#I think the boys always had the desire to go out and apply themselves but meeting April likely pushed them more

[turtleblogatlast]

Something I really like is that April’s constant stream of odd jobs she goes through is somewhat reflected in the boys as well. Like, you have April working at random pizza places or getting a crane license or being fully willing to apply for a job at a place clearly made out of cardboard. Then you have the boys as well who do anything from working as a basketball mascot, building a massive dog park, being waiters, getting a whole band gig at a theme park, etc, etc-

Main difference is that April actively applies for these jobs (and is hopefully paid for the short time she’s in them) whereas for the bros the jobs usually find them (and they practically never get paid.) It doesn’t even stop at jobs either, they just seem to casually amass skills in general.

I don’t know, I like how both April and the turtles are just so ready and willing to do things. Sure, they’re not always good at these things, but they do them readily! In a way, being heroes is just another job (well, more like volunteer work/vigilantism/another fun activity) that they initially took on because of their general sense of “why not?”

They’re very willing and open to trying out new things despite their tendency to revert back to what they enjoy (and how commonly trying new things ends up going wrong), and I think that adaptational interest of theirs really helps them be well rounded in multiple regards.

[peachhcs]

the perfect moment

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

someone requested will and samy's first time, so after trying to write it for nearly a month, it's finished! again, please read at your own risk, this is very explicit!!

3.6k words

warnings: 18+, smut with a tiny bit of plot, but like all of this is smut again. p in v (protected!), slight handjob, hair pulling, sucking on boobs, a bit of praising, very consensual, making out, hickeys, grinding, i think that's it??

this is how i pictured samy and will's first time going! because will's whole life was hockey, he never really had time for a lot of experimenting. there's small talk of religion in this (idk if will was/is actually catholic but somewhere i thought he was. take it all with a grain of salt, this is just how i thought it would go/how will and samy would be :))

au masterlist

one of the last days before summer ended and will couldn't stop thinking about one thing.

will's eyes glued themselves to samy's lips and the way she applied chapstick making her pink lips even more pink and glossier. he couldn't look away even if he wanted to because all he could think about was kissing that chapstick right off and the feeling of her plump lips against his own.

something had the blonde's brain wired up the past couple of days.

he couldn't stop staring. everything samy did, will's eyes were on her. drinking water? staring. playing volleyball? staring. jumping into the lake? oh, will was definitely staring.

he just couldn't tear his eyes away no matter how hard he tried. something was making the blonde's brain go haywire. he'd get worked up over the littlest thing like seeing the brunette in one of his boston college t-shirts and just her swimsuit. one second he'd look and the next he'd be painfully hard.

will felt like a fucking fifteen-year-old again going through the stages of puberty and getting hard at almost everything. he felt pathetic, really—stepping away to relieve the ache in his cock because him and samy have only been dating for two and a half months and the farthest they've gone was making out with shirts off.

he didn't know what too soon was and he did not want to make her uncomfortable with his weird boyish desires that had been creeping up a lot more lately.

so will suffered in silence and it was fine for a few days until him and samy caught themselves in a heated make out session while everyone was outside.

the boy nipped harshly at her lips, tugging her hips impossibly closer against his own. samy giggled—music to will's ears. her own fingers danced around in his hair, twisting it and tugging at the roots leaving the hockey player to see stars.

she shifted against him and will's boner pressed against her thigh. whether she noticed it or not, she didn't say anything. usually, neither of them would mention it when they started making out and they'd ignore it, but this time was different.

"are you always this hard?" samy breathed against will's mouth, pulling apart slightly.

"w-what?" the boy stuttered out earning a smile from the brunette.

"you're really hard," the girl commented making will blush embarrassingly hard—like whole face a tomato in seconds. he immediately shifted away from her, feeling embarrassed about how turned on he was from just kissing for five minutes.

"s-sorry?" he didn't really know what to say, but samy raised her eyebrow.

her boyfriend—a 6'0, forward, hockey player—was sorry that he was hard? she's known will her entire life for having such a hard outer shell—seeing him stand before her bright red and nervous seemed like such a different person than she's known, but samy didn't think it was a bad thing.

"why are you apologizing?" the girl laughed, pressing her hands against his torso.

"i-i don't know. i-i don't wanna make you uncomfortable?" will struggled finding the right words. he had a hard time reading samy's face which was rare considering how close they were.

"do you think i'm uncomfortable?" the girl wondered. will stared at her for a moment before slowly shaking his head.

"no.."

"you're right, i'm not. i think it's hot that you're hard. i mean, i'd be worried if you weren't," she laughed, easing some of the tension in the boy's shoulders.

the girl placed a finger on his chest, slowly dragging it down. she wanted to try something, watching the way a shaky breath escaped will's lips as he struggled to keep his eyes open under her touch.

the once stable boy seemed to crumble in her hands and boy, did that do something to samy's head and ego.

she carefully pushed the blonde back onto her bed where he stared up at her with a look in his eyes that was a mix of confusion and intrigue. a gentle smile spread across samy's lips knowing she wanted will to feel as comfortable as possible because at the end of the day, he was her best friend and the two have known each other since they were babies. this side of their relationship was still so fresh and new.

will's hands found their place on her hips as samy straddled his lap. this wasn't anything new. she was usually on his lap when their kiss became more heated, but right now, the feeling of her thighs pressed against both sides of will's legs did something to him. his hands shook while his heartbeat grew more rapid with each kiss they shared.

"you okay?" samy wondered between kisses. she could feel his rapid heartbeat from where her hands held their place at his neck.

"mhm, yeah," will managed between heavy breaths.

with that, samy continued kissing her boyfriend's lips while her fingers felt his silver chain beneath his shirt. she curled the metal around her one finger, slowly edging it out from under the shirt. the blonde was very aware of her hands on him, her touch like fire on his skin. the metal now dangled above his clothes along with the small cross pendent hanging off the end.

samy's hands dipped further down, attaching to will's neck and dragging back down his torso. a noise sounded from the back of will's throat that was a mix between a moan and whimper as samy's hand got dangerously close to where the boy wanted her touch the most. he's actually thought about this moment for weeks, always imaging it and hoping it'd become a reality.

finally, her hand palmed his bulge through his shorts. will's brain short-circuited, a loud "fuck" escaping his lips and then a "wait. wait."

samy immediately pulled her hand away, eyes jumping back up to her boyfriend's, "what?"

will's mouth worked faster than his brain, cursing to himself for making her stop before he could even think about it. his face flushed while samy searched his gaze worried she did something wrong or moved too fast. what she didn't know was that will wanted her to keep going. he just...how did he tell her this without her most definitely laughing at him?

"i-i've never..i've never done this..before.." the hockey player managed to get out.

a silence fell betweem them as samy took in his words and will quickly started internally panicking.

"oh."

that definitely wasn't the response will expected nor the statement samy expected from her boyfriend.

"oh? good oh? bad oh?" the boy searched her eyes, growing conscious of his revelation. maybe he shouldn't have told her.

"no, no, no. not a bad oh. just..surprising?" samy gently laughed, pulling her fingers through will's hair again. his eyes softened out, turning into puppy-dog eyes.

she did not think will was a virgin. the youngest hughes for sure thought will messed around in his dev years considering all of the girls that were always at the games and the ones his friends constantly talked about. he was a catch, so this news was very surprising to samy.

"oh," will muttered, unsure of how to feel, maybe embarrassed? ashamed?

hockey had always been will's number one. since he could walk, the only thing taking up space in his brain was hockey. hockey, hockey, hockey. girls was never something on the blonde's mind. not nearly as much as the sport he loved. wanting to be the best and prove how good he could be, will devoted all of his time to the ice which meant limiting his social interactions. it had always been that way and for awhile, will didn't mind. he went to an all boys school before moving to michigan, so it wasn't even a problem.

the status of his virginity or experience never mattered with who he was with because the guys were as locked in as he was—maybe not ryan when he started dating julianne, but their minds never wandered off too far. all of that changed when things in will's mind started shifting some years ago, when samy started taking up the spot hockey once did. soon, all his mind could think about was the girl he always saw as an annoying sister.

"hey, hey, don't feel embarrassed. it's normal," samy read the look on her boyfriend's face, quickly making him look at her. will just flushed even more under her stare.

virginity was a concept will heard a lot about growing up catholic. going to a catholic high school taught him a lot about "waiting until marriage" which wasn't something the boy entirely agreed with. his views definitely changed as he got older and thought less and less about his religion. obviously, not completely, though. the silver pendent dangling off his neck was a small reminder keeping him tied in, but that didn't mean he wanted him and samy to stop doing whatever they were about to do.

"h-have you..done this before?" will didn't even know if he wanted to know the answer. a pang of jealousy bubbled in his stomach at the idea of some other guy doing this with samy before he could.

"uh..yeah, but not a lot. like twice or something," samy quickly mumbled.

"oh."

"it was with that guy i dated briefly junior year. it wasn't anything crazy," the girl filled in making sure will knew she was no where near super experienced, but she knew a thing or two.

'"right," the blonde nodded. he remembered that guy a little too well, never really fond of him whenever he was around.

"we don't have to do this if you don't want to," samy said softly, caressing her boyfriend's cheek. he leaned into her touch.

"i want to..i just..i don't really know what to do past making out," will mumbled shyly, avoiding her gaze.

"that's okay. i can help," the girl encouraged with a smile. the hockey player met her eyes seeing how reassuring they looked.

"okay," he mumbled, smiling.

with that, samy attached her lips back to will's lips. the two shared another passionate kiss, the blonde's confidence slowly returning as he worked his tongue into the girl's mouth. she hummed, slowly dragging her hands through his curls before shifting lower again.

will felt drunk on her kisses. he never wanted the feeling of her lips against his to stop. his breath caught in his throat when samy's hand returned to the bulge in his pants.

"do you trust me?" the girl wondered. will nodded.

"gotta say it, will," she urged, needing a vocal confirmation.

"yes, i trust you," he managed through breathy pants.

will felt her grin against his lips as she slowly slipped her hand into his shorts. the boy jumped at the feeling of her warm hand against his clothed cock. "fuck," he let out.

"okay?" samy wondered.

"mhm, okay," the boy said, quickly nodding his head as samy stroked him through his shorts.

will's hips stuttered uncontrollably. his mind was racing along with the dreams he's had of him and samy doing this. her hand fit so perfectly around his length and god, it was so much better than his own hand.

"ugh, f-feels good," the blonde muttered, somewhat nervous still.

"yeah? feels good?" samy smiled, satisfied with the sounds she was pulling from will. he nodded with his head tipping back a little, struggling to keep his eyes open because he wanted to ingrain this moment into his brain forever.

his open neck was the perfect opportunity for the girl to pounce. she hooked her lips onto his throat, quickly sucking which pulled a guttural moan from within the boy. he bit hard on his lip in fear that someone would hear them while samy continued her stroking and nipping his skin. 

from knowing a small thing or two, will decided to try something. he slipped his hand up her shirt until it stopped on her boobs. a small gasp left his lips when he realized samy wasn't wearing a bra under her shirt. 

"okay?" the girl asked sensing his hesitation. 

"y-yes. yeah. you're not wearing a bra," he said a bit bluntly. a tiny chuckle left her lips. 

"is that okay?" 

"more than okay," will breathed. he cupped one breast with his hand, feeling samy's nipple harden under his touch. 

he stated rubbing it in tiny circles—something one of his teammates said girls like and boy, was he right. a soft moan escaped samy's lips which filled the blonde's chest with pride that he did that. 

he decided to keep going by adding a few squeezes on the covered bud. samy squirmed atop his lap which was definitely not helping the arousal in his pants, but will tried ignoring his own needs, wanting to focus all on samy. 

he continued that for another few moments before samy decided they needed their shirts off. she tugged at the bottom of will's and he quickly took the hint as he pulled it over his head. it flew somewhere in her room and his mouth watered a bit in anticipation for samy to lose her shirt. he'd never seen her completely naked on top, only with a bra still on. 

as soon as will saw her bare nipples, he thought he'd cum on the spot. they were so beautiful in a bra, the blonde had no idea they could get even better without a bra. 

"you can touch," samy nodded encouragingly. 

will slowly cupped both hands on her breasts. he squeezed before rubbing both of his thumbs over the buds. another moan left the brunette's lips, her head tipping back. the boy didn't waste a second attaching his lips to her skin like she did minutes ago. 

this wasn't new to will. he was practically a pro at giving hickeys in the most hottest, yet hidden places. samy's arms wrapped around his neck like she wanted him closer so his face was practically in her chest. 

he sucked everywhere across her top half—neck, collarbone, the soft flesh of the tops of her breasts. before will even knew it, her entire nipple slipped into his mouth and made contact with his tongue. 

a louder moan left the girl's lips and will knew he wanted to pull more of those sounds from her. 

"fuck, just like that will," samy moaned out, tugging harshly at the root of his curls. the boy hummed, trying to focus everything on samy and not his desperate need for a release. 

the girl let him go back and forth on each for a few more minutes before pulling him up and reconnecting their lips. will's swollen lips were slick with his saliva all while he tasted samy's signature gloss: strawberry. it made him dizzy in a good way because all he wanted was to kiss all of it off. 

"think you're ready?" samy wondered, not wanting to move too fast. the hockey player quickly nodded feeling the strain in his shorts and the way his hips were just involuntarily grinding against samy's core. 

"so ready." 

with that, she climbed off his lap, instructing him to pull his shorts and underwear down. samy dug through her drawer for a condom, flashing the imfaous rapper before pulling her own shorts down as well. will's entire mouth watered seeing her almost completely naked besides her underwear. 

"you're so gorgeous," the blonde muttered, not even able to tear his eyes away. 

will sat with his cock out where it occasionally twitched against his stomach. the tip was red and definitely ready, although he grew a bit conscious under samy's longing stare. 

did she not like it? was he not big enough? was he too big? 

the worries clouded will's brain until samy climbed back onto her bed, stroking her boyfriend's cheek to bring him back to reality, "remember, you can say no or stop at anytime, okay?" 

"i know," the blonde nodded. 

he watched his girlfriend rip open the rapper with her teeth which was quite literally the hottest thing he's ever seen. she found his gaze, silently asking permission to touch him. 

when he nodded samy's hand slowly wrapped arpund his length. her hand was enough to make him jump, "fuck." 

the precum oozing from the pretty tip was helpful as lube. as samy's thumb rubbed along the slit, will's head tipped back, eyes squeezing shut this time and his hands gripping the bedsheets. 

"so, so pretty, will," the brunette praised earning a large blush on his cheeks. 

"you think so?" he managed to get out through breathy pants. 

"mhmm. you're so big," when he found her gaze again the boy nearly lost it. she looked at him through hooded eyses, a mix of love and lust in her features. 

once will had enough, samy slowly slid the condom down. the plastic material caused a stutter in his hips and a small curse leaving his lips at his girlfriend's gentle touch. she fell back onto the bed, ushering the boy to follow her lead. 

he hovered over her, their breaths mixing together in slightly nervous pants. will's cock throbbed at the feeling of samy's entrance so close, yet he never broke eye contact. "just go slow and not rough," the girl explained. 

"right, of course," will nodded. 

he took ahold of his length, carefully directing it to samy's hole. the boy bit his lip, the anxiety bubbling in his stomach that he wouldn't do it right. the further he pushed his hips forward, the more his tip slid into samy. 

they let out loud moans at the first contact. "oh fuck," the boy moaned out. 

"like that, will. feels good," samy encouraged, gripping onto his biceps. 

he pushed himself further in, resisting every urge to thrust in, but his self-control was slipping fast. finally, he bottomed out. a mix between a sigh and groan escaped both of their lips. samy wrapped her legs around will's while they took a second to adjust. 

god, he felt even better inside of her. will thought the same as samy's walls squeezed every inch of his length along with his need to cum already. 

"whenever your ready," samy rubbed his back in soothing circles. 

"yeah, in a second. fuck, you feel so good," the boy muttered out. a thin line of sweat glistened across his forehead and at every inch where they were connected and touching. 

everything was so overwhelming for the hockey player. samy's boobs pressed against his chest, her legs wrapped around his, her squeezing him like her life depended on it. 

finally, will found it in himself to slowly start moving. he carefully raised his hips until just the tip was inside before pushing back in. 

"yeah, shit. so good," samy's praises fueled will's confidence as he picked up his pace little by little. 

"mm, fuck. you feel incredible. you're so beautiful," will rambled through his immense pleasure. 

he found a good speed while samy tried meeting his thrusts as well. the room filled with sounds of their sex and fuck, did they really hope no one walked by her room. 

will definitely wasn't going to last long. samy knew that based on how sensitive he was and the way his cock throbbed inside of her every time she squeezed a bit harder. the boy hid his face in the crook of her neck as his panting increased and incoherent thoughts tumbled from his lips. 

"oh fuck. fuck. yeah, mm—not gonna last," he managed through broken pants. 

"it's okay, you can cum," samy squeezed his shoulders. 

"want you to cum too," will had enough mind and knowledge to know that samy needed pleasure and a release too. 

he stuck his one hand between them, remembering from another teammate where the clit was. his fingers quickly rubbed it in fast circles wanting samy to release before he did despite his stittering hips and need to cum so close. 

samy's own hips stuttered at will's touch. she bit hard on his shoulder, trying to keep quiet as her climax approached. the pleasure overtook the pain, so will hardly felt a thing. 

"yeah, fuck. right there. keep going. don't stop." 

"god, i'm so fucking close. gonna make me cum. please tell me you're close," will urged, not sure how much longer he could hold back his load. 

"so close, will. keep going, please," the brunette nodded, voice high-pitched and squeaky. 

the dam broke. samy's climax hit her hard, her back arching off the bed further into will's chest. he wasn't far behind, spilling into the condom with the uncontrollale thrust of his hips and the string of curse words leaving his lips. 

"oh god, fuck. oh fuck," will collapsed, sweaty and spent. 

his hips continued in little stutters with a bit of aftershock. samy wrapped her arms tightly around his shoulders as his face hid in her neck trying to regain his lost breath. 

"did so, so good will. so good," the girl praised, kissing the side of his head. 

"best first time ever," the blonde sighed. 

he finally lifted his head to meet her gaze. his curls stuck to his sweaty forehead, but the smile never left his lips. samy just giggled, "glad you think so." 

will slowly pulled out, groaning at the feeling of his cock slipping out. he pulled the condom off, placing it in the trash before laying back down and scooping samy into his arms. 

"not so bad, right?" the brunette raised her eyebrow. 

"with you, it was perfect," his words made her flush. gentle kisses were placed against her skin trying to savor everything from the best moment ever. 

[ashwhowrites]

Smut prompt 30 with Dom Robin, please?

Where Robin basically worships reader's big boobs and so she sucks them SO hard, and basically do nipple orgasm with reader?

"I don't want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do"

I hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy it. Thank you for requesting 🫶🏻

(•)(•) Love

Y/N and Robin were in that stage where they were madly obsessed with each other. Y/N was the more quiet and shy one in the relationship. She wasn't used to being seen as sexy and the feeling of being desired. Robin talked...a lot, and was not shy of her opinions. If there was something she liked about her girlfriend, Y/N knew.

Which is why Y/N knew that Robin worshiped her boobs. Robin got lost in how soft they felt, memorized by the way her nipples hardened, and how big her boobs were. Robin wouldn't lie, Y/N's boobs were her favorite place to focus on during sex. Robin loved them in all positions. When Y/N is under Robin, her back is arched so her perfect round boobs were right against Robin's chest. Or when she was on top, bouncing and Robin's eyes locked on them.

But Robin was not the only person who admired Y/N's nice chest in everything she wore. Boys will be boys, and boys will stare right at her.

~~~

Robin and the gang arrived at the pool. Dustin, Mike, and Lucas excitedly stripping off their shirts and diving into the pool. Steve grabbed their shirts and brought them to the spot Robin had claimed.

"These kids never clean up after themselves" Steve groaned, tossing the shirts on an empty chair

"Oh Mom, let kids be kids" Eddie teased, stripping his shirt and adding it to the pile

Steve rolled his eyes but let the comment go, adding his shirt to the pile

Robin slipped out of her tank top, the warm sun soaking into her freckled skin. She felt eyes on her, cheekily turning to her girlfriend who sat on a free chair. When Robin's bright blue eyes met hers she quickly looked away.

"Already caught you, princess," she teased, loving the way Y/N got shy and tried to hide her face in her hands. "Wanna sunscreen me up?"

Robin smirked as Y/N stood up and eagerly grabbed the sunscreen. Robin was known to run the ship in many friendships. Look at her and Steve, Robin's way was always the right way. Robin enjoyed having that same power over her shy little girlfriend.

Robin moaned to herself as Y/N rubbed the cold sunscreen into her skin. Robin tried to keep her thoughts clean as she felt Y/N's fingers sliding under her swimsuit straps.

"I think I'm turned on," Eddie said as he laid back on his pool chair, arms behind his head and sunglasses covering his eyes

"You're a pig, Eddie" Robin sassed, but she knew Eddie meant no harm

"Come on Rob, I need someone to do me" he pushed up his glasses so he could wink at the two girls

"Ask Steve" Robin argued

"No thank you" Steve laughed as he rubbed the sunscreen over his hairy chest

After Robin was covered in lotion, she turned to her girlfriend. Y/N was still wearing her shirt and shorts.

"Need help?" Robin flirted, her hands on Y/N's stomach as she slowly moved down to her shorts

Y/N squeaked and gave Robin a look, "there are children here" she said as she swatted away her hands

"Yeah yeah, but come on, you can't swim with all those clothes" Robin teased

Y/N took off her shorts, and then her top.

Robin's eyes latched on the exposed skin of her girlfriend. Blue eyes focused on the way Y/N's boobs were barely held together from the thin bikini top.

Of course, Robin wasn't the only one to notice. Eddie and Steve tried to sneak subtle glances over, looking more than once. Steve wanted to be respectful of his best friend's girlfriend so he quickly left the situation.

Robin applied the sunscreen on her girlfriend, not shying away from rubbing it all over her chest

~

Robin tried to keep her jealousy in check as every boy turned his head to watch her girlfriend walk by. She knew with a sexy girlfriend times like this would happen.

Robin was glad the pool day was over and they were back at Robin's. She could have her girlfriend to herself.

"Cannot wait to wash the pool off of me" Y/N said as they walked into Robin's house. Robin agreed and they both made their way to the shower.

They helped each other strip naked, stealing kisses as they waited for the water to warm up. Y/N shivered as Robin's hands moved over her body, teasing her as she skimmed closer to Y/N's cunt. But she backed away, smirking as she walked into the shower

Y/N caught her breath and joined. She slipped behind Robin and kissed her back.

Y/N hummed as she soaped Robin's body and washed out her hair, trying to ignore how turned-on she felt from being wet and naked with her girlfriend.

They swapped places, and Robin rubbed the soap into Y/N's skin. She turned her around, face to face as she softly pressed her lips against Y/N's.

The kiss got heated as Robin let her hands wander and slip inside Y/N's cunt. Y/N purred in Robin's ear as she clenched around her. Robin pushed her against the wall, her mouth making its way down to her chest.

Robin softly fingered her as her lips kissed Y/N's left breast. She kissed all around the skin

Then she softly sucked the top of the skin, then the left, then the right. She sucked hard, the skin sucked inside her mouth. She moaned as she sucked as hard as she could.

She pulled back, admiring where the start of marks formed. Then she moved to the other breast, giving it the same attention. Robin's fingers knuckle deep as Y/N panted.

"Fuck Rob" she moaned

Robin hummed around her skin, smirking as she moved to wrap her mouth around Y/N's wet nipple. Robin bit her nipple softly, loving the way Y/N gasped and arched her back. She sucked softly on her nipple, almost like she was wishing for something to leak out. Y/N whined as Robin's warm tongue swirled around her nipple. Her cunt was empty as Robin moved her hand to play with Y/N's ignored breast.

One mouth on the other and her fingers pulling the other. Y/N felt like her brain was melted as she tried to stand on her feet.

Robin pulled back from her breast with her teeth, watching as her nipple stretched out until she let it go, watching as it smacked into place. Then she moved to the other one, sucking the nipple as she did with the right.

Robin used her fingers to pinch Y/N's nipple as her mouth sucked on the other one. Once again sucking it so hard. Then she bit down on it, and Y/N hissed as the pain traveled throughout her body.

"Rob, please finger me. I want to cum" she begged, her words heavy as she panted.

"You can cum, but not because of my fingers," Robin said as she released Y/N's nipple. Now using both hands to massage the skin

"What?" Y/N whined, her brain too fucked out to understand what was going on. Her cunt pulsed and that was all she could focus on.

"I'm going to make you cum just from this, you can do it for me. I know my pretty girl can," Robin cooed, rubbing Y/N's nipples with her thumb and pointer fingers

"Robbbbbbbbbb" she whined, throwing her head back as she bucked her hips forward. But Robin ignored it

"That's it, gonna cum for me?" Robin whispered, her husky voice made Y/N whimper and nod

Robin pinched and twisted both nipples at the same time, watching as Y/N's jaw fell open and a silent scream left her lips

"That's my good girl" Robin praised

"I don't want anyone else. No one else can make me feel like you do" Y/N sighed, a fucked out smile on her face

[vialae]

quick and easy 600ish words of gort and kai cuddling and chatting before going to sleep??

its not very heavily edited, so beware, but i just thought the idea was cute

Nigh on midnight, the bedroom was still and peaceful.

A fireplace quietly crackled, close to burning itself out entirely for the day.

All curtains but one had been pulled firmly closed, a sliver of moonlight shining onto the bed where two bodies lay snugly tucked under their many layers of bedding. 

Bane and Bhaal’s Chosen, settling down after a particularly long day, both wanting nothing more than to have some time to themselves.

Gortash was propped up on his elbow, a doting smile on his face as he leaned over Kaidos.

“I always liked you with long hair, you know.” 

“I don’t think you’d pull off long hair.”

“I don’t know, there were a few patriars that seemed to enjoy it.”

Kaidos laughed, his fingers combing through Gortash’s hair. Pointed nails gently ghosted along his scalp. The hand stopped on the nape of his partner’s neck, a large palm easily cradling the base of his skull. 

“If it was so popular, why’d you get rid of it?”

“It would irritate me. I got tired of tying it back each time I needed to work on something.”

“Or someone.” Kaidos grinned like a naughty boy as Gortash rolled his eyes, struggling to keep a smile from forming on his own face. 

The Banite leaned down, pressing a kiss to his partner’s lips before rolling off of him and back to his own half of the bed.

Kaidos had taken it as a sign to follow, barely waiting until Gortash had settled down before he shuffled into his personal space. His head rested on his shoulder, a short horn lightly pressed against the human’s jaw. A strong arm stretched across Gortash’s stomach and acted like a comforting weight with how it laid.

In turn, his own arm wrapped around Kaidos, fingers lightly tracing intricate patterns on the already inked shoulder. He felt an especially warm leg hook over his own, swiftly followed by a tail which coiled around his calf and squeezed ever so lightly. 

“What was my hair like when it was long?”

“Wavy. You always tied the top section of it back. During our meetings in summer, it was up entirely.” 

“Was it soft?”

“I don’t know. You had it cut before I got the opportunity to get my hands on you.”

“Did you want me to keep it?”

“You were - and still are - your own person, who can make his own decisions. I wouldn’t be so fickle in my desire for you over something as trivial as hair.”

“But in your fantasies and such, did I have long hair in them?”

Gortash went quiet for a few moments, thinking. His hand trailed down, smoothing against and then holding the thigh of the leg which had hooked over his own. “To begin with, yes. I was quick to adapt to how you would look before me, though.”

Kaidos hummed, craning his neck to make eye contact with Gortash, “Did you have a lot of fantasies about me?”

“Go to sleep, Kai,” He turned his head away from the Bhaalspawn’s, pretending to ignore the chuckle that freely flowed from deep within his partner’s chest. 

A strong, large hand gripped his jaw, forcibly turning his head until his dark eyes met the familiar flaming ones. 

“I just want to hear you say it.” 

In defiance, Gortash stared at his partner. 

The strong fingers slid down to his throat, twitching and eager to apply pressure. Gortash wasn’t sure if Kaidos was aware of the action. 

“I always thought about you a lot, my dear. How could I not?”

“Mm, so diplomatic of you,” Kaidos leaned in, pressing a kiss to his partner's lips before relenting back down to resting on Gortash’s shoulder once more. “Goodnight, Enver.”

“Goodnight, darling.” 

[sailorblossoms-snowbaz]

Agatha didn't want to go to the movies with Simon.

It seems like such a small and unimportant detail, but to me, it says everything. We have imagery, "symbols" or "shortcuts" used to represent romance or young love. We find them in visual media: girl and boy, facing each other, the girl's arms around his neck as they lean in, the boy always taller. Strong boy carrying the girl, princess style. Strong arms pulling her up, twirling. Sitting on a bench as the girl puts her head on the boy's shoulder. Lying on the grass, side by side, face close. Sitting in front of each other, sharing a drink (one drink, two straws) or on the sofa, with the boy's arms around her shoulder. The movies: in the car, in the theater. I just saw a comic page of two people in love, using a movie date panel and the drink sharing in a "they're together and in love" sequence, when this hit me...

Again: Agatha didn't want to go to the movies with Simon.

I get frustrated when these "shortcuts" or the typical imagery of romance is sincerely applied to those two to envision how their relationship must have looked like – as if our only options are to either operate with outside assumptions (instead of listening to them) or to believe they had a true young romance/were truly teenagers in love or else we're not taking them seriously or treating them with respect... But I think and write about them using "they were neither in love nor sexually attracted, but they dated, why?" as a starting point as much as I do because I'm dead serious, and the answers I arrive at like this feel very interesting and meaningful (comphet and heteronormativity are, after all, very real).

Agatha didn't want to go to the movies with Simon... going to the movies together, as boy and girl, is loaded with implications. It's one of the most typically "romantic" things one can do, one the most typical scenarios for a date. Simon wanting to go to the movies with her has likely little to do with romance and everything to with how, between Watford and the care homes, he had little to no chances to do typical things like going out with friends (and how, given that he stayed at Agatha's house during breaks and Penny was with her family, she would have been the only person around to try to do this) (Penny would have taken him to the movies... if someone saw Penny and Simon together then, they would likely assume they're a couple because again: typical date scenario, heteronormativity, etc)

It seems odd that Agatha would avoid or draw the line here, given that they were already dating anyway, but the manifestations of discomfort and unhappiness don't always "make sense." She even seems desensitized to the discomfort of it all – Simon doesn't think and tries to suppress the hell out of anything that's uncomfortable or bad or fucks him up to a crazy degree, but Agatha is not that far off in terms of making alarms bells go off. She describes recreating a typical "romantic" moment with Simon, but she doesn't say "he put his arms around me" when they were watching a movie on the coach... she paints the picture by describing gross and unappealing sensations (in a scene where at the same time, Simon is beyond uncomfortable, trying to force himself to do something he really doesn't want to do. Telling, that).

All of this is to say: the gestures of "romance" didn't come naturally to Simon and Agatha. They more than likely were not ever the blushy teens lying side by side in the grass while they stare into each other's eyes, they were not the girl happily floating as the strong boy picks her up in her arms and spins them. They imitated and recreated everything they did as a conscious choice (to fit in). They weren't truly impulses or an expression of wants or desires (interesting how the motivation to perform this could have been trying to find themselves, but in the process they were only losing themselves more. Both have a pretty good idea of who they're supposed to be together, but no idea of who they actually are).

Simon, who kisses Baz first and leaves all the thinking for later, actually asks himself "Should I kiss her? We haven't kissed this year yet" or something when it's Agatha. Like he's following a script, or mentally checking a to-do list, or there's a quota to meet, and not like he actually wants to kiss her. How odd it is for Baz to note "Simon has done this before" when Simon is kissing the heck out of him, because Baz is aware of expectations and that people who date would kiss... unless Baz's observation is a slip in a moment about challenging assumptions that reveals Baz hasn't seen them kiss (which would make sense). How a ball dance – part of the "imagery of romance" – is used to indicate so much while conveying the optics of straight romance: while Baz was acting up, making it known he didn't like them together, he targeted the ball and came between them, how Agatha goes "why don't you want to break up? because you don't want to be the only one without a date in a ball? I can go with you as a friend too, you know."

Agatha thinking nothing of using a gift from Simon as target practice; Simon "never mind, it doesn't matter" Snow purposely pushes any thought of getting (physically) close to Agatha in the context of dating out of his head and generally avoids it/wants to act like it never happened (how that contrasts with his "even sitting next to her makes you feel illuminated" when he's deluding himself, which is a closeness that doesn't involve intimacy or touching, a superficial "closeness" you could have with a total stranger), both showing how neither treasures jackshit about their time together – not a single part of it...

Agatha rejecting going to the movies (and what she says about the ball, too) seems to encapsulate how the gestures of romance didn't fit them and (again) didn't come naturally to them. That it comes from Agatha seems fitting too, since she's the one who thinks the most between the two of them

[sihaya74]

NEW The Lessons of Bryan Fuller's Hannibal S1:E4 -- FAMILY DON'T END WITH BREAKFAST

Lessons of Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal

S1:E4 – FAMILY DON’T END WITH BREAKFAST

And so dear friends and #FannibalFamily, we have arrived at S1:E4 of Bryan Fuller’s Hannibal, the episode titled “Oeuf.” And I just have to say it, and I’m sorry if this offends anyone, but I have always thought that oeuf is a weird-looking word. There. I said it.

            It’s not necessarily the combo of the three vowels all in a row. We have lots of those in English. I think it’s the ‘o’ followed by the ‘e.’ Whenever I see an “oe” combo at the beginning of a word, my mind immediately goes to the Greek tragic hero, King Oedipus, father slayer, mother lover, and poor, eyeless guy that he was. And then I think of Freud’s “Oedipus complex,” his now mostly debunked theory that all children, namely male ones, go through a stage in childhood in which they sexually desire their mother and develop an antagonistic attitude toward their father. Freud theorized that if parents were loving and not abusive, children would eventually exit this phase. Karl Jung coined the term “Electra complex” in which the theory applied to female children experiencing the same feelings about their fathers.

            It is funny of course that my brain has led me here because the events of “Oeuf” do indeed have to do with family – with mothers and fathers. Boys that have one mother too many, grown men that had mostly none, and a confused teenage girl who now has lost a mother and must contend with the memory of one dead father and the expectations of two live ones.

            They do so much to us – mothers and fathers. Good and bad. The sheer pressure of the idea often makes me glad I never had children. I can be content that the only person I have the power to mess up is myself. Hallelujah.

            An oeuf is an egg. The first three episodes of Hannibal were: “Apéritif,” “Amuse-Bouche,” and “Potage.” So, at this point, we have had an appetizer and a cocktail and a bit of hearty soup. And now out of nowhere – EGGS! In doing research, webpages about French cuisine informed me that the oeuf course is not typically included in a dinner menu. EXCEPT for this episode of Fuller’s show, in which Hannibal prepares breakfast for dinner, which is, in my opinion, one of the greatest traditions ever created. I eat breakfast for dinner quite often. It gives one a little bit of comfort at the end of the day, especially if the day was sad or rough or long. Yeah, your boss yelled at you and you slipped and fell in the parking lot and scraped your knees and there’s nothing good on TV tonight, but DAMMIT, you can have pancakes.

            Hell... Now I want pancakes…

            Anyway, it was sage Ron Swanson who said, “There has never been a sadness that can’t be cured by breakfast food” (Freedman). And even in an episode of a show about a cannibal psychiatrist and his obsession with a twitchy, beautiful FBI agent, breakfast comes through in the clutch yet again. More about that later…

            The title of this episode is also very apropos because eggs are symbolic in and of themselves. In each episode of Hannibal, a symbol emerges. In S1:E1, it was the MONGOOSE. In S1: E2, the MUSHROOM. In S1:E3, BOATS. Eggs are symbolic of fertility, abundance, birth, and rebirth. In this episode, we see the birthing of an important thing – a FAMILY. Fertilization occurred in the Hobbs’ kitchen in “Apéritif.” The insemination was messy and violent, but the result was the same. By Episode Four, it is time for nest-building. And we know exactly which bastard would be best at that, beautiful bird that he is.

            “Oeuf” was written solo by Jennifer Schuur (Big Love, The Catch). Undoubtedly, she is the namesake of poor Marissa Schuur, who wound up impaled on a rack of stag’s antlers in “Potage.” Personally, I think having a character named after you in an episode of one of Fuller’s shows an amazing and beautiful tribute. If it happened to me, I would probably stop people on the street to tell them about it. The episode was directed by Peter Medak (who has directed so many things I can’t even list them, but I just want to say that he directed Zorro: The Gay Blade which means that he is a true gift to the world forever.)

            Schuur wrote an absolutely masterful episode here. The overarching theme of FAMILY is cultivated through all five acts of the script. She shows us three separate families all developing and growing at the same time. They are:

Eva’s family of Lost Boys

The BAU family with Jack as the domineering father

The Murder Family – Abigail and her two beautiful, confusing dads

In every act of this story there is a part of our lesson – a bud, a leaf, a root – that ultimately bursts into full flower at the end of the episode. Sorry, I cannot extend the egg motif to this. Birds build nests in trees – Eva, Jack, and Hannibal all build different kinds of nests. One of them is sundered by the end.

The theme of family is introduced right away with Will sitting at the Turner family table, amidst the remains of a rotting family meal and the rotting remains of the family itself. Again, we see the pendulum swing – we see the decriminalization of the scene as Will views it in his mind. I believe this is one of the best set pieces of Fuller’s adaptation of Harris’ work. The pendulum swing, which signals to the viewer that the murder scene we are observing is about to be literally rewound and undone, is very effective. The image of the pendulum is taken directly from Harris’ Red Dragon. In the beginning of the novel, when Will is alone at the Leeds’ crime scene, Harris says, “In his mind, a silver pendulum swung in darkness. He waited until the pendulum was still” (11). In Fuller’s version, once the pendulum is still, the scene has been deconstructed and Will enters as the killer, metaphorically walking in the suspect’s steps and murdering with the suspect’s hands. It is one of my favorite parts of the series. Will ends every decriminalization with the phrase, “This is my design,” and I must say, it always gives me goosebumps.

            The Turner family has been killed by someone they knew, someone known and also short. The image of blood splattered all over the family portraits on the wall speaks to the theme of the episode and to the larger, real world concept of family. So much blood shed in families, by families, and for families in this world. Even if no one else has ever seen you bleed, your family has. It really can’t get more intimate than that.

            A bit of a thirsty sidenote here: during the murder recreation, Will points at the Turner daughter and commands her to “eat her growing foods” or forfeit dessert (Schuur 2). This is unbearably hot and a perfect example of Daddy Will in action. There is a continuing light-hearted disagreement amongst Fannibals whether Will is “Daddy” or “Baby,” to which I answer “YES.” To Will Graham stans like me, he is all things. He’s every woman; it’s all in him.

            After Will has recreated the murders, Jack enters the scene and the following bit of dialogue occurs:

            JACK CRAWFORD: What do you see, Will?

            WILL GRAHAM: Family values.

            JACK CRAWFORD: Whose family values?

The viewer can detect the note of cynicism here in both Will and Jack’s assessment of the scene. I often imagine that if Will had answered Jack’s question, he would have said something like “America’s.” In Fuller’s show, the true killing floor of the American family is laid bare just as David Lynch does in Twin Peaks. The horror isn’t at the movies, folks. It lives next door – it works at your local car dealership – it sits next to you in the pew at church.

            In the next scene, we cut to Will’s comfy Wolf Trap home, where Hannibal Lecter ascends the porch, enters through the front door, and begins feeding links of suspicious sausage to Will’s dogs. The script doesn’t indicate that the sausage is made of human flesh, but considering that later in this episode Hannibal feeds Jack boudin made from “rabbit,” (a very clumsy one in a plaid jacket we see being chased through the woods), I think it’s safe to guess that Hannibal made a lot of “rabbit” sausage.

            Hannibal then begins exploring Will’s home. This scene always feels to me like an animal marking its territory. I am a cat owner and I can tell you that my cats have rubbed themselves all over everything I own. One of my cats even waits on the bathroom rug, so as soon as I get out of the shower, she can be the first to rub against me and deposit her scent. What can I say? The felines love me. Hannibal pokes through Will’s books, and literally roots through his underwear drawer. When Hannibal encounters the stacks of size small white t-shirts folded neatly in this drawer, I wish he had pulled one out and gave it a good sniff. Considering Hannibal’s legendary sense of smell, this would have made tons of sense. If he had, it would have been akin to the scene in Harris’ Hannibal when Dr. Lecter literally tastes Clarice. He breaks into Clarice’s Mustang, sits there breathing in her scent and then, “he leaned forward, found the leather steering wheel by scent, and put around it his curled tongue, cupping with his tongue the finger indentations on the underside of the wheel…Then he leaned back in the seat, his tongue back where it lived, and his closed mouth moved as though he savored wine” (Harris Hannibal 285). “Did you just smell me?” indeed.

            Hannibal finishes his tour of Will’s home by admiring Will’s fly-fishing lures at his worktable set up for the process. The script indicates here that Hannibal sits down at this table and ties off a salmon tie Will has been working on, with his surgeon’s precision. Then, for a seemingly whimsical purpose (Get ready, y’all – this cannibal loves WHIMSY), he pushes the barb of the lure into his thumb, draws blood, and then puts the now injured finger into his mouth. The sound of Hannibal sucking the blood off is described as a “sound not unlike a quick kiss” (Schuur 4). If this scene isn’t showcasing the start of a tempestuous romance, then I don’t know what the fuck it’s doing otherwise. Yes, this is Hannibal-style reconnaissance, but it’s possessive and lingering and it’s about love, GODDAMMIT.

            Next, in the beginning of Act One, we see Abigail and Alana at Abigail’s hospital. They are walking the grounds, discussing Abigail’s therapy. Abigail explains that she feels lost, that she is without a home. As opposed to helping her, she feels like the support groups she is in are wringing her out. Abigail concludes that most of the other patients in these groups are merely being performative and false and that this style of therapy is of no help to her. Alana listens and commiserates, but she encourages Abigail to continue trying to open up in group. Abigail’s dissatisfaction with her therapy will come up later on in the episode. Alana, bless her heart, tries her best to connect with Abigail, to serve as a confidante and a reliable adult in the young girl’s life. But considering the horrific secrets Abigail continues to harbor, the only person who can really help Abigail is Hannibal; incidentally, that is exactly the way Hannibal wants it.

            We then see Alana arriving at Dr. Lecter’s office. Over her beer and Hannibal’s wine, they discuss Abigail’s progress at the hospital. Hannibal believes that the only way Abigail will make progress is if she is removed from the hospital and re-integrated into the real world. Alana vehemently disagrees. She cautions Hannibal about trying to become Abigail’s surrogate family because to Abigail it “would only be a crutch” (Schuur 9). Hannibal relents and agrees to Alana’s therapy plan, but we see later on that this promise Hannibal makes is an empty one.

            Now, back at the Turner crime scene, the entire BAU family is in attendance – Jack, Will, Jimmy Price, Brian Zeller, and Beverly Katz. Team Sassy Science (as Fannibals refer to Price, Zeller, and Katz) are processing and preserving evidence. Jack explains to all of them that the Turner family had another son, Jesse, who went missing the year before; authorities could not determine whether Jesse was a runaway or was kidnapped.

            We see a theme of appearance versus reality unfolding in this scene. The images families portray to the world and the actual horrors underneath. Will echoes this sentiment while examining the Turner family photos. He says, “False faces in family portraits. Layers and layers of lies betrayed by a sad glint in a child’s eyes” (Schuur 10). A big sad onion, the Turner family.

            In the next scene, Schuur very pointedly pulls the theme of family forward again. The team has returned to the BAU lab at Quantico. As they work, they discuss their own families. Price, Zeller, and Katz all had siblings. Will was an only child. The description of the staging for this scene in the script says, “Jack faces Zeller, Price, Katz, and Graham. He’s like a demanding father, presiding over his children as they present what they’ve just learned at school. Will stands slightly apart, not quite fitting into this surrogate family” (Schuur 12).

            Just as Will didn’t fit into his own family, now he does not fit into his work family. In this way, Will’s plight mirrors that of Chris O’Halloran, one of the Lost Boys we meet later, who is also having trouble integrating into his new family. Mind you, Chris’ new family is a lot more murdery than Will’s, but I believe this is an important parallel. As an empath, Will does not only relate to and inhabit the feelings of the killers; he feels into the lives of the victims as well. The Lost Boys are both – killers and victims.

            Although she is a controversial figure, there are some tidbits of wisdom to be found in the work of the late self-help guru, Louise Hay. In her book You Can Heal Your Life, Hay writes, “We are all victims of victims” (99). She uses this phrasing to describe what happens in families. Parents victimize their children in the same way that they were victimized by their own parents. If these children do not make diligent attempts to avoid recreating these patterns, they will victimize their own children in the same ways. In this manner, generational trauma is created. All of the Lost Boys in this episode are victims of their surrogate mother, Eva, and her desire for love and belonging. But these boys were victimized by their own families before Eva ever showed up – that’s how Eva could get to them. Their inherited pain opened the door.

            Also, Will not fitting in with his BAU family is juxtaposed with the family that Hannibal is preparing for Will. Throughout the episode, Hannibal is laying the groundwork to fuse his family members together. The Doctor’s plans do not turn out exactly as he wants them to, but he makes impressive progress.

            At the end of the scene at the BAU, Will concludes that Jesse was involved in his own mother’s death based on the positioning of her body at the dining room table. A posture of forgiveness and acceptance is what tips Will off.

            In Act Two, there is more intense discussion of family, this time between Hannibal and Will. Will sits in the familiar leather chair in Hannibal’s very well-appointed office and Hannibal begins their session with the classic, and cliched psychiatrist’s open: “Tell me about your mother” (Schuur 15). Even though Will castigates Hannibal for the “lazy” questioning, we still find out a great deal about both Will and Hannibal’s family histories in this scene. Will never knew his mother and grew up poor, following his fisherman father around from port to port. Hannibal’s parents died when he was young; he was an orphan until his Uncle Robertas adopted him at sixteen. I should note at this point, being the insane fan that I am, Bryan intended for the person to play Hannibal’s uncle in later episodes to be David Bowie, which would have been absolutely perfect beyond reckoning. The only man on earth who has cheekbones to rival Bowie’s is Mads Mikkelsen, so selling them as actual blood family would not have been difficult in the least. We lost a lot of things when the Starman left us; this amazing opportunity was one of them. It will always be my headcanon, and that’s the best that can be done. (BTW - #BowieForever).

            Hannibal stresses that he and Will both have a lot of things in common with Abigail; their complicated relationships with family is yet another. In this exchange between the two men, an important piece of dialogue occurs that I must quote in its entirety.

            WILL GRAHAM: There’s something so foreign about family. Like an ill-fitting suit. Never connected to the concept.

            HANNIBAL: You created a family for yourself.

            WILL GRAHAM: I created a pack of strays. Thanks for feeding them while I was away…

            HANNIBAL: I was referring to Abigail Hobbs (Schuur 16).

Once again, in looking at the scripts in more detail, I am amazed at the sheer manipulation Hannibal attempts, just right out of the gate, just four episodes into Season One. Hannibal says that it is Will who has created a family with Abigail. I assume he means by killing her father. But, in fact, it is HANNIBAL who has created the family because he is the one who saved Abigail’s life. In that moment in the Hobbs’ kitchen, after Garrett Jacob Hobbs slashes his daughter’s throat, after Will shoots him ten times, after Will rushes to Abigail’s side, who is bleeding out on the floor, just a matter of minutes from death – in that moment, if Hannibal had not intervened, Abigail would have died. Will was way too upset – he was shaking life a leaf from head to toe. He looked as if he was having a panic attack, like he would pass out – his expression is terrifying as his entire body vibrates with his ragged breaths, blood splattered all over his face and his glasses. If you need just one scene from any film or TV show he has ever acted in to understand why Hugh Dancy is such a fucking amazing actor, this scene is the one.

            When Will places his hand over Abigail’s wound to stop the bleeding, he can’t apply enough pressure. He is too upset – too much blood leaks between his fingers. Behind him, Hannibal stands. Looking at his face, (more of Mads’ genius microexpressions), the viewer sees him make a conscious decision to get involved. As if his mind said aloud, “All right, I shall intervene here. I think I know how I can use this.” Use this? For what, you ask? To get Will. To get Will to spend more time with him, care for him, talk to him – perhaps, already, in feverish fantasies, he has imagined Will killing with him. Even though events often make us question whether or not Hannibal truly loves Will, he does. It’s all about Will. From “Do you have a problem with taste?” to “See? This is all I ever wanted for you, Will. For both of us,” it’s all about Will. I can’t say I blame Hannibal. If Will Graham stumbled into my life, I think it would immediately become all about him too.

            In this conversation, Hannibal is continuing his laying of groundwork. It started in the Hobbs’ kitchen – then, he stayed by Abigail’s side in the hospital. So did Will. Even when she was in her coma, the two men protected her.

            The return to Abigail’s family home in “Potage” is like a ceremonial goodbye to her old family. Her old family who was at least partially killed by her new family. This is the same as Eva is doing. Eva says to her Lost Boys later in the script, “you can only have one family” (Schuur 28A). Apparently, Hannibal believes this as well. It is astonishing how quickly he moved to build himself this new family once he made the decision. It once again proves just how intensely Hannibal was KO’d by Will at their first meeting. It also proves that the loneliness Hannibal has been experiencing since his sister Mischa’s death is becoming unbearable. In Harris’ canon, Hannibal tries to turn back time. In Fuller’s version, Hannibal creates a family from blood and violence.  

            In the next scene, we see Jack and Hannibal having a lovely dinner together in Hannibal’s royal blue dining room. Out of all the set designs in the show, I love Hannibal’s dining room the most. It reminds me of the first lines of Bowie’s “Sound and Vision” – “Blue, blue, electric blue – that’s the color of my room, where I will live – blue, blue” (“Sound and Vision – David Bowie”). Hannibal tells Jack that they are eating a boudin noir made from “rabbit,” the aforementioned plaid-jacketed one. I always find it hilarious how amused Hannibal is by feeding people meat to people without their knowledge. It’s almost penetrative. It’s so male. Hannibal will get inside you one way or the other. The two men discuss Will. Jack is concerned that the Lost Boys case is hitting Will too close to home. Hannibal suggests that Will’s life in the past is not properly anchoring him. “He needs a anchor, Jack,” Hannibal says (Schuur 19). But that anchor is not Jack. Hannibal is already Will’s paddle, he might as well be his anchor too. Hannibal is just like Will. He’s every woman. It’s all in him.

            Back at the BAU, Team Sassy Science examines more evidence from the Turner crime scene – soda cans, shoes, video game controllers. From this evidence, the team determines that there were three other boys with Jesse at the crime scene. Zeller is the one who dubs them, “The Lost Boys.” This is, of course, an apt moniker because both the Peter Pan tribe and the pack of film vampire teens are examples of created or found family. They are misfit children, all of them. Price pulls Connor Frist’s fingerprints, which will lead them to their next crime scene.

            Next, we see Jack storming into Will’s Quantico classroom and very unceremoniously dismissing his students. He tells Will about Connor Frist, who went missing ten months ago, and that Will must get ready to board a plane with the team to the Frist’s home in Huntsville (I assume Alabama.)

            Cut to the BAU team and other officers entering the Frist family home, which is all decked out for Christmas, even though it has not been the holiday season for some time. The mother, father, and two smaller Frists are all dead. A dog trots into the scene carrying a decapitated arm. You gotta give it to Fuller and all the writers on this series. The humor is darkness at its finest.

            Act Three begins back at the BAU with Team Sassy Science examining the bodies of the Frist family. They discover that one of the bodies is the Lost Boy Connor Frist himself, who was apparently shot and then his body burned in the family fireplace. Together the team theorize that Connor tried to kill his mother, but she did not die with the first shot to her head, and possibly began having a seizure, which caused Connor to panic. Because of this panic, someone taller with a larger caliber weapon dispatched both Connor’s mother and Connor himself. Down feathers found with Connor’s remains indicate that someone put a pillow under the boy’s head before he was shot. The juxtaposition of the savagery and compassion of the Frist scene befuddles Jack, but Will manages to catch the loose thread of the fabric saying of Connor’s death, “Whoever shot him… disowned him” (Schuur 26).

            Next, we see Will in Hannibal’s office again. I found myself beginning to question at this point if every time we see Will in Hannibal’s office if he is attending his therapy session or if he and Hannibal are close enough now that he just goes to Hannibal’s office whenever he needs to talk. I know his appointment time with Hannibal is 7:30 p.m., but I am unaware if it is every week or every other day or every day. (If anyone reading this knows, please comment.) Will is angry when he enters Hannibal’s office – not at Hannibal, but at himself and at the Lost Boys. He tosses down a very plain, but neatly wrapped package that he says he intended to be a gift for Abigail: “Magnifying glass. Fly tying gear,” but that he “thought better of it” (Schuur 27). After buying the gift, Will realizes that Abigail’s father taught her how to hunt and that the idea of Will teaching her to fish bears too strong a resemblance to the trappings of fatherhood. Hannibal asks Will if he is “feeling paternal;” he confirms that he is and asks Hannibal if he feels the same, which Hannibal also confirms, but also passes along Alana’s warning about the dangers of assuming new familial roles for Abigail. Will then explains that he is actually angry about the boys in the case he is currently working. A great deal is made of Will’s almost perfect empathy. Several plotlines in the series really bring it to the fore and rely on it for dramatic movement. But Will’s empathy is also showcased in small moments like this one with Hannibal. Will says, “I’m angry about these boys. I’m angry cause I know when I find them, I can’t help them. I can’t give them back what they gave away” (Schuur 27). Will is angry because the boys cut themselves off from the one thing Will never really had – family. Jack Crawford is correct – the case is hitting Will too close to home. But most importantly, Will is upset that he will not be able to help the boys once he tracks them down – to Will, actually finding them is secondary. Being able to fix something once he does is paramount. It is a horribly naïve view for someone who spends as much time with murder as Will does, but it is the essence of who Will is. Will cares. But he also cares too much. People who care too much run the sincere risk of burning themselves out – and when they do, God help those around them. Their new life philosophy doesn’t always shift into “don’t give a fuck,” it shifts into “I’m gonna make people pay.” Not always, but as a person who cares too much, sometimes I really crave a villainous turn for myself… I’ll never do it. I’m too soft-hearted.

            In this context of Will’s anger at the boys who sacrificed their own loving families, Hannibal enters with the verbal equivalent of quick-dry cement and a rake. AKA, groundwork manipulation. He remarks to Will, “Abigail is lost, too. Perhaps it is our responsibility, yours and mine, to help her find her way” (Schuur 28). See? You and me, Will. You and me. You can’t fix what’s wrong with these boys, but together we can fix Abigail. Won’t it feel nice to create something rather than destroy it? Won’t it feel nice to belong somewhere, to belong to someone? Hannibal is a genius. Completely unethical, but when Hannibal wants something or someone, he doesn’t let anything get in his way, even if he has to eat them.

            Now, we see for the first time in the episode our Lost Boys family – but we see them with their surrogate mother, Eva, played insanely well by Molly Shannon, who absolutely kills in dramatic roles. Personally, I love comedic actors in dramatic roles; I feel they are able to shift back and forth seamlessly because in all forms of comedy is the element of darkness – the dissatisfaction or anger or fear or sadness that drove the creator to write it. But, I digress…

            Eva is sitting in a diner with her three “boys,” C.J. Lincoln, Jesse Turner, and Chris O’Halloran. Over burgers and fries, the “family” is discussing what happened to Connor. Eva makes Connor’s murder sound like a mercy killing, that he was granted the love he could not kindle for his new family. Chris asks about Eva’s “real” family – she vaguely mentions a brother and it seems he was not particularly kind to Eva. Eva (and her name is Eva, I imagine, to be like that of Eve, the first mother ever in Christian mythology) – Eva says, “The family you’re born into isn’t really family. Those are just people you didn’t choose. You have to make family” (Schuur 28).

            In expressing this, Eva is expressing the feelings of very real people, many of whom are in Hannibal’s audience, who have been disowned by their families. Or, people who have had to walk away from their own families in order to preserve their own safety and sanity. Families are rent apart for all reasons under the sun, but the ones I hear of most often are because of neglect, abuse, and marginalization. Children are disowned by their parents for all sorts of reasons – the child is queer or the child doesn’t want to be a doctor or the child isn’t religious or the child has an addiction or the child suffers from mental illness or for whatever shitty reason the disowning parent needs to make themselves feel justified. But also, children cut their parents off all the time too – for similar or equally shitty reasons. These people then go on to create new families wherever they can find them – at work, in the military, at school, online, at the gym, or in their own minds.

            If a family member is hurting you and won’t stop and you are able to get away, you owe it to yourself to do so. I would never, ever say that someone should stay in a situation where they are unsafe or unhappy or in danger. Many people need their new families like air because their real families will never be mended – the gap will never be bridged and in many cases shouldn’t be. But to loop back to Louise Hay, I must offer her wisdom again, “We are all victims of victims.” Families, all of them, of every ilk, are messy. No one emerges unscathed. No one.  

            In the next scene, we see Will alone in his classroom at Quantico, sitting at his desk, studying photos of Jesse Turner and Connor Frist. The beautiful and badass Beverly Katz comes in. Will tells her he believes all of the Lost Boys have ADHD because they are small for their age and this could indicate they have been taking meds that have stunted their growth. Bev informs Will that Price has identified the gun that killed Mrs. Frist; it was used to kill C.J. Lincoln’s mother a year ago.

            Now, we see all of Team Sassy Science, Jack, and Will looking at a picture of C.J. along with his juvenile criminal record on a screen. They bandy about theories about C.J. Will does not believe he is the ringleader. He believes the leader to be a still older boy.

            Meanwhile, Eva’s family of Lost Boys are at a convenience store. As young Chris stands next to Eva at the cash register, C.J. glares at Chris from behind a shelf of soda bottles. C.J.’s eyes are as flat and cold as a sheet of ice. The boy is dead inside. Chris is terrified. He involuntarily urinates all over himself. When Eva discovers Chris’ now wet state, she cleans up the puddles using napkins from the counter and tries to console Chris, though she is completely unaware of the cause of Chris’ distress. I guess being a murdering criminal really doesn’t prepare a person for sudden motherhood of mentally disturbed children. Gosh, who woulda thunk it?

            We shift now back to Abigail Hobbs’ very posh psychiatric hospital. (I find myself wondering who is paying for Abigail’s stay in the upscale sanitarium. The FBI? Based on the state of health insurance in America, I doubt her parents’ insurance is covering it. That and both her parents are dead. I wonder if Hannibal is paying for it. I wonder if legally Jack could have allowed Hannibal to bankroll Abigail’s recovery. Hannibal has the money, trust me. I will discuss my theories about the source of Hannibal’s funds in a later post, but let’s just say it’s a combo of family money and dead people money.)

            Hannibal invites Abigail to leave the hospital for the evening and come to his house so he can make her a proper dinner. Abigail questions whether the hospital administration will allow her to leave after her egregious wall-climbing episode in “Potage.” Hannibal’s response to her is very significantly phrased: “You could say I’m one of your guardians” (Schuur 31). The foundation of Hannibal’s House is almost complete – the pillars have been sunk. Just need to wait for the concrete to dry.

            Hannibal tells her he will have her back by bedtime. As Abigail gets ready to leave with Hannibal, she comments about how much she dislikes being in group therapy. She cannot be open in group because she cannot tell them about her murder of Nick Boyle. Hannibal says, “You must only lie about one thing. And when you’re with me, you don’t have to lie about anything” (Schuur 31A). The purpose of this comment is twofold. First, it is more of Hannibal preparing the way for his Murder Family – all families have secrets, silly ones and painful ones and all kinds of hidden information. Hannibal is now the only person in the world Abigail can tell the truth to – Hannibal has effectively isolated her from everyone, even people like Alana who are actively trying to help Abigail in good faith. This in Hannibal is classic narcissist behavior and we see him do it with almost everyone he really cares for – Abigail, Bedelia, and especially Will. The second purpose of this comment is that Hannibal is absolutely convinced that Abigail helped her father kill his victims and he wants Abigail to come clean with him, Hannibal keeps secrets like he keeps business cards, but if he has identified you as someone that belongs to him, you are not allowed a single secret of your own. He will poke around in your underwear drawer or your subconscious or both until he gets the truth. I suppose one could look at their subconscious as the underwear drawer of their mind. If so, both of mine could use a good cleaning. Anyway…

            Act Four begins in Hannibal’s kitchen, the setting of many important scenes in the series. It makes me think about the tried-and-true principle that when a person throws a party, no matter how large or luxurious the rest of the house is, the bulk of the partygoers wind up in the kitchen. A good deal of the things that happen in Hannibal’s kitchen could not be termed as “parties,” but there definitely is a lot of action and drama in this room. Hannibal is making breakfast for dinner, a recipe, in fact called, High Life Eggs. Should you like to recreate this recipe, you must immediately acquire yourself a copy of Janice Poon’s Feeding Hannibal. Janice was the food stylist for the series. She is an amazing chef, stylist, and person to boot. She loves her Fannibal Family and the book is resplendent with full color photos and a foreword by Mads himself. No Fannibal library is complete without a copy. High Life Eggs is eggs and sausage. It looks delicious.

            As Hannibal cooks, Abigail stands in the kitchen and the two discuss her future. She discovers that on a side counter Hannibal is steeping mushrooms in a teapot. He encourages Abigail to drink the tea, laced with the fungi’s psilocybin, to help her process the traumatic memories of her father. Abigail agrees.

            Now back at the BAU, Team Sassy Science and Jack and Will are looking at a case board filled with photos of the Lost Boys and the timeline of their abductions and the subsequent family murders. The boys are traveling southbound, but since none of them are of driving age, the team is confused as to how they are moving that way. This is the moment that the idea of an adult who is traveling with the group enters Will’s mind. He determines that the boys have been capture-bonded to this adult who now serves as their new master. Based on Will’s hunch, Jack expands his search.

            We return to Hannibal’s kitchen where Abigail Hobbs is now totally on a full-blown shroom trip. In her inebriated state, she drops a teacup on the kitchen floor and watches it shatter. This is the introduction to one of Hannibal’s most predominant and important motifs. The provenance of this motif in Harris’ work will be discussed in a later post, but it would be remiss of me not to mention the first occurrence of the teacup, a symbol of fraught and delicate meaning in the series. Hannibal explains that Alana would not approve of him giving psilocybin to Abigail, but that it will be one of “many secrets” the two of them will share (Schuur 36). It occurs to me at this point that Hannibal “capture-bonds” people to him just as Eva does – well, with definitely more nuance and finesse, but the philosophy is the same. Because Hannibal knows about Abigail’s murder of Nick Boyle and has helped her cover it up, he always has this secret to use against her, and should she get out of line, it is the threat of the revelation of that secret that keeps her bound to Hannibal. Much, much later, Alana calls it blackmail and she is absolutely correct. Abigail also stays connected to Hannibal because let’s face it – he’s damned charming and seems to give her exactly what she needs. If you need an attentive daddy and aren’t very picky about his criminal record, one could do a lot worse that Dr. Hannibal Lecter.

            Abigail begins experiencing the nauseous phase of a hallucinogenic trip. Hannibal coaches her through it, and tells her to lean into her feelings. She muses dreamily that Hannibal is making breakfast for dinner. Then, a very crucial dialogue exchange occurs.

            ABIGAIL HOBBS: Eggs and sausage was the last meal I was having with my parents.

            HANNIBAL: I know. It’s also the first meal you’re having with me.

Again, Hannibal proves himself to be an astonishingly devious motherfucker. The meal selection is purposeful. The mushroom tea is purposeful. In Abigail’s state of enhanced consciousness, her senses will be teased with the nostalgia of the smells and tastes of her family kitchen – but now, instead of her father preparing that same meal, she will see Hannibal. The smells, the tastes, the memories will all blur together and Hannibal will become her new father. Although Hannibal’s weapon of choice is a good knife, throughout the series, he also wields a more subtle one – drugs. He drugs so many people in the series it is difficult to list them all. As a doctor, he is aware of all the medications, both natural and synthetic that can be used to warp the human mind. And he makes use of them all. If you don’t love him, he’ll dose you with scopolamine and flashy lights until you do. Like I said, Hannibal gets what he wants – no matter what.

            The significance of the breakfast meal reaches a higher note when the viewer realizes at the end of the episode that the other person Hannibal intended to be sitting at the dining room table with he and Abigail was Will Graham. If Will hadn’t been otherwise engaged, Hannibal’s plan to cement the foundations of his family that night over sausage and eggs might have been successful.

            Hannibal and Will both have, in their own ways, tried to place themselves in Abigail’s life as new family members, new fathers. The difference is in intention and execution. Will stumbles into this new fatherhood and seems to have only the best hopes for Abigail, although his own motives seem confusing to him. Hannibal executes his plan with precision and solid intent. Since “Apéritif,” he has incrementally been making both Will and Abigail more accustomed to the idea of the three of them as a family. He insinuates the idea into their subconscious minds and he also states it just flat out to their faces. Hannibal comes at you from all sides. When he wants something, Hannibal will get it by hook, by crook, or if you are unlucky, by something sharper.

            Back at the BAU, Alana has come in to help Jack’s team try to identify the Peter Pan of the group of Lost Boys. She and Will and Bev all look at files and photos of kids who have gone missing and fit the basic profile Will has worked up. Through discussion and teamwork, they pull out the file of Chris O’Halloran as a possible Lost Boy. When Alana says that the boys are like, “brothers looking for a mother,” everything clicks in Will’s mind (Schuur 39).

            Will goes to talk to Jack. He tells Jack that the leader of the boys is a woman who is “looking to form a family” (Schuur 39). Jack says, “Family can have a contagion effect on the alienated. You adopt the same behaviors” (Schuur 39).

            This, of course, is exactly what is happening to Will and Abigail as Hannibal’s contagion works its way into their system. Will, as an empath, is already known for adopting the behaviors of those around him, even down to their ways of speaking and physical gestures. But, like Hannibal, Will is becoming more protective of Abigail. Like Hannibal, Abigail is lying more often, and is learning how to lie better. And they both are becoming more reliant on Hannibal. The virus is already in their system. I would imagine that under a super-powered microscope, the Hannibal virus wears a little three-piece suit and you can hear strains of a tiny piano playing The Goldberg Variations. It’s absolutely true and you can’t convince me otherwise.

            The BAU team then comes up with video camera footage of Chris O’Halloran in a convenience store with Eva. Chris’ family lives in Fayetteville, North Carolina, and so the team gears up to descend on that home.

            Act Four ends with Chris on the front doorstep of his family home, ringing the doorbell. His mother opens the door and is overwhelmed with joy to see her missing son returned to her. Until C.J. steps onto the porch holding a gun.

            Act Five begins with an FBI SWAT team and all of Team Sassy Science and Jack and Will storming into the back yard of the O’Halloran home. The boys are holding Chris’ family hostage at gunpoint around a barbeque grill. SWAT shoots and kills C.J. Chris runs. As Jack and the rest of the team tend to Jesse Turner and the O’Halloran family, the patriarch of which has been wounded, Will catches up with Chris by the pool. Chris has a gun. Will begins coaxing Chris to put the gun down. The boy is conflicted, confused. Eva suddenly steps out from behind the pool house and settles in behind Chris. She drapes her arm in a motherly embrace around Chris’ neck, revealing her firearm. She commands Chris to kill Will. Will begins baiting Eva. He questions the horrible things she has done to the boys, her “family” she supposedly loves – she kidnapped them; she forces them to kill people. At this point, Eva says something that is very key to our lesson.

            EVA: I’m honoring them like their other mothers wouldn’t. They’re not invisible anymore. I can see them. I see who they are and love them (Schuur 40A).

            Seeing and being seen is one of the most dominant and recurring themes in Hannibal. Acceptance and understanding are as well. More about that in my conclusion.

            Eva continues to push Chris to shoot Will. Chris freezes. When Eva raises her own weapon to fire at Will, from behind him, there is a shot. The camera cuts to show that the shot has come from Beverly Katz. Eva is hit in the shoulder. As she falls, Chris is released. Bev takes the kid away and Eva is arrested.

            We now see Chris sitting in the back seat of Jack Crawford’s car. Jack gets in the driver’s seat and turns over his shoulder to talk to Chris. Jack is preparing Chris for the long hours of questioning and court proceedings that are in his future. Chris asks about jail and then says of Eva, “She told me they weren’t my family. That we had to make our own family” (Schuur 43A). Chris asks to speak to his real mom, but Jack tells him that can’t happen until later, probably after a good deal of interrogation. Jack takes Chris away.

            Now, at Hannibal’s house, we see that Alana has arrived and is laying into Hannibal about checking Abigail out of the hospital without her permission. In a line that is absolutely hilarious to the #FannibalFamily, Alana says, “Rude, Hannibal. Shockingly rude” (Schuur 43A). It has all sorts of implications, but I find myself most often wondering if Hannibal could lop off a small bit of himself for Alana to eat or even more to the point, if he could find a small piece of his body that he could eat himself. The rude get eaten. Hannibal is definitely more than a snack. He's a five-course meal.

            Hannibal apologizes. He tells Alana that she was right, that Abigail was not yet ready to leave the hospital. She suffered some distress and so Hannibal has given her “half a valium” (Schuur 44). The two go into the dining room, where Abigail sits, her eyes watery with stoned emotion. Alana sits in the place at the table that was meant for Will. Abigail smiles brightly and stares at Hannibal and Alana. The image of her two guardians shift into a beautiful image of her parents. When Hannibal asks her what she sees, Abigail says, “I see family” (Schuur 45). The episode ends.

And now dear readers, the LESSON.

To which you say, “Oh my God, about fucking time!”

I promised you a lesson. I never promised brevity.

            Outside of Hannibal, in the non-fiction world, some people are lucky enough to have “real”  family members who are kind and reliable people. Still, many people have to leave their “real” families behind and find and make their own. I have delineated the reasons people must walk away from family before – abuse, neglect, or any shade of agony along the spectrum of wielded pain.

            Many people are crucified by their families for being the one thing those family members cannot tolerate – DIFFERENT.

            When I was a little girl, I loved Mr. Rogers. I still do. I love him with all my heart. One of the reasons I loved good ol’ Fred was because every single day, he told me, “You’ve made this day a special day by just your being you. There’s no person in the whole world like you, and I like you just the way you are” (Fred Rogers, every day).

            And so the lesson…

            “REAL” FAMILY LOVES US FOR EXACTLY WHO WE ARE.

            They love our strengths and our weaknesses. They love our admirable traits and our not so admirable ones. They love our morning breath, and our crappy dancing, and our little idiosyncrasies. They love the big things about us too. They don’t shame us for being who we are and they don’t try to change us to fit some ridiculous standard that they deem to be more “acceptable.”

            They love our scars as much as our smiles.

            If your own family doesn’t love you like this – get you a new one. Even if you have to make it.

            Just don’t kill anybody.

            Try social media. I hear tell there’s lots of folks there.

            By the way, I must send MUCH, MUCH LOVE to my #FannibalFamily.

            Eva was wrong. You can have more than one family. I have two.

            Here endeth the lesson…

References:

Freedman, Adrianna. “54 Ron Swanson Quotes from ‘Parks and Recreation’ Guaranteed to Make You Laugh.” Men’s Health, www.menshealth.com/entertainment/a34774462/ron-swanson-quotes. Accessed 18 Jan. 2023.

Harris, Thomas. Hannibal. New York, Delacorte Press, 1999.

Harris, Thomas. Red Dragon. New York, Berkley, 2000.

Hay, Louise. You Can Heal Your Life. New York, Hay House, Inc., 2004.

Rogers, Fred. The thing he said on every single episode of Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood.

Schuur, Jennifer. Writer. “Oeuf.” Hannibal, season 1, episode 4, Chiswick Productions, 2012.

“Sound and Vision – David Bowie.” Lyrics.com, www.lyrics.com/lyric/32096867/David+Bowie/Sound+and+Vision      . Accessed 18 Jan. 2023.

[therubymuse]

On Discovering My Inner Fatness

CW: I’m going to be talking about a subject that a lot of people find uncomfortable, both because of how they’ve come to see their bodies, and because of how society dictates our worth. The usual content warnings apply, including but not limited to talk of weight gain and loss, weight numbers, and eating disorder discussion. You are welcome to go and return to this at any time, or peace out entirely. No hard feelings. You do you, boo. Know your boundaries. 

~

It’s all too easy to write off our experiences as children, and the experiences of our children, as just weirdness we’ll grow out of. It comes from a place of relief for parents, knowing that every new thing they see a child do, is not some indicator of their futures, positive or negative. However, as transgender folks can tell you, a lot of time, when we wished our parents had noticed our differences, they chalked those differences up to childhood weirdness. And a lot of times, this becomes one of the first disservices we do to our children, and that we do to ourselves, when examining our own childhoods. That important turning points in our young lives were of no consequence. 

I’ve used being transgender as a starting point for this examination, and will continue to throughout this work, but it can easily be extended to other truths children discover about themselves. When I was a child, it was extremely painful and laborious, addressing my body. Part of that was the incongruences I saw between myself and other girls, growing up as I did in a body that told others I was a boy. But part of it was also how small and fragile my body appeared compared to other bodies. I had no extra weight on me, at any point in my childhood and into young adulthood. This developed into a pathological need to keep that weight off, and for a few years in my early teens, I was anorexic, though I didn’t tell anyone. I just never took my shirt off in front of other people, and I dissociated when people made comments about my body. 

One of the comments I heard often in young adulthood and into adulthood was, why would I be ashamed of my body? (Insert person/group here) would love to have a body like mine! I don’t know why people thought this was comforting? I guess a lot of people’s trouble with their bodies is rooted in what other people think of them, but for me, it was what I saw, not what others saw. The other regularly repeated comment was, if I was so uncomfortable, why don’t I go work out? Surely that would help how I saw myself, but this too caused me discomfort and more dissociation than I care to admit. When I saw bodies that worked out, the supposed ideally attractive body for young men, I was uncomfortable, and aghast when I realized this was what people expected me to aspire to. I did not want to be a bigger and harder version of myself. 

So what did I want? Surely if I was that uncomfortable in my body, I had some ideas as to what could fix it, right? Well, no, not really. Transgender people were not on my radar at all growing up, and even in sex ed and Gay/Straight Alliance clubs, we weren’t talked about, so I was never able to take that extreme discomfort in my body and pin it to anything. I ended up blaming all of it on self-esteem, or a lack thereof. So did others. 

I do not assign the word “fat” a negative connotation. It is simply a descriptor for a certain kind of body, but that took a lot of time and work to achieve. I was never shown that fat people were desirable, growing up. All of my family, except me, were somewhere on the fat spectrum. But I wasn’t, seemingly no matter what I did or what I ate. There was very little positive representation of fat people that didn’t lean on well-worn stereotypes and tropes. It seemed like every cartoon in the 1990s that I watched had a story arc where the main character doesn’t pay close enough attention to what they eat and they get fat, and that was always, always their fault. So I grew up simultaneously internalizing the lesson that I should not get fat with my already supremely uncomfortable physical form. That was the basis of my anorexia. 

Even though it’s been a long time since Karen Carpenter famously died of its complications, anorexia isn’t well understood by most, and part of the reason for that, is we pathologise its behaviours as a net-benefit to a person not being fat. Calorie counting, obsession over body measurements, and skipping meals, all behaviours from which an anorexic person cannot escape, are behaviours that are praised when undertaken by anyone who is even marginally bigger than we think they should be. They are behaviours of someone who takes their health seriously, we’re told. After all, anything is better than being fat. Except when it isn’t, in the case of Karen, at which point we frame it as a failure of the individual, and not a failure of our societal values. 

If I hadn’t wrested myself from it’s clutches, I would likely have joined her in early death. At the age of 15 and a height of 5’11” I was 127 pounds soaking wet. My circulation was poor, my heart was weak, extreme exertion such as moving furniture or lifting heavy objects all day would land me in bed for days recovering, because I had no extra energy to spare other than what was keeping my body alive.  If I had continued along that path, I wouldn’t be here now. Over the course of my 20s my weight slowly recovered, but I never shook the effects of the poor circulation or lack of energy. And all the while to a chorus of well meaning but infuriating professionals, friends, and partners asking me, why don’t you just work out?

~

I went to my family doctor yesterday, and she was thrilled to hear I have recently started walking short distances in the morning as a means of increasing my strength, both externally in my limbs and internally in my heart. But almost immediately, she had one question for me. 

“So, have you lost any weight?” 

I ignored the question. It’s a subject we’ve spoken of a few times, and I’m indicated in no uncertain terms I do not want to lose any weight, that I’m happy with my body as it is, I just want to make sure I take good care of it, because I want it to last a long time yet. 

“But, have you lost any weight?” came the question again. At which point I stopped, addressed her directly, and said “I don’t want to talk about my weight with you.” I wanted to get angry about it, because we’ve been over this, and we’ve been over how hard it is for me to deflect this question after a lifetime of being extremely thin, but it doesn’t seem to be sinking in. This is my first experience with a doctor who has done this repeatedly, though if the experiences of my fat friends are any indication, it won’t be the last. 

In the last few years, I’ve found mental health medication that has worked for me, and I’ve started taking feminizing hormones for my transition and support in womanhood, but I’ve also gained a fair amount of weight. Prior to hormones, I was 160lbs. Due to muscle mass loss via estrogen, I found myself back in the 120s within six months of starting, and that was scary for me in ways I’m sure you can now understand. But then, I rebounded, and I kept rebounding. I’m 215lbs now. And on my way there,  something marvellous started happening to me. 

I started to like this body. 

It’s immense how revolutionary that feels. It’s something I’ve literally never felt towards myself. Part of that was absolutely due to the effects of my hormones. My body hair thinned out and in some places disappeared entirely, my skin became soft and smooth, and my facial features brightened. I had boobs! So many sources of joy at once. But something else that started to happen as I started to change is I started to see softness not just in my features and my skin, but all over. The lines of my bones disappeared one by one. The gaps between my arms and ribcage, between my thighs, even between my fingers began to fill in. My body started to move when I moved, and sometimes continued to move when I stopped moving. I had no idea how happy each of these little discoveries were going to make me, but they have. 

I’ve always had a blindspot when it comes to societal expectations, as applied to other people. I’ve regularly cheered on the self-expression and self-acceptance of fat people and their bodies. But just like with being transgender, that blind spot did exist when it came to my own body. I cheered on transgender people and their rights for years before it dawned on me that I was a woman. But that realization didn’t happen overnight. Decades of discomfort, and little clues littered here and there, built up an overwhelming case of evidence such than when the final piece fell into place, it was an infallible discovery. Which is why I stepped quite suddenly into it. 

Despite cheering on body positivity and fat liberation from the sidelines, and appreciating other people’s bodies when they were bigger, living in a small body for so long blinded me to seeing myself in any other way. Just as I was unable to see myself as a woman, I was unable to see myself as a fat person, too, until my body started to change. I had vilified my own femininity at the behest of culture for so many years, and I had vilified my body in the same way, until I realized how beautiful I could be if I didn’t. 

~

Today, I get different questions, ones that I’m not always ready for. A lot of folks have asked me why, in my journey from thin girl to fat girl, numbers are so important to me, and I think you’ll find the answer in this confession. For so long, the numbers were a prison. No matter how I felt about my body, I would step onto a scale and be crestfallen, to not find myself changed any, even if I felt happier at the time for some reason or another. I longed to have some indication that I had changed, and until I transitioned, I couldn’t examine my body closely without severe discomfort, so the numbers could offer consolation, if only they’d ever moved, but they never did, until I started this journey. Now, every time I get on a scale and the number goes up, I feel an immense sense of joy and relief to be free of the prison. Each of my pounds comes with me wherever I go. They keep me warm, they give me a store of energy, and they make me look as amazing as I feel. 

My body finally feels right to me, and that can be hard for others to accept when society’s valuation of my body is so pervasive. When I see myself smile in selfies and I see my chubby cheeks, I am filled with a sense of love for myself I didn’t think possible. When I reach my arms around myself and give myself a hug, my hands and arms sink into my supple frame, almost the same way they do when I snuggle a plushie. When I see myself walking in the windows I pass by, I see myself gently swaying side to side, it brings a sense of comfort I’ve never known. When my thighs and my tummy jiggle as I walk, I take up space in a way I’ve never been able to.  

In the same way as I was always meant to be a girl, I believe I was always meant to be fat, too. There is just too immense a comfort to see myself as I am now, too immense a joy. I think that there are ways in which we exist that are truest to our selves, but I also believe that societal influence, and via that other people, will do almost anything to keep us from reaching that place, if it doesn’t align with popular values. Transgender women are pressured ascribe to high femininity or be ridiculed or even killed, but my femininity doesn’t exist there. I am comfortably somewhere between adorable mom-friend and plaid-wearing wrench-slinging futch (a combination of femme and butch). And to choose to exist in that space means people judge my efforts, and attempt to take away my validity. 

This is something fat people can relate to with most fibres of their beings. You can find the right clothes, the right routines for you to feel comfortable with your fitness, the right forms of self-expression, and some asshole will always lean out their car window and sling unflattering words. It makes it difficult to maintain that acceptance of ourselves when it’s so socially acceptable to judge others. It feels exactly the same way to be unconventionally beautiful and transgender. 

I believe these identities of mine are complimentary. Both of them have brought me to a sense of peacefulness within my skin that I never thought possible. Sometimes the answer isn’t to love yourself as you are, and that’s okay. That’s not who I was, and I didn’t get a say in how I was shaped or why, until recently. I had to become and embrace these parts of me to be happy, but sometimes, I feel the imposter. Transgender women and fat women invite the same cruel, unpolished contempt, and to combine the two, sometimes feels like heresy. Not woman enough for some and not fat enough for others. I’ve often had people tell me I’m not that fat, as if that’s some kind of compliment, and likewise, that I’m attractive, for a trans woman. And as this maelstrom comes to a close, and the oceans come crashing in, I realize how much I just don’t care anymore. 

This body is mine, and it makes me happy. And that is all I could ever really ask for in this life. 

Art by hxbagels

[foggyparadisecandy]

True Foggy Facts ahead - hold on. It's a real tear-jerker

People have doubted me my entire life. No lie.

Possibly because of my honestly awful parents (I forgive but really ... so much trauma), I have always been filled with self-doubt and self-loathing.

But ironically?

I also have had a deep desire to smash people's faces in when they underestimate me. lol

I like to keep busy to keep my mind from going to dark places. For what it's worth, I think this is common with people with Anxious Preoccupied attachment styles.

This overwhelming anxiety that drives you to lose yourself one way or another. Some will turn to alcohol and drugs (please don't abandon yourself in this way ... please) ... some will turn to hypnosis to blank out ... some will bury themselves in a hobby or work.

I can go from zero to fully obsessed with hobbies, work, and people in no time whatsoever (hi K! lol).

If I go in on something, I'm going all in.

When I was in middle school, I was already out of control. I was a C-level student mainly because I couldn't keep focused. I found school to be boring and a waste of time. I wanted to engage with other people. I didn't want to "learn." lol

I would routinely get report cards "Foggy is a disruption to the entire class. He should learn to focus on his work and not disrupting others." "Foggy should be held back to work on social skills." etc. etc. haha

What the fuck ever, dudes. I was looking for attention and love that I wasn't getting at home. My parents would just look at those comments and say "oh well, what ever in the world could *we* do to change this kid?" ha. ha.

I was pretty sure I was a loser.

I started high school as a C student my first half of the year until a teacher pulled me aside. I'll never forget it.

"Foggy, I'm curious about you."

"Really?" (lol - no one had ever been curious about me or what I was up to hahaha - I was taken off guard)

"I can tell you are extremely smart. You could be in Honor Society with a little work."

"What's Honor Society?" (she hooked me - no lie - and like a needy fish, I was going for it)

"It's for students with the best Grade Point Averages. I think you could get there with a little work."

"What's a Grade Point Average?" (I literally had no clue - she looked at me in disbelief)

"Your parents have never talked to you about your grades?"

"No ... I don't think they care." (true! they didn't give a crap about me - boy was that an awkward thing to admit out loud and the look on her face was slightly alarmed so ... yeah ... I was embarrassed to be seen like that)

"Oh. Well if you get an A, you get points, if you get a B, you get points. And if you get enough points, you can be in Honor Society and get a special award and recognition."

"Huh. That sounds interesting." (I love me some competitions)

"I'm available to talk more if you would like. I think you should apply yourself. I think you have a good chance."

"Ok. I'll think about it." (I lied - I had already decided that I was going all in on this)

Well, dear reader, I did apply myself. I went from a piss poor student to top of my class over the next four years.

All because a teacher - who I didn't even have as my teacher - she was just evaluating students and somehow stumbled across me! - stopped me and took a minute to give a shit.

The moral of this story is:

We never know what we are capable of doing when we put our minds to it. We never know our own blindspots even. Having a good network of new, fresh ideas and perspectives is key to having a fuller life.

Build your network with diverse voices,

Read more stuff - live outside your perspective,

Surround yourself with good influences who lift you up

The second moral is:

Be kind to others. You have no idea what the impact will be on their lives.

I had nothing as a kid. No stable love, no support, no care, no guidance, no safety, no stability, no anything of any value.

But that teacher took a few moments to patiently tell me "I see you. I see your potential." and it changed my world.

Is it any wonder I do the same with others?

I know how it can impact others to feel seen. To feel appreciated. To feel loved.

I see you <- it's all here if you want it (Please ... want it)

[amaranthsynthesis]

#hope you don’t mind me reblogging op but #I love fantasy meta about how transness integrates realistically with the setting #curious if you have any thoughts about a transmasc dark urge #and how that might work given the original (albeit cut) lore for durge is as bhaal’s breeding stud #durge tag

@bardnuts

OH BOY DO I HAVE THOUGHTS ABOUT A TRANS MASC DARK URGE (OR AS HE IS KNOWN COLLOQUIALLY, BABY BEST BOY BALLARD HALVYRIIN)

rubs my little gremlin hands together, buckle in and content warning below the readmore for: reproductive horror, forced breeding, bhaalcest mention, general Bhaal Sucks And Is The Worst

To lead, a bit I have jotted down from sever discussing the cut ending as it applies to everyone's durges:

To Ballard's understanding there are two aspects of being a Bhaalspawn. The first is as the knife of Bhaal in this material plane, whose purpose is murder and lots of it. The second is as the womb of His Will; this is the failure state. To be relegated to broodmother is to have failed, to have proven ineffectual and pitiable and disposable, not longer a useful tool in the fight to bring the world to its end. Good Soldiers will not be asked to breed, so all he has to do is be good enough. Not how it works! I think the breeding urge, just like the dark urge itself, is a tool Bhaal can use to punish his spawn. It comes and goes in truncated, very pronounced waves, that leave him so shaken and upset that he behaves very, very well for quite a while following. It isn't about bodily autonomy or body horror for Ballard, it's entirely about failure, and the humiliation of it--giving in to the desire is accepting the failure, but how is he supposed to fight it? It's rigged.

Especially in light of Sarevok's epilogue letter if you've let him live (here) it seems like the AGAB of the dark urge doesn't have any affect on whether or not you're opted in to the worst family tree's blood olympics--it makes more sense logistically to be an inseminating actor than a gestating one, but regardless of how efficient you are it does seem like Bhaal will have the next generation from you one way or another. Some folks have bandied around really interesting ideas re: nontraditional insemination from AFAB bhaalspawn (going to have to write an extremely AU ovi fic for this one day tbh), forced heats/ruts even if that bhaalspawn has removed or has had removed their related organs, rapid pregnancies etc--I really enjoy seeing how everyone interprets what is, frankly, a truly horrifying potential canon ending to their specific dark urge.

There's an argument to be made for Sarevok lying to you, or justifying his own actions, but there really being a kind of sleeper drive to further the bloodline is an interesting take to me. In part, because it does a lot of work to bridge the gap from Sarevok's previous iteration to his character in BG3 (as I've seen it discussed, I've not played the other games) and the circumstances of Orin's birth as his granddaughter-daughter. In part because, also, Bhaal's whole game is rigged. It is literally an impossible task for his spawn/followers to end the world in blood--there are not enough of them, the world is too big, and there are too many other forces at play. What this stated goal DOES accomplish is making a power mill to farm energy and blood and souls from his worshipers, bodies funneled in one end to fuel the wheel's turn and further Bhaal's strength. And with that in mind it makes a great deal of sense for his children to have, buried under the dark urge to murder and destroy, a biological drive to make more of themselves. You've worn out your use; you are no longer a useful tool of murder or destruction, you are weak or broken or disobedient. Time then for your second purpose, which has always been waiting in the wings for you to fail.

Transmasc Bhaal-breeder durge is interesting to me because, from a trans viewpoint, there is a conflation of the body horror and violence of pregnancy and childbirth with the body horror and violence of actual real murder. It's about betrayal and powerlessness and objectification, it's about being ruined in the pursuit of duty, it's about nature vs nurture and the fear that any changes you force in yourself will never be enough to overcome what you were made to be, and made to do. Even with a Dark Urge that's obedient, that isn't fighting Bhaal and his purpose for them, being remade into a reproductive machine is a horrifying trespass and breech of autonomy in a way that is underlined and reinforced by transness. It's multilayered and delicious, I am genuinely shocked that the original content was included past the brainstorming stage because it is soooo horrific. I understand there not being more of it in-text but I feel insane every time I think about it!

Underdark drow sex culture has a lot of really different assumptions than the surface world. (Ex-the socially dominant group is going to often be the receptive partner during sex. Idk where that would go exactly, but I can't see them coming to the same conclusions as the surface world or ours.)

Obviously, Ballard was dealing with a lot at the time (burning of house + social transition) but I was wondering how the culture change affected him beyond 'oh boy, that's some racism'?

I know the joke about DND and the forgotten realms lore is 'some guy was really weird and horny about this set dressing so that's why it's Like That' and unfortunately. I'm on board with the guys who were weird and horny about Drow. In a modern, transgay informed way, but also I will admit I think it's a fun sexy little sandbox and I'm in there chewing on my plastic shovel. I've got some notes and some passages jotted down for both the repro horror fic and the vaguely meandering Imton memories, I'd love to got more properly into it some time to be honest.

The lecture on procreation and reproduction made him feel cold and small, blood-blood-blood beating in his ears as they showed him a picture of a woman atop a man, taking his penis inside of her. They told him how she took her pleasure from him, that that was his role―seed and service. It had dawned on him in horror that he was more than he thought. Not a child, not a knife, but one of these adults-in-the-making, like the illustrated woman with her broad hips and heavy breasts and strong, defined shoulders. Like the guardswomen. Like the Matron Mother. The narrow man in the illustration, the lithe consorts he had glimpsed only a handful of times in their draping finery and painted faces… it wasn’t him, it was for him.  He unfocused his eyes and watched without seeing everything else they showed him, tired of it all, letting the diagrams and words blur so he would simply not have to think about them any further.

I think moving up to the surface as he traveled to Baldur's Gate was in a lot of ways a step back into the familiar! Being read as male aboveground afforded him, if not to quite the same extent, the same level of basic respect and autonomy he had been used to as the heir presumptive of House Halvyriin. At the same time, trying to emulate the type of masculinity that he was used to seeing and appreciating from a distance--as decoration, as performance, as something effete and dainty--was going to evoke a very different response. In the same way that I think Faerun isn't past sexism, I don't think it's fully escaped homophobia either. So, yes, Ballard can be a man, can be greeted as a man and exist as one, but not as the kind he'd like to be, and he has to trade that precious/beautiful/treasured masculinity for some butch attempt at camaraderie, to stave off any kind of hostile attentions.

In the same way that he could more than take care of himself in the Underdark, as an unprotected male, responding to harassment with violence draws too much attention. He's already viewed as effeminate and weak and duplicitous, just for being an elf and a drow, specifically--he has to make some decisions about how else to display himself to make the journey to the Gate as smooth as possible. I think it becomes second nature so quickly that it takes year for him to remember it wasn't always his intention.

[myfriendpokey]

Mr Advice

My advice to anyone making their first game is, have a good time :^)

Boy, such horrible advice. Who let this guy in. Yes, it's barely worth saying. But I would like to dig more into it, just the same.

To have a good time making games is to think seriously and critically about your own pleasure. It means trying to keep a space free for that pleasure, resisting the temptation to displace it into other, impressive sounding terms like Improvement and Skill and Quality and Hard Work. Which can be like looking at a magic eye picture - you think you see it, then you blink, and find your eyes have automatically refocused themselves somewhere else, somewhere more solid than the little flickering uncertain spot you were looking for. To the extent your pleasure really is bound up in these things, following it can mean gutting them, or twisting them, into something new and unrecognizable that brings you a little closer to what you want.

Having a good time will also likely mean your games are strange - misshapen, erratic, half-formed, weirdly over- and under-developed at the same time. You will have to mutilate your way through the canon of design. A lot of the things you take for granted about the form will turn out to be boring, or hard to implement, or not fit with your own process, or you might feel like chopping them out for whatever other reason. Meanwhile the most trivial things can grab your attention, draw you in. I think that's fine. I don't think anybody needs more well-balanced games - that's the worst of all backhanded compliments, next to "diligent".

Having a good time will mean butting your head against established ideas of audience and commerce, since often these act as substitutions for whatever it is you're looking for from putting out a public work. Terms like recognition, validation, communication, can be vague and mysterious in practice. A small half-gesture from someone you don't know can end up sticking to you more than official forms of response like reviews or metric milestones. I think it's good to drift between spaces while you figure out what you want from them, because often they'll use your own uncertainty about what they're able to offer as a way to lock you in.

Having a good time in this format can be illegal, which I think is fine. Videogames are built on, and kept alive by, acts of crime. There is often something very delightful about feeling like you have all the objects of culture at your disposal, to use and misuse as you may like, and conversations about ownership are often best kicked down the line to some other grey day. Of course the same thing applies the other way around as well. I would advise making your first game free.

Having a good time can mean going against yourself, becoming your own enemy. All your dreams, all your desires and ambitions, can look different in the cold light of the game editor. You may find your attention wandering to something new, you may feel apprehensive about how much tedious dogsbody labour you'll need to do to appease that other version of yourself, the one who dreams. How much loyalty do you owe your own conception of yourself? To use RPG Maker is to be thrown headfirst into this interesting dilemma.

It's often said you should make something small for your first game. It's good advice but I think a bit backwards - I think most first games are made for fun and they come out small, because it's often hard to deal with too much pleasure all at once. We find something we like and regard it warily, circling from all sides. Slowly advancing - well, surely there's not much to this. Surely it'll dry up, or disappear, or turn out to be a puddle masquerading as a lake. Bit by bit you start mapping it out and find to your own disbelief that there's still always more to it than you had expected. You can start small and get bigger or vice versa but I think either way you'll end up feeling like that scale is an irrelevant question. And that what matters is the piecemeal exploration of the lake.

Well, if you have fun making something the result is liable to be a mystery to yourself, even just a little bit - say 1% real pleasure and surprise buried in 99% cludge, inherited forms, obligation, moments of fear and dullness. That's fine and you are already batting higher than many profitable game studios, in this case. The rest of it you will forget, or come to feel like you've outgrown - that one small moment of pleasure will remain in memory as something inexplicable, a point to navigate by. And bit by bit you can accumulate more points - and find they don't lead anywhere coherent, or predictable, that you're chasing a shadow. Buffeted here and there, losing your way, finding it again, finding isolated points of a shape you're never completely able to see.

You could spend your life out here, suspended between these points and dreaming,

-- My Friend Pokey, author of the "Pokey 2000" franchise of shovelware game'n'watch ports.

(image: Paul Delvaux, "Forest Station")

[magniloquent-raven]

that soulmate au where everything you draw on yourself shows up on your soulmate, right. saw a post asking "what if make-up counts" and.

steve always thought his soulmate was a girl.

because when he was nine his nails stained themselves a messy purple in the middle of breakfast. it was exciting, the first time something like this had happened to him. he dropped his spoon into his oatmeal and banged on the tabletop til his nanny agreed to call his mother.

his mother was distracted over the phone, but she sounded happy enough. he went to school with an ear-to-ear grin on his face, staring down at his nails the whole drive there.

by second period the nail polish was gone, but the bubbling feeling in his chest wasn't.

a few months later, late one saturday evening, steve was in tommy's room debating whether the mark they saw on carol's arm really was the dog tommy had drawn on himself in math class, when suddenly tommy stops, stares. and laughs.

and steve is confused until he glances around and catches sight of himself in a mirror. there's a pink smear across his mouth, glossy and shining when he moves his head, but clearly applied with a shaky hand.

steve shoves tommy off his chair, suddenly feeling defensive. it's not funny. make up takes practice. steve's sure he'd be bad at it if he tried.

but thankfully it doesn't stay long. an hour, at most.

it happens again the following saturday. and every saturday for five months. gold eyeshadow and shimmering powder on his cheeks, glittery lip glosses, bright colours all applied inexpertly, and never for more than an hour or two.

then. it stops. one saturday, nothing happens. he stays up all night, unable to stop flicking the lights back on to glance at himself in the mirror just in case, but every time the twisting feeling of disappointment is just worsened.

that morning, exhausted and upset, he grabs a marker, scribbling the first thing that comes to mind across his arm.

i bet you looked pretty

there's no response. he's not sure if this kind of thing is allowed. talking to your soulmate like that. or if it's, like. cheating the system or something. he gets nervous after a few hours. maybe it's the lack of sleep messing with his head, but he scrubs it off in a fit of panic around lunch time.

and years go by. when they're old enough for girls to start wearing makeup regularly he hopes, wonders, glances at himself in the mirror so much, but it's always just his unmarked face staring back at him.

his soulmate doesn't draw on herself. she doesn't wear make up anymore. not even nail polish. steve starts doodling on his hands just to stop feeling so bare. empty. but he also starts carrying a packet of wet wipes in his bag so he can clean them off

and then. he's nearly eighteen, on a date with nancy and her subtle purple eyeshadow. and he's trying not to look too sourly at tommy and carol across the diner, sucking face and smudging the matching hearts drawn on their cheekbones. carol thinks it's cute, when she does her makeup sometimes she'll add hearts or stars by tracing tommy's freckles.

steve resents it. deep down, he does, and always has. he should've just been happy for them, but he's just. lonely.

but nancy gets it, he thinks. she's never gotten marks, she's not even sure she has a soulmate. sometimes steve's not sure he has one anymore either.

except.

except nancy's looking at him funny, and he asks her what the problem is, and--

"are you wearing eyeliner?"

he runs to the bathroom. and. and yes he is. it's smudged, almost artfully messy instead of just clumsy like it used to be. he pokes at his eye, running a finger under his eyelashes, tracing the inky lines.

he's overwhelmed. relieved.

frustrated.

what kind of girl only wears make-up at night? and how the hell is he gonna find her if she doesn't wear it during the day like everyone else. when people can actually see it.

shit, maybe she lives in. like. australia or something. in a different time zone.

steve goes home that night with a whole whirlwind of distracting thoughts. mixed emotions. he tries to cling to the knowledge that at least she's still out there, somewhere, but he can't help but feel even lonelier imagining how much distance might be between them.

six months later billy hargrove blows into town, loud and attention-seeking and annoyingly gorgeous. steve doesn't know what to make of him. not at first.

doesn't know what to do with the way billy's eyes follow him everywhere he goes. or the press of billy's chest against his back during practice. or pretty boy like you. or sparks in his fingertips every time he thinks about the colour blue.

until math class gets extra boring and steve starts to doodle aimlessly, swirling patterns up his wrist and something like waves crashing in the palm of his hand.

the back of his neck starts to itch, like he's being watched, and he looks up, meeting billy's horrified stare from the other side of the room. his arm is held close to his chest like he's injured it, and for one confusing moment steve wonders how the hell billy broke his arm in math class, and why he isn't going to the nurse, but then--

then he sees the corner of a curling line, peeking out from hiding. blue ink staining tanned skin.

steve drops his pen. it clatters to the floor, drawing a couple glares in the silence.

before he can do more than blink and mouth wordlessly, billy bolts. he doesn't even take his text book with him, leaves his notes scattered across his desk. the classroom door slams shut behind him.

steve wants to follow him. wants it so badly he's shaking with it, need and desire and everything in him trying to get him up and moving. but he can't. he's not stupid. he knows how it'll look, and that's the last thing either of them need.

so he waits. waits fifteen agonizing, impossibly long minutes.

and he's out of his seat the second the bell rings, gathering up billy's things before he half-runs out of the room.

it's easier to find billy than he thought it would be. he's in the parking lot, leaning against his car with a cigarette between his lips, staring down at the lines on his arm.

his hand darts into his pocket when he spots steve, and he squints up at the sky with feigned nonchalance.

a smile tugs at steve's lips.

"i brought your stuff," he says softly, quietly, like he's afraid if he's too loud he'll spook billy and scare him off. and. maybe he is.

billy glances at him out of the corner of his eye. "...shouldn't have bothered." he kicks the ground.

steve lays the books on the camaro's hood and shuffles a little closer to billy. the look he gets is wary. a warning. they're still at school. there are people around. there's a million reasons why he shouldn't reach out right now and kiss billy like he's wanted to do since this stupid infuriating asshole rolled into town like he owned the place. so.

he doesn't.

he stands close enough that their shoulders touch, pointedly not looking at him, staring sightlessly out at the parking lot instead.

"i was right, you know."

"hm?"

"about you being pretty."

billy makes a strangled noise. "that...was a long time ago."

"yeah? and?"

"it. it was dumb kid shit. i wasn't. i didn't. i don't do that anymore."

"uhh, few months ago--"

"i made a mistake," billy snaps, shoulders tense, hunching and pulling away from steve's.

steve turns, then, looks at him. sees the fear glinting in his eyes. and it hurts. a visceral pain, right through him. "billy..." his hand twitches at his side and he resists the urge to touch him. "i won't...i won't tell anyone. if you want it to be a secret it will be. i promise, okay? promise." he pauses, with relief, watches billy relax a fraction. "can...can it be our secret though?"

billy raises his eyebrows. "what."

"i wanna see. if. if that's okay. i wanna see you."

for a second steve thinks billy might hit him. shove him away and run again. but the moment stretches on and a flush starts to creep across billy's cheeks. he shifts his weight around. "i...maybe."

it feels like a win. somewhere to start.

and he feels nine years old again, giddy, smiling like a loon, and hopeful for the future.

(edit: pt2 here)

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Noona, Do You Not Like Younger Men? (Choi San+Jung Wooyoung)

Pairing: Choi San× Milf! Reader (Female)× Jung Wooyoung

Genre: Smut, Fluff, Idol AU.

Summary: Maybe going over to pester their favorite manager during her vacation wasn't such a bad idea, especially if it ends up with them getting what they always fantasized about every night.

Word Count: 4.2+K

Warnings: Age differences (still within legal boundaries), breast play including titty fucking (yeah I'm aware some of us don't have huge tits, I'm part of that squad but we can dream ok?) fingering, m+f+m threesome, ass grinding, spanking, degradation.

Taglist: @little-precious-baby @galaxteez @multidreams-and-desires @yunhofingers @yunhoiseyecandy @deja-vux @daniblogs164 @brie02 @couchpotatoaniki @a-soft-hornytiny

▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄▀▄

Y/N's eyes squinted at the two younger males who casually showed up at her home, uninvited and already letting themselves in as if they owned the place.

"Hi Noona. Did you miss us?" The older one of the two squished her cheeks together, earning him a slap on his wrist, which he did not appreciate.

"Aww Noona, now look what you've done. You made him sad." The other male pointed to the other's pout.

"Choi San and Jung Wooyoung, just what the hell do you think you're doing here?" She crossed her arms over her chest.

"Isn't it obvious? We came to keep you company!" San cheerfully exclaimed.

"We know you missed us so we decided to come over and spend time with our favorite manager." Wooyoung added as he went over to try and cling an arm around the older woman, but she brushed his hand away.

"Ok, in case you guys didn't know, I'm on vacation, a well needed vacation from my manager duties. Specifically from you two! You little brats who constantly give me migraines and high blood pressure. I got this vacation to get away from you both!"

The boys were taken aback by her outburst, looking back and forth between each other and then returned their faces back to her. Their somber and disappointed expressionism soon bursted out in laughter, confusing the woman in front of them.

"Oh Noona! You're so funny." San giggled.

"We know you love and adore us so much. And you're happy that we came to keep you company!" Against her will, and more since she was outnumbered, she let Wooyoung and San each take one of her arm and drag her over to the living room where they sat her down and started arranging the space so they could have a small movie day. Y/N let out slow and deep breaths as she tried not to lose her patience and just let the boys run around her house as they started putting the snacks they brought with them into bowls. She could hear them muttering angrily to each other from the kitchen, no doubt telling each other to be careful less they accidentally broke one of her plates. In less than 10 minutes, they had about  7 or 8 different bowls full of different snacks, ranging from crispy chips, to sour gummy worms and even different types of sweet chocolates.

"We even got mochi ice cream! Would you like some?" Wooyoung enthusiastically shoved the case that contained assorted flavors of the icy dessert.

Knowing she might as well enjoy the gluttonous snacks while she could, Y/N skimmed her hand over them and picked out one of the mint chocolate mochis and stuffed it in her mouth. Unbeknownst to her, the man on her right was staring at her with a wide smile as she ate the ice cream. When she noticed, she gave him a puzzled look and scooted further away from him.

"You chose the mint chocolate flavor." He giddily stated.

"Yes....any problem with that?" She questioned.

San emitted happy squeals at that.

"I love mint chocolate flavor too! Don't you see Noona? This further proves that were soulmates and destined to be together!"

Without even asking or warning, he snuggled himself against her, an arm around her waist as he used her chest as a makeshift pillow. Coming back from the kitchen, Wooyoung glared at San when he saw how close he was with their manager.

"Hey! No fair. Don't hog Noona up for yourself. We promised to share!" He quickly jumped on the other side and tried to tangle himself around her, proving to be difficult when San was pushing him away. Y/N ended up being pulled and tugged from both sides as the boys fought amongst themselves for her. Fed up with their antics, she reached her hands over and smacked both of their thighs sharply, making them retreat away from her less they suffered more physical pain from her.

"I want both of you to stay at least an arm's length away from me if you're planning to stay here and watch a movie. And absolutely under no circumstances do I want either of your mouths opening to sputter nonsense and annoy me further...Got it?!"

Both of the idols scooted to either ends of the couch, each grabbing a nearby cushion to keep them company and to protect them in case they furthered irritated their off duty manager. Y/N took a deep breath as she rubbed the side of her temples, letting the boys pick out which movie they wanted to watch. She probably wouldn't even enjoy the movie with the two rascals nearby, she thought to herself. Wooyoung and San settled for a cute looking movie, both of them hoping that the fluffy contents would soften up Y/N so they could cuddle up next to her once more. The woman however cringed when she saw the title.

"Ugh. Wake me up when whatever chick flick you chose is over." She settled back onto the couch, her eyes already closing.

"Aww come on Noona, give it a try. You might even like it." San suggested.

"Romantic movies have never been my type." She mumbled out, her hand reaching out to take some of the popcorn on the table to stuff in her mouth.

The movie played out exactly as she expected it to. Nothing short of all the typical cliches and stereotypes portrayed on every single romantic comedy made in existence. The boys would often look back at her every few minutes, their faces getting more and more discouraged when their manager didn't seem to be enjoying their company. It seemed that their plan to get close to her backfired as she was currently resting her chin on her palms, dozing off slowly while not paying one bit of attention on the screen in front of her.

"Told you to pick a scary movie." San complained to his friend.

"Your chicken ass can't even handle them." Wooyoung side eyed him.

"Yeah, but jump scares serve as an excuse to hug the person next to you." He tilted his head over to Y/N.

"Nice move, saying your plan out loud for her to hear. You dumbass."

Taking the pillow he had, San chucked it at Wooyoung, knocking the snacks he was currently eating onto the floor. Grabbing the pillow, he made move to throw it once more, but Y/N held a hand up.

"Throw that cushion and I will choke you Jung Wooyoung."

The warned boy immediately sat the cushion back down, setting his hands down on his lap.

"Please do...."

Y/N's half lidded eyes sprung wide open when she heard his whisper. Slowly she turned her head at him, of course Wooyoung noticed out of the corner of his eye and swallowed harshly. He didn't think she was paying attention enough to hear him, but she was. Wooyoung soon felt flushed as she eyed him with an indiscernible stare, trying desperately to focus his attention on the movie in front of him but the heavy weight of her stare kept burning through him. Seeing as he wasn't going to say or do anything else, Y/N decided it would be fun to tease him like he'd often tease her. Sliding on top of him, to the surprise of not only Wooyoung but his friend on the other side, Y/N hummed softly as her fingers ran up his chest.

"Please do what Wooyoung? Choke you? Is that what you want? Want my hand wrapped around that pretty of neck of yours?"

The flustered male shuddered when her fingers encapsulated over the front of his neck, lightly applying pressure against his Adam's apple with her palm.

"Oh someone likes this a little too much." She chuckled as she subtly rolled her hips on his tent that formed as soon as she touched him.

"Please Noona.." Wooyoung squirmed underneath her body, hips trying to grind up against hers.

"I barely did anything and you're already begging for me. You're an even bigger whore than I thought you were." She let out an annoyed 'tsk' as she slowly began to get off his lap.

When Wooyoung felt her detaching herself, his hands came out to clasp her waist, keeping her firmly planted on his lap.

"Yes I am, I'm such a whore for you Noona. But please don't leave me here like this." He whined at her, looking completely pitiful as his hands desperately tried to keep her from moving. Y/N reached a hand out to toss some of the hair away from his forehead, her mind already working on ways to play around with the young male. Noticing that his eyes kept falling towards her chest, she suddenly got an idea.

"You like my breasts Wooyoungie?"

Her question caught him off guard, eyes widening, looking like a deer caught in headlights, especially after she called him by his nickname. He was beyond flustered, unable to look up at his manager anymore.

"I asked you a question Wooyoungie and I expect an answer or else I'll leave you hanging there and make you watch as I play with Sannie instead."

The forgotten male beside them became excited at hearing her words, his hand rubbing against his inner thigh, slowly creeping up to the bulge in his pants. Tilting his chin up to look at her, Y/N repeated her question once more, expecting him to reply as it was his last chance.

"Y-yes. I like your breasts very much Noona." He finally admitted.

Satisfied at getting an answer, Y/N pulled away from Wooyoung so she could start removing her shirt, both boys watching her without batting an eyelash. When her bra dropped on the floor, they both stared in awe at her voluptuous chest, mouths agape and nearly drooling at the sight.

"Fuck, they're just-wow." San chimed in, tongue wetting the center of his lips.

"You like them too Sannie? I always thought you were more of an ass guy." She commented with a knowing smile, recalling all the times he'd come up behind her and greet her with a pat on her bum.

"Oh hell yeah I am, but I'd never say no to an opportunity to suck on a pretty pair of tits." He acknowledged with no hesitation.

"Is that so? Well then."

Prying Wooyoung's hands off her, Y/N sat herself back in between the boys, hands cupping both of her breasts to gently massage them in her palms, fingers tweaking at her nipples which were slowly getting fully erect. The two men at her sides watched with hungry eyes, only imagining how soft and tender her breasts must feel, both wanting to replace her hands with their own. Unbeknownst to them, they were about to get a better offer.

"There's one for each of you my loves, so go ahead. Put your pretty mouths on them and suck on them. And maybe if you do good enough, I'll play more with you guys."

Wooyoung and San simultaneously looked at one another, both wondering if they heard her correctly or it was another perverted thought their mind played on them. Realizing it was not, San was the first one to be bold as he cupped the breast nearest to him and brought it up to his lips, where he proceeded to coat the areola with spit before he latching onto it.

"So you're more of a dirty boy, aren't you Sannie?" She mused at him, fingers brushing some of the bangs on his face.

San only responded by lifting his eyes momentarily to shoot a wink her way before indulging back in his task of suckling on her tit. Y/N turned her attention to Wooyoung, who was still nervously sitting there in a pliant manner. She beckoned for him to come closer.

"Wooyoungie, my other breast feels lonely."

Getting the hint, Wooyoung lowered himself and practically squished his face into her fleshy mound. As expected, he was very vocal, spewing out lewd sounds as he harshly sucked on her nipple, bringing in as much of her as he could possibly put in his mouth. Y/N laid her head back on the top of the couch, mouth drawing out heavy breaths and pants as she relaxed and enjoyed the sensation of the the younger male's mouths on her breasts, their tongues and teeth eagerly swirling and nibbling on her sensitive flesh. She noticed how both of them had completely different patterns. Whereas San's suckling was less intense, it was definitely more sloppy, spit dribbling down his chin and down her chest from all the insane movements his tongue worked on her nipple, each of them clearly focused on bringing her as much pleasure as possible. Wooyoung was definitely more intense and full of eagerness, but each swirl of his tongue or nibbling on her skin was less meditated and more like he was simply enjoying to taste the older woman, playing around with her breast as if it was a toy for him to fondle and tease as he pleased. Not that she minded, she loved being used as a toy by them both.

She became so lost in the feeling of their mouths on her body that she didn't notice the hands that had traveled in between her thighs until she felt them prying them open in an effort to slide her shorts and underwear down. She became somewhat self conscious when they managed to tear the rest of her clothing off, her legs closing tightly. Tapping a finger on her knee, San pulled off her nipple to say:

"Spread your legs for us and let us see that soaking cunt of yours."

Wooyoung was just as shocked as she was at his informal and vulgar words, but it certainly served to arouse her even more. Getting talked down to by someone younger than her..... it was definitely something. Giving him what he, and probably also his friend, wanted, she opened up her legs. Putting aside her gorgeous breasts for the meantime, the 2 pairs of eyes peered down at the sight below them, their Noona's folds glistening just for them and because of them, her tiny bud aching to be touched by their fingers. Signaling to his friend, San dipped his fingers down, swirling them around her clit before pressing down on it.

"Oh she's needy Wooyoung, I can feel it throbbing against my finger." San smirked as he lightly rubbed against her clit.

"Is our pretty Noona in need of our fingers? Does she want to get stuffed with them?" Wooyoung muttered against her ear, lips quick to muffle the moan that responded to his question. It was a sweet and tender kiss that was interrupted by San who tilted her chin towards him so that he could kiss her as well.

"Don't worry Noona. We'll make sure you're full and satisfied."

Y/N gasped as she felt both of their fingers slowly insert themselves into her slick and wet walls. Nudging to each other, their fingers started moving to and fro, eyes watching closely each facial expression that took over her features, reveling in the blissful sighs that were spilling out of her lips. Y/N couldn't keep herself from clenching tightly around their fingers, mesmerized by the sight of both of them fingering her tight little hole.

"Are you enjoying this Noona? Like having your tight pussy fucked by Sannie's finger and mine?" Wooyoung giggled, pushing his finger deeper into her, knuckles pressing against her mound which had her shuddering.

"Yes she is Wooyoungie, look at how much tighter she's becoming."

With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he looked at Wooyoung.

"Maybe we should stretch her out even further. Don't you think?" He suggested, to which Wooyoung agreed to with a grin.

With a sharp inhale, Y/N released a whimper when 2 extra fingers intruded into her intimate region, stretching her further. The pace with which they were thrusting their fingers into her increased, each of the boys jamming their fingers at different timings, making sure that their tips touched the hood of her sex, grazing that sweet spot of hers. Y/N was a whining and moaning mess. The boys were not giving her any chance to relax, when one set of fingers was pulling out of her, the other set was pushing back in, continuing its abuse on her g-spot. She felt her thighs starting to trembling, her lower stomach building up her climax by the second. Even with the 4 fingers parting her wide open, she was starting to squeeze around them, wrapping them up in a blanket of heat that would soon coat them with her release.

"Are you gonna cum Noona? Cum on Sannie's and my fingers?" Wooyoung cooed as he drove his fingers faster into her to help her reach her orgasm faster.

Y/N could only manage to nod slightly, eyes shutting tight, unable to register anything else save for the slippery and squealching sounds that came from between her thighs. She didn't feel San press his lips against her ear until his low voice spoke in that sexy satoori accent of his.

"Cum for us Noona. Cum all over us."

With his encouragement, she tipped over the edge, crying out loudly as her release started streaming down her body and onto their hands, dripping even down to their wrists. The boys were kind enough to continue filling her hole with their fingers, helping her ride out her orgasm until she came down from her high.

"Shit. Look at all the mess you made on us. Such a dirty dirty Noona." San taunted as he forced her to look down at their cum covered hands, which they both brought up to lick clean right in front of her.

"And you taste so delicious." Wooyoung added with star struck eyes.

Cupping both of their chins, she placed a peck on each of their lips.

"Thank you for that my darling boys, you made Noona feel amazing. It's only right Noona makes you both feel just as good."

Not forgetting about the throbbing needs in their pants, she ordered them to strip in front of her, an order they were eager to comply with. Through clumsy fumbling, a pile of clothes was added to the previously discarded garments from the woman in front of them. Y/N couldn't hide the satisfaction on her face as she gazed at their erect cocks, standing proudly, waiting to be touched and played with.

"Well I suspected my boys were big, but even the reality is nothing like what I imagined." The men flushed at her words, flattered by the knowledge that she had indeed thought about them in that way before.

"Wooyoungie, lie down right here." She patted the space next to her.

Following her instructions, Wooyoung placed himself where she wanted him, displaying himself out to her. Hovering above him, Y/N kissed along his defined abs, getting dangerously close to the tip of his cock, exciting him while the member behind them envied their close proximity. Y/N pulled her face away right before her lips could touch his head.

"As much as I'd love to suck your pretty little cock, I think there's something you'll enjoy even more babyboy."

The pet name followed by the image of her breasts enveloping his shaft between them was enough to drive Wooyoung wild as he realized what she had in mind.

"Oh fuck Noona- yes please." He was anxious about having her warm tits hug around his length and fuck him until they were coated in his cum.

"I knew you'd love the idea."

Glancing back at the neglected male, Y/N motioned for him to come over.

"And I have an idea for you too my precious Sannie. Since you seem to like my ass so much, how about you stuff that cock of yours in my cheeks and fuck yourself on them?"

San's eyes bulged out, his dick twitching when he heard those words. It was such an erotic, kinky and naughty idea and he was all up for it.

"Shit- fuck yeah." He wasted no time as he straddled Y/N's behind, slapping his cock on each of her asscheeks before prying them apart and laying his shaft in between them.

"Fuck yourself as you want Sannie and try to keep up with Wooyoung and I." She challenged him, which he was more than willing to take up.

Spitting down on Wooyoung's cock and her tits to properly lubricate them, she sandwiched his shaft in her pillowy and soft flesh before rubbing her tits up and down on him. Wooyoung was releasing gasp after gasp the more he felt and saw his member disappear and reappear from his Noona's glorious valley. Meanwhile behind her, San busied himself as he started rutting his cock against the firm but tender skin of her ass, groaning and grunting as he took advantage of the green light she gave him to go as hard as he wanted. Each time he slammed his hips up into her, he basked in the visual of her plump ass cheeks rippling with each of his thrusts.

"Oh God." San exclaimed, one hand coming down to strike one of Y/N's cheeks, causing her to jolt forward in surprise, her stiff nipples rubbing against Wooyoung's shaft.

"Shit! San- be gentle with Noona." He whined, his eyes still focused on the silky sensation of Y/N's boobs hugging him.

"It's ok Wooyoung. I know Noona liked it. She likes it rough. Watch."

Raising his hand once more, it came back down to spank the same spot he had previously hit, a light pink hue starting to appear on her skin. Y/N tried and failed to contain a whimpered moan from her lips, spit dripping out and falling on Wooyoung's tip.

"Shit Noona, are you really into freaky shit?" He asked in astonishment.

"She's literally letting two younger guys fuck her tits and ass, how much more reassurance do you need?" San pointed out as he squeezed at her ass, riding her backside with more intensity.

"She's just a dirty kinky whore, allowing us to use her body this way. And then she's gonna let us cover her in our cum cause she's that slutty."

Y/N groaned at his words, her tongue poking out to lick at Wooyoung's slit each time it peeked out through the valley of her enormous tits.

"Fuck to paint Noona's tits with my cum-" Wooyoung hissed, teeth tugging at his bottom lip.

"You wanna do that for me? Cum on my big boobs baby boy?" She chuckled when she felt Wooyoung's cock twitch against her skin.

He couldn't answer her as another one of San's slaps along with his frenzied grinding thrusted her forward, making her and the boy below her exclaim in surprise.

"You're not cumming without me. You better hold it." San warned through gritted teeth, nails digging into her flesh as he violently rammed his cock between her fleshy and plump folds.

Y/N looked down at poor Wooyoung's face, looking so distraught as he fought hard not to cum right then and there. Leaning down, Y/N gave his tip a few kitten licks before resuming to squish her breasts on his length.

"It's ok Wooyoungie. San forgets his not in charge here. I am. So cum for me baby boy. Cum all over your Noona's tits." She softly said to him.

With shuddering whines and whimpers, Wooyoung threw his head back, eyebrows furrowed as thick streams of cum erupt from his tip, his orgasmic bliss so overwhelming, lasting longer due to Y/N continuing to rapidly push up and down his cock, milking him out of the last drop of cum he had left in his body.

"That's it. That's my good little boy, keep cumming just like that." She praised him, watching with excitement as his seed plastered itself on the top of her cleavage, some of it even splashing onto her cheeks and chin.

"That's so fucking hot- Oh my God-"

After watching the scene play out in front of him, San felt a familiar tightness in his balls, his tip starting to swell up. Before he could even register it, he was already pumping his own cum all over Y/N's ass and lower back, sputtering out incoherent words as he did so. He ended up collapsing on the couch, energy completed drained after all that, same as his friend who was still laying still on the other side. Meanwhile Y/N grabbed the box of tissues that was on the coffee table and pulled a few of them out so she could clean herself and the boys up. Starting with Wooyoung, she wiped in between his thighs, picking up the remainder of whatever was left of his cum before turning to San and cleaning up his body as well. Once both of the boys were cleaned up, she grabbed a couple more tissues to use on herself. She was distracted when she heard both of them start giggling out of nowhere.

"What's so funny?" She asked them, looking at San and then at Wooyoung, both of them donning a suspicious smile.

"So Noona does like younger men..."

[dingdongitsbees]

Gojo is a strong person | Gojo x gn!reader oneshot (Angst)

Synopsis: Gojo is the strongest, that was an agreed upon fact, or at least he thought it was until he met you.

The first time you had laid eyes upon him, you laughed.

“This is almighty Gojo Satoru, huh?”

Ao3 Link

WC: 3k Tw: canon typical violence, death Just send an ask to be added to Gojo taglist! (specify if you don’t want angst etc)

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Gojo Satoru is a strong person, that’s what everyone knew. That fact was known by every shaman that had had their first breath and by anyone that laid their eyes on him, even if only for a split moment in the bustling crowds of Tokyo. It was a fact that the man knew himself, it could hardly be called egotistical if it was simply the truth that he was the strongest, though he toed the line of cocky so much that he had fully passed its threshold far before he even attended school. But his parents and his clan and the servants that worked there never gave him anything else to think. 

He was better than them by the time he had first opened his eyes. He was a man whose mere existence disrupted the world so chaotically that any possible adversary would tremble at the mere thought of facing him. Gojo Satoru is the strongest, that was an agreed upon fact, or at least he thought it was until he met you.

The first time you had laid eyes upon him, you laughed.

“This is almighty Gojo Satoru, huh?”

He was stunned. People rarely smiled at him, only when trying to please him or gain something from him, laughs and giggles became shushed when he came near. Never had he heard such a clear laugh from someone aware of his presence, let alone laughing at him.

And like you had expected his frozen form, you gave him a knowing look and a smile. “I look forward to getting to know you, Satoru.”

To say that he was enamoured by you by the moment your smile reached your crinkling eyes was an understatement.

His high school years began and never had he felt more challenged in his life. He was the strongest, that still rung true, but until then he had never felt a desire to prove it, a desire to impress. His ideals and methods were questioned and criticised, his techniques scrutinised and forced to improve and adapt. His teachers, Getou, Shoko, even the younger students like Nanami, all challenged him.

Prove to us that you are the strongest. We will not accept a statement like that at face value. Prove it.

Now get better.

But none of them came close to you. You hounded him at every open opportunity, around every corner. And oh, did he welcome it. You’d challenge him to fights, lose almost every time, but always find something he did badly or should have done that he would obsess over for the days and weeks to come. You’d think of new ways for him to apply his techniques and go further beyond anyone that had inherited Infinity, aiding him reach potentials he didn’t even think existed or that he needed. You’d come back with an argument to anything and everything you disagreed with, answers he couldn’t look past or debunk, forcing him into a state of reflection which his parents had deprived him of.

Gojo Satoru was the strongest, but he learned very quickly that he wasn’t perfect.

He continued to change; adapt to everything you threw at him. His cocky attitude stayed carved in stone, his laughs at the weak were never missed, but he looked forward in excitement. He had never had that before you. His life path was laid out perfectly for him since birth, a life he had never asked for he once said. And you had replied.

“Then why are you following it? You’re the strongest, aren’t you? Then do what you want, no one can stop you.”

He soon realised that the flutters his heart experienced as he laid down in the grass next to you, staring up at the stars, was not just his heart stuttering at the beauty of the universe. His heart imploded whenever your fingers came close to his, subtle shoulder touches from passing in the corridors, laughs at his jokes that would get you into stitches, smiles that seemed to lighten his heart and drop his stomach like a rollercoaster, and eyes that stared into his soul.

And you knew, oh by god you knew what effect you had on him. You were no fool. But oh my, was it fun.

You had feelings for him too, you weren’t that cruel, and you knew that he knew that too. But you weren’t going to jump headfirst into a boy who couldn’t differentiate between what he wanted, and what he was expected to want. Who he was, and who he was supposed to be.

One night, like many nights before, you laid on his bed together, chips and chocolates and any wrappers of sweets he had impulsively bought surrounding you two. And that night he turned to you, question hesitant on his lips.

“What do you think of me? Who do you think I am?”

You pursed your lips, tilting your head towards him, thinking of what to say but you already knew the answer the moment he asked.

“You’re Satoru,” you said, a grin taking up half your face. “You’re just Satoru.”

He would never admit it, but he cried that night, he cried hard. And he wouldn’t have to worry, because you expected this of him, of course you did, you always did, and you held him. You held him as tight as you possibly could, as tight as you could hold a lonely boy crushed by the weight of the world that he never volunteered to lift. He was Atlas, but you were next to him, helping hold the world on your shoulders, even if you were scared that it would crush your shoulders into splinters, never would you have mentioned it.

The two of you continued to dance to the song that the pair of you had been listening to for years, waiting for one to take the step forward, to dip the other into no return. Dance the dance that had been safely done with a metre in between the two of you, not wanting to step on the other’s feet, not wanting to come in before the bridge started, not wanting to get the timing of the beat drop wrong. Things caused chaos around the ballroom that you danced in, friends lost to death or to wars of morals and ideals, faith lost in elders meant to protect you but instead fetishized tradition, guidance into the adult world being left in the air. But the two of you continued to dance, getting incrementally closer to each other, breath reaching skin, fabrics tripping over each other, but never quite close enough to feel the other, always a hair width away.

And like you had expected, like you had waited patiently for, he stepped closer, bridging the gap between the two of you. A smile stayed on your lips as he pressed his mouth to yours gently, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks in greeting. Satoru had finally become him. Not the shaman that was whispered between hands, the sorcerer who elders expected great things from, not just the strongest. He was Satoru, and that was as perfect as he was ever going to be, and as perfect as you wanted him.

Years passed and not even for a moment could you be bored when existing in the same world as Gojo Satoru. Every day was something new, something to tease about the other, another sign of affection that would make the other’s heart stumble, another reason to fall even more irrevocably in love.

You stood by his side with everything he stood for, staying grounded and as a point of reference of what he wanted this world to be. The world he wanted you to be able to live in. You argued by his side when trying to revoke death wishes that were put on Itadori, giving a smile to the higher ups when he insinuated the length he would go to in order to get the world of his own design. You would be slitting throats next to him before he had the chance to ask and everyone knew it. 

Your name was whispered beside his now, one couldn’t be mentioned without mentioning the other. The strongest and the tamer. The one that had incapsulated every corner of Gojo Satoru’s heart and would never leave. The one that the man would burn down the world for if it dared to insult the love of his life, and the two of you would just smile through the flames. 

Good and evil is relative, but neither compares to the terrifying ordeal yet comfort of being known by someone else through and through. Every pore and freckle and hair studied by the other until they know the other’s face and soul better than they know their own.

Satoru was only ever approached when you were away on a mission. There was no chance of compromise or pushing when you were in the vicinity. You knew what he wanted, and you wouldn’t settle for anything less than. Gojo Satoru was the strongest, but you had him happily in your hands at your mercy and direction, you were the scariest.

So it was no surprise to either of you as your missions were set far away from each other and at the most inopportune times. You barely had anytime to look in his eyes let alone talk of creating the world together like gods. But if they thought that mere curses would separate the two of you, they were fooling themselves. No amount of time, nothing the other could do, would ever stop the tyrannical love you held for each other, nothing would be allowed to get in the way.

Every night the other came home, they would hold the other’s cheeks in their hands softly, letting their love’s head surrender to gravity. You wouldn’t need to say a word, and neither would he, just quietly in your world for another moment before the other would inevitably have to leave. You would figure it out, the two of you always did, you would eventually get the world you talked about in the company of the stars like you had since you were teenagers.

When you got the call of your next mission you frowned. It seemed off, a special grade that had been spotted in Osaka, nothing you hadn’t dealt with before, but the slight stutter of the caller rang alarm bells in your head. As you packed for your mission Satoru stared at you from the other side of the living room, reading you.

“How bad?” he asked, his blue eyes caressing your face gently, a book on his chest he had long abandoned to just watch you.

“Just a special grade but…” you started.

“It feels wrong?”

You nodded. Asking him to come with you was out of the question for multiple reasons, both of you worked better alone, leaving no risk of the other getting harmed by a technique, Satoru had a lot on his plate already, caring for students and attempting to research and protect his students from the special grades that had begun popping up. And well, you were capable, this was something you knew how to do and had done for years. But still, at the back of your mind, it was screaming at you to run, to take the man in front of you and just run.

But you didn’t.

Instead, the two of you swayed in your kitchen together to silent music, his arms holding you tightly, afraid you would be stolen from him. You held your ear to him, his heartbeat calming down your neurons that were lighting fires in your brain. You stayed there for a little eternity, intoxicated with the other’s touches and love, but soon you picked your bag up from the kitchen counter, and gave him a soft and slow kiss. His eyes looking down at you half-lidded, drunk on the person in front of him, euphoric he got to be called yours. He watched as you left, your eyes catching his through the closing gap, giving him that knowing look and smile you always had.

It was worse that had been described in the report, far worse. The paper was practically a list of lies. You wished you could call for back up, to call for Satoru, but there was literally no time. The moment you arrived the scene was already in chaos, people getting eaten and dismembered like playthings by not one, but three special grades.

People weren’t listening to your directions, practically running into the mouths of the curses, several lower grade ones had come as well, as if called, making everything so much harder. You were in the middle of the war zone, trying to kill lower grades that were seconds away from killing a civilian, getting people out of there and to run, and fighting the special grades that didn’t give you a moment to breathe. Adults' limbs were torn off of them as they screamed to be helped, kids' heads exploded as you held them under your arms. The special grades just laughed.

They had cut you down more times than you could count on the fingers you had left, you couldn’t differentiate the blood pouring down your body from the ones who had died around you. You had managed to kill two of the three special grades, but the other evaded everything with a wide grin, directing the other curses like an orchestra. A symphony of shattering bones and blood curdling screams filled your ears everywhere, inescapable.

A child, one that couldn’t have been older than four, ran to you, stumbling over their feet as they sobbed. The special grade geared up, charging their attack. You took a deep breath and calmly looked at the world in front of you for a moment, time slowing down. Your mouth twitched up at the ludicrousness of it all and looked to the sky you had spent a lifetime staring at.

Sorry Satoru, looks like I won’t be coming home.

You grabbed the child, and curled around it, protecting it as best as you could, and waited for impact.

There was no other answer to draw from your mission than the fact that the higher ups had sent you on a suicide mission, they knew you worked alone, they knew that there was a limit to even how much you could handle. Because after you all, you weren’t the strongest. You were the disposable one. They had sent you, but not just so you would be the one to crumble.

No. That’s all Gojo Satoru could think as he raced through the corridors, he didn’t want to believe it, he refused to believe it. There was no such timeline where you could be separated from him, it was simply not allowed. A reality that was forbidden from coming to fruition. He slammed open the doors to Shoko’s lab, teary eyes glanced up at him before looking to the ground. They surrounded a table in the middle of the floor, barring him from seeing. He just stared with wide eyes, looking insane, not a single thought that they would be able to read. But you would know, you would only have to take one look at him and you would know what he was thinking, because you would sit up and look him in the eyes with the smile that he had carved into his soul. You would, you had to.

The group parted slowly, giving him access to the metal table.

There you were, lying down in what had to be a deep slumber, eyes closed, looking as beautiful as you always did and would continue to be. You had to, you had to. He took a step closer, his hands trembling at his sides, he reached forward, touching your cold cheek, his shaking sending little waves across your skin.

Shoko stood next to him with red eyes. She reached up to touch his shoulder, but her hand froze, stopped by Infinity. Her eyes widened. He took no notice of her, not acknowledging her for even a second. Her hand curled into a fist and dropped, looking away with a wobbly breath.

He cupped his hand underneath your head, lifting you to his chest. It was a mystery of how he managed to keep you steady. Ever so slowly he picked up your whole body, walking out of the room. No one stopped him.

He refused to acknowledge what his six eyes were telling him. There was no way, no conceivable way, that you could have left him. You would never do that to him. You would never dare leave him all alone in this world, the world that hadn’t been theirs yet. There were so many things they had left to do. So many things they were meant to fix. So many more days left to love each other. So many more days where you were meant to look at him and just see him, just see Satoru. So, there was no way you left. You wouldn’t do that to him, right?

Gojo Satoru was a strong person, that’s what everyone thought. He was the strongest. But the sound that came out of him as he knelt in the dirt outside the building as his body wracked with sobs, cradling you to his chest desperately, haunted all the hearer’s waking and sleeping states. Their dreams stayed infected with it for weeks. He begged to the universe and to you, begging through screams. It was so loud. It was so excruciating. And it was so, so raw. It sounded like his vocal cords were being ripped apart, and they wouldn’t have been surprised if that came to be true.

Gojo Satoru was a strong person, that’s what everyone thought, but now they weren’t so sure.

.

.

.

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist | Main Masterlist

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[secondhand-trash]

Catnip

Kinktober 2020 — aphrodisiac

A/N: not me searching up feline sexual behaviours as reference no I am not-

Pairing: neko!Kozume Kenma x f!reader

Description: Kenma felt like all his senses were being lit on fire when you came home one day with a very odd scent lingering on you.

Warning: aphrodisaic, dry humping, oral (giving), face fucking, slightly dubcon undertones midway, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, kenma is a cat boy but you already know by the title

Word count: 3747

-

Something was up with your scent, Kenma noticed that the moment you stepped through the door.

Even though he was all the way down the corridor in his gaming room, his ears perked up instantly when the abnormal scent flushed into his nostrils, twitching on top of his head as the sound of your steps got louder and louder.

“I’m home!” you latched onto him from the back as always, burying your face onto his soft ears and sighed at how satisfying it was. He felt chills running along his spine as the unfamiliar scent became overwhelmingly strong, his tail pointing as he went into high alert under his feline instincts of feeling like there was a strange entity that had crossed into his territory. There was a stir in his stomach as he felt his skin warming up as you rubbed the tip of his ears with your fingers, sighing about how long your day had been and how you had been thinking about getting home as quick as you could all day.

“I even took a shortcut,” you said, your arms that were wrapped around his shoulders now loosening up as you prepared to change out of your work clothes, “never again though, that road was barely visible with all the weed that grew all over it and it’s kinda scary at night.”

Kenma didn’t say anything, his eyes going wide as he blankly stared ahead at his screen. His nostrils flared, trying hard to make sense of what it was that you now smell of. He shuddered when you ran your fingers through his hair, scratching lightly behind his ears but he still didn’t respond to you in any way. You tilted your head, confused as to what had gotten into him but decided to leave him be with a peck on top of his head.

Cats, no one could understand them except themselves when they got into the mood.

Kenma acted very distant, and much more... cat-like than he usually was in the hours to follow. He just kept staring at you and skittering around when you tried to initiate any physical affection. He was always a bit on and off when it comes to clinginess and you had learned a long time ago that looking at someone from a distance away was also part of the feline love language but his gaze felt almost threatening tonight. His pupils were two thin lines right in the center of his golden orbs, eyeing you like he was observing his prey with his tail flicking behind him. He went on high alert every time you moved from where you were at, his ears pointing up as his stare immediately followed you.

“Kenma, I’m going to take a shower. Do you need to use the bathroom?” you asked, peeking out of the corridor with your clothes. He seemed startled when you looked into his eyes, scurrying away until he was at the other end of the room. He was so strange today, you would have to bring it up to him later when he got back to normal.

Kenma let out a deep breath when the bathroom door locked and the sound of water running subtly passed through his ears. He had been feeling so on edge around you all day, ever since he picked up on the scent lingering on you. It was sweet, a sickly sweetness that made his skin crawl and hair going up in all the directions. He could barely sit still when you got close to him and he was having a bad feeling as to what exactly it was that you had got the scent from. 

The scent lingered in the air even when you were in the shower, making him feel an odd burn on his face. Sniffing around, the scent got stronger and stronger as he paced towards your shared bedroom. The closer he got to the source, the hotter his face felt. His breaths were heavy despite his best efforts to calm down and his fist curled and uncurled as the muscles of his stomach spasm. The long jacket that you wore to work was laid out on the bed and he cursed his instincts when he could not help but crawl on top of the crisp material. The sweetness was now overbearingly strong and his head felt stuffed like he just got a fever out of nowhere. 

He trailed down from the collar, sniffing along the way until he got to the hem and his mind exploded when the smell completely overtook his brain like a punch right at his guts.

It spread through his body like a rush of warm current entering his system, seeping into his skin and making his back arched in reflex. Every last bit of his rationality told him to get away, to stop letting this strange substance overwhelm him but his body already gave in to the primal instinct tickling his head. The claws at the tip of his fingers extended and retracted, bunching up the sheets underneath him as he brought the jacket closer to his face. He let out a choked whimper as his limbs felt like they were out of his control, every fiber in his body flaming up as the mix of your scent and the sweet smell evaded his senses. He twisted around uncontrollably, falling onto his side as he clutched the material in hand. 

More. He wanted more.

The pounding in his ear was all he could process as his body moved on its own, desperately searching for any hint of relief for the pulsing ache in his groins that was taking over his brain. He let out a soft hiss at the first roll of his hips against the mattress, burying his face to inhale the lingering scent as he humped against the surface desperate for friction. 

For a second, he was both hyperaware and too drown in the blood rushing through his veins to pick up anything happening around him. The sheets wrinkling up underneath him as his legs kicked uncontrollably to steady himself while grinding down, the growing warmth in his core from the friction that was not enough, the hint of your perfume at the collar of the jacket that wasn’t masked by the unknown scent. It all crashed up on him like a storm as he snapped his hips forward vigorously around nothing. He was too lost and in too unclear of a state of mind to care that his muffled moans were getting louder and louder or that the sound of the running shower had stopped.

“Hn... Ah- hmp!”

You paused in your steps when you walked into your room to hear the erotic whimpers of your usually collected boyfriend. Your hand that was holding up the towel wrapped around your torso clutched at the soft white material as a spark jolted through your spine in shock at the sight of Kenma grinding against the bed with your jacket in hand. His hips curving up with each lift and his feet clawing beneath for leverage. The fur on his tail was standing up straight as it pointed upwards, his ears pressed flat on his head and his face buried into your outerwear.

“Kenma...?”

He jolted when you called for his name. Turning around in an agonisingly slow pace, your breath hitched in your throat when you saw his pupils dilute the moment it landed on your scantily clad form. His golden eyes burnt onto your skin, scanning you from top to bottom. You could see his chest heaving much more strongly the moment he stopped at your exposed collar and bare legs that still had beads of moisture dripping down their lines. If his body was burning before, then now it felt like a heavy downpour right after a long day of blatant sunshine, the hot steam rising up in the air until he could barely even breathe.

You took tentative steps towards the bed, his breathing getting more and more erratic with each flare of his nostrils. His fingers dug into the jacket he cast an iron grip on when you got closer, the floral scent of your shower gel mixing into the bombard of signals that his brain was already receiving. Facing him directly as he crouched over the bed, you could see the obvious print straining against his sweatpants. His ears twitched when you slowly grabbed onto the jacket and you could feel his hands shaking when your fingers held onto his wrist, gently peeling the coat away from his hand.

He snapped the moment you leaned up and kissed him square on the lips.

His hands latched onto you in an instance, ripping a hiss from the back of your throat with his claws that he had forgotten to retract back with nothing but the want of feeling you in his head. He greedily slipped his tongue past your lips at the slightest pant you made, stealing away every ounce of oxygen in your lungs with his ruthless evasion. He moaned into your mouth, the feeling of your skin cooling his burning system down and he peeled away the towel on your body with a rough yank to search for more. His hard-on was pressed up against your pussy, his hands placed firmly at the sides of your hips to hold you down.

Smells so good. He buried his face at the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent to the most of his desires. His teeth scraped past your skin, making you tilt your head back instinctively before he bit down. You yelped at the sudden pain, chills crawling all over your arms when he followed the bite with a few kitten licks of his textured tongue. Your hands flew to wrap around his neck, clutching onto him as he ground against you and continued his nibbling all along your shoulders. You felt the familiar stir at the pit of your stomach at his needy moans and the friction he applied to your sex, his erection feeling incredibly hot when rubbing against you. 

“Ke- Kenma!” 

A string of incomprehensible noises resembling a weak scrawl rumbled from his chest at your pant, the pace of his hips only getting faster. He was a lot sloppier than he usually was when he had you pinned down underneath him, the usual calculation gone without a trace and all was replaced by the carnal desire of getting more, more, more. 

His breath was hot on your neck, the patches where he had left bite marks on burning from the pain and the feeling of his tongue still lingered. Your own wetness was starting to seep out of you, leaving a mark on his sweatpants as he humped against you. He was starting to get impatient as his shoulders tensed up, his jaw clenched tightly as he bit his lips. He shuddered as the first wave of his orgasm hit, the warmth reaching to your body with the stickiness that was seeping through the cotton of his loungewear. You held his head with a breathy coo, patting the back of his neck as you coaxed him down.

The look in his eyes was near dangerous when he sensed that you wanted to move away from his grip, pushing your hips down as he perched on top of you again. Your eyes widened when you saw the tent that had yet to gone away beneath the darker patch on his crotch from his cum. 

You knew that something was up with him when he was acting weird around you, but you did not expect him to act up like this.

"Mph-!” he let out a choked moan when you pressed your palm flat on his semi-erection as you gave his shoulder a light push. He protested when you got up, only to shudder when you hooked your fingers under the elastic band of his pants and yanked it down. 

His cock was an angry shade of red, a bead of pre already forming at the tip even after cumming once. His face was flushed, staring at you with glassy eyes as you sat back on your knees in front of him. Kenma let out a loud whimper when you wrapped your hand around the base of his cock, feeling it pulsed and filled up in your hand. You licked a long strip from the base all the way up to his tip, pressing your tongue flat against it before licking away the white droplet at the slit. You were gripping onto his thighs for leverage and his muscles spasm under your touch even with you barely doing anything. 

His hands were fast to find their way to your hair when you sunk down on his length, the heat in his chest far too unbearable for him to accept your pace. A sudden pull at your scalp took you by shock and as your lips wrapped around his girth, an instant soreness shot up from your throat up to your nose when he thrust up without warning. Tears welled up in your eyes as your gag reflex was taken hold by his cock hitting against the back of your throat, drool pooled in your mouth as you gasped but he was too gone to notice your discomfort. You struggled to gulp as he continued to fuck your face with a hold on your hair that was a bit too tight, the pain making you arch your back in reflex. Your vision was clouded by the tears in your eyes, each slam of your head down shoving your lips all the way to the very base of his cock, your nose almost touching his pubic hair before he pulled out with the help of your spit that was leaking out from the corners of your mouth.

Kenma tilted his head back as he used your mouth to his pleasure, the feverish redness on his face spreading all the way to the tip of his ears and down his neck. His hair was matted to the frames of his face with sweat, his tail stiffly pointed as his hips clenched with each thrust into your warm mouth. Your face was a mess, tears rolling down your chin and met with the trails of spit that was dribbling down at the edge of your jaw. Your fingers dug into his thighs as you tried to focus on the lewd moans falling off his parted lips and the way his body shook each time your throat contracted around his cock. Your jaw felt slack like it would unhinge if his rough treatment goes on any longer and your throat was beyond sore, your voice was sure to betray the events of tonight for the many days to come.

You were starting to feel a cramp creeping up onto the side of your thighs when he twitched in your mouth, the vein on his cock pulsing as his grip on your hair tightened. Your eyes rolled back when he pulled down, holding you firmly as the first taste of saltiness dripped on your tongue and down your throat. You tried to ignore the discomfort in your nasal, fixing your gaze on his blissful expression through your eyelashes that were blurred by your tears. It was rare to see Kenma completely letting go but today you saw his lust being displayed in the rawest form.

The sight of you struggling to swallow his load was far from pretty. You clutched your chest as you tried to breath, the warm liquid going down your throat made you hurt a little from the burn. More of your spit drooled out of your lips with his cum, dripping down from your face down your neck and onto your tits. 

You heaved as you looked up at him only to see that he was looking at you already. Whimpering when he latched onto you, his skin was still hot under your touch as his tongue swiped across your bottom lips. 

Another smell now mixed into the symphony of scents that was spreading with your heat and it was the signs of his mark on you. 

It only did the opposite to calming down whatever it was that was affecting his body and mind.

“Kenma, wait-” 

You were cut short when he pushed you down on the mattress, now hovering above you and shadowing you completely. His tail flicked behind him as he stared down at you. He was blocking the light from you and from beneath him, it was like his eyes were glowing in the shadows as he lowered himself onto you.

“Ah!” you mewled at the feeling of his cock pushing into your cunt, the lack of stimulation beforehand making the stretch all the more permanent. He let out the most sinful whine at the feeling of your tight walls clamping down on him. If humping against you and being wrapped up by your lips had let off the steam that was threatening to over pour in him, then finally being inside your tight cunt was what had the lid tipping over. 

You scratched down his back when he started moving, the pain slowly replaced with pleasure when your slick coated around his length with each push and pull. Your legs wanted to give in but you muttered out the last bit of your strength to sling them around his waist. The movements of his body were sloppy, his face right in front of yours as he plowed into the furthest he could reach. 

“H- hmph! So good- so good...” His voice came out as a purr, the vibrations hitting you in full force as he pressed up against you. 

It was the smell of sweat and your entangled scents that fueled him when the sound of skin slapping against skin and irregular pants bounced off the walls. If it had just been the sweet aphrodisiac that tainted your clothes, he was sure that he could at least keep part of his control but then you came in at just the best wrong timing and flood him over with the worst itch he had ever felt.

You pulled him in for a kiss, your hands reached for the back of his head as your tongues tangled together with each bounce of your body under his force. He hilted in you when you scratched down on the back of his ear, feeling his entire body shook. This egged him to go faster, the shivers traveling all over his body to the very tip of his toes at the mind-melting numbness like volts of electricity. 

The fist in your core coiled and you felt your body being set on fire with the heat on his skin transferring to you. His eyes were shut tight into two thin lines as he pressed his forehead against yours, his hot breath fanning across your face with each exhale. 

"I'm close-” your voice came out trembling, your nails digging down his back but he didn’t seem to even notice the pain at all. You hands flailed as you felt your orgasm building up, clumsily searching for the one spot you knew could push him to the edge until you felt something soft and fuzzy brushing over your hand.

“Hugh-” 

A yank at the base of his tail had him throwing his head back, his body shaking from the sudden stimulation. You did it again, this time more forcefully as his thrusts became more rapid.

You never thought you would hear such a sound fell from his lips as he came crashing down, shooting ropes of cum inside of your fluttering cunt. It was a high pitched sound with his voice breaking a little at the end. He had his eyes rolled back, pupils dilated and unfocused as his tongue darted out from the corner of his plump lips. You were completely worn out but still couldn’t help but marvel at how pretty he was when he gave in utterly. The stickiness ran down the root of your thighs as he stayed inside of you, the parts where your bodies connected still emitting warmth and spreading all over your system.

You stared up as the ceiling as your hands fell to your sides, collecting your breath.

This had got to be the last one.

You nearly let out an exasperated gasp when you felt him slowly getting hard inside of you again.

The sudden emptiness when he pulled out of you had you whining, his cum gushing out of your abused hole when he flipped you over. You barely had any strength to arch your back up when he gripped onto your ass, holding you up as you buried your face into the pillow in front of you. 

Your moans were muffled when he entered you again, your still sensitive cunt spasming around him and pushing more of your mixed fluids out of you. You were sure that your mess was dripped down and pooling between your knees already but you couldn’t think of that right now when he was balls deep inside of you again.

He leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on the back of your neck as if he was apologising, before jerking your body forward with a strong hilt.

-

Kenma’s purrs filled your ears when he finally flopped down next to you, pulling you close to his chest so you could calm down with the soothing sound of the rumbling from his throat.

You were still heaving when you finally found the voice in you to speak up, sounding ridiculously strained from all the screaming and squealing you had been doing.

“What was that...?”

“Catnip.”

You looked up at him, “what?”

“You smelled like catnip when you came back,” he sighed, rubbing circles on your back, “and I snapped.”

You blinked, your eyes widening when you finally made the connection between the weed-covered shortcut you took that night and everything that ensued afterwards.

“I’m never taking that route ever again.”

Kenma hummed, burying his nose in your hair when you shifted in his hold.

“But...” your eyes were glinting with a spark that didn’t seem like it belonged to someone who was so tired out, “the fact that you had such little resilience towards catnip could be useful information...”

He sighed, pressing you closer to his chest to hide your cheeky grin away.

“Don’t start anything you couldn’t finish.”

[neoculturetravesty]

Friday evening

Image adapted from here.

Pairing: Taeyong x Reader Genre: smut, pwp, romance, established relationship Warnings: 18+, oral (male receiving), protected sex, reader is a slight party girl with a bit of an innocence kink, riding, swallowing. Taeyong is sad because he’s been put on a break with an injured back and somehow seeing him this vulnerable is turning you on. Word Count: 4739

Summary: Taeyong has always, always put your pleasure first. It’s not that he does it out of learned, respectful responsibility; it’s because he needs to put your pleasure first or he would go crazy. So the poor boy doesn’t know what to do with himself now that he’s out of commission with an injured back and you’re the one that’s, erm, taking care of him.

A/N: Basically just pure filth and also my first attempt at smut. I also don’t have a proofreader, so pardon my oversights. Here goes nothing.

To say that your Friday evenings have changed a lot over the years would be an understatement. When you were younger, all you wanted to do at the end of a tough week was to get out and drink to your heart’s content. You’d stay out all night, sometimes even passing out in places that were most definitely not home. You had staked your claim in every club the city had to offer; you had never met a drink you didn’t like; there had never been a party you weren’t invited to.

So the fact that you were here now--splayed out over your couch with your boyfriend draped over you, his head resting on your belly while you lazily watched Netflix--was quite frankly absurd. If your other friends saw you here, choosing to stay in on a Friday night, they would think you were going through some kind of crisis. But you weren’t going through a crisis. You were just in love.

You were in love with a boy who was so incredibly, sweetly, and disgustingly domestic, you had no choice but to be soft for him. It came as a surprise to you at first--the fact that he was as domestic as he was. When you had first met him and found out who he was, you were convinced that he had to be, quite frankly, the fuckboy type. Taeyong was incredibly handsome, for starters, but also people would tell him he was handsome, and he got told this multiple times a day. Add to that the nature of his job, and girls, boys and everyone in between would throw themselves at him. You had met him through work while he had his idol and leader persona on. He was intense, he was charismatic, he worked the room like he owned it. So of course, you had thought, he had to be a fuckboy. It’s what made you approach him in the first place.

But on your first date, he cooked for you, couldn’t meet your eyes the entire time, and blushed and giggled every time you complimented his food; and all your assumptions were put to rest. You soon discovered that the poor boy didn’t know much outside of his work. The confidence, the charisma, the strength in his posture--it was all for the cameras. When the lights were off, you found that he was completely the opposite. What threw you off most of all was how sweet he was and how incredibly pure he was. He had had girlfriends before, that much he admitted, yet you had a way of knowing that he was way more innocent than he led on. 

You didn’t think you were the kind that would be into that sort of thing--the pure, good boy types. But you found yourself drawn to him and it surprised you. You were so used to flings with fuckboys where the both of you knew you were in it for a good time, not a long time. Maybe a part of you finally wanted the long time though you didn’t know it yet.

So when Taeyong had taken your hand one day and asked you to be his girlfriend, you had found yourself at a loss for words. He had looked at you with such hopeful sincerity in his doe eyes that it had almost frightened you. No one had ever looked at you like that. You had never been anyone’s girlfriend before. So you had answered “I guess...?” which was perhaps not the smartest response, but now you were glad you’d been dumb. Because it led you here, almost a year later with the boy you loved cuddling into your belly on the couch.

The two of you had been laying like this all afternoon and had gone through too many episodes of Money Heist without moving. But moments like these were so rare with Taeyong’s schedule and your own work that you dare not move an inch. You kept hugging onto the empty popcorn bowl while Taeyong lazily rubbed his hands up and down your sides, his cheek pressing into your tummy, his head almost buried under his favorite black blanket while he looked at the screen. When yet another episode ends, you reach over to stroke his hair “Aren’t you hungry?” you ask.

He shakes his head as he yawns “Nope. Are you? I could cook you something.” He says, lifting his head up to look at you. 

“But you’re hurt. I don’t want you to move.” You retort, rubbing the back of his neck. Your poor boyfriend had quite literally worked his back off till it physically gave up. He worked even when it hurt, he worked even when he limped. When he couldn’t move at all, is when he allowed himself a break. That’s what your first fight had been about--you yelling at him that he needs to take it easy and him telling you that you just don’t understand. You had ever since reminded yourself to be more patient with him. Taeyong, you found, was a fixer. He always felt like he needed to be there for his team, for his family, for you, so much so that he would run himself down no matter what it did to him. So the fact that he was here now, forced to take a break, was eating him up from the inside. You could tell.

“I’m tired of staying still.” He whines, buying his face into your tummy. It makes you chuckle and you hold his head closer.

“My poor baby.” You say and suddenly, the urge to take care of him overwhelms you. You look down at him as he hugs your middle, his usually wide shoulders curving in to make him seem smaller. He looked so helpless, so vulnerable and so broken, and that image made heat build in your core. ‘Fuck, I am going to hell.’ you thought as you felt the throb between your legs. It was fucked up, the fact that your boyfriend being helpless and hurt was suddenly turning you on. You start to wonder what was wrong with you. Why did his purity, his good heart, his innocence, and right now, his vulnerability stir something so carnal in you? You were going to hell for sure. 

‘He’s hurt, he’s hurt, he’s hurt.’ You tell yourself over and over like a mantra to stop yourself from having sinful, unvirtuous thoughts about him, but you must have been tugging the hair on the back of his head a bit too tight because he suddenly looks up at you. Like he could feel the air shift. He holds your gaze as he gently pushes the hem of your shirt up, just enough to reveal a sliver of belly and lands a tender kiss on the exposed skin. His big, warm hands delicately reach into your sides under your shirt and he bows his head and kisses your skin like worship. You look down at him with wonder as you hold his head like you were guiding him, and he was all too eager to be led. This boy had always been a giver. He knew right away that you wanted him and his first instinct had been to take care of you. You allow yourself to be venerated by his lips like that for a moment, melting back into the cushions as his kisses leave a trail till he licks a stripe just below your navel, drawing a moan out of you, somehow bringing you back to your senses. Only a little.

“Taeyong, you’re hurt.” you remind him, but it’s a weak reminder. You’re saying it just to say it because your body is brazen. He must have felt the insincerity in your tone because he doesn’t stop. His long, dexterous fingers move to the fly of your jeans, unbuttoning them and landing a kiss right on your pubic bone, over the thin fabric of your underwear. You inhale as you feel goosebumps prickling your skin from pleasure and for a moment, you think it’s okay to be this selfish. It’s okay to have your pure, guileless, obliging boyfriend worship your body even though he was hurt because the things he was doing to you… it would be more wrong of you to stop this reverence of unbounded desire. You were going to hell anyway, might as well be with an angel between your legs. 

But Taeyong hooks his index finger in the band of your underwear and pulls it down, lifting himself up to place another kiss when you hear him gasp “Ahh!” and it serves as a cruel, literal eye opener. Because your eyes actually snap open and the haze of sinful bliss surrounding you dissipates and you realize just how selfish you’re being. 

“Taeyong!” You sit up abruptly, watching the grimace on his face. You get off the couch and kneel next to him as he buries his face in the cushions, groaning. “Does it hurt a lot?” You ask, placing a gentle hand to his back, not daring to apply any amount of pressure. You lean in and press a kiss on his hurt.

Presumably, when the sting has subsided, he looks at you again and says “No, no… it doesn’t hurt… come back here.” He reaches a hand to the back of your head and pulls you in but it’s breaking your heart. You know he wants to make you feel good; he has almost a riotous need to keep you satisfied because that’s what keeps him going, that’s what validates him. The fact that he can’t would eat him up till he spirals and loses his mind. ‘Wouldn’t that be nice.’ The evil part of you thinks as the image of a more vulnerable Taeyong, a more broken Taeyong takes over your mind and you feel the needy heat build even greater under the undone fly of your pants. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’ You think to yourself in horror as this salacious, immoral image and what it has done to your core actually puts you to shame. Internally, you’re burying your face in your hands just like Taeyong was burying his face in the cushions. 

You take a deep breath to steady yourself. For once, you had to put a leash on your libido. Your boyfriend was hurt and you needed to be a good girlfriend. “We can do this when you’re better.” You say, rubbing your palm on his back, then stroking his head.

“But I want you now. Don’t you want me?” He asks with such uncertainty and you can tell he’s being the wicked one now because he knows what this tone does to you. Especially when he looks at you with eyes that drip honey. He knows he has you wrapped around his little finger in this moment because he keeps pouting. Taeyong would always have you putty in his beautiful hands and talented tongue. He loved making you feel good, he got off on making you feel good. You had pretty much been living your best life since you met him because you were finally with a man that cared more about your pleasure than his own. So of course, you wanted him. But not like this. 

“Come here.” You say to him gently, arranging the pillows around him and helping him flip over on his back so he was much more stable. Taeyong sighs, defeated in his expression, thinking he has lost this battle when you place a hand on his chest and lean over him to kiss him on the lips. You kneel by the side of the couch, hovering over him as he lays, cupping his face in your palms. Soon your fingers find their way to the base of his neck and you’re tugging at his hair again. You roll your tongue against his lips and into his willing mouth, kissing him with desire. He lays obediently as you pull back but looks at you in confusion, like he’s not sure if you’re giving up or giving in. You kiss into the crook of his neck, gently suckling on his sweet skin there and he moans out. You smile because you don’t have to look to know that his cock has twitched in his pants. 

You lean over his face, bringing the pad of your thumb to his bottom lip, gently stroking it as you talk “Do you want me?” you ask, your tone low and sultry, wanting to hear his sweet voice before you unleashed yourself on his body. His lips part and he’s panting when he nods his head “I want you.” he sighs in a soft voice. So you get up and carefully place yourself between his legs as he lays, ensuring not to shift the weight on the couch too much that it makes his back uncomfortable. You lift his shirt up just a little bit and kiss the skin of his belly, continuing from where you had left off, except the roles are reversed. But while you were laying back and taking in the sensation, Taeyong is confused; turned on but confused, like he doesn’t know what you’re doing to him. 

You meet his befuddled eyes, see him propped up on his elbows to look at you move, almost as if you were doing something perverse, something you weren’t supposed to do. So you give him a wicked smile and undo the button of his fly, just as he had done and press a kiss on top of his boxers. Your hands rub up into his chest “Lay back, sweetie.” You say lovingly as you slowly, teasingly start pulling the band of his boxers down, taking your time with it, putting on a show. Taeyong’s eyes are wide and his belly is pleasurably uneasy. He wasn’t used to this, simply because he never gave you enough time to reciprocate. He liked feeling a strange sense of control that came with the familiarity of being between your legs, giving you enough pleasure that you forgot your own name. He knew that process by heart. But this. This didn’t happen very often, but you were determined tonight, it seemed. He didn’t complain, even if he laid back with a sense of uncertainty because not knowing what would happen was distressing and thrilling at the same time.

You finally pull his boxers down enough to expose his semi-hardness and smile, running your hands down his sides just as he had done to yours, lifting his shirt up a little bit more. You look down at him brazenly, admiring his bare manhood, smiling at him. “My baby is pretty all over.” you say, making him close his eyes, head falling back into the pillows as he suppresses a moan. The image gives you a violent sort of hunger, like you wanted to own him, rail him till he saw stars.

You hold his length, pressing it into his belly with your palm before you finally lower your head and press your lips to his base. You feel him twitch under you at the same time you hear him let out a shaky moan, like he was feeling too much pleasure than he wanted to show.

“Let me hear your sweet voice, baby.” you encourage him and press more kisses to his balls, slowly rubbing circles with your thumb on his sensitive tip. You’ve swept your hair to one side and you hum into the kisses before the need to taste him tastes over. So you part your lips and let your tongue swipe him as you pucker, making him hiss out in pleasure. You gently start sucking then, rolling your tongue over and over, taking your time with it. You were in no rush. The two of you had all night. 

You gently start rubbing the underside of his growing length with your palm, almost massaging it, little beads of precum dripping onto his belly. You look up at Taeyong through your lashes and find his head thrown back, eyes closed, Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he swallows. He looked like an angel. So you start to kiss up his length, on the sensitive underside, little moans escaping your mouth as well and Taeyong can barely breathe. It feels forbidden to him, laying here like this as you pleasure him but he has to admit that it is a sweet form of torture and he wants it as much as he doesn’t. 

Your lips finally find his leaking tip. You stop, just so he’d look at you, giving you a chance to hold his gaze when you kiss it, a sweet, unassuming press of the lips, nothing more. But it has the effect you wanted because it draws a gurgled, almost pained moan out of him. 

“Fuck!” he all but yells out. And that’s all you needed to hear before you wrap your lips around it and start sucking. You take your time, swirling your tongue around, tasting his saline lust in your mouth while your hand takes care of the rest of his length, all the way to the base, softly stroking, massaging. It wasn’t often that Taeyong let this go on for this long. Usually, by this time, he would have lifted you to your feet into a kiss before he went back to his insatiable need to put you on pleasure’s end, making love to you like it was the only thing he was born to do. It took him hurting his back to keep him in place like this, and that wicked part of you is almost thankful for it.

Your mouth has picked up the pace, built a rhythm and the deviant sounds of your spit swirling in your mouth around his flesh fill the room. Suddenly, you hold yourself in place, placing your palms carefully on his thighs and relaxing your jaw before you slowly start easing his length into you inch by inch. You hadn’t done this in a while and certainly not with Taeyong, which is why the poor boy has almost sat up in bewilderment, eyes wild as he looks down at your feverish desire for him. 

“Oh God, Y/N…” he sounds like he’s underwater, like his breath is caught in his throat and you would have stopped if his hand didn’t go to your hair, holding you in place, telling you otherwise. So you keep going lower, never minding the slobber that drools out of you inelegantly and anoints him. You wanted him inside you like this, all the way in your throat where he’d never been, and you were going to make it happen. 

“Fuck, baby, fuck…” he’s whimpering now, moaning like it was too much and you almost take mercy on him. Almost. But you were so close now and you wanted him to be in the deepest parts of you because it was him. It was Taeyong, the boy who took your heart and broke down your walls and taught you what it was like to be loved without condition. You wanted to give him every part of you, good and bad. In this moment, you decide that you will love him with the same fervent worship that he loves you. That you would pleasure him with the same passionate devotion he pleasures you. And that you would stay by his side for as long as he would have you. It was strange, having this epiphany whilst his cock was lodged all the way in your throat.

You come up then, wiping your chin on the back of your hand and move up with the sudden hunger to kiss him. The riot in your chest has changed to something else, perhaps a feral craving, like you needed to hold this boy down and have him and drive him wild so he was whimpering, sobbing, begging for repentance. You needed him to be bare for you in a way he had never been exposed to anyone before.

So you kiss him deep, kiss him like a promise, vowing all you had thought in your head with your lips before he’s even had a chance to say something. He has noticed your energy shift because his arms are around you, holding you to him protectively, even though you dare not put your entire weight on him. You pull back to look at him and he sees such tempestuous emotion on your face that it makes him worry.

“Baby--” he begins but you cut him off.

“--I want you inside of me.” you announce and lean in to kiss him briefly, mostly so he wouldn’t protest or sit up or take over. You pull back and arrange the cushions around him once more, making sure that he is well and truly secure. You reach into the couch and pull out a condom that you always had stashed in there just in case. He looks at you tenderly and combs your hair away from your face with his fingers and you rip the foil open and carefully roll it down his length. When he is nice and wrapped, you bring your hands to the hem of your shirt because you want to give him a full view. He helps you take it off along with your pants and you position yourself on top of him, aligning him to yourself. You lean over to peck him on the lips.

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” you tell him and he holds your hips, nodding as he helps you sink down onto him. Truth be told, he wouldn’t stop this even if it hurt him because this was Taeyong’s personal heaven. You place your hands on his chest and begin rolling your hips, setting a slow, sensual, torturous rhythm that has Taeyong seeing stars. Soon, your moans and gasps are harmonizing and you think that this is perfect. This is where you belong. You were made for each other. You were born for each other. You wanted him in ways you had never wanted anyone before. 

You look at him as you sink down fully, feeling him deep and full and you squeeze around him as you lift back up. You don’t pick up the pace, not yet. You just want to see this boy losing his mind as you stroked him with your wet warmth, squeezing him, building his rapture more than he could bear. 

Taeyong’s hiding away, and for a moment you wonder if it is because he’s ashamed of feeling this amount of pleasure. He has one forearm thrown over his eyes and the sounds that escape him are trembling keens, like he’s in pain, like he’s being tortured. Every now and then, his breath hitches in his throat and he trembles all over.

So you move his arm and lean over him, taking his face in your palms and kissing his lips. “Look at me, baby.” you whisper at him and he obliges. You kiss the side of his face, over and over, lovingly, almost chastely but your hips are lewd against his, and he doesn’t know what to think anymore.

“I love you, Taeyong. So much. Did you know that?” You say to him, right in his ear as your hips start to make quick work of his shaft. You have him putty, you can see it and for a while, there is victory in your smile. You have him where you wanted him because he’s barely present anymore. All he can feel is your sinfully sweet warmth holding him prisoner and he’s lightheaded. He feels nothing but euphoria, he smells nothing but your scent clouding his senses, he hears nothing but your moans, ringing in his ears like incantations. 

You want him this way, crazed and gone, but the desire to have your name on his pretty lips when you’ve stripped him this bare is strong. So you grab his hair in a stronghold to bring him back, placing your lips close to his. “Say my name, baby.”

“Y/N…” he says in a broken cry and holds your hips as he starts thrusting up into you but you stop him. You know he is close, you know he wants an end to this overstimulation, but you finally have him where he seldom lets you have him. And you want to savour it, have this moment be yours for as long as you wanted.

“Tell me you love me. Tell me you need me.” you know it in your heart but you want to hear it. Hear it when he is most vulnerable. Hear your name from his lips like a prayer when he comes undone. You’re going all out on him now, moving your hips against him like there was no tomorrow.

“Fuckkk, Y/N, I love you! I need you! I need you so much it drives me crazy. I need you, I need you… fuck, baby I’m going to come…” his eyes are closing, the words are coming out of him strained, and you watch victoriously. Like you’ve finally pulled the confession you wanted out of your criminal after sweet, prolonged torture. You make him look at you.

“Ahhh fuck, Y/N…” his yell ends in a croak, and you halt your movements, climbing off of him to take him in your hand, pulling the condom off and pumping him quick while your mouth sucks on the tip, tasting yourself on him. His hips buck into you involuntarily as he holds your hair, saying your name over and over like you wanted, spilling his seed into your willing mouth. He watches with amazement as you swallow everything he gives you, pumping him with your hand fast into your wanton mouth. 

He slumps back when he’s done and you’re on top of him, kissing him with your dirty mouth. The poor boy looks too worked out to kiss you back with much presence. So you smile and let him be for a moment so you could clean up. You bring him back a wet towel and a fresh pair of boxers. You begin attending to him, softly cleaning him up and for once in your relationship, he is too spent to protest. He lets you care for him. Usually, he was the one who would do this after sex, but here he lies, too injured, too blissed out, too exhausted. So he lets his girlfriend take care of him and if he were being honest with himself, it felt nice to be looked after like that. It made him feel safe, like deserved the love he was receiving. He lets his eyes droop and drifts off for a moment till he feels your weight behind him, your arms encircling him, holding his wide back to your chest. He feels your swollen lips in the spot at the back of his ear and he hums sleepily. 

Maybe you’re in the sweet afterglow of sex but you feel warm and full and whole and loved with your boyfriend in your arms. “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anyone or anything.” You tell him softly in his ear and Taeyong melts. He believes the words you tell him, almost like he’s hearing them, really hearing them for the first time. He wants to say so much back but all he can manage is a hum deep in his chest and you feel the reverberation before you hear the sound and it makes you smile. 

Maybe when he wakes up, he would tell you how much you meant to him. How thankful he was that you had given him your heart. How you had stuck by him even when his love and passion for you seemed to suffocate you. He finally believed that you wanted to keep him with just as much severity as he wanted you. So he let himself be held as he drifted off in the arms of the woman he loved, wishing that being surrounded in her scent would help him dream of her, too.

Copyright © 2021 NeoCultureTravesty. All rights reserved.

[astaroth1357]

The Brothers as Angels of Virtue

My Brain: Stop thinking about the Angel!Brothers. The Angel!Brothers aren’t real. Like, they’re even less real than usual.

Me: But they are real!! *puts hand over heart* They’re real to me… in my heart…!

My Brain: “Your heart” ain’t in the canon but whatever, good luck with your delusions…

Me: Oh yeah?? Well I’ll show you, Brain!! I can FORCE this to work with the canon!!!

Brain: Nani!?!

Angel of Humility, Lucifer

Lucifer obviously wasn’t the first angel, Michael and Gabriel were there before him so those two had the most hand in “mentoring” him as he grew up.

Lucifer was always Michael’s favorite from the beginning. He was a very mild-mannered and studious kid from the get-go, even if he could be a bit blunt... 

He seemed to always be willing to learn something new and even after he would all but master whatever he practiced, he’d never forget to give credit to the people who taught him along the way. His willingness to step out of the spotlight, despite his many talents, eventually earned him the virtue of “Humility.”

Lucifer was around his pre-teens when Mammon was finally created, slightly too old to be able to grow up with him super closely, but still young enough to be more approachable than Michael or the others when he needed help.

Lucifer loved little Mammon with all his heart and would try to give him advice when he could, but since Michael would keep him busy helping him on most days Mammon was left with little people to socialize with… at least until Levi came along anyway.

As time passed and he grew even older, more and more siblings became added to the family. Lucifer never ignored or forgot about a single one of them. While Michael and others concerned themselves more with the day-to-day work, he’d be the one to check in on everyone and be sure they were alright.

Michael would arrange for a lot of “family activities” while they were all still together and Lucifer would actually enjoy participating. He’d usually volunteer to be the person who’d help the youngest at the table learn how to play a game since he wasn’t very competitive himself. A lot of the goodwill his family still has for him comes from these kinds of memories… No matter what happened afterwards.

Angel of Charity, Mammon

Mammon came around a fair amount of time after Lucifer so he was the youngest angel for quite a while. 

This led him to grow up a little… wilder than the others because he used to do things to get attention. Not big things, but like break a rule here or there to get people noticing you know?

Despite his “problem child” tendencies, no one ever considered Mammon a bad apple or anything. He probably had the most compassionate heart out of all the angels, the kind of kid who offers you one of their toys when they see you’re upset, you know?

As more siblings came into the picture, Mammon had a nasty habit of spoiling them silly. Especially Levi, who was much closer to his age, and ultimately got most of the toys when they would play together and gifts afterwards. Mammon’s selfless attitude towards giving gave him the virtue of “Charity.”

Over time, Mammon began to get more and more dissatisfied with how nice the lives of angels were compared to those of humans and he started making secret trips to the human world to help out the less fortunate. Since this was tiptoeing dangerously close to meddling with human lives, Lucifer was brought in to give Mammon a different outlet for his frustration...

Lucifer placed Mammon in the guardian angel program, allowing him to pick one human whom he could help as much as he liked, so long as he followed the rules. As it would turn out, Mammon took to guardianship swimmingly and stayed in the program right up until their eventual fall… and sort of afterwards too if you think about it.

Angel of Kindness, Leviathan

After Levi was made, Mammon was SO excited to have someone close to his age around that he became his main playmate.

Levi adored Mammon back then, the two were practically inseparable when they were young. The other angels would find them running around together, the more extroverted and lively Mammon leading the way for his his shy, but sweet brother in for whatever they were doing.

When Mammon would come up with any big project ideas, Levi would be the first person he’d ask to be his “partner-in-crime.” Unfortunately, it was still very much one of those “they’re a pair, but they have two braincells between them” kind of dynamics so things would always go south quick.

One day, Mammon was determined to make breakfast for all the other angels so Michael could take a break, so he pulled in Levi to help him. Because neither of them actually knew how to cook, the kitchen turned into a disaster and they both were covered in eggs and flour when Lucifer found them...

As Levi grew up, he more or less became of the unofficial helper and confidant to all the other angels, his siblings included. In time, because he was always so willing to lend a hand with everyone else’s projects, he became pretty skilled at a lot of things as a result. People eventually took note of Levi’s good-nature and named his virtue “Kindness.”

When Mammon started acting up more and more, the other angels would try to discourage Levi from associating with him as much but he’d always be the first to stick up for his older brother. No matter how much he bent the rules, he knew that he had a good heart and always meant well in the end. That, unfortunately, wouldn’t always hold true down the line...

Angel of Chastity, Asmodeus

There was another gap between Levi’s creation and Asmo’s so yet again there was a young angel without anyone their age to play with…

Unlike Mammon’s situation, however, Asmo was at least fortunate enough to have older brothers who understood what that felt like and tried their best to play with him when they could. Lucifer did this in particular because he was worried that Asmo could start acting out like Mammon had all those years ago...

Because of the extra attention, Asmo took to Lucifer very quickly. He saw him sort of how Luke sees Michael for quite a while and wanted to help him as much as he could. Sometimes people would even joke that Asmo was like his shadow, because the little angel would follow him around and mimic whatever he did.

Because they were together so much, Lucifer did a lot to shelter Asmo from the less savory things in life... It wasn’t so much out of prudence as it was brotherly concern for the boy, Mammon was still quarreling with him about the state of the human world and he didn’t want Asmo to go down a similar path... Due to this, Asmo had a very sheltered view on life and his perpetual wide-eyed innocence earned him the virtue of “Chastity.”

After he got a little older, he started wanting to find his own identity apart from Lucifer and that was around the time that the twins were made. 

Though everyone adored the twins, Asmo loved them both most of all! He took on the role of their babysitter and wouldn’t hear anything to the contrary, though he was a much more relaxed guardian than Lucifer had been to him (mostly because he was just so soft for their cute little faces).

Angel of Temperance, Beelzebub

It was a big deal when the twins were created because it’s very rare for two angels to be made so close together, on the same day no less. Beel came first when the sun rose then Belphie second after it fell. 

Asmo was ecstatic to have a younger sibling at last and all of the other brothers were equally delighted. Though Asmo did a lot of their babysitting, Beel was still more closely drawn to Lucifer whenever he would watch them. During those times, he would notice how tired Lucifer would be whenever he got to play with them… this would come to affect him later on.

The twins were always close to each other, naturally, but there were still big differences in their personalities even back then. Beel had always been known for his even-temper and awareness of both others and himself. If Mammon was the kid who’d give you his toys, Beel was the one to listen to your problems (even if he didn’t understand them, like at all).

From a young age, Beel would quietly watch those around him. The Celestial Realm was a demanding environment and a lot of angels had a good deal of work to do... Beel connected the dots that doing all this work all the time led to a lot of stress early on.

Being a caring soul, Beel used this knowledge to intervene when he saw his brothers getting overworked and helped remind them of their limits. This would apply especially to his twin (who was pretty much his patient zero) and Lucifer, who eventually grew to rely on Beel’s advice so much he  made him part of his personal guard. His guidance and insight beyond his years eventually gave him the title of “Temperance.”

Though Beel was protective of everyone, Belphie often got most of his attention because of his tendency to push himself farther than he needed to. It was his desire to see his twin take more breaks that led him to asking Mammon if Belphie could start going to the human world and well… We know where that ends up.

Angel of Diligence, Belphegor

As the younger of the twins, all the other angels considered Belphie to be the baby of the family and treated him as such. Asmo adored him because he was just so cute, so he got coddled A LOT when compared to everyone else.

Belphie differed from his brother by being the more active of the two. While Beel would be comfortable to sit back and watch then lend a hand, Belphie always felt more better just getting up and doing whatever needed done himself, usually with a smile in the process. He would actually have to lean on Beel quite a lot because of this, since his twin could remind him to rest and take breaks.

Combine his cheerful attitude with his cute face and “baby brother” status and Belphie could always get away with quite a lot, even back then. Of all the boys, even Lucifer couldn’t bring himself to be too hard on him. That didn’t really become a problem until he got a little older though...

Beel was worried that Belphie wasn’t getting enough rest, so he convinced Mammon to start taking Belphie out with him when he went to the human world as a guardian angel. He figured that if Belphie was away from work, then he had to rest, right? Mammon agreed and that’s what sparked Belphie’s fascination with the human world to start with.

After getting to go a couple times, he would start working extra hard in order to suck up to Lucifer, Michael, or whoever he could so he could go again. When the other angels started getting concerned that he was spending too much time there, they tried to put a limit on it to keep him home. However, that just lead him to sneaking out and leaving notes for Beel on where to find him if people started noticing...

Beel tried his best to curtail his twin’s trips, but even he couldn’t really tell Belphie no when he needed to hear it. By the time Lilith came around, Belphie was already making regular trips there and back and well… That’s how the story goes.