#me: is a hoe for notion

[preeningpisces]

Sukuna NSFW Headcanons

Lemme know if you want me to elaborate or write something about any of these ♥️

18+ content below, mdni, implied chubby f!reader, dark content

TW: implied non-con, mentions of death, Sukuna is not nice!!!

♛ Boy oh boy. Mr. Monsterfucker wet dream himself

♛ For starters, make no mistake: Sukuna gives absolutely zero fucks about your pleasure. You’re there solely to please him, and it makes no difference whether you enjoy it or not

♛ Knows where the clit is, he just doesn’t give a fuck lmfao

♛ I think one thing that would make him actually intelltionally please you--which is very rare, but happens on occasion when he's in a good mood---is sounds. If you make sounds of pleasure he likes, he’ll try to get more out of you. Again, not for your benefit. It's purely because it brings him some satisfaction. It’s the same with sounds of pain tho, oof

♛ Not very noisy, but doesn’t stifle any sounds either. Definitely a grunter. Talkativeness depends on his mood

♛ I definitely agree with the notion that he’d have concubines. As we know him now, I can’t imagine him falling for anyone or being loyal

♛ With that in mind, Sukuna doesn’t really have a type. His concubines all look very different. Yuki asks Sukuna what his type is and he just says pussy

♛ One thing he appreciates about you is how your soft body fills his hands. With him being humongous, having someone larger just feels more comfortable. Sometimes he just wants that vava-voom if you know what I mean. Also enjoys how your thighs feel when you're riding him--their softness rippling against his muscles

♛ That’s not to say Sukuna doesn’t have preferences, I just don’t think they’d be consistent, or that he’d care enough to pick up on a pattern. He just sees someone & knows ‘I’d stick my dick in them’ or ‘Uraume feed me this ugly hoe’

♛ OF COURSE he has a double-decker dick!! The one on the bottom is more sensitive. He likes having one of his concubines riding the top one, and another sucking his cock and balls

♛ His cum shoots--it gets airtime. Think that scene in Devilman Crybaby

♛ Without a doubt a sadist, in every way. Making you cry, making you bleed, & hurting you all get him going. Big on dacryphilia, and degratation

♛ Absolutely nooooot going to be submissive. Nope no way, especially not to some lowly human or sorcerer such as yourself. He’d have to see you as an equal, and even then, I’m not sure he would

♛ Not submissive but lowkey a pillow princess LMFAO you gotta do all the work. He just lazes while you suck him off or ride him

♛ When he’s in the mood he treats you like a fleshlight. If he legitimately railed you, it would do permanent damage. Mfer is 8ft tall—if he were to actually pound you with vigor you’d DIE. In fact, he probably does that when he doesn’t care to keep someone….yikes let’s not think about that

♛ Honestly I don’t imagine he’s that freaky or kinky. Really just wants to blow his load in (or on) someone pretty & that’s about it

♛ The freakiest thing he does is use his tummy tongue—largely because it frightens you & his other concubines bc, yknow, he could legit eat you. Also, he just wants to eat some pussy every now & then, and there’s no way he would lower his head or kneel for anyone

♛ He eats pussy for his own pleasure, not yours, but that tongue is so big and slippery you usually cum anyway. Doesn’t stop until he’s had his fill

[kingofbodyrolls]

Friendcation (m) | myg | seven [fin]

Melancholy shrouds you and Yoongi in your last days of vacation – time to get back home to the daily grind. But when you can visit Yoongi in his garage, is it really so bad?

→ Pairing: Yoongi x reader (female) → Other characters: Jimin, Jungkook, Taehyung, Namjoon, Hoseok and Seokjin. → Trope: friends to best friends with benefits to lovers (they be messy and confused, lol) → AUs: non idol!au, camping!au, roadtrip!au, mechanic!au (Yoongi is a mechanic) → Genre: humor, (slight) angst, smut and fluff → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (This is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸 → Status: complete! → Word Count: 11.3k → Warnings (general): angst and uncertainty, pregnancy test and pregnancy scare. → Warnings (explicit): explicit rough sex, exhibitionism, voyeurism, unprotected sex, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, ass slapping, impreg kink (new for me, so it might be light and soft), nipple play, Yoongi’s garage and a certain car 👀 (yes this is a warning and you’ll understand it when you read it 🥵), hair pulling, slight possessiveness 👀, lots of ass grabbing, some brief cockwarming too. → Author’s note(1): This is the end of the road, guys 😭 It has truly been a rollercoaster for me, and I’m so pleased with these last chapters and I feel like this is a good way to end things for this couple and their teasing friends. 

Also, there’s a line of dialogue in this chapter (one of Yoongi’s 🥵) that spawned another fic that I actually wrote to get out of my writers block before I could finish friendcation – It’s ‘Say that Again (I Dare You)’, if you’re interested you can go ahead and give it a read 🙂 (It has nothing to do with friendcation and everything to do with me being an insatiable hoe 😇).

Thank you so much – and thanks to all that likes, comments, reblogs, yeah, anything. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, it makes me so happy and a damn smiling fool 💜 → Read on AO3? [link] ✨

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“The second statement is a lie,��� you laugh, your conviction cutting through the night air. The rest of your group joins in with a collective hum of agreement. 

“You just don’t strike me as the threesome type,” you assert, adding a touch of finality to your words. 

Namjoon casts a curious gaze your way, his eyebrows lifting ever so slightly. 

“Are you sure?” he asks, a hint of skepticism coloring his words. 

You nod affirmatively, your confidence unwavering. It’s hard to fathom Namjoon engaging in such endeavors; his other statements seem to carry a more authentic resonance. 

Your eyes widen in disbelief, almost popping out of their sockets, as Namjoon casually shrugs his shoulders, his laughter resonating through the air. “Well, I have,” he admits, reclining in his seat with an air of nonchalance. 

Your gasp is almost audible, a testament to the revelation that shatters your preconceived notions. “Wow,” you utter in awe, realizing that even those you thought you knew well can still surprise you with hidden facets.

“I just didn’t think you were into that, maybe Hoseok, but you, Joonie?” you say in a breathy voice, the disbelief evident. 

The mention of Hoseok prompts an indignant “Hey!” from him, and you can’t help but chuckle. 

Namjoon continues to laugh, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he playfully challenges Hoseok, “It’s your turn, Hobi.”

All eyes, except Yoongi's, focused on the road, shift to Hoseok, waiting for the next set of revelations as he contemplates his three statements. The rhythmic hum of the engine underscores the silence, creating a suspenseful atmosphere within the confines of Holly. 

As you all hum with curiosity, anticipating Hoseok’s next revelation, he unveils another layer of himself. “I once dated a man,” he confesses, a momentary hush falling over the group, the revelation hanging in the air like a delicate thread. 

The subsequent statement, “I’m scared of snakes,” elicits laughter, the image of Hoseok’s comical encounters with the slithering creatures at the zoo playing in everyone’s minds. 

Then, in a surprising twist, Hoseok drops the bombshell, “I was contacted to choreograph a music video.” 

Holly is filled with gasps and widened eyes as the weight of this unexpected admission settles among the group. 

The van is a buzz of whispers and exchanged glances as you and your friends dive into a lively debate, dissecting each of Hoseok’s revelations with an air of camaraderie. 

Yoongi’s voice, a steady anchor amid the animated chatter, breaks through as he shares a practical update.

“We’re almost there,” he interjects, his gaze fixed on the winding road.

You catch a glimpse of his focused expression, the contours of his profile bathed in the soft glow of passing streetlights in the dim morning.

“Just stopping by a store first.” 

Yoongi continues, his words weaving seamlessly into the ongoing banter. 

Seokjin’s laughter erupts like a spontaneous melody, harmonizing with the hum of the van’s engine.

Namjoon chimes in, “But the fear of snakes? That’s so Hobi. Remember that one time at the zoo?” The memory elicits another round of laughter, lightening the atmosphere.

You interject with a thoughtful musing, “The music video thing could also be true.”

Namjoon’s analytical mind chimes in, “But he could also have dated a man, I’m sure he’s mentioned that sometime.” His words ripple through Holly, introducing an element of doubt that swirls around Hoseok’s revelations.

Seokjin’s confident assertion pierces through the deliberations, echoing with finality. “We think the statement with the music video is a lie,” he declares. The collective nodding of heads and the subtle hum of agreement create a shared consensus among you. 

The decision is made, and the spotlight now shifts to Hoseok, awaiting his response.

“That one was actually true,” Hoseok’s revelation hangs in the air, a surprising twist that elicits a collective gasp and a wave of laughter. 

Your voice, laced with a cocktail of disbelief and genuine curiosity, slices through the air like a finely tuned instrument. 

“Hold up, you haven’t actually dated a man?” you query, your eyes widening in a mix of incredulity and intrigue.

“Not yet, but I’m open to the possibility,” he grins, radiating a warmth that rivals the sun itself.

“Wait... Does that mean you’re going to choreograph a music video?” Namjoon slaps him on the shoulder, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically, causing him to wince.

Hoseok nods, his expression bright and proud. “They reached out to me before the vacation, and a few days ago, they confirmed that I got the job.”

“Wow!” you exclaim, your face bright and brimming with genuine happiness for your friend.

“That’s absolutely amazing.” Seokjin adds gleefully, his excitement mirroring the collective joy in the van.

“Congrats.” Yoongi adds from the driver’s seat, his voice filled with genuine warmth and a hint of pride for Hoseok’s achievement.

“Thank you.” Hoseok says proudly, launching into enthusiastic explanations about his new job, his eyes lighting up with passion for the upcoming project.

“We’re here.” Yoongi announces, effortlessly maneuvering Holly into a parking spot before cutting off the engine, the sudden silence emphasizing the arrival at your destination.

You all spill out of the van, a lively group on a shared mission, and step into the store, ready to stock up on essentials and treats for the upcoming days of your adventure.

As you step into the store, the unspoken choreography of your group takes over, each member moving with purpose to efficiently tackle the shopping list. 

You and Yoongi, armed with a basket and a secret mission for a pregnancy test, navigate the aisles in search of canned goods, weaving through the vibrant array of products. Meanwhile, the rest of the team secures a cart, ready to explore the realms of meat and veggies. 

In no time, you and Yoongi expertly pluck a selection of canned goods from the shelves, tossing them into your basket with practiced ease. As you navigate the aisles, hand in hand, your journey takes a deliberate detour to the toiletries and sanity section. There, amidst the array of products, you both zero in on the elusive pregnancy test with the finesse of seasoned shoppers.

As you reach for a package, an unexpected weight settles in your hand, the incongruity of such a small item bearing a significant burden dawning on you. 

In this moment, the weight transcends the physical, carrying with it the gravity of what it represents—questions, possibilities, and the potential to alter the course of your relationship with Yoongi.

Locking eyes with Yoongi, you muster the courage to break the news subtly. “Is it okay if I head up to pay for it now? I’d rather keep it between us for now,” you confess, your voice carrying a blend of vulnerability and anticipation. 

His response is a reassuring squeeze of your hand, a silent affirmation that he understands. “Of course. Go pay for it, and I’ll round up the others. We’ll join you outside,” he assures, the unspoken promise of solidarity evident in his gaze.

With a tender yet uncertain smile, you part ways from Yoongi, fully aware that within the confines of this unassuming package rests the key to your shared destiny.

You hasten to the cashier, swiftly complete the transaction for the test, and then make your way to Holly, anticipation knotting your stomach as you await the arrival of your friends.

In no time, your friends conclude their shopping, and you assist in loading the van with groceries. Safely tucked away in one of your bags is the pregnancy test, a secret that remains concealed from prying eyes.

Returning to Holly, Yoongi takes the wheel, steering you toward a hidden forest oasis where he skillfully parks, creating a cocoon of tranquility amid the lush surroundings.

As the sun bathes the surroundings in a golden glow, setting up camp in the middle of the day proves delightful, offering ample light to illuminate your tasks. With a symphony of coordination, each of you contributes to unloading Holly and assembling the tent, a well-practiced ritual that transforms the serene landscape into a cozy haven.

While the guys gather around a crackling campfire, savoring light snacks and sipping on cold beers, you find it challenging to fully unwind. The weight of the pregnancy test preoccupies your mind, its presence an insistent reminder. An undercurrent of nervous anticipation builds within you, urging you to take the test and unravel the mystery that has woven itself into the fabric of your thoughts.

You rise from your seat with purpose, drawing a few curious glances, notably from Yoongi, yet determinedly stride towards the van. 

Each step feels charged with the weight of the moment, the bag clutched in the comfort of the van holding not just your belongings but the potential key to your future.

Startled, you almost jump at the warm and familiar voice that breaks through your reverie. Lost in your thoughts, you hadn’t noticed him approaching. 

“Can I come with you?” he asks, his presence both surprising and comforting.

His hands find your waist, their warmth and rough texture grounding you in the present. With a reassuring touch, he gently nudges you, calming the swirling thoughts that had momentarily carried you away.

You arch an eyebrow at him, your fingers tightly clenched around the pregnancy test. 

“You wanna watch me pee?”

He chuckles at your furrowed expression, gently turning you around to face him. With a tender touch, he brushes stray strands of hair away from your face, locking eyes with you as he nods, a silent reassurance passing between you.

“That’s gross, Yoongi. You don’t have to watch me pee.” You mumble, keeping your voice low to avoid the others catching on.

“If you’re pregnant, watching you pee on a stick will be the least grossest thing I’ll see.” Yoongi teases, a playful glint in his eyes.

Admitting defeat, you concede, and let him accompany you into the serene depths of the forest, away from the prying eyes of your friends and the campsite.

His hand, warm and reassuring, intertwines with yours, a conduit for the palpable love that flows between you. Seeking solace beside a sturdy tree, you carefully retrieve the test, holding it up for closer scrutiny.

“I’m scared.” 

You admit, the words almost a whisper in the quiet of the forest. Yoongi’s gaze softens with understanding, his hand tenderly caressing your cheek. “I understand,” he reassures, gently lifting your face to meet his gaze, “Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”

“Okay?” he murmurs, his gentle touch stroking your cheek before he leans in, placing a chaste kiss on your trembling lips. In that simple moment, he somehow eases the fear swirling within you. You nod, a wave of gratitude washing over you for his unwavering presence.

You carefully open the package, extracting the instructions and scrutinizing them. This marks your first experience with a pregnancy test, and you’re determined to ensure every step is executed correctly.

“I should’ve brought a cup or something to collect the pee,” you groan at the inconvenient realization. “Oh well,” you chuckle, pulling down your pants to relieve yourself against the tree. Yoongi efficiently unpacks the test and hands it to you, a subtle smile playing on his lips.

In a million scenarios, you never imagined finding yourself in a forest, peeing on a stick while Yoongi watches. It’s almost laughable, the twists life takes.

Your voice wavers with uncertainty as you pull your pants back up, glancing at the test. 

“Can you set a timer? Three minutes.” You request, the seconds ticking away with the weight of anticipation.

Yoongi swiftly retrieves his phone, the soft glow illuminating his focused expression as he expertly sets a timer, the seconds ticking in sync with the nervous beats of your heart.

Restlessly, you tread back and forth, clutching the test in your hand, each step echoing the restless beats of your heart, anxiously awaiting the passage of time.

Yoongi’s reassuring touch envelopes your waist, leading you to another tree, one untouched by your earlier predicament. “Relax,” he murmurs, settling you down against the sturdy trunk, both of you finding solace in its shelter.

A flicker of curiosity brightens your eyes as you break the silence. 

“Aren’t you nervous?” You inquire, secretly craving insight into his seemingly calm demeanor, a shared vulnerability between you two.

“Not really.” He shrugs, a nonchalant exterior belying the subtle lean against your shoulder, a silent reassurance echoing louder than words ever could.

Then silence envelops you, a palpable tension that’s not uncomfortable, but rather pregnant with anticipation, each passing second stretching the boundaries of waiting.

As the timer beeps, you gasp, releasing a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, the sound echoing the suspense that has built up within you.

With trembling hands, you bring the test closer to your face, inspecting the results. Your heart gallops like a herd of wild stallions, and your breath quickens in anticipation. 

Are you ready for this revelation? 

Ready or not, here it is—just one line. 

Not pregnant.

Your heart plummets at the stark results, and you release a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. 

The sting of tears gathers at the corners of your eyes, and a single teardrop slips free.

Yoongi swiftly brushes away your tears, his touch a comforting blend of warmth and reassurance, his fingers tenderly tracing the curve of your cheek.

“Not the results you were hoping for?” 

Yoongi’s voice carries a mixture of empathy and concern, his eyes locked onto yours, searching for the emotions hidden within.

Tears cascade down your cheeks in a torrent, your sobs escaping in uncontrollable waves. With a mix of frustration and despair, you discard the test, shielding your face in trembling hands. “I don’t know,” you confess through the emotional turmoil, your vulnerability laid bare.

He cradles your hands, gently freeing your tear-stained face from its hiding place. Drawing you into a cocoon of warmth, he envelops your trembling form in a tender embrace. His fingertips dance soothingly along your back, a silent promise of unwavering support as you release the weight of your emotions on his shoulder.

“It was negative,” you choke on a stifled cry, “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

“You were hoping for a positive.” He murmurs warmly against your ear, sending delightful shivers down your spine. Damn it, he’s right. The test has consumed your thoughts for days, and a part of you had secretly wished for a positive result. Fuck.

“I didn’t realize I wanted that,” you sob, clinging to his embrace as if your very existence depended on it.

“It’s okay, babe. To be honest, I’m a bit disappointed too,” he confesses in a tender voice as you slowly pull away from him, locking eyes.

In his eyes, you search for any sign that he’s just saying that to make you happy, but the determination, love, and care in those beautiful brown eyes tell a different story. He wanted the test to be positive too. He wants to have a kid with you. The thought finally hits you, and you begin to cry again.

You ask in disbelief, your body still shaking with the aftermath of tears, “You want to have a baby with me?”

“Yeah,” he looks at you tenderly again, kissing your tear-stained cheek. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“I mean, we haven’t been together long,” you begin as your crying turns into small sobs, your heart slowing down gradually.

“Babe, we’ve known each other for over ten years. Spent so fucking much time loving each other, without telling the other. It’s not about the time, it’s you.”

At this, tears well up again, a cascade of emotions unleashed by his beautiful words. 

Your heart leaps and somersaults because, damn it, he’s right. Maybe you haven’t been ‘officially’ together for that long, but the bond you share spans years. It feels natural, like the coming together of two souls that have known each other intimately for decades.

As he speaks, his words paint a vision of a future you never dared to imagine. 

“I want kids in the future, and I want them with you,” he declares, his sincerity echoing through the forest. You sob at the beauty of his words, your heart swelling with emotion. 

“You’ll be an awesome and fearless mom. You’re strong, incredible, and your heart is so big and full of love,” he continues, each compliment a brushstroke in the portrait of your relationship. 

“With you, I want everything. Why waste any more time?” he asks, his soft chuckle carrying the weight of a promise for a future filled with love and possibility.

In the wake of his heartfelt confession, you’re overwhelmed by the cascade of loving and wonderful words that have poured from his lips. You yearn for everything he’s just described, and the intensity of your desire propels you into a kiss that speaks volumes. 

It’s not just a simple meeting of lips; it’s a fervent exploration, a hunger for all of him. 

The kiss is messy, tears and saliva mingling to create a salty sweetness on your tongues. Yet, in this raw and unfiltered moment, you find solace because, for the first time, you’re not just kissing; you’re tasting the promise of a shared future.

“Damn. I want that too.”

Your moan escapes into his mouth, a symphony of pleasure, as your hands entwine in his long hair, pulling with an urgency that draws a deep groan from him, echoing in the intimate space of your kiss.

As you softly pull away, the realization hits that the tears have ceased, replaced by a new and electric tension. A surge of desire courses through you, prompting you to grind your body against his, teasing and stoking the flames of arousal that now dance between you.

“What does this mean?” 

You ask, the taste of salt still lingering on your lips as you lick them. The remnants of your earlier mood dissipate, making room for a lighter and happier atmosphere.

“That I’ll fuck you raw,” he smirks at you, his eyes turning dark with desire.

“Make you nice and round.” he strokes your stomach before cupping your clothed core.

You release a sultry moan, “Fuck, yes.”

You stroll alongside Yoongi, hand in hand, your cheeks likely marked with the remnants of tears, yet you’re beaming, the joy evident. With Yoongi by your side, nothing else holds significance.

As you return to your friends, you catch the intrigued glances they shoot your way, a silent curiosity lingering in the air, though no words are exchanged.

You settle into the chair with Yoongi, the contours of his lap perfectly accommodating your form as you nuzzle your head against his chest, finding solace in the rhythmic beat of his heart.

You feel the weight of curious eyes on you, a silent conversation unfolding in their gazes, laden with unspoken words yearning to break free.

“We’re thinking about heading home tomorrow.” Hoseok starts, his voice carrying a subtle air of decision with each sip of his beer.

“So you can savor a few days of solitude before your vacation bids farewell.” Namjoon chimes in, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

You exchange glances with him and offer a gentle, appreciative smile. Your heart swells with gratitude for the sweetness and thoughtfulness your friends never fail to show.

Seokjin chimes in with a smile, “I miss my girlfriend too.”

“We’ll drive you to the station tomorrow.” Yoongi says, his hands intertwining with yours, a gesture that speaks volumes of comfort and support.

As the night unfolds, a cascade of laughter and clinking beer bottles paints the scene. Hoseok, with his infectious energy, pulls you into a dance, and the rhythm of the music becomes the soundtrack to a night filled with camaraderie and unforgettable moments. Laughter echoes around the campfire, weaving together a tapestry of joy that lingers in the memories of friendship.

“Friday at the bar, don’t be late!” 

Hoseok’s enthusiasm resonates in his voice as he envelops you in a warm, anticipatory hug. Then, he turns his exuberance towards Yoongi, squeezing him tightly, a bear hug that elicits a gruff grunt from your usually composed boyfriend.

“Absolutely, can’t wait for the gang to reunite!” Your words ring with genuine joy as you share heartfelt hugs with Namjoon and Seokjin. Even Yoongi, typically reserved, offers reluctant but sincere goodbyes in the form of tight hugs.

As their figures gradually blend into the bustling station crowd, you continue waving, the distance adding a bittersweet tinge to your farewell. The echoes of laughter and shared moments linger, fading with each step they take, leaving you with a mix of nostalgia and anticipation for the next reunion.

“What should we do now? So much alone time.” 

Yoongi’s voice, soft and filled with the promise of undisturbed moments, lingers in the air as you both face the van. The question carries the weight of endless possibilities, a canvas awaiting the strokes of your shared desires in the quietude of alone time.

As you both enter Holly, the air crackles with a newfound anticipation. Leaning into Yoongi’s side, you murmur your plan, your words a bold invitation that sets the atmosphere ablaze. 

“You drive us back to our campsite,” you start, the door closing behind you, “and then I’ll fuck you senseless.”

Yoongi chuckles, the sound a tempting melody in response to your boldness and the unmistakable glint of desire in your eyes. “Bossy,” he teases, the word laced with a promise of playful surrender.

As he ignites the engine, the subtle purr of the vehicle syncs with the quiet hum of anticipation. Driving back to your campsite, the warmth of your touch on his thigh acts as a silent yet palpable connection, a prelude to the intimacy awaiting both of you.

With Holly’s engine silenced, you pounce on him, the urgency in the air charging the atmosphere. Your hands glide up his thigh, boldly exploring the terrain beneath the fabric. A daring grip on his clothed dick elicits a soft, impassioned moan, your name escaping his lips like a whispered prayer.

“Impatient much?” 

He chuckles, the sound a harmonious melody to the rhythm of your teasing palm. Your deliberate touch prompts him to throw his head back against the headrest, surrendering to the escalating desire coursing through every fiber of his being.

“Yeah, I’m already so wet. I just want you inside me, Yoon.” 

Your words, laced with a sense of urgency and desire, spill out as you hastily discard both of your pants and underwear, the anticipation building in the air like an electric charge.

“Shit,” he mutters, closing his eyes, savoring a soft breath as you unzip his pants. With his assistance, you deftly pull down both his boxers and pants, leaving them pooled at his knees.

Without hesitation, you straddle him. The confines of the front seat are a bit tight, creating an intimate space that’s not entirely uncomfortable, but charged with anticipation and lust.

His arousal is evident, and you tease him by grinding your core against his throbbing length. The dual response, a twitch and a moan, sends shivers down your spine. The symphony of his pleasure fuels your desire, and you savor every intoxicating sound escaping his lips.

With a confident grip, you guide his dick to your eager entrance, then descend upon him in one seamless motion. The delicious stretch and the raw sensation, liberated from the confines of a condom, draw a heartfelt exclamation. 

“Fuck, you’re so big,” you gasp, relishing the intimate connection that electrifies the air.

His husky voice, laced with desire, breathes out admiration, “Damn, you’re so tight, taking me so well.’” His hands confidently find your hips, anchoring themselves in a rhythm that mirrors the growing intensity between you.

Your movements become a rhythm of urgency, bouncing in his lap with a fervor that sets a relentless pace from the very beginning. The sensation of fullness overwhelms you, and the impending climax rushes towards you like a tidal wave. 

Damn it, the pleasure is so exquisite, so consuming, that you can’t help but surrender to its intoxicating embrace.

Your breath comes in furious pants, a symphony of desire echoing in the air. Fingers entwined in his hair, you tug hard, prompting a hiss of pain from him as you practically impale yourself on his cock. 

“Fuck!” The expletive escapes your lips in a primal scream, a raw expression of the overwhelming pleasure coursing through every fiber of your being.

Yoongi’s hold on your hips tightens, his movements synchronized with yours, creating a rhythm that feels like a shared heartbeat between you. With a firm grip, he guides your ascent and descent, an intimate dance of passion and connection.

“Babe,” he pants, his gaze locking onto yours with hooded eyes. “I won’t last much longer.”

You pant and moan his name, “Same here.”

You roll your hips over his, desperately seeking release, while one of your hands trails down to your clit, vigorously rubbing it.

With a few intense strokes on your clit, a surge of pleasure radiates from your core, and you feel a release building up. You let out a breathless moan, calling his name as your vision momentarily blurs. As your body succumbs to the waves of ecstasy, Yoongi takes control, guiding you up and down by your hips, plunging into you with fervor, seamlessly melding with the throes of your orgasm.

Your fingers thread through his hair, gripping and releasing in a rhythm matching the intensity of your movements. With each passionate kiss to his neck, you leave behind a trail of bites that elicit a symphony of pleasurable sounds from him, creating a delicious melody of desire beneath you.

Your name escapes his lips like a fervent prayer, a raw confession of imminent release as he gasps, “Fuck, I’m gonna come, babe,” the words laced with urgency and desire.

In the throes of pleasure, you hiss, “Fill me up, Yoon,” your moan a seductive melody as you sink down on him again, deliberately clenching your walls around him.

“Shit!” he grunts, his release flooding into your welcoming warm pussy.

“You’re absolutely amazing, babe,” he says, his voice dripping with so much love that it envelops you like a warm embrace, making you feel like you could swim in its depths.

“As are you, Yoongi.” You murmur into his ear, wrapping him in a big and warm hug, your breath steadying against the curve of his ear.

You make a conscious effort to savor every fleeting moment of these last few days of your trip, acutely aware that the return to your mundane daily lives is inevitable.

Your period has finally made its appearance, adding a bit of a damper to your spirits and contributing to your already sour mood, but you try not to dwell on it.

You embark on what feels like a magical ‘date,’ where the warmth of a campfire, the sizzling sounds of grilling, and the joy of each other’s company create a perfect, intimate evening in the cocoon of your campsite.

In the familiar rhythm of your camping routine, Yoongi takes the lead at the grill, but tonight, the dance of preparing the meat and chopping vegetables becomes a shared symphony. Surrounded by the serene seclusion of the forest, the campfire’s glow paints a warm ambiance on your faces, casting playful shadows that dance and flicker. 

As you skillfully turn the vegetables over the crackling flames, a wistful sigh escapes your lips. “I’m going to miss this when we get back home.”

“We can always go camping on the weekends,” his voice, tinged with a hint of nostalgia, carries the weight of the inevitable return to reality. Yet, his smile, soft and bittersweet, speaks volumes of the preciousness he finds in the present, a moment cocooned in the dancing flames and the quiet murmur of the forest.

“Yeah, I’d love that,” your smile mirrors the warmth of the flickering flames, an unspoken promise to seize the simple joys of weekends and the solace found under the stars. 

“What are we gonna do when we get back home?” 

As the flames dance, casting a glow on your contemplative expression, you can’t help but sigh, the question lingering in the air like the smoke from the crackling fire. Poking at a charred vegetable in playful defeat, you turn to Yoongi, a mix of curiosity and anticipation in your eyes, as if the answer lies in the shadows painted by the dancing flames.

His gaze locks with yours, a quizzical expression playing on his features. 

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you can sense the curiosity dancing in his eyes, eager to unravel the depths of your thoughts.

As you voice the concerns lingering in your mind, your eyes search his face for a glimpse of understanding. 

“How are we going to make it work, Yoongi? We’re both workaholics.” You sigh, a smile playing on your lips, a mix of worry and anticipation painting your expression as you contemplate the intricate puzzle of your relationship.

His eyes flicker with a thoughtful gleam as he ponders your question, a soft ‘ah’ escaping his lips, carrying with it the weight of consideration and the promise of an honest response.

With a sigh, you add, “And I don’t want our relationship to fail,” as you skillfully pull the vegetables off the fire, their sizzling sounds a backdrop to the sincerity in your voice. The tray in your hands becomes a vessel for both grilled sustenance and the weight of your heartfelt words.

Yoongi expertly turns the sizzling meat, his eyes focused on the grill as he addresses your concerns. 

“First off, I don’t think it’ll fail,” he reassures, the aroma of barbecue blending with the warmth in his words. “We don’t have to see each other every day, although I’d like that very much. You are always welcome in my home or at the garage anytime. And we can do stuff on the weekends,” he adds with a hopeful voice, his smile matching the flickering flames as he places the perfectly grilled meat in a clean tray.

Your eyes light up with enthusiasm. “That sounds nice,” you respond eagerly, reaching for two plates as the prospect of a shared future with Yoongi takes on a tangible, comforting shape.

“I just hope we can make it work.” You express with a hopeful lilt in your voice, the sincerity of your desire for a future with Yoongi shining through.

“I know we can.” He reassures you, his voice carrying a quiet confidence that matches the unwavering belief in your love.

Together, you savor each bite, the conversation flowing effortlessly between dreams of future destinations, the nuances of work, and the tapestry of life itself.

As dawn unfurls its radiant hues, you embark on an early morning hike through the forest, the sun casting golden ribbons through the foliage. The breathtaking spectacle of the sunrise filtering through the trees paints a memory you know will linger, a vivid scene etched in your mind, a treasure to carry with you as you reluctantly prepare to drive home later in the evening.

Hand in hand with Yoongi, you traverse the winding trails, enveloped in a comforting silence that needs no words. The stillness is a serene companion, allowing you to immerse yourselves in the natural symphony of your morning hike—the heady scents of the forest filling your noses, and the ethereal dance of dewy fog casting a mystical spell before you.

Returning from your invigorating hike as the sun climbs the sky, the lure of a sizzling farewell lunch beckons. 

Determined to make the most of your remaining moments in this woodland haven, you opt to ignite the grill one last time, infusing the air with the savory aroma of grilling meat and vegetables before bidding adieu to the serenity of the forest.

The atmosphere takes a bittersweet turn, the air thick with a sense of impending departure. Yoongi tends to the grill, the sizzle of meat a poignant soundtrack to your shared melancholy. 

You attempt to uplift the mood, filling the air with music that usually brings joy, but its lively notes seem to echo the underlying sadness that has settled between you two. As the speakers play on, both of you navigate the delicate dance between creating a facade of happiness and the somber reality of impending separation, etching the moment with shared glances that speak volumes.

“I don’t want to leave.” You force a laugh, the sound devoid of any genuine mirth. It resonates with an emptiness, a profound hollowness that mirrors the depth of your reluctance to part ways with this place.

“I know. Me neither. But we both have work tomorrow.” Yoongi confesses with a sigh, as if attempting to absorb every detail of this moment in nature. The bittersweet truth hangs in the air, a poignant reminder that, despite parting now, the prospect of future camping trips offers a glimmer of solace.

“It sucks.” You declare, your chopsticks attacking the innocent food on your plate as if it were the source of your frustration. A heavy exhale follows, a gust of annoyance and disappointment that echoes your sentiments louder than words ever could.

In the aftermath of your meal, a heavy silence descends as you both quietly consume the last moments of your enchanted getaway. Once the plates are cleared, a symphony of clinks and clatters follows as you meticulously dismantle the campsite and tidy up the van. 

Each fold of the bed, every item stowed away, feels like sealing away a fragment of the magic you’ve experienced.

As you pack with a heavy heart, the memories of this time resonate within you, a bittersweet melody. This retreat has been more than a mere escape; it’s been a rejuvenating balm for your weary soul. 

And unexpectedly, amid the rustling leaves and crackling campfire, you discovered more than tranquility—you got Yoongi, a devoted and caring partner who has etched himself into the canvas of your heart more than before.

As the final pieces are carefully stowed away, Yoongi’s voice breaks the silence, “Let’s head home.” 

Casting a wistful glance back at the forest, you feel a twinge of longing, realizing just how much you’ll miss this tranquil sanctuary. With a mix of reluctance and anticipation, you join Yoongi in Holly.

“I’m ready,” you declare, a determined spark in your eyes. 

“Let’s go.” You add, as if ushering in a new chapter, the engine’s hum signaling both an end and a beginning.

In the whirlwind of days since Yoongi bid you farewell at your apartment, work has morphed into a chaotic dance of demands. Despite the relentless pace, your passion for your job propels you forward, a driving force pushing you through the challenges with unwavering determination.

The ache of missing Yoongi has become a relentless companion, one that tightens its grip especially during the chaotic intervals between your demanding job tasks. In the relentless storm of work, the absence of Yoongi weighs heavy on your heart. 

The saving grace amid the chaos is the lifeline of texts exchanged during your fleeting breaks—a comforting escape when the demands of your job threaten to engulf you completely.

Yoongi has been engulfed in a torrent of tasks himself, with a queue of eager customers awaiting the magic touch of his expertise. The relentless stream of demands has formed an impenetrable barrier, rendering it impossible for you to reunite with him since that bittersweet moment he dropped you off.

Exhausted from a taxing day at work—navigating irate customers and orchestrating the intricate dance of formulating next year’s marketing strategy—you feel the weariness etched into every fiber of your being. 

Yet, fueled by a deep longing to be with Yoongi, you summon the last reserves of your energy and embark on a drive to his garage.

The brief journey from your workplace to Yoongi’s garage unfolds in a mere 15 minutes, the streets whispering tales of anticipation beneath the tires of your car.

You enter through the door, finding Yoongi engaged in conversation with a client. A warm smile graces your lips as you exchange pleasantries. Yoongi, visibly taken aback by your unexpected visit, manages a surprised expression. Making your way to a cozy corner at the back of the garage, you settle into a small lounge area with a plush couch and a quaint table – a designated spot for clients to wait while Yoongi tends to their automotive needs.

The plushness of the couch cradles your body, its soft embrace a welcome comfort. You surrender to its inviting texture, your eyes drifting lazily downward as relaxation takes hold.

In the gentle embrace of slumber, time becomes a blur, and you awaken to a tender caress on your cheek. A radiant gummy smile and affectionate eyes welcome you back to consciousness.

“You didn’t have to make the trip if you’re exhausted, love.” He remarks with a soft chuckle, playfully poking your nose.

“I couldn’t wait to see you.” You admit with a playful pout, rising from the couch. Yoongi chuckles at your expression, then turns back to the car he was tending to while you napped.

You pull your gaze away from Yoongi’s enticing figure, a mischievous spark in your eyes. His black coveralls, stained with a mix of grease and oil, only seem to enhance his rugged appeal. The plain white shirt beneath, now more of an art canvas of his work, adds an unexpected allure. Unable to contain the fire building within, you confess, “You look so damn sexy in those black coveralls.”

His hair is tousled, as though his hands have navigated through it in moments of frustration. A subtle hint of anticipation makes you unconsciously lick your lips, and with deliberate steps, you close the distance between you.

Yoongi’s laughter resonates through the garage as he continues working beneath the hood of a sleek red car. Unconcerned about the specifics of the make or model, you saunter over, a mischievous glint in your eyes. Playfully, you grab hold of the belt loops on his coveralls, tugging him closer, his frame melding into yours with an enticing collision of desire.

A husky grunt escapes him, “I’m filthy, babe,” he warns, yet he willingly surrenders to the allure of your touch, leaning into the intimacy that lingers between you.

“I couldn’t care less.” 

You declare boldly, diving in for a kiss that speaks volumes of your longing. Your hands venture southward, seizing the firm curve of his ass, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from him.

Abandoning his tools, he seizes your cheeks, intensifying the kiss with a hunger that mirrors a man starved for the taste of your touch.

“I missed you so much.” He breathes as he pulls away, gazing at you with a tender intensity in his eyes.

“Me too. Yoongi, I want you.” You plead, your hands tracing the contours of his body until they rest on his chest, where the steady beat of his heart becomes the rhythm to which your desires dance.

“Fuck. Now?” 

He chuckles, running a hand through his tousled hair, and you bite your lip, nodding with eyes that plead for the immediacy of desire.

“You’re so needy. I love it.” He murmurs before diving back into your mouth, a breathless kiss igniting between you. His hands find your ass, squeezing it possessively, eliciting a moan that vibrates through your bodies. 

He guides you toward a navy car, and as your legs meet the cool hood, he gently eases you down onto it. The surface sends a shiver in your spine, but the contrasting warmth of arousal floods your senses, creating a delicious tension in you.

You meet his gaze, finding his eyes already dilated and hooded, a hungry anticipation shimmering within them, ready to consume you whole.

His hungry gaze traces every curve of your body, and you catch the subtle motion of his tongue moistening his lips, a clear sign of the anticipation building within him.

He skillfully slips off your shoes, smoothly unzips your pants, and lets them cascade down your body, the fabric whispering against your skin before landing in an eager heap on the floor.

You draw your legs up, finding a perch on the sleek hood of the car, a tantalizing contrast of warmth against the cool metal that sends a shiver of anticipation through your body.

You part your legs, a silent invitation beckoning him to immerse himself in the feast that awaits, an unspoken promise lingering in the air.

“Damn. I can already see how wet you are, fuck,” he remarks, his gaze lingering on your wet panties before slowly dragging them down to join your pants on the floor.

His rough and calloused hands explore the warmth of your pussy, gently teasing your clit, eliciting a moan of pleasure from you. “Such a perfect little pussy. All mine,” his voice drips with possessiveness, sending a delicious shiver down your spine as a surge of lust courses through your body.

He gracefully drops to his knees, and in an electrifying moment, his warm, skilled mouth claims your pussy, causing an immediate arch in your back as waves of pleasure surge through your body.

His tongue dances expertly over your sensitive folds, collecting the intoxicating essence of your arousal, each stroke sending tremors of pleasure through your core.

“Fuck, Yoongi.” 

Passion courses through you, and you moan uncontrollably, your hands tangling in Yoongi’s hair as you pull, eliciting a deep groan from him, sending shivers of desire through your entire being.

The scenery is nothing short of breathtaking, a sinful feast for the eyes. As he gazes at you, those once deep brown eyes now bordering on black, you can’t help but feel a magnetic pull, an intensity that sets your heart ablaze.

His relentless suction is met with the playful dance of his tongue, teasingly exploring the depths of your pussy. The sensation is so intense that your eyes involuntarily roll to the back of your head, lost in the ecstasy of the moment.

“If you continue with that sinful tongue, I won’t be able to hold back much longer,” you pant above him, and you can practically feel the wicked smirk against your sensitive folds.

His nose occasionally brushes against your sensitive clit, sending electrifying waves of pleasure through your body, and you can feel yourself going feral with an overwhelming surge of arousal.

He skillfully switches it up, his hot mouth returning to your throbbing clit as two of his fingers expertly delve into your core. Your back arches instinctively, and you can’t help but moan his name, breathlessly exclaiming, “Shit, Yoongi!”

With a swift and deliberate motion, he thrusts his two fingers into you at a relentless pace, unerringly targeting your sweet spot from the very outset.

Sensations intensify; your clit pulsates with an insistent rhythm, the coil in your stomach winding tighter with each passing second. Every breath quickens, and it feels like you’re on the verge of snapping at any given moment.

“Shit, I’m coming!” 

You pant, your body thrashing above him, arching in the throes of ecstasy. A ringing noise echoes in your ears as he continues to lick you through the waves of your orgasm. When he finally pulls away, you find yourself instinctively closing your legs around him, overwhelmed by the lingering sensations of pleasure.

“Fucking hell, Yoongi. You are incredible with your mouth. Come here and give me a kiss.” 

You yank him up by his shirt and draw him in for a passionate kiss. You can taste the remnants of your essence on his lips, but you don’t mind.

He moans into your mouth and abruptly pulls away, fixing you with a gaze filled with both need and unbridled lust.

He tugs at your shirt, demanding, “This. Off.” 

Without hesitation, you comply, raising your arms for him to swiftly pull it over your head and drop it to the floor. Now seated on the hood of the car, clad only in your bra, you’re relieved to find that the metal beneath you has warmed, erasing any lingering chill.

He playfully gropes your breasts, his eyes smoldering with desire. 

“Off with this too,” he commands, a hunger evident in his voice.

You unclasp your bra, letting it fall down the car to the floor. Yoongi hisses as he takes in your fully naked body, “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”

His words pierce through you, igniting a fire within, and you sense your nipples responding to his gaze, hardening with a subtle ache.

“Shit.” An involuntary moan escapes your lips, your body ablaze with sensation and desire.

“Why am I the only one naked again?” You chuckle seductively, fingers teasingly pulling at his coveralls.

You strip away his coveralls, letting them cascade to a pool at his feet. Now free from the constraints of it, he leans in for another intoxicating kiss, the air charged with the promise of desire.

You notice the unmistakable outline of his dick through his boxers, and you teasingly pull away, whispering with a seductive smirk, “Those need to go.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice, swiftly dragging the fabric down his legs to join the rest of your clothes on the floor.

You eagerly tug at his shirt, mirroring the way he assisted you earlier, revealing the contours of his body free from the constraints of the grease-stained fabric.

You glide your hands over his sculpted chest, tracing the lines of his toned torso and the softness of his tummy, evoking a light chuckle from him. “Damn, you’re irresistible,” you moan. “Every inch of you, I love.” Your whispered words in his ear accompany a firm grasp on his throbbing cock, teasing it with a few playful strokes.

He seizes your breasts, skillfully rolling a sensitive nipple between his fingers, eliciting a sensual moan of pleasure from your lips.

He gently guides you back, allowing your hair to cascade around your face, creating a frame that accentuates the desire etched in your features.

As he explores the curves of your body with one hand, the other skillfully strokes his dick, aligning himself with the heat of your eager folds.

Your patience wearing thin, you feel his tantalizing cock on your folds, gathering traces of your essence. The plea escapes your lips, “Please, just fuck me already.”

He indulges in a lustful chuckle, his words dripping with desire, “So needy and impatient.” 

He glides into your warmth with a single, seamless thrust, reaching the hilt effortlessly. A moan of pleasure escapes your lips, savoring the exquisite sensation of how perfectly he stretches you.

He establishes a relentless rhythm, driving into you with a firm grip on your hips. The car sways and rocks in sync with each powerful thrust, creating a symphony of passion and movement.

The intensity builds, and you gasp, questioning between pants, “The car’s in park, right?” as he unerringly targets your sweet spot, delivering each stroke with precision and pleasure.

He chuckles between breaths, his laughter a sensual melody in the air, “Yeah, it’s not going anywhere.”

Lost in the ecstasy, unsure where to anchor yourself, your hands find solace on his strong arms, gripping tightly as if to merge with the intensity of the moment.

As he relentlessly pounds into you, your intoxicating moans harmonize with the rhythm, your velvet walls clenching around him, eliciting a hiss from his lips. “You’re always so damn tight,” he growls, the raw desire in his voice echoing the fervor of your entwined bodies.

“Hey, Yoongi,” caught off guard, you hear a familiar voice calling Yoongi’s name from behind. Your heart races, realizing it’s too late to shield yourself from the waves of embarrassment flooding over you. Mortification takes hold, leaving you vulnerable and exposed.

“I wanted to see if you were done with my car.” Jungkook’s voice startles you, and as you turn, you’re met with wide-eyed disbelief written all over his face. He stands not far away, his eyes seemingly on the verge of popping out of their sockets. With a gaping mouth, he appears utterly speechless.

“Ah–, Jungkook…” caught in a scandalous embrace with Yoongi, the sudden intrusion of Jungkook startles a moan from your lips. Your eyes lock with his, and as Yoongi continues his relentless pace, the intensity of Jungkook’s unwavering gaze heightens the illicit thrill. 

Your body responds, walls clenching around Yoongi, a confusing mixture of embarrassment and arousal coursing through you. 

Why isn’t Jungkook looking away? 

And why, against all logic, does it only turn you on even more? Fuck.

As the symphony of primal sounds, a mixture of Yoongi’s guttural groans and the rhythmic slapping noises, reverberates through the garage, Jungkook finally seems to snap out of his trance.

“Fucking shit, I’m so sorry!” 

Fumbling for apologies, Jungkook hastily covers his eyes and spins around, as if attempting to erase the explicit scene he’s unintentionally stumbled upon. 

“I’ll come back later!” He shouts, almost sprinting out of the garage, leaving an awkward air lingering in his wake.

Yoongi’s powerful thrusts continue, unyielding. He leans down, his intense gaze fixating on your face. His voice, low and venomous, slices through the heated air, commanding, “Never moan another man’s name again,” as if marking his territory with each impassioned word.

In the absence of your response, his hands assertively claim your breasts, skillfully pinching both nipples. An involuntary twist of pain courses through you, a visceral reaction to his unrelenting touch.

“Did you hear me?” 

His voice cuts through the charged air, a stern demand echoing in the garage, his eyes eclipsed by a profound intensity that demands your attention.

“Fuck! Yes! I won’t do it again!” 

In a breathless chorus of affirmation, you surrender, the raw urgency in your voice harmonizing with the rhythmic cadence of your panting breaths as the impending release surges through you.

With a final series of primal thrusts, he withdraws from the depths of your pussy, leaving you tingling, breathless and confused.

“Follow me,” his command hangs in the air, and with a firm yet gentle pull, he guides you off the car and onto your unsteady feet.

As he guides you through the garage, both of you naked and exposed, you can’t help but inquire breathlessly, “Should we lock the door?”

He smirks, his voice a low rasp as you arrive at his office. 

“I don’t give a fuck.” He declares, the audacity in his gaze intensifying. “Seems like you like being watched. Just like in the forest, huh? Don’t think I didn’t feel you clench around me as Jungkook watched you get fucked.” 

With purpose, he propels you toward the couch in his office, ruthlessly clearing half of its contents to the floor. Pillows and discarded clothes cascade, creating a scattered pool at your feet.

In a low, demanding tone, he orders, “On all fours. Couch. Now.” 

As you hasten to comply, he positions himself just behind you, prompting a swift bend on his firm couch. The assertive grip on your ass intensifies, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m going to fuck a baby into you.” 

He pants, desire thick in his voice as he strokes his dick, aligning once more with your eager pussy. “Make you nice and round, babe,” he grunts, the raw intensity of his thrusts sending waves of pleasure through you as he effortlessly slips back into the depth of your core.

“Fuck!” The sensation is even more constricting than before, and the provocative baby talk is pushing you to the edge. It’s utterly sinful, igniting something primal within you.

He pins you forcefully against the unforgiving couch, driving your head down, each powerful thrust causing it to shift and creak in protest, mirroring the intensity of your entwined passion.

Your senses are on the verge of overload, the relentless pleasure almost too much to bear. Thoughts dissolve into a blissful haze, and all that remains is the exquisite sensation of him sliding perfectly between your thighs.

“I bet you’ll look so incredible carrying our baby,” he pants, his grip tightening on a makeshift ponytail of your hair as he pulls you upwards with a low moan.

“Fuck!” 

You arch your back, relishing the delicious pull on your scalp that sends electrifying shivers down your spine.

You’re completely lost, a symphony of pants and moans escaping your lips. All you can do is surrender to the overwhelming sensation of his incredible thrusts.

His fingers leave a fiery trail as they wander from your hair to one of your breasts, teasingly groping. “Damn, your breasts will get bigger too,” he breathes, his words a sultry promise echoing in the heated air.

“Though I like them just as they are.” He murmurs in rhythm with a punctuated thrust, his voice a seductive melody harmonizing with the passionate dance between you.

At the sound of his words, a surge of desire courses through you, causing your walls to instinctively clench around him. He responds with a sharp intake of breath, a symphony of pleasure echoing in the intimate space between you.

“You like this, don’t you?” 

His voice, low and sultry, fills the room as he pulls on your hair once more, a tantalizing twist that sends a shiver down your spine. A subtle burn lingers, a delicious reminder of the electrifying sensations between you.

His name escapes your lips in a breathless moan of agreement, words failing to convey the intensity of the moment.

As he relinquishes his grip on your hair and breasts, his hands now firmly anchored on your hips, he rasps, “You look forward to being all puffy and swollen, don’t you?” 

His voice carries a seductive promise that sends shivers down your spine.

As the peak of pleasure beckons, the intoxicating blend of his presence within you and his lascivious words has you teetering on the edge. It’s as if the mere fusion of his dick in your pussy and the erotic cadence of his dirty words might propel you into climax without any further touch.

Attempting to vocalize your pleasure, a choked moan escapes your lips, a visceral symphony echoing the tightening coil of your body.

As he relentlessly thrusts, plunging into the depths of your pussy, he smirks and provocatively questions, “Are you coming, babe?”

In a fervor, you attempt to nod, your head resting down on the couch, eyes tightly shut, and hands clenched in the grip of pleasure.

His voice rumbles with desire as he commands, “Come on my dick,” his grip on your hips tightening, forcefully pulling you onto him, the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh echoing through his office.

You release the tightly wound coil within you, and a warm flood of your essence envelops his pulsating dick. Colors dance before your eyes, a vivid symphony of sensations, as he, too, begins the pursuit of his own intoxicating climax.

His fervent praise echoes through the room as your moans and pants harmonize with the symphony of pleasure. 

“Shit, you feel so good.” His words, like a sultry melody, intensify the rhythm of ecstasy.

His raspy voice, saturated with pleasure, reverberates in the air as he relentlessly delves deep, bringing you to the brink. “Almost there, babe,” the promise of climax hangs in the room, each thrust a pulsating step toward an imminent release.

His fingers carve ephemeral imprints into the canvas of your hips, a testament to the intensity of his grip. With a primal and forceful thrust, he spills into you, a guttural exclamation escaping his lips, “Fucking shit!”

He persists in his rhythmic thrusts, a seamless dance that continues for what feels like an eternity. The symphony of heavy panting fills the air, a harmonious testament to the intoxicating pleasure enveloping both of you.

As he tenderly withdraws from the embrace of your walls, a bittersweet ache lingers. 

The ebbing warmth of his departure leaves a void, and you sense the telltale trickle of his semen tracing a tantalizing path down your trembling thighs. His appreciative hisses and groans echo the shared intimacy, turning the aftermath into a mosaic of shared passion.

With a resounding smack, he playfully ignites the fire beneath your skin, “You look so hot like this,” he remarks, his words carrying a teasing heat that matches the fiery imprint on your ass.

With a mischievous twirl, you shake your ass provocatively, a sassy smirk dancing on your lips, “Don’t I always look hot?”

He chuckles at your brattiness, delivering another firm slap to your ass, “Always, and I can’t get enough of you.”

You finally turn around, sitting down on the couch, to face him, licking your lips with a mischievous glint in your eyes, “I love you so fucking much, Yoongi,” your voice filled with a mix of passion and sincerity that leaves no room for doubt.

He smiles, his touch tracing a delicate path along your cheek, “Fuck, I love you too, babe,” his words carrying the weight of a thousand emotions, a confession that lingers in the air like a sweet promise.

Love saturates the atmosphere, wrapping around you both so tightly that the soft rumble from your stomach escapes like a playful secret, painting a grin on his already handsome face.

Your stomach protests again with a subtle growl, and he chuckles, the sound like a melody blending with the tender kiss he places on your lips. 

“Hungry, babe?” he teases, the warmth of his laughter echoing the affection in the air.

Amidst the afterglow, you share a playful chuckle, the joyous sound filling the room. 

“Yes, I’m starving,” you confess, relishing the delightful nakedness and the shared intimacy of the moment.

As the Friday sun dips below the city skyline, a wave of contentment washes over you. 

Work today was surprisingly pleasant, but what truly fuels your excitement is the anticipation of reuniting with your friends at the bar later. The prospect of laughter and camaraderie lights up your evening horizon.

After a demanding day at work, you sought refuge in the comforting embrace of Yoongi’s home. The soft sanctuary of his sheets cradles you, offering solace and a much-needed respite from the challenges of the day.

As you reluctantly peel yourself away from the embrace of the bed, a tangle of limbs and sheets left in the wake of a time filled with passion, you’re greeted by the stark reality of time ticking away. Your naked form, a canvas marked by the shared intensity, moves with purpose. In the urgency to locate your scattered clothes, a playful smile dances on your lips. 

“We have to get ready now, or else Hoseok will kill us if we’re late!”

“We’ll make it,” his laughter, a melodic assurance, echoes through the room as you engage in a hasty scavenger hunt for the garments that will shield your modesty. 

Triumphantly seizing the clothes, there’s a playful finesse to your actions as you toss his attire in his direction, a comical dance of urgency and amusement. 

With effortless efficiency, you transform from the cozy intimacy of his home to the bustling anticipation of the cityscape. Your steps echo determination, a rhythm set by the pulse of the impending night. Brisk and purposeful, you navigate the urban terrain, a seamless transition from the quiet haven of his house to the lively rhythm of the city streets. 

The search for a bus becomes a quest, an adventure laced with the promise of vibrant encounters awaiting you in the heart of the metropolis.

Entwined in the lively hum of the crowded bus, you and Yoongi carve out a cozy haven amidst the kaleidoscope of humanity. Hand in hand, your fingers dance in silent symphony, finding solace in the familiar warmth of each other’s touch. With your head nestled on his shoulders, you embark on the journey to the bar to meet up with your friends.

As you step into the lively ambiance of the bar, the infectious melody of your friends’ laughter orchestrates a beacon, guiding you unerringly to their gathering. Their exuberant joy reverberates in the air, making them a vibrant constellation impossible to overlook amidst the bustling backdrop of the bar’s chatter and clinking glasses.

“Hi,” you join the lively cluster of your friends with a warm greeting, sliding seamlessly into the open space next to Jungkook, who graciously makes room for both you and Yoongi. 

A subtle, rosy hue paints Jungkook’s cheeks a bright red, mirroring the flush that graces your own face as you and he share a shy glance, deliberately sidestepping prolonged eye contact in the midst of the gathering.

“You’re late,” Hoseok’s voice carries a mockingly stern tone as he playfully rolls his eyes at your belated entrance, his knowing gaze signaling that he’s well aware of the delightful reason behind your tardiness.

“Hey,” a collective greeting resonates from the group, their eyes discreetly flickering between you and Yoongi, deliberately sidestepping Hoseok’s playful comment.

Your warm smile encompasses the group as you inquire, “How have you all been?” 

Your eyes sweep across each face, a genuine affection evident, and you add, “I’ve missed you.”

Namjoon passes a pair of beers your way, and with a subtle gesture, you gracefully direct yours to Yoongi, ensuring he has two. Opting for a bottle of water, your choice doesn’t escape Namjoon’s notice, though he maintains a thoughtful silence.

Jungkook, still blushing beside you, stammers out, “It’s going well. I’ve landed more modeling gigs, and some are even international!” He chirps with infectious happiness, sharing his success with the group.

“Wow, that’s incredible, Kook,” you pat him on the shoulders, your touch conveying genuine pride and admiration. Feeling him tense beneath your hand, you can’t help but marvel at how he’s fearlessly pursued his dreams.

“The trip was amazing; I actually got contacted because of the pictures I uploaded to my Instagram,” he boasts with pride, and the table erupts in cheers. Everyone is genuinely happy for him, celebrating his success. 

You can’t help but notice his still lingering blush and how he subtly avoids making eye contact with you.

You shift your gaze to Hoseok, who’s casually sipping his beer. Sensing your lingering attention, he speaks, “Not much has changed since our last chat,” a warm smile playing on his lips.

You chuckle and take a sip of your water, scooting closer to Yoongi at your side, the warmth between you growing with every inch.

Seokjin’s infectious chuckles draw you in, the sound a delightful melody weaving through the air. “When I came home, my girlfriend had orchestrated a full-scale rearrangement of our entire apartment,” he shares, laughter dancing in his eyes. 

“I thought the nesting phase happened later in the pregnancy, but now I don’t know where my stuff is, and neither does she.” The room erupts in laughter, and you find yourself clutching your stomach, the ache from amusement almost as sweet as the camaraderie in the moment.

“That sucks man,” Taehyung remarks, his laughter lingering in the air.

“What about you Tae?” Namjoon asks him with a smile.

“Ah, life’s the same old rollercoaster, but that vacation? Absolutely necessary.” He shares, his smile a vibrant punctuation to the story in his eyes.

“Spill the tea, Joonie. What’s been brewing in your world since we got back?” Yoongi takes a leisurely sip of his beer, a conspiratorial glint in his eye as he nudges Namjoon, inviting a glimpse into the tapestry of his recent adventures.

“I took that girl from the dating app out on a date,” he confesses, a soft smile playing on his lips. “Turns out, she’s not just nice; we’re practically living parallel lives. It’s uncanny how much we have in common.”

“That’s wonderful, Joonie!” you beam like a lovesick fool. “I’m genuinely thrilled for you. Wishing you all the best, and I hope things work out perfectly for you two.”

Wrapped in Yoongi’s comforting embrace, you surrender to the warmth, a lovesick fool drowning in the bliss of his arms.

You catch the heavy sigh escaping Jimin’s lips as he nurses his beer, and with a knowing look, he confesses, “The vacation was incredible, but reality hits hard. Work hasn’t changed a bit, and I’m already feeling drained,” he laments, taking another sip of his beer.

Seokjin raises an eyebrow, taking a hearty gulp of his beer, “Why the hell is your face as red as a tomato, Kook? What’s wrong?”

Everyone’s gaze converges on the youngest, and the deepening shade of his blush is impossible to ignore. You sense the topic at hand, your cheeks mirroring the rosy hue. Yoongi, nonchalant, chuckles beside you, adding to the collective curiosity in the room.

“Why the laughter, Yoongi?” Namjoon quirks an eyebrow inquisitively. 

As he scans the expressions on both you and Jungkook’s faces, it becomes evident how you both go out of your way to avoid each other’s eyes.

“Something definitely went down between you two,” Hoseok chimes in, his voice filled with playful curiosity.

Jimin suddenly becomes intensely interested, leaning over the table to scrutinize both you and Jungkook. “Spill the details,” he demands with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Nothing happened!” Jungkook blurts out, raising his arms in a hasty defense, desperately trying to shield his crimson face. You, on the other hand, find solace in staring at the floor, unable to meet the curious gazes probing at your secret.

The guys persistently badger Jungkook for more information, but he clams up, sealing his lips tighter than a vault. Frustrated, their attention shifts to Yoongi once again.

Yoongi, nonchalant, raises his beer to his lips for another sip before casually revealing, “He saw us fuck.”

Jungkook lets out a dramatic groan, his hands shielding his eyes as if the vivid image of you and Yoongi in the throes of sex is still burned into his mind. The other guys, practically choking on their beers, sport eyes as wide as teacups, thoroughly amused by the revelation.

“What?” Taehyung practically yells, laughter bubbling up so much that his eyes glisten with tears. He turns to Jungkook with an incredulous expression, as if seeking confirmation for the unbelievable revelation.

“Why the hell were you watching them?” He interrogates Jungkook, genuine curiosity mirrored in the eyes of the entire group.

Jungkook finally glances at the group, his voice trailing off hesitantly, “I came to pick up my car at Yoongi hyung’s garage…” His eyes wander across the faces of the group, finally locking onto yours.

“And they were... at it,” his eyes reflect a blend of hurt and discomfort, “on the hood of my damn car,” he states with a stern and definitive tone.

A collective gasp fills the room, and all eyes turn towards you. 

Your gaze immediately drops to the floor. 

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks – it was Jungkook’s car. 

The hurt in his eyes now makes sense; he adores that car. The frustration builds as you grasp that Yoongi was well aware, yet said nothing! There will definitely be a conversation about this later, dammit.

“Gross!” Taehyung scowls and audibly scoffs, taking an exaggerated sip of his beer to mask the disbelief etched on his face.

Seokjin shakes his head in amused disbelief, his words carrying a playful scolding. “Aish, you’re not teenagers anymore! You’re in your thirties for God’s sake.” Laughter erupts from Teahyung, Namjoon, Jimin, and Hoseok, echoing the sentiment.

Namjoon bursts into earnest laughter, his words carrying a teasing tone. “Forgot to lock the door? Rookie mistake.”

Jimin raises his beer high in the air, a mischievous glint in his eye. “A toast!” you all turn towards him, curious about the unexpected celebration.

“To ___!” Jimin bellows, breaking the silence, and with some hesitation, the rest of the group chimes in, including Yoongi. You can only watch them with a mix of surprise and amusement.

“She finally got that office fuck!” Jimin exclaims with contagious joy, and the rest of the group erupts in laughter so uproarious that it turns heads throughout the entire bar.

Author’s note (2): OMG! This is the end of Friendcation 😭 What a wild ride it has been to write it. But so, so good. What first started as an idea because my sister and brother-in-law were going on a roadtrip in their van around Europe, birthed this lovely story 😭

I truly want to say a big enormous thank you, to you. Yes, you! Thank you so much for all the time you have spent reading this series – I really hoped you liked it. I appreciate every single one of you, you guys are amazing 💜

If you liked it, please consider commenting (even an emoji is fine!), or reblogging or getting in touch with me in an ask – I don’t bite, I’m very nice I promise. It’s also completely fine if you don’t want to do any of those things too, no pressure!

Please stay happy and healthy 💜

Author’s note #3 (very important): when I wrote this chapter, I’d simultaneously been reading @kithtaehyung’s 3tan series, and without even realizing it, I had written a scene similar to hers. They do it on a desk—, and I know, yes, in many fics the characters do it on a desk, but to me, this was enough for me to say something was wrong with my work. It wasn’t even that similar in the wording or the specific scene, but to be on the safe side, I have rewritten the scene in question. ✨

Taglist: @idkjustlovingbts, @constancelayon, @wobblewobble822, @ktownshizzle, @moonchild1, @ultimatefangirl0, @baechugff, @jimintaemin, @parapiop7, @fckkntired, @iluvfndms, @citypop-princess, @tarahardcore, @bergandysam, @massivelyfullenthusiast, @tatyhend, @gimeow *strikethrough means tumblr isn’t letting me tag you :( **you can still be added to the taglist, just drop a comment here, on any chapter or the masterlist and I’ll add you 🌸

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[michaelsfavgirl]

I WAS JUST TRYING TO WATCH TIK TOK WTFFF

Pookie, you ain't quirky 💀

This reminds me of those videos I really dislike on TikTok and in general. You know those where they put “bad” pictures of him in slide one. the pics are supposed to be the photoshopped ones trying to make him look bad in comparison to the so called good ones on slide two *cough cough* thriller/bad era. but these brain dead “fans” add regular non photoshopped pictures of mj from the 2000s too, (this post is actually an example, the first and third photos are just normal pics of mike- no photoshopping or whatever).

And they do all this thinking they’re so cool and shit like NO YOU ARENT, YOU STILL PERPETUATE THE NOTION THAT MJ LOOKED SCARY OR WEIRD YOU IDIOT.

In general I don’t understand their fascination with trying to act like they're unique for defending/focusing on how a celebrity looked in their prime. It doesn’t change the fact that this practice perpetuates the idea that the celebrity looked strange or unappealing at other times.

Why does it matter so much to prove that Michael was attractive in the 80s? Why do you care if ppl don’t find your celeb crush/idol attractive. Who gives a shit if some random sally on the internet thinks mjs scary. Fuck that hoe idc.

I love this fandom, but this type of nonsense is infuriating.

[girl-dot-tzt]

hey,, i really like your blog n i think you're hot! not sure if i wanna be you or like, do things to you!

Why thank you! I am a firm believer of the notion that "🏳️‍⚧️it could happen to you🏳️‍⚧️." If you haven't already get your girl pills/juice and consume those hoes!

But in regards to that second bit I do have a rule:

"I will allow you to top me, but you can only dom if you can beat me"

Seeing as I wrestled for 14 years, I have a feeling I'll be doing things to you. But theoretically if any of you could actually beat me, I might fall in love with you on the spot :3

However I encourage creativity! So feel free to tell me exactly what you'd do to me if you ever managed to win💃

[milk-ducts]

I'm so glad to have encountered a fellow Cecil stan. I freaking love coming up with headcanons for Cecil, platonic or romantic, because he's such an interesting character. For real though feel free to dump any Cecil headcanons (platonic or romantic) on me anytime.

AWAAAA!! YES HAII OTHER CECIL AFICIONADO !!! im so glad theres more of us sprouting out here. my wife is so underappreciated, you have no idea how much he means to me. i'd love to req n swap headcanons anytime !! I have so many thoughts on that morally ambiguous gilf.

[messy, disorganized surface level autism rambling ahead. this will be just random scenes and characteristics i like of him]

BUT YES .. cecil's character is just so interesting to analyze. he does unethical, necessary things. But he doesn't subscribe to idealistic notions of "the greater good" or justifying his actions to make himself sleep better at night. He knows the harsh reality that someone has to make the difficult decisions, no matter how unethical. The psychological toll it takes to calculate how many civilian lives can be spared, and how many are inevitably lost in order to achieve the optimal outcome. He doesn't celebrate after victories like the other heroes do. After the dust settles, his mind is already racing - calculating, strategizing how to prevent future catastrophes. How to minimize casualties next time.

his methods are...questionable,, as ive said,, but there's a hint of nobility to it that just makes you respect him, A SHADY GOVERNMENT CHAR that does the dirty work and takes in all the heat for it so no one else has to? SIGN ME TF UP! i love exploring his character and all the little glimpses of humanity we get to see from him,, especially with debbie, SO SOFT FOR HER, there's so much depth there. that old fuck would MOVE mountains for her if he could,, TRUST. EVEN though he doesnt deserve her .. <<

LETS CONTINUE TO CIRCLE BACK TO S1 with his confrontation w Nolan in the desert, the way he entrusted his survival to the skills of his team operating that teleporter watch (I'm aware he can control it himself, I think this was just my interpretation of it since the employees seemed directly involved here). The margin for error was nonexistent. One miscalculation, one millisecond too slow, and Cecil would have been reduced to a red smear across miles of sand. MY WIFE HAS BALLS ON HIM. (also love walton goggins breathy lil giggles here .. hwaghffhh)

All this, All the whilst Nolan could have ended him with a casual backhand, as easily as swatting a fly. And for what? For humanity's (mostly his) right to know the truth. For Debbie's right to understand what she had truly married because Cecil respects her that fucking much for her to have a part in all of this, and what fate may lay in store for her son.

AND what I particularly liked about that scene is that unlike most SHADY GOV CHARS ™.. Cecil isn't afraid to regularly place himself in life-threatening situations, and for that im just.. FKING obsessed. finally. a hyper competent gov char that gets shit done and occasionally by his own hands instead of always puppeteering in the shadows. Love u .. love u honey snooch, please stop putting yourself in danger for your crazy alien side-hoes .

but ahem ... back to s2.. and some flaws of his that i'm not afraid to point out. the way he's been treating mark is killing me. manipulating my son by comparing him to his dad then keeping him on lock by saying he's not like him??? The breadcrumming definitely didn't work out at all, cuz Mark is too damn stubborn to continue to be swindled by fear tactics he does not give a shit for anymore (homegirl DEBBIE taught him better) hes not gonna listen to a cranky skullet-having side bitch of nolans who clearly has been tryna manipulate him since s1. i HATED how he went "ur broke tyrannical bitch father felt the same way" in the last minute when mark tried to leave earth and yet i still lobve ceci cause ough,,.. my bastard wife knew something was probably up.

Him wanting to keep a short leash on MARKY could be summed up after all that has happened in s1. i'm not going to justify his scummy manipulations or paranoia,, especially after all the shit mark has done and endured to prove himself over and over again that he's not like his father BUT its somewhat understandable for cecil 2 be wary if you look from it in his perspective.

moving on from that, lets dive back into ep 2 ..

Debbie was semi-right in her deduction in s2 ep2, that this is what it's really all about for Cecil - being in control. Not of any situation, but of Mark. To ensure history does not repeat itself in the form of Mark becoming another Nolan. imo He likely doesn’t actually view Mark as his father, Not saying the possibility of it being a part of Cecil's subconsciousness is out of the equation but the way I see it? He was just exploiting that one weakness, that one insecurity Mark has - the fear of becoming like Nolan. And it’s a fear Cecil seemed to prey upon to keep Mark under his thumb and in the fucking GAME.

awaaaa :3 !!!! psychologically damaging teens by comparing them to their abhorrently shitty fathers !! FUCK YOJ STEDMAN (love you snookums..)

,,,,I'd also like to think in my warped deluded perception (aka hcs) that he sees Debbie in Mark, so he can't help but care for the kid too. IVE ALWAYS seen a lot of comparisons between Mark and his dad, plus the whole motif of this new season hasn't helped it allay. But Debbie and Mark share so many similar characteristics as well and i wish that was talked a bit more often &lt; 3 (I will go in depth about it at a later post.)

n umm like ...,,, bck to cici in gen. I guess the safety of earth is one of Cecil's redeeming qualities along with his compassion for side characters like Debbie. His pragmatism and utilitarianism define him. He lacks normal morals but has his own code that cultivates to his character. this ramble could not do justice to him ughfglg..,, what a compelling jezebel.. how can u captivate me so !!

My inbox is always open to discuss this multi-faceted rat man. here's to more cecil content in s2..,... hopefully with more of his dynamic with Debbie because I LIVE for that shit. though its unlikely their interactions could range to anything positive now since they may be hinting to cecil becoming an antagonist and/or taking extreme measures w/ mark. soo.. i dont think debbie's scolding was enough for that slut 2 take in ..

in the mean time i'll be catching up on the comics/re-reading them, look up more of his backstory and hopefully create 10 novels worth of google docs of analysis' of his character < 3 cuz .. he means .. that much 2 me.. and i want to prod at every crevice n brain matter he has inside that megamind head of his .

((hwaghhhhhh << hoping that one day the discord moots ive been keeping in my basement and most invincible fans fall victim to cecil stedman propoganda.. no one should be immune to my girlboss and his awful skullet.))

[princess-buzzkill]

Men are getting mad at me for saying I wouldn’t tell my friends’ boyfriends if they were cheating 😂😂😂 I wonder if they’ve ever reported one of their boys.

It’s similar to how right wingers are reacting to leftists celebrating Luigi Mangione. Alt-right could operate chaotically and disrespectfully themselves because they knew leftists would uphold civility

Men are losing their shit that women are saying we aren’t going to rat out our friends for sleeping around after they are the ones who destroyed everyone’s notion of commitment and honesty. ‘Bros before hoes’ ring a bell? Why is it up to us to do the emotional labor of playing relationship referee when men can mind their business and carry on?

Seeing that we won’t maintain the standards and rules they want but won’t operate by themselves terrifies them.

[gogandmagog]

I need your thoughts in a Gilbert who didn't meet Anne until later in life- let's say at redmond

For the sake of historical accuracy, PLEASE PICTURE ME DOING THE RASPUTIN DANCE as I read this. I love this ask, and I stan the asker. 🫡❤️

I think we’ve briefly talked about this before, in a superficial sort of way, but I’m obviously thrilled to get a little (read: okay, a lot) more detailed.

What would Gilbert be like, if he hadn’t met Anne until Redmond?

Anytime anyone takes this approach in fanfiction… I admit; I cower in a corner and try to look away. Of all the Anne multiverses, this is my least favourite. Like, easily. This notion makes my head and my heart say OW OW OW. For me, a big part of why Anne and Gilbert went in so deep was the heft and weight of the history between them. Their story is a slow burn that lasts well over a decade, these two idiots-in-love have known each other since they were 11 and ‘nearly 14’ respectively. We have all the good stuff, right? Their initial meet-cute-to-end-all-other-meet-cutes, the frenemies, the one-then-two-sided pining, the grand gestures that give way to an honest friendship (no one makes Anne laugh like Gilbert does, and he’s the SOLE fellow she feels comfortable enough with to share her honest feelings with, also see: Rollings Reliable)… it just means so much to me. When we take that away, we take away so much of what makes them… them.

But of course, you can rely on Gilbert himself to articulate these thoughts, too.

“Yes, it’s beautiful,” said Gilbert, looking steadily down into Anne’s uplifted face, “but wouldn’t it have been more beautiful still, Anne, if there had been NO separation or misunderstanding . . . if they had come hand in hand all the way through life, with no memories behind them but those which belonged to each other?” — Gilbert ‘the absolute sweetest and most poignant peach’ Blythe, Anne of Avonlea

But hey. Let’s go there anyway, because it v interesting and natural to wonder and speculate about.

To make it make sense, we must first subtract Anne from Green Gables, and Avonlea.

And 🥴… there’s a lot of collateral there. Minnie May Berry would’ve suffered the most and pays for the Anne-void discrepancy with her actual life. Lavendar Lewis? She would’ve never reconnected with Stephen Irving… and Mister Harrison would have stayed estranged from his wife. There’d be no A.V.I.S., although that seems like teeny-tiny in the wake of the rest. On the flip side, would Matthew have lived longer had the boy meant for Green Gables actually been sent? A solid maybe. And Gilbert? He would’ve never had any sense knocked (cracked, slated) into him.

Before Anne arrives in Avonlea we have a couple canon descriptions of Gilbert, thanks to Diana. We learn that he ‘torments the life’ out of the girls (and further, that they like it), and that he’s “aw’fly” handsome. We first see him pinning Ruby Gillis’ hair unto the back of her desk chair. A hot minute later, he’s all but desperate for Anne to look at him. Moreover, he thinks Anne should look at him.

“Gilbert Blythe wasn’t used to putting himself out to make a girl look at him and meeting with failure.” — Anne of Green Gables

Without Anne? Gilbert Blythe is probably a bit of cad (need that gif of Josie Pye saying, “Gilbert Blythe is rake” right here). Just kind of a regular hoe. BUT. We have a canon quote to support this, too.

‘Even in quiet Avonlea there were temptations to be met and faced. White Sands youth were a rather “fast” set, and Gilbert was popular wherever he went. But he meant to keep himself worthy of Anne’s friendship and perhaps some distant day her love; and he watched over word and thought and deed as jealously as if her clear eyes were to pass in judgment on it.’ — Anne of Avonlea

I feel in terms of just straight-up facts, we can reduce Anneless Gilbert to :

1. a smarty pants in an academic sense,

2. a smarty pants in the jokey non-academic sense

3. popular

4. cute, and aware he’s cute; that ‘teasing smile’ never really quits and he carries on winking ‘with inexpressible drollery’ just whenever he sees fit

This list looks a lot like the Gilbert we canonly know, until we arrive at…

5. egotistical on a degree level of… eh, medium-rare?

Without Anne to ego-check him; Gilberts pride remains fully intact, and what’s more, it’s grown and developed into a mature and self-assured vanity by the time he lands in Kingsport. Without Anne, by the time he’s 17, I think he’s probably walked home and/or kissed every pretty or exceptional girl in a good fifteen-mile radius. I would alsooo guess that Avonlea folks imagined he’d eventually settle down with Ruby. But what they don’t know is that he’s gone kissed every last one of the fine Gillis sisters. Even the oldest ones, Myra and Sara. I would also confidently speculate that this boy’s rather cavalier with his Romeo-ing ways, too, and that he’s inadvertently hurt some very real feelings… without even fully realising it. He just doesn’t take anything… seriously. Which Gillis sister did he kiss first? Oh, don’t ask him. He doesn’t remember.

And let’s support this guess with another semi-related and semi-justifying canon quote?

"Did I ever correspond with Ruby Gillis? I'd forgotten. Poor Ruby!” — Gilbert ‘dashing out heart hopes everywhere’ Blythe, Anne of Ingleside

But awoooo, settle down? No, Sir, not Gilbert. Gilbert wanders into Redmond a bachelor, free and clear of any responsibilities or ties, back home. ‘Excellent creatures though they are,’ there’s not been a single girl that he’s crossed paths with that has yet been able to stir his deeps… or even his shallows.

ADDITIONALLY… he walks into Redmond maybe two or three years earlier than he did in the books. Because without Anne, Gilbert has no reason to give up the Avonlea school – he saves his would-be room and board expenses by living at the Blythe homestead, and very simply and economically gets to college all the quicker for it. He does still want to be a Doctor. He has a great-uncle that’s a Doctor over in Four Winds, and Gilbert still believes…

“It’s a splendid profession,” he said enthusiastically. “A fellow has to fight something all through life . . . didn’t somebody once define man as a fighting animal? . . . and I want to fight disease and pain and ignorance . . . which are all members one of another. I want to do my share of honest, real work in the world, Anne . . . add a little to the sum of human knowledge that all the good men have been accumulating since it began. The folks who lived before me have done so much for me that I want to show my gratitude by doing something for the folks who will live after me. It seems to me that is the only way a fellow can get square with his obligations to the race.” — Gilbert ‘getting rather sentimental now’ Blythe, Anne of Avonlea

Now here’s where I fall off and digress again. I believe this is the end of educated guessing and reasonable fact-inventing about what an Anneless Gilbert probably looks like.

But for bonus points, what happens with this version of Gilbert collides with a version of Anne that never made it to Avonlea? Do they still get together? Likely. But HOW?

If someone put a gun to my head (lollll) and made me write (as previously denounced, I realise) a fanfiction about it (warning, it’s definitely gonna be giving… sensationalist and 🤌🏻 fanfictiony, but really if you’re gonna go AU… go AU; all this fully recognising that this would never be a LMM setting), here’s how I’d try to pull it off:

Anne, by the time she’s fourteen, has run away from the Hopetown Assylum. It’s nothing but hunger (Anne of Ingleside), verbal abuse, maybe worse abuse, and (despite the name) hopelessness there. Anne’s resourceful, we know she has a special knack for making things happen, and she decides to strike out on her own. But not without a plan. There’s not a lot of jobs for kids out there that also come with a safe place to lay their heads at night (though she might make up her mind to sleep under a nice obliging tree, should the need arise; “I had made up my mind that if you didn’t come for me to-night I’d go down the track to that big wild cherry-tree at the bend, and climb up into it to stay all night. I wouldn’t be a bit afraid, and it would be lovely to sleep in a wild cherry-tree all white with bloom in the moonshine, don’t you think?” ), so she, playing to her strengths and daring to dream, thinks of drama and being a stage actress. She gives a spectacularly good reading of Tennyson’s “the Lady of Shalott” to a Hopetown Theatre manager who not only pities her but also finds her wildly entertaining. Alas… he cannot offer her a job. He tells her, though, that he has contacts with W.W. Cole Circus (they toured Nova Scotia in the 1880’s, I checked this out too; I have whatever unimaginative disability it is that requires even fantasies to have bearings in reality), that W.W. Cole is always looking for cheap labour while they tour. Only!! They really just hire/have use for boys. (We can circle back to déjà vu-ish Green Gables problems here.) Anne, however, doesn’t care. She’s got a lead. She knows she can work just as hard as any boy, and means to prove it. She’s given a job (mucking elephant stalls, for starters) on a trial basis (circling Avonlea again), and does such a bang-up job that she’s kept on for a week. She becomes an instant friend with “Nova Scotian Giantess” Anna Swan. (Also a real person, from a real W.W. Cole circus circuit, pls see above regarding fantasies borne from reality. She was 7 feet, 11 inches tall, 400 pounds, and eventually married another ‘giant’ from Kentucky). Anna advocates for Anne to be kept on permanently (trying to @ Aunt Josephine almost, here). Anna, who is emphatically religious (irl when she retired, she went on to teach Sunday School at her church) and ladylike and kind, sees to Anne’s studies and upbringing when they aren’t performing. She recognises Anne’s academic abilities and leverages her own position to see that Anne is promoted, as the years carry on. Anna, duh, encourages Anne to save her wages—enough to get herself through four years at Redmond college… that she might go on to have a career outside the instability of circus acts. By the time Anne is 20, she’s far more widely recognised as Lady Cordelia Fitzgerald, and she’s a terribly accomplished trapeze artist and a very elegant acrobat (let’s throw in one minor incident where she fell off a tightrope and broke her ankle here, as we circle back to Avonlea ridgepoles), as well as especial homies with every tiger and elephant and cigar-smoking-chimp that graces the ring. She woefully wears the assigned pink tights and costume, despite often still lamenting that “red haired people should never wear pink.” She also has finally saved enough of her wages to get herself a B.A.

Her very last performance sees her signing off at W.W. Cole’s Kingsport show. Who do you bet’s in the audience? Gilbert Blythe. The football captain, Lamba Theta inductee, incumbent class president… who also, as it happens, is there escorting one Philippa Gordon.

“I saw only one really handsome fellow among them. He went away before you came. I heard his chum call him Gilbert.” — Phil Gordon, Anne of the Island

Gilbert’s taken with ‘Lady Cordelia’ at first glance. Phil’s also taken with her. The two spend the rest of the show trying to spot Lady Cordelia in her support roles of the other acts. Is that Lady Cordelia lighting the fiery rings? At any rate, for Gilbert, the deeps? Shaken, stirred, invariably earthquaked, when he and Phil get to make actual introductions at the end of the evening production, as they and the rest of the crowd walk out, stage-door style. Anne, on the other hand, is unimpressed at best.That boy was “awfully bold to wink at a strange girl” (he’s not even the first fellow to wink at her in the last thirty minutes)… all while another girl was on his arm, no less. Rather a splendid chin, though. 👀 Maybe one could say he was equally as handsome as he was bold.

“But, of course, the one I like best I can’t get. Gilbert Blythe won’t take any notice of me, except to look at me as if I were a nice little kitten he’d like to pat. Too well I know the reason. I owe you a grudge, Queen Anne.” — Philippa Gordon, Anne of the Island

That small matter aside, who else might be in attendance? I mean, Roy Gardner, of course. (This could easily substitute his, “And you are the Miss Shirley who read the Tennyson paper at the Philomathic the other evening, aren’t you?”)

Days later, and still wanting to know exactly who she was, Phil catches sight of ‘Lady Cordelia’ (wearing Redmond colors, at that!) reading epitaphs at Old St. John’s cemetery, and we slip back into canon here. Almost. Phil and Anne become fast friends, as is natural and fitting, but far less can be said for poor Gilbert, who now has a very awkward time trying to gently cast off Phil while simultaneously wanting to cosy up to her new freshette friend. After all, Anne is Gilbert’s ideal woman.

If Gilbert had been asked to describe his ideal woman the description would have answered point for point to Anne, even to those seven tiny freckles whose obnoxious presence still continued to vex her soul. Gilbert was as yet little more than a boy; but a boy has his dreams as have others, and in Gilbert’s future there was always a girl with big, limpid gray eyes, and a face as fine and delicate as a flower. — Gilbert Blythe, Anne of Avonlea

For Gilbert to finally win over that ‘Queen Anne, my Queen Anne, queen of my heart’ we’ll need to see academic rivalry, a relationship-mending grand gesture (these two starting off on the wrong foot is a canon event, and I cannot interfere), Gilbert Saves a Life or Two (lots of congenital health problems for people of Anna’s size, her hand is shooting right up as a volunteer for this incident, and by now Gilbert is nearly white coat qualified), one rejected proposal after two years of genuine friendship, Anne and Roy fully courting, and Gilbert Blythe’s to ego finally give way to the purity of his dreams and aspirations.

“He had made up his mind, also, that his future must be worthy of its goddess. She held over him the unconscious influence that every girl, whose ideals are high and pure, wields over her friends; an influence which would endure as long as she was faithful to those ideals and which she would as certainly lose if she were ever false to them. In Gilbert’s eyes Anne’s greatest charm was the fact that she never stooped to the petty practices of so many of the Avonlea girls—the small jealousies, the little deceits and rivalries, the palpable bids for favor. Anne held herself apart from all this, not consciously or of design, but simply because anything of the sort was utterly foreign to her transparent, impulsive nature, crystal clear in its motives and aspirations.” -- Anne of Avonlea

And ultimately, this seems like a good place for that old case of typhoid for Gilbert and for Anne to realise her feelings, too. It would take Gilbert a full four years and nearly dying trying, to put a ring on it. For my last trick (read: in conclusion), here's a cute lil’ attempt at more canon justification for this utter nonsense (if you just squint):

"Mother dearwums," said Jem, "can I have those old ostrich feathers in the garret to sew in the back of my pants for a tail? We're going to have a circus tomorrow and I'm to be the ostrich. And we're going to get an elephant." "Do you know that it costs six hundred dollars a year to feed an elephant?" said Gilbert solemnly. "An imaginary elephant doesn't cost anything," explained Jem patiently. Anne laughed. "We never need to be economical in our imaginations, thank heaven." — Anne of Ingleside

SO FRIENDS. ROMANS. @batrachised.

What would yooooour take on an Anneless Gilbert be? An Avonlealess Anne? I’m sooo curious.

[the-girl-who-didnt-smile]

BARON SAMEDI vs. PAPA GUEDE

Why and how the two are confused for each other

Companion piece to: https://the-girl-who-didnt-smile.tumblr.com/post/761164319058739200/the-whitewashing-of-maman-brigitte 

In the original version of this post, I accused Maya Deren of being the source of the claim that Baron Samedi and Papa Guede are one in the same. Upon researching this further, I do not think this was a fair accusation. Similar comments can be made towards Zora Neale Hurston. I revisited this essay to address this issue, as it is possible that Deren and Hurston’s comments reflect a real regional difference that exist(ed) in Haitian Vodou.

This should also be obvious, but I have no Haitian heritage, nor am I an expert on this topic. In the past, I was really ignorant about the differences between Baron Samedi and Papa Guede. This essay represents my attempt to research this subject. I apologize in advance for any mistakes that may be present.

Many Westerners like myself believe that Baron Samedi and Papa Guede are the same, or two aspects of a single lwa. Where does this notion come from?

One of the most important foreign authors in changing the public perception of Haitian Vodou is Maya Deren. Although other Westerners published books about Vodou before her, she was able to balance factual accuracy with a degree of eloquence that reached a mass audience. It comes as little surprise to me that an author of Eastern European heritage could resonate so easily with the remarkably brutal history of Haitian Vodou.

That being said, she has been criticized from an anthropological standpoint regarding some of the assertions she makes in Divine Horsemen. It is in this book that Deren states the following:

“As Death, he is the keeper of the cemetery, guardian of the past, of the history and heritage of the race. The cross of Baron Samedi (as Ghede is sometimes called) is in every cemetery; and the graves that are under the special protection of his female counterpart, Maman Brigitte, are marked by a mound of stones.”

SOURCE: Deren, Maya. Divine Horsemen: The Living Gods of Haiti. United Kingdom, McPherson, 1983. p. 103. https://archive.org/details/divinehorsemenli00dere/page/102/mode/2up  

Because Divine Horsemen was taken as authoritative in the West, this quote has been reproduced in several other foreign works.

Deren herself cites the American novelist Harold Courlander, who traveled to Haiti many times and produced an early trove of songs from Haitian Vodou.

Below are quotes from Courlander’s (1944) “Gods of the Haitian Mountains”:

“…Some Haitians feel that BARON SAMEDI and GEDE NIMBO are the same…” (p. 356)

“...In some parts of Haiti GEDE NIMBO is thought to be identical with BARON SAMEDI…” (pp. 361-362)

SOURCE: Courlander, Harold. “Gods of the Haitian Mountains.” The Journal of Negro History, vol. 29, no. 3, 1944, pp. 339–72. JSTOR, https://doi.org/10.2307/2714821. Accessed 22 Dec. 2024.

Similar comments are made in Courlander’s (1960) The Drum and the Hoe:

“...Gede Nimbo, also known as Baron Samedi…” (p. 56)

“...In some parts of Haiti, Gede is thought to be identical with Baron Samedi…” (p. 323)

“...They are so closely identified that some Haitians feel that Baron Samedi is merely another name for Gede Nimbo…” (p. 323)

SOURCE: Courlander, Harold. The Drum and the Hoe: Life and Lore of the Haitian People. United States, University of California Press, 1960. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/drumhoe0000unse/mode/2up 

Further context is provided in Courlander’s (1973) Haiti Singing: 

“Gede Nimbo , also known as Baron Samedi. (Rada loa.) Athough Gede is inferior to Baron la Croix, he is still one of the most important of all the family. In fact, he is one of the most powerful deities of the whole Haitian pantheon. He guards the cemetery and protects the graves, especially those of children. But Gede Nimbo is not simply another loa, he is sometimes a personification of death itself. He is always spoken of as “dressed all in black.” While people may give “pitit lament” or small money to the other loa, they pay heavily to Gede Nimbo. He is not pleasant when aroused. (In Mirebalais, Dr. Herskovits received the impression that Gede Nimbo and Baron Samedi are different loa. In the south they are considered the same.) Dr. Elsie Clews Parsons, who visited the south coast of Haiti on a folk tale collecting trip some years ago, recorded the following impressions of Gede: “He is like Ogun [Ogoun], but ‘worse,’ he is a grande diable. He makes all kinds of motions to make you laugh, but you must not laugh at him, for if you do, he makes you ‘stop laughing,’ which means inversely that he makes you go on laughing forever against your will. Anything you touch, he takes and never returns, and you have to give him more and more. He smokes cigarettes, not cigars. He wears a coat and a hat, and carries a stick. He can make himself short or tall, ‘as tall as a mast.’ ” (p. 34)

SOURCE: Courlander, Harold. Haiti Singing. United States, Cooper Square Publishers, 1973. Originally published in 1939. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/isbn_0815404611/page/34/mode/1up 

Although Courlander claims that Gede Nimbo and Baron Samedi are considered the same in Southern Haiti, this is contradicted by the source he provides.

Where George Simpson studied Vodou in Northern Haiti, Dr. Elsie Clews Parsons reported his observations from “a recent folk-tale collecting trip to the south coast of Hayti”. He clearly differentiates between Baron Samedi and Gede Nibo, like so:

"On this higglety pigglety pantheon my notes read: Loi Gede or Gede-nibo talks through his nose (i.e. when he takes possession of any one). He eats only casaba and peppers and herring. He "ties his jaw" just like the dead, with cotton in the nostrils, for he is «master of the cemetery» mait' e cimetière). He is the "head loi". At the capital, Port-au-Prince, "most people have the loi Gede..." His papa loi (devotee) wears habitually (?) a white handkerchief around the head…." (p. 158)

“Loi Ba-un-Samedi (? gives or for Saturday). He is like Ogun, but "worse", he is a grande diable. He makes all kinds of motions to make you laugh, but you must not laugh at him, for if you do, he makes you "stop laughing", which means inversely that he makes you go on laughing forever against your will. Anything you touch, he takes and never returns, and you have to give him more and more. He smokes cigarettes, not cigars. He wears a coat and hat, and carries a stick. He can make himself short or tall, "as tall as a mast…."” (p. 162)

SOURCE: PARSONS, Elsie Clews. “SPIRIT CULT IN HAYTI.” Journal de La Société Des Américanistes, vol. 20, 1928, pp. 157–79. JSTOR, http://www.jstor.org/stable/24720068. Accessed 22 Dec. 2024.

Still, it is possible that Courlander correctly observed a regional difference in Haiti – that some Haitians consider(ed) Baron Samedi and Gede Nibo to be the same. If this is a true regional difference, this would explain why many foreign authors either equate the two, or describe them as being very similar to each other.

Another important Western author on Haitian Vodou is the anthropologist Zora Neale Hurston. One of the most insidious aspects of American history is the manner in which African Americans were turned against their own heritage by racist misconceptions. Where Deren reached a large white audience, Hurston was instrumental in changing the perception of Hoodoo and Vodou within the African American community. Although she has several critics, it is important not to diminish what she was able to accomplish as an African American woman anthropologist from the early 20th century. 

Hurston’s Tell My Horse is generally considered a less reliable source than Divine Horsemen, criticized for descriptions like the following:

“Guedé has another distinction. It is the one loa which is entirely Haitian. There is neither European nor African background for it…” (p. 219)

SOURCE: Hurston, Zora Neale. Tell my horse . United Kingdom, HarperCollins, 2008. Originally published in 1938.

The above is false for two reasons: (1) Guede is derived from a Dahomean vodun, with a clear African background (2) There are many other lwa that originate in Haiti. 

Consider now her description of Baron Samedi: 

“Papa Guedé is almost identical with Baron Cimeterre, Baron Samedi and Baron Croix, who is one god with three epithets, and all of them mean the Lord of the dead…” (p. 223)

SOURCE: Hurston, Zora Neale. Tell my horse. United Kingdom, HarperCollins, 2008. Originally published in 1938.

Her description echoes Courlander’s claim that Gede Nibo (Gede Nimbo) and Baron Samedi are “so closely identified that some Haitians feel that Baron Samedi is merely another name for Gede Nimbo”.

One of two things could be true: 

All of these American authors spoke in error, mistaking Baron Samedi for Papa Gede due to their shared association with the cemetery. 

These Americans correctly identified a true regional difference that exist(ed) in Haiti.

Without a time machine, it is not possible to determine whether this is correct. With this in mind, I previously erred in accusing Deren and Hurston of spreading a misconception. 

Equally important is to recognize that Baron Samedi and Papa Gede are not considered the same lwa by many Haitians. Every person of Haitian descent that I have corresponded with echoed Paul C. Mocombe’s description, where Baron is clearly differentiated from Gede. According to Mocombe, Baron symbolizes the concept of ‘Death’, while Gede symbolizes the ‘Spirits of the ancestors.’

SOURCE: Mocombe, Paul C. “Practical Reason in Haitian Idealism: Anti-Dialectics, Reciprocal Justice, and Afeminism Epistemology.” Race, Gender & Class 25, no. 1–2 (2018): 31–47. https://www.jstor.org/stable/26649532.

In Haitian Vodou, many of the lwa typically have something akin to a "first name" and a "last name". The "first name" is the family name (fanmi), while the "last name" indicates the spirit in that family (nom). 

There are multiple Legba: “Legba Atibon”, “Legba Gran Chemin”...

There are multiple Ogou: “Ogou Feray”, “Ogou Balendjo”...

There are multiple Erzulie: “Erzulie Dantor”, “Erzulie Freda”...

And so on.

Sometimes, the “last name” is dropped, and an additional title (e.g., "Papa" as in “Papa Legba”, “Papa Guede”, "Papa Ogou"...) is added in front of the “first name”.

In the Gede rite, the Barons (Bawons) and Guede (Gede) belong to two different fanmi. Of the Guede, Guede Nibo is the most well-known. Of the Barons, Baron Samedi is the most well-known. 

SEE: Beauvoir, Max. Lapriyè Ginen. Haiti, Edisyon Près Nasyonal d'Ayiti, 2008. pp. 187-196. https://archive.org/details/beauvoir-max-g.-lapriye-ginen-2008/page/n97/mode/2up

Because he rules over the Guede, who refer to him as “papa”*, Baron Samedi is often confused with Papa Guede. 

*see: Marcelin (1950) Mythologie Vodou, Vol. II

Here is Papa Guede: 

You can tell him apart from Baron Samedi by his purple, informal clothes. Even when he dresses in black, he can be recognized by his style and demeanor, which is mischievous, playful, and very sexual.

Papa Guede’s personality is described in a section of Karen McCarthy Brown’s Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn. There are vivid descriptions of his behavior and manner of speech. He is often lewd, in a way that makes people laugh. He can be likened to a clown, in the truest sense, where he indulges in taboos to mock social norms.

Here are some excerpts: 

“When asked to describe Gede, Vodou spirit of death, Alourdes said, “Papa Gede is a cemetery man. He live in the cemetery, but that not mean he’s bad. He very good man. He love children a lot. He love women a lot. He a very sexy man. Sometime he say a bad word, but…he love everybody. He love to help people. When people sick – all kind’a sickness – that’s his job to help.”

“Papa Gede, as Alourdes usually calls him, is a trickster spirit. Through his randy, playful, childish, and childlike personality Gede raises life energy and redefines the most painful situation – even death itself – as one worth a good laugh.” 

“No spirit, not even Ogou, Alourdes's met tet, rides her more frequently than Papa Gede.”

SOURCE: Brown, Karen McCarthy. Mama Lola: A vodou priestess in Brooklyn. Vol. 4. Univ of California Press, 2010.

Often, “Papa Gede” actually refers to Gede Nibo, who is sometimes called “Papa Gede Nibo”. There is a famous song that goes: “Papa Guédé bel gason! Guédé Nibo bel gason!...”

SOURCE: Marcelin, Milo. Mythologie vodou (rite arada). Vol. 2. Éditions Canapé-Vert, Pétionville, Haiti, 1950. p. 145. Retrieved from: https://ufdc.ufl.edu/AA00005044/00002/images/144 

 That being said, there are many Gede lwa; in isolation, the phrase “Papa Gede” doesn’t actually indicate which lwa he is.  

It is important to keep this quote from Melville Herskovits in mind:

"Some of the inconsistencies and individual variations in the naming of the gods as demonstrated in these lists may be specified. Outstanding are the differences found in the manner of naming a single god, as when General Ogun is called Ogun Gallone or Papa Ogun, or when Aizan Damballa is listed as two loa, Mait' Damballa and Mait' Aizan..."

SOURCE: Herskovits, Melville Jean. Life in a Haitian Valley. New York, Octagon Books Inc., 1964. pp. 309-319. Retrieved from: https://archive.org/details/lifeinhaitianval0000hers/page/308/mode/2up 

Contrast with Baron Samedi:

Baron Samedi dresses as the undertaker, wearing a formal black suit. Sometimes it has purple accents, but his suit is either entirely or predominantly black. He is not playful, but an intimidating hot spirit. A fearsome and powerful lwa, he is Lord over the Dead and the Supreme Judge of the Earth.

As described by Andre Pierre:

“It’s Baron Samedi who punishes and pardons on earth. Neither the living nor the dead can escape Baron Samedi. They must be judged by him.”

A lengthy section of Milo Marcelin’s Mythologie Vodou, Vol. II describes Baron Samedi’s personality. In this section, Marcelin describes how an angered Baron Samedi interrupts a service. He is foul-mouthed as he takes the offerings from the altar and throws them violently into the courtyard. He threatens everyone before he leaves. Nobody smiles or laughs at this; the faithful are afraid of him:

“Han-Han! fit Baron, vous ne pouvez pas nous recevoir aujourd'hui! Eh bien, foutre, je gâte le service!

Il se dirigea vers le pè ou autel du temple, prit toutes les offrandes et les jeta violemment dans la cour. Puis il prononça de sinistres menaces et se retira.

Les fidèles, craignant qu'il n'y ait de conflit entre Baron et les autres loas ou dieux, lui consacrent, ainsi qu'à son escorte, un hounfô-r ou temple à l'écart.”

SOURCE: Marcelin, Milo. "Mythologie vodou (Rite Arada), Volume II." Pétionville: Éditions Canapé Vert (1950). p. 156

Here is how he is described by Brown in Mama Lola: A Vodou Priestess in Brooklyn:

“As Baron Samdi (Baron Saturday), head of all the Gede, he arrives as a corpse; his body falls to the ground, stiff. In a mood of solemnity and sadness, the people surround him, bind his jaw with a white cloth, stuff his nostrils and ears with cotton, and powder his face to reproduce the pallor of a cadaver. When Baron Samdi possesses Alourdes, which he does infrequently, the tense psychodrama of death ends only when time doubles back on itself, when Ti Malis displaces Baron and a childish giggle escapes from the mouth of the corpse. Then, and only then, does the tension snap and the fun begin.”

SOURCE: Brown, Karen McCarthy. Mama Lola: A vodou priestess in Brooklyn. Vol. 4. Univ of California Press, 2010.

Donald Cosentino contrasts the Barons (Bawons) against the Guede (Gede), like so:

“Descended from these fearsome elders are a limitless band of capricious children, known collectively as the Gede spirits, who are as beloved as the Bawons are feared. The Gede are tricksters who cavort in opposition to the senior Bawons. The Gede always laugh, but Bawon never does. Bawon kills, but the Gede heal. Bawon is a skeleton, but the Gede are rotting flesh. Bawon is boss, but the Gede are bums. Bawon imposes harsh order, but the Gede blow it off. Bawon has secrets, the Gede always tell the truth. Bawon tends to dress conservatively, often in a top hat and dress coat, the attire of an undertaker. His face is powdered white and he needs sunglasses because his eyes can’t take the light after his underground work. Typically one lens is missing. His colors are purple and black. In art and action the Gede lwa morph into louts, rock stars, black-gowned college graduates, hipsters—whatever’s new on the social horizon.”

SOURCE: https://fowler.ucla.edu/wp-content/uploads/2021/08/InExtremis_CRU.pdf 

While Baron Samedi can be frightening, he is not evil. He is actually described as a paternal figure.

“Gede is the secretary of the Bawon, who is the judge. Bawon is the father of the family. Andre Pierre.”

SOURCE: Cosentino, Donald. Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou. United States, UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History, 1995. p. 406 https://archive.org/details/sacredartsofhait0000unse/page/406/mode/2up 

“Bawon Samdi is Adam. Guardian of the cemetery. Guardian of all the dead. Everyone's father. And Gran Brijit is Eve. Andre Pierre“

SOURCE: Cosentino, Donald. Sacred Arts of Haitian Vodou. United States, UCLA Fowler Museum of Cultural History, 1995. p. 407 https://archive.org/details/sacredartsofhait0000unse/page/406/mode/2up 

This is probably my favorite modern rendition of Baron Samedi and Maman Brigitte, which is why I plagiarized the shit out of it.

Before I had this context, I just liked this one because I think they look really cool here. But as it turns out, this is also one of the most accurate depictions!

Baron Samedi’s personality and style of dress are both accurately portrayed. In fact, I wonder if this artist referred to the following painting of Andre Pierre’s: 

Could be a coincidence, but his glasses and cigar are noteworthy details.

This is also a rare instance where Maman Brigitte’s ethnicity is accurately depicted, although she is younger than traditionally portrayed… Then again, this might be an Angela Bassett situation, where she looks better than college students, but is actually 66 years old.

…Unfortunately, many other renditions are a lot worse than this. What is often passed off as “Baron Samedi” is actually a weird, evil version of Papa Guede, with random African looking shit on him. It’s pretty wack! 

This strange, bastardized version of Baron Samedi really is one of the most iconic things about New Orleans Voodoo…or am I wrong to describe him as such?

Is it possible that there is a different version of Baron Samedi worshiped in New Orleans, that is more similar to Papa Guede?

Previously, I had speculated whether Baron Samedi was worshiped in New Orleans prior to the revitalization movement: https://the-girl-who-didnt-smile.tumblr.com/post/760848084922155008/crackpot-theory-baron-samedi-was-worshiped-in-new 

If he was, we would expect him to appear similarly to the early descriptions found in the Haitian historical record. “Genealogies of Gede” (2012), Smith & Cosentino comment on these early descriptions like so: “None of the performative or ritual markers we associate today with Gede—the obscene and comic behavior—are present in the text.”

SOURCE: Smith, Katherine, and Donald Cosentino. "Genealogies of Gede." In Extremis: Death and Life in 21st-Century Haitian Art (2012): 84-99.

His physical appearance should also be something like this:

“...Most of the time, however, when going about on the earth, the Negro devil has the appearance of a gentleman, wearing a high silk hat, and a frock coat, and having an "ambrosial curl" in the center of his forehead to hide the single horn which is located there. Mrs. Viriginia Frazer Boyle tells me that when she was first taken to church by her father and mother she used to scan the congregation eagerly for a man with that "ambrosial curl" and one with the "evil eye", which her old Negro nurse had told her were to be found in every crowd, even in church. In most cases this Negro devil has cloven feet, a characteristic also credited to him in European circles. Possibly the black cat is the animal most chosen by the Negro devil for impersonation...Nevertheless the devil is not limited to this particular form but may appear as a rabbit, terrapin, serpent, housefly, grasshopper, toad, bat, or yellow dog at will. To the Mississippi Negroes he often appears as a black billy-goat; a view strictly in keeping with his custom at the English witches' Sabbath. In New Orleans it is thought by some that snakes and black cats are incarnations of the devil…” 

Source: Puckett, Newbell Niles. Folk beliefs of the southern Negro. University of North Carolina Press, 1926. https://archive.org/details/folkbeliefsofsou00puck/page/552/mode/2up?q=devil 

The physical description does not match how Baron Samedi is portrayed in popular media. As far as I know, it is doubtful that he was a feature of Louisiana Voudou prior to the revitalization movement.

The other possible introduction point would be the revitalization of the late 20th century. Louisiana Voudou of the 19th century either died out or went underground by the early to mid 20th century; it was later ‘revitalized’ in the late 20th century, where one of the major influences was Haitian Vodou. This is why iconography from Haitian Vodou is so heavily associated with the tourist industry of New Orleans, even when there is little evidence these were features of historical Louisiana Voudou.

Recall Courlander’s claim that Baron Samedi is equated with Gede Nibo in some regions of Haiti. If he was correct, it is possible that Haitian(s) from said region(s) introduced this version of Baron Samedi to Americans, who then introduced this to New Orleans.  

 When reporting his observations in Haiti, Melville Herskovits corresponded with three different sources. He wound up with three different lists of lwa that contradict each other, as previously quoted.

The point is, there are legitimate regional differences in Haiti. Are they called lwa (loa) or jany (zange)? What is the name of the child on Erzulie Dantor’s wrist? Does Erzulie Dantor make people homosexual? Two different credible sources can give you different answers to such questions, including the manner in which certain lwa are classified. This might explain the portrayal of Baron Samedi in New Orleans.

Still, there is a factor of uncertainty here, and concrete evidence is lacking. With this in mind, it is best to adhere to the descriptions provided by Haitians, where Baron Samedi is easily delineated from Papa Guede.

There is another misconception that associates Baron Samedi and (Papa) Gede Nibo with the LGBTI community. This is quite the offensive misrepresentation, which warrants its own essay: https://the-girl-who-didnt-smile.tumblr.com/post/770627900843098112/the-gede-rite-is-not-associated-with-the-lgbti

[overdecorated-furniture]

WIP Planning - Notebooks

Today I thought I would show you where I am doing my planning, and what it looks like. I find visuals very helpful for when I want to do something, so this post will have a good number of pictures in.

The Notebooks

These are the four notebooks I use for my writing work. From right to left: Short Stories and poems, Character Info, Echoes of Eternity, the Jack of Diamonds. I’ll break these notebooks down below the cut, and look at how I use them.

Short Story Notebook

This is my most battered and well travelled notebook, having gone with me on many holidays and walks, been stained with lichen, had tea dropped on it, and so on. With this notebook, I write out any short story ideas that won’t necessarily be fanfic and make it onto AO3, do writing exercises and prompts, and jot down the occasional tentative poem. It is really helpful to have a notebook for odds and ends that you are happy to have dropped and stained, as it gives you somewhere to store ideas without worrying too much about how they look. I do like to draw/doodle in the notebook if I have space, but it is by no means good drawing, and I’m happy with hoe sketchy everything is.

Character Information Notebook

This is a reusable notebook, which means I can fill it with different types of paper, and then take out the inserts when they are full. This gives me a flexibility of usage, as I have lined and blank paper, so I have decided to use it to store character information. I already talked about how I organise my character info here, but the visual is often helpful. I haven’t started using the blank paper yet, but I mean to sketch my characters, and some of the scenes/ items from my WIPs. I am aware there are lots of digital versions of this notebook, all of which are excellent in their own right, but I enjoy the labour of handwriting, as it gives me more time to think about it, and means I can carry my characters in a very physical way.

Echoes of Eternity Notebook

Perversely, given my other novel WIP is set in London, this notebook (which has a map of mid-Victorian London as the cover illustration) is where I plan and world-build for Echoes. This is my oldest notebook, and still has the first chapters of my original ideas in the early pages. Since then the notion has undergone several changes, but the sense of continuity this notebook brings makes me happy. All my planning and world-building in here is very messy, and there is no real order to wether I have a playlist for the WIP written next to the lore creation myth, or a random character backstory prompt side by side with a timeline. It’s chaos, and I imagine all the world-building will be added to a new notebook some day to ensure it makes sense.

Jack of Diamonds Notebook

This is my newest notebook - viz my post about my outlining problem - so it hasn’t got much in it at present. However, I intend to keep outlining and research notes in here, as well as any world-building I might have to do, and possibly some drawings if I feel brave. We shall see what the future holds for this notebook.

Hope that is helpful and interesting for people. Happy Writing! 🌿

[seb-owns-these-tatas]

7th Dimension (Chapter 7.7)

7TH DIMENSION MASTERLIST

PREVIOUSLY ON CHAPTER 7.6

7TH DIMENSION WATTPAD VERSION (I am entirely ahead on this application now. 7th Dimension in Wattpad has now accumulated more than 10 chapters. There are minimal scenes back in the previous chapters which has been altered there, so sorry about that to those who only read my updates through Tumblr. Heehee.)

。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜゜。。+゜

Characters: Gojo Satoru x Small!Naive!Fem!Foreign!Reader | THIS IS A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. THIS IS AN X READER FANFIC WHO HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO THE DIMENSION OF JUJUTSU KAISEN | (Trust me, you'll live. I hope?)

Summary: (Part 8) Mind Training with Gojo Satoru had been beneficial to the both of you. You were given a mission to bake him sweets and in return of earning a 10/10 rating from the Great Teacher Gojo would result for a Shopping Spree treat from the Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer alive. Additional Summary for this chapter: Bound to take sketches from your dimension to theirs. Howbeit, was it also possible to acquire pictures from Satoru's dimension back to yours once you have the chance to go back?

Warnings: Fluff chapter ahead? | This is quite cute---made me punch the walls for a while because how I'm caught smiling every through it all. Satoru's being so adorable and annoying at the same time. Like---*kicks my feet in the air* 

A/N: Sorry this has taken so long to be posted here in Tumblr when it has already been published in Wattpad back then. I apologize!

7th Dimension Taglist: @dailystsg

SORRY IF THERE ARE LOTS OF TYPOS AND GRAMMAR ERRORS IN EVERY CHAPTER I WRITE. I ain't a professional writer! I'm just a potato-hoe! Please do let me know (Send an ask) if you wanna be tagged on this multi-chapter fanfic, bb's!

Words: 5.3+

Disclaimer: PNG's or pictures used in edits, also those posted are not mine especially the GIF's. (I dunno how to make GIF's 😭) I only own the plot of 7th Dimension. But, not Jujutsu Kaisen's storyline and the characters themselves. I apologize for the typos or grammatical errors by the way! English isn't my first language so I'm so sorry in advance! Character development and personalities are based from my understanding and how I want them to be for the sake of the story.

GOJO SATORU WAS LEFT GLARING and scowling over a white, mammoth plushie that you were holding to yourself. It covered the entirety of your face, mantling a lot that were of displayed for people to see your expressions. The stuff toy had been hilarious to look for his standpoint because of how much of a giant it was.

Comical yet irksome somehow in certain sections that he had been heedless of.

Satoru was scooched down before you. Long legs on either side of him along with his elbows outstretched that topped above his clothed knee. Kooky as the image was while he gave the plushie an overcritical scrutiny. His notions consisted of cavils and a fraction whispers of complaints over the adorable soft toy you were strangling to death.

"Ah, out of all the choices you've picked, it had to be a large stuff-toy. You could've just asked Yaga to make plushies for you instead." he blatantly complained, pulling a face of disgust for the soft toy you held.

Was he hating the idea of acquiring the said prize; the twee image it was giving, the pleasing reactions he was receiving upon being rewarded by his abundant tickets that has been given to you, or the self-contained fact that you were conferring all your attention over a non-living soul other than the man you were with today?

Satoru was left in a muddled, grumbling mess. Subliminal words garbled to entertain himself as he watched and observed how you were behaving for the plushie.

Those melodious, littlest squeal that momentarily slips in between your mouth, it sounded suppressed as if you did not want Satoru to have the idea that you were utterly mirthful for a soft toy he had been giving glares upon, not wanting him to rejoice for his duck-soup gift he had effortlessly obtained from the basketball arcade.

To no use of restraining those sounds, Satoru could technically hear it all because you weren't actually being furtive at any rate.

He'd heard another teeny-weeny giggle. Another aberrant sensation that was gradually slithering in an unknown crevasse that resided within parts that weren't meant to come upon. This anomalous situation felt like a confined room ought not to be visited, probing it to be a perturbing hullabaloo as Satoru sees fit. 

Your tittering felt like a pesky mosquito buzzing through his ears. One he'd allowed to fly; juxtaposed where one that he'd also allow to swig his own blood on because he knew it was you.

An off-the-wall metaphor, but it was really the exact feeling you were giving.

Pale as snow. Its face outlined to be chibified in a pattern and a way where Japanese artists are notorious over designing such cutesy patterns. Satoru did not despise adorable stuff. In fact, he also had the partiality for dainty things. Everyone who surrounded him had described him to be an utter man-child. The facade he always flaunted towards all and sundry. He relishes upon souvenirs to be given to those he genuinely cared about. Materialistic as he was deemed to be; his thoughtful temperament that individuals brush off due to the constant antagonizing repartees that left his mouth whenever he couldn't resist.

Yet, this Neko plushie---a damned white cat stuff-toy that you've been regularly giving heed to every second that passes by---Gojo was finding it inconvenient somehow and he couldn't explain why.

"You even had the choice for it to be cursed too." The white-haired sorcerer added another self-thought whisper, not risking his nonchalance through it all. He'd subtly taken heed prior to your response before obtaining the said prize. How you've both jabbered away on the notions for Jujutsu left you on the authentic side. All words that slipped past your mouth after it thronged and dripped in exasperation.

Gojo discerned it to be an honest-to-goodness section---once you were nosy towards a particular subject, you wanted to have the exact details upon it. A thorough run-down that all your questions should be provided with answers because if you were left dissatisfied, then you were guaranteed to be ticked off on a certain amount of time. The sort of infuriation that weren't meant to be dismissed. This was a miniscule portion of an attitude he learned afresh.

Therefore, this lead on to Satoru constantly being tenacious over chanting the sobriquet he had for you, over and over again until you've both reached the front of the line because of how you've went uttermost hushed after firmly calling him an idiot for not explaining well.

It was the intentional quietude that he was not used to after hours of throwing wisecracks upon wisecracks with him; the tiny crease that pinched in between the furrow of your brows, the vague squinch of your nose when you've momentarily have given him the cold shoulder.

Hence, for the first time ever---Satoru felt awkward upon how to react or inveigle you out of your raffled state when he wasn't even trying to rattle your cage. This was the type of ineptness that he desired to be fleeting, a fugacious feeling he believed it to be because of his lukewarm attitude he always had in regards to his continuous jests and quips he'd been giving and receiving with people---though, much to this forsaken oddity with you, it has given him nothing but an augment of necessity to keep you on a rather upbeat mood no matter how he was also hooked on your chagrins. 

The gaucheness has been like an itch he couldn't tolerate but to scratch to lessen the peculiar prickles.

Satoru's knuckles now rested upon his cheek as he squatted before you. His gaze persistent upon judging the entire scene behind his Stygian sunglasses, currently giving the unlucky Neko plushie his captious daggers. He'd went on upon his piped down bleats, ought to avoid taking another route to your strange unbearable noiselessness that he lowkey disrelished.

This made it seem like keeping you illiterate on the basic terms of Jujutsu and the useful history he could provide you with was better left unsaid if you were guaranteed to be constantly coaxed out of your authentic petulance. Although, everyone knew for a fact that Gojo's mouth wasn't one to be ceased even if it was amplified down to a level that he, himself could only be heard.

He remembered correctly that he had taken at least a bunch of 'Tiny-Chan~' and a covenant to buy you another ice-lolly---which you had endlessly pestered him to be of blame because of his loutish manners to leave all the paper bags to you, preliminary to the moment he had snitched them off your hands after the call with Ijichi. It has taken a sheer promise of another sweetened popsicle that Satoru was also inconspicuously anticipating to buy for himself as well before you actually and finally acknowledged him.

But then, somehow---he questioned himself on the idea if he was really an actual idiot because it felt like you've just baited him to actually give something you liked in return. A mischievous stunt that you actually pulled through that tiny height you had which the heavens had unfortunately bestowed upon you.

"---Or another Mike-o Wazowski you've described cursed-spirits to be. I should've just brought you a cursed-spirit then. You might have found them more adorable. Hehe. Although, I doubt you would if I actually bring you the ugliest ones. Your reactions might be hysterically funny to catch sight on, to be honest."

"Satoru, you've been mumbling nonstop like a weirdo and acting so hostile over my cute plushie when you've been cheating this whole time. I told you, I had to have the last pick because of your Infinity shenanigans. Might as well deal with it." you've went on and stated with a heavy stand. Hell-bent for the idea that he cheated and used his abilities all the while especially through the basketball game.

"Infinity shenanigans? quite a low-blow to put my innate technique into words, huh? It doesn't even work that way like how you're imagining it to be. Psh---," he skeptically scoffed, your opines difficult to digest for Satoru's proficiency towards the essence of Jujutsu. The idea you had for his abilities pooh-poohed by the strongest, "---I've been telling you a ton of times already that I wasn't cheating too!" Satoru exclaimed further like a child, exasperated for your stubborn opinions. 

You've given him a quick glance over his expressions, peeping through the top head of the plushie and was welcomed by the image of him, sporting an animated grimace other than those grins, smug smirks and smiles he consisted every second of the day. 

The bond you had today with Satoru swotted you in further analysis of his personality, attitude and characteristics. Satoru Gojo comprised more than what a person's first impression would obviously analyze him for. Arrogant. A menace. Playful. Vain. To all intents and purposes, he consisted of vast multifarious dispositions that made him more expressive, appearing to be more than what you've perceived him to be. Shrouded behaviors that he probably didn't mean to convey for an unidentified woman which expected to return to her rightful dimension once the deal was done for.

When the subject matter was about his students. Satoru switches into a meditative, pensive state that you never knew he comprised of. Shocking you to say the least because you've quickly understood that he was utmost considerate for their well-being and fostered for their development and mental protection.

Mental protection. How could you have said that?

Satoru made it clear that he did not want his students dwelling on the future that you were fated to undergo once the healing process for your amnesia takes it place. His students weren't duty-bound to take a part in this business you were having with him.

Hence, adding more facts about your learnings through his behavior, you've raised a thought that he didn't just had grins and cherub smiles. Satoru was capable of owning scowls that made him look like a child which can be tempted enough to taunt further for his dislikes.

One that made you want to continue and just annoy him further. The kind where you were also having the jollification over his annoyance.

You stifled your giggles and smiles, biting your lip as you did so when he'd briefly looked away. He was striking on the perception that he appeared to loathe on such a harmless, voluminous Neko stuff toy you were holding.

The paper bags that were filled of bits and bobs that Satoru has bought you for today were situated beside him, your unshakeable aspiration over taking the plushie as a prize clearly had brought you and Satoru on a lenient verbal debate over which was better to be taken as winnings. You've had the choice of choosing a gadget---an excellent exchange of a Nintendo Switch that would've been handy and could have answered to your boredom. Your phone still being held for safekeeping with Satoru that you highly believed it wouldn't be sheltered from how nosy he was. Bearing in mind, back at that Hatagaya incident that he had already chosen and took a picture of himself---setting it as your wallpaper for no damn reason.

You've staunchly expressed your disapproval over the Nintendo Switch because you've noted how it came with no free games, your rational thoughts processed that you would eventually entreated Satoru to purchase them again for you, leading you down into adding more shameless debts or dues that made you diffident for the pampering he'd allowed you to shower in. 

Was he always like this with everyone? Acting like money has never been a problem to him? 

The white-haired cyclops knew that it's what you were thinking---assuring you further that he would buy every game you wanted because he would much prefer it rather than having to carry everything that he bought for you.

However, you've held your grounds and chose a prize where you would've stumbled foolishly over and over again if he wouldn't lend a hand upon carrying all the things he procured.

Perhaps, he had mollycoddled you a little too much today.

It would've been a comical occurrence to see you miss your footing every once in a while, but Satoru let it slide.

Surprisingly so.

The Strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer being a porter; a cargador. The honored one carrying all the items you've taken at least two to three seconds of staring upon pieces he subtly felt that you've had a thing about then evade from purchasing because of your self-effacing behavior over knowing that it wasn't your money to start with.

In which Satoru had eventually whisked everything he'd identified you've looked on with favor. He was caught on to be reflecting upon his actions whenever you were both outside, leaving stores upon stores---ruminating why he was overindulging to your non-verbal requests when you weren't even saying a word nor made it obvious that you wanted them in the first place.

"Whatever. Besides, this large cat plushie looks like you, don't you think? I'm designing him soon..." you've chewed the cud; the threshold of your consciousness being babbled. Simultaneously joining in the hubbub of laughter and shouting that reverberated around the arcade establishment, mixing in.

Bringing the stuff toy down, you've peek through the head again, regarding Satoru and seeing that he was murmuring incoherent words you've not caught on again. His long fingers scratching the back of his head and coming across as though he wasn't listening to any of what you've muttered.

What was he even saying?

You've shrugged his strange behavior off and blinked to yourself. Keen eyes ferreting around the arcade as if there was one thing you had to do more.

Whereby, this sense of surveying for each booth or games landed on one. A separated kind where it didn't consists of spunky, virtual battles and artificial combats of versus fantasy characters. This stall was created and functioned to be used as an arrest of souvenirs that were worth to be photographed for; to capture memories worth to hark back for.

The Photo Booth.

Was it also possible?

Those subliminal thoughts stressed upon the question, brooding over an idea that was possible but also impossible at the same time. Your hushed questions had become fervent, dropping down one or two at a time inside the back of your mind.

If you were given the chance to finally come back to your dimension, would it be possible to have your own sketches as well? Or rather pictures that would be of evidence or a reliable documentation that everything that happened today has been a bona fide memory. A remarkable and uncanny fate that no scientist could have an answer to back on your world, not even the person who had the highest IQ would get to elucidate or refute to.

Living in another world you've found to be freakish---otherworldly in a broad amount of facts because the people surrounded you had been defined and distinguished to be beyond normal. This was another universe where you've actually had a profound purpose---hapless to have a chance to find value over something that you had no idea with right at this moment because of an accident that destiny bequeath upon.

Or would this just be an evanescence bubble of your own imaginations, forged and fictitious to hurt you in the end because there was more to this so called providence you believed in?

Was it bound to give you agony?

Despair?

Woe?

Or happiness?

Were you transported to keep one and all to their befitting, auspicious future that you could uphold upon cursed, miserable claims of expectations that you would foresee soon?

"Hey, Satoru." you've lightly mused on, tone sounding to be as if you were deliberating on the spontaneous idea, "---If I finally have the chance to go back to my dimension, do you think I could bring pictures with me too?"

You've looked vacantly over the booth just meters ahead from you. Your abrupt inquiry catching Satoru over stumbling on his own feet through his own ruminative thoughts. He'd blinked from behind his sunglasses, breaking off from his dwelling and swiftly standing on full tilt. His height back from being lofty rather than sitting on one's haunches in such a silly manner.

The question deserved at least a second before he reconsidered. He hummed through his logical thinking and cocked his head to the side. One arm crossed over his clothed chest, supporting his elbow that rested on his closed fist. The other hand positioned underneath his chin, thick thumb and forefinger squeezing upon his cheeks that compressed his own skin. Luscious lips unconsciously jutted out, in which you had never gotten a mental picture of on account of your own distractions. A fetching and appealing sight you've not have gotten a chance to see.

Satoru's gaze went elsewhere, intently mulling on your suggestions and speculations like it was worth enough to change the world. 

"According to your experience, by the sketches you've had from your dimension and to ours. It might be doable---Oi, Tiny-Chan!"

Without any fuss or delay, caught in your own excited bubble, you've began to tug onto the hem of his leather jacket, immediately and excitedly pulling him towards the booth. He'd let you pull him over, welcoming you both in a teeny-tiny space, not giving an ounce for a whistle-stop through your abiding elation he'd apprehended. 

Satoru has given you a look, expectant that you were going to put the damned, large stuff toy down but before he knew it, you were already tugging the black curtains open and plonking along the seat. The confined space making it impractical for Satoru to even manspread or accommodate himself if another long-legged man was to be present. His lanky height making it nonviable for you to move comfortably unless he would squeeze in and be cooperative to make the most out of the cramped space. 

The photo booth was made for 3-4 people. With Satoru's fit built---his broad shoulders, back and stubborn thighs and legs along with his uncompromising behavior, this booth was made to be seated with him and you alone.

Howbeit, an inanimate object just had the luck to take his rightful area. The space that was meant for him. 

Satoru's face briefly fell at that. The plushie receiving a dirty look from the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer alive. 

You were sliding in the game card as Satoru yanked the black curtains open, bending down from behind the opened hatch as he held the blinds open. You hadn't caught on the hasty disparaging glimpse he'd given towards your plushie. A fleeting lour that pulled the ends of his lips down as if it was the most ignoble thing he'd seen that was positioned neatly with ease. It's chibified face being a mirage that reflected upon his sunglasses, the figment of his imaginations hearing its goody-goody laughter; his well-deserved area that a lifeless soft toy had unconsciously snaffled. 

"You bringing that in? can't you see how minuscule this is for the both of us?"

He was bending his height down to a level, taking a glance to see you struggling to comprehend the Japanese letters that appeared on the monitor screen, your forehead scrunched in a way that tells Satoru how you've not understood a thing or two. You've complained back at him, holding a hand out protectively over your large Neko stuff toy while your pointer finger chewed on what to initially press upon the screen.

"Well, I'm not forcing you to join me---," Pause. "----You wait outside then. He's not leaving my side."

Satoru couldn't help but raise a brow at that. The simple action worth to be expressed as a 'I think the fuck not' or an utter non-verbal quip of an 'Excuse me? you just did not say that to my face.'

Gojo firmly shook his head, emphasizing the whole idea that he was not letting it happen, not in a million years would he let a plushie win over his supposed to be side of the cramped room, "Ha! Nope!" he popped the 'p' along his words, determined and bull-headed to join in the photograph, "---Not a chance! I'm joining in the picture! This is going to be futile. That thing needs to go,"

He quickly grabbed onto the soft toy. Satoru had haphazardly chose a section through the screen without even taking another look at it as he had two tasks at hand. One hand on the monitor screen while the other outstretched to reach for the lifeless dummy that was smirking through his illusions. He'd shortly glanced how the time started to run down in ten seconds.

"Fly high, Neko-san!" Satoru whisked the plushie beside you, tossing it out of the booth with no remorse. The white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer knew where it went and landed without paying any more regard to it.

"What the---! Fly high, seriously?! Did you just yeet him outaway like that?! What did it even do to you?!" you've hissed back at him, your eyes following suit as it went wide, peeping where your plushie went and flew behind him, it was precisely perched along the cluster of paper bags that you've both abandoned for the mean time.

The latter went to plonk himself beside you like a lightning bolt, squeezing himself in as the time already started. It was 5 sets of poses that should be accumulated within a 10 second smile. He'd taken up a lot of space that you were pushed to the sides, making you glower when his towering height wedged through like a sponge.

Straightaway, Satoru was already beaming through the camera, all wide and his teeth on show, coruscating as if it shined brighter than the sun. He'd lowered his sunglasses a bit right above the tall bridge of his nose, setting forth the Ether on view to be captured, posing for the camera when he'd noticed that you were glaring beside him. 

The white-haired Jujutsu Sorcerer had raised a vague guess and thought that you were feeling uncomfortable through the cramped space that he recklessly reacted upon his careless reflexes, clinging his long arm around your shoulders, hanging loosely at first before he decided to bring you closer to his side in attempt to create the best set of pictures he could think of. 

You were shoved with the warmth in his bosom; warmth that could be defined as an oasis of serenity you never knew you've delved into. The plight of what your world has offered for you; the other side of the coin that Satoru established just upon hours of being with him. 

Was this also a part of his abilities then? Did it involve in manifesting you from experiencing idiosyncratic discoveries in such an amount of time?

"Tiny-Chan, Say cheese!" he avidly betokened, beaming through the camera. His amiable, snug gesture of enveloping an arm over your shoulder making you give him the heart-eyes, recreating the image of a smitten woman who peered up from his side, speechless as she appeared to be. The camera capturing a smiling Gojo while you, on the other hand, estimated to be like a twitterpated woman who was gawking whereas he had been on the contrary because the Satoru was utmost picture-ready.

It has been one of the the most effulgent smile on his face you've distinguished it to be. 

You've cleared your throat and blinked from your stupor when you've felt and seen the flash of the camera fill the booth again.

That was already two pictures then. 

The machine started to count once again. You were forthwith this time, consciously struggling to pull yourself out of your own reverie that Satoru have foolhardy pulled you in. A genuine smile on show, your eyes turning into crescent shapes; a harebrained impulse of an action---your hand collapsing to fall over Satoru's clothed inner leg, resting your palm over it.

Caught in the spur of the moment, it was simply just a gesture to maximize the jammed compartment that you were both situated in. 

Yet, Satoru's toothy beam minimally closed at that meek, soft touch. The congested area gradually becoming more confined rather than how it was supposed to be, garnering a dubious calefaction that he unforeseen, startling the strongest deep-within. 

That shouldn't have been possible. 

The camera flash flickered again. You were blind over how he was brought to a whim. This was already the fourth picture to the last. The machine seeming to be capturing you both in the midst of conversing at the present time. Definitely not the proper time to do so, but you've began to tattle towards the Jujutsu Sorcerer, gently nudging his leg over and over again to cut him off from his concentration and unusual pondering. The skin of your palm abrading over the fabric of his own pants.

Satoru had seen you pouting on the side through the camera screen. Your words even catching him more off-guard then ever, appealing as a subdued rustle of the wind. A whir of your words susurrating beneath your breath, "Why did you had to throw away 'Toru' like that..."

He'd turned his head at a break-neck speed from the unexpected epithet he heard from you, peering down to gaze over the space you were comfortably snugged in. Suddenly wrapping his mind on the proximity he'd set you both. An unfamiliar and foreign touchy-feely sense that was beyond for his ken.

Your focus had been on the camera that neared its countdown, deliberately ignoring Satoru on the side of the screen. The unsettling drum of your heartbeats thumping one by one in a pitter-patter as if it grew unbearable with each passing second.

You suddenly wanted this to be over with.

"Toru?" Gojo blinked through his sunglasses, repeating the sobriquet as a drone. A faint, soft whisper of incredulity, one that sounded too affectionate to be heard. It was probably another wild reflex but you've snapped your head to the side, giving your heed to him that you've lately realized the camera flash went off again to the both of you gazing into each other's eyes.

Those blest eyes that always yanked you out of your physical existence to bring you towards the celestial sphere.

"---You're calling that lifeless dummy over a nickname meant for me?" Satoru veiled his struck on sensibilities with a smug smirk and his notable complacent demeanor. 

Toru.

The sobriquet repeated like an echo within the deepest parts of an underground chamber, fawning over to forage the beacons. 

Bewildered. Be all at sea. Satoru Gojo had no idea why but he wanted to hear it again and again as if the nickname should have been fabricated for him and not for a exanimate plushie.

"I-I had it patented because I knew you were bound to upbraid and tell me that it had been bought by your abundant tickets. Psh. Don't get so full of yourself, alright?" you've clicked your tongue, flustered from the unpredicted choice of moniker created for your soft-toy. The diminutive passing out of your mouth of one's own accord. You've swatted his heavy arm off your shoulder, wrenching the curtains open and paving your way out of the booth.

Once out of the threshold, the photo booth becoming more confining, suffocating to the point that it would've been minacious if you've stayed longer. You've shrieked when you've seen how far your plushie really went.

"Really, Satoru?!" You've audibly cleared your throat, hearing a humiliating voice crack in between your exclamation as if it wasn't stable to begin with, marching your way over the Neko plushie that has been literally thrown to the sides. 

Waiting for the pictures to finish developing, you were holding onto your stuff toy for dear life, Unwary that the strongest Jujutsu Sorcerer tarried a bit inside the compartment. Satoru had been sitting inside the booth for at least less than a minute now. 

You've seen his expensive shoes from underneath the pitchy drapes that you had to lightly kick it to shove him out of whatever he was doing inside. With pursed lips and kicking one's heels, you've seen the developed pictures when it finally dropped out of the holder.

"Hey, what are you even doing in there? you takin' your own selfies?" you've given his Adidas another light shove with yours, making him react with a short, distracted hum that vibrated through the core of your stomach, whipping up another tight hug around your plushie.

The developed pictures were now on your hands, your eyes briefly pausing at the particular, spesh one that made you covertly smile to yourself because of the flutters that the tiny, expanding butterflies aspired to give you from a indelible picture which has been your utmost favorite.

You subtly hoped Satoru was not one who's fond of keeping photographed pictures.

"Sa-to-ru! You suddenly deaf or what?" you were heedless of your beaming smile, the blood rushing through your face as you were downright elated over the developed pictures. Calling his name per vowel in an attempt to emphasize further. Eyes fazed, zeroed in on the snapshot at hand.

"Fine. I'm having all of this. It's not like you're bound to keep them anyways. You don't seem to be like that kind of person." It sounded like a bubbly judgement for him. Your smile now stifled, altered into an automated grimace when you've seen him emerge from the curtains. It was funny to see how such a towering lanky man had been inside the booth all along that your restrained laughter went nominal from the moment that Satoru has aimlessly grabbed onto the one you had bisected and chose as your copy. 

Did he just whipped the favorite one you've taken a liking to?

"Oi, gimme that." he quickly grabbed onto the picture you favored. The best one you've wanted to treasure. Your face falling when he was brisk enough to slip them along his side pockets, "---Did you just judge my personality, Tiny-Chan? Oh, you really wound me."

You didn't risk a chance. Under no circumstances did you try to even steal it back from him because Satoru was dead set to take his claim on that specific picture you've wanted to cherish. 

With an insincere smile pasted upon your face, you've grumbled through gritted teeth, "You really didn't seem like it. That's mine. Give it back." 

"Hm." Satoru's grins broadened, owning that impish expression which forewarned you that the white-haired menace knew it was a choice of your preference. The print that you were keen on keeping. "---Yours, you say?" Pause. "---How about a no? you've basically been judging my whole being since day one, so this is mine now for payback." 

Perhaps, digging through that deep-rooted bulwark he'd built, Satoru also held an adoration for the fresh portrait that were now kept inside his pockets. A photograph that has only taken a second of creating an apocryphal world that sheltered the actuality of his dimension, providing a bed of roses he'd not ever tolerated for once in his life. The inexplicable, nameless, undivulged will-o-the-wisp that he needed to evade from because if he'd stayed longer---the denouement would either be parlous or in the doldrums.

Don't be shy. Say hi? I don't bite. Heehee. <3 Will post the next chapter for this the day after tomorrow!

SEND ZE TATO AUTHOR AN ASK

[brilyahntpeacenotes-blog]

Notes on Autobiography of Pauli Murray

The name of this text is Pauli Murray: The Autobiography of a Black Activist, Feminist, Lawyer, Priest, and Poet formerly title Song in a Weary Throat: An American Pilgrimage. This is the 3rd paperback edition printed in 1997

The following notes are mainly quotes from the book related to specific subjects. Pauli Murray was a Black, queer, likely trans person who left an indelible mark on this world and greatly influenced the Civil Rights and Human Rights movements in the USA and beyond. She or they (there is controversy about what pronouns Pauli may have used in this day and age) were a courageous trailblazer. I would say, Pauli Murray is one of my heroes. I cry reading their words and hearing about their story.

I am currently on chapter 13 of 35 and will add quotes and notes as I continue.

The quotes are separated by subject as I have determined.

On gender and queerness

"My talents never included handicraft...the divisions of labor in our household was such that I did not cook. I would have enjoyed working with a hammer and tools, but cooking and sewing seemed beyond me..." (p 22)

"At home...[my] duties were to split and stack endless loads of wood and kindling, keep all the rooms supplied with scuttles of coal...feed the chickens...clean wicks and chimneys...scrub the outhouse, white wash the trees and fences...hoe the garden, cut down weeds..." (p 22)

For pay PM would clean her aunts house for 25¢. Pm also had a newspaper rout earning up to $1.30

On disability

"Grandfather's blindness did not prevent him from contributing to the family enterprises...In the springtime he would prune the grapevines so that each new crop of grapes would be large and juice." (p 21)

"My initial assignment was a teacher on the WPA Remedial Reading Project...Remedial reading was then a new concept...I had only 2 or 3 children in my classroom at any one time. Each child was tested for his or her particular reading disabilities, and then I constructed a set of reading materials for that child's individual use...the children did not have to compete with each other, only with their own records." (p 100 - 101)

This sounds like an early version of Special Education programs and individualized education plans

PM noted many educator did not fund value in the program or used it as a way to get rid of "discipline" problems....The latter is something echoed today especially with students labeled under EBD

PM mentioned feeling isolated from professional collegues in part because of the program goals (helping students with reading disabilities) and in part because it was a WPA project...likely similar to "professional educators" today response to Teach For America or similar programs.

On protest/resistance/rebellion

"My aunts were "Race women" of their time. They took pride in every acheivment of "the race" and agonized over every lynching..." (p 30)

"I carried on my own private protest. I walked almost everywhere to stay off the Jim Crow streetcars and I would not go downtrown to the theaters because that meant climbing the back stairs to the colored "peanut gallery". (p 32)

Pauli Murray reflects on their childhood in Durham, NC and the ways they avoided subjecting themselves to the humiliations of segregation and Jim Crow laws and policies.

"I had cast my first vote in the election of 1932, and it was a vote of protest. Since I would not vote Republican and, having lived under the apartheid of Democratic rule in the "solid South, could not bring myself to vote for a Democrat, I had voted for the Socialist candidate, Norman Thomas." (p 93)

"For all my bravado, deeply engrained notions of respectability filled me with distress. It was one thing to ride freights anonymously or sleep in jails in strange towns where I was unknown. It was quite another to carry a picket sign in the heart of Harlem, where many people knew me. I felt as if I had been asked to parade in public undressed..." (p 99)

This quote is a reflection of PM's first picket line. Joined in support of friend, Ted Poston, who was picketing a Black weekly paper, New York Amsterdam News. Ted and others had organized a local unit of the American Newspaper Guild. He had been arrested previously for picketing. PM was arrested at this picket line but the judge dismissed their case.

Labor protest at this time are in line with history I have studied in Minneapolis about Black labor movements during this era.

"Pee Wee had an amazing sense of her own worth, and she feared no one. Her strong convictions about civic responsibilities lef her to write long letters to public officials [over social concerns]...I owe Pee Wee's example my later habit of writing to newspapers and public figures on social issues, letters I came to call "confrontation by typewriter." (p 96

On the nearness of Slavery

"Racial lines, which had been blurred to some extent during Reconstruction, were now being drawn ighter by the wave of segregation laws enacted by southern states in the wake of the 1896 Plessy decision, which validated the doctrine of "separate but equal." (p. 14)

"On the all [in Pauli's childhood home in Durham, North Carolina] above the cross hung Miss Mary Ruffin Smith's painting of a mother of pearl fountain cascading from a silver basic. Grandmother Cornelia gave this painting an honored place in our household as a testimony to the strong bond of affection that had existed between her and the antebellum who had been both her blood relative and legal owner." (p. 19)

"...but Grandfather's tiny pension from his Civil War service was little more than enough to keep up the taxes." (p. 21)

Pauli's childhood home included her grandparents and Aunt Pauline and was owned by her Grandparents

"The preservation of the Negro cultural heritage was another important aspect of WPA activity. Interviews conducted with many former slaves preserved their firsthand stories before they passed from the scene." (p. 100)

Pauli is discussing her recollection of Works Progress Administration program that was focused on collecting and recording the history of living formerly enslaved people.

When Pauli Murray (PM) was 5 years old they participated in a play called "Fifty Years of Freedom" put on by an organization her aunts, who were race women, participated in. Later, they (PM) found an earlier version of the play titled "Thirty Years of Freedom" likely put on in 1890.

"In our segregated world, we had a sense of identity and a sense of racial pride, fragile though they might be. We were close to the roots of our immediate past because many elderly people still alive who had been born in slavery." (p 31)

[Pauli Murray's Grandmother Cornelia]

On passing

"...Pauline Fitzgerald [Aunt Pauline] married young, blond, blue eyed Charles Morton Dame, fresh from Howard University Law School but they had not reckoned with the formidable barriers to the success practice of law by a colored man...The best young Dame could do was to earn a few dollars...writing wills and deeds for white attorneys, income supplemented by his wife's meager earnings as a teacher...

Some of the white men for whom he worked told him flatly that he would never get anywhere as a colored lawyer..."You're as white as any white man...and you'll have a better chance if you cross the line..."

...the temptation to end a grubbing existence finally overpowered Charles Dame. He told his wife what he had decided to do and tried to persuade her to join him. She, too, looked indistinguishable from a Caucasian, and the two of them would have had little difficulty fading into the white background. Aunt Pauline's refusal brought an end to their marriage." (p 14 - 15)

Aunt Pauline was married around 1899

"During the first half century after Emancipation, thousands of near whites exercised this option to escape racial oppression..." (p 15)

"Once when a fair skinned form the North came to visit and took me to town one day for company, she made me stand outside while she went into the stores on Main Street. She said they would give her better service if they did not know she was colored. (p 32)

Pauli, like many Black Americans*, is of a mixed, multiracial, multiethnic background. This included African, European and Native American heritage. Their relatives, like many Black Americans, had relatives who ranged in skin color from deep, dark skin to fair, pale skin.

Pauli's Aunt Pauline, who is also her namesake and legal guardian, was greatly offended by this relative's actions and did not allow Pauli to interact with them privately moving forward.

*Black Americans on this blog refers to people of African descent who survived USA chattel slavery, the maafa and have lived in the USA for the last several hundred years.

"It was no secret that my fairer-skinned relatives indulged in casual "passing"...in their pragmatic view it was not disloyalty to "the race"...Curiously enough, my relatives from the South did not bother to pass where segregation was most oppressive, but sometimes did in the North, where they were unknown and jobs were at stake. (p 34)

PM mentions a story where her Aunt Marie/Maria passed in the North for higher wages, but did not pass in the South and lived as a negro while working in the colored county schools (p 34)

"Some girls married Italian men and disappeared completely from the colored race. Others "passed" sporadically, working white collared jobs..." (p 35)

PM talks of a cousin who would bleach his hair blonde and another who wore wigs to cover his "kinky coils" (and was eventually found out by a white woman caller)

PM also tells the story of Amos Burton, who they name as the first Negro professional baseball player, was known to be colored in his hometown but known nationally (p 35)

On segregation

"College graduates were hit hard as other groups...the New York Times reported an estimated 10,000 unemployed college graduates in New York City...One could spot several women on any floor at Macy's wearing the Hunter College ring -- that is, if they were white. Negroes were limited to elevator and cleaning jobs whether they had a degree or not." (p 92)

When Pauli intially visited NYC as a child/teen they commented on how free it felt compared to Durham, NC. Their experiences after moving there quickly highlight that the colorline was still in place if more liberal...This highlights that segregation, though not always enshrined in law in Northern states and cities, was still a firm practice

"[Great Uncle Richard] had defied custom and bought the property in the face of fierce opposition from white people. It was said in the family that a white businessman named Tom Walker had fallen out with some of his asociates and settled his grudge by selling his home to a colored man." (p 29)

"In our segregated world, we had a sense of identity and a sense of racial pride, fragile though they might be. We were close to the roots of our immediate past because many elderly people still alive who had been born in slavery." (p 31)

"It was confusing to me because I was both related to white people and alienated from them." (p 31)

"While this discriminating assessment of he whie population prevented me from developing a blanket hatred of all white people, there was a threshold reserve which applied to the white world generally." (p. 31)

"white aristocrats" were cool to PM's family, they were "nice white people"

"mean, prejudiced white republicans" which Pm compares to the contemporary (at the time the book was written) "whitey" and "honkie"

PM did not/was not allowed to greet white people on their porch even their neighbors

"My meager contact with white people was paradoxical, since the two races lived close together, and, within the limits of the strict racial code...My family prederred never to cross the gulf that separated us from white people unless we could do so without lsing our dignity and pride." (p 34)

"It was a straitjacket existence, which became more oppressive as I grew older." (p 34)

"The only hope for me to go to college, it seemed, was to matriculate at the North Carolina College for Negroes in Durham. Since I was determined not to attend a segregated college, this prospect prompted my first overt stand against racial segregation. " (p 65)

"...the overriding purpose of segregation was to humiliate and degrade colored people." (p 109)

"During [FDR's] 6 years he had been in the White House, I had become increasingly dismayed over his apparent coziness with white supremacy in the South, his silence on civil rights and his refusal to speak out for a federal antilynching bill, which the NAACP had modestly proposed." (p 111)

[delreyswhore]

Sorry

No truly I am

I'm

Sorry for so many things to so many people through so many times

But most of all

I'm sorry that I believed all the lies

I guess it should come as no surprise that the right to my body is just a societal disguise based on the notion that a man has a right to anything in his eyes from my thighs to my hair and no not my dreads

but the ones 'down there' as long as my skirt is short enough to 'invite' him to stare

So...

I'm Sorry

I apologize for the disguise that I wear or put on

But

Im SO glad that you knew it was just meant to turn you on

Because

The clothes that I wear have no significance to me

as a human being

Rather

They're meant for you to define me by what YOUR seeing

Believing that my hem line determines my inner being

I Invite you to look down upon me as a suffocate beneath this glass ceiling

So..

Forgive me

forgive me please for not getting the memo

That if I drink a little bit too much I go from being a woman to a hoe

For forgetting that if I sip drinks then liquor shouldn't be the only thing I expect down my throat

Because if Im not really asking for it then he really wont

Now Im not sure if this apology is coming off entirely too sincerely so

Let me take a minute to break it down for yall a little bit more clearly

This apology is a symptom of a social disease

Seen from football rosters in ohio to busses in New Delhi

With outbreaks of slut shaming and victim blaming mentalities

No cure in sight under this currently system of patriarchy

We got invisible wars leaving visible scars on members of our nation's military

And don't get me started on what the hell is going on politically

See Id write my local politician but he's probably taking the lead on defining rape in terms of words such as legitimacy

In fact, the following is a list of exact quotations taken from politicians in the United States of America

"Rape victims should make the most of a bad situation"

-Rick Santorum, Former presidential hopeful

"Some girls rape easy"

-Roger Rivard, former Wisconsin congressman

"Rape is like bad weather. If it's inevitable you should relax and enjoy it."

-Clayton Williams, former contender for Texas

Governor

See this disease has reached the top of our nation's leadership to the point of being endemic

But even without a medical degree

1 got a four step regimen that's sure to end it

Number One

Remember that rape isn't about sex it's about power and privilege

And if you dont believe take a detour into our nation's prison systems

Number Two

Dont teach women self defense, modest dress, or other ways to avoid being raped initially

Instead, why not foster a culture that teaches men not to rape indiscriminately

Number Three

If the case makes it to court

I got advice for those on the bench

Perceptions of character are not as important as evidence

And Number Four

If a person is raped look for the rapist not the reason

That one shouldn’t have to ryhme

[writer59january13]

Who is/was Jamie Ashworth?

Written roundabout October 31st 2017, yet nary a handy dandy blue's clue Jimmy Neutron Spongebob SquarePants

exists about real or imagined gal in question, and presumed results regarding the gal in question acquiring titular role of poetic subject most likely more than a few women can lay claim to being said person re: goddess of me what dream in question,

but once curiosity took hold far between once idea took hold in me noggin notion became frozen solid within sixty shades of gray matter analogous to being lodged itself an Igloo for no less than an eternity linkedin with cryogenic freezing, which notion prevalent

among the super rich spending millions of dollars to procure heated smart toilet, and additionally, essentially, and ideally equipping bathroom with golden plated loo whereby guests needing to relieve themselves grunt out insync with effe fart to expel bowel movement the primal scream aah and ooh synonymous to giving birth.

Untold females most likely share same name sake as poem title;

I knew not what to expect

after googling the following namesake Matthew Scott Harris did a wake kin me from temporary stupor, gasping for air as if affixed with a trach

and on a whim thy fingers flew to keyboard

butta...please dune hot

coon sitter me a rake

or a hoe shoveling unprintable fu*king expleteives,

which would moost deafen net lee

and rightfully tell me “go jump in a lake” (an imponderable superior whim)

but tis not for anything to gain this extemporaneous poem aye make

but more so, this

ordinary garden variety bumpkin

(or pumpkin I transform into upon eve of Halloween

politically correct)

nay, tis no exterior, interior,

nor ulterior motive this drake

doth quacking, while wading

in the wide webbed whirled

and hoop fully ja refrain

thinking me tubby some flake

yes, a touch of flattery insulated

within thy body electric,

which caw cajun skin color

presents this being opaque

and the purest motive merely

to convey how flattered

this mortal knowing

an anonymous gal enjoys the material

which despite what Trump

or his henchmen/women might have said “aint what preceded deep fake”

boot real honest to dogness sentiment that virtually touches me

to the quick and a whim to make

a rhyming poem found impetus

set to express and converse

without any suspicion, paranoia,

or mild headache.

[concupiscience]

Critical theory has caused the west to be overly self-aware, to the extent that culture can no longer organically develop without obsessive comparison. Its tendency to dissect itself has left nothing but shards of thoughts, fragments of images that were once so tightly interwoven.

Therefore, we shouldn’t be concerned with the current popular trends, or even the forthcoming zeitgeist which is always visible over the waves of those successive trends, each obliterating the last in an endless cycle. Not now, not next, but what comes after that is our objective. What is unseen as of yet, that is our goal.

THE STARS THAT FLOG THE SEA WITH WHIPS OF LIGHT

NOT ME.

ecstatic rites of an elegant, ancient beauty

perishing under sickly skies

NEVER LOOK BACk

WHO FUCKING CARES

If u have formed some type of notion about me please just do us both a favor and just forget that shit because human beings are in a constant state of change

To taste every forbidden fruit,

松の木々を通る夕日の最後の光線 寒さを逃れるために南へ飛ぶ鳥たちを照らす

You are limitless potential. You are the clay at the potter’s wheel.

Is this hell? This is definitely hell.

that dusk-tinged demigod

Industrial society operates under the presumption that resources are infinite

A triumphant, arrogant attitude may be necessary from time to time

The same moon my ancestors and descendants behold

We’re all hoes under the same blue sky

Ephemeral and fleeting as a smoke spirit

Having drunk deeply from the cup of sin

Spoiling the land with hubris and greed

Wow imagine that, In our modern society everything has to be done for money

I think you live longer when you have a good attitude. There’s cases where cancer goes into remission when a person starts believing they don't have it anymore. Likewise, there’s also cases of people dying on purpose from resigning their will to live, like those super old couples who die within days of each other. You can control your health with your mindset, at least that’s what I believe. If your mind is thriving your body is thriving. Right but we do have free will to influence our future. “The system cannot be sustained indefinitely ” Right. Like why did a religious impulse develop independently in every single ancient culture.

Media consumes us. Objects own us. Money spends us.

The flowers bloom without caring if they are observed.

Pattern-Matrix

Mass media, escapism, distraction, bread and circuses, whatever you want to call it. Recorded by studios with more money than some countries, packaged neatly for mass consumption. This is the result of capitalism working flawlessly for over a century. the spectator becomes a mere receptacle for media, they become a consumer, the same way food is consumed then comes out as waste, media consumes us. The more people are emotionally invested in fictional people and fictional worlds the easier it is to distract them from what’s happening in real life- the panopticon of modern life. Your superheroes, singers, actors, exist for one purpose only: to sell you a product. Through our complicity they buy our complacency. They have taught us to be satisfied with “what is” and not think about “what could be” because that’s just the way it is. They exist to sell us an image of what our lives and the world ought to be, and we stupidly buy into it. It’s a drug we regularly take.There’s nothing wrong with enjoying movies, TV, books, music etc but you have to realize what is illusion and what is real. When you watch anything, imagine the processes that go into its production. Could this potentially be used to manipulate people into feeling a certain way? Is this fact or does it reflect the views of its creator? All I’m saying is that if you unplug from this “machine” things seem much more relative.

we are bound to our era. we cannot escape the present. 

The notion of a grand, divine scheme negates the possibility of free will. If God does have a plan for everyone, that would mean we only have the illusion of free will.

Tragic figures such as these

Traditions everywhere are dying, we must forge new ones

Wholly effaced by time

Writ large

Pastoral vibes

I believe there are multiple paths to God. The fact that religion has sprung up independently in so many places over so vast a distance is incredible. Jesus and Buddha weren’t so different in their teachings.

Some got it more right than others, obviously.

So there is actually very compelling evidence that early Christianity was heavily influenced by similar savior-centered religious sects such as Mithraism, Orphism and the veneration of Dionysus (they all belong to the subset of Rising-and-dying gods). We know for certain that in Alexandria, an extremely important centre for early Christianity, Buddhist monks taught at the library of Alexandria around the time of jesus.

Wine was central to the rituals of Dionysus, who was believed to have died and been resurrected.

The real importance is that Jesus and Buddha were real historical figures that established schools of thought that endured for millennia.

They both preached the importance of virtue and morality, sympathy for the suffering and acceptance of the transitory nature of the material world.

The library itself was mostly intact until the 260s AD when it was burned by Aurelian.

There is ample evidence of eastern thought circulating in the near east around the time of christ. Statues of hindu gods were found in Pompeii, in Alexandria itself a tombstone with the Wheel of Dharma was discovered, in the port city of myos hormos in Egypt a sail cloth of Indian manufacturing was discovered. The trade routes between judea and the east were active until the 4th century AD.

Theres a Christian tradition that the apostle Thomas died in India where the church he established still exists.

Paganism is an umbrella term for anything that isn’t Christianity, or more accurately the animistic traditions that predate monotheism.

Judaism is fascinating because we have proof it originally was polytheistic. It’s totally Canaanite in origin but over time yahweh was promoted to the status of one true god. The painted pottery from Kuntillet Ajrud Shows yahweh and Asherah (later ishtar, aphrodite) as his consort.

Religions dont appear from nowhere. They’re the product of thousands of years of tradition, thought, and self reflection.

Do you believe the bible refutes evolution?

I dont think it does either. Those seven days of creation are metaphorical. The bible says our lives are like a single breath of god. Which implies he operates on a much longer timescale than humans. So the space between the first and last days of creation could have been billions of years for all we know.

Because the second to last thing he did was to create humans. Evolutionarily, anatomically modern humans first emerged in east Africa around 100,000 years ago. The first stirrings of human culture were around 20,000 years ago. The pyramids were only built 4000 years ago. Rome was only 2000 years ago. We can’t even comprehend how early on in our journey thru the universe we are.

A mere blip in the cosmic timescale. We might not even survive another million years.

I’m tired of getting hurt

旅に病んで 夢は枯れ野を かけめぐる

Falling ill on a journey my dreams go wandering over withered fields

[beansonbread2]

BEANSONBREAD AWARDS 2023 - BEST EP

AWARD NO. 1 - BEST EP OF 2023

PAST WINNERS

2022 > Cryalot 'Icarus' (see full list HERE)

2021 >Tara Clerkin Trio ‘In Spring’ (see full list HERE)

2020 > Jockstrap ‘Wicked City’ & ‘Beavercore’ (see full list HERE)

2019 > Jockstrap ‘Lost My Key In The <3 Club <3′ (see full list HERE)

2018 > James Ferraro ‘Four Pieces For Mirai’ (see full listHERE)

2017 >Yaeji ‘EP2′ (see full list HERE)

2016 > Oliver Wilde ‘Long Hold Star An Infinite Abduction’ (see full list HERE)

2015 > Kelela ‘Hallucinogen’ (see full list HERE)

2013 > Spectres ‘Hunger’ (see full list HERE)

2010 > James Blake - ‘CMYK’ (see full list HERE )

-

2023 RUNNERS UP (in no order)

Mica Levi & Alpha Maid ‘Spresso’

William Carkeet ‘Lack Of SND’

Two Shell ‘Lil Spirits’

Jlin ‘Perspective’

Benjamin Spike Saunders ‘Benjamin Spike Saunders’

Wesley Gonzalez ‘Wild Garlic’

Das Koolies ‘The Condemned’

Babymorocco ‘The Sound’

EasyFun ‘Electric’ / ‘Acoustic’

Magdalena Bay ‘Mini Mix Vol.3’

Divorce ‘Heady Metal’

Memotone ‘Memotone EP’

M.L. Deathman ‘Wild Beasts’

Batu ‘Half Speed’ / ‘For Spirits’

Clementine March ‘My Empty Town’

Astra King ‘First Love’ 

Soft Lad ‘Give it A Go’

Old Fire ‘Iterations’

NewJeans ‘Get Up’

Kelan ‘Further Downtown’ / ‘The Strip’

Kelly Lee Owens ‘LP.8.2’ 

Ishmael Ensemble & Rider Shafique ‘New Era’

Miss Tiny ‘DEN7’

Alice Longyu Gao ‘Let’s Hope Heteros Fail, Learn, and Retire’

Antonia Sinibaldi ‘Catch Us If You Can’

Heartworms ‘A Comforting Notion’

Dry Cleaning ‘Swampy’

Kayla Painter ‘Ambient Owl Core’

Beach House ‘Become’

Nia Archives ‘Sunrise Bang Ur Head Against Tha Wall’

Neko ‘King Louie’

Swan Meat ‘Blood Supernova Remixed’

Angel Olsen ‘Forever Means’

Wych Elm ‘Field Crow’

Spirit Of The Beehive ‘I’m So Lucky’

O. ‘SLICE’

Seamus Fogarty ‘Hee Haw’

Kode9 & Burial ‘Infirmary / Unknown Summer’

MF Tomlinson ‘We Are Still Wild Horses - Remixed’

Hudson Mohawke & Nikki Nair ‘Set The Roof’

Bruce ‘Not’ / ‘Ready’

Iceboy Violet ‘Not A Dream But A Controlled Explosion’

Ernold Same ‘The Reader’

Moin ‘Clocked Off’

Mary Lattimore ‘Goodbye, Hotel Arkada’

Big Fuss ‘Long Live This Queen’

Hemlock Springs ‘Going…Going…GONE!’

Biig Piig ‘Bubblegum’

-

TOP 10 EP'S OF 2023

10. Minor Conflict ‘Bright Lights, Dead City’

9. Dean Blunt ‘Give Me A Moment’

8. Giant Swan ‘Fantasy Food’

7. Katy J Pearson & Friends ‘The Wicker Man EP’

6. Trust Fund ‘It Is What It Is’

5.  Rozi Plain ‘Bonus Prize’

4. Saya Gray ‘QWERTY’

3. JPEGMAFIA & Danny Brown ‘Scaring The Hoes: DLC Pack’

2. Aphex Twin ‘Blackbox Life Recorder’

1. Tara Clerkin Trio ‘On The Turning Ground’

[pesterloglog]

Caliborn, Jake English

Act 6, page 5669-5682

undyingUmbrage [uu] began jeering golgothasTerror [GT]

uu: DON'T DO IT.

GT: Do what now?

uu: WASTE YOUR TIME WITH THAT BITCH.

uu: YOU SHOULD THANK ME FOR DISTRACTING YOU. FROM INITIATING A POINTLESS CONVERSATION.

uu: WITH AN UGLY HOT WOMAN.

GT: Hey take that back roxys my good friend!

GT: Well ok take back all the parts that werent a compliment.

GT: Or wait. Is calling her hot a compliment or is that creepy?

GT: She is certainly pretty. But hearing it come from you sounds lecherous and dastardly!

uu: OH MY FUCK.

uu: SHUT UP.

GT: Heh. Its probably just my instincts as a brave boy kicking in.

GT: The old chivalry bone acting up you know? When i hear a ladys good name getting besmirched i just start seeing red!!!

uu: WOW.

uu: EVEN I THINK YOU SOUND LIKE A DOUCHE RIGHT NOW.

uu: BUT LOOK. JAKE HUMAN.

uu: I DIDN'T COME TO JEER YOU. UNTIL YOU DRIP THE WEIRD FACE WATER OUT OF YOUR SOCKETS.

uu: EVEN THOUGH IT SAYS I'M JEERING YOU AT THE TOP. JUST IGNORE THAT.

GT: Errr.

GT: Alright?

uu: I'M HERE ON A DIFFERENT KIND OF BUSINESS.

uu: I WAS HOPING WE COULD BE MORE "GENTLEMANLY" WITH EACH OTHER.

GT: Gentlemanly you say?

uu: YES.

uu: I EVEN LOOKED IT UP IN ONE OF YOUR EARTH DICTIONARIES TO MAKE ABSOLUTELY SURE I WAS USING THE WORD RIGHT.

uu: DID YOU KNOW. THERE DOES NOT EXIST A FEMALE EQUIVALENT OF THAT WORD?

uu: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS BEING "GENTLEWOMANLY". I LOOKED THAT UP TOO. IT ISN'T THERE.

GT: It isnt?

uu: WELL OK.

uu: IT IS.

uu: BUT I REFUSE TO BELIEVE THAT'S A REAL WORD.

uu: IT'S TOTALLY MADE UP. AND DOESN'T BELONG THERE.

uu: YOU KNOW WHY IT'S PROBABLY IN THERE?

GT: Um...

uu: BECAUSE SOME SILLY BITCH PUT IT THERE.

uu: TRUST ME. THIS IS NOT A NOTION WHICH APPLIES TO THAT AWFUL GENDER.

uu: FEMALES ARE NOT BIOLOGICALLY EQUIPPED TO BEHAVE REASONABLY. AS PROVEN BEYOND A SHADOW OF A DOUBT. BY EMPIRICAL ASSERTION.

uu: THEY ARE VERY SHRILL AND INSANE AND DON'T MAKE ANY SENSE. THEIR EMOTIONS ARE OUT OF CONTROL AND THEIR FEELINGS NEVER SHUT UP.

uu: AND WORST OF ALL. GIRLS ARE VERY TRENCHANT TOWARD BOYS WHO WOULD KINDLY INFORM THEM OF THE WAY REALITY FUCKING WORKS.

uu: TALK ABOUT UNGRATEFUL. NO. THERE IS NOTHING WORTHWHILE TO BE GAINED. FROM CHATTING UP THE BITCHES.

uu: AS SUCH. IT IS MY SOLEMN BOYPLEDGE. THAT I WILL NEVER BOTHER SPEAKING WITH YOUR FOUL HUMAN STRUMPETS AGAIN.

GT: Your...

GT: Boypledge?

uu: THROUGH CAREFUL OBSERVATION OF YOUR PARTY. I HAVE DETERMINED THEY ARE BOTH USELESS. AND HOLDING YOU ALL BACK.

uu: ON THE OTHER HAND. BOTH OF YOUR MALE PLAYERS ARE PRETTY GOOD. THE OTHER GUY, AND HIS RED FLOATING MALE GHOST? THEY'RE SO STRONG. IT'S SO GREAT.

uu: I REALLY RESPECT THAT.

GT: Yeah. Dirk is a pretty tough cookie alright...

uu: YOU'RE NOT AS STRONG. BUT WHATEVER. YOU'RE ALRIGHT ANYWAY.

uu: LET'S FACE IT. COMPARED TO THE FECKLESS HOES. YOU'RE IN A CLASS OF YOUR OWN.

GT: But i thought you hated me!

GT: At least thats how i remember it when we last talked.

GT: Which was admittedly a while ago.

GT: Ive never been accused of having a photographic memory but i dont recall you typing in green either.

GT: Are you ripping me off bro??

uu: NO YOU FUCKING MORON.

uu: IF I STOOPED TO YOUR LEVEL. AND DECIDED TO JACK *ANY* PORTION OF YOUR SWAGGER.

uu: DON'T YOU THINK. YOU'D NEED TO EARN MY RESPECT FIRST???

GT: I dont think I understand.

uu: YES. EXACTLY.

uu: UNDERSTANDING IS WHAT I NOTICE YOU DON'T DO. AS OFTEN AS POSSIBLE.

uu: THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT JAKE.

uu: IT IS WHY I HAVE TAKEN AN INTEREST IN YOU.

GT: Whys that?

uu: BECAUSE YOU'RE DUMB AS A BAG OF TEETH.

uu: I'VE CHECKED YOU OUT. FROM MANY DIFFERENT MONITORS.

uu: YOU ARE JUST. SPECTACULARLY UNINTELLIGENT.

GT: Hey!

uu: SETTLE DOWN. I WAS TRYING TO PAY YOU A COMPLIMENT.

GT: Oh. Whoops.

GT: Go on then.

uu: WHILE TO CASUAL OBSERVERS YOU MIGHT APPEAR. TOO STUPID TO KNOW HOW FAR PANTS ARE SUPPOSED TO GO DOWN YOUR LEGS.

uu: I KNOW THAT IT'S QUITE POSSIBLE. YOU ARE JUST MISUNDERSTOOD.

uu: IT IS POSSIBLE THAT YOU JUST HAVE A SPECIAL MIND.

uu: LIKE ME.

GT: You think so?

GT: Not to sound too self obsessed or anything but ive given that some thought.

GT: That maybe there is something special about me that nobody can understand. And maybe thats why i always seem to be botching things up the wazoo with my pals.

GT: Maybe thats why i feel like such a loner. I dunno. Im rambling and ive been thinking about it a lot lately. What about you?

GT: Does being special make you screw the pooch with your friends like it does for me?

uu: UGH. NO. I DON'T HAVE ANY FRIENDS.

uu: FOR MY PEOPLE. THE WORD FOR FRIENDS. IS FLAWS.

GT: Wow really?

uu: PROBABLY NOT? BUT. IT SHOULD BE.

uu: BECAUSE IT'S TRUE. AS A MATTER OF MY PERFECT PHILOSOPHY ABOUT EVERYTHING.

uu: BUT THE FACT THAT YOU CLEARLY HATE YOUR FRIENDS. AND ARE READY TO SHED THEM LIKE THE DRY SKIN OF A SERPENT.

uu: INDICATES THAT WE SHARE A VERY SPECIAL QUALITY AMONG BROTHERLY BROS. WHO MUST WORK HARDER WITH OUR BRAINS THAN EVERYONE ELSE.

uu: SO WE MAY ACHIEVE BRUTAL SUPREMACY OVER THEM ALL.

GT: Haha. Well i wouldnt go that far. I love my friends!

GT: But i was once told i had a lot of potential.

GT: Supposedly thats how all pages are and it takes them for frickin EVER to reach it.

GT: And funnily enough it was a figment of my own subconscious that told me this. A part of my untapped potential itself! But disguised as my best bro which was...

GT: Peculiar to say the least.

GT: Is that your situation? Are you a page too?

uu: HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

uu: HELL NO. BUT THANKS FOR THE LAUGH.

uu: MY CLASS IS SO MUCH BETTER THAN YOURS. IT'S NOT EVEN FUNNY. EVEN THOUGH I JUST LAUGHED.

uu: MINE IS THE BEST OF ALL. WHILE YOURS IS FUCKING TRASH.

GT: Oh? Whats yours then?

uu: LORD.

GT: Fine then jeez.

GT: Sorry for asking!

uu: WHAT?

uu: NO.

uu: THAT WAS NOT A SHORT REMARK OF FRUSTRATION.

uu: IT WAS THE ANSWER DUMBASS.

GT: Oh.

uu: IT'S THE MASTER CLASS.

uu: DON'T YOU LOSERS DO ANY HOMEWORK ON THIS GAME.

uu: YOU'D THINK YOU WOULD ALL BE EXPERTS. WITH HOW MUCH MY SISTER HARANGUED YOU ON THIS TEDIOUS SHIT.

uu: SINCE I HAVE HAD GREAT SUCCESS SO FAR. IN PROGRESSING THROUGH THIS DEAD SESSION. I DECIDED. IT WAS TIME TO BITE THAT BULLET.

uu: AND RETURN HOME. TO RETRIEVE ALL OF HER TERRIBLE TEXTS ON THE SUBJECT OF THIS GAME. AND OF YOUR STORY.

uu: I HAVE PORED OVER EVERY NAUSEATING VERSE. IT HAS BEEN A TRUE EXERCISE IN AGONY. FEW COULD POSSIBLY UNDERSTAND MY SUFFERING.

uu: BUT THAT'S OK.

uu: BECAUSE I'M NOT THE IDIOT KID I USED TO BE. NOW I KNOW. THAT WHAT IT TAKES FOR ME TO LEARN AND GROW STRONGER.

uu: IS EXCRUCIATING EFFORT.

uu: SO I HAVE A CHOICE. WHICH IS TO EITHER BE WEAK.

uu: WHEN WEAKNESS IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE.

uu: OR TO SUFFER. FOREVER. UNTIL NO ONE ELSE EXISTS.

uu: WHO IS STRONGER THAN ME.

uu: AND THAT'S YOUR CHOICE TOO.

uu: PAGE HUMAN ENGLISH.

GT: Sakes alive.

GT: That is a bit extreme no?

uu: FOR YOU. PROBABLY EVEN MORE SO.

uu: BECAUSE AS A LOWLY PAGE. AND AS AN EVEN LOWLIER HUMAN. YOU ARE UTTERLY WORTHLESS.

uu: AND SO YOUR TRIALS I BELIEVE MUST INCLUDE. PROVING TO PARADOX SPACE THAT YOU EVEN DESERVE TO EXIST. IN THE FIRST PLACE.

uu: AND WHILE MY TRIALS WILL BE SIMILARLY GRUELING. A LORD'S WORTHINESS IS AT NO POINT EVER IN DOUBT.

uu: HIS NOBILITY IS MANIFEST. SUPREME MASTERY WAITS FOR HIM PATIENTLY. LIKE AN EMPTY THRONE UNDER HEAVY GUARD.

uu: REALITY ALREADY KNOWS I WILL PREVAIL. JUST AS IT KNEW I WOULD PREDOMINATE.

uu: AND SO INEVITABILITY IS ALWAYS ON MY SIDE.

uu: IT IS MY. WHAT DO YOU CALL IT.

uu: BORTHRIGHT?

uu: BORTHRIGHT.

GT: I dont think thats a word.

GT: But hey you are the lord and i am the lowly page.

uu: DAMN STRAIGHT.

uu: NEVER FORGET WHO YOU ARE MEANT TO SERVE.

GT: Now just a minute buddy. Lets not get carried away.

GT: I have no intention of serving you. In fact im not even sure why im still talking to you!

GT: Youre lucky that my manners are impeccable otherwise i would have blocked you already, what with the scandalous way you have characterized my ladyfriends alone.

GT: Its all well and good you think we have some things in common but i wont fall for it!

GT: Maybe its true at times i can be a little slow on the uptake but i will not be sweet talked into doing the bidding for a silver tongued cur!!!

GT: So to you sir lord i must say GOOD DAY.

uu: JAKE.

uu: YOU STUPID SHIT.

uu: HOW CAN YOU BE THIS DUMB.

uu: ALRIGHT. FIRST OF ALL. MY TONGUE IS NOT SILVER. THAT'S VERY CLOSE TO BEING INSULTING TO ME.

GT: Whatever! Look i know you are not the most quickwitted fella either, so i must inform you this is what we call a "figure of speech."

GT: You know. Like if i said you speak with a forked tongue. Not unlike LUCIFER HIMSELF!!!

uu: BUT. I ACTUALLY DO HAVE A FORKED TONGUE.

GT: Oh...

GT: Really?

uu: WAIT IS THAT SERIOUSLY AN INSULT IN YOUR CULTURE? HOW IS THAT INSULTING??

GT: It just means you arent trustworthy, and i should not be lulled by your false promises.

uu: WOW. OK. WOW.

uu: FIRST. NOT ONLY ARE YOU AN IMBECILE. YOU'RE A FUCKING RACIST TOO.

GT: No im not!

uu: JAKE. YOU JUST SAID SOME RACIST SHIT. END OF STORY.

uu: SECOND OF ALL. I'M NOT ASKING YOU FOR A DAMN THING.

uu: AS IF YOU HAVE ANYTHING TO OFFER ME AT ALL.

uu: THE VERY IDEA THAT YOU COULD IN ANY WAY IMPROVE MY EXISTENCE. IS ALMOST AS OFFENSIVE AS. YOUR FLAGRANT RACISM.

uu: THERE'S NO "DEAL WITH THE DEVIL" BULLSHIT GOING ON HERE.

uu: I'M OFFERING TO HELP YOU. STRICTLY AS A PRO BONO ARRANGEMENT.

uu: MY ASSISTANCE WILL BE. AN UNCONDITIONAL ACT OF BENEVIOLENCE.

GT: Dont you mean benevolence?

uu: NO.

GT: Um. Ok then.

GT: But why do you want to help me?

GT: Is it really just because you relate to me and therefore want me to succeed?

uu: LET'S NOT BE TOO SENTIMENTAL HERE. I MEAN. YEAH. I GUESS THERE'S OUR COMMON GROUND.

uu: BUT WHAT I'D REALLY LIKE TO DO. IS GROOM A WORTHY ADVERSARY.

uu: IF I HELP YOU REACH YOUR FULL POTENTIAL. AS A PAGE OF HOPE. YOU COULD BECOME EXTREMELY POWERFUL SOME DAY.

uu: MAYBE EVEN POWERFUL ENOUGH TO POSE A CHALLENGE TO ME. OR MAYBE EVEN ENOUGH TO BEAT ME.

uu: WHEN I SAID "MEANT TO SERVE". SERVE MEANT MORE THAN ONE THING. YOU KNOW. LIKE KICK MY ASS??

uu: WOULDN'T YOU LIKE THAT JAKE? DON'T YOU LIKE TO ROUGHHOUSE?

uu: OR MAYBE I HAD YOU WRONG. MAYBE YOU ARE IN FACT A GIRLY MAN. WHO DOES NOT LIKE TO ROUGHHOUSE.

GT: Hey watch it now. Youre DARN TOOTIN i love to roughhouse!!!

uu: EXCELLENT.

uu: THEN OUR COMMITMENT IS SEALED. I WILL HELP YOU REACH YOUR TRUE POTENTIAL.

uu: LET US MARK THIS PLEDGE. WITH A SPECIAL NEW DESKTOP WALLPAPER I HAVE DRAWN FOR YOU.

GT: Huh??

uu: IT IS HOW I ENVISION THE IDEALIZED DEPICTION. OF OUR COLLABORATIVE BROSMANSHIP.

uu: I HAVE BEEN GETTING SO MUCH BETTER LATELY. WITH A LOT OF HARD WORK AS USUAL.

uu: I AM ABLE TO BRING THE MANY SMALL ANGLES MOSTLY UNDER CONTROL. TO SIMULATE THE ILLUSION. OF PHOTO REALISTIC FORMS OF COLOR AND LIGHT.

uu: JAKE. I GIVE YOU.

uu: THE FINE ARTS:

uu: http://tinyurl.com/JAKETHISISUS

GT: Whoa.

GT: Thats uh.

GT: Mighty special.

uu: GO ON. APPLY IT TO YOUR DEVICE.

uu: I WILL WAIT.

GT: Yeah um.

GT: Maybe later?

uu: NO. DO IT NOW.

GT: I dont think i want it to be honest.

GT: No offense its actually just really shitty.

uu: APPLY THE WALLPAPER THIS FUCKING INSTANT YOU CRETINOUS PHILISTINE. OR THE DEAL'S OFF.

GT: Ok fine!

GT: Gad freaking zooks. Just what i need another pushy bro in my life.

GT: This secret training of yours better be worth it!

uu: IT'S NOT TRAINING.

uu: IT'S JUST SOME GUIDANCE FROM A FAR AWAY ALIEN.

uu: I WILL BE YOUR PATRON TROLL. THAT'S LIKE THIS WHOLE THING IN YOUR STORY. HAVING A PATRON TROLL.

GT: But i thought you werent a troll.

uu: OF COURSE I'M NOT A TROLL. TROLLS ARE A KIND OF PESTILENT VERMIN AND THEY SHOULD ALL SUFFER AND DIE.

uu: "PATRON TROLL" IS JUST A PHRASE TO HELP YOU UNDERSTAND.

GT: Its not helping me understand though.

GT: Shoudlnt you be a patron cherub if anything?

uu: NO. GOD. DON'T MAKE UP TERMS FOR WHAT I AM. I WILL DO THAT.

uu: I WILL JUST BE YOUR PATRON DUDE.

uu: OR MAYBE. YOUR PATRON MANBRO.

GT: Sounds pretty gay.

uu: WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?

GT: Whats what?

uu: GAY. WHAT'S GAY YOU IDIOT FUCK.

GT: Oh right.

GT: Forgive me i forget you arent familiar with all of my earth lingo.

GT: Its like...

GT: How do i explain.

GT: You know. Its a rather old fashioned term for being jolly and festive together.

GT: Like "that rollicking time we had scrumming the other eve sure was gay."

uu: I SEE.

uu: THEN YES. YOU ARE CORRECT.

uu: THIS IS GOING TO BE GAY AS HELL.

GT: Oh goody. Just the way i like my hijinks!

GT: So how do we start.

uu: THERE'S NOT MUCH TO THIS.

uu: I JUST TELL YOU SOME SHIT TO DO. AND THEN YOU DO IT.

uu: AND THE ULTIMATE DUMBNESS OF IT ALL IS. YOU PROBABLY WERE GOING TO DO A LOT OF IT ANYWAY.

GT: I was?

GT: How was i going to do the stuff if you didnt tell me to?

GT: You mean i was going to do it like on accident?

uu: NO. THE THING IS. I THINK I WAS ALWAYS GOING TO TELL YOU.

GT: I dont understand.

uu: NEITHER DO I.

GT: Ok then.

GT: Im glad we settled that.

uu: BUT I KIND OF GET IT ON SOME LEVEL.

uu: AS A LORD OF TIME. I THINK I'M GOING TO MASTER TIME. NOT WITH MY BRAIN. WHICH WOULD BE TOO HARD. BUT WITH MY INSTINCTS.

uu: LIKE IN A WAY THAT WORKS WITH MY NATURAL IMPULSES. SUCH AS MY AMBITION. MY WILL TO COMMIT MAYHEM. MY DESIRE TO PUNISH THOSE I DESPISE.

uu: SO IF I WANT YOU TO BECOME STRONG. SO YOU CAN CHALLENGE ME LATER. AND I SEE EVIDENCE. THAT YOU PROBABLY BECOME SUCCESSFUL.

uu: I THINK TO MYSELF. WHY SHOULDN'T I BE THE ONE TO MAKE THAT HAPPEN? IF IT'S GOING TO ANYWAY.

uu: I THINK PART OF MY PERSONAL QUEST. IS TO BECOME AT EASE WITH THE FORCES OF INEVITABILITY.

uu: INEVITABILITY THAT ALL THINGS SHOULD AND WILL FALL IN MY FAVOR. THAT ALL CAUSALITY ANSWERS TO ME. AND THAT ALL OUTCOMES NOT ONLY SERVE ME. BUT CONSIST OF MY BEING.

uu: SO I FEEL THAT. THE MORE I GROW IN POWER.

uu: THE MORE STUFF IT SHOULD TURN OUT I AM RESPONSIBLE FOR.

uu: UP TO AND INCLUDING. EVERYTHING THAT EVER HAPPENS.

uu: EVEN IF IT HAS TO BE.

uu: RETROACTIVELY.

GT: Hmmmmm...

GT: Nope!

GT: Dont reckon i understand much of that either.

GT: But i guess im not supposed to. Me not being a time maestro or what have you.

GT: I guess i should be boning up on hope though. What can you tell me about that?

uu: I DON'T KNOW A FUCKING THING ABOUT HOPE.

uu: IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A FORCE OF "UNPARALLELED POWER". BUT REALLY. IT SOUNDS SO LAME.

uu: BUT I GUESS THAT'S WHY IT MAKES SENSE THAT IT'S YOUR ASPECT.

uu: YOU STRIKE ME AS A GUY WHO IS LAME ENOUGH. TO HOPE SOMEONE TO DEATH. SO WHY DON'T YOU TELL *ME* ABOUT IT??

GT: Tell you about hope?

GT: Um well its something i think everyone should have in their hearts.

uu: I KNEW IT. YOU JUST SAID.

uu: THE LAMEST POSSIBLE THING.

GT: But i wasnt finished!

uu: FUCK.

GT: Hope to me is all about believing in stuff.

GT: If you believe in stuff then everything feels like its going to turn out ok.

GT: And if you believe in stuff with enough gusto i dare say it imbues that stuff with a pinch more chutzpah. Even the fake stuff!

GT: And then if you keep an open mind and adventurous spirit, that chutzpah flows directly into your heart, and thats when YOU have the power.

GT: So i think if hope grants one the power to smite villainy and vanquish hooligans thats probably where it comes from!

uu: NO.

uu: OH GOD. NO.

uu: THAT IS ACTUALLY THE WORST THING I'VE EVER READ.

uu: THAT CAN'T BE RIGHT. I REFUSE TO BELIEVE IT.

GT: Well THERES your problem dude. You dont want to BELIEVE!

GT: Just let go and believe in things. Then youll find you had the power in you all along.

uu: YOU ARE SO DUMB. I JUST KEEP CAN'T BELIEVING IT. HOW TRULY STUPID YOU ARE.

uu: WHATEVER. FORGET I ASKED.

uu: I'M SURE YOU'LL FIND OUT WHAT HOPE IS REALLY ABOUT. INSTEAD OF THAT INSIPID BULLSHIT.

uu: ONCE YOU BECOME A GOD TIER.

GT: How do i do that?

uu: YOU GO TO PROSPIT. GET ON YOUR QUEST SARSWAPAGUS. AND FUCKING DIE.

GT: Die???

uu: YEAH. YOU OFF YOURSELF WITHOUT HESITATION.

uu: OR FAILING THAT. DUE TO PATHETIC COWARDICE.

uu: YOU WAIT AROUND TO BE SLAIN SERENDIPITOUSLY.

uu: DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT. I HAVE ALL THIS UNDER CONTROL.

uu: IT'S ONE OF THE WAYS I'M HELPING YOU TO THE TOP.

GT: Ok then. I will choose to believe you.

GT: See what i did there? I just scored a few more hope points!

GT: By strengthening my trust in you as well as our burgeoning friendship.

GT: Oh also, friendship is a HUGE key to being good at hope. I forgot to mention that.

uu: GROAN.

uu: I CAN'T WAIT UNTIL YOU CHALLENGE ME.

uu: SO I CAN BEAT YOU SENSELESS WITH MY CANE.

GT: Me neither!

GT: So you say you will help me be a god tier...

GT: But there are other ways you will help too?

uu: YES.

uu: I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU A GIFT.

uu: IT IS MY JUJU.

GT: Neat!

GT: But what the bejesus is a juju?

uu: I REALLY FIND IT HARD. TO COMPREHEND WHAT SORT OF ASSHOLE DOESN'T KNOW WHAT A JUJU IS.

uu: BUT SINCE I AM YOUR PATRON MANBRO. I WILL PUT ASIDE THOSE FEELINGS. AND ATTEMPT TO BE A LITTLE MORE GAY.

GT: That would be hunky dory.

GT: In my view distinguished gentlemen should always strive to be as gay as possible with each other.

uu: AMEN TO FUCKING THAT.

uu: ANYWAY. A JUJU IS A MAGICAL THING. IT HAS NO REAL BEGINNING OR END.

uu: THEY'RE JUST ALWAYS AROUND. THERE FOR YOU.

uu: YOU GROW UP WITH THEM. AND THEY BRING YOU COMFORT. AND YOU NEVER QUESTION THEIR EXISTENCE.

uu: IT'S LIKE SOME OF THE SHIT YOU HAD IN YOUR ROOM AS A KID. EXCEPT NOT USELESS GARBAGE. AND MORE MAGICAL.

uu: THEY ALWAYS HAVE RULES. AND THEY ALWAYS HAVE OWNERS.

uu: YOU CAN TAKE SOMEONE'S JUJU. IF THE OWNER WAS KILLED.

uu: OR IF HE GIVES IT TO YOU FREELY. LIKE I'M DOING.

uu: SO I WILL GIVE YOU THE CODE TO MAKE IT YOURSELF.

uu: ONCE YOU DO. IT SHOULD DISAPPEAR FROM MY CHEST. AND IT WILL NO LONGER BE MINE.

GT: Sounds straight forward enough.

GT: Whats the code?

uu: IT IS:

uu: uROBuROS

uu: BE CAREFUL. THAT IS CASE SENSITIVE.

GT: Ok.

uu: I WOULD TELL YOU THE CODE FOR MY SISTER'S JUJU. BUT I DON'T KNOW WHAT IT IS.

uu: A WHILE AGO I WENT TO GET HER JUJU. BUT THE FUCKING THING WAS GONE ALREADY.

uu: I THINK THE CRAFTY BITCH ALREADY GAVE IT AWAY.

GT: Hmm.

GT: We could try to guess it maybe?

uu: FORGET IT. THE POSSIBILITIES ARE PROBABLY INFINITE.

GT: Yeah. Youre probably right.

GT: So what sort of magical properties does your juju have?

uu: I DON'T KNOW EXACTLY WHAT IT DOES.

uu: I HAVE NEVER TRIED IT. BECAUSE IT WAS TOO PRECIOUS TO ME.

uu: WHATEVER MINE DOES. MY SISTER'S PROBABLY DOES THE OPPOSITE THING.

uu: BUT WHAT THEY DO INDIVIDUALLY. PALES IN COMPARISON TO WHAT THEY CAN DO TOGETHER.

uu: WHEN COMBINED. THE JUJUS BECOME THE MOST MAGIC THING EVER.

uu: THEY CAN MAKE ALL YOUR DREAMS COME TRUE. AND EVERYTHING THAT NEEDS TO HAPPEN. WILL MAGICALLY FALL INTO PLACE.

GT: Really?

GT: That sounds almost too good to be true.

GT: If you dont even know what your juju does by itself why do you think they do that together?

uu: BECAUSE I BELIEVE IT WITH ALL MY FUCKING HEART. YOU STUPID PIECE OF SHIT.

GT: Oh why didnt you say so! Thats all i needed to hear!!!

GT: See youre getting the hang of hope already.

uu: YEAH. I GUESS.

uu: THE BOTTOM LINE IS. DON'T WORRY ABOUT IT.

uu: JUST TAKE MY JUJU. HAVE FAITH IN YOUR PATRON DUDE. AND LEAVE EVERYTHING TO ME.

GT: Roger that mr lord.

GT: Say. Dont you have a name? We know your sisters name... cant we know yours now too?

uu: NO.

uu: THERE ARE MANY THINGS YOU SHOULDNT KNOW ABOUT ME. FOR YOUR OWN GOOD.

uu: IF YOU KNEW THEM. IF YOU EVEN KNEW MY NAME.

uu: YOU WOULD SHIT YOUR PANTS HARDER THAN ANY HUMAN EVER HAS.

uu: SO YOU MAY CONTINUE REFERRING TO ME AS YOUR LORD.

GT: Well i surely dont want to spoil any clean trousers.

GT: Even though your warning sounds a little hyperbolic i will trust you.

GT: Um. My lord.

GT: Heheheh when i call you that people could mistake our conversation for a nefarious and underhanded collusion among felons!

uu: SHUT THE FUCK UP.

GT: As you wish... MY LORD.

GT: HEHEHEHEHEH!

uu: UGH.

GT: So lord. May i ask...

GT: Why are you giving me your juju if it is so dear to you?

GT: Is your commitment to this manbro boypledge of yours really that strong?

GT: If so im really impressed. I would have a really hard time giving my favorite stuff away to a total stranger.

uu: DON'T FLATTER YOURSELF.

uu: THE GESTURE IS RELATIVELY MEANINGLESS. THE TRUTH OF THE MATTER IS.

uu: I HAVE FOUND A NEW JUJU. A MUCH BETTER JUJU.

uu: A JUJU THAT MAKES ALL OTHER JUJUS LOOK LIKE FRIVOLOUS CHILDISH NONSENSE IN COMPARISON.

GT: Yeah? Then that is quite a treasure you found.

GT: Where did you get it? Did you plunder a tomb or such?

uu: SORT OF.

uu: IT WAS EXCAVATED FROM THIS PLANET'S SOIL.

uu: ALONG WITH SOME OTHER ARTIFACTS.

uu: AND GIVEN TO ME.

uu: BY MY INFURIATING ASSHOLE MENTOR.

uu: A MAN WHO IS AN INVINCIBLE CLOWN.

GT: Well that sounds nice of him. He cant be that much of an asshole if he gave you such a nice present can he?

uu: NO, BELIEVE ME. HE CAN.

GT: I had a clown give me a nice present once too. I would never have met my good friend mr erisol without the kindness of that clown.

uu: YEAH. IT'S THE SAME FUCKING CLOWN SOMEHOW.

uu: I'M TELLING YOU. THIS ASSHOLE IS ETERNAL. AND THE BEINGS HE CREATES FOR YOUR PARTY ARE DISGUSTING ABOMINATIONS.

uu: BUT WHAT CAN YOU DO? NOTHING, I HAVE LEARNED. HE'S A CLOWN. THE RULES ARE. CLOWNS CAN DO WHATEVER THEY WANT. BECAUSE OF MIRACLES. AND HOLD NO ACCOUNTABILITY FOR THEIR DEEDS.

uu: I DON'T LIKE IT. BUT THOSE ARE THE RULES.

GT: So whats this juju he gave you?

uu: SOMETHING VERY SPECIAL.

uu: A WONDERFUL LITTLE FALSE MAN.

uu: AND THE IRONY IS. I HAVE SEEN HIM BEFORE.

uu: BUT I REGARDED HIM WITH SUSPICION AND FEAR.

uu: I WAS A FOOL THOUGH. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND THE SPECIAL BOND WITH HIM THAT I HAD.

uu: BECAUSE I DID NOT HAVE A CHANCE. TO GAZE SOULFULLY INTO HIS BEAUTIFUL EYES.

uu: AND COMMUNE WITH THE DOLL. IN A PERSONAL AND INTIMATE WAY.

GT: Gosh...

GT: That might just be the gayest thing ive ever heard.

uu: THANK YOU.

uu: YOUR HUMAN CONCEPT OF GAYNESS. ADEQUATELY DESCRIBES THE FEELINGS I HAVE. WHEN I EMBRACE MY PERFECT FLOPPY LITTLE MAN.

uu: THE THING IS. I UNDERSTAND HIM MORE NOW.

uu: BEFORE I THOUGHT HE WAS A CURSED VESSEL OF MISFORTUNE. WHICH SEEMED EERILY EMPTY TO ME.

uu: HE WAS HOLLOW. NOT YET FILLED WITH BAD JUJU.

uu: AND LOOKING IN HIS EYES NOW. I SEE. THAT I WAS RIGHT. ALMOST.

uu: HE IS EMPTY RIGHT NOW. BUT A JUJU FOLLOWS A LONG AND WINDING PATH ON ITS ETERNAL JOURNEY.

uu: AND HE WILL NOT BE EMPTY FOREVER.

uu: SOMEWHERE ALONG HIS JOURNEY.

uu: IN SOME WAY I DON'T UNDERSTAND YET.

uu: HE WILL STOP BEING EMPTY.

uu: AND HIS CURSE WILL COME TO LIFE.

uu: AND WHEREVER HE GOES. TO WHATEVER UNIVERSE OR PLANE OF REALITY.

uu: ALL WHO EXIST THERE. WILL EXPERIENCE NOTHING BUT MISERY AND DEATH.

uu: YOU SEE. THERE IS NOTHING WORSE THAN A CURSED JUJU.

uu: WHICH IS WHY I WAS SO NERVOUS ABOUT HIM BEFORE.

uu: BUT ALL ALONG. THERE WAS NOTHING FOR ME TO FEAR.

uu: BECAUSE NOW I KNOW. THROUGH INTENSIVE COMMUNION WITH THIS PRECIOUS MYSTICAL PUPPET.

uu: THAT THE CURSE WHICH WILL BLOSSOM IN HIS FLUFFY HEART. WILL DO SO.

uu: BECAUSE OF ME!

uu: I CAN'T EXPLAIN IT.

uu: BUT WHEN I LOOK DEEP INTO HIS EYES.

uu: I CAN FEEL HIM OUT THERE.

uu: IN LATER STAGES OF HIS LIFE.

uu: BY WHICH I MEAN.

uu: I CAN FEEL *MYSELF*.

uu: THROUGH HIM SOMEHOW.

uu: AS IF MY ESSENCE WILL ONE DAY BECOME.

uu: ENTANGLED WITH THE VOID.

uu: AND THEN MYSTERIOUSLY ACCESSIBLE.

uu: THROUGH MY SOFT HAPPY PAL.

uu: AND ALL THOSE ALONG THE WAY.

uu: WHO HE DEEMS WORTHY.

uu: OF ACCEPTING INTO HIS CUSTODY.

uu: IF THEY SHOULD DARE TO FONDLY GAZE.

uu: INTO HIS SPARKLING BABY BLUES.

uu: THEY WILL BE PEERING THROUGH THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WINDOWS.

uu: INTO MY HIDEOUS SOUL.