#(i /know/ but i think it’s the imagery served)

[harkingspot]

Heyo it’s me, I’m here to ruin ya day

Thoughts on Mitzi and Mordecai’s parallels and how desperate they are to find answers about Altas’s death?

mordecai heller and mitzi may: a piece on grieving.

FIRST of all, i apologise that this response took a very long time to cook up. i wanted it to be as fleshed out as possible because i do have a lot to say in this regard. the train of thought initially departed because of the widespread misunderstanding around mitzi’s character. to which i thought to myself: well it’s strange that people can easily extend their empathy towards mordecai, who (to me) has undoubtedly done worse. but what’s even worse is that, if you really look closely— if we made a venn diagram for these two, there’s a large chunk of overlap between them.

(p.s. now that i am proofreading all of this i realise its a bit different from what you asked but nonetheless i hope it captures the complex nature of grief as a theme in lackadaisy, especially when discussing the parallels between mitzi and mordecai)

so let’s break it down.

if someone wanted to read lackadaisy and asked me if there were any main themes that circled around the story— i would say: grief. more specifically, the consequences of untapped grief. mean the story itself starts off with the mysterious and brutal death of atlas may, who was THE big cat behind the lackadaisy. atlas himself was an enigma, and i have mentioned this before in another post. his position within the story bears a lot of similarities to rose quartz as they play the ghastly spouse that haunts the narrative.

however, this is not about atlas, but instead the two people that served as his vessel after his passing:

his wife, mitzi, and his right-hand man, mordecai.

instead of dissecting this theme individually, finding the differences between the two, i thought it would do the analysis more justice to extract it directly from the source material itself. initially i wanted to talk about how this grieving bleeds out onto others around them (e.g. mitzi forging a check from wick, mordecai kneecapping viktor).

let’s take “hamstring” and “monomania” for example, as they both converse over asa’s claims at their lunch. but if you really think about it, it was never about that.

this scene embodies a power struggle between the two. for one, mitzi’s mentions of mordecai’s “obsession” as a deflection. she sees his rigid loyalty as both a flaw and a threat. by framing mordecai as overly fixated, she’s able to position herself as the more pragmatic party who is trying to keep afloat. which is true and mitzi, rightfully, views mordecai as a “relentless former associate.” his meticulous nature, his refusal to let go of the past, and his allegiance to ideals that no longer align with business’ survival paints him as the wildcard to her. then again, it’s hard to take empty words from someone that had abandoned the very concept he claims to protect.

that’s not to say mordecai doesn’t return the sentiment, because he very much does. to him, mitzi’s pragmatism looks more like opportunism, evident in her willingness to bend rules, and in his perspective, betray atlas’ vision to keep the business alive. while she plays the capable leader, that imagery clashes with his perception of her as someone who lacks discipline— possibly bred by the history that mordecai knows her to be atlas’ wife and nobody more. he sees mitzi as culpable in the lackadaisy’s downfall and he makes sure she knows this.

but at the end of the day, they are having this conversation inside the same car. while one might interpret this being the main divergence between the two, we can see a striking commonality in which they are failed actors starring in roles they never wanted.

what do i mean by this? while the dont outwardly acknowledge it, grief survives in this scenario as a subtext. you can tell by the use of dialogue. mitzi’s sarcastic tone and pointed remarks, almost shoving the spotlight towards mordecai, suggests a stage of denial and pain that comes with her grieving over atlas. remember what mordecai said to mitzi in response?

“losses are endemic to this business. you’ve brought them on yourself in your persistence… as though you could bring the remains of atlas’ estate to anything but further disgrace.”

his crticisim of mitzi isn’t just about the state of the lackadaisy, in fact, mordecai subconsciously targets himself for his own inability to move on. mordecai and mitzi are different people, that is no question. but this scene serves as a great analogy that this conversation could very much be happening in their heads. this is a conversation not between two people but between one and oneself.

here’s also another thing to note: their seating arrangement.

whether or not tracy meant for this to be intentional, there’s a lot you can take in this scene in regards to their character. mitzi sits in the passenger seat at the front, where the light is more prominent. it symbolises her active role as the current face of the lackadaisy and the one taking on visible responsibility for its perseverance. however, note that she is still in the passenger seat, not the driver’s— mitzi is losing control, she is struggling to move forward in the wake of atlas’ passing. but she’s still not fully in charge of its trajectory, think of how asa and mordecai looks down on her current position.

occasionally, she’d glance back at mordecai to speak, which definitely shows her discomfort and mistrust towards him, she’s unwilling to fully confront him. and in my opinion, not only does this reveal her vulnerability, this also shows her internal discontent.

mordecai, on the other hand, is sitting behind her (literally AND metaphorically) in the shadows. he sits in the back, detached from the lackadaisy but not completely. he observes mitzi from behind, his direct vision fixed on the back of her head, almost as if he’s reflecting on her choices and her struggles— perhaps… confronted with his own betrayal.

plus, if you’re thinking: what about the holes in the windows? GREAT question. despite how they want to present themselves, be it independent (mitzi) or calculated (mordecai), they’re both incredibly vulnerable individuals.

as they sit in this confined space together, they breathe in the air of their inescapable bond and mutual dependence. their dynamic equal parts antagonistic and deeply intertwined.

[rowanthestrange]

Devil’s Spawn (There Are Two Wolves Inside You)

I think this The Empire Of Death theory ties together I think everything we need to, with no messy exposition needed. That’s not to say I think this is literally it or anything happens exactly like this, take everything as a ‘or maybe something along those lines’. Some bits I feel are likely, others as less but could make sense. But it works with the themes, Ruby’s continued unfortunate relationships with loops and paradoxes, while creating a narrative that would still be watchably cohesive.

So. We engage with our original Ruby being Of Death idea. Which to at least some extent I think is certainly undeniable: ~66.6 metres, probably the one who wore a death-coded black hooded cloak (cus she has all the characteristics of The Woman aka Ruby including the pointing), the Sutekh’d TARDIS presumably took Fifteen to London where she was at, being devil’s spawn/the antichrist is a good way for people to abandon you forever in a cursed timeline, she persisted past her own death in 73 Yards as if it’s for other people, born Christmas eve, she was left at a Church which is intrinsically funny, and Ruby, blood, blehhhr.

And when the Goblins go to eat baby Ruby, what do they chant as Carol Of The Bells plays? “Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast! Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast! Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast! Oh, now we feast! Oh, eat the beast!”

I’m doing the risky move of hitting you with the crux of it and then working back: Ruby being a kind of offspring/granddaughter of Death. A god of abandonment.

We know there’s something up with Ruby, it seems unlikely she has two bio-parents and the underlying story of every episode in the season means the meta suggests she was created. And probably by herself, as everyone has created their own antagonist force so far.

Ruby hasn’t awakened yet — Chrysalis theory — she is currently a human. However we have actually already seen a glimpse of her Awakened god form in The Woman.

If we go by 73 Yards, the god within her is already bound. But was then released when Ruby broke the fairy ring. (This being why The Woman seems unreconcilable with Old Ruby in terms of knowledge and motivations while still ostensibly being the same entity). And a deliberate paradox was what she did to seal herself again.

The question has never really been if it’s Ruby under the hood, we go on about paradoxes all that first episode and it looks like her. The obvious assumption is that she somehow abandoned herself as a baby. We only know the Doctor cried at who he saw, but that memory was sealed away and he no longer knows.

But if this is the case what does it have to do with Sutekh and the Doctor? As god of Death why not just kill the Doctor, why go to effort here with all of this? The Dance. The Drama. The Emotion. Because Sutekh is a petty bitch like all of them have been so far. It will be his undoing.

Does Sutekh know what Ruby is? But for that matter - why the hell does he know who Susan is? Originally he didn’t know a thing about the Doctor - he was nothing, he didn’t even know Gallifrey by name, he was as an ant to him. But maybe the Toymaker rabbited to his mother/father/other about his favourite show he was watching with his legions of kids, possibly was told to provide information, certainly it creates some very useful knowledge restrictions, but one way or another Sutekh found out everything he needed to know to create a true revenge story. To make the Doctor suffer as much as possible before killing the universe. So does Sutekh know what Ruby is??? It could go either way. Can he interpret 73 Yards or not?

In either case, the offspring of gods clearly are capable of having their own nature and will. Certainly the Maestro feels less under daddy’s control than Harriet Arbinger does under Sutekh (though she does cry - remnant of the person she was as a caterpillar being souped? Or because she has always known what The End will mean for her as much as everyone else? Currently unknowable).

But you could guide things.

This is potentially what Mrs Flood is, the guide. Anything from a secret hero that Sutekh has no knowledge of, to a servant of Death, making sure Ruby is in the right place at the right time, pushing her towards the Doctor. Mrs Flood, as in the biblical one, that wiped out all life but the chosen in a ship. The ship that will recreate the living from its contents is vital to the story of the Flood after all, and as we’ve seen she has been keeping a close eye on the TARDIS. ‘Mrs’ - She’s married. She knows what a TARDIS is. She knows where the cameras are. She points Ruby towards the TARDIS. She knows who The One Who Waits Is. Has suddenly evil vibes like she’s in league with Sutekh. She’s kind of a cow. She causes problems on purpose. She’s always hiding. She isn’t making your tea. Says Rose and Ruby look beautiful. She is there to wave to the Doctor, refer to his box of tricks, when the Doctor first says in Church what he later will mirror in Legend, that maybe he’s the bad luck, maybe visiting people in the TARDIS he brings Death. She has a very pretty blue door. … I think Mrs Flood is the TARDIS. Some manifestation thereof. The ‘Mrs’ in particular makes me think it must be her, not a harbinger ‘daughter’.

(Blink and you’ll miss it she carries a notebook hidden in the blankets in the first episode. Writing things down to remember? Time is memory and memory is time. But we’ll come back to that later.)

Also the Doctor started thinking he’s the bad luck, he doesn’t want to go back and see people he loves because he believes when he travels in the TARDIS somewhere he brings death. He has become superstitious. The salt. His superstition became real. That is how, when, and why Sutekh attached. Because the Doctor believed the TARDIS brings Death. So it did.

I imagine Sutekh has his harbinger bring the TARDIS to the Doctor. Allowing Sutekh to manifest (perhaps looking more traditionally) in front of the Doctor rather than by talking by a proxy.

Now. Sue. What is she? Her name is Sue, short for Susan (I’ll be exclusively using the shortening for obvious reasons). S Triad, anagram for TARDIS. Was going to change the world using implied TARDIS tech. (Notable that while her face was there, Sue didn’t seem to exist in the same way in 73 Yards - neither changing the world with the TARDIS tech she was allegedly on the cusp of releasing, nor ends the world either, and Sutekh seemed to disappear along with the Doctor, the TARDIS now quiet). She has a red ring. She was chrysalis’d as a human. Her face has seemingly appeared everywhere during their travels and when a literal sleeper agent, she claims to have dreamed those events. She does not simply dream across space, she dreams across time, dreams things that haven’t even happened yet. She was taken over by Sutekh at the exact same moment the TARDIS was.

When we see writing on a screen, the Doctor informed Ruby in episode one, that’s not actually what it looks like. It’s the TARDIS translating and making you see it that way. Perhaps Sue’s face being everywhere, was the TARDIS translation circuit - not actually Sue but translating their real faces into hers, Sutekh luring them in.

I believe she was created by the TARDIS. That she is essentially the TARDIS and Sutekh’s ‘daughter’. The other gods have created people. Clearly Harriet Arbinger managed to be created even before Sutekh manifested. The gods send harbingers who warn us of their coming. I don’t think any of us would deny that the TARDIS is a god. We were told to watch the Bad Wolf finale, and with Jackal-formed Sutekh on top of the TARDIS, I think we are quite literally looking at:

There Are Two Wolves Inside You.

I think the bulk of the story is going to be Sutekh Killing the Universe. What that looks like. Him laughing that the Doctor thought this was his relation when in fact she is Sutekh’s. And us finding out not just what Sue is or her godbeing powers, but perhaps more importantly, what we are going to do with her. Perhaps because killing a god is not so easy, especially if they are linked to Death itself. We have already seen someone transcend their own death. But she was chrysalis’d once maybe you do it again. Perhaps the Doctor has to put her in her new home himself, we give her a fresh start like Boom Town. Leave the new her to be found and raised better.

(Alternatively: this is what happens if we don’t fix past mistakes. If you catch my drift. If not yet, come back and catch it later.)

Of course really the story is about Ruby. The Doctor sent Ruby not to him and Sutekh but to a broken time window that he believes the sheer force of her trauma both old and fresh will rip open the weakness in reality fully and she will be able to step through to 2004.

Lots of options here: If she notices her baby self will she be able to stop running forward? Picking it up? Interfering? And if she does is the woman still there? If Ruby is in 2004 does she just come back? Or in an option I don’t know if I like but we do have prior precedence for, does she make an ultimately dead timeline by taking that as time to plan and meet up with the Doctor having lived all the way back up to then? She aged as well as a time lord in the many years we saw in 73 Yards, and perhaps any interference she did in 2004, means once again she is living a dead timeline that will be unravelled back to an earlier point at paradox completion.

But I said Ruby was a god of abandonment, leaving, loss, banishment. Where does that chrysalis-theory fit in?

Now possibly simple and Sutekh just does the bird-burning if he is aware, wanting to show how he has influence over this new Sarah muhahaha.

Maybe when they deal with Sue.

While I’m not big on it, if Ruby in 2004 did something as insane as take herself, dead timeline Ghost!Ruby being ultimately forced to have to go back and abandon herself…would probably do it.

But maybe you don’t even need all that, and it’s just as simple as if she picks herself up at all. Perhaps because her ‘abandoning herself’ means ego-wise too.

Or maybe Ruby’s awakening is simplest of all - the same as the thing the Doctor did to attach Sutekh to the TARDIS. A superstition. A belief about herself. She believes there is something wrong with her and that it’s her being a child of the devil. And so she is.

The caterpillar learns that it’s a butterfly. She Awakens.

Perhaps given the triad theme, and the playing with of religious themes, possible we’re looking at three Rubys in play there. To cram down an episode’s worth of to-ing and fro-ing and cutting down as if they were one set of Church events: On a surprisingly dead street for Christmas Eve, our about to be ghost!Ruby rushes over to her “mother” 66.6 metres away from Baby!Ruby, god!Ruby tells our Ruby what the baby is so she will abandon it. She 73 Yards points at Ghost!Ruby. She abandons the baby and also impossibly awakens. And god!Ruby is a paradox. Perhaps they seal each other away now, or just long enough for one last act.

Whatever happens, as with 73 Yards, a time-loop paradox will seal The Woman away in the end. And god!Ruby herself will vanish once the conditions of her birth can no longer be met.

Sutekh has still killed the universe.

At his point, god of life or not, perhaps the Doctor too.

Now we have possibly already seen the effect the Doctor’s disappearance had on Sutekh’s existence. But alternatively, Sutekh is not a good mother/father/other, and for a god that drives everyone away…what good would Death be either?

Either way, like everyone else, Sutekh wove the rope he hanged himself with using his own hands.

We were promised a Susan Twist At The End. It hasn’t happened yet of course, not even halfway through the story but now? Now the devil has come with the Apocalypse and everything is dead and gone.

Now it’s The End.

Susan Foreman and the TARDIS have always been heavily linked: Susan appears in the show before the TARDIS. She claims to have named her that (possibly as in translated to English, and the TARDIS has translated it to us that way ever since), but also the TARDIS quite literally possesses her in The Edge Of Destruction, no different to Sutekh with Harriet, and because the TARDIS is in danger, makes Susan go on a murderous scissor rampage inside her. (If you haven’t seen TEoD ((oh same acronym as The Empire Of Death. huh. thank god we weren’t told to keep a special eye out for wordplay)) it is short - 2 parts iirc, iconic, has more of the TARDIS than we’ve seen in New Who, and as episode three informed much of the depth we’ve the TARDIS ever since, it is incredible). And yet Susan has been linked to red, like our ‘Red god’ Sutekh - her original name suggested to be Arkytior, meaning Rose, in a comic from 1994, the reason why when Russell brought the show back, he named the first new companion that. But there is no need to argue between links to the TARDIS or Death - to speak of one to speak of the other since Time and Death are always linked as symbiotic opposites for us.

Perhaps we can guess the unknown planet where Sue ended up.

Harbingers foretell the arrival of the gods. Our Bad Wolf god materialises.

As our ark that survived the flood, the TARDIS recreates the dead universe from her memories - the start of Tales From the TARDIS, that shared line coming back to haunt us. Big Bang Three, recreating the universe and perhaps the Doctor himself from memory, Amy Pond would be so proud. The Doctor manifests in the Memory-TARDIS as she seeks to rebuild. And the TARDIS will begin by pulling in the original one, the one who waited, the child he abandoned and never went back for. And at the end of her long life, the Doctor is finally reunited with his granddaughter Susan. We get a scene between Fifteen and old Susan, the full version we will see later in Tales From The TARDIS, and the episode we watch there will be The Dalek Invasion Of Earth and we’ll cry, we’ll all cry. Give Susan the chance to be angry. Tell him that it hurt, for all it might have been — for all it was — for the best, it hurt forever. But say she lived in spite of that pain. Found happiness in her life. And at the end of this incredible life she lived, even now with the perfect opportunity to do it, she insists she wouldn’t change one line.

And then perhaps, just perhaps, Susan starts to change. Perhaps it does not look quite the same as regenerating as we’ve come to know it. More ethereal. A god never awakened. But there is no death here now.

The meta still makes the most sense if the Doctor has fundamentally caused all of this for Ruby, by abandoning a child and never returning, his fault. And if Ruby is the same person, who was born at the end of Susan’s long life in a mirror to living past her own death in 73 Yards, then perhaps here lies a new paradox - we have a Susan who got to talk to the Doctor again and tell him he hurt her…and thus healed. Who never passes on that abandonment. Therapy out of order. And this is why Carol Of The Bells, and the scene in The Devil’s Chord, that now she is free from that pain her soul inherited, it now has room for its true purpose, to Sing.

The Doctor cradles the baby that lies in the lingering warmth of his granddaughter, is his granddaughter. And for a moment imagines the universe where he keeps her. All the adventures they’ll have. A universe where he does right by her this time.

A universe where a woman grows bitter and alone, dozens and dozens of children never knowing the warmth of her care. Where there is no Ruby Sunday playing with her band painting the town red, and the universe is dimmer for it.

And so he wraps that baby up warm and tight, snug as a bug. Finds himself by the Church In Ruby Road. And yet again, does the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, even if it’s for the best, and abandons a child. He abandons Ruby. He walks away. He cries. And it snows.

[zan0tix]

Any general thoughts on/relating to the Brobot?

Have my half awake scrawlings...

I really love the brobot!!!! People really misconstrue it and also leave it out in a lot of dirkjake talk? Its a big player in not only how dirk expresses his affection/desire towards jake but also in their multi year spanning unspoken game of gay chicken 😭😭(all of dirks splinters are but Not about them rn)

It was sent yknow under the pretense that jake loves wrestling and wished so bad to have somebody he could wrestle with. But at the same time it protects jake from the horrors of hellmurder island (seen before they strife), pushing jake into the Damsel in distress role he wasnt expecting to play even before all the shit in the game, with Dirk being his hero.

Jake says he keeps it on a high difficulty because apparently in the Novice mode he says their interactions become "too tender" and doesnt want to elaborate, Friendly reminder! His convo with jane on the SAME DAY dirk pulled off that big romantic overture and the kiss happens and him and dirk begin "dating".. is the same day he asked jane if it didnt make him weird for wanting to date dirk. And he also says hed joke around with dirk about how theyd soo make a great couple if dirk were a girl haha.

I imagine the brobot and well. Getting physical like that with a robot that supposedly looks like dirk probably gave jake his internal gay awakening at 13 but he just never wanted to actually confront it and instead just wanted to brush past everything 😭😭 (See: every single time sexuality or romance comes up in relation to jake he is literally always thinking about dirk somehow and he never directly talks about his attraction to men or how that reflects/contradicts on his self image of the Movie Star Hero guy)

and jake doesnt actually hate the thing either, he tells jane he thinks it genuinely did improve his fighting capabilities (Which we see it did in collide! he beat basically the whole felt with guns and fisticuffs alone, no hope powers.) Which serves as a pretty evident parallel to dave who also is good at fighting, even if he doesnt want to be. (see dirk + dave convo)

This one comes from hussies authors notes in the aradiabot and equius scene (which equius imagery being invoked with dirk. something i could totally rant about another time haha) but yeah. Jake was being selfish asshat in that log forcing jane into a corner and wringing what he wanted to hear out of her, and also not giving a shit about the brobot (Which served as his protector and only other semblance of human connection since he was 13 and was a BIRTHDAY GIFT FROM DIRK) KILLING ITSELF? But hes so preoccupied talking about dirk. THE REAL DIRK. And immediately after jake loses the dirk splinter that protected him, HE (AND DIRK) CREATE A NEW ONE FOR HIMSELF USING THEIR COMBINED POWERS/?

Hussie is lying.. somebody Does care about dirks feelings. a whole lot to the point they activate their powers unwittingly Because of it. and its jake. but jake just cant admit that himself. (He cannot admit his real feelings until given permission to, dirk would have to concede the game of gay chicken first using his words and not just actions)

ANYWAY. hussie is so right its so easy to get sidetracked times one million talking about this comic. BUT AHH!! BROBOT. his existence.. tragic.. Jakes really smart in knowing that all of dirks splinters enlighten aspects of himself he doesnt oft share, and the brobot served as another dirk action on the pile of dirk actions he engineers to signify his deep immense care for jake, where he lets these grand gestures and implications sit out in the open without ever actually saying what they mean and where his feelings lay.

EVEN IF ITS SUPER OBVIOUS. The d man cant use his big boy words to actually describe his feelings despite how much a yaps! so jake doesnt know if hes even allowed to say anything about his own. Fellas: Is it gay if you labour for supposedly an extended period of time to create a custom robot in your own image to ship in pieces to your best bro guy crush who is HUNDREDS OF YEARS IN THE PAST because you cant be there yourself?

I think this hal message says enough about how bad dirk wished he could visit jake 💀💀

[catholic-character-tournament]

FINALS - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Wolfwood

I love him. Man who has no faith in himself or humanity or god with so much blood on his hands, fighting for something he knows he can never see come to fruition in person. He carries his own literal cross and grave marker on his back. Just… he’s so iconic to me.

I'm sure I'm not the first to submit him. But I did it anyway. I hope he wins and I'll do anything in my power to make sure he does

Dude is literally a priest who carries around a giant cross. Yes he uses the cross to murder people but that is besides the point. Also he has a mini church he carries around for on-the-go confession services.

hes literally a priest(hes not a priest in the reboot but he is in the original and thats what matters to Me). he carries around a cross that is actually secretly a gun with guns inside that gun. he runs a church/orphanage. he carries around a portable confession booth and charges people money for it because he is broke as fuck. he dies bleeding out over an alter begging to god for forgiveness he doesnt think he deserves. he is everything to me.

look at this man he's a priest with a cross shaped gun that (spoilers) dies against the side of a church while waxing poetic about life and redemption (/spoilers), this is the Catholic ever.

Wolfwood is liiiiiterally Judas coded in the text. AND his weapon is a massive cross that turns into a machine gun and a LASER. Not to mention his religious trauma. Oh baby. The religious trauma.

Homeboy literally walks around with a giantass 300lb machine gun shaped like a cross called the Punisher. Hes a priest/undertaker depending on what version of trigun you reference. Grew up in a church orphanage. Also literally walks around with a portable confessional box for people to pay to confess to him. Need i say more.

HE IS LITERALLY JUDAS. he is literally leading the jesus allegory to his doom. hes also in love with the jesus allegory (vash). he is also carrying arouns a giant cross rhat is also a gun. hes literally catholic and judas and his tits are perfect. in one piece of official art he's wearing a cross choker. also the catholicism on gunsmoke is about making vash submit. wolfwood looking at that pathetic wet mess of a man oh i can make him submit easily.

He literally carries around a giant cross and is referred to as a priest by multiple characters. also he offers people confessionals

He carries a huge machine gun that is in the shape of a cross that is really heavy (he is strong) and his boobs are huge. So you know hes serving cunt in a god honoring way. Also in trigun 1998 he brings around a small chapel that he uses as a portable confessional and in trigun stampede he holds funeral services as an undertaker which are way overly priced. Also he dies very gayly (basicly confessing his love to his best boy friend forever)

Nick's funny bc he's probably the least Christian acting guy but is literally a preacher. There's a running gag with Vash asking some variation of "what the hell kinda churchman are you?" His gun is a gigantic cross. He rides a shitty motorcycle in the middle of the desert.

ok so thematically the main conflict in trigun is about peace vs violence and its represented by the characters vash and knives respectively. the two aren't /technically/ angels but thematically and through imagery they are and are comparable to michael and lucifer specifically. ANYWAYS. vash and knives are the characters who are constantly pushing and pulling at wolfwood's morality, sort of like a "the devil and god are raging inside of me" kinda deal. his grappling with his morality and faith is a big factor in his character. also he has a giant fucking gun shaped like a cross. and he dies in a church while praying.

Bros an orphan who grew up at a Catholic orphanage and taken away to be trained and genetically changed into a supercharged assassin for interworldly beings that have lots of angel imagery attached. Guy thought he was just going to be taken to become a missonary...instead he got 6 years of religious trauma. He still wears a cross necklace and holds it often. His gun is a literal cross "full of mercy" (its a missile launcher). He never really believed fully in the faith or anything, but the way he interacts with it is FASCINATING. He's jaded by the planet he lives on and his upbringing, and makes him say his most iconic quote: "We're nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we're driven to become the devil himself." He prays to a God he doesn't know if he actually believes in, asking for another day— for hope for the human race. The organization hes part of (The Eye of Michael) works for an interdimensional otherworldly being that has an incredible amount of angelic metaphor and imagery attached who intends to purge the planet of humans... and ends up siding with that guy's twin brother who is so Jesus coded it's insane. They are best friends even as Wolfwood is acting under instructions to babysit and watch him for his twin brother. He dies after facing down against his old mentor (named Chapel) and his pseudo brother from the orphanage who was taken into the Eye as well and his Jesus bestie buries him and sticks his cross-gun in the ground after losing his shit crazy style and using his pseudo alien angel Jesus powers to lash out at his brother for being the cause of Wolfwood's death. Rest in peace king

64.media.tumblr.com

via @monvment

Sister Michael

She drives a DeLorean. She does judo on Fridays. She likes a good statue and despises the French. Her full nun name is Sister George Michael, after the guy from Wham!. She is the fiercest nun you’ll ever come across and, if you’re attending Lady Immaculate College, she’s the woman in charge. So whatever you do, if you’re feeling anxious or worried or just need a chat: don’t come crying to her.

joined the nunnery for the free accommodation?

she does love a good statue it has to be said

She is the headmistress of a catholic school <3

sister michael so reminds me of the nuns who taught me. they're tough and sometimes a little harsher than a woman who dedicated her life to god should be but they're also wonderful people. i had a nun teacher who was 60 years old and would do handstands. another nun (also in her 60s) told me god was nonbinary. another was really mean and made me cry. (so did the handstand nun.) while the catholic girls school is The Catholic Experience, the school wouldn't have been the same for me or the derry girls without at least one nun who seemed to have sprung up out of the ground fully formed, ageless.

[yourtamaki]

o, come, be buried / a second time within these arms

zoro x f!reader

word count: 3k

warnings: hurt/comfort, sex as a form of comfort, fingering, cuddlefucking, creampie, scent kink, oral (f!receiving), cum play, cum eating, violent imagery, bit of aftercare

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there is a storm building inside you.

zoro can see it raging even as you keep your face turned from him. the room dark save for the moonlight that streams in through the open window, just bright enough to spot your outline curled up in bed, covers tucked up under your chin. lines of tension keep your back rigid and shoulders hunched, your breathing shaky and slow as you tell him to leave.

you’re vicious gales and crashing waves wrapped into one, devastating and beautiful.

“you don’t want to be around me right now,” you say, words muffled by your pillow.

“don’t tell me what i want,” he doesn't try to bite back the anger that laces itself through his tone. zoro has never censored himself from you before and he wasn't about to start now.

ire thrums hot in his veins, burning and boiling away beneath his skin. he has always given you every part of himself, heart served in his open, blood-stained palms, for better and most certainly for worse.

the thought of you holding yourself back from him, that there’s a part of you that he’s being denied, sets his teeth on edge. he'd been searching for you all day, prowling around the ship like a caged animal until finally found his way to where his search should have began, the tiny storage room that had become your shared quarters.

“you pissed at me?” he asks.

“no,” you say.

“want me to kill anyone?”

“no.”

it grates on him that there’s no enemy for you to sic him on, no bones to crack, no blood to spill. your pain deserves retribution and he is the blade that would carry it out, if only you would wield him, "then i'm staying."

"zoro, please. just go."

“who do you think you’re protecting by hiding yourself away?” he steps in closer, right to the edge of the bed but makes no move to touch you, “cause it’s not me and it sure as fuck isn’t you.”

you throw a dagger of a glare his way, so sharp it could make a man bleed before he even knew he’d been cut. he doesn’t care. a small price to pay for your gaze.

zoro is too loyal of a beast to flinch away the first time you flash your fangs at him.

you hold his gaze for a moment longer before turning back around to face the wall once more. in your silence, he resolves himself to sitting on the floor by your bedside until he can be of some fucking use to you. zoro would lick crumbs of affection out of the palm of your hand. if the closest you'll let him be to you right now is knelt on the ground, keeping vigil, then he'll take it. he's crouched halfway down when he hears you call for him.

“baby, get in.”

how you have enough sweetness in you to spare him a kind word even when you have none for yourself, he will never understand. zoro takes a moment to pull his swords free from where they hang on his hip, propping them up against the wall where they’ll still be in arm's reach before he pulls back the covers and settles in next to you.

you're cold to the touch despite having been buried under the blanket, dressed only in a simple shirt and underwear and zoro is quick to throw an arm around you and pull you in by your waist until you’re pressed flush against him, his other arm slipping under your head for you to rest on. he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder, breathes you in and for a moment he can almost smell the scent of your hurt lingering on your skin, thick and bitter as blood.

there’s an urge, ever present and never sated, to dig his teeth into the side of your neck and bite down until iron coats his tongue, to taste you, know you, in a way no one else ever has or will. it’s an urge he can only hold at bay by pressing open mouth kisses to your throat and feeling your pulse flutter against his tongue.

you slowly start to melt in his arms, the tension you wore like ill-fitting armour stripping off you piece by piece with every kiss until you’re free from its hold, warm and light.

“better?” he asks, slipping his hand under your shirt and pressing his palm flat against your stomach just to feel it rise and fall, follows the rhythm of it and matches his breaths to yours. the reassurance that you're whole and safe is a cool balm to his worries.

“a little bit,” you whisper.

“but you need more,” it’s hardly a question that needs to be answered, not with the way you’ve started to shift in his hold.

“you don’t have to—”

“i do. i want to.”

and there’s more he could say, he knows there is. pretty poetry to comfort you, sweet nothings to soothe you. but what use would empty words be to you? they can’t hold you, can’t keep you warm, can’t wipe your tears.

zoro can. he will. for you, he’d do anything and everything. all and more.

the room settles into silence, his offer hanging in open air and ripe for your taking. you don't reach out for it, not yet, but zoro doesn't mind. he can wait.

“impatience is a swordsman’s undoing,” his master had once told him a lifetime ago when zoro’s palms were still soft enough to bleed and grief was a companion so new it still stepped on his heels as it dogged his footsteps.

of the two of you, patience has always been your strong suit rather than his. it was your patience that brought you together, when you stepped into his life with a hand outstretched and he met you the same way he met all good things that tried to enter his life, with a snarl and blood stained teeth.

zoro kept you at a careful distance with all the wariness of a distrustful stray, always watching but never getting close. it was you who slowly bridged the gap, gracing him with kindness and company he'd done nothing to earn but gorged himself on anyway.

it was only because of your patience that he knows the bliss of falling asleep and waking up with the warm weight of you in his arms. the least he could do is pay you back with what you've always freely given him. so zoro holds you close and waits.

and waits.

and smiles, sharp and proud, when you take his hand that still rests on your stomach and lower it until he’s cupping you between your legs, the heat of you searing his palm even through your panties.

your hips jerk when zoro doesn’t move, a soft whine catching in your throat when his other arm circles around your chest and holds you still against him, “zoro.”

“i've got you,” he says with a kiss behind your ear, toying with the waistband of your panties before sliding his hand inside.

he slides his middle finger down your slit, dipping his fingertips into the slick heat of your cunt to wet them before drifting back up to where you need him most. there’s no rush as zoro rubs neat, tight circles against your clit, slow and firm even as you buck and try to grind down on him.

he wants you to feel every moment of this, to savour it, to drown in pleasure so deep you never want to come up for air.

another kiss to your throat, one on your jaw and you finally melt back into him, legs spreading just enough for zoro reach lower and start to ease a thick finger inside you.

“there you go, baby, that’s it,” he says, “let me in.”

you swallow him down to his knuckle, trembling in his arms when zoro slips in a second finger and crooks them to rub against the spot that never fails to pull the prettiest sounds out of you.

he shifts, trying to move lower between your legs without pulling his fingers out so he can taste where you’re wet and aching for him but you stop him by threading your fingers through his short strands, keeping him in place.

“what?” he asks, “you don’t want my mouth?”

“no, not— not right now. just stay close. keep holding me. please,” he hates how small you sound.

“i’m here. i’m right here. fucking kills me knowing you were in here hurting by yourself."

"i'm sorry.”

"don’t,” the anger he felt when you tried to send him away rears up once more. an apology is the last thing he wants to hear from you right now, “just find me next time. doesn't matter when or where. you find me. got it?"

“yeah, i got it,” you start rocking back into him, soft ass grinding against his clothed cock, “zoro.”

“i know. i know you want it, baby, but i gotta stretch you out first. can’t fit when you’re this fucking tight.”

your answer is lost in a moan as he eases in a third finger, thumb pressing against your clit. the angle isn’t kind on his wrist but zoro keeps his pace steady, spreading and curling his fingers until you’re soaked and soft and ready for him. he pulls his hand out of your panties, kissing your nape when you whine from the loss before he licks the taste of you off his fingers.

“i'm not going anywhere,” he says, "keep your eyes on me."

zoro waits until you turn in his arms and he has your gaze before he gets out of bed and undresses, leaving his clothes in a pile next to his blades. you sit up to tug your panties down and kick them off, your shirt following soon after.

you’re bare and soft and holding out a hand for him to take. zoro laces his fingers through yours and joins you once more, stripped of his swords, his clothes, and his restraint.

you don't crash into each other so much as you collide into a bruise of a kiss. it aches more than it soothes but the shared pain of it only has him pressing closer to you, your soft tits pressed to his chest, legs intertwined and weeping cock trapped between your stomachs.

he reaches up to cup your cheeks and breaks the kiss to pull back just far enough to take in the sight of you, all swollen lips and glassy eyes. it takes a heartbeat longer than it should for you to focus on him. the storm is still raging inside you but zoro refuses to lose you to it. he stands firm against the buffeting winds that threaten to rip you away from him and swipes his thumbs over your cheekbones.

“still with me?” he asks.

you turn into his touch and kiss the rough centre of his palm, “‘m here.”

"then take what you need, baby."

you slide a hand between your bodies, taking his cock into your hand and guiding his tip to your entrance. even with all the prep, it takes some time to sink inside you, time you spend peppering kisses across his face. he bears them as he bears the scars that litter his body. with pride. with honour.

zoro bottoms out with a low groan, grabbing you under your knee and hooking your leg over his hip to slip in that much deeper. every sense is flooded with you. the wet heat of you wrapped around his cock, the heady scent of your sweat and need swimming around his head, soft skin beneath his palms.

entangled and weaved together like this, heart and breath as one, zoro is drawn into the eye of your storm.

your pleasure is his, your pain his own.

still, clear waters surround you both as he waits for you to adjust. with how closely he watches you, he knows you’re ready even before you wrap both arms around him and start to roll your hips.

he keeps one hand under your knee, the other sliding down your back to rest on your ass, and uses his grip on you to pull you into a slow, dirty grind.

“oh fuck,” you moan as the two of you find your rhythm together. zoro barely pulls out, keeping himself buried to the hilt inside you. you jerk back as he rolls his hips just enough to grind your clit up against his pelvis, his firm hold on you the only thing keeping you pinned in place.

“easy now. don’t run from me.”

time slows to a crawl, every moment yawning and stretching into the next, slow and sweet as honey. you tip forward, closing what little space there still was between you to pull him into a kiss that has all the intimacy of a hard-fought spar, of learning to move together, of missteps and growing pains, of getting the wind knocked out of him only to be pulled right back on his feet.

you’re close, all worked up and sensitive from his fingers, cunt fluttering and clenching down around him as you near your high. zoro chases your pleasure down, a starving mutt set loose upon a feast. he uses the little leverage he has to wrestle you on to your back and fuck into you with short, heavy thrusts.

“c'mon, baby, that's it,” he says, bent low to brush his lips against your ear, “let go.”

he reaches down between you, thumb pressing firm against your swollen clit and you’re gone, swept out to sea as your high crashes down over you in waves. zoro hardly feels his own orgasm rip through him, too caught up in watching you shake apart and be remade in his arms.

all is still as you pant and come back into yourself. your hand slips back into his and squeezes once. he’s not sure whether you’re trying to reassure yourself that he’s still here or that you are but he squeezes back all the same.

“can i eat you out now?”

and for the first time since he stepped into the room, a smile breaks over your face, bright as the dawn sun breaking through an overcast sky. you pull out of his hold, his soft cock sliding out, and settle on your back, legs falling open, “go for it.”

zoro eases himself down between your legs, throwing your thighs over his shoulders, never letting your hand slip free from his. he takes stock of your fresh fucked cunt, clit puffy and hole clenching around nothing, dripping with him. the scent of you, of the two of you, is thickest here, heavy in his nose, and zoro breathes you in with deep, greedy lungfuls, spent cock twitching against his thigh.

he dives in, catching what leaks out of you on his tongue before pulling back and dribbling the mess of cum and spit all over your pussy.

“nasty,” you say and zoro wants to kiss the curl that sits pretty on the corner of your lips. he settles for kissing your clit instead.

“you like it.”

“i like you.”

you wield your honesty with all the ease and carnage zoro wields his swords, sliding it between his ribs and piercing his heart clean through. the pain is lost as he’s distracted by the light pouring in as the moon rises higher into the night sky.

or maybe it’s your eyes that take the pain away because it’s only through them that he notices how bright the moon’s light shines tonight.

zoro devours you, gaze fixed to yours, one hand still holding yours while the other arm keeps your hips pinned to the bed. he takes his time cleaning you up, lapping at your folds until only the taste of you remains. it’s only then that he sucks your clit into his mouth, slipping two fingers inside you to give you something to clench down on.

you are a vision in your bliss, one he has no right to bear witness to. a lifetime of blood and blades and butchery shouldn't be rewarded with the softness of you in his hand and on his tongue. it's not right.

but as you take hold of his hair to keep his mouth pressed flush against your cunt, zoro finds he couldn't give less of a shit if it's right. all that matters is if he does right by you. there's an oath in every broad stroke of his tongue, a vow in every kiss to your clit, to take care of you in all the ways you need, in all the way he knows how.

today and for all days.

your orgasm is a gentle thing that washes over you and steals your breath for a moment, smaller than the first but leaves you just as ruined.

zoro takes his rightful place by your side once more, gathering you up in his arms and running his knuckles up and down your spine.

"thank you," you press a kiss to his cheek, just below where his scar ends. he accepts the kiss but not the gratitude that comes with it.

a hound needs no thanks for fulfilling its nature.

later, he will carry you off to the baths, let you pop open bottles for him to smell that make his nose itch but that make you beam, wash your back, and wait with the patience you’ve taught him for you to share what’s trapped inside your head.

he may not understand, may not have the comfort of words to give you, but he will listen. and he will stay.

but that is for later.

for now, zoro holds you to his chest and watches over you, moonlight and peace washing over you as you catch your breath.

dedicated to: mah wife @katslutski and loml @saotoru

[buckets-and-trees]

Welcome Home, Pumpkin [spiced]

Characters/Pairings: Lloyd Hansen x curvy Female!Reader Word Count: 1.9k Summary: Bad ethics. Zero impulse control. This is what everyone says about him. What will it mean for you tonight?

Content/Warnings: dubious consent, soft!dark story, use of pet name "Pumpkin," explicit smut (fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse), orgasm denial, groping, light choking, bondage

Notes: This is the second of three in a set of short stories with Lloyd served three ways - soft, soft!dark, and dark. The three feature the same setting, overlapping themes, shared thoughts, and bits of dialogue. Spiced is the soft!dark version.

sugar pumpkin | smashed pumpkin

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

You shut the door behind you and sigh, happy to be home after a long day - a long week, really. 

You slip your shoes off, hang your bag on the hook by the door, and turn on some music before making your way down the hall to your bedroom, ready to change from your professional clothes to something comfy to lounge in the rest of the evening. 

You jump when a deep, serious voice you aren’t expecting says, “Welcome home, Pumpkin.”

Your heart rockets into your throat, and you grip the doorframe. “Lloyd Hansen!”

He chuckles, rising from the spot he’d been perched on the edge of the bed. 

“You’re not supposed to be here.” 

He makes a show of bowing slightly, “And yet, here I am.”

You hesitate in the doorway, studying the face of the man you are now so familiar with. The steel blue eyes, the sharp jawline, the ridiculous mustache you hoped to avoid indefinitely. 

He looks you up and down slowly, then sits back on the bed. “Did you think I would really be stuck in a Lithuanian prison?”

You narrow your eyes slightly and chew the inside of your cheek. His eyes study you as much as you’re studying him, and you don’t want to give anything away. 

“Aw, you did. That’s cute,” he says, voice dripping in saccharine sweetness. “You should’ve known I’d be able to work myself out of there in two or three days, at most.”

You shrug. “A girl can hope.”

“Only one night, by the way, since I know you won’t ask,” he says, clearly wanting to boast. 

“And that was six months ago,” you counter. “I finished the job and got the paycheck.”

“The job might be done, but we have unfinished business, Pumpkin. And it’s more fun surprising you like this when you thought you’d never see me again, isn’t it?” he simpers. 

He might have been biding his time to drop in on your life again, and you can sense he’s eager, a bit impatient, but you also sense he will play this out the way he wants now that the two of you are in the same room together again.

And you hate the way you’ve been drawn to this man since the day you two first crossed paths. He is dangerous and untrustworthy. You operate in the daylight and occasionally step into the shadows, but he lives in the dark, revels in it. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re keeping from me? Why you took the contract in Kaunas in the first place?” he asks, lifting his chin just a fraction. 

And oh that look does something to you - the delicious swoop in your stomach that made you weak in Eastern Europe and traitorously eager for him now. 

“No,” you finally answer. Slowly, you take measured steps toward him. 

“Fair enough. But I might get under your skin enough to change your tune, wind you up, have you singing all sorts of secrets for me.”

“How much time did you spend thinking up that line? The imagery, the alliteration? Impressive.”

“Not the only thing that’s impressive about me,” he responds without a second thought.

You scoff, but there is an impertinent flutter in your chest you try to tamp down. He talks - a lot - but from the brief time you were in each others’ orbit in Lithuania, you learned he could back up his bluster with brains and brawn. A dangerous player on the board.

“How much time did spend you think about my fingers deep in your pussy like they were in the closet in that day in Kaunas?”

His words hang in the air, a bold challenge that sends a shiver down your spine. Your mind immediately flashes back to the last day in Lithuania, when you had been alone, hiding in a closet and his fingers had boldly started to explore your body. You can almost feel the heat of his touch, his breath on your neck, and his hard body pressed against your back like they were that day. The memory floods your senses, the smell of wood and dust, the creaking of the floorboards as the hired goons patrolled up and down the hallway just on the other side of the door. And now, here he is, asking how much time she had spent thinking about it.

You couldn't deny to yourself the way your body responds to his words, his presence, craving that same intense pleasure again, but you can deny it to him. You have to.

“I didn’t want you then, and I don’t want you now,” you reply simply and walk over to your dresser, bypassing him on the bed. Methodically, you begin to take off your necklace, and then your watch, as if he’s not there.

“Want, need, crave…”

“Lloyd!” You gasp because those words are murmured directly in your ear, as Lloyd has moved with silent precision right behind you. 

“…those are all different things,” he says. He presses his hard body up against your back, pressing his pelvis up against your ass, knocking you roughly into the drawers, pinning you. “You may not want this, but need it? Crave it?”

“No,” you whimper when he grinds against you again. 

“Mmm, you made some pretty, soft sounds when we were hidden in the dark before. Wonder what sounds I can get you to make now that we’re not trying to be discreet.”

“We’re not trying to be anything,” you argue, squirming against him. 

“Anything with labels, no, definitely not,” he agrees. “But you’re itching for it, aren’t you, Pumpkin?” 

One of his large hands gropes your breast, and the other moves to your throat. He squeezes in both places, and you groan, a shiver ripping through you. 

He chuckles, “I see we like that.”

“No,” you whimper. 

“Boring!” he barks. 

In one swift motion, Lloyd hefts you up, flips you around and has you on the bed pinned beneath him, body pressing into yours. He growls into your mouth as he claims you in a filthy kiss. He props himself up slightly on one arm, and his other hand reaches to tear the front of your shirt open, rending the fabric in two. 

You look up at him, chest heaving, waiting with bated breath. 

He unbuttons the top of your pants and drags down the zipper, all the while looking in your eyes. 

“I find you wet, and I’m not stopping,” he insists, tone low, calculated. 

You could press your thighs together, try to squirm away from him, but he’s too strong, and you know what he’s going to find. You could even turn your head and look away, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. 

His fingers dip into your panties, and he goes straight for the cut of you, slick and wet for him, and slips a finger inside. 

“I knew it,” he whispers. His thumb presses against your clit, rubbing in slow circles.

You moan, arching into his touch, unable to resist the pleasure he’s giving you.

“Such a sensitive little thing,” he murmurs, adding another finger and thrusting them inside you.

You wriggle and writhe beneath him, unable to control your body’s response to his touch. He watches with dark satisfaction as you lose yourself in the moment.

“Lloyd,” you moan his name, and he chuckles softly.

“You sound so sweet when you say my name like that,” he coos, increasing the speed of his fingers inside you.

Your breath hitches as your orgasm approaches.

But then he pulls his thick fingers away, and a whine escapes your lips before you can stop it. Your body surges up, pelvis seeking his.

"You'll give me what I want," Lloyd purrs, his voice low and dangerous. He brings his slick fingers to his mouth and sucks them clean, maintaining eye contact with you the entire time. The sight makes you shiver involuntarily.

"Never," you breathe, but your voice lacks conviction.

Lloyd smirks, clearly not believing you. "We'll see about that."

He leans down, pressing his body against yours once more. His lips brush against your ear as he whispers, "I always get what I want. And right now, I want you."

Before you can respond, he captures your lips in another searing kiss. His hands roam your body, touching, teasing, igniting a fire within you that you've tried so hard to extinguish. You hate how easily he can affect you, how your body responds to his touch without your permission.

Lloyd's voice is a low rumble against your ear as he pins you to the bed. "You'll tell me everything I want to know."

You struggle to catch your breath, still reeling from the sudden loss of his touch. "I told you, I'm not giving you anything."

He smirks, trailing a finger down your cheek. "Oh, but you will. Your body's already betraying you. I think you’ll give me everything."

You think there’s a possibility he could end up being right, because while you didn’t think of him much after Lithuania, the truth is you did think of him. You thought of him on some of the nights alone in your bed when you had your best orgasms.

"What's the real reason you took that contract in Kaunas?" he demands.

You clench your jaw, refusing to answer. Lloyd's hand slides back to your throat, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp.

"Come on, Pumpkin. Make this easy on yourself."

Your breath catches as his fingers tighten ever so slightly around your throat. The pressure sends a thrill through you, desire boiling in your belly despite your best efforts to resist.

"I won't tell you anything," you manage to choke out, your voice strained.

Lloyd's eyes darken with a mix of frustration and arousal. "So stubborn," he murmurs. "But I did hope you’d choose the hard way."

He takes off his belt and binds it around your forearms. He yanks the clothing completely down and off your bottom half, and then he’s between your legs, cock out, and pushing his thick, blunt head against your entrance. He leans down, his breath hot against your ear. "Last chance to tell me what I want to know."

You turn your head, refusing to meet his gaze. "Go to hell," you spit out.

He chuckles darkly. "Oh, we're already there, Pumpkin."

With one powerful thrust, he buries himself inside you. You cry out, overwhelmed by the sudden fullness. Lloyd groans, his fingers digging into your hips.

"Fuck, you feel even better than I thought you would.”

You moan and push your bound forearms at his chest.

Lloyd growls, grabs your wrists, and pins them above your head in one of his giant hands.

Then he proceeds to fuck you.

Slowly.

He gives you what you won’t admit you want.

Over and over again he gives it to you, until you’re boneless, voice hoarse, throat raw, limbs aching, babbling, but somehow still fighting against giving the one piece of information he’s seemingly desperate to have.

When dawn is about to break, dazed and delirious with pleasure, you wonder which of you will break first - or if neither of you will.

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

all Welcome Home, Pumpkin stories

Aaaaah! So with the second one, what do you think? Was this anything like what you were expecting? Did you catch the repeated lines?

...and will you be ready for the third and darkest of the three?!

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

[javiersprincess]

tags: 18+ minors dni / fem reader / fingering / reader is mexican / spanish / religious imagery / aftercare / hinted virginity loss / penetration /2.6k/ pwp - let me know if i miss something.

synopsis: javier escuella feels an all encompassing desire to have you. you feel it too, maybe even more.

Javier laughs into your lips, you are kissing him with the reverence of the faithful. You kiss sweetly, gently with the undercut of hunger he is all too happy to sate. Your form is soft beneath his hands, flesh pillabe like the strings on his guitar and the trigger of his revolver - the hollow of his palms filled with the curve of your hips. Javier nips at your lip until he can hear you hiss from the sting among your sighs from the pleasure of having him suck on your tongue.

“I can’t believe you - all I did was kiss you,” he stops to puff a breathe against your lips snickering at the dazed look on your face and the glistening spit on your lips, “and now you’re letting me fuck you.”

You whine, high and embarrassed but so unbearably needy and pressing yourself up against him like a cat in heat. There’s a little gold necklace threaded along the slopes of your collar - it glints against your untouched and unblemished skin like a comet, looping along your form in a circle until completion where it stays in perpetual orbit. Javier doesn’t know if he should be jealous of the thin necklace or not.

Your nightgown is off, spread out on the ground and Javier’s eyes are caught on the pendant that holds the face of La Virgen that glints in the lowlight of his tent - his eyes meet hers and he feels a shiver against his spine. Of course she would be there, looped above your too-good heart and appearing before him. It almost pains him to touch you, the holiness of your skin burning his palms that are too greedy to stay away.

You gasp his name and it brings him back to you - it brings his lips to your chest and you sigh as your hands twist on the fabric of his shirt clad shoulders like you are scared to touch him. You still have your bloomers, the white cotton stark against his tan hands and he presses another kiss right above your heart as it stutters tucked away in your ribs.

“Esta bien hermosa - you can touch me.” The pet name makes you tremble, whining when the word graces your flushed ears. Hermosa, meaning beautiful or gorgeous in the language your mother would sing you to when you were a girl. Your nostalgia brings desperation and it only serves to make you needier, wanting for more of the man above you like how priests desire the light of God. You think of that ill-stricken Reverend that wanders this camp and something aches in your chest as you let your hands go over the curve of his shoulders and anchor yourself there. Teeth aching with each suck on your tongue you don’t notice it when your bloomers are off until the brisk cool night breeze dances on your bare thighs. The skin there is hot and growing more so when he lets his hands settle on the smooth skin.

It’s almost comical how perfectly you fit in his roughed hands, his callouses from his knife so seamlessly accepted by the plush of your thighs. Like the velvet cushions rich men sit in their gilded train cars and golden stagecoaches. You go from velvet to wet silk with simple touches and you moan something sweetly into his ear as his face goes to your chest and his hands in between your thighs. The backs of his knuckles tease the wetness of your slick that leaks like honey and Javier lets his lips kiss the bud of your nipple softly but not without letting his teeth have their own kiss at the edge to make you whine.

“You are so wet, leaking for me - you’ll make a mess on my pants mi amor.” His teasing is endless and you can hear that smile you see whenever you blink. You jumble out a half-assed apology and it makes Javier laugh at you again. He must have you in quite the state if it’s making your perfectly trained manners fall off like wool when faced with sheep shears. His fingers have made their way to where you are the most needy - letting them pet along the slit and cup at your mound. You moan his name, oh so, softly when he squeezes gently, cradling your most delicate part the same way he cradles the neck of his guitar.

“Javi - please, please.” The shortened version of his name makes him grin, shivering pleasantly at how affection given only to him melts into his ears like syrup.

“Ya se, ya se. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you tonight.” Dark eyes are wicked at how they glint in the low orange light of his tent as he lets one finger slip in. He reclines himself back so he can watch how you take him.

Javier does not profess how he would take care of you every night for the rest of the nights you have in your life.

You whine thinly into the air, and it makes him hiss at how tight you are around his one finger.

“Relax, chiquita - I can’t take care of you when you’re all tense like this. Shh, shh,” he murmurs to you and in return you whine with a nod; pliable and sweet for him as you let your legs shuffle more open, working on letting him in and letting him deeper. One finger turns to two, and they curl into you cruelly without respite for how you weep and sniffle at the pleasure he tugs from you like music from his guitar strings. Your mouth is hanging open, drool shining on your lips as you let out thin little sounds.

You feel full, and pleasure dances along your spine as his thumb plays with the glimmering pearl of your clit. You whine - no sing his name like gospel and it makes something inside his stomach preen like a peacock.

Javier is dedicated, giving you an even pace and deep curls of his fingers to make you soft and loose for him. Dark brown eyes watch you with the precision of a predator - eagerly taking in how sweat drips down the middle of your breasts and how your jaw drops to make out little pants of his name just for him to hear. His fingers do just enough to bring you to the edge, and you stutter over your words as you push at his wrist with the desperation that is unbecoming of you. Etiquette and education are long gone from your mind as you beg him with an addled mind.

“Please, please not - not like that,” you stutter and let out soft little moans in between each word as Javier remains unmoved; letting his fingers stay inside you at their same pace, dark brown eyes taking in how even this almost makes you weep in pleasure. His cock stirs in his jeans at how it will be when he’s inside of you, filling you well beyond anything you’ve ever had.

“No, like this - it will hurt if you don’t cum now.” He mutters, voice thick with lust as he watches your hips twitch and jump when you have begun to hit the highest peak of your pleasure. Your body is eager for his fingers, tightening and fluttering around them as you leak down to his palm. Javier goes to shush you but you’re a good girl he realizes, watching you with a grin at how your hands shoot up to your mouth to muffle your long winded whines when you crash and cum for him. His voice is soft, reassuring you as you ride out your pleasure with the trembling of your hips and the quickened rising falls of your chest.

“Just like that - like that. There you go, there you go. Cum for me, give me this one and I’ll give you another.” He promises you, his accent thick as he watches your eyes go dark and unfocused as you burn with hot desire for him until he hears your broken voice mumble; “There’s more?”

He laughs. Teasingly, adoringly, lovingly and so many other words he can’t quite say.

“Si mi vida, there is always more with me. That I can promise you.”

Again, he laughs at the way he feels you twitch around his fingers that have stilled inside at the prospect of what more entails. He won’t admit to how his cock twitches in time with you tucked away in his pants.

You whine at the idea, hot at the image of being filled with all of him and whine again when his fingers slip out of you. Gossamer strands of your cum follow them, only to break and splatter along the inside of your flushed thighs. Javier smiles the same charming smile as when he sings and soothes you by rubbing your thigh with one hand while the other goes to undo his belt buckle.

You don’t see the length of him, only feel the heat of him against the petals of your cunt and it’s enough for you to yelp like some poor animal caught in a trap. Javier is bent over you, the build of his slim body covering you with his elbow supporting him above your head, eyes attuned to the half lit scene before him. You, sweating enough to make strands of your hair stick your flushed face with your eyes half lidded and mouth parted. His hips move without him thinking, coating his length in your glimmering release and rubbing against your still sensitive clit that it makes you flinch - mewling his name in a wet and defeated tone that makes him huff in half fondness-half teasing.

“Javi-” you whine, hotter than you have ever been and voice cracking when the head of his cock brushes past your entrance and makes its way in. You gasp into his mouth, one hand coming to cover your eyes and the other gripping at the fabric of his shoulder. Javier sighs against your lips and kisses you to muffle his own noises - higher pitched than he’d like to admit they are lost in between your two mouths as you take another inch of him. He is long, he knows this and you are tight ; tighter than anyone else he’s ever been with due to your lack of experience so he is slow with you despite how he wants to devour you entirely with one stroke.

Javier is tactical when he wants to be and is more than practical when he has to be so he controls himself, letting you have him inch by torturous inch. You are panting, throwing your head back in a way that lets him catch the tears that make it down your cheek and are uncovered by your hand. With one hand he bats away yours until your face - glistening and flushed is revealed to him as your mouth shines with drool from pleasure. His thumb goes to wipe away a tear and you move to feel the warmth of him more closely.

“Why are you crying hermosa, hm?” He asks you, sighing at how you take more of him so sweetly. You don’t respond only squealing and squeezing around him as you lose more of yourself on his cock. Half of him is seated inside you, enough for you to moan his name brokenly as you beg for more despite you wincing when he moves. Javier grunts and stops, letting the half of him that’s inside you stay still to let you breathe

“You can,” you pant, “you can put the whole thing in - please, please put it in.” You beg, and a thrill goes up his spine at the idea of seeing you weep from his cock being too much runs across his mind before he pushes it to the side. You are far too sweet, too delicate to be treated so roughly by him. You aren’t a working girl he can forget about come morning but the woman he wants to wake up to, which is why it’s easy for him to do what he thinks to be best.

He denies you.

“No, this is -” he sighs deeply at the way you feel around him - slick and wet and wanting for him to give you more until it aches. “This is enough. You’ll take the rest next time.” You whine at the thought and whine again when he pulls his slim hips back to fuck you like that. He gives you slow, careful thrusts with the hand that cradles your face sneaking down to rub at your pulsing clit with gentle precision. It’s almost too much for you, he notes and he feels bad that the sight of you weeping on half his cock, losing your mind with your eyes glassy from tears is doing it more for him than anything else.

You’ve always been a proper girl, ever since he saw you on your horse in the snow of Colter looking at him with the sweetest eyes framed by snowflakes. There’s a sick pleasure tugging at his stomach at how he has you now, manners gone and all you are now is debauched and drunk on him. It’s almost enough to make him finish and clearly it’s enough to get you there too by the way you weep out the little nickname you gave him.

“Javi, Javi, ’m going to -” He cuts you off with a punched out exhale, grinding his molders to keep from cumming inside by how you keep tightening around him like a vice.

“Go let go for me, mi amor - you’ve been so good.” With that you break, voice so ruined it cracks when you whine out babbles of precious thank yous in his ear as you come to completion a second and last time for the night. It’s painful, the last drag he gets of your cunt before he tugs at his sticky and slick cock to shoot his spend against the mound of your cunt. The sight of him dripping down to your twitching lower half more than makes up for it and he is more than willing to bend back over you to press gentle kiss after kiss on your panting lips. Your eyes had fluttered close and you babbled mindlessly under his gentle touches as you slowly came back down to look up at him with blearily eyes. Javier smiles at you with all the tenderness of the world when you wrap your arms around his neck - he manages to settle on his side with you in his arms and you tuck your face into his neck. You nuzzle the skin and sight softly, eyes red and half lidded tired from all he has pulled for you. Javier is soft with you, spoiling you by letting his nails scratch your scalp the way you like.

“Rest mi vida, I’ll clean you up.” he murmurs into your hair, presses a kiss to the crown of your head. You hum, murmur his name and a soft little confession of love before your eyes slip shut. You shiver when the soft fabric of a pocket square wipes at the mess of your swollen cunt and whine when you are moved to have your nightgown pulled over your head. Through your fussing Javier remains gentle, whispering praise as he settles you to his chest to sleep. When you awake you’ll be faced with teasing you thought you were quiet enough to avoid but that can wait. Now your eyes are heavy and Javier’s heartbeat is soothing - anything else can wait as for now you want for nothing else.

[yeyinde]

I just read your alpha fics for Price and Ghost and yes I am having a little trouble thinking clearly but I am on my hands and knees asking if maybe there is a chance you would write one for alpha Johnny? I loved the imagery of him holding back from claiming someone in the Ghost fic and I would love to see him finally lose that control completely.

i had an idea for Johnny, but it felt too similar to the baby trap fic i'm writing. the theme i have for him is basically "this man snatches wives clean off the streets" i guess :/

but the idea was:

Alpha!Soap who finds runaway Omega!Reader on the side of the road, desperate to escape town. to run. and as a beacon of his community, law enforcement (a game warden) who has sworn that his duty is to serve and protect, he offers to take you in. to give you shelter until the next morning when you can leave town, running away from the alpha that's been stalking you these last few months, waiting for your heat to claim you.

protecting you is just the right thing to do, after all. and so, he does. brings you into his home, makes you dinner. humming to himself as you beg him to see you off at the train station tomorrow. you have to leave. you have to. staying here is not safe with that alpha still around.

he says, "i'll take care of it."

and he does. but maybe not in the way you'd have expected.

your heat starts in the middle of the night, and you wake up to him smothering you with kisses, drowning you in his musk. he whispers in your ear about how you don't have to worry anymore—he took care of the problem, and he'll take such good care of you, too. always. you don't have to do anything except rest your pretty little head on his pillow and let him rut between your thighs until he's had his fill. delirious, half-mad from the heat, you agree. signing your soul away to a man who'd follow you to the ends of the earth with a smile on his face like this was some off-putting courting ritual and not a desperate escape.

(they find the body in the summer. Price takes one look at the mangled remains, shakes his head, and mutters something about a bear attack. an accident, naturally. that sort of thing just happens around here. and people like Johnny too much to go wondering why you ended up claimed by him the same night the alpha stalking you goes missing. an eerie coincidence. those sorts of things happen, don't you know? and if they have other questions about it. well. Johnny'll set 'em straight.)

[aihoshiino]

chapter 165 thoughts

Aqua Hoshigan Status: It's Officially Hoshinover

Chapters Until The Story Ends Without The 143 Kiss Being Addressed Or Acknowledged: 1

damn i guess they really did just kill his ass

I'm gonna be so real with you gamers, I kind of don't have a lot to say about this one either lol. Which I acknowledge sounds completely wild given the Everything that happens in it, but most of my meat and potatoes analysis in these reviews comes from breaking down characterization and we're flying through everything at such breakneck pace that we're barely getting any characterization.

It continues to drive me bugfuck insane that Ai is completely absent from this finale despite the importance of 15 Year Lie. Its imagery is plastered all over but whenever we return to it, we just see Aqua. Not only that, but Gotanda is the one who insists on pushing the movie through for Aqua. 15YL as a story about Ai's true self and her tragedy is now officially taking a backseat to being about Aqua's tragic death and legacy. It was already bad enough that we spent so much time in the Movie Arc not actually focusing on Ai to the extent that, as everyone pointed out, based on what we saw on-page it was basically a Sad Kamiki Movie, but this really is just pissing right in the wound at this point lmao.

The funeral scene also serves as the final nail in the coffin for any Secretly Alive Aqua copes, which is kind of a relief. I still don't like how Aqua's death played out, but I think dragging it out for four chapters then going "sorry you thought i was /srs when i was just /jk" would have been infinitely more insulting. I don't like this ending, but I can respect that Akasaka seems to be sticking to his guns on it, even if we still do have like a whole chapter left for him to whip around and go "I WAS /JK ALL ALONG!!!!" but I don't see it happening.

Anyway, yeah! The funeral! Uh. Is it gonna sound weird if I say I felt kind of like… grossed out reading this the first time? Like, I really don't know how else to explain the visceral "why the fuck is the author making me read this" reaction I had to it. I think it's just because Kana is so fucking distraught here and the drama is just so hammy and so over the top that it feels kind of… ech. I dunno. I just really didn't vibe.

It doesn't help that this is part of a much broader pattern in the back half of OnK of Aka getting us right up close into the gory details of a character's complete mental breakdown and suffering and then spend zero time or focus on their recovery. This happened with Ruby all over the Movie Arc and this many times and with this little runway to the end of the series, it just starts to feel exploitative, like a way to cheaply pull at our heartstrings without doing the work to build everyone back up after tearing them down.

also pre-emptively dreading all the fuel this is going to add to the fires of People Who Are Weird And Misogynistic About Kana but she could die saving innocent children from a burning building and people would find reasons to be shitty about her lmao

we really are not seeing ruby's reaction to finding out her brother was dead huh lol

I will say the one thing I didn't Actively Dislike about this chapter was Ruby, though. I was honestly starting to get pretty skeeved out with how many people were gleefully predicting or actively wishing for her immediate suicide purely for ship motivated reasons and I was also worrying that the story was going to pretend that Ruby doesn't like. Have a life and support system outside of Aqua. Yes, she should absolutely be affected by his death but this period of her shutting down only to drag herself back onto her feet that we seem to be getting feels way more in line with pre-Movie Arc flanderization Ruby and I'll take that W where I can get it.

god. I haven't even talked about Kamiki's supposed serial killer cult. I just don't have the strength. Like… that's self-evidently stupid, right? I don't need to explain to you why that's ridiculous and unbelievable? You don't need me to tell you why it's fucking crazy that we're getting this information about the alleged overarching antagonist of the series not only in the second-to-last chapter of the entire series but after he was already dead, right? We can just move on? Ok good. jesus christ.

FINAL CHAPTER NEXT WEEK…

[bethanythebogwitch]

If you asked me as a kid what my favorite animal was, there's a good chance I'd respond "chambered nautilus", though I probably would mispronounce it. I don't know if it's still my favorite but it's definitely up there in the pantheon of weird critters. For this Wet Beast Wednesday, I'll discuss my childhood favorite.

(image: a nautilus)

The nautilus is a cephalopod that lives in a curved shell and looks similar to (but is not closely related to) the extinct ammonites. There are 6 living species in two genera, but 90% of the time when someone is discussing nautiluses they are referring to the most well-known species: Nautilus pompilius or the chambered nautilus. Nautiloids are ancient, going back to at least the late triassic with their more primitive ancestors going back as far as the ordovician period, a time when only invertebrates and primitive plants occupied the land and true fish had not yet appeared. Because of their ancient history, nautiluses are sometimes considered living fossils. I have ranted before on how misleading the term "living fossil" is so I'll spare you that for now. Nautiloids are considered a sister group to the celoids, which contains all the squid, octopus, cuttlefish, and everything else we thinks of as cephalopods. Nautiluses should not be confused with paper nautiluses. Also called argonauts, paper nautiluses are a group of octopi that make an egg case which looks like a shell.

(image: a nautilus)

The most noticeable feature of a nautilus is its shell. The shell is smooth and finely curving, naturally growing in the shape of a logarithmic spiral (though not, as is commonly stated, a golden ratio spiral). The shell has a stripy outer layer and an inner layer coated with nacre. Internally, the shell is divided into camarae (chambers) separated from each other by walls called septa. Each septum has a small hole in it through which a strand of tissue called the siphuncle passes. Most of the nautilus's body is in the foremost and largest chamber. The shell grows new septa as the animal grows, with the nautilus's body moving to a new chamber as it becomes too large for previous ones. Juveniles are typically born with 4 septa, with adults having as many as 30. In addition to providing protection from predators, the shell is also key for regulating buoyancy. The septa can contain pressurized gas or water and the siphuncle regulates their contents by either adding or removing water to increase or decrease buoyancy. Because of its pressurized contents, the shell can only withstand pressure at depths up to 800 M (2,400 ft) before imploding. Oddly enough, nautiluses can be safely brought up from deep waters where most animals would be killed by the pressure changes. To move, the nautilus pulls water into the first chamber of the shell using its hyponome (siphon) and shoots it back out. The chambered nautilus is the largest species, with a maximum shell diameter of 25 cm (10 in), though most get no larger than 20 cm (8 in).

(image: a diagram of nautilus anatomy. source)

Where celoid cephalopods have tentacles, nautiluses instead have numerous cirri. Unlike tentacles, cirri are less muscular, are not elastic, and have no suckers. They are used to grab objects using their ridged surfaces and can hold in so hard that trying to take an object away from a nautilus can rip off its cirri, which will remain firmly attached. In addition, the nautilus has modified cirri that serve as olfactory receptors and a pair that serve to open and close the shell when the nautilus needs to retract into it or emerge. Nestled within the cirri is the beak, which is used to consume the nautilus's primary prey of invertebrates, though they have also been seen scavenging fish. Their eyes are less developed than most cephalopods, lacking a lens and consisting of a small pinhole that only allows the nautilus to see simple imagery. Their brains are differently structured than most cephalopods and studies have found them to have considerably shorter long-term memories.

(image: a chambered nautilus (upper left) next to a rare Allonautilus scrobiculatus. source)

Cephalopod reproduction is quite different than that of other cephalopods. While most cephalopods are short-lived and semelparous (reproducing only once), nautiluses can live over 20 years and reproduce multiple times (iteroparity). They do not reach sexual maturity until around 15 years old, with females laying eggs once per year. Eggs are attached to rocks and take 8 to 12 months to hatch. Males have a structure called the spadix composed of 4 fused cirri that they use to transfer sperm to females. Females lose their gonads after laying their eggs and will regenerate them for the next year's mating season. Interestingly, male nautiluses seem to vastly outnumber the females. EDIT: @bri-the-nautilus in the replies found an alternate explanation for the disparity in male and female numbers you should check out. TLDR; the females are asocial.

(image: nautiluses mating)

Nautiluses are found in the Indo-Pacific reagion of the ocean and can be found on the steep slopes of coral reefs. They prefer to inhabit waters several hundred meters down. It was once believed that they would rise to shallow waters at night to feed, lay eggs, and mate, but their vertical migration behavior has since been shown to be more complex than that. They have noon been fished by humans for their shells, which have become popular subjects in art and can be made into a number of decorative pieces. The nacre of the shell can be polished into osmeña pearl, which can be quite valuable. Demand for the shells combined with the late sexual maturity and low fecundity is threatening all the species. As of 2016, nautiluses have been added to the CITES Appendix II, making them protected by limiting international trade of their shells. Despite this, they are still threatened and require further protection

(image: a carved and painted nautilus shell from the Poldi Pezzoli Museum, Milan)

[elainsgirl]

One of the biggest reasons I know Gwynriel has a very unlikely chance of happening is that:

Gwyn hasn’t met Feyre.

Feyre Archeron who is the main character of the triology - who was the main character in the books that laid the groundwork for the spin-offs, hasn’t met Gwyn.

If Gwyn was a potential love interest or a character who would later serve and change the acotar universe as we know it, Sjm would have definitely had Gwyn and Feyre meet. Yet she doesn’t do so, why? Bcs outside of being Nesta’s friend, Gwyn doesn’t serve a greater purpose.

Sjm uses Feyre as a narrative voice- a way to convey her plans, foreshadowing and thoughts to readers through Feyre’s thoughts.

Feyre who observed Nessian; their banter, chemistry, tender moments- Nessian became endgame.

She then observed Elucien: their reluctance, awkwardness and how uncomfortable seeing them interact was - and guess what? That doesn’t change in acosf. Those same feelings are noticed by other characters when it comes to Elucien.

Feyre then goes on to think about Vassa and Lucien - going as far as to notice how Lucien blushed when talking about Vassa and giving them a couples’ imagery. Lord of Fire and Bird of Flame.

Finally, she noticed elriel. Their ease, understanding of each other and how easily they existed in each others’ presence - to the point she wondered why they weren’t mates. Every potential couple has some connection to Feyre except from Gwynriel. Common sense says its bcs - Gwynriel were never planned to become a couple. Gwyn was never intended as an alternate Love interest for Azriel. Hypothetically speaking, even if Mass had changed her mind from elriel to gwynriel in acosf - she then would have found a way for Feyre to meet Gwyn yet once more, she doesn’t.

Gwynriel is truly a fanon ship.

[missmeinyourbones]

cw: JJK MANGA SPOILERS!!!! read at your own risk!!!!! megumi and gojo centric, sad sad sad i am so sad 

“He’s just a kid.”

Satoru’s tone is one you’ve never heard from him. Quiet, strained, barely a whisper against the howling wind from outside. He's never not spoken with conviction; never had a voice that cracks with uncertainty. You hate it. 

“I know.”

He’s quick to clarify, “I mean, they all are. But he—”

He loses his train of thought—or rather, he’s not strong enough to finish it. To say it out loud in fear of it taking on a greater form. He decides on shaking his head and returning his voice to a whisper as he insists. 

“It’s different.”

“I know,” you repeat. Your hand holds his far too tight when you solemnly clarify, “he’s different.” 

“He—” a sniffle disguised as an inhale interrupts, “I taught him how to ride a bike.”

His words somehow sew the stitches of your broken heart back together before ripping them open once more. Bittersweet imagery swallows you whole. 

The thought of a tiny stubborn Megumi wrestling with something as minuscule as training wheels—what would then seem like the biggest obstacle he’d ever face. The cruel irony weighs heavy on your tongue. 

His barely four-foot stature somehow intimidating a lanky teenage Satoru. 

Satoru—not yet an adult but still volunteering any missed remnant of his own childhood in exchange for the right thing, he holds onto the back of Megumi’s bicycle seat for about thirty seconds before Megumi shoves him off and insists he can do it himself. 

In the silence of your home, Satoru sees it too—remembers it like it was yesterday. And what he, at the time, thought was the scariest thing that could've ever happened to him floods his mind, is now something he yearns to go back for. To do it all again, the exact same way, just to sit in the moment for a bit longer.

“Lil’ asshole learned so fast, I barely got to teach him anything,” he scoffs behind wet eyes, “but still.” 

You let out a snotty laugh, and it lifts the troublesome boulder on Satoru’s shoulder for a moment. A millisecond, maybe, but he’s grateful for it all the same. 

“And all the times he threw up in the middle of the night and I—”

His own sob cuts his words short.

More imagery floods your mind. This time, a shaky and clammy Megumi standing by the bedside of a sleeping Satoru. With unsteady hands and a burning forehead, he pokes and prods the guardian behind watering eyes. 

Satoru tastes bile as he remembers heating up alphabet soup on the stove at the crack of dawn. How Megumi would wait at the table, head in hands and blanket wrapped loosely around his tiny frame. Short legs swinging from the chair, yet to be long enough to reach the tiled ground. 

He wants to go back, wants to ruffle his hair and wipe his snot one last time. Wants to watch him grow like a weed and nearly surpass his own gigantic height. Wants to teach him all he can and not send him on that wild goose hunt for a finger that leads them here—separated and cursing their own decisions.

The world feels like it stops turning when Satoru barely speaks up, “He’s supposed to be my best man.”

Your blurry eyes can barely make out the silver band decorating his ring finger that matches the diamond on yours. One that’s supposed to promise you a lifetime of happiness, but right now serves as a reminder that nothing is promised. Nothing can be guaranteed in the world of Gojo Satoru. 

Still, you try to smile for him. “He will be,” you nod. 

But Satoru shakes his head. “Baby, we need to think realistically about all of—”

“We know nothing, Satoru.”

“We know enough.”

His tone is harsh, like a blade on glass, it scratches to leave a mark. It cuts you deep, even when it shouldn't because you know he isn't angry with you. But Megumi is not here and Gojo can’t think straight knowing he could’ve done something to change the pattern. 

With a deep breath, he catches the flash of hurt in your eye. 

Hands instantly wrapping around your frame, more so for himself and not for you, he shakes against your body. “M’sorry, sorry.” 

His nose tickles your neck as he hiccups. 

“I just…” he tries his best to say something, anything, to explain even an ounce of what he’s feeling. But nothing does it justice, so he decides on a simple whimper. 

“He’s everything.” 

And just like that, the water overflows, and all Satoru couldn’t say is on the table with a mere two words. He’s everything—a son not his, a brother too young, a bond more vital than the lack of blood that runs behind it. 

Megumi is everything, and he’s not here. 

You pull Satoru’s face from the crook of your neck and hold it in your hands as if it’s glass. It is, you try to remind yourself. 

You force him to look at you, to feel your determination when you speak with fire, “We’re gonna be fine.” 

Broken beyond repair, Satoru merely nods—but he knows the truth. 

He’s seen this play out before, his own history repeating itself, taunting him right before his six eyes. Too powerful in every way but the one that matters, Gojo Satoru is always too late.

Satoru knows both he and Megumi will not walk out of this alive. Only one, if either, is lucky enough to break the pattern. 

What he doesn't tell your pleading eyes and hopeful heart, is that he hopes it's Megumi. For the sake of all things good, please let it be Megumi who returns home to you.

[bisnes-socks]

i have a lot to say about this one so pack a snack and let's make sex moneyyy

i think this is one of the most openly culture and media (and social media) critical songs he has. i think it's a super daring song that probably makes the likes of certain helsingin sanomat music critics a little bit uncomfortable, because he is spitting facts - and because he has a relationship with sex for show that people for some reason are still quite weird about.

to start a little further back: we all know sex sells. we all know the music industry uses sex to sell their products. but for some reason, in the year of our lord 2024, a musical artist verbally recognising that they are using their sexuality and sexual themes to build their brand is somehow scandalous. it's like.. it's okay to use sex to sell your art, if it's like "accidental" MTV sexuality or like agreeing to looking objectifiable. the media will call you hot and sexy and wow. but if you own your sexuality, make it obvious that yes this is sexual, i'm being very deliberately sexual and i am trying to be sexual..? oh no that won't do! scandal! we've seen it with so many artists, especially female artists. like WAP is a great example! how scandalous that suddenly these women had agency in their own sexuality! but no-one said a word when their sexuality served the usual male gaze agenda. it's like people are so much more comfortable being peeping toms who sexualise and objectify artists when they're not looking, but as soon as the artist does it as part of their whole thing? well now it's inappropriate actually.

he talked about this in a helsingin sanomat interview, saying how he does actually think things revolve too much around sex in the music industry, even though he uses sex and sexual themes himself to sell things as well, and that he sees the irony in saying that. but the difference, in my opinion, is that the way he, or someone like erika vikman for example, is so open and upfront about the sexual themes, that it becomes carnevalistic, it becomes camp. it's not insidiously using sexual and heteronormative objectifying imagery to get people horny. what käärijä does is playful and fun sexuality, and for whatever reason that is so unusual it needs to be talked about separately as something a bit wild and scandalous, and he needs to be asked to explain his actions.

and that's what this song is. he's very clearly saying none of this is accidental. the visuals of his brand, the social media content, the onlyfans thing, none of it is coincidental, accidental or anything other than his perfectly deliberate way of selling sex. and he has talked about these themes before, he has talked about like the rammstein live stuff that inspired him (some of it is pretty hardcore stuff) so to his fans it's nothing surprising that sexual themes are present in the brand and interest him. but he has also talked about how, even if this song is a bit tongue in cheek, he's also serious. and he is right. and for some reason calling people out about the fact that sex makes them buy things, even when it's true, is still.. scandalous somehow.

and he's basically calling people easy lmao. like, i needed to figure out a lil boost to my career and well, i know what will make you throw money at me. and i won't be shy about it either.

i'm getting sidetracked. the song.

and then that is enough to warrant lyrics such as "koko perheen käärijästä koko perheen krapula" meaning "käärijä for the whole family turning into a hangover for the whole family".

but it was all already there! let's not for a second pretend CCC was some sort of family show and a family song. it's not. but people were okay with that, because they could happily confuse the camp and carnevalistic sexuality of käärijä with the campness and carnevalistic nature of eurovision, and because it wasn't more than the suggestive sexual nature of everything else around them. and it was all just fun, when kids came up with their own lyrics to the song because they couldn't understand the references to drinking. so then people took their kids to see him at shows and became scandalised by the adult nature of it all. it's like.. people were fine letting their kids see the everyday media sexuality that we see in every eurovision, fine letting their kids get used to that, and then just sort of didn't think käärijä would be anything different. but he's only different in that in his show and brand, sex and sexuality aren't denied while still blatantly obviously there.

but again, a lot of this is to do with media, and what media normalises and what it doesn't. what it deems newsworthy and what it doesn't.

if in ready to go he's telling haters that i know you want to see me try and fail, maybe even be too embarrassed to try, but baby i'm ready to go, then in sex = money he's saying i know you want to see me naked and i know you want sex from all of this, so here you go, i'll sell you some sex. and then he stands there holding eye contact like what are you going to do with it. what a cunty king.

and there are so many fun and funny little details in this song.

right in the first verse we have "kieli taittuu sköödi föödi." good old sköödi föödi. i tried to find the earliest example of sköödi föödi, but i'm starting to think it might predate the internet, or at least social media. not to bring up köpi kallio again, but they use sköödi föödi a lot in viki ja köpi show, and köpi just happened to tweet about it in 2020, saying he believes sköödi föödi has been around for at least 20 years (someone tried to credit viki and köpi for it). so, what does sköödi föödi mean, you ask. it does not mean anything at all. sköödi föödi is just a sound, a noise you make, when you need it, usually in place of something in a foreign language but not exclusively. in this instance, sköödi föödi is him demonstrating his excellent english skills. sköödi föödi (pronounced almost like a sterotypical tv american would say skirdy-firdy) means nothing and it means everything, whatever you need it to mean.

it is also noteworthy to point out that "kieli taittuu" can be a reference to two different things here. the finnish word kieli means both tongue and language. so he could also be saying that he has a very bendy and flexible tongue, like literally. which, of course, all of europe has already seen. taittua literally means to fold or bend, but it's a common phrase to say, that if you can do something, you bend it (or more like it bends as a result). so literally the line translates to "language/tongue bends sköödi föödi".

the first verse ends in "sekö jos mikä on varma nakki" meaning "that, if anything, is a sure thing". nakki literally means a sausage, a hot dog sausage, weiner sausage, you name it: a small sausage. so translating literally: "that if anything is a sure sausage". it's a common phrase in spoken finnish, nothing unusual about that, but i love that he used it, because it makes the next line hilarious on a first listen, when the chant comes in. so when they start chanting NAK- NAK- i really thought they were gonna shout NAKKI. but no, it is nakuna, naked.

okay still with me? good. let's look at the "tein onlyfans bägin, koko suomen daddy" section next.

i remember when the song came out, people did explain who danny is, but in case anyone missed it, danny is a singer from finland, and he was a MASSIVE star back in the day, especially in the 70's. so to say he is bigger than danny is indeed quite the flex, because danny was like.. the finnish equivalent of elvis, basically. but danny is not just a flex, he turns danny into a clever thematical scheme here (more on thematical schemes in the bananas post, if you're interested). he says "kadulla on kuumaa, ne pyytää mua hätiin" and this is a reference to one of danny's most popular and famous songs, kesäkatu. smart, smart, smart! and then of course "kadulla on puumaa, mut mulla on jo täti" meaning there are cougars on the street, but i already have an aunt. which, that to me reads like both a cunty quip and a himbo line all at once. like shutting down some man wanting to be your daddy by telling him "but i already have a father". i nearly choked laughing the first time i heard the line.

also can i just say, calling himself the daddy of finland? like, thinking about the whole context i talked about at first, how people are comfortable with sexual stuff and sexualising, but not comfortable recognising it or being real about it or celebrating it? yeah knowing all that, he just called himself EVERYONE'S daddy in a song called sex = money, and he's not even wrong 😭

in conclusion: i love this song. and i love the attitude in it. it's like he is looking everyone, from every uncomfortable insecure hetero man, every scandalised parent to every tabloid journalist, straight in the eye and saying "yes, i'm selling sex. why? well i couldn't think of anything else, but then again, why should i? isn't this what you want? this is what you want. i know what you want. i'm your daddy."

like if he truly wanted to, he really could have this country on their knees for him, don't tell me last independence day didn't prove it. as much as he gets crap as well, at the end of the day, he has people under a spell by simply being, well, bigger than danny. and he-man.

now. the placement of the song on the album, right after autiomaa.

i personally don't think that the album builds one cohesive narrative from beginning to end. but i think this can be read two ways: a sad way and an empowering way. the sad way to read it is that he means it when he says he couldn't come up with anything else and his creativity is fried, but sex sells so he does that, and it's a bit mindless. but given the context of what he has had to say about this song, i'm more inclined to read this the empowering way: he has worked on himself and found a way to see things more clearly, and he has found it in himself to even be confrontational about things. the whiplash of the song order i think is more to highlight the fact that autiomaa is a rare glimpse into something different, and now here we go again. to me, sex = money makes autiomaa even more powerful, but autiomaa doesn't change the interpretation of sex = money all that much for me.

you really can't be upset about the song without proving his point. and you can't love the song without proving his point. facts have been spat and points have been proven. absolute king behaviour.

and if you read through this whole thing, i owe you money. cash money, not sex money. well, we'll talk about it.

++

bonus: i absolutely love that he knows how to say "make some noise" on this track, but continues to say "give me some voice" or some sort of a hybrid word between voice and noise, something like.. woise, at his international shows. the king of in through one ear, out through the other. he, she, noise, voice, he doesn't know the differences and does not care.

bonus bonus for the sad bojere bitches:

second verse: "täl alal ei sua kukaa huomaa" meaning "nobody will notice you in this field (of work)". maybe my brain is rotted but this moment reminds me so much of the famous liverpool bojere lunch date video where bojan tries to parrot jere, who is saying "tääl ollaa nyt, tota" and bojan goes "talalaiteta" and then they both proceed to giggle about it like it's the funniest thing anyone has ever said. "täl alal" goes out to you, bojan titanic.

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ a night away ⦒✶.* prequel to a kiss away, and how it all happened.

requsted by anonymous (ask at the end) pairing(s): leon kennedy x gn!reader | friends to lovers synopsis: heartbroken, you find yourself back at the bar, unsure if love is meant for you. leon wants you, so badly, but he restrains himself (unsuccessfully) thinking someone else is better suited for you, someone that is not him. content: suggestive imagery, one kiss, one excited leon, hurt/comfort, mutual pining, mentions of alcohol, addiction, oral (m! receiving), death special thanks to @sporeghost, for the beta, for being a sweetheart of a friend, and for his drop dead gorgeous writing. « 2.1 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

Loving is easy. To be loved is difficult.

It’s easy to love perfection after all. You might not be perfect, like no one is, but you’re damn close to it. But Leon? He thinks his soul is fractured – by the blood in his hands, by the poison he consumes, eternally cursed by the perpetual guilt of living.

Your smile is crooked – full-teeth, gum-showing. Yet you smile like the sun after a weeping rain, a smile that outshines the worst every single time. Your steps summon life underneath you, summon life within him. You are blinding, bestowing your shine to all, up and high, beyond reach.

If he tells you his feelings, will you find happiness with him? Or will you follow him into the dark, and never see the light again?

You look best in the sunlight. Not six feet under, decaying in his own pain and darkness. Peeping at your glow is more than enough for Leon. He isn’t worried about heartbreak at all, because heartbreak with you is healing. That’s the kind of effect you have.

So you can imagine his worry when he hears your voice slurring through the phone, almost inaudible against the bass-heavy party music in the background. Leon doesn’t know where you are, or what you are doing, but he wants you safe. Needs it.

Thankfully, it doesn’t take long to find you at a bar three blocks away from your apartment. You don’t normally go to bars, that he knows and appreciates. He’s well acquainted with the aftereffects of alcohol.

Leon evades the crowd, manoeuvring through the waves of hazy drunks, cigarettes in one hand, clinking glasses in another. They don’t know how intoxicating it all smells, how deep one can possibly fall into the bottomless pit of a martini glass. Perhaps they know. Or don’t care. After all, they came to escape too, just like you.

He finds your lone silhouette slouch into the bar table, a full glass and empty bottle next to you. Leon didn’t recognise you at first.

“Didn’t expect to see you in a place like this.” Leon picks a bar stool closest to you and takes a seat.

“Leon…?” Your eyelids weigh you down. “H-How did you...”

You don’t look at him, instead readjusting yourself just slightly to bury your face in your palms. Guilty, and you know it.

“Don’t talk.”

Leon rests his hand on your forehead, feeling your temperature burn lightly against his hand. While he has you there, he signals the bartender for a glass of water. You remind him of himself two years ago, deep into a bottle before midday.

You try to reach for your drink, but Leon moves the glass away. Replacing it with the iced water served to you. “Drink this.”

Leon watches you take in a big gulp. Your eyes blink open aggressively, regaining a bit of conscious since Leon arrived.

“Better?”

“Better.” You heartbeat slows by a fraction, voice clearer now, but your surroundings are still spinning. Leon waits for you to finish your next swig before talking.

“What happened?” Leon offers you his kindness, lacing with an undertone of concern. You plant your face into your drink. “You can tell me.”

“H-He…” Your tears well up, and his heart breaks at the sight. “He b-broke up with me, Leon. Over text too. I tried calling him, but I keep reaching voicemail. Did the four months meant nothing to him?”

That sucker you met on a dating app. Leon can’t recall his name, that’s how much he hates the guy. Promising you the world, delivering all but crap.

A man who hurts you like this isn’t a man. Just a child. It’s been three times since he watches your heart broken with fake proclamations of love by one of these men. Leon knows he can kiss you better, love you better, make love to you better than any other man on this world. Anything you want, he can do it better. Except that he can’t.

You are the light he doesn’t deserve, the light he depends on.

“Fuck ‘em. He doesn’t deserve you.”

You shook your head. “Nobody loves me, Leon. Nobody wants me. I’ve never had a relationship that lasted over a year.”

“That’s not true.” Because I want you. More than you’ll ever know, more than you’ll ever need. I want you like a plant wants light. Hell, I need you like a plant needs water. “All of D.S.O loves you.”

You sigh deeply. He knows the fact that’s not what you meant, but some secrets are not meant to see the light of day.

“I need a drink.”

“No. You don’t.” Leon cuts you off, pouring out the poison into the sink by the bar. “Drinking won’t solve anything. You should know this.”

The music in the background crudely echoes, much harsher and obstructive this time. The people around you are chatting, cheering, dancing – but there is only two of you in the room. At least that's how it feels like. Leon watches your hand twitch on the glass, eyes avert with guilt. You know he is still marking the days, thirty-seven weeks of sobriety. You know he is right.

“You shouldn’t be here.” It’s your turn to move his hands away from the glass.

“I’m here to take you home. Don’t worry, I’m not going to relapse anytime soon.” Leon puts a hand over yours. An act of comfort, consolation.

“Go wash your face.” You obey, and it helps just a little. By the time you’re ready to leave, Leon is waiting for you with your bag in his hands. “Come on, let’s go.”

“What about the tab?”

“It’s all sorted.” It’s the least he can do for you.

The summer nights should have been cool, but as if to compensate for the heat of the day, the wind taunts harsher. The gust prickle your bare skin that wears only a T-shirt and jeans. Your balance tips ever so slightly.

Leon leans to you right before you slip, hands gently grasping your shoulders. You catch your feet, fistful of his jacket for support. The smell of your fresh cherry blossom shampoo melt into his senses.

He pulls you aside around the corner of the building – you are too unbalanced for the nighttime crowd, almost tripping three people in your fall.

“Lean back.” Leon peels you off his chest, almost reluctantly. You feel so good in his arms. “Take five.”

Beyond the neon skyscrapers, fogged starless sky, you share the moon together. You vision rotates and coils around the glowing sphere, but next to Leon, you feel safe, relieved, despite everything that happened today. You, who witness your third relationship fall apart. Him, who witness your light slowly fading away.

“Leon…” Your words are slurring again.

“He’s such an ass.” You didn’t let Leon respond, and he didn’t try. Leon knows you just need to vent right now. “Every time I’m at work, he says I work too much. Then he says I’m too controlling when I’m home.”

“I hear you.” Leon nods, watching at how your face twist and turn when you talk about this jerk who doesn’t deserve you.

“He’s always out with his friends. When I do the same, it’s a bad thing. I never complain about anything, ever. What gives?”

Leon listens, nodding responsively.

“You know what’s worse? He told me I give bad head.”

Leon freezes, blood that ran along his nerves surge between his legs. It wasn’t weird for you to share details about your relationships. It prides Leon that you entrust him with such information.

But for you to be this forward about your intimate activities? That’s a first, probably conspired by the alcohol in your system. Leon can only wish that the alcohol in you isn’t going to catch him adjust both of his pant legs, hiding the strain between his pants.

“Well, are you?” Leon teases, feigning nonchalance.

“It’s not my fault I have a small mouth.”

His gaze passes your lips, open and close as you speak, tongue peeking underneath all that plumpness. He shouldn’t. Definitely shouldn’t be imagining your lips grazing against him right now. Or how your mouth will look around his cock, your tongue swirling against his length…

Leon clears his throat once more. You unintentionally cut off his imagination before it can go rampant.

“You know… I’ve realised you never talk about your relationships.”

You raise your hand to scratch your chin, recalling if there is anyone that makes him double take. But Leon Kennedy never double takes. There’s not a moment where he’s breaking his stoic, cool-guy demeanour. Not even at Jill, which you would drool over at.

“Not much to tell.” Not much he can tell you.

“C’mon, we’ve been through too much for you to act coy now.” You nudge him on the shoulder. “Guy like you? You must have someone.”

“Not sure what you mean.” Leon can feel you snuggle in closer, almost brushing against his strained jeans at your lower abdomen. He strategically smooths slightly away from you, desperate to suppress himself.

“I mean… You have a really nice jaw. And a nice body.” You gaze at him up and down, eyebrow raising, tongue peeking and rolling over your teeth.

“You think I’m handsome?” Leon offers you his crooked grin. “That’s quite bold of you.”

His cerulean eyes lit up, for a sparkle, staring intensely into yours. Your throat clears itself, unaware of the warmth sinking into your cheeks. Leon wonders if you know how cute you look right now.

“I-I’m just saying what others think.” You shuffle away from the wall, moving in sync with your feet towards the well-lit street. “Let’s get going I’m feeling much bett-”

“Not so fast.” Leon holds you in place. Your body turns against your own will, finding your back curving into the wall.

“Leon…?” You ask, barely above a whisper.

Look at you. So sweet, doe-eyed as you walk right into the lion’s den. The sensitive part of your neck partially exposed just to entice him. Thinking everyone is made of good intentions, that they just want to be your friend, and that no harm will ever become of you. That’s just in your nature.

It’s also in people’s nature to take advantage of someone like you. Even when your wrists locked against his, body trapping you, you still trust him. He’s internally conflicted – conflicted whether if he wants to pounce at you or protect you. Both, in that order.

Leon brings his lips closer to yours ever so slowly. So softly, leaving you plenty of space to withdraw, to stop. Begging you to stop him from ruining something so perfect between the two of you.

Waiting… Waiting for any sign of uncertainty, any lace of hesitation, any reason to push you away and laugh it off. But you don’t. You don’t flinch, in fact you close the distance more.

He tilts his head down, and your head up. Leon moves his hands, feeling a bit bolder too, wrapping them around your back. Reciprocating all the same, your irises capture the moonlight in your eyes, glowing in the dark. Leon can’t keep fooling himself anymore about how you want this. You want this too.

He closes his eyes. Lets your raspy breath guide him to your lips until they brush lightly against yours. Magnitude of emotions riled up within him, pouring into an endless stream of longing finally fulfilled.

“I, uh…” Leon silences your thoughts in place of another heated kiss. Taste of your tongue lingers with the filth of alcohol, Leon wants nothing more than rid the taste of it from your mouth. His body flushing against yours, burning, drowning, into all of you. Into all of the love you grace him. Platonic, romantic – none of it matters. He just needs you.

The parting of lips is almost melancholic, a separation of two souls connected by this ephemeral moment. You are losing balance, eyelids closing, consciousness fading into a light snore.

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” Leon lets out a tiny grin when you lean your body weight on his torso, which is cue to take you home.

Under his care, Leon helps you into your apartment. Doesn’t leave you like that – no, that would be too cruel. He helps you remove your jacket and shoes, carrying your slumbering body to the bed. Tucking you in. And a cheeky kiss too, while you’re unconscious.

Maybe you’ll remember what happened, maybe you won’t. Leon knows that he will cherishing this memory for a very long time.

thank you sm my sweetest for the ask!! i hope you enjoy this fic even after i took some liberties (hehehhee). i absolutely, absolutely LOVE writing for friends to lovers, and something ab first kiss with all that yearning makes me swoooonn harder than smut haha

also, thank you all who liked, commented, reblogged so graciously on 'a kiss away' (the sequel), it has 950 notes now?? sometimes i still go huh, how did that happen?? rlly can't do it without with you guys, from the bottom of my heart thank you smsm

thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @carlosgf @sporeghost @navstuffs (pm me for tags) © roseglazedlens - please do not translate, copy, repost or feed to ai without permission - thanks!

[catholic-character-tournament]

Round 5 - Catholic Character Tournament

Propaganda below ⬇️

Wolfwood

I love him. Man who has no faith in himself or humanity or god with so much blood on his hands, fighting for something he knows he can never see come to fruition in person. He carries his own literal cross and grave marker on his back. Just… he’s so iconic to me.

I'm sure I'm not the first to submit him. But I did it anyway. I hope he wins and I'll do anything in my power to make sure he does

Dude is literally a priest who carries around a giant cross. Yes he uses the cross to murder people but that is besides the point. Also he has a mini church he carries around for on-the-go confession services.

hes literally a priest(hes not a priest in the reboot but he is in the original and thats what matters to Me). he carries around a cross that is actually secretly a gun with guns inside that gun. he runs a church/orphanage. he carries around a portable confession booth and charges people money for it because he is broke as fuck. he dies bleeding out over an alter begging to god for forgiveness he doesnt think he deserves. he is everything to me.

look at this man he's a priest with a cross shaped gun that (spoilers) dies against the side of a church while waxing poetic about life and redemption (/spoilers), this is the Catholic ever.

Wolfwood is liiiiiterally Judas coded in the text. AND his weapon is a massive cross that turns into a machine gun and a LASER. Not to mention his religious trauma. Oh baby. The religious trauma.

Homeboy literally walks around with a giantass 300lb machine gun shaped like a cross called the Punisher. Hes a priest/undertaker depending on what version of trigun you reference. Grew up in a church orphanage. Also literally walks around with a portable confessional box for people to pay to confess to him. Need i say more.

HE IS LITERALLY JUDAS. he is literally leading the jesus allegory to his doom. hes also in love with the jesus allegory (vash). he is also carrying arouns a giant cross rhat is also a gun. hes literally catholic and judas and his tits are perfect. in one piece of official art he's wearing a cross choker. also the catholicism on gunsmoke is about making vash submit. wolfwood looking at that pathetic wet mess of a man oh i can make him submit easily.

He literally carries around a giant cross and is referred to as a priest by multiple characters. also he offers people confessionals

He carries a huge machine gun that is in the shape of a cross that is really heavy (he is strong) and his boobs are huge. So you know hes serving cunt in a god honoring way. Also in trigun 1998 he brings around a small chapel that he uses as a portable confessional and in trigun stampede he holds funeral services as an undertaker which are way overly priced. Also he dies very gayly (basicly confessing his love to his best boy friend forever)

Nick's funny bc he's probably the least Christian acting guy but is literally a preacher. There's a running gag with Vash asking some variation of "what the hell kinda churchman are you?" His gun is a gigantic cross. He rides a shitty motorcycle in the middle of the desert.

ok so thematically the main conflict in trigun is about peace vs violence and its represented by the characters vash and knives respectively. the two aren't /technically/ angels but thematically and through imagery they are and are comparable to michael and lucifer specifically. ANYWAYS. vash and knives are the characters who are constantly pushing and pulling at wolfwood's morality, sort of like a "the devil and god are raging inside of me" kinda deal. his grappling with his morality and faith is a big factor in his character. also he has a giant fucking gun shaped like a cross. and he dies in a church while praying.

Bros an orphan who grew up at a Catholic orphanage and taken away to be trained and genetically changed into a supercharged assassin for interworldly beings that have lots of angel imagery attached. Guy thought he was just going to be taken to become a missonary...instead he got 6 years of religious trauma. He still wears a cross necklace and holds it often. His gun is a literal cross "full of mercy" (its a missile launcher). He never really believed fully in the faith or anything, but the way he interacts with it is FASCINATING. He's jaded by the planet he lives on and his upbringing, and makes him say his most iconic quote: "We're nothing like God. Not only do we have limited powers, but sometimes we're driven to become the devil himself." He prays to a God he doesn't know if he actually believes in, asking for another day— for hope for the human race. The organization hes part of (The Eye of Michael) works for an interdimensional otherworldly being that has an incredible amount of angelic metaphor and imagery attached who intends to purge the planet of humans... and ends up siding with that guy's twin brother who is so Jesus coded it's insane. They are best friends even as Wolfwood is acting under instructions to babysit and watch him for his twin brother. He dies after facing down against his old mentor (named Chapel) and his pseudo brother from the orphanage who was taken into the Eye as well and his Jesus bestie buries him and sticks his cross-gun in the ground after losing his shit crazy style and using his pseudo alien angel Jesus powers to lash out at his brother for being the cause of Wolfwood's death. Rest in peace king

John

he’s a priest. he can punch your lights out. he would never hurt a fly. he has connections in the black market. he gives everything he can to the local orphans. he will not hesitate to play pranks on you. he wants everyone to be happy. he has daddy issues probably. he wants a promotion sososososoooooo bad.

I accidentally submitted the last 5actors name but it’s the same guy

Hey everyone please vote for this man I love him he truely is what we need more of in this world the kindest most relatable character has flaws etc etc. Deserves the world

[feyrescourt]

It’s very weird to me that #those people continue to write up think pieces about how Elain “has no friends and needs to leave the NC” when, mind you, her entire life and family is there. They try to discredit her friendship with the twins and diminish what she has with Azriel when they have clearly spent the last year growing closer and forming a bond. They want her shipped away from the NC to be with a mate she has no interest in because that is the only plausible way their preferred red heads can be Az and Elain’s end games.

Why is it Elain’s friendships that are constantly challenged? Nuala and Cerridwen are the people she has formed relationships with outside of her sisters, but instead of exploring that friendship, she’s going to move back down to *checks notes* her ex’s estate in the human lands to kick it with the band of rejects? This does not serve Elain or her journey, it serves Lucien. That’s it.

There is so much potential in Elain’s story and I actually trust Sarah with it. I know there’s back and forth arguments in the fandom because of the silver flames, hosab, and hofas of it all **I personally think hosab gets unnecessary hate, but we move** but there’s much more potential for both Elain and Azriel than there were for those books so I can’t even be mad about it.

For example, here are the plot points that are likely to be explored in a book in which Elain and Az are the FMC and MMC ; Elriel love story, forbidden love, trysts, explanation for why Azriel can smell the EL bond, possible carranam bond, seer abilities / mystic parallels / learning she has the power of life and creation, insight into her experiences for those years in the cabin, her account of events from the day she was turned, Archeron sister healing arc, mating bond rejection and what that looks like with potential political consequences (if any), spy work, insight into Az’s past trauma’s / how they’ve manifested into how he sees himself, finally being chosen after hundreds of years of feeling that he’s not good enough, origin for his shadowsinger powers, more personified light and dark imagery.

ALL of that is far more appealing and interesting than what the GAs and ELs want. It’s also all very authentic to the integrity of the series.

It’s a formula that’s been set in stone since ACOWAR. Three Mountains, Three Stars, Three Brother, and Three Sisters; The Rulers, The Warriors, and The Spies.

Anyway, happy Elain week!!