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earlgreytea68 · 9 months

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do you have a playlist of peterick songs 🩷

I don't actually have a playlist (my playlist is All Fall Out Boy Songs in one massive jumble lolol and MAYBE THAT IS THE PETERICK PLAYLIST) and I don't think I've really been asked this question before, but here's what I would say are my top Peterick songs:

Saturday: This is for obvious reasons for anyone who's been around, but if you're brand new here, the lyrics are Saturday are explicitly about the Patrick-and-Pete relationship ("Pete and I attacked the Lost Astoria with promise and precision and a mess of youthful innocence" / "Me and Pete, in the wake of Saturday"). They've said it's the first song they felt like they successfully collaborated on without throwing punches at each other lol. They play it at the end of almost every single concert and Pete abandons his bass to stand right by Patrick before he wanders out into the crowd. Sometimes he puts his elbow on Patrick's shoulder and shimmies his hip. They also, when they perform it, make sure to shout "more than an hour" at each other, no matter where they are on stage (and they are COMMITTED to this bit, we've seen them almost miss it on this tour and scramble to make the eye contact). Patrick also always points to Pete wherever he is on the stage when he sings "Pete and I," so we're clear who he's singing about. It's charming. Also, in the video, Pete and Patrick turn out to be the same person, and...let's just leave that there for now.

It's Not a Side Effect of the Cocaine, I Am Thinking It Must Be Love: The lyrics of this song are absolutely wild. "Why can you read me like no one else? I hide behind these words, but I'm coming out." For real, Pete Wentz? "We'll make them so jealous, we'll make them hate us." REPEATED MANY TIMES. Ugh. "Think of all the places where you've been lost and found...out." REPEATED TWICE. With so much emphasis on being found out. Not just found, the word always hangs as the would-be conclusion, and then the out is such a definitive stamp at the end. I don't know what these lyrics are other than wrestling with the fact that you're in love with your best friend and wondering about your sexuality, just saying lol

I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song): I know that other people have other interpretations of this song, but to me "joke me something awful just like kisses on the necks of 'best friends'" is super Peterick-coded. Also the parenthetical of "Summer Song," again, I know other people have other interpretations but to me Patrick is always represented by summer in Pete's lyrics (the way he is also sunshine and golden).

7 Minutes in Heaven (Atavan Halen): I have an interpretation in this song that Patrick is the "you" in it. Patrick is the star he's trying to fixate on while his world is falling apart, Patrick is the one thing he wants to focus on to keep everything else out. Trying to forget everything that isn't Patrick, only it's not-working-not-working-not-working. "The only thing worse than not knowing is you thinking that I don't know": The way that Pete thought he had to be the Leader of this band, take care of this kid he'd forced into being the singer, and so even when he's a complete mess he's got to hold it together so Patrick doesn't realize it.

The (After) Life of the Party: I know what the official lyrics say but I've never heard Patrick sing that refrain clearly enough to convince me he's saying "cut it loose" instead of "could it last," and to me this song is the quintessential social butterfly / favorite dynamic, which is the Pete&Patrick dynamic. "Watch you work the room / could it last." Watch you blossom, will I lose you?

Disloyal Order of Water Buffaloes: In Pete's own words, this is a song about anyone you feel close to. Sometimes for him it was a girl, but honestly, sometimes it's Patrick. So. Here's a song about Patrick, according to Pete Wentz. I'm half-doomed and you're semi-sweet.

What a Catch, Donnie: The song Pete explicitly wrote for Patrick. "All I can think of is the way I'm the one who charmed the one who gave up on you." In my head, this convoluted sentence is Patrick struck by how much Pete is charmed by him, and how much Pete gives up on himself. Also, the video has Pete putting himself on a sinking ship and leaving Patrick with all their friends as they shove off into the hiatus and whatever, I can't deal with any of this hahaha. THE SONG ENDS WITH A MEDLEY OF THEIR GREATEST HITS TOGETHER, whatever, this stupid song, I honestly thought the fact that this was the last single before hiatus had to be made up lol

"From Now On, We Are Enemies": A hiatus-era release titled for a movie about an intense artistic relationship. A refrain that's about the composer who's never composed who has to sing the symphonies of the overdosed. And the problem is they only want what they can't have.

Miss Missing You: The song in which Patrick sings about being saved by hot whiskey eyes. Please Google "hot whiskey," and then take a look at Pete Wentz's eyes. This is another thing I can't deal with lol. Also, the "miss missing you" is an explicit response to a poem Pete wrote to Patrick before the hiatus, in which Pete said, "I miss you missing me." Patrick responds with the song, "I miss missing you." THESE TWO.

The Kids Aren't Alright: First of all, they very frequently and consistently have referred to their fans as "the kids" since day one, so there's that. Which kids aren't alright? Ours. Shut up. "And in the end, I'd do it all again, I think you're my best friend." WHATEVER.

Fourth of July: Again, I know other people have different interpretations of this song, but for me this song is soooo Peterick. It's the summer reference again, but it's also hiatus-y to me. "We were fireworks that went off too soon." "I said I'd never miss you but I guess you never know." Pete got vicious and angry heading into hiatus and burned everything down, but you know what? "May the bridges I have burned light my way back home." "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't mean any of it." I could go on and on about this song, I love the words to this song, but I just want to say, "I'm sorry every song's about you," is just...a lot. And then followed by "the torture of small talk with someone you used to love," and if that doesn't smack of the awkward end of the hiatus, Idk.

Twin Skeleton's (Hotel in NYC): There is a LOT in AB/AP, a LOT that these boys seem to be working through, and it's a lot of hiatus feelings, and this song always makes me think of everything breaking down. "I need a new partner in crime, and you -- you shrug"????? THIS LINE KILLS ME EVERY SINGLE TIME. And it's really a song about trying to hold everything together ("hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on," it says over and over) but everything is still falling apart into dramatics ("I can just die laughing on your spiral of shame" is another line that hits like a slap in the face).

Bishops Knife Trick: Pete Wentz in the early 2000s, famously: I'm only gay from the waist up. Pete Wentz in the late 2010s, in a lyric: I'm in spiritual revolt from the waist down. Honestly, enough said.

Hold Me Like a Grudge: With that "thaw out my freezer-burn feelings from 20 summers" early on, this song is setting us up for being a song at least about Fall Out Boy, but "part-time soulmate, full-time problem" sounds like it's probably just about one person lol.

Heaven, Iowa: This song is a love song and to me it's their love song and that's just all I have to say actually hahahaha.

Okay, this was quick, I'm sure people have more! The joy is how ambiguously the lyrics can all be interpreted.

#peterick #long post #fall out boy #fob

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wardenparker · 4 months

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At First Sight

Alan McMichael x female Reader

Rating: G for General Audiences, but this blog is always 18+! Word Count: 3.1k Warnings: Alcohol, flirting, period manners, fluff, scheming family members, undesirable dance partners. Summary: Alan's sister Eunice is finally engaged and their mother is throwing a grand ball to celebrate. It is the last place that he wants to be...until he meets a young lady who wants to be there just as little as he does. Notes: It's been so, so very long since I wrote anything solo. Please be kind -- all errors are my own, and this is definitely not beta read. It's just a little piece inspired by my downtime at work and countless rewatches of Crimson Peak. Alan deserves some happiness, so I wanted to give him a bit. If there's interest I'll try to write more for these two, but I'll understand entirely if there's not. Thank you so so very much for reading! Dedicated to @julesonrecord for her tireless patience in putting up with me babbling about this character and how he deserved better. And to @ruflirtingwithme for always letting me keep Wade in my pocket wherever I go. There's a bit of him in this as well, for sure.

Despite the tailoring of his tuxedo, the familiar weight of the costume, and the well-traveled ballroom he finds himself standing in, Alan McMichael shifts uncomfortably. He’s lost weight this past year, worry and injury taking their toll, and the tailor assured him that it could barely be seen but took his jacket and the waist of his trousers in anyway. He isn’t as fit as he once was. He isn’t as strong. Not since he followed Edith up that mountain in England, only to bring her back down again to dual hospitalizations and true exhaustion. The doctors at the sanatorium don’t allow him to visit anymore .They say it causes episodes of hysteria.

So now they must live inside their own heads separately, and his mother has taken that as meaning it is time to push him to move on. “It’s for the best.” His mother had said. But Alan couldn’t be sure. Still, he was forced to resume his everyday life, and now it has been a full year since that fateful trip to Crimson Peak.

Eunice’s engagement has been a blessing to distract Mrs. McMichael. Her ploy to whisk her daughter off to New York City in the early summer had paid odd and now Eunice is engaged to the son of some banker who claimed to have an ancestor lead the charge at the Battle of Cowpens. They were all, Mrs. McMicheals told everyone in earshot, quite proud.

Now it was Alan’s turn to once again have marriage prospects pushed on him, and he stood in the ballroom ready to receive guests alongside his father with a false smile and a belly full of dread.

* * * * * *

“I thought you didn’t like Mrs. McMichaels?” The question hands in the air as you finish getting ready for the ball this evening. Spending the Christmas holiday in Buffalo with your aunt and uncle had been your brother’s idea – trying to see that you were taken care of without directly saying that having you in his house would be a burden. So you had reluctantly agreed, giving most of your staff the better part of three weeks off and taking only your maid with you to Buffalo.

It’s not that I dislike her entirely, dear heart,” your aunt Joan insists. “I adore her soirees.”

“How foolish of me.” It takes all your strength not to roll your eyes but your maid recognizes the expression and smiles privately. “I ought to have known. You and Uncle Christian will want to stay until daybreak, won’t you?”

“Certainly.” Aunt Joan quips, appraising herself in her vanity mirror. “Her cook makes the most divine fruit crepes.”

You could point out that her usual overt piety discourages desire and gluttony, but at near seventy years of age, your great-aunt has earned a little indulgence from life. Instead you hum a non-committal agreement and pick up your gloves., “Then it will be well worth staying until breakfast,” you encourage, offering her a smile instead.

“Indeed.” She seems most pleased at the prospect and shoes your maids away with finality. “Your dance card must be full tonight, child,” she warns with an alarming hint of mischief in her voice. “If we want you engaged before the worst of winter snows threaten to keep us all at home.”

* * * * * *

The McMichael’s ballroom shimmers with candlelight and each guest who is announced at the door is another jewel in the crown of the evening. Mrs. McMichaels flits about like a bird with a rare and precious seed, showing it off to everyone around her, and the guests who have eagerly arrived first bask in the shared glow of witnessing such good fortune. Fortunately, very certainly it is a fortunate thing, your Aunt Joan and Uncle Christian do not believe in arriving early to parties. They believe in leaving their home at the time the party is listed as beginning in order to appear both desirably busy and aloof, which means that your trio is squarely in the second half of arrivals to the McMichael house this evening. Even if it is only by a measure of twenty or thirty minutes, the less time you must spend with eligible men being foisted upon you, the better.

“Mr. and Mrs. Christian Tate,” are announced along with your name, and Aunt Joan practically shoves your out in front of them to make sure you’re seen. Not that anyone would have noticed you otherwise, so perhaps it’s wise. The peacock colored gown you chose shimmers softly in the gaslight, but the ballrooms of Buffalo do not have the large, expansive windows and glass doors that you are accustomed to in Newport. It is all mahogany and walnut paneling here, and all the ladies but you – in their pinks and creams and honey yellows – knew better. You will be lost in wainscotted corners in your deep blue, green, and purple hues. Though perhaps it is for the best. This is not your society anyway. You have no intention of ending your time in Buffalo engaged no matter what Aunt Joan might intend.

The two gentlemen at the center of the ballroom could not be anymore obviously father and son, but where the father jokes and jovially signs dance cards at praise of his skills in the country dances, the son seems dour and aloof. His pinched smile does not precisely forbid conversation but it certainly does not encourage it, and he all but sighs in resignation when your Uncle Christian seems happy to see him.

“My wife’s great-niece,” you hear him saying, just before you are shuttled forward again. “Visiting from Newport for the holidays.”

“A pleasure,” the man intones, though you cannot think he means it.

“Is it?” You offer your hand only because your aunt clears her throat so pointedly. But it is at this point that the skyscraper with blonde hair you are being introduced to chuckles. The sound is broken but warm, and you are not so displeased with being here that you miss the way his blue eyes sparkle like aquamarine in the flickering light.

“Perhaps,” he muses, catching the dance card dangling from your wrist before you can take your hand back. “Perhaps you are the first young lady to arrive tonight not to simper and curtsy over the supposed honor of being my mother’s guest. And perhaps I can recognize a fellow soul was was strong-armed into attending.” He looks tired, the heaviness of it hanging deep in his handsome features. Because yes, he is handsome. Intriguingly and admirably so. But that isn’t what is drawing you in to him like a rope tied into your ribcage that tugs you forward whenever he speaks. It’s something else. “Perhaps we will be allies tonight, you and I.”

“Allies?” You watch his hand as he claims both waltzes on your dance card, the first gentleman to do so and claiming what are arguably the most intimate of dances. “How terribly Napoleonic of you,” you droll in response.

He laughs again, a little more deeply, and shrugs his shoulders. “I would avoid the elder Mr. Davies if I were you,” he advises, clearly demonstrating his intent as that very ally he has claimed to be. “His wife passed last spring leaving him with three young children. He has become so desperate for a wife that he is inclined to propose to almost any new young lady he meets.”

“How very concerning for the young ladies.” You murmur back, glancing over at the man being subtly pointed out to you. He is squirrelish and balding, all the hair on his head seeming to have fallen to the bushy mustache adorning his upper lip. “Is there anyone else I ought to be wary of?”

“Oh, a dozen at least.” The mischief returns to this man-shaped mountain’s eyes and he offers you his arm. “It is well worth discussing. Perhaps over punch?”

“Mr. McMichael, I think you are using me as an excuse to abandon the receiving line.” You hum in amusement, not really able to say you blame him for such a thing. Or that you mind.

“Perhaps.” His grin has a shade of mischief and guilt to it. “But perhaps you are using me to avoid the attention of other guests who might bore, annoy, or otherwise rankle you, or even step on your shoes. Which I’m sure are quite beautiful and not to be defiled. This arrangement seems better for us both, don’t you think? I can promise you with surety that it has been more than a decade since I trod on a lady’s slipper at a ball.”

“I had intended to feign lightheadedness from the crowded ballroom halfway through the night,” you confess with a sly expression all your own. “Perhaps I still will. Or perhaps this mischief will prove diversion enough all on its own.”

* * * * * *

There have been many dances in your life that have made you terribly glad for the barrier of gloves between you and the man leading. Whether it was their manners that were unsuitable, the sweat of their palms, or some unsavory odor lingering around them like a drought-stricken pond, there seemed always to be some partners with whom dancing was as undesirable as an overturned stagecoach.

Tonight you fear it might be you.

Dr. McMichael — Alan, he has insisted that you call him Alan — is a divine dancer. The grandeur of his stature does nothing to inhibit his grace and as he twirls you both about the ballroom you have the oddest sensation of floating that has ever been. But as if grace and poise were not enough, the man has a damning and wicked sense of humour as well. It has taken only the smallest encouragement from you to earn you scathing reviews of the other partygoers from you. The descriptions have you nearly in hysterics in his arms, but worse yet is the way that he smiles. It is a sly and puckish expression that makes his eyes light and sparkle in the candlelight, and every time he aims it at you, you can feel yourself sweat in the most unbecoming and unladylike way.

Moist palms or a damp dress back do not make for a desirable partner, and all you can do is hope desperately that your gloves and corset are providing ample barrier so that he has no idea how deeply those smiles and jokes and bright eyes are affecting you.

“I must sound deeply cynical,” he comments after a pause. He has just told you the story of the two Misses Shrewsbury and their positively ghastly attempt at conning the attendants of a seance he attended in Albany some years ago. “I am not. Or at least I do not mean to be.”

“Is it society that you disapprove of? Or faith?” Neither question is a judgment on your part, but you tilt your head to him conspiratorially as you dance. “I have found myself weary of both in the past, that is why I ask.”

“It is neither,” Alan admits, though he does so with a wistful sigh. “I think perhaps I yearn for times past when I reveled in dancing and philosophical pursuits. When the contents of conversation at a dinner party provided fascination for days afterward.” Subtly, so that you can feel it but it is not seen to the plain-eyes observer, he shrugs. “Life soldiers on, I suppose.”

“It does.” You cannot dispute that, and you would not try. You know the trudging on of time as well as any other touched by tragedy. “May I ask what changed? Or is that impertinent?”

“It is not impertinent.” He casts his eye around the room then back down at you. “But I am afraid it is not polite, either. I would not shock you so, to tell it all. I will only say that I lost my dear friend very recently.”

“Then I am very sorry to hear it, but I have every belief in your humanity. Your taste for society, your faith, and your fascinations will return.” The look on his face says he wonders how you can be so sure, and you half-smile. The hint of sadness in your eyes keeps it from becoming full. “Take the word of an orphan of two beloved parents, Dr. McMichael. You will come back to life again after the loss of your friend. It may simply take time.”

“Alan,” he presses softly, reminding you of his insistence. “And I am sorry to hear of your sadness, as well. But it seems that perhaps God or the ghosts of our past have seen fit to introduce us tonight. Whichever it is that you believe in.”

“Whichever it is, I welcome their intervention.” It seems to you at this point that he does not care much for spiritualism or ghosts of any kind, so you will not speak your mind on that topic. As for God? His guidance has not been the one you sought in many years. No, tonight you will not give credence to any of it, if only to keep the mood light and perhaps make Alan laugh again. “I think, however, that I shall ascribe it entirely to my great-uncle. As he was the one to see us introduced.”

“So he was.” As the song ends, Alan bows quite deeply in deference to his admirable partner. “I believe I shall have to thank him for it.”

* * * * * *

“Why don’t I know the girl your son has been doting on all night?” Mrs. McMichael is behind her fan to her husband from the edge of the dance floor, inspecting the dancing and overseeing the needs of all her guests. Her guests. Which is why she is so perturbed not to be able to identify this young woman immediately. “Who is her family? She must be with one of your business associates, yes?”

“Let Alan flirt.” Edwin McMichael waves one hand dismissively, not even looking in his only son’s direction. “It’s good for him. He’s been too dour for too long.”

“I don’t care if he flirts.” Ellen ruffles, her lips pursed and ready for an argument. “So long as he flirts with the correct young ladies.”

“How do you know she is not correct?”

“Because I do not know who she is or who she came with.”

“She is Christian Tate’s great-niece.”

Ellen’s nose wrinkles. “The orphan?”

“The orphan with an eight million dollar inheritance and a palatial cottage in Newport in her name.” Mr. McMichael raises one eyebrow as he peers down at his wife, knowing precisely the sort of affect this news will have on his wife. After all, she married him for his fortune — why should Alan not marry a fortune as well? “Let Alan flirt. It makes him smile.”

* * *

He finds you again later, outside of the ballroom when you’ve wandered away to breath air that hasn’t come from the mouths of five other people first and doesn’t smell distinctly of stale cigars and brandy. He finds you when you are slumped, unladylike, in the window seat of his father’s library gazing out the window at the snow as it drifts lazily down from the pitch-black sky.

“I thought you’d run away on me.” His voice is light but the undercurrent of worry, or else embedded sadness, is there if you listen. Like a weariness that had taken hold in him sometime since the loss of his friend that he had not been able to shake. Rather than apologizing for it or paying it any mind, Alan simply holds out one of the delicate cups of mulled wine that he brought with him when he went in search of you. “I’m very glad to see that isn’t the case.”

“I had to make myself scarce from the quadrille,” you admit, having the good sense to look at least a little sheepish about it. “That Mr. Davies…the one you warned me about? He caught sight of the fact that I had been left out of the dance before and attached himself to me.” Though the conversation could not be considered so terrible to be characterized as harrowing or torturous or anything as dramatic as all that, you still had not enjoyed his overbearing presence and unfortunate lack of manners. “I’m afraid that I feigned a headache to excuse myself.”

He laughs. Truly and thoroughly, and from his belly. Alan McMichael laughs so entirely that you bury your face in one hand after you accept the offered drink from his hand and you sigh audibly. “I’m sorry…” he chuckles, gasping for a dramatic sigh when he can catch his breath. “ It’s just that you’re so terribly apologetic and sweet about it. No one would be cross with you for avoiding an impertinent man old enough to be your father.”

“I see you have not met my Aunt Joan.” With a dutiful but resigned sigh, you stand from your place of respite and sip the rather delicious drink that he has brought you. At precisely 4:02 in the morning it is both horrifyingly too late for such a drink and far too terribly early – a dichotomy that delights you. “She has done her best to see me partnered with every single man here tonight. It is only my ill luck that I encountered the only desirable partner so early in the night. To dance together a third time would expose us both to comment.”

“So?” Alan sips his own wine and gazes down at you curiously, wondering whether or not you actually give a damn about all of this convention and these rules that seem to have been mutually agreed upon by the same people who determined what food is served at each course at formal suppers. That is – someone very long ago and far away that no one can remember any longer. “I’d like to dance with you again. And you just said that you’d like to dance with me. So who gives a damn if someone talks about it?”

“Won’t your mother be cross with you?” He had said something earlier about his mother wanting him to dance with just every young lady at the ball tonight. And you know for certain that he has not just as you have not danced with every single man.

“My mother is routinely cross with me.” He admits, enjoying a laugh at the truth of it. “I try not to let it disappointment me too much.”

It is all you can do to consider him – broad shoulders stretching that jacket of his and bright eyes sparkling with mischief, the tilt of his smile and the invitation of his outstretched hand – before you are sighing in a rather dramatic show of resignation that barely shields the actual delight written on your face. “Very well,” you acquiesce, taking his hand and giving his fingers a gentle squeeze. “Let us be the object of idle gossip tomorrow. Let tongues wag. I will be gone in a week anyhow and that will be the end of it. For tonight, at least, we shall have a bit of fun.”

______

Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo

Alan Tags: @nrthernsong @inept-the-magnificent @trulybetty @justcallmebirdie @jefferson-in-the-tardis @thesluttylittleknee @munsonownsmyass @laurfilijames @hudson-bay-girl @ruflirtingwithme @rhoorl @scorpio-marionette @absurdthirst

My Masterlist!

#Charlie Hunnam #Charlie Hunnam character fanfiction #Charlie Hunnam fanfic #Alan McMichael #Alan McMichael x you #Alan McMichael x reader #Alan McMichael x female reader #Alan McMichael x f!reader #Crimson Peak #period romance #just some flirts #I don't even know what I'm doing

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hornyhermitry · 9 months

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The many puzzle-pieces that served as inspo for Sukuna

A long time ago I made a little deck about elements of Buddhism woven into Jujutsu Kaisen's story.

Since I got a little time on my hands (and he's finally made it back to the manga!) I'd like to put this little run-down on influences Sukuna draws from here as well and extend a bit on it, since more than 2 years have passed since then. (And I've been meaning to rework the deck, but lack time and wantto get at least this one out properly again).

First of all - I don't think Gege copies any character or legend 1:1. IMO, Gege is drawing from various sources and remixing them into his own thing. Whether that's for the story, setting, characters or specifically Sukuna.

So let's have a look at all the historical and mythological characters Sukuna is remixed from.

Ryoumen Sukuna the 2Chan Urban Legend

This is the one probably the most people have heard about, since Gege openly mentioned having drawn inspiration from this:

The 2Chan post about an urban legend how some construction workers allegedly found a 2 meter sized box labeled as "Ryomen Sukuna" with a mummy of conjoined twins inside. The guys who opened it fell sick. The box was given to a local priest to handle the bad energies and at some later point someone called the priest's son and learned it was some deformed freak who died in a way some Buddhist monks practiced a long time ago - by simply meditating ascetically until you enter mummification while still alive.

You can read more on that here.

This is where Gege was clearly inspired to get mummified Sukuna, full to the brim with negative energy, delivered to the story in a box.

The "Rasetsu" Daijizaiten/Ishanaten (伊舎那)

Rasetsu are demon-spirits that reside in the heavenly realms, who have the power to influence and seduce humans, and then eat them. In Buddhism rasetsu are also believed to act as wardens under The Lord of Hell - Enma - punishing the damned. Ishana/Ishanaten/Isana/Daijizaiten is a demon spirit from the highestheaven of the world of desire and is often shown with a three-pronged spear in right hand, and a bowl of blood in his left. He is one of the eight manifestations of Shiva and presides over cosmic destruction.

While he is usually described with many-faces and many arms, in the Womb World Mandala he appears with two arms, dark red in colour, seated on a dark-blue buffalo, and accompanied by his consort "Uma"(烏摩), also seated on a buffalo.

I believe this is what inspired the design for Sukuna's original giant curse form. Color-coded in red, eating humans, holding a three-pronged spear and drinking blood while causing destruction. Yup. Sounds about right.

Daijizaiten's son, Kitchen God Sukanda/Idaten

Daijizaiten has a son, Idaten, also called Sukanda 塞建駄, who is the God of the Kitchen and looks after the provisions of the Buddhist brotherhood. He is known as a swift runner, because legend has it that he ran with great speed to catch a demon thief who stole the ashes of the deceased Buddha. Wherever there is trouble, he is instantly found there. His appearance is not described. In Japan he is usually in a little shrine attached to the monks' dining-room

I believe this is where Gege got the inspiration to give Sukuna his little cooking theme he got going on around his curse technique and domain. From the Japanese name for the shrine that can be read as an imperial palace's cooking quarter, through his cleave & dismantle technique that is illustrated with respective sushi knives for skinning and chopping fish. And of course he is cooking with fire, as we see with Jogo.

Interesting that Sukuna has all this sushi chef imagery going on, when there is so much fish symbolism in the story and especially the anime - from the culling games' original name Japanese name referring to the annual fish migration to all the fish shown in the Season 1 intro and a lot more. Of course, there is also the little shoutout to this when Sukuna tells Gojo he's nothing but a fish on his chopping board.

Heian era scholar & poet Sugawara no Michizane, deified after death

Sugawara no Michizane was a respected politician and poet at the imperial court for most of his life. Michizane took a great liking to plum ("ume") trees. In his later years, there was a power struggle between rivaling clans and after the emperor he worked under abdicated, he was demoted, banished and sent into exile by the new (Fujiwara) clan who assumed all influential official posts and rose to power. Exiled, he wrote a famous haiku bemoaning the absence of his favourite ume tree.

(It does fit awfully well to Uraume not forgetting Sukuna for a thousand years until they reunite, huh?) According to legend, his favorite plum tree flew from Kyoto to Dazaifu in Kyushu to be with him. Shortly after, he died in exile. Now something very peculiar happened - shortly after Michizane died, the land was struck by death, plague and drought. The new emperor's sons all died one after the other. Lightning repeatedly struck the Imperial Palace's Great Audience Hall and there were rainstorms and floods for weeks.

People assumed Michizane had become a vengeful spirit and built a shrine (Kitano Tenmangu) to appease him, while posthumously restoring his office and titles and planting many ume trees. Legend also states that during Michizane's funeral procession, the bull pulling the cart bearing his remains refused to go any further than a certain spot, so his shrines are usually decorated with statues of bulls.

If you look at it, it's really on the nose, isn`t it? :)

While a few people have been theorizing Sukuna might have known Sugawara no Michizane or that he might be his relative, mostly because Gojo namedrops him as a potential shared ancestor between Gojo and Yuta ... I personally think that Sukuna is partially based on him and I'd love to find out if this is going to have relevance at a later point in the story. We know so little about Sukuna's time as a human, but when you look at the design of his Malevolent Shrine full of ox skulls, the fact his consort is called Uraume and has plum-themed hair and how he refers to himself as a calamity back in the day, much like plagues, famines & storms, the puzzle pieces really fit together quite smoothly.

And as a last puzzle piece: After a life of being revered and looked up to as a court official next to the emperor, Michizane was exiled and fell from grace at the imperial court when another clan took over —- now remember how Sukuna calls himself „the disgraced (or „fallen“) one“. How intriguing, is ‚t it?

As for his tattoos: Inspiration might have been an old Japanese practice to tattoo criminals with symbols indicating their crimes. The practice comes from the Edo times (1603–1867), making it multiple hundred years too late for a Heian (794 to 1185) criminal. Nevertheless, fair game for loose inspiration.

Another inspiration might have been something from a specific Buddhist hell (there are multiples ones). In Kokujou Jigoku (黒縄地獄), the Hell of Black Threads, those who have killed and committed theft, receive marking lines made of black thread on their body from demons and ogres, so these demons know where to hack their bodies apart as punishment, using axes and saws.

What I find intriguing most about Sukuna's tattoos is that he has them on all his bodies - both Yuji's and Megumi's --- which would indicate they are more like, uh, tattooed onto his soul than his own skin, why else would they show up on multiple meatsuits of his? My last guess about the tattoos has no footing anywhere, so take it as a random sidenote - I'm just wondering if he might be sealing something with those sigils. Who knows what their purpose is. Maybe he just likes the look of it, who knows.

So, to recap.

I think Sukuna's appearance in modern times is taken from the 2chan thread as Gege said, his further character design is mostly lent from the Sugawara no Michizane legends (fall from grace, calamities, shrine, ox and "Ume" plum tree included) and his curse form is further inspired by Daijizaiten, the human-eating god of destruction who is also accompanied by an ox and a consort called "Uma" and finished off with a touch of that god's son Sukanda who is a literal kitchen god and a fast runner, tending to a shrine's kitchen.

OF COURSE this man is a scholar turned rogue fun-loving cannibal. <3 His demeanor is not that of a peasant who never learned to read who's struggling to meet ends during a famine, but shows he has been moving among higher ranks back as a human. He attended festivals as a curse/deity and even cares about the seasonal aspect of Yorozu's haiku.

This man has been around the imperial court in the Heian times, knows how to play politics and intrigue and evidently studied mind and soul of humans since way back then, until he rose above it. That's not up for debate, hahaha. Where his arc is going? We shall see. Still hard to say at this point. You'll find me over here, holding out for a flashback to his past. Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! -Jisa

Yup, that‘s me writing poetry in blood with my scholar turned curse upon humanity commissioned from JinRozenrot . As my old friend Mr Lecter would say: Tada~ ♥

#jjk thoughts #jjk #jjk theory #jjk brainrot #sukuna #ryoumen sukuna #ryomen sukuna #sukuna ryomen #sukuna ryoumen #japanese culture #japanese mythology #buddhism #sugawara no michizane #Michizane Sugawara #vengeful spirit #cursed object #king of curses #jujutsu kaisen

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jojolymes · 1 year

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𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐎; twenty-eight

࿔*:･ﾟ xxviii.

next: ࿔*:･ﾟ xxix. | table of contents

TEXAS RED was everywhere and anywhere you were, always watching you from a distance. Despite always staying in your peripherals, haunting you from afar, you knew he was there, pushing whatever had lodged in your abdomen further into you. With Thunder's every gallop, it inched its way into your flesh, burning with every flex of your muscle. Texas Red must have known your predicament because all he'd do was smile as you futilely tried to get your companions to help you.

But it was no use— Texas Red knew this, you were sure.

Johnny and Gyro had decided the moment you all had left the town, Agua Fria, that you were no one worth conversing with. They spent the latter half of the day muttering lowly like a couple of schoolgirls. It was pathetic to see the men you had considered such good friends (yes, even Gyro despite his hatred for you at the beginning of the race) decide that you were nothing to them. It wasn't hard to know why it was all happening after a week of their childish treatment.

They hated you because you were a woman. You had denied it as much as you could, lying to yourself to make yourself feel better because there was no way such a reason was to blame for their behavior. Yet, it was, and there was nothing you could do about it besides grin and bear it. Well, that is until you found an opportune moment to leave which you decided would be in a few days once you were sure Texas Red was nothing but a hallucination.

"Speedwagon, go be useful and find something to start the fire," ordered Gyro as he and Johnny began setting up camp, looking over at you with a forced grin. You smiled right back, ignoring the stinging in your abdomen and in your palms where your nails had started to dig into your skin.

"Yeah... sure," you replied, walking off before you could hear the muttering between Gyro and Johnny again. Your brow furrowed and you focused on the low whistles of the wind and the rustling of the tall grass. Crickets cried out into the otherwise relatively silent plains, overshadowing whatever bullshit Johnny and Gyro were talking about now.

"Fucking beef-headed pieces of shit," you grumbled, not bothering to look over your shoulder and just basking in the remnants of the setting sun. Soon it would be dark and after that, you just had to make it through the night— if nothing happened, then that would be enough proof that Texas Red was just something you made up.

As you walked, the only thing you could hear was nature all around you, growing louder the further you got from the two asshats you had called friends. It would be hard to find fuel for the fire in the plains. There weren't trees for miles and you had seen very few throughout the week's trip to the next stage. If you couldn't find any shrubbery, you'd have to resort to buffalo chips, and you really didn't want to carry that back to camp.

"Iron Maiden," you called out, summoning the silver-skinned lady beside you. She hovered in silence for a moment, the silk-reminiscent fabric that hung from wrists fluttering softly in the wind. You didn't need to say much else before every bit of fire-building material was hovering beside you in mid-air. It was mainly buffalo chips but thankfully, there was practically no odor.

"Alright, let's get these back to camp," you said to Iron Maiden with a wave of your hand, "I really don't want to keep those jerks waiting." Iron Maiden nodded and hovered beside you as you made your short trek back to camp. But just as you could start to hear Gyro's ear-piercing cackles, you spotted him in the corner of your eye.

You spun around, looking around the empty plains. Aside from you, Johnny, and Gyro, there was no one here. Yet, you could feel Texas Red's eyes on you, sneering from wherever he was amidst the tall grass. Iron Maiden had repelled the chips away from you and off to the side as you readied yourself.

In all your time traveling, you had yet to truly fight off an enemy all on your own. Iron Maiden hovered right behind you as you stared off into the darkness. The sun had just finished setting moments ago and you cursed your luck. The last thing you needed right now was to fight in the darkness. You raised your hands, curled into weak fists, as you awaited your fate.

"Your fists won't hurt me, girl."

You turned your head just in time to meet Texas Red's pitch-black eyes, the irises almost completely blocking out the whites of his eyes. He had a wicked grin on his face you could make out between the tassels in front of his mouth, the shadows of his face deepened by the night, his mask, and his red hat. You had not much more than a second before you were writhing on the ground, digging at your abdomen futilely.

It burned terribly, far worse than all the times you had burned your hands on the stove as a child combined. There was a scream lodged deep in the depths of your throat, unable to come out. All you could do was heave, choking on the air you breathed. It hurt beyond comprehension. You weren't sure what being ripped limb from limb was like, but you were sure it was similar, only confined to the right side of your abdomen.

"If only you could see how pathetic you look," Texas Red whispered, mocking you with that grin again. You wished it could be covered by the tassels attached to his mask, but his abnormally white teeth shone through each individual strand. You could feel tears streaming down your face, soaking the bandana tied to your face. You grunted, trying to form words that wouldn't come out right.

"I...Iron..."

"Oh, that's no use, darlin'," Texas Red gibed, glaring into your eyes as you tried to move— do anything to get away from the terrifying man in front of you. Iron Maiden was beside you in an instant, but no amount of repelling would move him away. He just stared at Iron Maiden, a crick in his brow. His grin fell to a frown and once more, you could feel something dig deeper into your flesh, making you squeal in pain.

"I told you so," Texas Red sighed, bringing his index finger and his thumb to a rest right where Iron Maiden's forehead would be and flicked them, "whoosh." The second Iron Maiden disappeared, a frigid wave of coldness washed over you. Your only form of protection was gone and there was no one else to save you. You were frozen, watching as Texas Red smiled again. His teeth were perfectly aligned with one another, practically glowing in the moonlight.

You couldn't help the scream you let out— you didn't care who heard, as long as they came. You didn't want to die, alone any less. Texas Red stepped away from you, scoffing as the familiar voices of Johnny and Gyro got closer. You glared as best you could at the man, saliva bubbling down your chin as your abdomen burst with pain. You screamed again, writhing on the dirt uncontrollably.

"You can't do anything now. It's far too late for you."

In an instant, Texas Red was gone, almost as if he had never been there. So did the pain. You sat up quickly, feeling your right side as Johnny and Gyro came into view. Their faces were scrunched up, almost as if your screaming was an annoyance to them more than a concern. You couldn't say a word as Gyro came up to you, pulling you to your feet in an instant.

"Why in God's name are you screamin' so damn loud?!" spat Johnny, rolling up beside you with a grimace. His blue eyes looked positively furious and you just stood there, arm still in Gyro's grasp as you were unable to say a word. What were you supposed to say if you knew they wouldn't believe you?

"Seriously, bambina, if you want us to pay attention to you that bad, there are other ways of doing it," Gyro growled, letting go of your arm roughly, swinging it away from him and back towards you. You couldn't help the tears that burned in your eyes but what you felt was far from sadness. You could feel your jaw go stiff, so much that it ached.

"I... You... Get the fucking fire fuel your damn selves!"

You didn't bother to look either Johnny or Gyro in the eye as you stormed off towards Thunderstruck, pulling her over and away from their campsite. It wasn't too far, just enough that you could still keep an eye on them while making sure you were still plenty isolated. You'd keep them around a little while longer, at least until you could get to Syracuse. From there you'd be fine.

You set up your tent as quickly as you could, terribly aware of Iron Maiden's absence. You could still faintly feel her— you were still alive after all— but she was stuck there, unable to manifest herself in front of you. To say the least, it was troubling. That night, listening to Johnny and Gyro's hushed voices, you couldn't help but let a few tears fall while you wrapped yourself up tight in your sleeping roll.

The next day felt only like what you imagined hell was like. Considering you had also described the past week as such, one would think that things couldn't have possibly gotten worse. Well, they had. Johnny and Gyro had tried to leave without you, then denied ever doing so and decided to blame you for having a late start to the day. It was all they brought up, consistently finding ways to blame you for any issue that arose on the trip.

They were going the wrong way? Well, you didn't tell them so it was your fault for not noticing. The horses were running low on food? You shouldn't have only bought enough food for Thunderstruck. There was only one canteen left of water? See, if you had brought extra canteens of water, there could have been more to share. Any slight inconvenience was never their fault, even if it very much could have been their fault.

On top of that, Texas Red had decided that he was going to tag along for as much of the ride as possible. You could hear his voice in your head, mocking you, telling you that you'd be dead soon. As much as you wanted to think he was just lying to distract you, you could tell that Iron Maiden was fading away. It was scary knowing that your life force was draining and that you had no idea what to do about it.

You didn't want to die. You had come this far and this was not how you were going to do it. You didn't want to die alongside pieces of shit who thought you were making stuff up to distract them. As you rode behind Johnny and Gyro, you fought to come up with some semblance of a plan to stop your death. But you really, truly couldn't do it anymore. It was simply impossible.

By the time night had come along, you were at your wit's end. Johnny and Gyro were still ignoring you and Texas Red was still blabbering away in your mind. You sat in your tent, the dim light of your lantern illuminating the small space. You had half a mind to write your will in the still-empty journal you kept with you. You had yet to come up with anything to write but if what Texas Red was saying was true, then you might need to.

That was the thing though. What Texas Red was saying was most definitely true. Every passing breath was growing harder to take. Your vision had grown blurred and your fingertips had grown numb, limbs useless against gravity. You had fought so hard only to be undone by a bullet. Now, sitting here, feeling the right side of your abdomen, all you could feel was...

"What the-"

You perked up— you could feel something. It was faint but if you pushed hard enough down into your side, you could feel it. It was shaped like a bullet, but it was moving and last you had checked, bullets didn't tunnel further into a body after the initial shot. Whatever it was, it had finally appeared after a few days of simply not existing. That didn't matter though. What did was that you had to get it out.

You didn't bother to stop and think as you searched through your saddle bag for a small knife. Cutting out the bullet was your best chance at survival. From there, if your theory was correct, Iron Maiden would be able to fix up any major damage on the inside. Not too long after, you found the knife, pushing away any and all doubts before they could stop you from going any further. This is what you had to do to survive.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Texas Red snickered, grinning at you through the tassels covering half his face. You looked away from the man, hands shaking as you took off your dress shirt, rolling it up to bite down on later. Right now, you needed some sort of alcohol. Texas Red appeared beside you as you looked through your stuff, trying to find the little bottle of whiskey you saved in case of emergencies (of the medical kind).

"Why don't you think about this first, sweetheart?"

"I got no time for thinking you damn sidewinder."

"Well, I think it'd do you plenty good."

"And why's that?"

You were doubled over in an instant, gasping as the knife fell out of your hands. The bullet was digging further into you. You glared at Texas Red as best you could, body curling in on itself as the pain grew greater. You could feel yourself start to go faint now, fingers grasping at nothing as you tried to keep yourself awake enough to perform your impromptu surgery. Maybe if you screamed now, Johnny and Gyro could help you. You knew they wouldn't though.

"I told you so. Maybe next time, you'll listen for once."

The knife glinted dangerously a ways away from your left hand. You looked over at Texas Red, biting down hard on your lip. You really had no other choice. In a moment of what some may have called foolishness, you grabbed the knife and plunged it into your abdomen, right where you had first felt the bullet. It must have gone deep enough because before you knew it, Texas Red was fading away, screaming at the top of his lungs.

"Ha. I did it."

Your vision blurred as you looked down at your abdomen and the gaping wound you had created. You wrapped an unsteady hand around the handle and yanked it back out, biting back a scream. You had done enough screaming. You brought the tip of the knife into view where a bug-like bullet was impaled through. You grimaced and threw it to the side, slapping a hand over your abdomen.

You didn't want to look but you knew your hand was soaked in blood. You could feel its warmth all over your palm. You were sure it was soaking into the grass below you, maybe even staining your bedroll nearby. You really didn't want to have to wash it— it was enough having to do it a few times during that time of the month. Really, you had to stop this bleeding before it worsened. But if your theory really was correct then...

"Iron... Maiden."

Iron Maiden appeared beside you, not saying a word as she brought a hand over your abdomen. You met where you thought her eyes would be, finding nothing but empty darkness behind her visor. It was comforting darkness but you presumed it was only because she was your stand. She was you in some convoluted way you couldn't put into words quite yet. Maybe if you survived, you'd figure it out.

Iron Maiden muttered some cardinal direction under her breath, though you weren't sure what it was. Though no "yes", "no", "probably", or "probably not" answers made any sense to you at the moment. It wasn't like you had asked her a question. Or maybe she could read your thoughts? It was rather comforting to think at least someone would talk to her while she bled out. Iron Maiden muttered once more and then started her magic.

You could feel your insides pull together, slowly and excruciatingly painful. You felt around for your rolled-up shirt, brought it to your mouth, and bit down, head swimming as you tried to stay conscious. But it was so hard. All you wanted was to close your eyes and deal with it the next morning. Going to sleep sounded so nice. After so many restless nights, it was too inviting. Iron Maiden said one last thing that you couldn't understand. You wanted to sleep really bad.

SO YOU DID.

stand name: gunfighter ballad stand user: texas red ability: any bullet shot by texas red's notched up pistol will slowly kill the person shot but will not outwardly look like a gunshot wound; the illusion of texas red's body will appear frequently to taunt the victim; the bullet itself is somewhat imbued with life and has a countdown; once it can be felt, the victim is at the end of their lifenamesake: texas red the outlaw from marty robbin's big iron

#palominosbr #steel ball run #sbr #jojo #jjba x reader #johnny joestar x reader #gyro zeppeli x reader #hot pants x reader #diego brando x reader

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new--tomorrows · 9 months

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"And so, in the summer of 1885, Sitting Bull joined Buffalo Bill's Wild West Show, traveling throughout the United States and into Canada. He drew tremendous crowds. Boos and catcalls sometimes sounded for the "Killer of Custer" but after each show these same people pressed coins upon him for copies of his signed photograph. Sitting Bull gave most of the money away to the band of ragged, hungry boys who seemed to surround him wherever he went. He once told Annie Oakley, another one of the Wild West Show's stars, that he could not understand how white men could be so unmindful of their own poor. 'The white man knows how to make everything,' he said, 'but he does not know how to distribute it.' --Dee Brown, Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee

#Dee Brown #Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee

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typical-simplelove · 1 year

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Christmas Isn't Christmas -> Tyson Jost

Author's Note: Happy Holidays, everyone! Unlike last year, I won't be doing a strict 12 Days of December/Holiday series because I've just been really out of it recently, but I have this one! This one is both a holiday fic and a trade fic. Ultimately, though, I hope that you and your families have a lovely holiday season, regardless of what holiday you celebrate. I'm sending prayers and love to all of you!

Word Count: implied!female reader; reader celebrates Christmas (but it's a semi-undertone); heartbreak; pain; sadness; Tyson's trade to Buffalo

Word Count: 2.3k

“So, Buffalo?”

He nods. There wasn’t anything else left to say. There wasn’t anything he could do about it anyway. It was Buffalo or permanent retirement. “They have a good young core.”

“But they’re losing,” you point out.

“When you’re young, don’t have a lot of experience, and the other teams are more experienced and bigger, then you’re going to be losing,” Tyson defends his new team. “I really think I can find my role and footing in Buffalo.”

“It’s going to be cold.”

“It’s cold here, too.”

“Where does that leave us, Tyson?”

He just looks at you, fear and sadness in his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Growing up with Tyson, you knew he was the best person you’ve ever met in your entire life. He had this smile, this laugh, this presence, and this persona that made every cell in your body light up. The neurons in your body loved to transmit messages about him. He was the air that made you breathe.

But then you moved to Minnesota for school and work, and Tyson went to Colorado, and things just stopped there. Tyson was still the essence of your life, and the feelings you had for him never left, but there wasn’t much either of you could do when you were both at opposite ends of the country.

Then, in the biggest heartbreak of Tyson’s career, he was traded to Minnesota, closer to you. As upset as you knew Tyson was, you were deep down happy. Tyson, your best friend, the light (and love) of your life was just a ten-minute drive, without traffic. He was right there.

And then, he kissed you. He kissed you as if his life depended on it—because it did. He kissed you like he probably should have back in high school. He kissed you like he should have when you were both home for the summers during your college years. He kissed you like he should have when you visited Denver. Tyson put all the emotion from the past twenty years of his life into one kiss, and it made all the difference. There were no more hidden emotions. There were no more longing touches between hugs and passing cups. It was all out there, and finally, it seemed, the universe wanted to let you and Tyson love each other not in secret.

That was a lie. One month later, Tyson’s moving to Buffalo.

“You don’t have to move to Buffalo,” Tyson says. He’s quick to add, “do it for yourself, not for me.”

“What if I want to move to Buffalo?” At this moment, you really only wanted to be with Tyson. If he were traded to a team on Pluto, you’d be joining him. Wherever he went, you wanted to go.

“Make sure it’s what you want and not what you’re doing because I’m going there.”

How are you supposed to tell Tyson that the reason you continued to breathe was because of him? He was the entire essence of your soul, the source of life. But, he wasn’t going to take that. You knew what he was heavily implying.

Tyson didn’t want you to go to Buffalo because he didn’t want you to be chasing a life that wasn’t fully yours. He didn’t want you to hate your life and the choices you made because of him. He wanted you to live the best life possible, and if that was without him, then it would be that way.

You didn’t have to say it out loud. You both knew that you were staying in Minnesota. It was easier this way, you both silently told yourself. It would be easier to pretend that it would be easier to pretend the last month happened than to try to do long-distance or start over in a new city.

Well, Tyson thought that. You wanted to follow him, but you knew it would hurt Tyson for you to follow him.

“Does this means we’re breaking up?” you ask, your voice cracking. Tyson immediately pulls you into a hug and holds you close.

“No,” he murmurs into the top of your head. “It’s a ‘we’ll always love each other, and when we’re in the same place, I’ll show you just how much I love you, but we can’t be apart from each other and show the same love.’”

It didn’t make sense. How could you both love each other so much but not be able to be together? The point of loving someone the way you loved Tyson and vice versa was so that you could both be there with each other and for each other.

You knew, though, that this was the only way. There was no other version of this story that ends with you and Tyson happily together. It could only be this way.

“I’m not going to stop thinking about you,” you tell him.

Tyson snorts. “If you think I ever stop thinking about you—even when we’re six inches away from each other—then you’re ridiculous. You will forever be the first and last thought on my mind. You will forever be the reason why I wake up in the morning. You will always be the reason why I work to be one of the best at what I do. You are the reason why everything makes sense, even if we aren’t together.”

“Even if you find someone else?”

That was the whole point, right? Letting each other go this way was better because it would hurt too much to have an actual breakup because long-distance didn’t work or moving to a different city together wouldn’t work. Letting each other go right now and still hopelessly and ridiculously in love meant that all the good memories would be good and happy and positive memories.

But it also meant that you were opening up your heart to love someone else, to spend your life with someone else, and to grow in love with someone else. It meant that Tyson might end up spending the rest of his life with someone else who wasn’t you.

Even if you both know that it’d be impossible to find someone who means what you mean to each other.

“Yes,” Tyson says, assertive. Although it breaks your heart to hear, you’re glad he said it the way he did. If he had any shred of doubt, then you know you’d be on the next flight out, and you couldn’t do that. It just wouldn’t end well for either of you. “But you have to open your heart, too, okay?”

You nod, not wanting to tell him that it’s only ever been Tyson and it’ll only ever be him.

Tyson kisses you for the last time, right there. It was the only way to do it. It was the only way to ensure that your hearts remained intact.

. . .

As American Thanksgiving came and went, your heart shattered a little more each day. You both had plans to celebrate and make a big dinner together. That didn’t end up happening. You opted just to donate all the food you bought to a local shelter and had a frozen pizza for dinner. What was the point of celebrating something that meant so much to you and Tyson?

As the days got closer and closer to Christmas, your heart was still breaking, but seeing the multi-weekly social media content of Tyson on the Sabres’ Instagram healed your heart just a little bit. It felt refreshing to see that he was doing so well and that he was so happy.

Tyson still texted you each morning and night. He still texted you before and after practice. He still texted you, asking what you were watching that night. He asked what you were eating, what you were reading, what you were wearing, and what you were doing. You did the same.

Tyson still texted you and told you that he loves you.

It was never over the phone; that would hurt too much for the both of you.

If you thought about it long enough, you’d get to the conclusion that the constant communication with Tyson probably wasn’t the best idea. You could probably heal and feel better if you stopped the constant communication, but how could you? How could you start to feel better about Tyson being gone when talking to him was the one thing that made you feel better?

It was a twisted explanation, but ultimately, you couldn’t stop communication. The minute you stopped talking to Tyson was the day you died.

. . .

As the days inched closer and closer to Christmas, your coworkers were filled with immense holiday spirit. You tried, You wore red and green. You put up a Christmas tree, and you placed light all across your apartment. You listened to Christmas music, but it wasn’t enough to make you feel better.

The questions about your holiday plans didn’t help either.

Are you traveling home for Christmas? No. Tyson was your home, and he was in Buffalo, and you couldn’t go to Buffalo because then you weren’t going to go back to Minnesota.

Do you have any family in the area? Are they visiting? No. Your family isn’t nearby. Tyson isn’t nearby, and he can’t visit. It just doesn’t make sense.

Are you traveling to visit any family? No. You couldn’t possibly go to see Tyson and then expect to return to New York.

That question was repeating in your mind. What was stopping you from going to Buffalo? Sure, it would hurt, but it would do you so much good, right?

As you kept thinking about visiting Tyson for Christmas, the more it consumed your mind. Whatever you were doing now wasn’t working, and you needed to see Tyson. You needed to see him more than on your Instagram feed.

Maybe going to Buffalo and seeing Tyson would be the one thing that would help you let him go. Maybe it would help you heal and move on.

Without thinking, you booked a flight to Buffalo.

Maybe this would help you move on with your life.

. . .

After getting his address from his mom, you take a taxi to Tyson’s apartment. It had to be a surprise because you know that if you told him you were visiting, he’d talk you out of it, and you don’t blame him. After being able to spend three days together and get a glimpse at what your lives could be like, it would be too painful for you to leave. It would ruin you both.

He opens the door within two seconds after you knock.

“Hi,” you whisper.

“Hi,” he whispers. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch as he pinches himself. When he winces, you can’t help but burst into laughter.

“What was that for?” you say, amidst giggles, the ice is finally broken.

“I just wanted to make sure you were actually here and that I wasn’t dreaming,” Tyson says, grabbing your bad and ushering you into his apartment. “How long are you here?”

“I leave the twenty-sixth,” you say. “It works better with your schedule.” And my heart.

With the knowing look he gives you, Tyson knows the part unsaid. It would break his heart as much as yours.

“I didn’t know if you wanted me to come, but I couldn’t spend the holidays without you, Tys,” you say. “If you want me to leave, I—”

“Don’t leave,” Tyson pleads. “And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I didn’t want you around. I always want you around, and I wish you visited sooner, but—”

It would be too hard to say goodbye.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“Never,” Tyson says, firmly. He takes two strides towards you and pulls you in with a kiss. It’s the scariest and fullest kiss you’ve ever had. With a single kiss, it’s like your entire heart is healed. There is no more pain or hardship or sorrow or loss; you’re healed. But now that you’ve kissed him again, you know that it’s going to be the most painful goodbye you’ve ever had.

“Please never let me go,” Tyson whispers, needy, against your lips.

“I won’t,” you promise. It’s the most heartbreaking promise you’ve ever made, yet it finally feels like the holidays and Christmas.

You’ve found your Christmas spirit.

. . .

As the next two days pass by, they show you what life could be like if you lived in Buffalo with Tyson. Every moment of your life was leading up to these two days—the best two days of your life.

Your flight home leaves in six hours, and Tyson is set to drive you to the airport. Currently, you’re sitting on his lap, your head resting on his shoulder with your arms wound tightly around his body. Tyson's head is resting on the crook where your shoulder meets your neck; his arms, too, are tight around your body. You and Tyson keep pulling and squeezing the other closer. You have to get closer to each other. That minute, nonexistent space between you two is too much.

How are you supposed to go home and continue your life? How is Tyson supposed to go to practice tomorrow and be okay? The minute you walk through security, your lives will fall apart.

“Hey, are you awake?” Tyson asks, murmuring into your ear. His voice sends shivers down your spine.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Move to Buffalo?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you reply, everything suddenly making sense.

Later that evening, you rescheduled your flight for after the New Year. You need some more time with Tyson before you left and moved everything to Buffalo from Minnesota.

Wherever Tyson goes, you go. You’re not sure why either of you thought it would ever be any other way.

Taglist: @sorryjustafangirl @ilyasorokinn @kolsmikaelson @shinyfalcon4 @jostystyles @besthockeyfics @fallinallincurls @cinnamoncowboy @ch-ristiane @owenpowerstapejob @barzyblogbabe @plds2000 @barzysandhughesbaby @drei-mrssvechii @rosesvioletshardy @laurenairay @jamiedryssdale @assmanselke @lam-ila @2manytabsopen @corneliaskates @robindrake13 @boqvistsbabe @beccaiscold (Join the taglist here!)

#tyson jost #claudia writes #tyson jost x reader #tyson jost imagine #tyson jost fic #nhl fic #hockey fic #nhl writing #hockey writing #hockey #op: 2022

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loominggaia · 5 months

Text

BORMISH CUISINE

OVERVIEW

The Bormek Commonwealth was a Great Kingdom that collapsed long ago. Today, descendants of the Bormish people live in its ruins, now fractured into many small tribes. But in its glory days, this was one of the biggest and grandest civilizations in the world, and its delicious traditional cuisine is a testament to that, for these dishes still live on even in the post-collapse wasteland.

CORN ON THE COB Corn has always been a staple crop for the Bormish people, as it thrives in the soil that makes up the vast Buffalo Hills region. The Bormish refined this grain into all kinds of dishes, but they enjoyed it in its original form as well. Traditional Bormish corn on the cob is roasted in the husk, then drenched in butter, cheese, and chili powder.

DRAKBULOK A ball of fried cornmeal with some type of meat or vegetable in the middle. This dish originated with the ogre tribes in the redsnake canyons, who made them with hoopsnake meat. In their native tongue, the name of this dish translates to "dragon's bollocks". As the recipe spread around to new regions, different types of meat and even vegetarian-friendly versions began springing up.

CORN BREAD A sweet, dense bread made from cornmeal, animal fat, and sugar. In its traditional Bormish form, it's also made with hot chilies. In the kingdom's heydey, corn bread could be found in the hands of every traveler. This still proves true today after the kingdom's collapse, as its former citizens scour the wasteland with this convenient, portable snack.

PRICK ON A STICK Some type of sausage--usually beef--wrapped in a cornmeal dough coating, fried, and pierced on a stick. This food is hearty yet convenient to carry around, so it was very common to see on the street, especially at carnivals and other events. Its simplicity and deliciousness has carried it through to modern times, and it has even found popularity in foreign lands, particularly in Zareen Empire.

BORMISH FISH CAKE This dish is made from fish, potatoes, leeks, and hot chilies, mixed together and then baked or fried into a cake. Unlike most cakes, it is not a dessert, but instead eaten for dinner. This dish was obviously most popular around the kingdom's coastal regions, though as refrigeration technology improved, it quickly spread to inland regions as well. It's often eaten with pickles, potatoes, and mayonaise.

BERRY MASH Just as the name suggests, this dessert is made by mashing berries into a paste. Typically some kind of fruit and cream is mixed in too. The mash can be used as a sweet sauce or just eaten on its own. Its high sugar content makes it most popular with the region's fae peoples.

SHRUMETO A vegetarian dish that originates in the Brokenwood region. A shrumeto is a large roasted mushroom cap filled with mashed potatoes, diced tomatoes, and sometimes covered in cheese. Other vegetables and spices may be added too. The region's native peoples were notorious for growing giant mushrooms, and would cook shrumetos big enough for the whole village to share.

BEEDKI A potent whisky made from fermented corn. This drink is beleved to have originated with the centaur tribes of the Buffalo Plains region, but it quickly spread throughout the continent. It is most popular with heavyweight species like centaurs, ogres, and minotaurs. Beedki's popularity did not wane after the kingdom's collapse--rather, demand for it only surged higher, and large-scale distilleries are still operating in the wasteland today.

POP CANDY This traditional Bormish candy is made by popping corn kernels and then dunking them in honey, caramel, or maple syrup. Wherever there are smiles and laughter, there is usually pop candy, for this food was a staple at circuses, concerts, and social gatherings. Pop candy even survived the kingdom's collapse and carried many refugees through hard times.

Questions/Comments?

Lore Masterpost

Read the Series

#looming gaia #cuisine

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huggybug · 2 years

Note

💫 owen power x reader insta edit where they’re almost TOO in love but it’s cute

yourusername

liked by kent.johnson13, mackie.samo and others

yourusername forever dancing with you🤍

owenpower_ i love you so much

mackie.samo 😐

thombordeleau_ gross

brendan.brisson get a room

owenpower_

liked by edwards.73, mbeniers10 and others

owenpower_ home is wherever you are❤️

yourusername owennnn🥹🥹

kent.johnson13 sometimes it’s better to not say anything owen

jacob_truscott20 a picture is worth 1000 words

dylanduke in the nicest way possible… the best part of you going to buffalo is that we don’t have to experience this in real life anymore

brendan.brisson i don’t think there’s a nice way to put that

dylanduke ok but it had to be said

#owen power x reader #owen power imagine #ig edit #buffalo sabres

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cbssurfer · 7 months

Text

"I started shaping on my own. When I moved to Hawaii in 1961, I opened Surfboards Hawaii in Haleiwa. And I was selling Dewey Weber boards and then I started shaping boards. I shaped a board for Buffalo Keaulana. At this time in history it would be called a semi gun. It had dropped rails in the tail, a pulled in longboard kinda look; pulled in nose and a pulled in tail. That became kinda state of the art for a while. In 1964, I lost control of Surfboards Hawaii by not having enough legal assistance, so I went to work for Hobie, did the Dick Brewer Hobie model. Jeff Hakman won the first Duke at Sunset on one of my Hobie models. And I made Eddie Aikau guns that he rode through his career. Eddie’s red Hobie was a Brewer." - Dick Brewer

Sending love and light to the master today on his birthday, wherever in the cosmos he may be.

Photo: Dick Brewer Surfboards

#surf #surfer #surf life #surfing #surf paradise

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mary-johnlocked · 8 months

Text

Unspoken needs

18+

pairing : Phil burbank X Branco Henry

trope: Explicit Smut , Cowboy on Cowboy Sex , Porn with Feelings , Alternative ending , Charachterization , Age Gap , Older man/younger man , Flashbacks , Handjobs , Blowjobs , praise kink , Daddy kink , Phil is a soft!dom

Chapter (3/5) : His first time

warning : SMUT +18

Phil was becoming an efficient hunter , he's a fast learner and pays close attention to details and the variations in his environement , signs an elk was rubbing its horns on a tree , or scratches of a grizzly's taloons , or a buffalo trampling bushes ,

surprisingly enough he's very connected to the nature , he feels at ease when he's up in the mountains or exploring a forest ,wherever there is no people to watch him , no one around to judge him , or expect him to act a certain way , he could simply be , himself , raw , unpolished , and in harmony with nature .

he'd close his eyes , furrowing his brow in intense concentration ,shutting off his brain and be in total phase with his senses ,engufled within the dizzying wild atmosphere , feeling everything at once , every fiber of his being sensing the smallest stimuli , in a total state of flow.

Brenco had tought him to feel coming changes in weather , to be as placid as water , moving with a grace of a python , and as stealthy as a snake , as cold blooded as a reptile ,and wait for the perfect timing to jump on his prey , what weapons to use on each kind of animal , and when preferably use baits and setup traps well hidden around a territory where they'd spot burrows , and how meticulously skin them without tearing it ,once they're caught while they're still warm ,

however he didnt rejoice from the flourishing of his potential and enjoy the perks from his inner hunter self springing out in one fell swoop , it took him a lot of dedication and discipline to attein that level of mastery , the one Branco had promised him to attein and led him to , and for that he was forever grateful to him .

all his moments of irritation and frustration from being pushed by Branco , his humiliation , the way he made him work his ass off just to earn a content nod , the way he made him crave his approval , and all his moments of self doubt , were slowly dissolving into a far faded memory as he begun to taste the sweet fruit of his hardwork ,

feeling capable and efficient in all what he undertakes , and being praised and recognized for it , was coloring the memories with hues of victory , and was sufficient to wipe all the grudges he once held against him and was rather replaced with profound gratitude and respect , as he gained perspective and understood his reasons ,and understood him and himself as well.

it was strange how their expeditions led him to not only connect with nature and awaken his sensitivity , but to reveal to himself his deepest nature as well , he begun to get in touch with parts of himself he couldn't fathom they even existed , and grew more aware by each second passing by Branco's side , how he truely feels toward him , it was everything but platonic ,

the way his pulse quickens and heart start beating faster and his face warms up and fluster whenever they were laying side to side , on their stomach and hidden ,observing together a prey , he had to struggle to contain himself and control his breath , it wasnt , he was sure , from the thrill of the chase , he confirmed it when Branco traps his gaze with his , and the sparkles that ignits within his wide chocolate eyes , that softens only for a moment , and for a brief moment they forgot the hunt and everything else around them , just blurs in the periphery .

And that very day , was the day he was given the ultimate confirmation .

they were after one pretty hard headed and rapid elk , the winds were not on their sides ,they were well blended in the decor and down behind bushes , but the wind kept sweeping their scent to the elk's direction and giving away their presance ,

that elk was Phil's first real attempt to hunt without Branco's assistance ,and it escaped , disappeared from the clearing and into the thicket of the forrest at the foothill , they would chase it up to the mountains and climb higher , spent the whole day tracking until it became dark , and night came with a very bad weather ,

thank goodness they managed to set up their tent before the wind started blasting , but instead of settling ,Phil insisted insisted on persuing the elk through a river , he spent too much time in cold waters , and the cool chilly breeze replacing the warmth of the sun as it dissappeared in the west horizon didnt help

it was so cold up there that the cosy bonefire they made moments ago gone out , Brenco was willing to watch over him while Phil sleeps in the tent trying to warm up ,

Brenco was watching out if there's any grey wolves or worst beast like grizzly lurking in the darkness , while leaning against the tree watching down the meadows the clearings nd lakes lighten by the soft glow of the moonlight ,from up above in the hill , he was smoking cigarettes trying to relax a bit, but the weather worsen ,

it was below 30F with 40 miles/km of wind chill , the sound of Phil's clattering teeth had alarmed him ,

he cursed to himself " shit..." , and turned to check on him hoping he was just too cold , not dangerously cold

he parted the tent open and his eyes widened as he found him curled on himself like a newborn , shaking like a leaf , his pale skin turning paler , blue coloring his lips , his eyes fluttering shut ,his mouth shaking and teeth clapping together

he approched him reaching out to take his temperature and scolding him-

" didn't i told you to let it go , that river water was pretty damn cold , icant believe your stubborness gonna be the end of you !!! "

Phil shaking uncontrollably and was hardly keeping his eyes open, he glanced up weakily at Branco's form now hovering above him at his side , like a comforting familiar shadow , but he was too dizzy to make out the details-

"s-s-sorry- , i-i really want-t-ted t-t-to to catch that e-elk f-f-for you" Phil managed through his clapping teeth .

Brenco hurrily reached out and touched his curled hands , took his wrist in his hand and tried feeling his pulse , it was almost undetectable , his heartbeats feeble and slow,

he was hit by the gravity of the situation, usually he was a composed man who deal with such situations rationally , but it was Phil here nearly dying , not himself , or someone he didnt , love , so instantly turned his freaking out to anger and growled ,chiding him

" goddamn it ! , damn it ! ,you're impossible ! , why didnt you listen to me when i told you to stop going after that stupid elk, and now you're colder than a corpse Phil ! , for god sake undress NOW! "

Phil felt the urgency and fear laced in his tone despite the apparent anger covering his unbearable fear , he didnt complain , he simply struggled to comply

while Brenco was taking his clothes off himself , Phil's eyes bulged and would have popped out if they werent struggling to keep awake , no he wasnt going to....? was he? .....

his mind was slowed from freezing , the thoughts erupted loosely and uncoherently into his mind but he couldnt overthink , he just surrended to whatever was going to happen , he thought , at worst he would die within the arms of the man he grew so fond of and loved so dearly with every fiber of his freezing being , without noticing he started drifting , seduced by the thought of this sweet reliefing death

" Phil , listen to me ! dont fucking close your eyes ! dont you fucking dare! " _he implored , hurried to him and slapped him twice

Phil nodded and kept struggling , Branco's voice resonating in his half dreaming state , reminding him he wasn't alone , that he was cared for too , that he must fight for him , that its worth fighting for a possibility rather than dying for a false certitude ,

"hold on , im here , im not gonna let you down my boy " Brenco said softly while tossing away his clothes , now with nothing but his underpants , he raised the blanket ,tucked himself under it and curled himself to his back , pressing his body up against him

" shit, you're so fucking cold " he hissed , shiver crossing his spin nd goosebumps raised on his skin , when his chest touched his bare back , his big strong arm came around his waist enlacing him and his other hand reached to the front clutching at the middle of his chest , as if he was trying to warm up his heart in the palm of his hand

Phil now basking in the warmth of Brenco's body holding him against his own tightly , feeling his broad chest flesh against his back and his firm hold on his waist melted him into putty ,

after a while he turned over Phil's body to face him " look at me Phil keep your eyes on mine dont close them " Phil's eyes locked on Brenco's "thats it " - his hand sweeping warm circles on his back , holding him flush against himself , diffusing warmth through his spine , faces only inches from each other , his hot breath fanning on his mouth

" breath along with me Phil , breath in , breath out , thats it good boy Phil , you're being very good to me " he coaxed , sweet-talking him his hand kept on rubbing his back , their legs now intertwined ,

he turned him around again so that his chest molded to his back , pressing himself against him ,making sure he covered every inch of his skin with his , arms laced around his waist , locking him tightly in his warm embrace.

After a couple of moments Phil finally ceased shaking , breath becoming even , relaxed and more calm.

only now the heat is almost unbearable , from his desire burning under each fingertip of Brenco and increasing with each shift of his body to reposition himself , he swore he could feel a hardness rubbing against his ass , like he melted away the numbness of his frozen body and now he became aware of every inch of his body on his and became hypersensitive

he shuddered at the feeling , letting out a long sigh of satisfation that came out shaky ,and like hot and bothered , Brenco didnt miss to notice his arousal

Brenco brought his mouth closer to Phil's ear nd whispered : " i dont know what i would've done if i ever lost you " he raised his hand to his cheek and caressed it tenderly and so lightly it felt like a ghost touch , one who want to feel him so bad but kind of in apprehension of revealing the depth of his affection and concerns ,

but then it hit him , what if he didnt accompany him that day , he couldve had lost him forever and missed the chance to show him his feelings , to open up and experience what he was trying to avoid and deny since day one , now it all came back to him , how futile that was ,compared to what he's feeling in the moment , how silly it was to conceal his feelings ,

" you scared me Phil ...dont ever do that to me again " -his voice wavering at the end struggled against his tears and repressed emotions

Phil turned his head and said :" you saved my life Brenco , now i owe it to you , you have me for the rest of my life "

his icey blue eyes glittering with a fire of passion that threatened to burn holes into his skull and Brenco's dark bottomless eyes shining with all the fierce wilderness of those rocky high montains , Brenco's hand shaking with adrenaline , reached to Phil's cheek , now touching him properly, he shivered from the feel of his hot burning skin , then turned his face to him suddenly and roughly their mouth met in a searing frustrated wet kiss

Phil kissed back, started moving his mouth along with his , eventhough he knew this was wrong , he didnt have time to comprehend his body was just reacting in urgency

god how could he resist , his resolve was broken when Brenco's toungue starts gliding across the seam of his lips, he parted his lips for him to invade , and so he did , he consumed him , craddled his face in both hands and dived his toungue into his mouth ,batteling with his for dominance , tongues sliding against each other desperatly ,Brenco would suck at Phil's toungue like a rare candy ,Phil furrowed his brow in pure delight and moaned weakly into his mouth

it spurred him on so he moved to trail wet kisses along his jaw and arrived to his neck , he was lavishing it with open mouthed kisses , sometimes biting it hard , making Phil sound so deliciously undone his deep baritone groans transformed into whimpers ,

then with force he flipped him onto his stomack , pulled his legs apart and settled between them , rubbing his rock hard cock on his ass , Phil was moaning and squirming beneath him , he regained control for a brief moment to turn his head and through heavy shaky breath said " please Brenco we have to stop , this- , this feels awefuly wrong , we , we cant-" he was cut off by Brenco's hand wrapped around Phil's throat , yanking him up til his back is pressed fully againt his broad and solid chest , Phil gasped in reponse , totally bewildered from Branco's unsuspected passionate moved

his other arm around Phil's stomach hand splayed across his defined abdomen , he turned his head with the other to shut him off with a bruising claiming kiss , and without asking , he slided his hand down his underwear to grip at his hard cock tightly , his thumb grizing his wet head now leaking with precum , eliciting a desperate shaky moan from Phil

" are you saying you dont want this ? hm? your body says otherwise Phil , you trust me, right ?, am i not your mentor ? , didnt you say youwould do anything to please me hmm ? , then give in to me sweet Phil , i know exactly what im doing ,and i know you want this too ,this feels more than right , its just me and you nobody else , let go for me Phil "

with that Phil was writhing under his grip , his head lulled back onto Brenco's shoulder whose hand still tightly gripping his throat , mouth latched on that sweet spot on his neck right behind his ear, and his other arm across his abdomen holding him tightly while his hand was working on his cock stroking it nicely from bottom up , giving him long strokes ,slow and tantalizing , firm enough to send fire shooting through his length but light enough to keep him on the edge , his back arching and hips bucking up , trying to hump into Brenco's fist to relief his painful throbes and get more friction from his hand ,

" ooohh ohh my sweet boy is needy , hmmmm i see , nobody has ever taken care of you like that , let me fix this , i will take good care of this sweet juicy ass of yours too " his tone darker as he dropped and octave ,sounded predatory and laced with lust

he clutched on his shoulder hard and pushed him down again " on your hands and knees for me baby boy " he commanded Phil obliged , too weak now to resist , Brenco had already his stiff hot prick in his hand spitting on it to lube it up and started circling his hot tight hole

" not gonna lie this gonna sting at first , but you gonna be a darn good obedient boy and take it understood ? , dont worry you gonna feel a great pleasure after the pain resolves "

before Phil could process it , Brenco's hold tightened on his shoulder as he pushed the bulbous head of his cock through his first muscle ring letting out a deep guttural moan , stretching him out just right , the stretch burning but tingling with pleasure

" aaaaaah Brenco ! damn it , careful ! " his cock was twitching and leaking with more precum

Brenco slided his cock in slow , painfully slow , as gently as possible , his wet tight cunt squeezing his cock , and his internal warm walls were hugging him so tight , once it got all the way inside Phil , he stills waiting for him to adjust , it took all his will power not to pound into him like a horny bull , as his hole was sucking him in and fluttering around his hardness begging to be pounded

Phil was a panting mess at this point , he was squirming trying to get away from his hold only for Brenco to pin him down with all his weight , his front flush with phil's back , sweaty and sticky , Brenco soothed him with sweet kisses in the side of his neck , and like two animals mating , his teeth clamped down on the flesh of his shoulder

" Ahhhh Brenco ! " Phil screamed in surprise and grimaced from the pain and the sting , and a strange animalistic and primal heat started boiling in the pit of his stomach , shooting fire through his cock now weeping with precume and throbbing violently

Brenco lapped up at the abused skin with his toungue soothing it , hot breath against his neck , he begun latching wet kisses on his neck nd below his ear , his new favorite plance , whispering dirty phrases , keepig his cock deeply shoved inside him and his hips still , for now ,

" hot damn it Phil , your hole feels so damn tight it grips me just right , like i belong there , ohhh , darling cowboy with the prettiest ass you are gonna be my damnation " he growled like a beast and Phil's eyes popped open

with that he dragged his cock all the way out of him only to thrust all the way in again , pulling a sharp cry of pleasure out of Phil , he snapped his hand to his jaws to turn his face to him , and locks his gaze with his while drawing out and thrusting into him once again this time making sure to swallow his moans in heated wet kiss ,

he noticed Phil's hand starting to stroke his own cock , but he flicked it away , and wrapped his rough big hand around it , and started stroking his cock with each thrust , his thrusts increased in speed , and got rougher , more brutal , less caring , he was lost in him , and cant stop his hips from slamming against him with all his force , Phil's deep groans of pleasure and the sound of ass smacking filled the cosy silence of the tent and spurring him on to chase his release ,

" that's it my boy Phil doing so well taking my huge cock so good , you deserve to come now , cum for me Phil "

he gave a particular harsh thrust that draw a sharp cry from Phil , the tip of his cock bumped right on his prostate , and Phil was done for , he came with a loud strangled moan ,ropes after ropes pouring from his twitching dick in Brenco's hand while he kept on milking his overstimulated hardness

now he held him from the nape of his neck pinned him down onto his face on the pillow , and pistoned his cock in his begging hole with a feral rythm , kept pumping his dick inside of him mercilesly , giving it to him again and again , his screams of pleasure muffled by the pillow, until he spent himself inside of him

they fall in each other's arms , breathing heavily , in daze and disbelief of what they just did , feeling sweaty and hot

----------------------------------------

Suddenly Phil was snapped out of his memory of his first time by the creaking of the gates , shit that made him already hard and his cock strained in the confine of his denim jeans , his eyes captured the slim form of Peter's body , noted that he changed into some tighter blue jeans , Peter stayed at bay , timid and still hesitant and intimidated by Phil ,,,,,

(to be continued )

#benedict cumberbatch #smut gay fanfic #benedict fanfic #smutty fanfic #the power of the dog #gay fanfic #male x male #cowboy sex

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lifeofpriya · 8 months

Text

Love Me Again - Davis Schneider imagine

[gif credit goes to @donttelltheelff]

song of the fic: Love Me Again by V

You met Davis one summer evening at a baseball game in Buffalo. As you watched the players on the field, your eyes were drawn to his athleticism and grace. He was the team's utility player, always ready to step in wherever he was needed. You couldn't help but be captivated by his charm and infectious smile.

Your paths crossed by chance at a post-game celebration. Davis approached you with a nervous yet genuine smile, introducing himself with a warm handshake. From that moment, a connection between you grew into something beautiful and unique.

Days turned into weeks and weeks into months. You spent countless hours together, sharing laughter, dreams, and secrets. Davis became your confidante, your rock, and your greatest supporter. The bond between you was unbreakable, or so you thought.

As the baseball season progressed, Davis's talent shone brightly, drawing the attention of the bigwigs in Toronto, who gave him an opportunity to show his talent among the crowds of thousands of fans at the Rogers Centre. The dreams he had nurtured since childhood were within his grasp, but it came with a heavy price.

With each passing game, Davis's dedication to his sport intensified. He spent less time by your side, and his absence weighed heavily on your heart. You understood the sacrifices required to pursue a career in professional sports, yet it didn't make it any easier.

The letters and phone calls became sporadic, filled with apologies and promises to make it up to you. But as the distance between you grew, so did the ache in your chest. You missed the late-night conversations, the stolen moments of tenderness, and the feeling of being truly understood.

The day came when Davis was called up to the major leagues. It was a bittersweet triumph, for while he achieved his lifelong dream, it meant a chasm separating the two of you. You stood at the airport, his bags packed, and tears streaming down your face. The weight of the impending goodbye pressed upon your chest, suffocating your hopes.

He held your trembling hands, his eyes filled with regret and longing. "I never wanted to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely above a breath. "But I can't let go of this opportunity. It's my chance to make something of myself."

You nodded, unable to find your voice. You understood Davis's desires, drive, and relentless pursuit of a career that consumed him. But it didn't make the impending emptiness any less painful. You wished for a different outcome, a future filled with shared moments, but life had its own plans.

Months passed, and you found yourself drowning in a sea of memories. The photographs on the walls and the echoes of laughter haunted every corner of your home. The ache in your heart grew with each passing day as if the absence of his presence had carved a void within you.

You followed Davis's career from a distance, watching his name become synonymous with success. He became a star, celebrated by fans and loved ones alike. But in your heart, he remained the person who had stolen a piece of you, leaving you adrift in melancholy.

Time couldn't heal the wounds inflicted by the separation. The pain lingered, a constant reminder of what could have been. The dreams you once shared became faded fragments of a distant past, and the thought of finding love again seemed impossible.

Years rolled by, and Davis's star continued to rise. The world celebrated his victories while you silently mourned the love that slipped through your fingers. You wondered if he ever thought of you, if regret ever danced across his mind during quiet moments of solitude.

One fateful evening, a familiar face caught your eye as you sat alone in a quiet café. It was Davis, albeit older, wearier, and weathered by the demands of fame. He stood at the entrance, hesitating momentarily before his gaze met yours.

He crossed the room, his footsteps heavy with unspoken words. As he reached your table, the silence between you was thick with the weight of what had been lost. He sat down, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and regret.

"I thought about you every day," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I never stopped loving you, not for a single moment. But I couldn't bear to see the disappointment in your eyes if I failed. I'm sorry for breaking your heart.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to his confession. The wounds he had unknowingly inflicted were laid bare, and the pain that had consumed you for so long threatened to overflow.

"I never stopped loving you either," you whispered, your voice trembling. "But the path we chose led us down separate roads, and we can't turn back time."

Davis nodded, his eyes filled with sorrow. "I understand," he said softly. "I have regrets, but I can't undo what's been done."

You both sat silently, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. As you looked into each other's eyes, you realized that even though the love you once shared was still alive, it had been battered and bruised by the passage of time.

With a heavy heart, you bid your final farewell to Davis, knowing it was time to let go of the dreams and memories that held you captive. It was a melancholic and somber ending to a love story that had burned brightly but ultimately fizzled out.

Life moved on, as it always does, and you found solace in the healing power of time. The ache in your heart gradually subsided, replaced by acceptance and a newfound strength. You began to rebuild your life, piece by piece, embracing the lessons learned from the bittersweet love affair with Davis.

And though the wounds of the past would always leave their mark, you discovered that the human spirit has an incredible capacity to heal. You opened your heart to new possibilities, knowing that love, in all its forms, could still find its way to you.

As you walked toward an uncertain future, you carried with you the memories of a love that once burned brightly, now a melancholic ember in the depths of your soul. And while the ending was tinged with sadness, you knew deep within that you were more robust for having loved and lost.

For you and Davis, your paths simply…diverged. It led to you both living separate lives. But the imprint of your love story remained, forever etched in the annals of both of your hearts. And perhaps, in the tapestry of your lives, you both would find solace in the knowledge that you and Davis had shared something extraordinary, even if it had been destined to end in melancholy...

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