on his lower lip and he gives in, opening up, your tongue breaking through and exploring his mouth. His skin shivers to this, reacting sensitively even to the lightest of touches. He tastes of mild peppermint and a tad of coffee from the one you had given to him earlier. He folds into your play, hands finally slipping past the waistband and pulling your pants down. He's attentive as his large hands glide down your body, feeling the stretch marks on your hips and thighs; every inch of you a different texture that he liked.
He whines cutely when your lips leave his to steady your breath. "I can't do this, I need to taste you. I'll die if I don't."
"No one's stopping you, big boy."
The words went straight to his dick, already leaking with precum and uncomfortably tight in his pants. But he'll gladly cast his orgasm aside just for you to feel fully satisfied by him, being the gentleman that he is. He gives you a light peck and make quick work of your underwear, pulling it by the teeth and shoving them down to your ankles. He then pries your thighs further apart, catching sight of your glistening folds, already wet with arousal from earlier.
"Y-Yuta, don't stare like that." You attempt to close your thighs together. He shushes you, keeping them open.
His curiosity gets the better of him when his index finger traces down and up on your exposed cunt agonizingly slow, your body twitching in response to it. Your breaths turn shallow; airy and needy with every stroke he gives it. Yuta studies how your chest heaves every time his finger ghosts over your clit, and the slight tremor from your legs.
"Ever been eaten out before?"
"N-No. Why?"
"No reason."
"W-Wait.. you're not s-supposed to-!"
Your moans fill the apartment when he goes down on you. A starved man with a five-course meal ready at his service, tongue lapping up your juices. You're no longer sitting up now, your back against the cold surface with your thighs pressed on your chest. Your legs hang over his shoulders and Yuta grunts at the taste of you; nothing could ever live up to this. His guilty indulgence continues its ravage on your sweet cunt, the fingers in his hair tugging at its roots only egging him on as he devours you. Your clit begs for mercy from his sucking, swollen and red yet the pleasure comes in waves. Goosebumps prickle your skin, this time from a good cause. Tears threaten to spill from just how good he was eating you out, especially when his tongue starts entering you. Warm and languid, he pushes into your hole as far as he could with a finger rubbing on your clit.
"Oh- fuck, that feels so good, Yuta- please..."
His name on your lips was a devout prayer to him. In the moonlight, his eyes hint a shade of blue, fluttering open to watch you. Your head is tossed back, sweat beading across your forehead and your neck, hands no longer have the energy to grip his soft hair when he's propelling you fast towards your first orgasm. His fingers work magic on the tiny bud on your cunt, the little bundles of nerves jerking together once you feel the pressure reach a breaking point.
"W-Wait, feel funny like- mgh, like its-"
Orgasm rips through you hard and blindingly white; with the only indicator of it ever happening being the strangled sob that left your dry lips. Your body convulses, arching up and tensing, tears leaving the crevices of your eyelids. His tongue leaves you only when the trembling subsides. Yuta admires how cute your clit spasms from the overstimulation. Slick covers your cunt and inner thigh.
"Feel good?" Eyes heavy with lust search your face for signs of discomfort, relieved when you mumble a weak yes. He picks you up, cradling you in his arms, "Wanna taste yourself?"
You manage a single nod. Your lips meet in a slow kiss, tongue delving into each other's mouths again. There's a tinge of sweetness on him that wasn't there previously. The orgasm had left your eyes hazy and your mind in a fuzz; all you could really feel was the primal urge to just fuck him. Your body groans in misery from how empty you felt without him. Your free hand tugs on the band of his pants impatiently. He lets go of you, a string of saliva interconnected. He fumbles with his pants and throws it somewhere behind him. He’s left in his boxers and a visible bulge.
He’s beyond needy when you palm his entrapped cock.
"Yuta..." And you're begging for it too.
"I know, I know. So eager for me." He kisses the tips of your fingers and undresses himself, freeing his dick from the confines of his tight boxers. It springs up, lathered in his own precum, upright and demanding attention. It's just as pretty as you imagined, as beautiful as the man himself. "Do you want me to put it in you yet?"
"C-Can I try... uh..."
"Oh," He realizes with a smile, "You wanna have a taste?"
Your head bobs with determination. You've never had sex before, let alone given someone a sex-job of any kind. His right hand pumps on his length. He could easily be seven inches long, and you doubt that it's all he had to offer. Yuta pats your thigh, "You sure?"
"I've never given a blowjob before." You admitted.
"That's okay. I'll teach you."
With the assistance of his arms around you, you stood. He's taller than you by a few centimeters. You've watched enough porn to know that you'd have to kneel down to reach his height, but waited for his orders nonetheless. He puts both hands on your shoulders and pushes you down on your knees, as expected, before placing a thumb on your lips. "Open wide. And try to keep your teeth away."
You did as you're told, opening your mouth up.
"Pinch me hard if it hurts." You agree to the terms and Yuta takes a deep breath, sliding his dick into your mouth. It's warm and comforting, the image of it going down a forever memory. Just as you expected, he's bigger than what you've normally seen; you keep your teeth away and suck in a breath when it glides in, only choking a little when it hits the back of your throat. He stifled a moan, patting your head as a way to tell you that you're taking him well. "Oh fuck," It's odd to see him so tearful, "Your mouth's so.. ah.. warm."
Doe eyes stare up at him, waiting for a move.
"Y-Yeah," He swallows, "You can move now."
With closed eyes you start to bob your head at a slow pace, testing the waters first. The hand on your head forms into a gripping fist, the other holding onto the counter edge for stability. Yuta's breathing heavily, trying his best to stay still for you. Now that you've orally memorized his length, you started to speed up at a constant space, letting your right hand rest on his thigh and the other pumping him up. The entirety of him wouldn't fit you just yet. For some reason, the sounds he’s making caused your cunt to throb even deeper with need.
"Slow down.. Hah..." His voice is raw and deep.
You could feel him harden inside. You suck in your cheeks as much as you could, vacuuming all space for a tighter hold on his dick.
"O-Oh, fuck.. fuck..." This has him hunching over, and panting like the bitch in heat he is, "I-Is this really your first.. ah.. time..?"
You swirl your tongue up to the tip and free his dick with a pop. The absence of his cock left your throat scratchy and your voice similar to sandpaper. You drag your tongue up from the base, following a protruding vein. Yuta whimpers at the sensation pathetically, wanting more albeit also wanting you to be in control. The momentum of his orgasm came crashing down.
"Do I really suck dick that good?"
You attempt to blow the strands of hair sticking to your face.
Tender fingers rake the strands away in a voiceless reply, tucking them behind your ear. Rather, he picks you up for the umpteenth time that day, letting your legs wrap around him once more- and sets you back down on the sofa. The sofa dips down when he kneels on the edge, forcing your thighs apart for the second time. He puts his middle and ring finger in his mouth, coating them in his saliva all while looking at you. Something changed in the way he looked at you.
A tad bit deranged.
Like if he didn't fuck you now he was going to really die.
"Honestly, it made me want you all to myself." He confesses, slipping his middle finger into you. You squeak at his admission, cheeks flushing redder. Your walls stretch around the digit, pulsing and coming alive, a gasp aloud at the sudden intrusion. It wasn't unwelcomed - feels uncomfortable and good at the same time. You've masturbated a couple times before with the same two fingers, but this just felt different. Something about the texture of his hands and how he curls it deep inside took your breath away. He pushes it in, slow and controlled, letting you adjust to his one finger alone. "Think you can handle two for me?"
"That's just one?!"
"I'm bigger than that." Yuta muses, watching you squirm slightly around his finger. It would be too painful for you to take him head-on, considering his size. With god-like patience, he retracts his finger only to slide it back in again repeatedly, widening the hole.
"O-Okay. You can put another one in-"
Tight. So tight.
So tight that you had to hold your breath. The ring that you never noticed was now submerged deep in you too. It's cool unlike the snugness of your vagina. "Y-You're married???"
The man laughs in response, "I wouldn't call it married."
"So I'm screwing with someone else's lover????"
"No, you’re screwing with your lover."
Ooooooh and do his words melt your heart. Red adds to the pink already charming your cheeks and you look away. "Womanizer."
Yuta chuckles, "You'd be the second person to tell me that." If it wasn't for him moving without your orders you would've forgotten that he had your fingers in you. Your slick walls had accommodated them so perfectly he wondered if you were actually meant for him. He scissors his fingers apart, trying to get your walls to stretch even further. Deep within your walls, he starts to pump and curl on the spongy patch embedded on the upper side of your vagina.
He hits it again and again, and each time makes you even wetter than before. He barrels you towards your second orgasm, drinking up the view of your sweaty body twitching when it explodes. You spasm underneath him, mouth open to let out a silent scream.
His fingers leave you with a squelch.
He licks them off. If Yuta could rate you as a meal, he'd give you 6 stars and a Golden Prize Award for Best Pussy. That's just how good you tasted to the boy. He’s handsy again, hands traveling across your body while his cock spreads your folds, feeling you underneath.
“Are you sure you want this raw?”
Your half-lidded eyes bat at him, "Shut up and fuck me."
Amusement glinted in his eyes, “Sorry.” He apologizes mockingly, tone far from apologetic. Yuta takes one last look at you for time’s sake and enters you, pausing when his tip fully breached the inside. It’s barely all of him and it has the butterflies in your stomach taking flight. He pushes the rest of him into you meticulously, afraid of breaking you.
Dull pain shot through you when he broke through, “W-Wait!”
“Are you okay?” He stops, hair matted to his forehead. He’s itching to move so badly with how warm you were hugging his cock. Tears filled up your eyes from how it stinged, but you didn’t want him out. You raise a hand and he understands, granting you some time to get used to his full length. He’s inside you entirely to the hilt, pressing against your womb.
Yuta Okkotsu and his impossibly big dick be damned.
“I-I’m okay now.” He’s on cloud fucking nine the way you squeezed him.
“How do you want it?”
“What do you mean?”
“Let me know if it hurts then. Safe word’s Okkotsu.” Yuta crawls forward and cages your head between his forearms, sharing the same breath you do. Being in charge turned him cocky, a 180° difference from the shy, timid person so worried for you not long ago. You raise a brow at him, and he raises a brow back at you. “Unless you plan on screaming that name of mine too.”
“H-Hey!”
He turns a deaf ear to your stammering, shifting your legs on his shoulder. You feel his dick slide in slightly further and the impatience brimming from him, “I’ll move now.”
Yuta pulls out his length.
Then he slams it back with full force, knocking the wind out of you.
You yelp, followed by a groan, which soon turned into chains of moaning from how hard he was rutting in you. He isn’t quiet by any means either, groaning and grunting equally loud in your ear while he fucks irrationally fast into you. Pain turns to pleasure, the same way your moans turn into high-pitched prayers of his name, saliva drooling from the edge of your lips and eyelashes damp from your tears. Dirty praises drip from his ever-loving lips with every second he spends rough-fucking you. It hits the same spot each time without fail, building up your release. The couch creaks repeatedly, and it would be to no one’s surprise if you had to replace it.
Unlike the kiss you first shared with him, his lips are ruthless- now serving as a way to effectively shut you up. He adored your fingers; how small they were compared to his, now groaning at how they feel scraping down his body, red marks littering his back. He loved how you detested him in the early hours of meeting him and how easily you succumbed to him now, a moaning mess of his own doing. He reveled in the way your body accepted him so easily at the first touch, second, third and the ones you share with him right now.
He absolutely,
truly,
devastatingly,
loved you.
You babble incoherent words, so cockdrunk that the only word he could make out was his name in begging. “Yuta Yuta Yuta-” His hands move to grip your waist for better control. Your folds wrapped so perfectly around his dick that he found it exceedingly difficult to move out each time; every millisecond out of it made him pound back in twice as hard. He aches for more: more of the sex, more of your touch, more of your moans, and more of his name out your mouth.
If he could spend every second of his life devoted to you, he truly would. Whatever energy lost in the heat of the moment was reclaimed by the sounds you made for him. Yuta buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling the faint smell of your vanilla shampoo he too shared. Your skin was so soft unlike his, how could it be? You were both human, but you were the perfection he wished he was and he felt blessed to lay even a single finger on you. The pinnacle of God’s creation, laid all bare and fucked out for his infatuated eyes to obsess.
He could feel his orgasm approaching anytime soon.
Yuta bites into you hard enough to draw blood.
“I-It h-hurts…” You choke on your own words, sobbing under his mercy.
“You’re taking it.. hah, so…. well for me, aren’t.. you?” He cooes at you between breaths, kitten licking the spot to soothe your crying. He couldn’t resist the urge to mark you up, your pussy swallowing him deep so much that he’s utterly pussydrunk, only obsessed with the thought of you. How could he, when you’re so perfect and obedient to him? He owed you your life, and he’s fucking you so good that the hands on your waist would inevitably bruise you. His tongue readies another spot by your shoulder; sinking his teeth in once more and lapping up the blood that emerged from within.
“Oh yes, yes- yes - yes yes yes - oh! yes yes - yes-”
It wouldn’t matter if he hurt you, he’d heal you right up.
But why would he?
You looked so much better this way, under his mercy.
He slows down to a constant pace to check his work on you. A masterpiece of purple and blue, on show for everyone to see if your shirt were to uncover enough. Satisfied, he kisses the lobe of your ear, sighing when your moans turn a pitch higher when he nibbles on it.
“Look at you,” He’s as breathless as you are. “Taking me so well.”
His free hand finds its way back on your clit, stroking it in conjunction with the snap of his hips against yours. You’re reaching your third breaking point of the night- evident from the way your toes curl and the tremor in your legs.
“I-I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum…!”
“Y-Yeah? Me too.” He collects your weakened arms and pins them above you, fucking at the same pace. His eyes marvel in the sight of your fucked out expression, pupils blown absolutely wide, your mouth hanging open singing broken moans for him. A drug to remember; to indulge in forever, tucked into the craters of his mind. “Cum with me, pretty.”
“C-Coming!”
He pulls out just as your orgasm washes over you. Yuta places a hand over your mouth as you scream into it from the onslaught of pleasure running through your veins, bringing you close to the brink of unconsciousness. Your vision turns blurry; it took you time to realize that Yuta had come on you. Ropes of cum landed on your abdomen the same time you did, sultry and dense in white.
For a minute or so you both stayed in your positions, letting consciousness and rationality take over.
Exhaustion quickly befalls the two of you. You turn to the side and Yuta collapses next to you, flinging a protective arm around you. Now you’re locking eyes with each other, face-to-face, both completely stark naked. You wriggle your arm between your bodies to cup his cheek in your hand, admiring how good he looked all sweaty and tired.
He was the first to break the silence, “Do you forgive me?”
You wipe the edge of his lips, stained with lipstick.
“Yeah I do.”
He takes your hand and kisses the knuckles he had healed for you.
“Thank you.”
Aftercare and dinner could wait. The air stills into comfortable silence. It’s early December. The snow outside compels you both to rest, a gentle lullaby sung by the warmth that enveloped you two. Yuta strokes a reassuring thumb over your knuckles, a silent but sure promise to keep you safe. His dark eyes hold a newfound meaning now that you’ve given him your all.
You both share a soft smile, new to this chapter.
Soon you found yourself drifting off in the mess of your bodies entangled together.
Indefinitely, forever.
.
.
THE END LOL FUCKING FINALLY IM DONE I HOPE U ENJOYED emuach emuach uHHHHHH ©demigodickrider / aftercare link
#jjk#jjk x reader smut#smut#jjk smut#x reader#yuta okkotsu#okkotsu yuta#okkotsu yuuta#how the fuck do you spell hiss name#yuuta okkotsu#jesus christ#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen#hallelujah im done#jujutsu kaisen x reader#romance#the end#what the fuck did i write
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I thought that ask said
"Hannibal is trembling"
👀 was about to look so disrespectfully
This is funny.
However do you know what's not funny? When it's winter and it's cold and he doesn't turn on the heat because he needs to relieve the last days he had with his sister so yeah, that's when Hannibal is trembling
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at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"
like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.
"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."
... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.
and i'd still keep writing.
i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.
i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley
"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"
and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.
it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.
you create because you're greedy.
#every time someones like ''AI will replace u" im like. u will have to fucking KILL ME#there is no replacement here bc i am not filling a position. i am just writing#and the writing is what i need to be doing#writeblr#this probably doesn't make sense bc its sooo frustrating i rarely speak it the way i want to#edited for the typo wrote it and then was late to a meeting lol#i love u people who mention my typos genuinely bc i don't always catch them!!!! :) it is doing me a genuine favor!!!#my friend says i should tell you ''thank you beta editors'' but i don't know what that means#i made her promise it isn't a wolf fanfiction thing. so if it IS a wolf thing she is DEAD to me (just kidding i love her)#hey PS PS PS ??? if ur reading this thinking what it's saying is ''i am financially capable of losing this'' ur reading it wrong#i write for free. i always have. i have worked 5-7 jobs at once to make ends meet.#i did not grow up with access or money. i did not grow up with connections or like some kind of excuse#i grew up and worked my fucking ASS OFF. and i STILL!!! wrote!!! on the side!!! because i didn't know how not to!!!#i do not write for money!!!! i write because i fuckken NEED TO#i could be in the fucking desert i could be in the fuckken tundra i could be in total darkness#and i would still be writing pretentious angsty poetry about it#im not in any way saying it's a good thing. i'm not in any way implying that they're NOT tryna kill us#i'm saying. you could take away our jobs and we could go hungry and we could suffer#and from that suffering (if i know us) we'd still fuckin make art.#i would LOVE to be able to make money doing this! i never have been able to. but i don't NEED to. i will find a way to make my life work#even if it means being miserable#but i will not give up this thing. for the whole world.
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This is cringe. This kigjt be inaccurate, religion with your thoughts if you like
Tony-CPR
Steve-Misery
Clint-Reese
You know, you know it
#tony stark#stever rogers#clint barton#an old meme#a silly one#maybe cringe#hahaha i thought it was funny#what the fuck did i write#sleepy writing not good
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earlier today andrew was like, "hey, check this out" and turned their phone around to show me an image of a pair of dreamworks eyebrow sunglasses before swiping to show me another image of the sunglasses and bask in my horror
but the pictures were on tumblr and they accidentally swiped the wrong direction in the image viewer
so from my perspective what happened was that andrew was like, "hey, check this out" and turned their phone around to show me an image of a pair of dreamworks eyebrow sunglasses before swiping dramatically to reveal an unrelated image of stuart little, watching me expectantly for a reaction that never came
#original#it was not until they turned their phone around with a#WHAT THE FUCK HOW DID YOU GET HERE#that we realized what happened#and it became the funniest shit ever to me and me only#even now writing this i made myself laugh again#and then my partner who is in bed with me yelled#STOP THINKING ABOUT STUART LITTLE. IT'S NOT RELEVANT.#and that made me laugh harder
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it’s their’s to burn
sharing a cigarette with joan of arc - dante émile ( @orpheuslament ) // photography by brendon burton
#this poem punch anyone else in the grey matter or?#jk I fucking know it did#‘None of that matters when God has plans for you. I still love him I just wish he'd leave me alone.´#GRRR BARK BARK BARK#holyyy shit do you know what you’ve done to my psyche ??#words#edit#poetry edit#dante émile#joan of arc#sharing a cigarette with Joan of arc#aesthetic#aes#art#photograph#Brendan burton#western gothic#typography#typo#writing#h8#poem#Poet parlay
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If bbc merlin wasn't gay then tell me why my middle aged, agressively heterosexual father that thought neil and todd were straight just turned to me and told me magic was an allegory for queerness. fucking riddle me that
#like actually HOW did the writers not realise what they were writing#i don't think i've ever been this shellshocked#he just said it outta nowhere and i fully froze in horror#he was like do you realise what magic is a metaphor for#meanwhile i'm having a heart attack#i fully said no and denied it was even gay#fighting for my fucking life#merlin#bbc merlin#merthur#blue rewatches merlin
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(warning: smut)
"see how good you take my cock, now?" when all you do is bounce on his cock repeatedly moaning instead of giving him a proper answer, jungkook snaps his hips up and into your entrance sharply demanding a reply.
"words, baby." he rasps into your ear from his position behind you. in the heat of the moment, the pleasure youre experiencing having been too much to handle at your state, your head had lolled back onto his shoulder with your eyes shut tight in ecstasy as you continue to ride him.
his hand snakes onto your neck and he barely squeezes, not enough to cut off your oxygen but enough to prove who's in control. "look at me."
you open your eyes then, and the most pornographic pitched moan escapes your throat when you see how beautifully jungkook fills you up. "see how well you take me? such a good girl. you're doing so well." you clench around him at the praise, moaning when he hits a good spot.
his hips continue to snap into yours rapidly as you try to bounce on him with equal efforts; wetness and precum oozes onto the floor and your clit's achy and swollen. from the looks of it, it's clear how sore you're gonna wake up tomorrow.
earlier, roughly thirty minutes ago, you had told jungkook you wanted to experiment with your sex life. he had been happy to oblige.
this is how he gave it to you. with a mirror situated in front of both of you as he sits on the floor, you bouncing on his cock with your back to him.
everything's exposed...vulnerable.
you've never been more turned on by the sight.
jungkook's hair sticks to his forehead as your own does too, both of you sweating by the force of exertion.
but fuck, he's beautiful.
his hand around your neck, with his other now trailing down to play with your clit...
and, god.
that cock.
you just know youre not gonna last long. and you prove that to him when you tighten and clench incredibly hard around him as he toys with you.
a guttural grunt reaches your ears and you can hardly breathe.
"shh, baby, i know." he moans under you, fucking you deliciously. you moan in response and everything burns.
in a good way.
your thighs burn from the position slowly turning uncomfortable, your lower belly tightens with insatiable heat, and when jungkook flicks at your clit one last time (with his hand still around your neck), a scream tears out of your chest at the utter euphoria that takes you above and beyond.
the climax hits you harder then ever before and you're no longer able to withhold the sight of his cock in you as your eyes roll to the back of your head and you arch your back, afraid it might snap. veins pop out of your neck from your moans and you've never been happier.
"fuuuuuck, baby." his thrusts turn lazy as you slump against him with a satisfied smile on your face. he watches you back in the mirror with a heated and hooded gaze before thrusting one last snap into your heat and burrying his face in your neck as he cums with a low drawl. "fuck, you're heaven."
you watch as his cum mixed with yours slushes out of you when you move to get up, only to realize you've made a huge mess on the floor. oops. got some of it on the mirror, as well.
oh, well.
it's not the first time jungkook's had you squirting all over the place.
and he knows this, because when he catches you cringing at the mess, all he does is smirk as he pulls you in for a kiss before swooping you off your feet and into the bathroom.
"come on." he kisses you again. "let's get this pretty baby cleaned up."
-unedited.
-taglist.
@hoseokteardrop @nochuel @kaitieskidmore97 @nays2112 @jksoftii @yu-justme @meadow-in-spring @bunnykoos @looneybleus @fushigurosdarling @alpha-mommy69 @junecat18 @xjiminsthighsx @tanniesdolls @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @whoa-jo @ahgasegotarmy116 @jksusawife @frgetmenotes @baechugff @partyparty-yah @army130613210521 @drugerlime @allisonstone @hopekive @llallaaa @tarahardcore @hopetookmysoul @betysotelo18 @harmonic55 @ecrvea @awesomebabyyoda @peterstarkchrishiddleston @pinkrockstar19 @sweetestseoul @luv--youu @mochminnie @coletaehyung @whitelies2248-blog @ash07128 @bangtans-momma
@yourbobaeyestell @laylasbunbunny @btsnpniff @olimpiiaa @caro134340lina @ohsweetmimosa @lovingkoalaface @httpjeonlicious @t-alyssa2006 @aloverga @sexytholland @skzthinker
#jungkook#jeon jungkook#bts fanfiction#jungkook fanfic#jungkook ff#jungkook x reader#bts jungkook#love#smut#heavy smut#bitch what the actual fuck did i just write.#haya's fantasies#jk smuttt#ugh i love experimenting with smut even if it's horribly written 🫡#okay bye#jungkook drabble#smut drabble
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Nightwing why are you warring a cape? Well for the baby of course! Dcxdp
This takes place in the same universe as my fic Mother of the storm and her star child.
A few years have passed and Danny is completely settled in and moved to bulhaven with dick. Eventually around the time he’s Turing 9 he insists that he wants to go out at night with dick. Dick is hesitant but Danny insist, pointing out how his abilities would make him the perfect recon detective. Dick can no longer argue when Danny beats both Damian and Cass the first day of training and he is out out in the field.
Danny hose out in his ghost form and picks the name phantom because it feels right and now nightwing patrols with a bird if his very own for the first time in a while. Danny is very good on patrols, he sticks close to dick often clinging to him and hiding behind him when dick is interacting with people. He’ll often turn invisible but it still doesn’t fell like enough to dick. He quickly released that he missed the cape and the layer of securing it added when Damien was his Robin.
So nightwing starts wearing a cape, and the people of his city starts coming up with all sorts of theories for the sudden change. The range from him practicing because he’s taking over the cowl to him hiding new gadgets. Very few have seen Danny and those who have are often not believed because, “nightwing had glowing eyes under his cape!” Is not very believable.
He doesn’t wear the cape all the time just when he has Danny, the cape is long the outside is black but the inside has a blue and black feather design so it looks like wings when he glides. It has a feature where it retracts in to a role on his back when he need more freedom of movement. And I’m addition to the cape he now has an extra loop hanging form his belt for Danny to grab on to as the hop rooftops. (Danny can will him self to weigh nothing so dick tends to pull him along as he floats any way)
As the news of dicks sudden costume adjustment is circulating he has to come to the watchtower with B for a mission. Danny tags along hiding in his cape like all the Robin had before him with Bruce. Meanwhile Bruce is totally not going all mushy over his grandson he is totally normal about this. All of the Leagers keep giving dick looks.
Until flash finally ask
Wally: so um nightwing what’s with the cape? I thought you hated them?
Dick*with a bright smile across his face*: it’s for my shadow!
Wally: your shadow? How is a cape ganna hide your shadow.
Dick: no not my actual shadow it’s to hide my bird.
Diana: your bird?
*Dick flares one side of the cape revealing the feathered pattern underneath but nothing else is visible hidden under the cape*
Wally: I don’t se-
Dick: whistles like a bird call
Danny slowly fading in to view giving the league a small wave as he scrambles to hide behind dicks legs: Hello
Hal: really Bruce another one!?
Dick Smiling at the small boy in his cape before closing it : nope this one’s all mine!
Meanwhile John Constantine who is present for this mission is freaked the fuck out. Because that kid with the flowing white hair and glowing freckles is definitely not human. And worse than that from what he can sense it’s pretty darn powerful to. He watches as all of his coworkers are working to get the boy out from hiding cooing over him.
Clark: he’s looking a lot better nightwing
Wally: Waite you already new about him?
Clark: yes the boy is nightwings child I’m guessing he only is just now joining the team
Diana: what’s your name little one?
Danny poking his head out of the cape: phantom my name is phantom
Fuck why was that name familiar? Oh shit that’s right John had heard rumors of the new ghost king and a prince milling around the infinite realms this must be the little ghost prince. How the fuck did dick end up with him? Waite sups said that was dicks kid, hold did dick?
John: ha Oh my god! You crazy fucker you fucked the ghosts king!
#danny phantom#dc x dp#danny fenton#dp x dc#dp#phandom#ghost king danny#i write some times#dpxdc#ms&sc#dc x dp prompt#you can use it as one I don’t care#this will not be continued so feel free to steal the idea#I just want Danny to hide under his papas cape#dick is very confused#over what John siad#and now the league is side eyeing him#Wally ask Danny who his mom is and he just says ‘dead’#this dose not help dick trying to explain he did not fuck the god of the dead#eventually they ask Danny if he knows who the king is#and he just says ‘Yhea me!’ and the crown of fire just appears over his head#he smiles and shows of his little baby fangs#John is having a melt down#the league just thinks it makes him even cuter#Danny explains he’s only a prince now until he’s big enough#John has to explain that actually makes a lot of sense because the realms have been running them self for years#The whole team is now having a crisis because they realize that means Danny has died#Danny is surprisingly nonchalant about it#he turns human to show them he’s fine#Batman is desperately trying to get everyone back on track so they can get to the mission
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( @nitro502-the-sequel‘s tags on this post made me ugly laugh and then I had to write something, I hope that’s okay??)
Wait, no, this is hilarious, hold on
Steve drops Eddie off at home later that night, where Wayne is awake and puttering around in the kitchen making what might possibly be lunch (he tends to keep overnight hours even on his days off, so as not to completely fuck his sleep schedule, but hell if Eddie can keep track of what time of “day” it is for him).
Wayne gives Eddie a nod of acknowledgement and turns back to the pan he’s stirring on the stove. “How was your–”
“HE CROCHETED ME A SCARF.”
This was a little louder than Eddie had meant to be, but Wayne, to his credit, doesn’t even flinch. He turns back to look at where Eddie is standing in the middle of the living area, clutching the ends of the aforementioned scarf like it’s a towel at the end of the world.
“Who did?”
“Steve.”
“Huh,” is all Wayne says. “Is crocheting the thing with the…?” He holds his fists out in front of him, rotating them at the wrists like he’s rowing a very tiny boat.
“No, that’s knitting. Apparently, they’re different,” Eddie says, brows raised and hands held up in front of him, like he can fend off the ghost of Steve’s surprisingly enthusiastic lecture on the subject. “Crocheting is with a hook, like–” Eddie holds out one curled fist, trying to demonstrate, but it mostly just looks like he’s either stabbing something or failing to pick up some invisible spaghetti. He gives up and flutters his hands in front of himself, clearing the image. “He showed me – never mind, it’s – you’re missing the point!”
“And I’m sure you’re gonna tell me what that is,” Wayne says, turning back to the stove before the beans (Eddie’s pretty sure it’s beans he’s smelling) start to burn.
“Steve crocheted me a scarf,” Eddie enunciates, because putting the proper emphasis on certain words will definitely solve the problem.
Wayne just hums. “Well, that was nice of him. Lord knows I can never get you to wear anything warm.”
Eddie groans, clutching at this scalp and then running his hands through his hair. He’s at least seventy-five percent certain Wayne is being obtuse on purpose.
“But what am I supposed to do about it?” he laments.
“Wear it, I’d say,” Wayne replies. “Can I see it?”
Eddie hesitates for a second, because it’s his scarf and Steve made it for him, and he doesn’t want anything to happen to it when he hasn’t even had it for twenty-four hours, but then he decides he’s being ridiculous, because if he can trust anyone with his stuff, it’s Wayne. He unwinds the scarf from around his neck and passes it over.
Wayne’s brows go up as he looks over the close, even stitches, running his fingers over the little ridges Steve somehow made with yarn. He nods appraisingly. “It’s nice,” he says, handing it back.
“Right?” Eddie tosses it back around his neck with a sigh.
“Did you say thank you?”
“Yes,” Eddie says, before thinking back over the moment when Steve had told him that the scarf was for him. “…more or less.”
Wayne shakes his head, turning back to his food with some unfavorable mutter about Eddie’s manners.
“Okay, but I think you’re still not seeing the problem here,” Eddie insists.
“Looks like the problem is that you’re having a conniption over a scarf in the middle of the damn living room,” Wayne shoots back.
“No, that’s– well I mean– no,” Eddie sputters. “Okay, look, what would you do if a girl made a scarf for you?”
Wayne pauses, and Eddie loves his uncle with his whole shriveled heart, but it is always funny watching him try to shift gears when he realizes they’re talking about gay things now.
“Well,” Wayne says slowly, “pretty sure I’m a little too old to have any girl knitting me a scarf.”
“Oh my god,” Eddie groans. “Fine! A mature woman, then. Work with me here!”
Eddie gets a raised eyebrow at the mature woman comment, but Wayne lets it slide. He tilts his head consideringly as he spoons some beans out onto a plate by the stove, where he’s already got toast waiting. He tilts the pan at Eddie, wordlessly offering, and Eddie shakes his head.
“I suppose I’d have to get her something in return,” Wayne finally says. “Or make her something, if I was the creative type.”
Eddie gets another pointed look at those last two words, and he groans again, letting his head fall back in defeat, because he’d been afraid that would be the answer.
“I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to make. It’s not like I can make him warm clothes or do anything useful,” Eddie says, so caught up in the sudden and dramatic realization that all of his hobbies are entirely useless that he doesn’t manage to duck in time when Wayne gives him a not-entirely-gentle smack on the back of the head as he passes by into the living room.
“Stop that. The things you make are just fine. It doesn’t have to be useful, it just has to be thoughtful,” Wayne says, settling into his chair. “So quit standing around whining and go come up with something you can make to woo your boy.”
“Oh my god.” Eddie covers his face, even though Wayne will definitely already know he’s gone red. “You’re actually the worst. I don’t know why I talk to you.”
“You’re welcome for the advice,” Wayne drawls.
“Yeah, yeah.” Eddie waves a dismissive hand at him, but the quick “thanks” he throws out afterwards is entirely sincere.
He retreats to his room after that; apparently, he has some thinking to do.
[Part 1 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Epilogue | Ao3]
#eddie munson#wayne munson#eddie & wayne#steddie#stranger things#what does eddie make for steve??#fucked if I know there is absolutely a reason I stopped writing where I did#I've also never written wayne before but it was fun to try#solar wrote
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Vaggie: I can't believe you're getting so worked up about some... Guy.
Reader: But, this one is different! He's honest and he's sweet--
Vaggie: Please...
Reader: And he would never do anything to hurt me!
Vaggie, pointing at Alastor: He's the RADIO DEMON.
#i can fix him#once chance is all i ask#alastor x reader#x reader#hazbin hotel x reader#incorrect quotes#alastor incorrect quotes#vaggie incorrect quotes#hazbin hotel incorrect quotes#why did it take me so many tries to spell incorrect what the fuck#hercules reference hehe#my writing
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NGL I have STRONG opinions about digital releases omitting the letters to the editor section of older comics. I feel like the letters are a part of comic history and should be aggressively preserved.
#look i was a weirdo and loved the letters so much#so much#so fucking damn much#i still to this day mourn that we don't have them#sometimes the editors would publish blatant aggressive criticism and promise to do better on some things#it was rare but it did happen in a handful of things involving stereotypes#also there is queer history in them such as in superboy and the ravers where people wrote in about hero#asking WHY he was not interested in women and this editor had to so professionally explain that he was GAY and where they stood on it#you also got to read queer readers writing in about these queer characters and the JOY in their words is priceless#also sorry but geoff's letters are fun and stupid at the same time and are a huge insight to what his hcs were#he LOVED tiny krypto so much it likely inspired him making dex starr bc he loved the idea of a small overly powered animal#not saying that was the main reason why ofc but it is interesting that he created dex after praising that mean little mutt#i say with the most love#my venting#my rambles
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the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.
three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.
two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.
their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.
one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.
i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.
i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.
and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?
you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.
a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.
someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.
#writeblr#warm up#this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru#but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist#ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school.#like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it.#was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes.#but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create''#when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work#part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just#like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent.#speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r#ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week#this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice.#''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism#imagine if we said that about literally any other profession.#''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt?#u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky''#we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY#''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''
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On c!Tommy and Selfishness
///
Text Credit: Sir Terry Pratchett, The Wee Free Men
Art Credit: Sad-ist, Dawn of the 16th, The Fall, Final Waltz, Warriors
#LETS FUCKING GOOO#FINISHED IT#THIS TOOK SO LONG#anyways#my first web weave guys!!!#tbh i think i did pretty good#this quote is just so ctommy to me#just needed to bring it to life y'know?#anyways yeah#what do you guys think???#i emotionally wrecked myself making this btw so please appreciate it#chommito does that to me#dream smp#c!tommy#web weaving#clings writes
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I've seen thousands of Evelyns, but never a Evelyn like you. You have so many goals you never finished. Dreams you never followed. You are living your worst you. I can't be the worst… what about the hot dog one? No. Everyone here agrees. This one's worse.
EVERYTHING EVERYWHERE ALL AT ONCE (2022)
#this movie has so many good lines its so hard to pick like#'I don't know what the heck is going on. But somehow it feels like this is my fault. I don’t know. The only thing I do know#is that we have to be kind. Especially when we don't know what's going on.' ??? banger#everything everywhere all at once#eeaao#evelyn wang#michelle yeoh#jobu tupaki#cgedits#mygifs#movie gifs#gifsets#film#filmgifs#cinematv#hd gifs#highly recommend reading the script holy fuck how did they write this
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do i ship wincest. yeah they're an inseparable pair on a narrative and thematic level, can you truly understand one without understanding the other? they're two halves of a dialectic on heroism and sacrifice. they're two points on the family trauma survivor spectrum, sometimes opposing, sometimes intersecting. they're like watching your parents who should've gotten a divorce years ago somehow stay together, against all reason. they're two inheritors of a rugged American masculinity and isolated individualism, internal and external violence springing forth. regressing to the nostalgia of frontier brotherhood as substitute for the nuclear family. they're a set of quintessential outlaw lovers. maybe true love only exists in the kind of freedom you keep when you're always moving, on the road, in your childlike bubble excluded from society, left with nowhere to burrow your roots except into each other's very being. they're the world's loneliest childhood shared between two feral dogs, one biting down on the other, unable to let go. they're the fantasy of an unconditional love so powerful it can survive the apocalyptic enormity of your own self-loathing. they're a set of matryoshka dolls, one consuming the other. journeys end in lovers meeting, but what kind of journey is it really when you've never left home: it's been sitting in the seat next to you this entire time. your haunted house is not a home but a person who'll never let go. they're an erotic fantasy of domestic horror as a sweet, sickening embrace as opposed to an all-consuming fire, a car driving off into heaven's sunset as opposed to one crashing into a tree. (wrong: they're both). so horribly enmeshed and trapped in a magnified love so destructive to the world around them they leave catherine and heathcliff wuthering heights in the dust. they're two brothers trapped in a 15 year long spiral of an abusive codependent pseudo-marriage, in part due to a network unable to let go of a successful show format, thus unable to afford them any growth that might disturb the status quo. but the implications of it all.
#when the fuck did i write this. anyways. in case anyone was ever in doub about what i'm about#wincest#samdean#also shipping =/= the primary way i interpret characters or a story lol. it's like tiramisu after dinner. a lil dessert as a treat.#honestly 75% they're like a Hegelian dialectic discoursing on the outcomes of childhood abuse in my mind#my meta#j.txt
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