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namazunomegami · 8 months ago

Text

Atonement

Pairing: Geto Suguru x gn!reader

Synopsis: How can you cleanse yourself from the sin that has been tainting you since your attempt to escape? The answer is easy: walk on barefoot for him, suffer some misery, risk your health for him, open yourself up for him and you can earn his forgiveness.

CW: canon compliant, established relationship, toxic and complicated dynamics, religious symbolism, porn with feelings, Geto is a manipulative ass how surprising, gaslighting, m!receiving oral, fingering, non-consensual edging, good old unprotected sex + creampie

WC: 5.3k

Credits: my lovely @notveryrussian who worked so hard to get this fic proofreaded. Ngl they deserve all the praise and respect because we lost literal pages from the already edited draft because windows is crap and they had to start over again. Take one big break darl, you deserve it 💕

Song rec: mythical creature by pregnant whale pain was my main inspiration during writing but i think tumblr dot com is not ready yet to listen to an unknown hungarian avantgarde metal band while reading porn lmao. Maybe i'll drop the acoustic version later.

A/N: Here is part 1 in case if you missed it. I think you need to know what happened to completely understand the buildup and have a general idea about their relationship. This fic is probably my fave I’ve written so far, a special lil brainchild of mine. These two are living in my mind rent free with all their lore and they'll never let me go.

Reblogs are greatly appreciated 💕

Minors don't interact unless you want me to stand outside your house at 3 am with a pitchfork

It was very hard to explain to your family what happened to you. The worry which they approached you with, especially Mimiko and Nanako just stirred a weird sense of guilt in your chest. The twins even offered to help you out with chores, eagerly telling you to rest, let your body heal. Your heart shattered to pieces in that moment, weeping endlessly with fat, salty tears. Your precious darling girls, so considerate of you, so caring, their hearts filled with everlasting gratitude. And you wanted to leave them. You felt like a piece of shit of a parental figure, obviously.

Days passed as if nothing had ever happened. Even in your private moments with Geto, the issue was never brought up. He took care of your wounds, of course, but your escape attempt wasn’t a topic of conversation at all. You swept it under the rug.

Which means it was only a question of time until he was going to wield it against you.

“Leave the scabs alone.” he reprimands you softly, dragging your wrist away from them. The hot water softened your scars, making them itchy, easy to pick away at them. But Geto is so thoughtful for looking after you like some kind of crazy mother hen, right? Even sitting in the tub behind you.

He takes hold of the edge, stepping out of the tub swiftly. The water suddenly drops around you, goosebumps dot your skin from the sudden touch of the moistened air as he hides that broad, sun-kissed form of his beneath a bathrobe. You ache for a bit of peace, a bit of me-time, but since the so-called “accident”, he just couldn’t stop himself from keeping an eye on you constantly.

Your hand dances along the surface of the water, bunching the bubbles together into various shapes, like they’re islands. Like you’re a young god, decorating the plane you’ve created. But his outstretched palm appearing in your vision disturbs your creative process.

“Come, I’ll take the stitches out.”

Compared to when your wound was sutured, cutting out the thread is a relatively quick process. Especially with his competency. The tweezer lifts and holds the knot, as he severs the thread with a pair of scissors and pulls it from your flesh before he moving on to the next. It’s uncomfortable, not in a way that it hurts, but it makes your skin crawl and your bones bend. An overall disgusting feeling. But when it’s over, it does feel better. And knowing him, you wonder if it’s purposeful or not.

“Must you make it painful?” you complain, thumb pressing down on the closed, marred skin. For the wrong reasons though, but you can freely complain.

“I didn’t intend to hurt you.” his voice is soft like silk, but not without a sharp edge in it, slowly unfurling, like the jaws of a venus flytrap. “I just wanted to teach you a lesson.”

You glare at him, your eyes piercing him like a dagger.

“Me? I wanted to teach you a lesson.”

This… was a bit too far, you must admit.

You storm out of the bathroom, like you could get away from the conversation.

“Go on, speak.” his words echo through the walls of the bedroom, making your movements halt immediately. You glance up at the window, faced with his reflection as he leans against the doorframe. “What should I learn from you? That you’re not afraid to run? To put your life in unnecessary danger?”

A long sigh leaves through your nostrils.

“If it comforts you, then yes, I realized that I had made a dumb decision.”

You don’t have to turn around to know he’s standing right behind you. Looming over you, shrouding you like an evil trickster spirit.

“I must admit I enjoyed your little attempt…” his palms are heavy on your shoulders, just like his words echoing close to shell of your ear. “Catching you, watching your resolves crumble, the raw terror plastered on your face…” the way his voice caresses you is just like the way he would hold a blade right against your throat, pressing down on the pulsing veins that could be cut open so easily. Like needles slowly being inserted into your ear canals. Eventually it softens, getting more serious and chiding. “But you did scare me. Have you ever thought about what would’ve happened if I didn’t go after you?”

You’d die, you would definitely die. Bleeding out amidst the leaves and grass, letting the frosty night bite you tense and weak. All alone in the dark.

Hold on…

You wouldn’t be injured if he hadn’t frightened you in the first place.

Did he just… no, it can’t be.

He slowly walks away from you, and you hear the bed creak under his weight. The choking feeling finally lifts from your throat. You turn towards one of the incense burners, already filled, it merely needs to be lit. But you do it slowly, just for the sake of appearing busy, to not feel obligated to carry on with the conversation.

But you should make peace with him before he does. He’ll make you face all of your mistakes and their consequences, if not outright making you suffer because of them. Rub all of them into your face until you have no choice but to plead for forgiveness.

It’s not easy, but you open your mouth. The scent of sandalwood lowers your guards, helping you be honest and brings forth the thoughts you’ve been trying to hide for a long time.

“Sometimes I wonder if we’re doing the right thing. And I wonder even more about that if we’ll fail before reaching our goal. Fail spectacularly. Because we want to do the impossible.”

“What is exactly the right thing? Being selfless? Forgetting all about our grudges and letting the world trample all over us? Or being selfish and crushing anyone under our feet to keep each other safe?”

Like an elastic band being strained for far too long, you snap. Luckily, the bronze lid of the incense burner holds out under your grasp.

“It’s too fucking late for moral arguments! Can’t you speak to me more directly for once? Instead of hiding behind your… carefully crafted scenarios that only prove your point.”

You should have avoided looking at him. At your serpent, who made you sin, who was cursed alongside you, your serpent who devoured your beloved Adam. You yearned for the remains, sitting in the bottomless pit of his stomach.

But you swore those remains spoke to you, through layers of flesh, scales, and deception. Soft and calm like a light summer breeze.

“Do you have doubts about me, darling? Are you giving up on me?”

The question breaks you, evaporating all of your anger and resentment in a flash. Devoid of any playful tone or hidden meanings, so raw that it takes hold of your heart and squeezes it so tight that it couldn’t possibly beat anymore.

You know how he twists the truth, striking right into the softest parts of you. He feeds you poison – yet you swallow it right down every single time.

“Faith has no zenith, my dear.” you answer, low and sweet, like you wanted to comfort him. The lid on the incense burner closes, giving you enough time to build up the courage to approach him. You weave your words carefully, in such fashion that it can be interpreted in multiple ways. If he switched just one little word, he’d immediately gain more insight into what’s really been weighing on your heart. “There’s no such peak we can reach on which we can stagnate forever. Faith sometimes wavers, sometimes we question our beliefs. Sometimes we’re unsure if our prayers are heard.” you get down on your knees before him, taking his hand into yours, giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. “But I do want to have faith in you.”

His features visibly soften. Heavy lids close in relief, and you feel his thumb brushing along your knuckles.

This is your chance! Go on, there’s no time more perfect than this to try to convince him.

“We should really get away from the temple.” you start with an almost resigned sigh, but your excitement soon starts to show. “Just for a few days. Manami will handle the followers while we leave for the countryside, or an island. We can bring the girls even.”

A faint glimmer in his eyes tells you his answer is going to disappoint you.

“They don’t know about the girls, but they certainly know about you.” he reminds you sternly. “The higher ups want us dead and the last time I offered to protect someone, they ended up getting killed.”

His voice is faint, almost shaky. He rarely talks about the death of Riko. And if he ever brings her up in a conversation, you know he means it.

The heavy lid above his eyes drops, violet irises hiding behind his lashes, averted from you. The words coming out of him are barely above a whisper, like his lips are made from lead, like forming the words is a tiring task because they’re so heavy, and filled with something violently torturing him.

“This is a risk I’m not willing to take again. Not even for you. Especially for you.”

You feel something pooling on your waterline. Translucent pearls of tears appear so involuntarily when you see him like this. Sometimes you do want to hurt him, but when you see him in pain, it torments you even worse.

“I’m not asking you to take risks for me. I never did. But you should take some for you. You could use some respite.” you lace your fingers with his. It brings you a strange kind of comfort how your hand just loses itself in his, but it’s yours that looks more lively and powerful. Like it’s you what keeps him together. As if without you he would shatter into pieces. “You take on an awful lot of responsibilities, I think sometimes more than you’re capable of handling.”

Affection sweeps through his features as he caresses your head, from the roots of your strands to the thick bone of your jaw. A lonely thumb brushing along from your cheekbone to the lobe of your ear. And there’s nothing you can do, only stare at him, wide-eyed with reverence, like he’s an ethereal being.

“This is not your cross to bear.”

He wanted to ease your concerns, but you’re much more stubborn than that. You won’t stand there, at a safe distance, watching him drag himself to his Calvary, whipped and crowned with thorns. You’ll push through the crowd, smash them to bits just to reach him and offer your veil to wipe his face. A thousand times, as many times as he needs.

“Of course it is, what do you expect from me? Unlike…” No, don’t say names, do not compare yourself to certain figures in your past and the way they treated him. “I’m worried about you, for no other reason than I genuinely care about you. That’s why I want you to put our plans to aside - let’s unwind a little, recharge. Before all of this drives us insane.”

He deliberately avoids answering, your concern grows and grows like vicious vine. Is this too much to ask for? A small moment of normalcy can’t be granted to you? What are the two of you really? Idols of worship, if not gods at this point because your sheep do regard you as such. But can’t gods long for a visit amongst mortals? Can’t they shed their divine status? You could, but maybe, before he’d let you leave, he’ll feed you pomegranate seeds.

Would you eat them again? Of course you would. Even if you fight and snarl a little beforehand. Because love is the death of duty, and of a peaceful mind, of comprehensive decisions. Love is so mystified, shrouded in the illusion of an immortalized existence, just like death. Love is, indeed, death.

Your palms cup his face, his skin radiates warmth through you. The warmth of the evening sun that makes the sky bleed with the prettiest colors you can imagine. Your touch slowly encourages him to look into your eyes, finding a strange kind of determination and care mixed with your obvious worry. A Magdalene dwells within your gaze, who already washed her prophet’s feet with tears and dried them with her hair before he starts his last journey to Golgotha.

“I told you a million times, if you fall too deep into your misery, when you feel like you can’t come back to the surface on your own, let me know, so I can pull you out. Or let me know so I can go after you. And we’ll drown together.”

All those little pacts and vows you made during the years echo through you. Even the first one, the most ancient of them all, when it was still easy to hide your concerns behind your techniques.

I’ll keep an eye on you.

It’ll keep an eye on you.

You lean closer, foreheads and the tips of your noses touching. Eyes closing in almost perfect synchronicity.

“Promise me, Suguru. Promise me again.”

You wait and wait, until his warm breath brushes your skin like fine silk, like a feather.

“I promise.”

You sigh in relief. It hurts, it hurts so much. There’s so much place in your heart for him to dwell in. He owns it and he won’t give it back. Ever.

You only wanted a chaste kiss, but a special type of hunger wakes deep below your navel. You taste his words, you swallow them down, nipping them from his lips. You look for the rest of them, his thoughts that hadn’t been formed into words yet, the rest of the sentence, you search for it with your tongue inside his mouth.

You grab onto the sheets, trying to push yourself up. Like you could overpower him, like you could battle against him. To have him laid out on the mattress, defeated. But he stops your advances with a palm resting on your shoulder, gently pushing you away.

“You’re not healed yet.” he whispers, truly concerned.

“Then I’ll be on top, I don’t care.” you oppose breathily, your fingers trying to pry his robe open.

“The cut on your hand could re-open if we’re not careful.”

Oh, how you adore him when he’s so tender with you, but now, this is the last thing you want. You want to bare your teeth and go right for the throat.

“Then you’ll stitch me up again.” There’s a playful edge in your voice, and you kiss him again with the same curve of a smile while he lets you crawl on top of him.

And he smiles against you too, delighted by your eagerness. You, trying to eat him up, digest him - he’s just enjoying you and the feast you’re having. Taking everything from you. He only wants to capture you, to cage you in his hold. He’s kneading your flesh leisurely and humming into your mouth contently, almost lazily.

In the crooks of his body, you find your religion.

The sharp line of his jaw, the tendons of his neck, the hollow caverns around his collarbone. But your mouth carefully avoids the scars slashing through his chest, after all those years, it still pains him when the lightly coloured, textured skin gets touched. As if these lips of yours and your aimlessly trailing fingers were the same blades, penetrating the flesh again and again.

There’s not a morsel of him that you weren’t intimately familiar with. In a way that rivals how much you know about yourself. And what you know even better is that how can you venerate them, dote on them, adore, and idolize with such devotion you could anger all deities created by man and make them scream blasphemy on you.

You take his cock in your hand, teasingly working your palms around him. Pumping it, stroking your thumb along the underside to make his breath hitch. His dick grows beneath your hands, getting harder and heavier. The first beads of precum get smeared along the length by your skillful fingers.

“You know you don’t have to- “but you cut him off while settling between his legs.

“Just relax and let me do all the work.” your response comes out a bit more deadpan than planned. “You deserve it once in a while.”

And with that, you wrap your lips around him, enveloping him in warmth and wetness, your tongue slowly swirling around the head. His thighs twitch, more precum oozes into your waiting mouth as the muscle between your teeth works eagerly. You give him a few, gentle sucks, slurping up the mixture of your own saliva and his arousal. Between ragged breaths, he reminds you to breathe through your nose as you take more and more of his length. You relax your jaw, your fingers tense around the base of his cock and you’re trying as hard as you can to defeat the urge to gag. When you fit all of him inside your mouth, you empty your lungs and give him a harder suck, hard enough to make you cheeks hollow and his chest heave. As your free hand is occupied with kneading his balls between your fingers and knuckles, a moan bursts out of him.

The sound boosts your confidence, filling you with a wicked kind of playfulness. The kind of wicked that makes you pull back your tongue a little, as to not keep your teeth hidden. You drag them along his sensitive, pulsing underside, balancing the pressure between pleasure and pain. Like you could prove to him that you’re ready to bite back, that this is the only moment when he can’t control you, that he shouldn’t underestimate you.

And just as if he could read your thoughts, his hand goes for your head, fingers getting lost between your strands. But he’s not as cruel as to push you down on him, instead he guides you, increases the rhythm that you’re working with. Steady and firm, but not too fast. You earn yourself his praises, soft curses pitched higher than his normal voice.

This is what real worship looks like.

When you feel the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensing up, you stop. You emerge from the space between his legs, wiping your lips clean and admiring your work. All that flushed skin blooming in pink on his chest and face. You move, trying to get into a new position, settling your calves right next to hips. You start aligning yourself with his cock to finally start grinding on him.

He sits up and traps you with an arm coiling around your waist.

“Since when were you so reckless?”

His hand creeps around the apex of your thighs. A finger barely brushes along your slit. By adding another digit, he spreads your folds, finding hot, smooth, slippery flesh.

“I would’ve prepped myself.” that’s all you can say in your defense.

Fingertips circle your hole, applying a bit of pressure, checking how much you’ve loosened up. He invades you slowly as your lungs empty, the hardened skin on his fingers stroking and massaging your sweet spots before he starts working you open.

You wrap your arms around him, slowly undoing his bun to have something to grab onto as you jolt, as your bones melt, as your brows furrow in bliss. The moans coming from you are breathy and tender, and you hide them in his strands. He twists his fingers inside you, stretching your warm muscles further, making your back arch and you press your hardened nipples to his chest. Your essence engulfs his knuckles, clear and sticky like honey.

The heel of his palm settles right against your clit and you shamelessly grind on it. Your mewls pass over his ears as he’s nuzzling into the crook of your neck, nipping at the skin of a faint scar. But you resist giving in, you stop him, telling him that’s enough, but in reality you just want your control back. Take back the lead and revel in it.

And somehow he obeys, laying back into the sheets.

You slip out of your robe, showing yourself fully. The bruises on your skin can finally bathe in the dim lamplight, painting the complexion of your sides, shoulders, and upper arm in different shades of blue and purple, like paint on bare canvas. Like the night sky carrying storm clouds, like you’re rotting, decomposing. You find a twisted, perverted joy in the fact that he must be seeing them for the whole time.

“Slowly, slowly.” he murmurs softly as you’re pushing the head of his cock inside you. “There’s no need to rush.” Trimmed nails trail up and down from the flesh of your thighs to your bruised sides. Tender and slow like a ghost, goosebumps pepper your skin from the tickling feeling. “I’m already yours.” He purrs and your heart flutters.

And there’s so, so much pride in you that only you can render him to this state. Too powerful for the world to bear him, capable to burn this plane to ruins, defying the barriers between a mortal and a god - or something way worse than that. Maybe you should receive twice the respect from your herd, for being the only person who can enslave him in this way, that only you can have this sort of power over him. Only you can overthrow him. Because you’re just too dear to him, too close to his burning heart.

Maybe it’s your time to warn him. Tame him like the monster he is.

You move with your own rhythm. His hand caged between your fingers and pressed down against the sheets. You give him no other choice but to venerate you back and he does, with pleased, low rumbles coming from his throat. Only a singular hand is allowed to roam your form freely. On your back tracing the shallow line where your spine lies beneath skin and flesh, wandering towards the inner part of your thighs, then to your stomach and chest. And you reward him with a prayer of your own, encapsulated in deep, long sighs.

But you’re too trusting of him. You let your guard down too easily.

You’re holding onto his kneecaps, leaning towards them a little, allowing every inch of you to be seen. You want to give him a show, but your knees are too worn and tired.

He takes hold of your hips, helping you guide yourself along his length. His pelvis moves along with you in synced rhythm. Your teeth are pressing down on the soft skin of your lips, but you can’t keep your whimpers in. You’re getting close, your muscles and nerves are st tight and pulsing, your walls are pressing down on his length. His name mindlessly slips out of your mouth.

Maybe you can say you love him before you shatter.

But his fingers clench around you, strong and firm, stopping your movements. Lifting your hips up so high that his cock is barely inside, robbing you from your incoming orgasm.

You’re shocked, eyes staring into the nothingness, open wide. Your stomach drops, stirring up all kinds of feelings dwelling in you. A chill races down your vertebrae as you glance down at him.

“Suguru..?” Your voice is weak, shaky.

Fear courses through your being, primordial and all-consuming.

And when he speaks to you it’s all dark, shrouded in malevolence.

“You forgot one thing, darling. After I brought you back from the forest.”

No, no, no, he can’t do this to you! He can’t hold your orgasm hostage for the sake of toying with you! You should puncture his flesh your nails, scratch him, tear him up, but you can only grit your teeth. Your features twist from bliss to rage.

“You…” boiling anger swims through your voice. It’s like it’s not even your voice - more like a hiss, a growl.

There’s an undecipherable mixture of pity and amusement in his eyes. He twitches inside you but you’re too upset to notice.

“Apologize.” he sneers - almost commands.

His words cause anger to bubble up in you.

“Oh, you piece of shit…!” you seethe, but sob and moan when he slams you back on his cock, stretching you around his length again. Wanting to quench your rage with the sensation you crave the most right now.

“I hope, for your sake, I don’t have to repeat myself.”

It doesn’t matter how much you try to squirm, fuss and wriggle, he forces you still. His behaviour frustrates you to no end when you’re so desperate for a bit of friction, the horribly hollow and burning feeling of your lost peak torturing you seemingly endlessly. To the point where you’re too tired to put up a fight, when you’re teetering on the edge of breaking. You know you must swallow your pride, you have let him have it his way.

“I… I’m sorry.” you apologize meekly, teary-eyed, your voice a pathetic mewl. He finally starts lifting you up and easing you down, building you up slowly. But it’s not enough. You need more but he won’t give it to you just yet.

“You do?” he asks you in a way that it cuts deep into your marrow. It’s not even close to a loving tease – no, he’s outright mocking you.

Vicious bastard. You should grab his throat and squeeze the air out of him.

“Yes, I do!” you cry out without thinking. “I’m sorry for running away from you.” you push the words out through your whimpers. He increases the pace, making you yelp and shake, you end up closing your eyes reflexively. He robbed you from the sensation for so long that you became sensitive, it’s easier to make a mess out of you. Your face is red with shame, so much so you can’t look him in the eyes. The humiliation is like an invisible rope tightening around your neck.

“Promise you’ll never do that to me again.”

He pushes your hips further along his length this time, shifting you a bit towards his thighs. Creating a perfect angle, he uncovers a sweet spot inside you that makes you almost incapable of forming coherent words. And he eats the sight right up.

“…I promise… I promise...” you manage to get your answer out in the form of a choked hiccup. Your vision blurs. Everything is too intense for you to handle. You swear that the very shape of you could dissolve at any given moment.

Faith is desperate. Gods are hungry for despair. So they deliberately make you suffer and only then reveal themselves to you.

His fingers dig into your waist so hard it burns. You feel the world shift with you and then you collide with the sheets. Your bruised back ripples with pain. You’re unsure if he did it out of spite or not. You don’t know if he’ll completely shatter your dignity, or if he’s fine with just enforcing the feeling that you can never be above him, that you can never defeat him.

His weight on top of you is overwhelming. The midnight dark locks of his hair spread around you like spilled ink. And through the thick fog of your mind, too far gone in twisted, masochistic pleasure, you lock your legs around his waist. You don’t want him to go away. You might as well cease to exist if he does.

“And what do we say when we apologize?”

The soft plea coming from you is more instinctual rather than deliberate.

“Forgive me.”

You ache for him to move, you’re starved for the incoming high. Like a ravenous beast, all devouring. When he finally gives it to you, his thrusts make you feel possessed, make your back arch, your head falls back into the pillow as if you were offering your neck to him (maybe one day he won’t be able to resist the urge and will bite down on the jugular, through your trachea, putting you out of your misery) - you don’t dare to beg for anything else.

Maybe just for a little blood. A mark he can wear, just like you wear your bruises. Your nails somehow acquire a will of their own, your scratches have him excited and pleased.

His fingers meander around your jaw, gently coaxing you into letting him guide your gazes to meet again.

He’s imitating you, admiring his work like you did with him. And what he sees is a being stripped from any likeness of a dignified human being. With eyes so blown he can see the bottommost pits of Hell in them.

And he’s satisfied, rewarding you with a soft kiss on your temple.

“I forgive you.”

Your release crashes over you like a tide, submerging you, burning you to cinders on the inside. Tearing you apart. And when he collapses on top you after filling you to the brim, you feel like a festering wound.

He’s a disease, miasma, a flesh-eating parasite crawling inside you.

“You’re…” you huff. “You’re awful.”

“I know. But you love me all the same.”

You wonder what you should have done to earn a different outcome, but you give up soon. Looks like he already had plans for your atonement in mind. After all, gods are impatient creatures. They’re dependent on your reverence and servitude. And you’ve waited for too long to make things right.

Why, why, why - it echoes inside your head.

But if you think about it… he’s your serpent. The vilest, most horrendous creature created by God. The one who charmed you, tempted you with sin and has now sunken his fangs into you. Of course he did, and instead of trying to heal from his venomous bite, you want to catch him - to find out his reasons, to prove to him that you didn’t deserve that.

And yet you could never, ever prove him wrong. Your serpent will always think it was right to bite. It’s in his nature afterall.

“Is your hand alright?”

He makes it up to you with spoiling you again. He cleans your wounds so sweetly, so thoughtfully, looks after you in a way that nobody could, which confuses you even further.

He cherishes you, destroys himself for the sake of keeping you safe - not like it’s a choice, but a must - just like a mother would. He scolds you, reminds you not to make the same mistake again, collars you, keeps you on a tight leash, only loosening it (just a little) when he succeeded at making you play by his rules, just like a father would.

And somehow, he excels at both. Way better than those two ever did when it came to you.

You wish your glare could pierce right through his skull when you hand the empty glass back to him. You don’t have it in you to play nice. You don’t even attempt hide that you’re sulking, he probably finds it funny - adorable even.

“Go to hell.” you spit and lay back into the sheets, your bruised back facing him.

“Oh, darling…” he coos, but the surface level sweetness of his tone hides a sharp edge of condescendence. He crawls into bed, right behind you, caging you in his embrace, forcing you to feel the warmth of his body. The warmth that you’re so used to, the one you can’t sleep without it. Nobody has ever made you feel this safe, and the fact makes your heart ache and your stomach twist.

“If there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.”

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #getou suguru x reader #getou suguru x y/n #getou suguru x you #jjk x reader #suguru geto x reader #meesa writes #DAAARLING GUESS WHOS COME BACK FROM JAIIIIL #Idk what kind of deep psychological issue of mine is in that fic but now its your job to decipher #just please dont bring Freud into the picture I hate that man

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ragnarokhound · 2 months ago

Note

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ♥️

Thanks for the ask!! <33 Ohhh my favorite five fics I've written... how dare you make me choose not one but five favorite children lmao but in no particular order below the cut:

Sit, Stay, Speak - DC - Jaytim - Rated E Not my first attempt at Jason POV, but the first fic with Jason POV I actually finished :') I have such a soft spot for this fic because I adore both a) accidentally falling in love with someone in their absence and b) accidental vulnerability. Revealing inadvertently that you adore someone when you didn't think they were listening - and having that reciprocated. Hee hee hoo hoo ha ha

Handstands For You - Teen Wolf - Sterek - Rated E I know most of the folks who follow my fics are here for DC/Jaytim, but this is the fic I thank forever and always for getting me back into writing! Definitely proof to myself that I could do it, start, middle and end :) And if you like the way I write pining, werewolves, and a fun mystery that isn't really that mysterious, you may enjoy this one ;)

open my heart and let it bleed (onto yours) - DC- Jaytim - Rated E Speaking of werewolves, if you've read this one or been following me for longer than five minutes then you knew it would be on this list I think lmao. What can I say, I, tumblr user ragnarokhound, like werewolves (!) and think vampires should try dating them (!!) and biting them (!!!) and sharing the weight of their monstrosity more often (OTL) ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Snapshots: Chapter 2 “Tell me to stay and I will be here for as long as you’ll have me.” - DC - Jaytim - Rated M I really enjoyed writing these hurt/comfort prompt fills last year(ish), and of the three I've gotten around to posting (OTL i will finish that last one... eventually... jaytim exchange comes first lmao) I had the most fun with this one! The batfam is riddled with trauma and while I haven't examined it very closely in some of my other fics, I really enjoyed digging into Jason in this one. Sorry buddy 😔but at least he's got a Tim to sit with, so... win? <3

not from the stars do i my judgment pluck - DC - Jaytim - Rated M I had a great (if wild and mildly stressful) time writing for jaytim week this year, and while I'm pleased with all of them (secretary fic takes the cake), this one is my favorite of the unexpected fics lol. It started with the last few paragraphs of the last scene, and while I wasn't planning on writing much at first, I needed to support them adequately fjdlsjfafds WE GOTTA EARN THAT BINARY STAR METAPHOR, OKAY, YOU DON'T JUST GET TO DROP THAT SHIT FOR FREE-- (And this is why I have a million WIPs OTL)

(And I barely restrained myself from including literally any of my Sorcerer's Son fics on this list, but thats because a) they are older and I've learned a lot since writing them and b) I know that maybe three people on this planet would care enough about those books to read them, and none of them follow me on tumblr dot com fjdlsfja.

Y'ALL DON'T UNDERSTAND. FELDAR SEPWIN THOUGHT HIS LIFE WOULD BE BRUTALLY OVER AT THE AGE OF 12 AND NOW HE IS A SEER WHO STEERS NOT ONLY HIS OWN DESTINY BUT THE DESTINIES OF OTHERS AND HE DESERVES A HOT, POWERFUL, CLUELESS HUSBAND CHILDHOOD-FRIENDS-TO-LOVERS STYLE, I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL BECAUSE I PILED THE DIRT ON THIS BEACH MYSELF--)

#thanks for the ask!! <33 #azol-otl #asked and answered #my writing #jaytim #sterek #fic rec #self rec #listen i love my popular fics too but i still sometimes boggle at how much attention they got and i feel shy about it #and oh man. sending this to other folks. hrmgmgf #i may manage five #but maybe not jfdlsjfa

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skeletalsepulchre · 2 years ago

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YOU KNOW WHAT TIME IT IS

welcome to sistervirtue dot tumblr dot com. those of you who have read my url...seen my icon...may be wondering: who is this woman? who is Sister Virtue?

as the @original-character-championship bracket begins, I would like to take the time to introduce you to her. go on. take a seat.

[art credit: @/omusubigender, @/citrus-sours, @/kkbardd, @/pcktknife, @/celebiis, @/citrus-sours]

Sister Virtue is a not-quite woman not-quite of the cloth with a bit of a scowl and an unholy attitude problem. Formerly a cherub known as Theophania serving in the appellate choirs of heaven, she judged human souls and debated the dogma of heaven day in and day out.

Although a perfect machine of heaven, Theophania was not heartless. Through her friendship with the Archangel Gabriel, whom represents human souls and their interests in the courts of heaven, she learned about those she judged.

And I am going to let you in on a secret. Angels and demons are both creatures of passion, just their passion turns in different ways. Demons experience passion for the self. Angels turn their passion towards God. And for Theophania, her passion turned in a different way-- towards those silly little animals whom she watched day in and day out. (Even you!)

So when Gabriel came lamenting of the Seraphim's decision to bring forth the end of humanity, she may have done something a bit drastic. Drastic like stealing the Eye of God, an important artifact containing the summation of all knowledge, and then slamming it into her own skull in order to hold it hostage and kick up enough of a fuss that the angels acquiesced and agreed to come to some sort of truce. The ultimate blasphemy.

She would be felled. If she cared so much about those silly, stupid animals, she could spend the rest of eternity proving they were worth it. Shoved into a body made of flesh and her powers largely sealed behind seven penances, Sister Virtue is tasked with protecting humanity from all threats divine or diabolic. She cannot die; [officially banned to prevent any loopholes or complicated litigation later] but she can give up... but doing so would mean damning all of humanity in the entire process.

After crash-landing into a convent and taking the administrative lead of the attached school (now known as Eschaton Academy) Sister Virtue is establishing a network of those both blessed and possessed to aid her in the arduous process of keeping people safe, all while trying to figure out what it means to be human herself.

So Why should you vote for her?

Let's face it, we're not in high school any more.

Coming of age stories for teens are fun, but sometimes... you don't really start coming of age until your 20's, 30's, 40's... Virtue, 37 human years old, is here to show the journey of growing into your skin even if that comes after high school.

2. She's hot as hell.

A nun in her work uniform, Sister Virtue at heart is a truckin', smokin', wrestlin' uncle of a woman, and her casual attitude and casual attire reflect this. And let's face it. A woman who hates wearing shirts and has a happy trail is a god-sent gift for all of us.

[art credit @ koiiluvz]

3. She's just a bit weird.

She named her car (a self-"upgraded" hearse) the Popemobile. She smokes cigarettes because she likes the taste. She doesn't mind nudity, but gets shy eating in public because digestion is just a little too intimate for an angel. She loves paperwork. Sometimes she regurgitates the angel equivalent of a hairball.

4. Don't know about all this original universe lore? She's got a D&D Iteration.

You can find her character sheet here-- She;s a tanky fallen aasimar paladin with 3 different ways to intimidate. Because you don't even need a gun with an attitude like hers.

5. She'd vote for you

At the end of the day, Sister Virtue is someone who runs on love. Love for all of humanity. Including you. Even if you don't believe in Virtue, virtue believes in you, and you should believe in you too.

Questions? Concerns? Comments? Check out my eschaton academy tag. Or pop into my inbox or dms.

(she even has emotes. art credit @/pcktknife, @/citrus-sours, and @/GR4FF1T1 [on toyhouse] )

#eschaton academy #sister virtue #VIRTUESWEEP2023

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quillkiller · 3 months ago

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whats ur opinion on jegulus?

for me i dont really fw it. I think it’s mostly bc i don’t like james that much and putting him w/ regulus i feel kinda takes away from both their characters. For reg I feel like the ship kinda softens his character and takes away his agency. ‘he was just a wittle baby whos mummy an daddy forced him to join a hate group 🥺’ which is very far off from how I view him. It gives james a savior sort of role. And that’s not to say i haven’t read some good jegulus fics and enjoyed them I think they jsut need to be modern day bc the whole ‘james saves regulus from the horrible fate of the desth eaters that his parents forced him into!’ Annoys me.

(ps im sorry if you really like jegulus i promise this wasn’t meant to be hate or anything)

agree with all this!!!!! 🤍

i don’t really like jegulus all that much and i have been known to mention it once or twice here on quillkiller dot tumblr dot com. honestly, for me, it’s probably just that im too much of a sirius guy and and i think both sirius and regulus deserve better than to have james juggle between both of them. james and sirius are too important to me and i dont like what happens in their dynamic if reg was added into it. in my world james is always and forever going to choose sirius if it ever came down to that and regulus deserves better !! + and ive talked a lot about this before too, im not a fan of regulus becoming part of the marauders friend group!! i think he’s a way more interesting character to delve into when he has his own life outside of sirius and his own friend group (the skittles <- which i also dont like interacting too much with the marauders). in addition to the james and sirius friendship being important to me, so is regulus and sirius’ relationship, and i don’t like what happens to their dynamic either if reg is paired with james. the whole thing just stresses me out and i can almost never enjoy it. ’best friends brother’ trope is weird and strange to me, probably because im an oldest sister myself, and i don’t see the appeal which is why i have a running theory that people who like that trope are younger siblings themselves or like….. only children ….

anyway, i don’t hate jegulus!! i just think they’re the least interesting james and regulus pairing !! i follow some jegulus blogs that have captivated me body and soul. they’re just not interesting enougj to me to like. explore further myself. i dont go looking for fics about them + i have the jegulus tag blocked and only unblock/click to see the post when its my favorite jeggy mutuals/blogs ive followed specifically because i like their jegulus… so like, im not necessarily immune to jegulus but it also takes a lot to get me interested ! ive read a few jegulus fics and ive fallen in love with some of them and there’s one (1) that i would put in my top 10 favorite fics i think !

however!! my favorite jegulus is unrequited jegulus where regulus us in love with james. to me, their dynamic is the most compelling to me in a canon compliant setting !! ive read a bunch of modern aus too that ive enjoyed, but i like the angst of jegulus the most.. the angst and unrequited vibe of it all is so hot and sexy to me.. like the jealousy and resentment regulus feels for james because he took sirius in and becomes his new and better brother. and that resentment mixed together with confused desire during your puberty years when everything is angsty and confusing and you’re heartbroken and grieving ? you’re the absolute polar opposite to your brothers favorite person and you’re supposed to hate him but his smile looks like summer and his mere presence is always suffocatingly warm and you get it. you’re not surprised your brother chose him over you and you think that if james potter cornered you somewhere and kissed you and said ’sirius doesnt have to know’ you think you would probably let him because who wouldnt. james can have whatever he wants, he proved that by taking sirius (like that IS a big deal. sirius was heir to the noble house of black !!!!!!!) and what else is there to do but grieve your brother and hate wank over his best friend, who only knows you exist because you’re sirius’ brother, he chose over you

#in modern aus i dont really even see them getting along that well……#james think reg is a funky lil guy and a Mini Sirius. which is the entire problem #like regulus being in love with him To Me has to be about this ideal daydreaming type thing where he projects onto james #i think reg would hate james if he got to know him properly #his feelings for him in the unrequited au type thing is literally entirely made up in his head from Watching him #like its more about what he represents to regulus and getting to know him would burst that bubble #mwah thank you for asking !!!!!!#will go to sleep now. goodnight besties <3 #asks

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a-method-in-it · 1 year ago

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Having spent a few months in Israel and been to the West Bank and followed news from the country for a decade since and having studied enough to know how little I know about it:

It is okay for you, random internet user, to not have hot takes on what is happening in the southern Levant right now. Especially if you do not know what the southern Levant refers to.

When in doubt, please remember the following:

There are no civilians who it is acceptable to murder

That's it, that's the take

So instead of ill-informed hot takes on tumblr dot com about an 80-year-old conflict in a former British colony whose history you barely understand, what should you be doing?

If you are in the U.S.: Support decolonization efforts right here in your own backyard in a country you have some hope of understanding. I recommend checking out the Land Back movement or looking up issues for a tribe or other indigenous group local to you. Or you can donate to the Native American Rights Fund or the Indian Law Resource Center, both of which fund things related to decolonization.

If you are in another settler colonial state: Find whatever the equivalent of that is in your country.

If you want to support Palestine: Donate to the Palestine Children's Relief Fund, Al-Haq, or another trusted charity, and check out info from Amnesty International about human rights in Gaza, which are routinely violated by both the Israeli and Hamas governments.

If you want to support the peace process: Support organizations like ALLMEP and independent media like 972 Magazine.

#israel #palestine #hamas attacks

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batmanisagatewaydrug · 1 year ago

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reading update: august 2023

wow what a month!!! I turned 27, I got to do so much work on a documentary on queer style, and most importantly I read a batch of really cool books that I'm so excited to ramble about. so let's cut the bullshit, here's what I've been reading!

Condomnauts (Yoss, 2013; trans. David Frye, 2018) - thank you to, who else, tumblr user @condomnauts for the recommendation! the premise of this book is so sensational: humankind has taken to the stars and become part of a bustling galactic community, with a catch: politeness demands that when different species get together to trade, they open negotiations by sending members from each crew to have sex with each other. these "condomnauts" are highly in demand among humans, since it takes a very particular kind of person to figure out how to bone down with someone who isn't even remotely human. but it's not all fun or free-wheeling space orgies; our protagonist, Josue, is up to his eyes in unresolved trauma from the miserable violence and poverty of his upbringing (seriously, look up those trigger warnings; it gets pretty yucky out there) and has definitely never been to space therapy. ultimately this book isn't as much of a romp as I might have hoped and does fall a bit more into "let's explain at length how the sci-fi tech works" than I usually like, but. BUT. I have to say, the payoff at the (deep sigh) climax of the book (and it is, in fact, a climax) took me totally by surprise and made me SHRIEK with delight when I realized what was about to happen; huge props to Yoss for bringing that particular plot point so perfectly full circle.

Raw Dog: The Naked Truth About Hot Dogs (Jamie Loftus, 2023) - I'm a huge fan of all of Jamie Loftus' nonfiction podcast series (go listen to Ghost Church, like, immediately. stop reading this an go do it) so I was naturally pretty fucking stoked for her first foray into nonfiction books. the premise is simple enough: driven by a need to consume a truly terrifying amount of hot dogs for research, Loftus and her boyfriend set off on a cross-country road trip, sampling hot dogs across America so that Loftus can alternate descriptions of the most iconic contemporary hot dogs with an investigation of the hot dog's sordid past. as is pretty much the signature of Jamie Loftus' work, to me, the end result is much funnier, weirder, and sadder than the innocuous-sounding premise would suggest; in addition to the perils of colonialism, capitalism, COVID-19, and factory farming, Loftus does a remarkably tactful job documenting the the downfall of her own relationship as she searches for the perfect dog. cannot recommend enough, an incredible debut.

Yellowface (R.F. Kuang, 2023) - a couple of months ago I read my first R.F. Kuang book, Babel, and thought that it couldn't possibly live up to the amount of hype that it was getting at the time. and I was wrong! Babel was tremendous! but surely R.F. Kuang, that crazy son of a gun, couldn't pull it off twice in one year. and yet! Yellowface was a book I found hard to put down, because with each chapter came some fresh new BUGFUCK CRAZY BULLSHIT from our terrible, terrible protagonist. maybe the plot hinging so much on extremely online book discourse will make it inaccessible for some readers, but as someone who used to spend a lot of time on lit twitter I got it and felt seen. honestly, if this kind of discourse broke loose on twitter tomorrow - a white author stealing the work of her Chinese-American friend? publishing it after her friend's tragic premature death?? changing her name to sound more racially ambiguous??? - I might go crawling back to X dot com just to gawk. this is a satirical thriller of the highest order, and if you love mess as much as me you will gobble this shit up.

The Prisoner's Wife (asha bandele, 1999) - and now for a totally different vibe than I've been bringing you so far! bandele's memoir is an absolutely wrenching account of falling in love with Rashid, a man incarcerated for murder and the ensuing fight to build a life together. bandele is a poet and it shows; her words flow beautifully even in the ugliest of circumstances. this is no suffering porn but a nakedly honest account, all of the good and all of the bad in her relationship. the struggles are never limited to the inhumanity of American carceral system, and the reader is also witness to the usual growing pains of two people learning how to love each other heightened by the enormous obstacles of stolen autonomy. but for every moment of difficulty there is love, such an enormity of love that you at time feel the need to look away from someone being so vulnerable. but I'm so grateful bandele shared the way she did. even reading the book two decades after its publication, with the knowledge that she and her husband Rashid would ultimately divorce, did nothing to dull the love. the love was real, and bandele captured it with devastating precision.

Clay's Ark (Octavia E. Butler, 1984) - god, I love Octavia. just when you think you know where she's going with a story of a creepy codependent psychic cult she zags on you and introduces a SECOND creepy codependent cult, this time in the form of a bunch of HORNY PARASITIC SPACE WEREWOLVES hiding out in the desert! there was no mention of Mary and the Pattern! where are they, Octavia? why are they sending people into space? what does it mean that aliens are in play now? are they going to fight in the next book? god, I hope they fight. there was some gruesome shit in Clay's Ark, but man was I compelled.

My Wandering Warrior Existence (Nagata Kabi, 2020; trans. Jocelyne Allen, 2022) - this was a really exciting new turn for Nagata's graphic memoirs! this one is a great reflection on ✨romance✨ as Nagata begins the arduous work of trying to figure out what romance means to them and what she'd actually want out of a relationship. there was a lot that I related to immensely, although our outcomes may be different - in my case, I realized that building so many mental hurdles for myself because I didn't want to be in a relationship at all. watching someone else navigate that journey at a later age than people are usually expected to is so cool, especially doing it so thoughtfully and with such candor and coming from a place of queerness. I don't know where things are going for Nagata Kabi, but I'm excited for the next translation of her work to be released in November. and I really recommend this graphic memoir to anyone trying to figure out their own romance situation, whether or not you're read the preceding volumes; it can stand quite well on its own!

Love, Hate & Clickbait (Liz Bowery, 2022) - guys. listen. I was so prepared to hate this romance novel, but "a governor forces two of her male staffers to fake date each other to win #woke points" is pretty heinous premise! and it SUPER doesn't help that one of these guys, Thom, is a stone cold manipulative bastard who's chronically online and obsessed with his job to a generally terrifying degree. (the other guy, Clay, is just kind of a doofus who's been, I think, accidentally autism-coded.) but by the end [SPOILERS] Thom has uuuuuh suffered complete and total ego death and renounced his entire life, and it kind of rules? idk, the fake dating might be kind of long and tedious if you're not into fake dating, by which I mean it was tedious for me, but the climax really catapulted it up the list of romance novels I've read this year. also I regret to say the sex is pretty good.

Docile (K.M. Szpara, 2020) - god almighty I put off actually getting to this book for YEARS but I'm glad I did, because I don't know if I would have had the range to appreciate her back in 2020. the basic bones premise - a slightly future dystopia in which those in extreme debt can take a drug called Dociline to become a passive blank slate and sell themselves as servants for the ultrawealthy - barely scratches the surface; it's an intoxicating story about power, control, cobsession, consent, vulnerability, exploitation, capitalism, and loss of self in so many different ways. also I once again regret to say that the sex is pretty good. I completely understand why this book wouldn't be someone's cup of tea - jesus CHRIST read those content warnings - but I couldn't read it fast enough.

Carnal Knowledge: Sex Education You Didn't Get in School (Zoë Ligon and Elizabeth Renstrom, 2020) - what a fun book! for those of y'all who don't know Ligon's work, she's the owner of Spectrum Boutique, a Detroit-based sex toy store that I endorse wholeheartedly and as often as possible! Ligon has put together a great little book of beginner's sexual affirmations, covering everything from body image to pubic hair to relationship styles as well as, naturally, sex toys. it's a great read for anybody, and Renstrom's whimsical, vibrant photos make it a delight to flip through. I'd recommend it for anyone, especially my many anons over the years who have asked how to start getting more comfortable thinking and talking about sexuality. it's a great place to start, a gorgeous little safe space of a book that welcomes everyone to think more widely about pleasure and how to find it.

#reading updates

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spacedykensfw3 · 13 days ago

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I’m not that anon but No downsides? you really think you could stay naked like that?? And let a man touch you like that whenever they want? Wouldn’t you not be scared???? Just for free rent?????

hey hi hello anon I’m saying this with all of the love in my heart. Did you get lost and end up on my blog somehow . If yes that’s fine but take a moment to consider the content I post here edjfnfndnfdkdnnsk

Am I gonna move in with an anonymous person I spoke to a few times on tumblr dot com before any prior vetting at all, just for free rent? Of course not. The logistics of that would be insane. I have a job, cats, my family, and I know where that person lives. I don’t even know who that person is.

Would I, in an ideal scenario where the above logistics have been considered, move in as a full-time sub to live with a dom I have developed immense trust in and want to actually spend that much time around, and live a 24/7 lifestyle in which I am free use and have rules to follow, such as being nude while at home? Absolutely. I’ve been in a TPE relationship before. I’ve actually followed rules where I’ve had to be nude at home before, so that in and of itself isn’t groundbreaking.

This is all just fun fantasy and flirting and being a whore on the Internet because I like doing it. Everything here is fantasy. It’s for fun. It’s because sex and kink and BDSM are fun and hot. I am not going to just impulsively risk my safety for an anon, I promise.

#asks #anon #meta #sorta

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delta-queerdrant · 9 months ago

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how do you solve a problem like Chakotay? (Tattoo, s2 e9)

I have been away from this space for a number of boring reasons (including, to be transparent, cheating on Janeway with my space cop boyfriend Odo. Why do the good girls go for the lawful neutral boys?)

But also, Tattoo! Yikes on bikes! When I first realized I’d be reviewing this episode, I felt a powerful impulse to back away slowly, as if from wasps. My aversion came from a place of contempt for this episode, probably the low point of the imaginative failure that is Chakotay. At the same time, I was not sure what to do with my anger. It’s easy for white people to become a little too enamored with our own hot takes; I am ill-equipped to speak to the impact of a narrative that’s racist, anti-Indigenous storytelling all the way down.

I imagined I’d compile a reading list by Indigenous writers who could talk with authority about “Tattoo.” The reading list has become a comfortable rhetorical move for white cultural critics, a stay in our lane impulse. A reading list attempts to re-center marginalized voices, though it’s rarely a call to action (unless that action is read books). In this case, the reading list was elusive. I couldn’t find much non-paywalled content discussing this episode at length, with the exception of this illuminating review by comics artist Rob Schmidt.

What does it mean to do low stakes cultural criticism on Tumblr dot com? If this is a quiet space for playful self-reflection about my Television Feelings, then I think we can agree that nobody particularly needs my thoughts on the impact of “Tattoo,” or the Kazon, or any of the other ill-conceived ways that Star Trek has handled race. I will continue to get mad about these artistic choices, but my anger is not load-bearing. You can’t build anything with it.

The best I can probably do here, and throughout these reviews, is to excavate the contours of my own relationship with science fiction. I think white people have quite a lot we need to say about whiteness, and our penchant for racist science fiction, and how we could perhaps redirect our creative impulses elsewhere.

To summarize the episode - Chakotay visits a Delta Quadrant moon and recognizes a symbol that reminds him of a childhood visit to his people’s ancestral home on Earth. As a young man, nonconformist Chakotay wasn’t much interested in his ancestors’ traditional lifeways, and even now, he’s agnostic about some of their religious beliefs. Nearby, a planet has flora and fauna similar to the Earth rainforest Chakotay remembers visiting. When he’s separated from the away team, he encounters aliens who can “control the elements of nature” and seem to share his tribe’s culture.

In a block of decidedly clunky exposition, we learn that these aliens visited hunter-gatherers on Earth millennia ago. The early humans are described as having “no spoken language, no culture, except the use of fire and stone weapons.” Okay then! The aliens gave them “an inheritance, a genetic bonding so they might thrive and protect your world.” The genes motivated the hunter gatherers to travel to the Americas, where they passed down memories of the aliens, who became key figures in Chakotay’s people’s religion. Chakotay now understands himself, his father, and the aliens as people called to “honor the land” and defend it.

(Meanwhile, the Doctor programs himself to experience a respiratory illness and proceeds to have what I believe is known in the vernacular as a “man-flu.” It’s very silly.)

If “Tattoo” was well received, I think it was because of the emotional heft of this episode, which figures Chakotay as the diaspora kid who rediscovers his roots and connects with his father’s memory. I would have liked an episode that fully explored what it means to be Indigenous and diasporic, and how Chakotay’s identity informed his decision to join the Maquis.

This is not really the episode we got. Instead “Tattoo,” in the vein of white supremacist conspiracy theory tome Chariot of the Gods, imagines that Indigenous people are magical space boys whose religion and culture are gifts from aliens. Now, Captain Planet-like, they have been tasked to protect their homelands, conveniently letting the rest of us off the hook.

“Tattoo” erases the truth and specificity of Indigenous cultures and origins—of people who were and are energized by their own intelligence and agency, and who have actively maintained specific and rooted ways of being in the world despite 500 years of material and cultural genocide. It doesn’t help that the prehistory depicted in the episode is utterly confused. The ancestors described in this episode are apparently early humans, long before the migration into the Americas, but the timeline is so muddled that the episode resolves into a narrative of “Indigenous people require alien intervention in order to have a culture.”

I think “Tattoo” is really a white fantasy, because white people would like nothing better than to be magical racialized space boys. To be chosen, to be connected at once to a homeland and a cosmic other, satisfies a hunger born of our collective imaginations. White people don’t really care who built our sacred sites, if our culture heroes are exploded in favor of New Age nonsense, because our legitimacy as people with a history and a destiny is nevertheless secure. (Though there are probably limits to our popular embrace of the New Age - I can’t imagine a Star Trek where Jesus is the one receiving genetic messages from aliens.)

To complicate my analysis, I'll note that a white Jewish author wrote the teleplay for “Tattoo,” and in the episode’s Wikipedia page, Robert Beltran says “Tattoo” resonated with his experience of feeling disconnected from his Latino heritage. There is a story about diaspora here, however clumsily executed. As a person of Jewish ancestry, I’m not surprised that creators from diaspora communities turn to speculative fiction to recreate lost pasts for marginalized characters. It’s easy to lose your history, and this loss is compounded in a world where whiteness swallows difference.

Star Trek has always had a race problem. In my twenties, I began to learn about the antecedents of the science fiction and fantasy genres - adventure fiction and Westerns, genres steeped in ideologies of Rule Britannia and manifest destiny. If Star Trek was originally pitched as “Wagon Train to the Stars,” then perhaps the aliens have always been “Indians.” But Star Trek also has a progressive streak that has lent itself to diverse casting. What does it mean when the same universe contains allegories for minorities and real-world minorities?

I have to admit I'm a sucker for a good science fiction allegory. As a kid from a mixed-faith background, I loved watching Worf negotiate his Klingon ancestry and human upbringing. (I only realized as an adult that the Rozhenkos are Jewish coded!) I'm not saying that Worf is great or perfect representation of multicultural identity, but there is something about allegory that can powerfully voice our lived experiences. (The trans allegory in the recent Nimona film adaptation is an exceptional example of this.)

As best as I can tell, the trick to writing fictional "races" and real racialized characters is one and the same - handling the cultures you're depicting with care, eschewing biased stereotypes in favor of nuanced, complex, informed worldbuilding. The showrunners of Voyager did not exercise care.

I want a Star Trek in which the characters feel rooted in real cultures, whether they’re alien or human. I want Harry Kim to have a cultural identity, and I want Chakotay to belong to a real-world Indigenous community. If science fiction is about curiosity, then I want white writers and showrunners who are genuinely curious about the stories they don’t have the expertise to tell—and who are willing to give space to those who do.

1/5 prize Vulcan orchids.

#star trek #star trek voyager #chakotay #space racism

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