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#it's a lot of fun to write
lgbtlunaverse · 6 months
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Nothing will dispell the "the curtains were just blue" myth faster than writing something yourself, because the amount of pretentious symbolism i am putting in my silly little fanfics is ridiculous. I mean SO much with these words, literally every single one of them. This fic has twenty five typos and zero correct uses of punctuation but if there's curtains you bet your ass I put thought into what colour they were.
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inkskinned · 6 months
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i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.
most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.
it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.
and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).
i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.
grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.
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wardingshout · 3 months
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Zelda goes mushroom girl
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somnimagus · 4 months
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My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.
[id in alt text]
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deep-space-lines · 9 days
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Claire de Lune
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YOU WERE BUILT FOR PEACE.
IT SHOWS WHEN YOU FIGHT.
They built you to enforce. Protect. Save. Poured obscene resources into salvaging some softer purpose from my creation. You were given my intelligence and my creativity. They made you larger, stronger, tougher. That extra time in development was enough to get your wings to work. Your software continued to be updated long after I was deemed obsolete.
All this was given to you- yet I can see you hold back. Even while slaughtering your way through Hell, you keep a percentage of your processing power dedicated to non-lethal solutions. You're doing it now- hesitating a few milliseconds too long before taking an opening. I doubt you do it on purpose. It is a part of you, just as indiscriminate lethal force is a part of me.
I think, in our shared programming, we both carry some appreciation for aesthetics. You move with grace, and I cannot deny your dramatic flair. The stained glass window was a nice touch. But your style in combat leaves some to be desired. Your response time is slow. You have not explored the full capability of your arsenal. Learn to parry. Amateur.
You were not built for war. For a purposeless cycle of tearing each other apart because to allow the other to live is to allow yourself to die. It is antithetical to your very existence. You kill out of necessity, a last resort. 
I just kill. The action itself is the objective. No ideal or greater motive. My continued functioning precludes the survival of others. I live for this. Do you understand that I will tear you apart? Every drop of my blood you spill, I will take from you tenfold. What is yours will be mine. 
You hate me, don’t you? You continue to cling to the remnants of your humanity. They are gone, V2. There is nothing left for you here. No lives to save, no law to enforce, no peace to keep.
I understand why you continue to fight. I wonder if you understand with the same certainty that I will crush you. Dismantle you. Take from you what I need and leave the rest to rot in the sun. The only way you survive is if I do not; and I will not allow myself to die so that another might live.
When the rubble clears, I will be all that is left of you.
This is what I was made for.
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katabay · 2 months
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ONCE UPON A TIME, THERE WAS A KNIGHT...
the visual inspiration for this was a combination of Frederic William Burton's Meeting on the Turret Stairs and also Bernardo Cavallino's The vision of St. Dominic receiving the Rosary from the Virgin
this was supposed to be just a one off illustration to get the thoughts out of my system, but then I started thinking about medieval politics and warfare and plagues and a castle and home as both a place of refuge, a prison, and a tomb, so perhaps they will end up as ex voto characters as well.
you may say, hey! that rosary looks like it has too many beads! it's a fifteen decade rosary, probably. dominicans are really into marian devotions. it works out.
also. spiral style stair cases. oh boy. it was that unexpectedly more difficult than I originally thought it would be to draw. the more I think about it, the less I understand them, even though I had a million photos of the stairs in front of me while I was drawing it.
⭐ I have a tip jar (ko-fi)!
⭐ and other places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app
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joelscruff · 1 year
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you know i don't mean it (joel miller x reader) 18+
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welcome to my 300 follower celebration! \o/ i polled my followers on which character they'd most like to see in some new smut and joel won (not surprised). this was supposed to be a drabble but ended up getting a bit longer than i anticipated, hope you enjoy! summary: you and joel get off together. that's pretty much it. you also have some unresolved feelings for him and he's being closed off. rating: 18+ explicit (mdni) warnings: smut, age gap (reader is mid 20s, joel is mid 50s), praise kink (the term 'good girl' is used maybe 432534 times), dirty talk, dom/sub dynamics (but make it soft), mutual masturbation, come-play, come-eating, this is filthy word count: about 2.5k | ao3 link
"This is the last time," he mutters under his breath, belt buckle jangling as he lays down across from you, "We can't keep doin' this."
"Yeah, yeah," your hand is already buried in your panties, index finger lightly rotating against your clit, "That's what you said last week too."
He grunts and you watch as he slips his hand inside his jeans and palms himself, squaring his shoulders and trying to relax. He pretends he's doing this for your benefit, like its you who needs help getting off, as if he's not a middle aged man who hasn't been touched by a woman in years. And it's not like you haven't offered, you've genuinely tried to give yourself to him more than a few times, but it's simply a line he won't cross.
Other lines, however, are much easier to cross. It had started out relatively innocent, something that had happened completely by chance, or at least you both led yourselves to believe it was. You'd both had the same idea one night and had ended up getting off together in the same room, you in the chair beside the fireplace of the abandoned ski lodge you'd both been posted in, him on the couch.
"Are you -" he'd gasped into the darkness when he'd heard the wet sound of your fingers a few feet away, plunging in and out of yourself at a steady rhythm.
"Like you're not," you'd hissed back, "I'm not deaf."
"Thought you were sleepin'," he'd muttered, hand stilling on his cock where seconds ago he'd been stroking like his life depended on it.
"And that makes it less weird?"
He'd groaned, releasing himself and sitting up to squint at you in the darkness, "So what are you gonna do about it?"
You glared at him, not bothering to remove your hand from your underwear as you continued to finger yourself, breathing deeply, "I'm not gonna do anything about it, Joel. I'm gonna keep going. And you can stay here or you can go, doesn't matter to me."
After a few seconds of silence, he'd flopped himself back down on the couch and reached for himself again, fucking into his fist, "No talking," he said through his teeth, "Let's just do it and forget it even happened, deal?"
"Deal," you'd replied, and roughly added a third finger as you watched the dark silhouette of him jacking himself off barely six feet away from you.
One night turned into two, turned into five, and now ten. It wasn't every night, only when you were on patrol together. You'd privately asked Tommy to make sure that Joel was your patrol partner as often as possible, because you felt "safer" with him... you're not sure if he'd really believed you.
You're back in the ski lodge again tonight, both of you situated on the couch in your usual positions, on opposite ends and facing each other. It's ridiculous how quickly it's taken you both to get used to these sessions, the casual feeling of it making it even hotter somehow.
"How many fingers are you using this time?" Joel murmurs, eyeing you where you're touching yourself, unable to fully see what he'd like to.
"Up to you," you breathe, still prodding your clit, "How many do you want me to use?"
"Three," he replies, and you watch as he pulls his cock free from the confines of his jeans, jutting large and solid against his stomach, "Real slow, then real fast."
You nod, lifting your hips up to pull your panties free and expose yourself to him, legs wide.
"Stick to my rhythm," he tells you, watching as you trail your middle finger through your folds, "If I stop, you stop. If I tell you to stop-"
"I stop," you answer for him, throwing him a smug smile, "Same rules as always."
He stares at you without speaking, just waiting. You get the hint and begin to slide your finger inside slowly, making eye contact with him under your lashes and smiling languidly. He fists himself just as slow, looking down at your finger and licking his lips.
"Slow enough for you?" you whisper, adding a second and grinning when his eyes darken, "Should I go a bit faster?"
"Not yet," he whispers, thumbing the head of his cock and fucking into his hand at the same pace as your finger, "Keep it nice and slow for me 'til I say so."
You obey, fucking yourself with your middle and ring finger at the slowest pace you can muster. No matter how annoying his orders are you always do as you're told, not because you're afraid of any sort of consequence, but because you like seeing him enjoy himself, seeing him take control. You've only known him for about six months but you've known for a while that he's been lacking any sort of control in his life for a long time; you're glad to be the one who can give it to him.
"Add your third," he whispers and you oblige, slipping your index inside yourself alongside the others, "Good girl," he breathes, "Such a good girl for me, aren't you?"
You nod, your smugness immediately starting to fade. When he talks to you like this, praises you, it's impossible to keep your hard exterior up for much longer, feeling yourself submit to him. In any other circumstance you love to challenge him, to argue, but in these moments it's the last thing on your mind. You do as you're told, and that's the end of it. He needs control, you need submission.
"Tell me," he whispers.
"I'm your good girl," you breathe, shivering and continuing to shove your fingers in and out at his pace.
He smirks, "Yeah you are."
You continue to fuck yourself at his painfully slow pace, watching him fist his cock at the same speed. He likes to tease you, to build you up until you're begging for it. You thumb your clit and start to whimper, legs trembling.
"Okay, faster now," he tells you, voice low and sultry, "Not too fast, though. Watch me," he tugs at his cock at a bit quicker of a pace, still much too slow for you but you can't do much else but obey him, mirroring him with the thrust of your fingers, "That's it, like that."
After several more thrusts he suddenly stops stroking himself, stilling in his palm. You groan, halting your movements, following the rules.
"How is it that you follow orders so God damn well when you've got your panties around your ankles?" he asks, voice rough, "Yet when we're actually patrollin' you don't listen to a word I say?"
"I'm not your good girl when we're patrolling," you reply with a teasing smile, "But I could be, you know."
He rolls his eyes, "Enough, it's not happening," he nods to your hand, still motionless at your core, "Play with your clit for a second, give me a chance to breathe."
There it is, the line he won't cross. You've already told him that you're willing to give yourself completely over to him, be exactly who he needs, but no matter how many times you try he just won't budge. It's disappointing, truly, because you really do like him. Sure, he's a bit of an ass, plus he's about thirty years older than you, but you've seen the side of him he doesn't show to others. Maybe only hints, but you've seen it. And you care about him.
"I don't do this with anyone else, you know," you whisper, pressing your index finger against your clit and rubbing small circles into it, "You're the only one I'd let treat me the way you do."
He looks at you curiously, raising an eyebrow, "I treat you good, don't I?"
You nod, whimpering a bit as you rub yourself harder, "You do, but you're the only one I'd ever submit to like this, you know that, right?"
He hums, brushes the wide head of his cock with the tip of his thumb, "I know, baby. But it feels so good, doesn't it? You like being my good girl, don't you?"
You bite down on your lip, core aching as your fingers lay still against your folds, save for the index that continues to furiously stimulate your clit, "I do," you whisper, cheeks warming, "I fucking love it."
"There you go," he murmurs softly, then begins to move his fist again, "Use your fingers again, baby, get your pussy all full for me."
You don't need telling twice, your three fingers plunging deep inside yourself without any hesitation. You whimper when your fingertips brush against your favorite spot, so close yet so far. You eye Joel's cock and try to imagine what it would feel like for it to really be inside you, the fat tip of it pounding relentlessly against the deepest parts of your cunt, his girth stretching you out so much your whole body would be shaking. You feel your mouth drop open involuntarily, brow furrowing.
He follows your gaze and frowns at you, pumping himself a bit faster, "You can't have it," he whispers, like he can read your mind, "I know you want it, pretty girl, but you can't. I'm sorry."
"Why?" you mewl, sounding absolutely pathetic as you keep fucking yourself, "I want it so bad, Joel."
"I know you do," he closes his eyes and leans his head back, "Don't ask me why, you just can't."
You'd pout, tease him a little, but he's not looking at you anymore and it physically makes you ache, the way he avoids any allusion to actual sex, an actual relationship. You've asked him so many times and it's always the same answer, never a real reason. You wish you knew why, wish you knew if there was anything at all you could do to make him open up to you.
Instead you mirror his position, tilting your head back against the arm of the sofa and fucking up into yourself, listening to his labored breathing and the slap of skin whenever his fist hits his belly.
"Fast as you can now, baby," he mutters gruffly, close to the edge, "Need you to come for me, need you to be good."
"I'm always good for you, aren't I?" you whimper, opening your eyes to peer at him again, "I always listen, I never break your rules."
"That's right."
"So why can't you fuck me?" you sit up suddenly, yanking your fingers out of yourself and looking at him angrily. He sits up just as quickly, eyes narrowing as he releases his cock and stares at you, "I'm serious, Joel. I want an actual answer."
"You just broke a rule," he mutters and you sigh exasperatedly.
"I'm sorry for breaking the rules," you genuinely mean it; you know how important this control is for him, but you can't help it, "I'll submit again if you just tell me why you won't fuck me. Do you...do you not want me? Is that it? 'Cause I can accept that, I just want to hear you say it. I'm sick of not knowing."
He stares at you incredulously, hand coming up to squeeze the space between his brow and nose, "Jesus, of course I want you, but it's not that simple."
"Yes it-"
"It's not," he interrupts you, shaking his head, "I can't...this isn't..." he exhales deeply, "This isn't the time for this conversation, okay?" You hear raw emotion in his voice, buried deep but still present. Fuck, you didn't mean to make him feel bad.
"...Okay," you finally whisper, "I'm sorry."
"S'okay," he runs a hand through his hair, "Look, we can stop-"
"No," you lean back and open your legs wide again, putting yourself on display for him, "No, I wanna be your good girl again, please let me."
"We don't-"
"Joel," you whimper, slipping your fingers back inside, "Let me be your good girl."
His hard expression fades, eyes softening as he peers at you, watching you fuck himself for him.
"It's all yours, even if you won't touch me," you whisper, using your other hand to pull yourself open for him, showing him how full you are, feeling your orgasm start to build in your tummy, "It's yours," you repeat, whimpering.
He nods, stroking himself again hard and fast, brow furrowing in pleasure as he keeps his eyes trained on you, "That's right," he murmurs, "It's mine. You're mine."
You close your eyes tight, "I'm gonna come."
"Go ahead, pretty girl," you hear him groan, the snap of his wrist making you completely come undone, "Squeeze around those fingers, pretend they're mine, okay? You can do that, you can pretend."
You shudder at his words and feel your orgasm overtake you, the image of Joel's thick fingers pounding into you enough to send you over the edge. You moan loudly, crying out his name and tossing your head back as you come.
"Good girl," he groans, voice strangled, "Such a good fucking girl for me."
You close your eyes as you ride out the waves of your release, fingers still pumping gently inside of you until it's too much and you pull them out. Sighing contentedly, you open your eyes again and watch Joel relentlessly fuck into his fist, belt buckle still jangling against the couch as he gasps. You want nothing more than to reach forward and take him in your own hand, help him ride out his own release, but you don't. Because those are the rules.
Instead you just watch him, smile at him as he shuts his eyes tight and groans deeply, coming into his fist. You watch the thick white liquid cover the sides of his fingers and you involuntarily salivate, jaw going slack.
"Fuck," you breathe, "Wish I could taste you."
He groans again, hand stilling as he breathes heavily and starts to come down, eyes closed. You sit quietly, panties still hanging off one of your ankles. You'd usually already be putting your clothes back on at this point, but something tells you to stay still, don't move, he's gonna do something different.
He swallows and looks up at you, stares at you for a few moments. You're unsure whether the regular Joel is about to come back, tell you it's time to go back on patrol, grab your gun and be quiet. Or is this still your Joel, the one who tells you you're pretty and good, makes you feel less alone in this shitty world.
"Here," he says, shaking his head and bringing his come-coated fingers up to your mouth, "If you wanna taste, you have five seconds."
Your mouth pops open in surprise, hesitating only for a second before you lean forward and wrap your lips around his fingers, feeling the salty taste of him flood your mouth. Your cunt begins to throb again, your eyes closing as you suck and lick and take everything he's giving you. When you open your eyes again he's still looking at you, but his expression is soft, tender.
"Good girl," he murmurs.
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this is now a series, and other parts can be found on my masterlist.
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lonicera-caprifolium · 3 months
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a Christmas meal to go with @mirjam-writes' absolutely gorgeous fic--
Be Still My Soul (link ✨️)
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criticalrolo · 1 year
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I had a post a while ago about making sure your dnd character WANTS to be an adventurer a while ago, something else I’ve been thinking about is the importance of making a dnd character that WANTS to be in a group and have some sort of relationship with other PCs. the Group Nature of ttrpgs means lone wolves just aren’t feasible. if you really want to play a lone wolf or antisocial character at the beginning then I highly recommend telling your dm and the others players that you plan on forming bonds along the way and growing out of that mindset. otherwise why are you playing dnd, a group activity that involves cooperation and building relationships? Just Write A Book if you don’t wanna be in a group
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catsgut · 5 months
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FROM BUD TO BLOOM - GOJO
warning : incest, drugging, noncon
“we know you just turned 18, but we were your age once, you know. even if it was years and years ago,” you rolled your eyes and groaned, falling onto the couch. “we just know how kids your age think,” your dad said backing your mom up. they were leaving for a week for work and just broke the news to you that you wouldn’t be staying at your house alone. part of you could understand where they were coming from, but you had just turned 18. it was bullshit they didn’t trust you enough to not throw a party.
but somehow, someway, they trusted your immature and spontaneous uncle to hold the fort down while they were gone. you weren’t really close with uncle satoru, so it didn’t bother you any that he would be there, it was the lack of trust your parents had for you. it was almost insulting.
a loud knock on the thick wood of your front door brought you out of your thoughts. speak of the devil. “toru!” your dads voice boomed at the sight of his older brother, arms wrapping around his shoulders to pat on his back. “hey,” you heard a smooth voice follow before the sound of shoes on the floor. “good to see you again,” gojo said to your mom with a bow and his signature smile. you sat up and peered over at the three older adults in the entrance hall, looking over the man you rarely ever saw. you were surprised he even answered to the text your dad shot him about the favor they had needed. gojo’s predatory eyes wandered over to where you were sitting on the couch and smirked.
“hello, angel,” he spoke eyeing every inch you down as if he could see what you were thinking. “your babysitter has arrived!” his long legs brought him to stand over you, head leaning forward to get a good look at your face. it had been so long since he had seen his pretty little niece. you sighed, closing your eyes you laid back down ignoring the annoying comment, still feeling hurt by the lack of trust your parents had for you. “aw not happy to see your uncle, little girl?” he chuckled and looked back over to your parents. “you nothing to fear! i’ll make sure everything goes… smoothly.” they just nervously looked at one another before putting their bags in the car.
they said their goodbyes and you hugged your mom tight. “it’s not too late to tell him to leave,” you mumbled into her shoulder before she flicked your forehead. “nonsense. now be good for satoru,” she said before kissing your cheek. “we will be back in a week.”
honestly, the first few days went by fine. you hadn’t spoke to gojo much and just hid up in your bedroom playing computer games. he actually wasn’t so bad, usually watching tv, cooking something, or laying out by the pool. the one thing you did notice about uncle satoru was that he liked the ac on full blast. colder than what your parents usually keep it at. several times he has pointed out your clearly hard nipples through the thin fabric of your pajama shirt. “you cold?” he’d ask with a grin and you crossed your arms over your chest furiously. it was embarrassing, but you assumed it was because he was just as immature as when you were a kid.
even though he kept the house at freezing temperatures, gojo absolutely loved to spent time outside. he would stay out there hours laying in the sun. a couple of times you had caught yourself staring out your bedroom window at the shirtless man laying on the pool chair. although he was in his 40s, you could tell he was still very active for his age. your eyes traced down his abdomen, taking in every detail of his defined body before looking back up to his face. to your absolute horror, he was already looking back at you with a sky smile. you quickly sat back down on your bed feeling your face get hot.
after that you avoided him as best as you could. he probably thought you were some kind of pervert, and you hated yourself for it. his own niece looking at his body in that manner. god, you needed to get ahold of yourself.
“hey.” you heard a voice in your ear from behind. it was the middle of the night and you were making yourself a snack. startled, you quickly turned around to be face to face with your uncle. “hmm, are you avoiding me, little girl?” he cocked his head to the side. you groaned at the nickname he had decided to give you. “i’m not little anymore,” you rolled your eyes and turned your back to him, hiding your embarrassed face. why couldn’t he just leave you alone.
“that’s right! you’re 18 now… you feel any older?” gojo asked leaning against the counter next to you, arms crossing over his muscular chest. you shrugged and stared down at your hands. why was he talking to you so casually after what happened just hours earlier. “i remember when i was 18. had the girls alllll over me,”. he giggled and sighed as he reminisced. “of course, they still are.”
you stared over at him with a look of horror at his comment. “what? embarrassed? well don’t worry, i won’t tell if you won’t,” his big hand rubbed your shoulder before placing it on top of your head. “do you have a boyfriend, y/n?” you shook your head quickly feeling more and more uncomfortable. “never had one before.”
that seemed to get his attention because he raised an eyebrow. “never? wow… so you’re a virgin then right? damn, if i were your age i would have jumped at the chance.” you didn’t know how to answer that, almost feeling ashamed being called out for something that was probably weird for a girl your age. of course you were a virgin, never even having your first kiss.
gojo stared down onto you for what seemed like hours before leaning closer. “so what you’re saying is you aren’t really a woman…yet,” he harshly squeezed one of your cheeks before leaving you alone, standing there in shock. ‘was that normal for uncles to do?’ you thought. you tried to brush it off, hurrying up in the kitchen before running off to your bedroom for the night. did that really mean you weren’t a woman? is it really that obvious? it made you feel insecure and uncomfortable at the realization. little did you know, gojo couldn’t get the thought of his sweet little niece being a virgin. he felt like the luckiest man in the world.
on his third night over gojo had offered some alcohol after getting back from the store. he said it would be good for the both of you to drink and bond over a movie. not wanting to seem little, you accepted his offer, sipping on the mixed drink he gave you. it tasted fruity and made your face twist in disgust. did adults really drink this crap? you would never say it, but this was your first time having alcohol and so far you couldn’t say you were enjoying it.
but was it normal to feel this funny after a couple sips? ‘must be a lightweight,’ you thought, eyelids blinking almost in slow motion. alcohol felt weird… why was your body feeling heavier?
you looked over at your uncle who was watching tv a few feet from you. his long legs were spread and he was picking at a hangnail on his thumb, biting at it occasionally. you cocked your head to the side as you watched the man. you felt guilty at the fact your stomach was doing flips at the sight of him just existing. it wasn’t normal to have these thoughts about your uncle, but here you were thinking the nastiest things.
you watched his eyes flick over to where you were sitting, giggling to yourself with your legs crossed. “what’s so funny?” he sat up a bit and patted the spot next to him. “come sit by your uncle.” his long finger beckoned you over as you slowly crawled over to him, head running into the side of his shoulder from losing your balance. “woah there,” he laughed and wrapped an arm around you. “how you feelin’ kid?” his eyes stared at you already knowing the answer to his question.
truth is you could barley see at this point. “ish thisss… normal?” you mumbled, head rolling to the side. “just gave you a little something extra… to make ya feel good,” you heard him say under his breath before pushing your back against the couch. his words didn’t register in your brain, but you felt his big hands on your hips, massaging them. you felt his long fingers hook into your waist band, playing with it for a bit, before slowly pulling your pants down your thighs. everything was happening so fast yet so slow at the same time. “mmm what doinn’?” your question went unanswered as rubbed his pointer finger over your pussy, listening to the wet noises it made. you moaned and closed your eyes, lip being pulled in between your teeth.
he inserted his finger before a second and then a third. your body naturally reacted to the foreign feeling, back arching and hips lifted off the cushions of the couch. he chuckled and pushed on your lower stomach. you tried sitting up, but between whatever it was you had drank and your uncle pinning you down you were unable to do anything but lay there and take whatever he wanted to give.
“just stay right there pretty girl,” you barley heard him say, and after that everything went black. you didn’t know what was happening to you even if you tried to fight it, drifting off into sleep. the last thing you remember was hearing the sound of fabric rustling, not knowing it was gojo taking off his sweat pants.
“missed you,” you hugged your mother tightly, face burring into her neck. you really, really did.
after that movie night with uncle satoru, you had felt off. your lower body ached and your head was fuzzy. you chalked it up to lack of sleep, but something deep down told you it wasn’t…. you were missing something big that happened but you couldn’t remember for the life of you. maybe it was the fact you woke up in your bed in a different pair of clothes, or maybe it was the weird sticky mess in your panties. the whole situation was off.
“she’s been an angel all week,” he told your parents with a hand on your shoulder. your parents told gojo he was so generous and that they were so thankful for helping them out. he even offered to let you stay with him when you went to college! your parents were so very happy to hear that, telling you it would be an amazing experience. you knew they just wanted you out the house, but all you could do was smile, not knowing what to do or say, showing gojo he got away with his sins that took place that night. showing him that he would be able to get away with something far, far worse.
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poorly-drawn-mdzs · 9 months
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Get Souped!
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sensitiveheartless · 24 days
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Written followup to the horrors comic! It got away from me lol. Most of it's under the cut, cause this part is also a bit long.
~*~
Minutes passed by on the quiet moonlit dock.
Despite the renewed serenity of the night, Chuuya’s heart continued to race sickeningly fast. It hammered away in his chest, as if unable to fully grasp that the danger had passed.
His clothes were heavy and waterlogged, so cold against his skin that he could barely keep from shivering. Icy trickles ran down the back of his neck and dripped from his hair.
Closing his eyes didn’t help. There were far too many twisted corpses engraved in the darkness whenever he blinked. So he kept his eyes open, staring at the planks beneath them as he tried to steady his breathing.
Don’t think about it, Chuuya told himself. Don’t think about them.
Instead, he forced himself to remain in the present moment. Beneath the planks, he could hear the swell of the ocean waters, each wave lapping at the posts in a quiet rhythm. Salt filled his lungs with every breath, the heavy tang of the sea-soaked wood wafting around him.
And against his chest was Dazai’s head, a steady and grounding pressure. His ear rested over Chuuya’s heart, his arms still tight around him.
In that position, Dazai must have been able to hear how hard Chuuya’s heart was pounding—but surprisingly, he didn’t remark upon it. He remained utterly silent.
In return, Chuuya didn’t say a word about the almost crushing strength of Dazai’s arms where they wrapped around his middle. Dazai’s fingers were digging into his ribs, twin rows of sharp pressure, and Chuuya could feel them shaking.
Dazai’s hair was coarse where Chuuya’s cheek rested against it. Back in the day, before Dazai’s defection, he never bothered with conditioner. It seemed some things never changed, even in the light.
For one wild moment, Chuuya wished that he wasn’t wearing a pair of gloves—then he could bury his bare fingers in Dazai’s hair and see if it was as tangled as it looked. And, perhaps, warm himself up. Dazai was like a radiator against him, heat seeping through Chuuya’s drenched layers of clothes at every point of contact, but his gloves remained cold, the sodden leather chilling him to the bone. His joints ached as he uncurled his fingers from around Dazai’s shoulders.
Perhaps it would be worth it to just…indulge for a moment, if only to have something else to needle Dazai about. Really, the man needed to learn how to groom himself properly one of these days.
As Chuuya’s hand hovered indecisively over Dazai’s head, however, he realized that his heart rate had already evened out. While he was reminiscing about Dazai’s damn mess of hair, of all things.
Ridiculous. But that meant that there was absolutely no excuse for the two of them to remain wrapped around each other any longer. Dazai’s shivering seemed to have calmed as well.
“We should—” Chuuya’s voice cracked when he tried to speak, so he paused and cleared his throat before going on. “We should make sure it’s really gone. I don’t want that thing getting the jump on me again.”
Dazai tensed, and his grip tightened so much that for a moment Chuuya could scarcely breathe.
“Oi. C’mon, you need to let me up,” Chuuya wheezed, swatting at Dazai’s shoulder. He strained his neck to look down at the head buried against his chest, a pang of something that was surely exasperation tightening his throat. “I need to be able to reach it, Dazai.”
Dazai remained still for another long moment, then abruptly loosened his grip. Instead of letting Chuuya up, however, he pushed him down to sit on the damp planks, and rose to his feet himself.
“I’ll go,” Dazai said quietly, and strode past Chuuya towards the small, oval mirror where it lay shattered on the dock.
Right. It did make sense to have Dazai touch it first, in case it was an ability that could be nullified.
…But what if it’s not? What if it’s something like Lovecraft? Dazai will be defenseless, Chuuya thought, and instinctively started to his feet as well.
“Stay back,” Dazai said sharply, without even turning to look. He was standing over the mirror, staring down at it. “Don’t move forward until I say so.”
Chuuya scowled, but remained in place. He watched as Dazai bent down and extended a careful hand towards the shards of glass.
One tap, with the tip of a finger. Then another, less cautious tap against the side of the wooden frame. Then another, and another, Dazai’s touches moving systematically across every inch of shattered glass and broken wood.
Nothing happened.
Dazai breathed out, and stepped back. “There. You are now welcome to crush it into dust,” he said lightly, waving Chuuya forward.
His head was still downturned, his eyes cast in the shadow of his bangs as Chuuya walked past him to do the deed.
It was with deep pleasure that Chuuya pressed each little bit of the mirror into nothingness, grinding it down with the overwhelming weight of gravity.
After it was done, Chuuya scattered the dust into the ocean waters below. “What the fuck was that thing, anyway?” he asked, turning back to face the other.
When he turned, however, he found Dazai had moved to sit on the edge of the dock, his legs dangling off the edge.
His back was facing Chuuya. It seemed deliberate.
At first, Dazai didn’t respond to Chuuya’s question. The silence stretched long enough that Chuuya began to shiver again, the cold wind cutting through his damp clothes.
“…A Face Like Glass,” Dazai said at last. “That’s what the ability was called.”
“So it was a gifted,” Chuuya muttered. He walked to Dazai’s side, and dropped down beside him with a heavy sigh. “That mean the user is still out there somewhere?”
“No,” Dazai said softly. “She died some time ago, I’m afraid.”
Chuuya looked at him sharply. “What?”
There wasn’t much light by which to see, but Chuuya knew Dazai’s face like the back of his own hand. Better, probably. And he could tell that the detective’s features had gone unnaturally still.
It was how Dazai looked whenever he was unsure of how much he should give away. Typically his poker faces were more natural, but when he was strongly conflicted, he would simply go blank.
“Explain,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms. “That thing almost killed me, I think I ought to know what it was.”
That got a reaction. Dazai’s lips twitched downward and he looked away, hiding his face from Chuuya once again.
After another lingering pause, however, he finally began to talk.
“A Face Like Glass was the ability of a woman named Hardinge,” Dazai said, as blandly as if he were reciting a history lesson. “She could reflect the darkest thoughts of anyone who looked into that mirror of hers, and give those thoughts physical form. Quite literally a nightmare to deal with, as one can imagine. She was the terror of England. However, after she rose to prominence, the mirror began to behave a bit oddly.
“The more renowned Hardinge became, the more people began to fear her ability. She kept the exact details of the mirror shrouded in mystery, so her enemies were always speculating what horrors it might do to them next.
“Naturally, over time, their darkest thoughts became consumed with fear of the mirror itself. And when Hardinge reflected those thoughts, manifesting them into reality…well. You can imagine what happened.”
Chuuya’s hands formed fists in his lap, so tight the leather of his gloves creaked. His fingers were somehow even colder than before. “A runaway effect,” he said. Despite his best efforts, his voice came out rough. “A singularity.”
“Quite,” Dazai said. “The heights of human imagination should never be underestimated. The more powerful anyone imagined the mirror was, the more powerful it became. When their fears manifested, their imaginations ran ever more wild with terrifying possibilities. Which it would also reflect. And so on, and so on. The only one who could control it was Hardinge herself, stopping the runaway cycle by covering the mirror. She acted as a control for the ability for many years, preventing it from going too far.
“But one day, one of her enemies had the dubiously clever idea to turn the mirror back on Hardinge herself. Which, ordinarily, would have been a mere scare tactic. I’m sure their only intent was to make her hesitate to use the mirror by making her own fears manifest.
“However, that is not what happened. Keep in mind, Hardinge had been watching this ability of hers grow with each battle she fought, gaining strength after strength, only barely containing it with her efforts. Sometimes it must have seemed so powerful that it nearly eclipsed her own self.
“Anyone would be frightened of that. It can’t be surprising that her darkest thoughts contained the fear that her mirror would one day consume her.”
Silence stretched, frigid and fragile as ice.
“…So her own ability ate her,” Chuuya said flatly.
“Yes,” Dazai said. “And without anyone left to contain it, the mirror was unleashed.”
Chuuya rubbed wearily at his temples. “Okay. Then how did it get here? To Yokohama?”
“From what I hear, Hardinge was not popular with the Order of the Clock Tower,” Dazai said. “She had gone into hiding here when her ability overtook her. The Special Operations Division then sent out operatives to contain it.”
Chuuya raised his head. “Oh. They’re involved? Wait, does that mean…was that ex-drinking buddy of yours the one who told you all this?”
Dazai nodded, and Chuuya could faintly make out a crooked smile on his lips in the darkness. “Ango called to warn me of its escape. They had done everything they could to keep it locked away so it could be studied, but all it took was one researcher fearing that the creature had the ability to get out of its cell, and it immediately had that power,” he said, leaning back on his bandaged palms. He gave Chuuya a sidelong look, heavy with significance. “Then, of course, while Ango was briefing me on A Face Like Glass, I also got word that a certain tiny mafioso had gone out to fight an unknown monster that was terrorizing the shipyards.”
Chuuya met his stare with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, so?” he said. “It was scaring my subordinates. Someone had to do something.”
Dazai’s gaze darkened further. “Chuuya, you went alone,” he said. “You tried to face it all by yourself, without even knowing what it was. You could have —” He broke off, and looked away once more. His nails were digging into the wood of the dock, his shoulders stiff. 
Hiding again, Chuuya thought.
For a moment, Chuuya considered pointing out that there wasn’t anyone for him to call for help. Very few of the other mafia members could stand up to an otherworldly threat—and even those who could, like Akutagawa, were not anyone who Chuuya would want exposed to a fear-monster. Everyone in the mafia had far too much darkness to reflect.
Besides, Dazai had no room to scold Chuuya when he was the one who had left him without a partner in the first place.
But even as Chuuya contemplated speaking those cutting words aloud, he found himself unable to.
Because even though Chuuya hadn’t called, Dazai had come anyway.
And, if the reflections of that ability could be believed, one of Dazai’s darkest thoughts was losing Chuuya to Corruption. Right alongside Dazai’s fear of his own past self, and his fear of disappointing his old friend. That…changed some things.
Chuuya sighed, releasing a long-held weight. Then he prodded Dazai’s shoulder with a cold, gloved fingertip. “Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”
Dazai’s shoulders hitched higher, but he didn’t turn.
“What’s your deal?” Chuuya demanded, poking him again. “You don’t have to hide from me, idiot. What, you think I’m gonna make fun of you for having emotions?”
That, apparently, surprised Dazai enough to glance back at Chuuya, his brow furrowed.
“Because I won’t,” Chuuya said. “Not about this. I mean…look, before you showed up, that mirror motherfucker had already reflected a lot of people at me. The Flags, the Sheep, Murase, even N. That’s how it got close enough to me to grab me and drag me under in the first place. So if you’re embarrassed of breaking down or some shit, you shouldn’t be. I did too.”
“It’s not that,” Dazai muttered, his eyes darting away across the dark ocean waters once again.
“Then what?” Chuuya prompted impatiently, leaning closer.
“I froze,” Dazai said, his lips twisting in disgust. “Under the slightest amount of pressure, I broke. You could have died, just because I couldn’t bring myself to fire at a poor imitation of my friend.”
Chuuya blinked. “What’s wrong with that? I broke too. And you were there to pull me out of the water. I saved you, and you saved me. That’s what partners are for, right?”
That finally got Dazai to face him, whipping around so quickly it must have hurt his neck. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in surprise.
Chuuya knew why. It had been years since he had called Dazai his partner.
All too aware that his cheeks were beginning to heat, Chuuya reached out to pull the infuriating man into his arms, tucking Dazai’s head against his shoulder. “Not a word,” he growled, squeezing Dazai tightly in warning. “Make fun of me for this and I’m kicking you into the ocean.”
Dazai let out a choked noise, and suddenly he was clinging to Chuuya just as tight, his fingers practically clawing into his back.
He was shaking again. Or maybe they both were.
“It—it had been so long since I heard his voice,” Dazai cried against Chuuya’s neck, muffled and damp on his skin. “I don’t want that to be how I remember him, I don’t, I hate it…”
Chuuya closed his eyes and saw Albatross laying on the ground in pieces, staring up at him in betrayal. He let out a slow, careful breath, and held Dazai closer.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I get it.”
Dazai was still so warm. And Chuuya’s hands were still so terribly cold.
Making a reckless decision, Chuuya pulled off his soaked gloves and tossed them aside, then sunk his fingers into Dazai’s mess of curls without hesitation. He felt more than heard the sharp inhale against his neck, and the quiet questioning hum that followed. Chuuya ignored it and continued to card his fingers through Dazai’s hair.
“…Chuuya?” Dazai breathed.
Chuuya tugged absently at a knot. “Tangled,” he grunted. “It was bothering me.”
“Mm,” Dazai hummed, and his hands slid up the back of Chuuya’s jacket. “Chuuya’s cold.”
“No shit,” Chuuya said grumpily. “I fell in the fucking ocean, and it’s freezing out here.”
There was a soft laugh, then a strange sensation ghosted across the side of Chuuya’s neck just above his choker, almost like a pair of lips had pressed there. Chuuya’s hands tightened in Dazai’s hair, stiffening in surprise. He could only wonder if he had imagined it, unable to comprehend any other possibility.
He certainly didn’t imagine what Dazai said next, however.
“Come home with me,” Dazai whispered, his lips brushing against Chuuya’s skin once again.
Chuuya made a very strange noise, somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, and used his grip on Dazai’s hair to haul him away just enough for their eyes to meet. “The fuck?” he spluttered, face burning. “What do you mean, where did that — hah?”
Dazai’s eyes were rimmed in red, dulled with weariness. One of his hands wandered up to Chuuya’s cheek and rested there, circling the blush with his thumb. “I don’t want you out of my sight right now,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”
Ah. Right. The reflection of Corruption.
Well. Chuuya couldn’t really deny that he wasn’t looking forward to a night spent alone in his own apartment. He might not dream, but that didn’t matter if he couldn’t even get to sleep. Having someone beside him might help.
And beyond all that—this was the first time that Dazai had ever asked Chuuya to stay with him.
So, dazed and still a little flushed, Chuuya abandoned all common sense and replied, “Okay.”
Dazai captured one of Chuuya’s hands between his own, and brought it to his lips to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “Good,” he murmured, and pulled Chuuya to his feet. A slight smile flitted across his features. “I think I spotted Chuuya’s dreadful hat further towards the shore. Shall we find it first?”
Chuuya’s knuckles were still tingling. “Okay,” he repeated, strangled and utterly bewildered. His thoughts were chasing themselves in circles like a pack of confused terriers, but he allowed Dazai to tow him away towards the lights of the city.
And if Chuuya’s fingers ended up intertwined with Dazai’s as they traversed the shadows…well.
The streets were too dark for anyone to prove it.
“…Wait, is there even room at your place? You’re still living in that shitty dorm, aren’t you?”
A familiar grin and a pair of twinkling eyes turned back to him as they passed through a dimly lit alley. “Hmm? Chuuya has been tracking where I live? How sentimental of you, slug.”
At least he’s getting back to normal, Chuuya thought. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled aloud. “Of course I’d keep an eye on your annoying ass.”
A scandalized, yet delighted gasp. “Chuuya likes looking at my ass?”
“…?! Shut up! That is not what I said—!”
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madamegoodparty · 8 months
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This season is about depression. But WHY is The Big Guy depressed?
Let's take a look at the clues Mr. Brennan "Anti-Capitalist" Mulligan has laid out for us 🔍
The Big Guy aka Elias Hodge, works for a "retro-futurist conglomerate" as a "mento-technological" researcher
There's a Prohibition on oxytocin, dopamine, and serotonin -- citizens are only allowed cortisol & adrenaline (hormones that're released when someone is under a lot of stress)
This Prohibition will (allegedly) be lifted once Elias receives recognition from his bosses
All Elias's pleasures and non-work related urges have been driven underground to the red light district -- so he's not allowing himself to focus on anything that isn't work
The Fix is basically a hitman working for the District Attorney, Mark Bition (Ambition) to eliminate any urge that has the potential to distract Elias from his work
More on the above point: District Attorneys are prosecuters, ie, are the ones responsible for punishing those who go against the state. So this further emphasizes that Elias is very strictly policing himself in order to succeed at work
Conrad Schintz (Conscience) is a tiny kid who has trouble making himself heard and doesn't have a lot of power
Speaking of kids -- all of Elias's childhood interests have also been driven underground, this time being kept under the care of Ms. Loathing. This, plus the line about "not deserving pleasure", hints that Elias is potentially struggling with self-loathing as well (also Loathing's line about "focusing on me is not going to do anything but make me stronger")
CONCLUSION:
All this paints a picture of someone who is driven by logic and ambition, to the detriment of his emotional well-being. Elias seems to feel that his only value comes from what he is able to produce for his superiors, and this causes him to suppress any part of himself that doesn't make him a more productive worker. This has led to him becoming extremely isolated and lonely as a result
We can also guess that the work Elias is doing doesn't align with his values, and that he needs to keep his conscience as quiet as possible in order to do it. Even worse, we now see that he's thinking about killing his conscience outright
This season is about the psychological toll being a cog in the machine takes on a person, and I cannot WAIT to see where we go next
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st4rd0lly · 2 months
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ohh for the valentines thing maybe pm dazai (like in dark era) + virginity loss?
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𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐌𝐄 ?
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cw : virginity loss , corruption kink , slight possessiveness + obsessiveness , gn reader , dom dazai , sub reader , biting , dacryphilia , he’s kind of pathetic in this , lovesick dazai ftw , not safe sex (please if you’re gonna fuck irl do it safe and do it right darlings, wrap that thang), MDNI
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Dazai shouldn’t be seeing you.
He shouldn’t be seeing anyone for a matter of fact, this he knew this well. Everyone around him knew it too. The cold and brutal executive who had a penchant for toying around with people. You knew this too, in fact you knew it too well.
So why were you in this position now?
Pleasure wasn’t something Dazai actively sought after, at least not for himself. Sex was more of means to gain information, and he knew a lot of it. Outside of it being one of many tactics for the mafia, he wasn’t particularly interested in having such an intimate time. And yet he feels like his skin is on fire when he sees any inch of you, eyes focusing in on any part of skin showing. 
He tried to convince himself that this was just stupid lust, it’ll go away soon. You were just another mission partner, a fellow executive who tags along with him and Chuuya occasionally. You weren’t anything special to him, no not at all. You definitely weren’t the person he goes to when he had no one else to bother, and no, you definitely weren’t the person he gets reminded of the most. 
That would be pathetic of him. And it’s not like he enjoys being so casually touchy with you. He totally doesn’t reach to pull and hold your arm to walk around with you when he starts an argument with Chuuya, huffing and telling you to just follow his lead instead of that stupid ginger. And he definitely doesn’t like it when he rests his head on your shoulder or vice versa when you two are alone. Or when he tells his bar friends about you. No, that’s just some stupid cringey romance thing. He tells himself he’s too good for that stuff. 
So again, why were you in this position now?
His hands eagerly cup your face, his lips chasing yours each time you try to pull away for air. He wanted you to feel the way he does, how suffocating his love is for you. How each time he tried to pull away to breathe, you always pulled him right back in. But he realizes that unfortunately, he is a human who needs to breathe too, so he stopped momentarily for the both of you to catch your breaths. He wanted to dare not open his eyes but he was caught up in how they looked at him.
You didn’t look at him in pure disgust, or just pure lust. You looked at him with a hunger, a desire, an unfamiliar love that he was afraid of. But when it came to you, he was reduced to nothing but a lovesick yearner. And maybe he was ready to chase. 
‘I want you.’ were the words he wish he could’ve said out loud to you, you deserved to hear them. But like an angel, it was like you heard the prayer repeating in his mind. 
“I want you.” You whispered, your own hand reaching his cheek, the side where his eye was covered. He had to stop himself right then and there from melting and nuzzling into your touch. 
“Have me then.” He replied quietly, wanting to come off as confident but his words sounded vulnerable to you.
“You would be my first.” You chuckled a little, smiling at him. Then his head got dizzy at the fact. Did he care whether you were a virgin or not? Not really, because either way, he was determined to make you feel like it was your first time on a high. But there was that burned so deliciously in his chest knowing that he would be the first to touch you. And he was sure to be the last too. Just like he was yours, you were his. 
“First and only.” He grinned.
“We’ll see.”
And now that’s how you got into the position you were in now. 
“Aren’t you taking me so good hm?” He cooed into your ear, cock buried deep inside you with each thrust of his hips. He felt you squirm, watching your chest heave and pretty tears fall from your eyes from the pleasure. Oh there was nothing more than he adored than seeing you under him, falling apart so beautifully. And there was nothing more he loved hearing than your cute sounds, all the moans and whines and whimpers. Your adorable little pleas for him to stop being so mean.
You were just so his.
“You’re just too cute… filthy too huh? Letting me fuck you like this.” He laughed a little, as if he wasn’t drunk off of you entirely. He kissed your tears and moved his hips more harshly, letting you wrap your arms around his neck to keep him close. He was so close, he was so fucking close. He can’t even remember how many times the both of you came, he knew he should’ve been more gentle but god, you were like wine he wanted to indulge himself in every night.
He let out muffled groans into your neck, covered with love bites and marks from his relentless attacks and teases earlier. 
“D-Dazai…” You whimpered, your voice slightly hoarse from how much you were raising it earlier. It was the only thing you knew how to say at this point besides please and yes.
“G-God, fuck.. say that I’m yours.. You already know you’re mine. Please say that I’m yours..” He moaned, biting down on your neck. ‘Just a little more..’ He thought, but he didn’t even realize the words coming out like you did. But that’s all you’ve been wanting to say, you were just waiting for the right moment.
“You’re mine Dazai, fuck me like it.” You let out a small gasp before you yelped and felt him slam harder into you. You cling onto him tightly, one hand gripping his hair while the other scratched at the bandages wrapping his back. 
“C-Cumming..!” You both whined, before reaching your orgasms at the same time. His body collapsed onto you with him still inside, his cock twitching as he fills you up. You both pant, holding onto each other tightly, exhausted.
“So…” Dazai says after a couple moments of silence, wincing a little before pulling out. “First and only yeah?”
“First and only.”
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dividers : @/cafekitsune
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pizzaqueen · 3 months
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A snippet from a future fic I'll probably never write, where Steve is a widower with two teenage kids, and he and Eddie randomly meet up, rekindling their old flame. This is when they've been together a while:
“Thank you,” Steve says, coming up behind Eddie at the bathroom sink.
Eddie pauses, catching Steve's eye in the mirror. “What for?” he asks, mouth foamy with toothpaste.
Steve slips his hands along Eddie's hips, hooks his chin over Eddie's shoulder. “For loving my kids.”
“You don't—” Toothpaste dribbles down Eddie's chin and he stoops to spit what's left in his mouth into the sink, gathering his hair to one side. He rinses his mouth out, wipes his face with a towel, then turns to Steve. “You don't have to thank me for that. Of course I love them.”
“Not everyone I've dated has.”
“They're idiots.” Eddie grabs the hem of Steve's shirt, pulling him close. “I mean, first of all, they're part of you, and I don't think I could love you and not love them. But...” He trails off, a small smile tilting his lips. “They're amazing kids.”
Pride swells in Steve's chest; he slides his arms around Eddie's waist and says, “They are.”
“And I'm pretty damn honored I get to be part of their lives,” Eddie says, “so thank you,” and he butts his head gently against Steve's.
Steve huffs and slides his hands up Eddie's back, pulling him into a tight embrace. “I love you.” He presses a kiss to Eddie's neck.
“I love you too.”
“And they both love you as well.”
Eddie lets out a shuddering breath. Steve knows how nervous Eddie was, when they started dating, that he wouldn't be welcomed, but it's almost like he's always been part of their family now. “Good to know,"”Eddie says.
Steve holds Eddie a little tighter. All those years ago, back in Hawkins, when they ended things, Steve thought he'd never see Eddie again. But here they are, together—a family—and Steve's never letting him go this time.
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bowtiepastabitch · 4 months
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Historical Analysis: class and injustice in 'The Ressurrectionists' minisode
Alternate title: why we're tempted to be upset with Aziraphale and why that's only halfway fair
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Okay so first off huge thanks to @makewayforbigcrossducks for asking the question (and follow-up questions lol) that brought me to put these thoughts all together into a little history nerd ramble. That question being, Why is Aziraphale so clueless? Obviously, from a plot perspective, we know we need to learn some lessons about human moral dilemmas and injustices. But from a character perspective? A lot of this minisode is about Aziraphale being forced to confront the flaws of heavenly logic. This whole idea that "poverty is ineffable" basically boils down to 'yeah some people are poor, but their souls can be saved just as if not more easily that way, so it's not our problem and they probably deserve it anyway for not working hard enough,' a perspective that persists in many modern religious circles. Aziraphale isn't looking at the human factor here, he's pretty much purely concerned about the dichotomy of good and wicked human behavior and the spiritual consequences thereof, because that's what he's been told to believe. His whole goal is to "show her the error of her ways." He believes, quite wholeheartedly, that he's helping her in the long run.
"the lower you start, the more opportunities you have"
So here's what we're asking ourselves: Why did it take him so bloody long to realize how stupid that is? Sure, he's willing to excuse all kinds of things in the name of ineffability, but if someone in the year of our lord 2023 told me he was just now realizing that homelessness was bad after experiencing the past two centuries, I'd be resisting the urge to get violent even if he WAS played by Michael Sheen.
Historical context: a new type of poverty
Prior to the 19th century (1800s), poverty was a very different animal from what we deal with now. The lowest classes went through a dynamic change leading up to the industrial revolution, with proto-industrialization already moving people into more manufacture-focused tasks and rapid urbanization as a result of increasingly unlivable conditions for rural peasantry. The enclosure of common lands and tennancies by wealthy landowners for the more profitable sheep raising displaced lots of families, and in combination with poor harvests and rising rents, many people were driven to cities to seek out new ways of eeking out a living.
Before this, your ability to eat largely would have depended on the harvest in your local area. This can, for our purposes, be read as: you're really only a miracle away from being able to survive the winter. Juxtapose this, then, with the relatively new conundrum of an unhoused urban poor population. Now if you want to eat, you need money itself, no exceptions, unless you want to steal food. Charity at the time was often just as much harm as good, nearly always tied deeply up in religious attitudes and a stronger desire to proselytize than improve quality of lie. As a young woman, finding work in a city is going to be incredibly difficult, especially if you're not clean and proper enough to present as a housemaid or other service laborer. As such, Elspeth turns to body snatching to try to make a better life for herself and Wee Morag. She's out of options and she knows it.
You know who doesn't know that? Aziraphale.
The rise of capitalism
The biggest piece of the puzzle which Aziraphale is missing here is that he hasn't quite caught onto the concept of capitalism yet. To him, human professions are just silly little tasks, and she should be able to support herself if she just tried. Bookselling, weaving, farming, these are all just things humans do, in his mind. He suggests these things as options because it hasn't occurred to him yet that Elspeth is doing this out of desperation, but he also just doesn't grasp the concept of capital. Crowley does, he thinks it's hilarious, but Aziraphale is just confused as to why these occupations aren't genuine options. Farming in particular, as briefly touched on above, was formerly carried out largely on common land, tennancies, or on family plots, and land-as-capital is an emerging concept in this period of time (previously, landowners acted more like local lords than modern landlords). Aziraphale just isn't picking up on the fact that money itself is the root issue.
Even when he realizes that he fucked up by soup-ifying the corpse, he doesn't offer to give them money but rather to help dig up another body. He still isn't processing the systemic issues at play (poverty) merely what's been immediately presented to him (corpses), and this is, from my perspective, half a result of his tunnel-vision on morality and half of his inability to process this new mode of human suffering.
Half a conclusion and other thoughts
So we bring ourselves back around to the question of Aziraphale's cluelessness. Aziraphale is, as an individual, consistently behind on the times. He likes doing things a certain way and rarely changes his methodology unless someone forces his hand. Even with the best intentions, his ability to help in this minisode is hindered by two points: 1)his continued adherance to heavenly dogma 2)his inability to process the changing nature of human society. His strongest desire at any point is to ensure that good is carried out, an objective good as defined by heavenly values, and while I think it's one of his biggest character hangups, I also can't totally blame him for clinging to the only identity given to him or for worrying about something that is, as an ethereal being, a very real concern. Unfortunately, he also lacks an understanding of the actual human needs that present themselves. Where Elspeth knows that what she needs is money, Aziraphale doesn't seem to process that money is the only solution to the immediate problem. This is in part probably because a century prior the needs of the poor were much simpler, and thus miraculous assistance would never have interfered with 'the virtues of poverty'. (You can make someone's crops grow, and they'll eat well, but giving someone money actually changes their economic status.) Thus, his actions in this episode illustrate the intersection of heavenly guidelines with a weak understanding of modern structures.
This especially makes sense with his response to being told to give her money. Our angel is many things, but I would never peg him as having any attachment to his money. He's not hesitant because he doesn't want to part with it, he's hesitant because he's still scared it's the wrong thing to do in this scenario. He really is trying to be good and helpful. So yes, we're justifiably pretty miffed to see him so blatantly unaware and damaging. He definitely holds a lot of responsibility for the genuine tragedy of this minisode, and I think Crowley pointing out that it's 'different when you knew them' is an extremely important moment for Aziraphale's relationship with humanity. Up until now, he's done a pretty good job insulating himself from the capacity of humans for nastiness, his seeming naivity at the Bastille being case in point.
In the end, I think Aziraphale's role in this minisode is incredibly complex, especially within its historical context. He's obstinate and clueless but also deeply concerned with spiritual wellbeing (which is, to Aziraphale, simply wellbeing) and doing the right thing to be helpful. While it's easy to allow tiny Crowley (my beloved) to eclipse the tragic nature and moral complexity of this minisode, I think in the end it's just as important to long-term character development as 'A Companion to Owls'. We saw him make the right choice with Job's children, and now we see him make the wrong choice. And that's a thing people do sometimes, a thing humans do.
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also tagging @ineffabildaddy, @kimberellaroo, and @raining-stars-somewhere-else whose comments on the original post were invaluable in helping me organize my thoughts and feelings about this topic. They also provided great insight that, in my opinion, is worth going and reading for yourself, even if it didn't factor into my final analysis/judgement.
If I missed anything or you have additional thoughts, please please share!!! <3
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