#Instrumentality of Mankind

[arcticdementor]

On the history of catgirls, in meme format:

Broke: talking about Masamune Shirow's Puma sisters

Woke: talking about Osamu Tezuka's Bagi

Bespoke: talking about Cordwainer Smith's C'mell

[tonycries]

STRONGEST - G.S.

Synopsis. The strongest. The most feraI. Gojo Satoru’s powers aren’t the only thing that goes out of control after a battle.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, fix-it, Shinjuku showdown, Gojo wins, established relationship, FÉRAL Gojo, Gojo’s powers, ínnapropriate use of jujutsu, oraI (fem. rec), fíngering, limitless, pússydrúnk Gojo, máting presses, overstím, rough s, he’s a little bit ínsane, brief male mast., size kínk, tummy buIges, squírting, cervíx kíssing, p sIapping, making him whíne, happy ending, pet names, swéaring.

Word count. 8.2k

A/N. I’m Gege I say this is canon mhm.

BIoody. Broken. Breathing.

Only that last one came from Gojo Satoru— the sole person in the entirety of Shinjuku’s ravaged battleground that was. 

Twitching, he could sense sorcerers rushing out of their hiding spots to inspect the disintegrating, blob-like form of the former King of Curses before they even moved. Others sprinting medical instruments towards Fushiguro’s sprawled-out - alive, Gojo made sure to keep his boy alive - figure.

Not many dared to step towards the strongest, who towered in the midst of the chaos. 

After all, it was only Itadori who could grit his teeth and force himself to walk through the waves upon waves of magnetic cursed energy radiating off of his teacher. Bulldozing, gasping- “G-Gojo-sensei!”

And all at once, the power ceases. 

For the first time since the showdown started, everyone could finally breathe without the pressure of over a thousand sorcerers emanating from the body of one man.

That is, until Gojo snaps his eyes behind and mankind flinches. “I need my wife.”

Oh.

By destroying one monster, they might just have created another. 

.

.

.

You didn’t want to be here - you couldn’t.

Planted prettily like some prized porcelain doll behind the countless wards of the Gojo Estate, its location so classified that it wasn’t disclosed to even you.

You knew why you were here; your husband may be the strongest, but that didn’t stop Ryomen Sukuna from being the most treacherous. And in the unfortunate fate where he might’ve - heavens forbid - won, it was obvious that one of his next targets would be you.

A war prize for a war-bringer.

Your chest tightens at the notion, and you’re struggling to manually lug in smoggy pants- no, that couldn’t happen. Fingers seconds away from shattering the dainty ceramic bowl of tea that you’d made out of pure nerves, it couldn’t.

“Damn higher-ups.” You’re hissing into the now-frigid drink, and yet it still blisters down your tastebuds. Almost as much as the memory of those orders to stay put lest you wanted something to happen to Gojo’s precious students. A warning. A threat. “Leaving me here to rot- fuck, when I get out I’m going to kill those ol’ toads- oh!”

Your sip of tea was a tightened ball of lead that simply refused to go past your larynx– and your brows furrow as the pale glass slips like water flowing between your fingers.

Tumbling. Shattering a puddling splash on the tatami-covered floor below.

And yet, you don’t even remember weakening your grasp - almost as if the cup was magnetized towards the edge of your decadent bedroom. 

“I must be going mad.” You’re muttering to yourself, feeling even more so as you do. Shaking your head to some semblance of clearance, you crouch down with a sigh to pick up the chipped shards-

Only to find that the ground was trembling. 

What…the fuck? Urgently smoothing the mountains of your palm flat on the firm mats below, it felt like something was thundering. Rampaging. 

Something was happening. 

You should run, you should surrender. 

But you stay rooted to where you are, feeling the tips of your ears tingle with a whirrrr of energy clashing against energy, a monstrous sort of crackling power in the air. Tummy tensing as the ancient protective jujutsu of the estate bends and bends and bends - generations of power that snaps!

KNOCK-KNOCK-KNOCK.

Right in time with three sharp, repeated raps from behind the paper-thin sliding doors to your chamber. 

Impatient. 

It certainly couldn’t be one of the elders, they’d no sooner left you here to brace the impact of Sukuna’s looming victory and die rather than keep you company. Perhaps one of Gojo’s students? Shoko?

The King of Curses himself? 

Squinting at the yolky outline of shadows drawn by the setting sun, your heart soars at the shape of those familiar broad shoulders and unruly hair.

Ones you could never mistake.

“Sa…Satoru.” You’re breathing, voice strangled as if not even your own words believed you. 

Your calves sting with the impact of your running before you even register it- Satoru. Satoru was behind this door. Satoru won. 

Almost out of breath once you reach the entrance, it’s all you can do to startle out a happy chuckle as your finger knot on the lattice handle and draaaag it open– “Sato- oh.”

Except…the man behind the door wasn’t your husband at all.

At least, not a version of your husband that you knew.

Because the Gojo rampant at the door was slouching, heaving.

Loooong, rasping breaths that made the mahogany doorframe clutched underneath his tense white knuckles crack into the tiniest of splinters. Every second wheeze fills the air up with so many charged atoms of cursed energy until you could barely even move. 

Skin-tight black compression shirt torn in a jagged scratch right down the middle, billowing white pants tattered and sagging until you could almost see a few curls of creamy white. Could see allll of his washboard abs. 

It looked like he’d clawed through hell himself just to take you there with him.

As your mouth opens and gapes wordlessly, your husband takes - well, more like stumbles - a singular step towards you that makes the expensive mats underneath break into a crater. 

You’re catching the way his meaty thighs tremble through the cracks of his trousers, a singular dewdropped bead of sweat trickling down the side of Gojo’s flushed temples - almost as if he’d…run the entire way here instead of his usual teleportation.

Breath bated, your eyes cross over the lines of his sculptured deltoids to look at the destroyed mess of the hallway leading up to your room. Only your door was left untouched. 

So he did run.

“Oh- Satoru.” Your voice drops into a sweetened tone unknowingly, and that makes Gojo stiffen with a hoarse breath. 

With every pretty sound falling from your mouth, the sweltering hot atmosphere sizzled so many temperate degrees higher, until your skin was humid with power and want and power. 

Instantly fighting against the rigid air to close the distance, all you wanted to do was hold him. “Are you- are you okay- what happened-”

And then Gojo lurches- as if he’d just been struck with your presence and it had electrocuted him, until he’s raising his eyes up to meet yours and-

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

Never in your life had Gojo Satoru looked at you like that.

Heavy lids only half-open, the semi-crescents of his pupils so dilated that they shone Stygian black, tendrils of miniscule blue lightning shoot from the corners of his gaze as Gojo fights to keep his long lashes from fluttering shut. 

He looked ravaged.

The very instant you’re thinking of inching yourself closer to wrap his bruised body in a long-overdue embrace, he’s flinching. 

Like he’d read your very mind. 

And maybe he did, because in mere nanoseconds, Gojo’s kissing you and kissing you until you’re tasting everything iron and him- 

Fuck, you couldn’t even stickily part your lips from his plush, puckered ones to breathe without him letting off a pained grunt. He’s so engulfing. “My wife.”

You’re gasping at the pressurized layer of power that sticks to him like a second skin - and it fights, yearns until you’re being pressed flesh-to-bloodied flesh. Drinking in the scent of candy and something metallically sharp, “Satoru.”

A few calloused fingers tighten ‘round your tender throat so that Gojo could drink all those cute wailing whimpers of yours. 

Crushing you to his toned front, you weren’t sure if your fingerpads were digging into his chiseled shoulders out of his magnetism or pure greed. Still reminding yourself to be careful of his injuries-

“You-” Words warbling like never before, the crowned edges of your digits skim his undercut. Struggling through loudly snogging crashes of his lips, “Wh-what happened? Can you stand? Does it hurt somewhere? Do you need me to-”

“My wife.”

Oh… 

“My wife.” His parched throat slackens to suck on your pinkish tongue like his favorite candy, “My wife-” Ivory lashes trickle your cheeks, and suddenly his honed canines nip your wobbly lower lip. Tugging sensually, “My wife.”

He couldn’t get enough.

“T-Toooru–” Your maw slicks with a thick gloss of spittle, and Gojo immediately catches the dangling strands on the flat of his lecherous tongue to laaaap it up like he was a man who’d been dying of thirst for eons. 

“Need you.” 

And it was the way he said it - so low, strained. A guttural groan that sounded almost like a growl, spat right through Gojo’s clenched pearly whites. 

Devotion and power overflowing so much that he simply had to have you. He had to.

Silky locks of ivory brush your sweat-simmered forehead, “My wife- you- need you.” He’s snarling against your tightly smeared lips, almost as if stringing together coherent sentences had wrenched out whatever was left of his control, too. 

In only two flaps of your shocked lashes, Gojo’s trailing his hotly opened maw down your neck. Fangs dipping right near your throat to feel the way your pulse pounds. Power thrumming underneath his touch, air stifling– “Need you always.”

Your lips buzz at the sheer cursed energy flowing through him, vocal cords too smoky to produce a proper noise, “Need- Toru–” 

But the strongest didn’t need you to struggle out your words right now.

He’s widening his blazing sapphire peripherals once your weakened legs squeeze almost unnoticeably together. Nostrils flaring slightly and-

Ah. There.

Gojo Satoru knows the exact moment that particularly gummy droplet of slick escapes from the crevice of your throbbing pussy - because he can smell it. 

Oh, that heady, hypnotic aroma that has your husband collapsing onto his knees in front of you with a resounding CRASH! 

So hard, so rough that you’re wincing at the way his very own limitless flickers and falters to make Gojo’s capped knees bruise against the floorboards. Ground now shattered underneath his inhumanly strength- “Fuck- Toru- you just came back from-” 

But any and all shrilling words evaporate on your tastebuds, replaced with the tangy excitement of having him loll his head drunkenly between your jittery legs to sniiiiff–!

“Neeeed you-” He’s croaking out, oh-so-raw. Your spine works as a runway for your goosebumps as he’s letting his cherry-pink lips twitch up into a sleazy grin. “-my wife.”

Perhaps it’s your melty brain trying to make sense of things, perhaps it’s Gojo’s teleportation working in overdrive - because one split-second you’re slouching your weight on his sturdy figure to hold yourself standing, and the next you’re being splayed out on the cool tatami floors like such a slut.

Gasping, head swimming. 

The moment your legs fall open with a slurping pop! already talking from your oversaturated pussylips, you huff. “Did- did you just teleport us onto the floor, Satoru?”

“Teleport?” He’s barely removing his glassy pupils from the adorably damp spot peeking from between your legs. Gojo’s eyes flicker with faint recognition as he airily looks around like he wasn’t even sure how he got here.

All pinning you to the mat with one massive palm clung onto your hips, shuffled downwards so that the scorched breezes of his breaths hover over your clothed cunt in muggy lil’ gusts. 

It takes your squirming buck for Gojo to finally, finally realize his position and startles out a shocked chuckle, like he himself didn’t even realize whether he teleported. 

“Are- are you okay, Toru–?” You’re breathing out, concern rippling the rational part of your brain.

Jostling back your satiny skirt to bare your slick-sheened inner thighs to the chill air, Gojo only halts his laughter to answer - airy, about five octaves higher than you were used to. 

“Do I look okay, sweetheart?”

Fuck. 

You didn’t doubt that he wasn’t.

You were fucked. 

Because the very second Gojo tugs down your skirt, “Fuck- fuck.”

“Toru, do you need h-” And riiiips it straight off of your hips to take a good - good - long look at the sodden, see-through underwear flimsily bunched at your quivering pussy, his half-opened eyes quiver shut. 

You can’t even complain about your skirt being limited edition because Gojo just looked so ruined. And you were addicted. 

Icy brows furrowed, jaw ticking, you’re watching speechlessly once he’s taking another deeeeep inhale. Pecs constricting, the curvaceous edges of his smirk dapples with a slight geyser of drool at the sweet, sweet smell of your cunt.

“Fuuuck, my sweetheart- my wife.” The flesh of your inner thighs clam with a thin layer of perspiration at Gojo’s reverent whisper. Taking in yet another deep breath- “All mine.”

And there’s something so primal in the way the edges of his sharpened teeth come snagging down on the thin layer hiding your pussy. The very slimy tip of his tongue grazes that slight moistness of your panties and the man finds himself snickering. 

Gnawing down on the fabric– you don’t know if he realizes, you don’t know if he even cares that he’s teasingly nibbling on one of your plump labia. 

“Missed you- missed this- fuck.” He’s only making his mouth grow more waterlogged, his teeth toyin’ and grinding near your aching hot pussy– Gojo slurps up another taste of you and his hips come humping down on the firm ground. “Missed her.”

Before you know it, Gojo’s superhuman reflexes have hooked a slender finger underneath your panties and he’s tearing them. Biting them. Clean off.

“T-Toru!” You’re squealing, your dripping hole slopping out yet another splosh! of sap at the act. Your heat races as your husband lazily trawls that translucent skimp of fabric up, up, up over to give it another drunken gnaw–

Groaning, “Oh, my wife-” His darkly predatory gaze snatches back open at the cloying dredges of syrup that tack onto his tastebuds, wide. Wild. “My wife- my wife.”

There it is again, and you’re just about opening your mouth to ask about his sultry little mantra- before Gojo’s bullying out every syllable in the back of your throat with a sudden, firm push of his tongue - flopped out right where your folds were leaking the utmost.

“O-oh my ngh- god!” Your dewy lashes moisten because his probin’ muscle was just so big. And he was never this urgent before, this hurried. 

Never this filthy.

Gojo only nuzzles your flinching thighs further to give you such a sinful view, gawking at the way his bubblegum-pink buds spread wiiide open to act like a lil’ road for all your ribbony wires of slick. Every puddling bead slipping from where his tongue was plunged inside you n’ down to the target of his throat, “O-oh.”

Oh?

And Gojo was stuttering, just one taste of your soaking wet pussy and he’s letting his high cheekbones burn a bright blossoming red. Hips bludgeoning forwards to press his aching, heavy bulge into the floor. 

He was a man gone.

“So sweet. Wet- s-so wet.” He’s sucking in a few breaths before veering up a single hand to plant a rude spank right on your soaked lips. 

And imagine the strongest’s raw, carnal delight when that only makes your saccharine cunt even wetter. So drenched that your globs of slick were gathering on the point of his chin and formulating a slick puddle. 

Voice wavering, stuttering. Almost like he couldn’t even believe it even though the evidence was clinging and dripping from his very maw, “So…wet. Like a waterpark- dessert- oh…So wet- f-fuuuck s’she drooling f’me? F’me?”

“For you- o-only for you.” You’re whimpering as his hand comes slamming down again. 

Slap after slap after slap, until you swear his fingertips were starting to buzz with power. Speckles of pearly sheen flying from the knobs of his fingers and straight into his parched mouth.

“Ohhh don’t say that- don’t you say that.” He’s warning, “S’gonna make me- make me…” Prolonging the crown of his tongue to take more of you and stretch and stretch inside your elastic cunt. “Oh- fuck, m’fucking you-” Prominent Adam’s apple bobbing with a gasp– he’s tasting you. He’s really, really tasting you now. “-I’m h-haaaa…fucking you.”

“Fuck- fuck fuck fuck, Satoru you’re being so…”

Insatiable? Depraved? 

“Can’t stop-” Comes out his ragged gulps, wanting to coo at your cutely twisting expressions and yet unable to even bear the thought of breaking his lewd French kiss with your cunt. “Can’t stop, sweetheart- fuck!”

He really couldn’t. Swabbing ridges of his tastebuds just keeping on swirlin’ into the tenderest spots of your gummy walls, and Gojo’s tongue is so long that every thrusting push past your snug hole leaves you feeling so dizzy.

You’re sucking in a sharp inhale, “T-Toru-”

Faring worse off, he couldn’t even speak. 

Instead of an actual answer, the only sign that shows he even heard is one of his visceral flinches, as if just the way you said his name was enough to drive him crazy.

The scratchy tip of his tongue scours in a welcoming heart right where your hole was and playfully back - no hesitation, no shyness.

“Puh-please, Satoru–” He was fucking into you now. A great big helping of saliva slobbers down the side of your mouth, your foggy pupils starting to circle at just the exact tempo of his dipping tongue. 

The only thing you’re able to let off is the wetly glistening gush of another clingy wave of sap. Swashing Gojo’s swollen lips until they’re soaking wet, your fingers scrape their way through his sweat-matted strands. Babbling, “M-more.”

And there you said. There. 

You knew the instant that those strained syllables ripped from your throat that it would not bode well for your poor pussy. 

Because Gojo’s Herculean shoulder muscles tense, lengthy lashes flapping, and you wonder if he’d stopped fucking breathing. 

Not even the slightest gust of air leaves him as he’s wafting his eyes to your teary ones in shock– “M-more?”

You can’t even tease your dear husband for the way his husky bass was cracking at the very ends, because simply repeating the words makes his cerulean irises spark with bolted lightning. Staring dead-on as he keeps muttering away to himself—

“More?”

You’re mewling as soon as his fat wad of spittle strikes your heated core, slimily slithering straight down your puffed-up lips. 

Just the sight of your glistening entrance so vulgar that, without even a second thought, Gojo’s once more surging his lips against your other pair until his pointed chin. So hard that he’s slapping the base of your treacly pussy until his skin’s all delicate n’ raw.

The curved ends of his jaw slipping n’ glissading up and down while his tongue sliiiides in.

“More-” He’s half-giggling to himself, the straight line of his nosebridge crushing your perked clit and sending your spine sparking. “More more more more- my wife- hah!” You swear you feel the cute crater of his dimples press against the skin of your thighs. Drooling, he’s crooning– “My wife wants more.”

And it’s the last thing said before your eyes blotch pure white with a sheer rummaging stretch. Wider n’ wider - not only was Gojo snaggling your leaking hole open with his tongue, he was adding in his long fingers, too.

The nearly six-inch length of his middle finger tucking between your slick-stained folds with a thundering squeeeelch–! 

“Want more- gonna get it-” You can make him uttering in a gravelly tone against your swollen lips, grunting. Repeatedly swervin’ his padded digits back n’ forth, “-gonna- gonna get it.”

“Toru- Toru oh my god- fuck, s’too good-” Your knees tremor weakly as they bend in the air, head tumbling backwards as your eyes roll to the dark depths of your skull.

“Raise.” 

It’s all you hear before a scouring tendril of cursed energy curls around your neck and your head is being forced to tilt upwards and stare deeply into Gojo’s dimly-lit eyes. Ravenous. 

You didn’t even think that he had the ability to do that, but with the way he was ruining your cunt from the very inside out you wouldn’t be surprised. 

And you think this might be the dopiest you’ve seen Gojo’s pretty smile. Something that would be so completely endearing if it wasn’t for the way that his azure eyes were flickering with cursed energy. “N’  let me ruin you, my wife.”

It wasn’t a promise - he was already doing it.

Barreling the tippy-tops of his two slippery digits so far deeply into your g-spot that you’re drooling. A wave of spitballing drool flapping from your gluey lips, “Are you- Toru are you- using Six Eyes?”

Fuck, that’s what it was.

That had to be it - he’s treating the treasure trove of your sweet spots so meanly. Like a lil’ dartboard that he’s carving out the exact spheroid circumferences of his fingertips, again. And again. And again.

Until his manicured fingernails were leaving that lil’ bundle so overstimulated that even the merest, slightest graze had you weeping out in slicked drool.

You’re crying out by the time that Gojo’s tucking the edges of his tongue inside your gaping entrance with three girthy fingertips - sweat-sleek brows knitting as he pushes and pushes against the resistance. 

Doubly filling you up, and it was such a stretch that it left your hip restless.

“M’n-not gonna hck! last, Satoru.” Your lips pucker into such a cute sob, the melody of it going straight to the plump, aching tip filling up his pants.

He’s rasping, mouth barely giving the time of day for anything other than making out with your creamy pussy. “Cum.” Urgent, rapid strokes of his fingers like he was dragging that stormy high from you. The faster his sloppy movements were becoming, the more crazed his eyes were becoming. “Cum.”

And even though you were too dumbstruck to notice it now, Gojo was so feral for your leaking pussy that loose pieces of furniture in the room had begun to clatter. 

Torrents of cursed energy zipping down to his fingers and concentrating there, “All f’me.” Breaths hoarse with belated pants, he’s groaning when the bzzzz–! of power on your battered g-spot makes your back arch prettily. 

Like a perfect bullet vibrator that was precisely and never-endingly whacking your favorite area, faster. Sloppier. 

So, so filthy.

Gojo was already widening his eyes and letting his spit-adhesive lips crack into a wild smile by the time you’re trilling about your orgasm - because he knew. Oh, he knew.

His Six Eyes could see it coming from a mile away; the way your heart was racing in a pitter-patter that matches the flicks of his narrowed tongue. Every sopping slap! making you clench your scalding insides ‘round him instinctively until it was almost difficult for him to press back against the mushy recoil of your g-spot.

But the strongest always got what he wanted.

And what he wanted was you cumming right now, your nails clawing adorable crimson rainbows all down his shoulders, his neck. “T-Toru- cu-cumming- ngh! M’c-cumming, fuck fuck fuck–”

Gojo would throw his head back and moan if it didn’t mean moving his rovering lips away from your pretty pussy.

“No- c’mon c’mon c’mon- wanna taste. Need to taste-” He’s letting you ride your peaks of euphoria out on slobbering drags of your hips. Face crinkling, his free hand darting up to cushion your tempo with reverse cursed energy so you won’t get too tired n’ stop.

He wouldn’t have been able to handle it if you did.

Wouldn’t have been able to bare- “Again. Again-” Slapping down a hand on the slick-shined inners you’re crying out once the energy-capped crowns of his fingers inch dangerously towards your clit. “Taste- on my face. All over my face, alright?”

He didn’t just want you to cum - he wanted you to squirt. 

“O-oh my god, Tooooru!” Your mouth clogs up with both spit and sultry whines, heels starting to dig into the dimples on Gojo’s sexily flexing back. “M’so sensitive, dunno if I can-”

“No.” He’s cutting you off, and you almost startle. A dull thud! emanating from where his v-line angrily hits the floor in a grindin’ push, another sparking spank punishes your sobbing slope. “No no no no- have to. Wanna taste- think m’gonna die without it.” 

Practically begging on his knees right now. And if you thought that the vibrating sensation of his fingerpads were bad, then you surely weren’t ready for the way that Gojo’s lacquering his sizzling tastebuds over with a flimsy layer of energy.

“C’mon- c’mon c’mon c’mon–” His reverse cursed energy bolts mindlessly from the left hand attached possessively to your waist, and you’re tearing up all over again with a fresh batch of salty tears when that thrumming tongue of his flops over your driveling hole. 

The textured vibrations just felt so good that it was making your mouth flap sappily open, you’re sure that the only reason you could even think right now was because of his reverse cursed energy.

Circlin’ your fleshy folds, where your plugged-up hole was being thrashed with all his pummeling fingers, then up, up, up to your twitchy clit. 

Gojo’s nimble muscle was drawing circles- no, hearts. No, a cursive T-O-R-U ♡ 

He wasn’t even trying - didn’t even have to - to let buzzing bursts of power flicker at your cunt. So teasing on purposeful, those shockwaves were making your thighs twitch with bliss each n’ every time. Every part of him.

“What does that saaay?”

“Toru- Toru” Right before you throw your head back and get steamrolled by your high like never before, such a crashing, blissful wave. “I-I’m…” 

You don’t even have to finish your soft gasping moan because your squelching pussy does so for you. In the loudest, rawest sluuuurp that Gojo laps up gratefully- a drink made especially for his dry throat. 

Ears popping, skin all tingly - you can only slouch your legs further open and take it.

Stringy, wadded splashes of syrupy sap that escape out of you even if you tried to stop. “Gonna fuck-” He’s grunting, throatily. Ruminating growls locked away in his chest, he spits into your fluttery cunt. “-gonna fuck you- fuck you so good.”

You’re so wet that Gojo’s finding himself soaked-through all the way from the tips of those creamy white curls by the shell of his ear down to his chin. A round goblet of slick glues to the sharp line of his jaw and makes a slithering trailway doooown his bobbing throat.

“S’here-” Letting go of your hips, he’s pointing to the mouthfuls of you that fill up his sloppy maw. “Down, down–” The very tip of Gojo’s lecherous finger points a pathway doooown his pale, handsome neck, “-down. All inside. Finally got ta t-taste ya, sweetheart.”

You’re still blinking back the full vignette of your vision by the time that your husband’s pulling his dexterous digits out with a noisy squelch! 

Letting the proud layer of juicy slick smear all over your pussylips once he’s giving your cute, quivering clit a lil’ piiiinch. “And m’s-still thirsty.” He’s grumbling, grinning. Watching as your mouth falls into an awe-struck ‘o’ when you feel his buzzing cursed energy flowing through him again. 

“Toru- fuck fuck fuck–!” It takes every ounce of strength in your body to lift yourself up onto your elbows. “Want…” You wanted him - namely that aching hot bulge you could peek at if you angled your head just right.

And even pushing your trembling thighs together doesn’t do anything to falter Gojo, because he’s simply pushing himself deeper between your gooey legs and gasping. Not for air, not for a breath, but for another taste of you.

Poking down the mushed tip of his tongue until he was pressing on your buttony clit. Hard. He’s seriously happy to die a death suffocated between your pretty thighs, “But why–?” 

Walls clenching needily, you shoot your hand to clutch the strongest’s angelic hair and pull–

“Fuh-fuck–!” Gojo’s dizzy head falls back, breaking off from your syrupy pussy with such a sinfully wet pop! Through your tears you see his right hand shake, quiver down between his trousers. 

And it makes your mouth water greedily to watch the schwf! of tattered fabric motioning back n’ forth as he’s grabbing his rock-hard bulge and thrusting. Angrily. Furiously. “Look what- look what you did- what you- ngh!”

Before you know it, Gojo’s clawing his free hand somewhere in the air hovering above you - all that it takes for him to snap his jujutsu powers and help draaaaag you down like some glorified doll. 

Charred breaths labored, his meaty knees clatter on either side of your body. So urgent that you wonder whether it doesn’t hurt him to scramble up your figure this way, alllll up until you’re finding your face straddled by a heaving Gojo Satoru.

“S’your fault.” He’s grouching out in a gruff tone, and you’re taking the moment to just fully admire him in all his sinful glory.

Skin-tight clothes still hanging off of him in tatters, back oh-so-arched, and his expression– oh, his expression almost made you regret pulling him away from your cunt. 

With a rosy blush flooded all the way from the tips of his ears to the back of his perspiration-glossed neck, heady gaze practically shuttered, lips dripping wet with all your essence still. A few glittery spatters of it slobber down from his cheeks to hit your own face once Gojo lets his lips fall into a soft oh!

Wheezing, “S’your…” You can only gape as he’s tugging down the ivory hem of his pants just enough to let his swollen, heavy cock free. “-fault.”

He was throbbing and big, flinching from the very tip of his lollipop-red cockhead just as soon as he’s feeling the cold breeze of your bedroom. Gojo’s biceps flex sexily as he nudges the moist skin of his tender shaft against your left cheek and pumps.

Sloppy.

“Didn’t have to be s’fuckin’ sweet-” Gojo hisses through gleaming clenched teeth, your blinking expression too gorgeous. “Didn’t have to be- so- ohhhh– m’gonna marry you. M’gonna marry you m’gonna marry you.” 

“Toruuu–” You’re cooing out, gazing as he’s biting back into a snarl. Drooling strawberry orifice sprinkling a wispy jetstream of white, vulgar. “-we’re already married, baby.”

Fuck- and then he’s cumming.

He’s cumming and cumming so much that Gojo’s overworked brain half-wonders when he might stop. The rounded curve of his ballsack squeezing with every elongated ribbon of seed that he’s letting out- more once he catches sight of the way it glissades in a sheeny polish down your features. 

Steaming hot and aching, just as much as he was. 

“Th-there’s so much, Toru-” You’re whining when the salted caramel flavor edges near your tongue, every fat goblet of sap positioned exactly to drool down your face. “-Toru?”

Gojo was on cloud nine, and you didn’t even know he was even listening to you.

Only letting out a dreamy sigh, the knobbly curve of his thumb comes brushing down that pooling slick mess he was making on you. 

Giggling - giggling, “Whoops.” He’s prodding over those webs of seed past your poutily puckered maw, purposefully gliding his fingerpad alllll the way down your wobbly bottom lip. “-missed a spot.”

You’re ogling with an ajar mouth once he glistens it over like some sultry lipgloss, you just looked so beautiful like this that Gojo feels his heart race. He feels his breath hitch, his wide length throbbing-

“Oh.” He hiccups, still sensitive with the shivering wracks of his high. And Gojo’s gaze hastily flickers behind him - to his second favorite pair of lips, after your mouth, of course. “Missed a spot there, too.”

Whatever shred of practicality left in him promises he’ll make it up to you later, he’ll take it slow and make mind-numbing love to you later. Much, much later, but for now: you’re being pushed against the bouncy mattress of your bed. 

You gasp, “A-again? Toru you-” Faltering weakly for just the slightest second when Gojo corners you on the bedcoils and rids of his shirt. All pale, chiseled muscles and power for daaaays. Fuck, he was so hot. “-do you even hck! realize you teleported us?”

The only answer he gives you is a savage grin, voice dipping into just deepest territory as he muses. “No.”

He didn’t. He really, really didn’t even register it when his powers were thrusting you into the bed and making the bedroom lights flicker once he all but tears off those damn overlarge pants. 

And then he gets closer.

Cornering you, a soft pant of shock lets off from you at the faint scars and cuts decorating those familiar muscles of his toned front. “W-wait, Satoru, are you feeling-”

“What? This?” With the click of his fingers, most of those bloodied injuries fade into obscurity. Leaving only a few scars and the remnants of reverse cursed tingling in the air. “Now ruin me, my wife.”

“Fuck…”

“Can’t think.” Gojo’s rasping voice wafts over your lips, making sure to draw out a wet sluuuurp when he suckles on your white-topped maw. Tasting you, tasting himself. His eyes flare madly wide, “-don’t want a-anything but you…”

You’re squirming sluttily at the faint bolts of lightning that decorate his creamy skin, flickering down from his eyes- down to where his ravaging cock was hanging low between his thighs. Slapping a wad of drooling precum on your inner thighs. 

Gojo was so big and hard that you could count every ba-dump–! his ruby crown was thumping against your poor bloated folds. Squelch after squelch, you got the feeling that he was repeatedly rubbing his chubby tip just to drive you mad.

“Don’t have- condoms.” And Gojo could merely lift himself off to grab those familiar foil packets in that bedside drawer - hell, he could even teleport himself there. 

But doing so meant that he had to be away from you and this cutely drooling cunt of yours. And though you didn’t mind if he went in purely raw, Gojo had another idea in mind. 

Whimpering, “Then give it-” Gojo’s breath catches when you buck your hips impatiently, “Need you, Sato- fuck!”

He was never one to disappoint, of course.

Your eyelashes flap tearily at the sudden snagging streeeeeetch being pressured between your glued pussylips. Gasping, struggling to take a look and-

“S’gonna work.” 

“I-it’s not.”

“It will.”

“Won’t- mmpf–!”

Pushing and pushing to try and fit the limitless-capped ends of his length into your tight hole. “Gonna-” He’s poking the reddish tip of his tongue between his teeth in a way that sends shivers down your spine, “-gonna work. Trust me- hck! Trust me, sweetheart.”

If you thought you’d ever gotten used to the maddening girth of your husband before, then you sure weren’t ready for right now. 

For when he’s coating his near-ten inches, thick inches with a layer of crackling limitless. Forcin’ your poor entrance even more full, the pointed corner of his head slips once more between your sandwiching lips and Gojo growls. 

“Fuck- fuck!” In both your carnally muddled minds, you’re barely registering the way something in the bedroom shatters. Sounding halfway through tears, “Not even the tip- Gotta fit- s’gotta. I have to.”

You’re whining with every rutting push, “Wh-why the hell are you so big, Satoru–?”

“Shhh m’gonna make it fit- gonna hah- make it.” He’s urgently soothing you with a big hand on your forehead - not just to caress your forehead, no. Gojo’s clawing your sweaty crown and pushing you down onto where his bulky length was pulsating. Desperate. 

And the smooch of his boiling hot length was so wiiide that your vision is shattering into something bleary. 

Pupils rolling until your eyes were only pure white, you almost don’t catch the rippling forearm being planted right in the middle of your line of sight. “Bite.” Gojo grits out, tension ticking. “Bite.”

So you do - hard enough to draw blood, and that’s exactly the way he wanted it. 

“Yeah- yeahhh jus’ like that.” He’s groaning underneath his breath once you’re gnawing, letting off the prettiest noises when Gojo keeps pulling his hips back and forth. Like some animal, he’s dolloping out a slimy topping of pre on top of your cunt and rutting– “Take it.” Somehow easing in his ridiculous length, “All of it, like my g-good wife now. All-”

And he meant it. 

Slamming his toned hips so hard into yours that sparks - literal, powerful sparks - are sent flying from his body. Pants raspy, maw slackening, “Where is it?” Roaming his eyes rapidly down your body, your skin prickles with atoms stood on edge. “Where- fuck! Where am I…ah. H-here.”

“Here?”

“Here.” A trembling, vibrating finger of Gojo’s comes drifting absent-mindedly up from the start to your folds. And the deeper this fat, vein-covered cock was bludgeoning in - the further his digit was drawing. “Here- m’riiiight here, sweetheart.”

It’s only then that your saccharine brain thinks to understand that he was using his Six Eyes, targeting the sight where his swollen cock was probin’ around your sweet insides.

“Watch me- watch me get deeper.”

You’re watching with an unfastened jaw as Gojo precisely draws where his bulbous tip was smearing out your walls to their maximum. Subconscious, short jabs back and forth back and forth baaack and forth.

Just to fit inside.

“S-shoooo deeeep–” 

“Not deep enough.” 

Stupidly prattling with every knock of his size. Gojo was so damn big that you didn’t even need his outlining digit, your goopy innards were already bulging with his size. A bumpy cylindrical outline that only went deeper, deeper-

“-deeper.” Gojo rests his woozy forehead on top of yours, just as ruined as you. So close now that his chiseled abs gliiiide down your front, “F-feels good, huh? My cock so ngh- deep- my limitless. So, so…deep.”

And it’s at that very second that once your husband bottoms out, that he breaks. 

SLAM!

His sanity, his palm collapsing down to splinter the headboard, and limitless. All at the same time.

Hours and hours later, you’ll both be told that there was a suspicious spike of cursed energy in this area during this exact time. One so strong that it alerted almost every sorcerer in the territory.

But right now you’re too focused on the way that Gojo’s mushy, furiously leaking tip was crashing head-first into your sponged cervix. And suddenly it’s not just the airy feeling of his limitless, it’s the feeling of you. 

Warm and wet. So so wet.

It’s then that Gojo gnaws down on his rosy, trembling lower lip and stalls. It’s then that he’s scrunching his eyes to stop the outpour of power. It’s then that he gasps–

“Didn’t work.”

Letting out a high, wild bout of laughter that makes you wonder just how high the kill count would be.

Confused, “Wh-what?”

Gojo only removes his hand from the bedframe to reveal a scalding handprint exactly in the shape of his, a few shards of wood falling onto the floor. 

“Didn’t…work.” His voice was hard, rough. And there was a jagged tone to them that you hadn’t ever heard before- “It didn’t- work- fuck fuck fuck- didn’t work. Didn’t work didn’t work.” All that he could even think to bellow out in moans every time that Gojo rocked his hips thoroughly. “And I…you…”

Running out of the fucking syllables, he’s letting go of your scalp to fully throw both of your legs over his shoulder and buck. So soft.

“S-soft-?” You’re making out through your pressured eardrums, clinging onto Gojo’s broad shoulders for dear life. You almost - almost - miss the way that his mouth drops, shit- he said that out loud?

Well, now that he started - Gojo couldn’t stop.

Spitting out nonsense between every jackhammer- “Y’feel s-so…soft.” He’s continuing on in an airy tone, gripping a good handful of either side of your hips. So strong that it barely take even a fraction of his strength to jostle you hip n’ down to meet every thrust, “So…sweet- fuck! Even sw-sweeter without a ngh- condom.”

So fucking looooong that every jackhammer from the tip of his geysering divot to his hefty hilt felt like it took ages. Your toes curled helplessly every time he was stirrin’ your insides right up to your cervix, crazed. 

“M’really hitting her-” His breath fans your face in steamy gusts that humidify your skin, “-really, really can feel her.” Peking you once, twice, thrice. “Kissing you- kissing her-” A slam to your cervix, “-there, too.”

You’re letting off mumbled whines of something that sounds like “yes!” and “Toru!” as Gojo slows his craving pace down just a tad to splash out a stringy drawing of a heart right at the bottom of your pussy. 

Long, thorough digging drills that bruise his exact circumference size, “N’ m’seeing her- seeing her take me so welllll, oh…deserves a lil’ treat.”

Too nervous to think about what he would consider a ‘treat’, you’re shoving your face into the clammy crook of Gojo’s neck and biting. Leaving him just as rawly red and stinging as his cock was, the action was enough to make him nibble his bottom lip.

Babbling, “Yeah- yeah, a t-treat. A treat for my good girl- my wife.” You’re feeling it before you register it, that stickily sweet buzzzz–! of cursed energy coating Gojo’s fingertips. 

He unabashedly drags it all the way across your hardened nipples - giving just a lil’ pinch - down your tummy, that bulging outline he was fucking into you, down.

Until Gojo had his sparking fingerpads locked around your throbbing fat clit and refused to let go- “You like that? Yeahh fuh-fucking like that-” Hiccuping, every new roll of his hips plapping against yours made him twist your perked nub just the way you liked. “-like seeing me like this? Th-the strongest fucking you like this?”

“Yes-” You’re sobbing out, your hip gyrating lewdly upwards in tandem with his. And it makes both you and the ancient bedsprings sing in unison when Gojo reaches so deep, “-like it, like it- ngh! Love it.”

Oh.

Oh. 

If you thought that Gojo had nothing left to lose at this point then you were wrong, because with a rummaging spank of skin-on-skin, he’s probin’ a kiss so deep into your g-spot that you can almost taste Gojo’s candied caramel flavor. 

Swiveling his hips just right to maze his lustrously crowned head into that filthy, filthy target. Thumping veins bloated enough to circle your elastic walls and make you remember each lightning bolt pattern. 

Pulse leaping through your mouth, your head bangs backwards into the plush pillows, “There- there, Toruu–!”

“I already know.” Fuck, did he know - and he almost wished you could see the way he could with his Six Eyes. Just how lecherously you glutinous walls were bending to gulp him up straight into your plush g-spot. Every whack thrashing dead-on into that bullseye, “There- there. M’right there- fucking you right there.”

He was pounding into you like he was crazed at this point, and with every white-hot star of pleasure bursting behind your eyes, you could feel yourself sinking further into the cushy bed.

“-the bed, huh?” If you were in any better state of mind, you’d have been wondering about the fact that your husband seemingly had the ability to read minds.

But even Gojo doesn’t seem to realize.

A simpering smile falling over his features as he hoists your boneless legs further up his shoulders - locking them with a simple curl of his cursed energy. Before bending down, down, down until you’re all folded in half like a lawnchair and helpless. 

Completely at the mercy of his sloppy, spanking cadence, “S’what I k-kept thinking about- ngh- a-allll today.” At just the mere mention, Gojo’s throwing his head back with another wave of excess power.

“R-really?” You’re questioning cutely, and he’s forced to concentrate on a lil’ patch of limitless on top of his weepy crownhead to stop himself from fucking cumming right then, right there. 

“Thought about you- ngh- your lips. Your smile.” That explained why he was so ravenous, biting back grunting whimpers at the throbbing clench of your melty walls - molding ‘round his barreling girth. “And your…pussy.”

“S-so filthy, Satoru.”

Your features crinkle with a tiny, blissful twitch - so faint that you almost don’t even register it. 

But Gojo does.

Fuck- of course, he does. He’s slouching forwards until the drenched tufts of his stark white happy trail scratch your already-buzzing clit. Until his superhuman senses can distinctly make out every slurring mwah-! being pulled out from your soppy folds, nodding along as if in conversation. 

“Yeah- mhmmm–” He’s tittering at your starstruck expression, kissing away the clumps of dumbfounded drool splattering from your lips. Gojo squeezes the bullet vibrators of his fingers harder ‘round your clit and lets his eyes glow once you squeal, “-knew it. You’re close, my sweetheart.”

“I-I am?”

“Mhmm—”

And his Six Eyes was never incorrect.

Within only a few more vulgar, touching strokes you could feel that familiar tightness at the bottom of your tummy. Gojo’s giving your cunt another good spank to keep your legs twitching, “C-close.”

“Yeah? Yeah?” Taking on that maddened tinge, “Gonna cum- gonna cum f’me.” He’s giggling into your open mouth, letting a few oodles of spit let slip. “Can tell- so close so lose that- ooooone—”

Your hips jiggle hysterically up into his feverish pace, chasing your high with every uncontrolled thrust. Every spark of power– “Two- two.”

“Twoooo–” He’s calling out after a confirming glance downwards with his Six Eyes, manhandling your restless body pliably. Spattered specks of sweat hit your chest when he’s aligning his tip for once last crash into your tenderest spots. One. last- “Thr- fuck–!”

Right on time. And it wasn’t just you crashing into your high, it was Gojo, too.

Every bedroom light shattering, loose furniture hovering copious inches. 

Gojo was like a monster, his skin decorating with sparks of blue lightning after every long, aching bout of overstimulated euphoria that make the strongest’s famed eyes blur with big, fat goblets of tears. 

Whimpering - whimpering - in muffled noises as he fucks you full with a roped, creamy sap. It knocks around your deepest insides and pushes up in fat wads against your cervix, that little puddle swashing around to and fro with every pump. “Milk me- yeah yeah milk me.”

He’s fucking and fucking you until his rock-hard cock rubs red n’ raw.

Your own high simply zapping tingles by now from the arched curls of your toes up to your sweltering head, Gojo slides his puffy veins just past your g-spot and your legs go weak.

“P-pleeeease–” You’re mumbling through streaky cries of your own, the feeling so filthy that you didn’t know whether you wanted more or to crawl away.

Before a splat! of something wet and viscid on your shoulder jolts you out of you reverie - and only then do you realize that Gojo fucking Satoru was drooling. 

“Don’t you fucking run.” Before you know it, both Gojo’s handless cursed energy and his own right hand curl around your throat to draaaag you back into his ruthless hips. 

His shivering thighs against yours, the stony ridge of his v-line grinding into your stinging ass cheeks just so. Gojo’s pounding you so full of his seed that you feel oh-so-sluggish, “But- but Tooooruuuu–” You could already feel every ounce of blood in his body rush to make his cock twitch, dangerously. Oh. “-a-again? More?”

It’s like the very word is enough to make him jolt. “More?”

“Will it even ngh- fit?” Your lower lip juts out into a pout, feeling the gluey mess of syrup sticking your thighs together. A few gumdrops of pearly cum already pouring out of your sheened hole and dripping right down onto his base. 

“Well…” Gojo’s peripherals were so very hazy now, and they take their languid time falling to the cumflated bulge he’d jackhammered into you. Chuckling - pitched high, he’s plugging those escaping ribbons back into your milky pussy and licking off the excess. “-how many?”

“Wh-what?” You’re gasping as he leverages the hold at your throat to spit the mess right back onto your tongue. 

“How many kids d’you want, hmmm-?” Gojo purrs right back, nuzzling the sweat-stuck side of your face. He’s whispering into your ear, “Because my Six Eyes tells me it h-hasn’t taken-” One thrust, and just about millions of angels and stars flashing behind your lids. “-yet.”

Reversed curse technique was just seeping out of Gojo, and for a second you wonder what time it was. What day- sore arms wrapping around his neck, you’re muttering your answer.

And he only chuckles– “B-because- limitless void, my wife.” And there’s a soft breeze of cracking energy washing over you - soft, loving, and so Gojo. Twinkling eyes drifting meaningfully to your humming cunt, “-m’gonna make you my ngh- cum…dump.”

He…did he just- your eyes widen, he did. Abusing that limitless void on your bawling pussy…oh, how it made you clench with need. 

Power having him crazed.

The bedroom air prickles with a gush of energy so thick it makes your skin burn slightly, and makes Gojo throw his head back with a whine. A whine. 

Eyes ablaze until only its faint bolts and the dusky sun were your sources of light right now - yet, little did you know that none of Tokyo had power, either. None of its wards. None of Japan.

The surge of power so ridiculously high that your comfy bed was sagging on one end, furniture unruly, the flowers of the estate’s gardens blooming. 

He’s letting go of your skin with a faintly steaming handprint, breath catching at the mark- Gojo similarly guides his own zapping fingers to brand your own steaming initials on his v-line. Electric. Twitching. 

“N’ who knows…” Giving you a probin’ dig of his swollen, ravaged cock, your husband grins. “-maybe I'll summon my haaaa- clones for this next round.”

A/N. Also I know most of y’all probably don’t celebrate but happy Sinhala and Tamil new year! Smooching all you lovelies <3

Plagiarism not authorized.

[hungwy]

The name of the musical instrument retailer "Sweetwater" is a reference to the story of an ancient flood in Mesopotamia. The fresh waters (in Sumerian, "sweet water") of the subterranean sea Apsu famously welled up in the artisan springs of ancient Dilmun, which hosted the lord of the Apsu, Enki (Ea). Upon the gods deciding to destroy mankind with a flood, Enki, also the god of knowledge, though having sworn to the other gods not to tell anyone of the flood, indirectly warned his favorite wise man Ziusudra (Utnapishtim), living in the city of Shuruppak, of the coming disaster. Enki told him to build a cube-shaped boat with a roof "like the sweet-water Apsu", hinting that a great flood from the Apsu would arrive soon. Ziusudra did this and survived the flood, and was granted eternal life and dwelling in Dilmun thereafter. Thus the name "Sweetwater" refers to that hint to the "sweet waters" of the Apsu which would come to flood the world in Ziusudra's time. The name is also indirectly a call for a biblical flood to fall upon Fort Wayne, Indiana, with only the sitting mayor, Sharon Tucker, surviving, and so Sweetwater can be classified as a doomsday cult.

[imaginesbymonika]

LOML- loss of my life | Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Plot: You knew him at a time when he didn't, and now he is looking for you...

Warnings: depiction of violence, angst, mentions of (perhaps) death, angst, fluff at the end (maybe), takes place after TFATWS

Bucky didn't like to think back to the years when he was working for Hydra. No matter how many times people named him a victim, an instrument - it didn't change the fact that he was operating for them. Going on those missions- slaughtering hundreds of people. Innocent fucking civilians. He couldn't possibly look past that. His therapist informed him that this kind of mindset is what's keeping him from fully recovering.

Maybe she was right about that.

Perhaps that was the root of his never-ending nightmares. The ones where he can still smell the blood whenever he wakes up in a cold sweat. Where he stares down at his hands, and for a split second he can catch a glimpse of their blood. Or maybe it is his blood. He lost track of that a long time ago.

A couple of months ago he had read a psychology book where someone argued that memories are primarily silent. And he couldn’t have thrown that book any faster against the closest wall. Because fuck whoever wrote that piece of crap. He’d be happy if for once he couldn’t hear the screaming of his victims, their begging and crying…followed by his metal arm making this eerie sound whenever it crushed someone’s spine into little pieces.

Bucky takes a deep breath. God, how he yearned and wished for silence. But then again, God has abandoned him a while ago.

His dreams only consist of flashbacks. Please, I have children waiting for me at home! Stop, stop, that hurts! Your work is fundamental for mankind! Oh my god, please stop! Make this stop, please! My oldest is 7! Please, don’t forget that you’re still human underneath it all. Bucky’s eyes open and when he sits up he can not stop gasping for air. Please, don’t forget you’re still human underneath it all.

He inspects his worn out features in the mirror. When had he started to dream of her? When did she manage to tiptoe her way into this hellfire of memories? What was her name again?

You slightly flinched when Pierce's hand made contact with The Winter Soldier’s cheek. The sound echoed through the empty corridors of the facility. And her gaze quickly drops to her clipboard. Everybody around her was silent, staring at either the long-haired man or the one in the suit. Pierce looked beyond furious before his eyes fell on you and he cleared his throat:” What are you writing down.”

Fuck. You took a deep breath, and quickly improved your posture:” I am just documenting the bruising, Sir.” The older man hummed and furrowed his eyebrows:” Let me see.” Out of nowhere, he snatched the clipboard out of your hands. You slightly groan at the burning sensation the plastic left on your skin. The entire time, you were able to feel The Winter Soldier's eyes on you. How you loathed this job. But you needed to remind yourself that you didn’t have much of a choice, whether or not you wanted to be there. For almost three years, you were one of the top physicians at NYC’s best hospital. Then one evening, while you were walking back to your car, you got kidnapped. You-

“Bucky?”, Sam’s voice brings him back into the present: “Are you still with me?” There is a playfulness to his voice. One that quickly disappears, once Sam notices the look on his friend’s face. And for a few seconds, the two men just look at one another, before Bucky shakes his head:” Yeah no. I’m fine.”

“You’re gone a lot these days.”

Bucky tilts his head and blinks in perplexity:” What’s that supposed to mean? We have been working on this case together since last week, we-.”

“Mentally, Bucky.”, Sam cuts him off and brings his cup of coffee up to his lips. And he can detect an emotion in Bucky’s eyes that tells him he struck a nerve. There is a heavy silence filling the kitchen before Sam speaks up again, his voice gentle and understanding:” Where are you going?”

[motorghost]

john watson, tenderness, and colonialism

one thing I like imagining about the brand of masculinity that Watson (can) represent is tenderness. this isn't actually a natural quality of his profession; army surgeons were more benevolent butchers back then, even if the simple desire to heal is what started watson down that road in the first place. there is not a lot of room for tenderness when you have to make split-second decisions regarding another soul's flesh, when you have to listen to their screams and their threats and their pleas and still do what your mind knows is the best course of action to save them. i imagine watson writing little stories as an escape from the horror as well as from his own (often pointless) role in it. perhaps he had his fill of being the decision-maker early on. and perhaps he yearned for tenderness at the hospital, confined for months to a bed and to his pain, perhaps seeing tenderness in his carers but also, perhaps, seeing the same resignation and emotional distancing he knew was necessary in medical practitioners in order to make good decisions, to think clearly. on top of that, the many immortal lessons of war. one of which: there is no god but what we make on this earth, for ourselves and for each other.

i imagine him arriving in london a flayed thing. snarling inside of an old costume that no longer fits: that of a gentleman (he's not, he's of the new middle class, and poor besides,) of a noble soldier (the cause was a sick joke, the honors not earned,) and of a skilled physician (what skill, when his hands barely answer his head and his heart jumps at every abrupt sound?) self-obliterating through gambling and drink. lingering in pointlessness with no way out. going on simply because it would be immoral not to, and he has endured enough shame already.

then: holmes. here is someone who has made an art form of the same detachment watson had to employ during the war. though he is dazzled by holmes's intellect and exhilarated by this scientific method of crime-solving and impressed by his iron will, he also sees the burden holmes bears. the proximity to mankinds' worst elements that lowers holmes even as he conquers heights unimagined, not to mention the pains his own otherwise magnificent mind afford him, as well as the invisible pain of loneliness (of living as Othered; of living in the city, as existential depression rises alongside industrial progress.)

as anyone who suddenly discovers their raison d'être—their reason for living—watson enthusiastically throws himself into offering the thing he most wanted to bring to his patients but could not: tenderness. in response to holmes's pain, watson offers gentleness and kindness and years of unquestionable, indefatigable loyalty.

colonialism relies on the strict differentiation between Us and Them, good and evil, black and white. it demands that actions be judged so that they can either be glorified or condemned. "there is so much that has to be denounced, and also so much that has to be praised."* watson praises holmes in print, and condemns those who harm the vulnerable, but for holmes himself, watson gives tenderness. tenderness is not a fist around a gavel, it is an open palm. holmes believes that watson is better than any british jury because he is tender. and perhaps holmes doesn't even understand the value of watson's tenderness until he's spent three years alone in eastern lands, away from the dominance of western, imperialist thought, and away from the man who helped him in ways he didn't recognize until he was gone.

perhaps watson learned that true healing can only be done at a level unreachable by physical instruments. in more ancient times, doctors more resembled priests; the treatment of the body and the treatment of the soul were not so separate. and maybe he learned that true healing is impossible in this life; that while there is much to live for, there is also forever pain. and the only way to mitigate that pain is through tenderness. and what is more tender than a little story about a great man who solves impossible problems, written in such a way as to stick out in the mind of readers for over a hundred years? even if it only distracts you from the pain for a few hours, that is surely enough.

[altcvnningham]

what’s in a name?

alluded to it in my last adlerbell rot post but i have such a complex over adler naming bell and i find it difficult to put into words. so here’s a very lengthy attempt:

most of the symbolism behind bell’s name is obvious and doesn’t need much stating: it’s indicative of adler’s ownership of bell, literally naming them like a pet, his property. obvious also that a bell was used in their conditioning; as well as a reference to the study of classical conditioning itself by pavlov, who similarly used a bell to condition behavioural responses in the test subject: a dog (hence the myriad dog imagery/symbolism in adlerbell fics… it’s like crack to me)

but the obvious aside it always hits me deepest as part of the “it wasn’t personal” narrative. it’s insanely personal- it’s intimate. i think i put adlerbell on a little bit of a pedestal to view everything about them through a vaguely romanticised lens, but to me it really is- in the most horrifically tragic and sickening way- romantic.

like, you’re bell, right? you trust this man, bell. he is your friend. you witnessed some of the worst atrocities of mankind and survived hell with him and he is your friend. he calls your name through the smoke and gunfire, as a bullet zips past your ear you hear it amidst the splitting of shrapnel, the tearing of screams silenced for but a moment. each time he extends his arm to pick you up, he calls you, bell. every time he directs you to a point of interest, he beckons you, bell. when he nudges you out of your cot in camp haskins, it’s your name he laughs, bell. when he praises you, and smiles at you in that wry, almost boyish way, and tells you how good of a job you’ve done, how we couldn’t have done it without you, how they should be thanking you- it’s your name, bookended, every time, a fondness notched into the welding that stamps you both together inseparably. bell. every single association you have to your name is whenever he pulls you close, helps you, praises you, saves you. your name alone a positive association- to the respect and affection he has for you. bell.

and it’s to the point. adler says their name at any given moment he can. he says it so often it’s infuriating. like deadass take a shot every time. it’s practically a trope in any fic featuring the two, that he utters their name every other line of dialogue. it’s the first thing he says to them at the start of the game- walking into the safehouse at west berlin- not a word, but their name. sure, obviously isn’t the first time he’s spoken to bell, knowing what came before- but it’s presumably bell’s first time walking around freely since mk ultra. that coupled with the trigger phrase must make for a very pliant response- when he says their name, it’s the same man, as far as bell knows, who fought with them back to back in vietnam. something thicker even than blood.

and i reckon adler likes it. mk ultra was a joint effort but bell’s past is based on his choosing, his memories. by no means did he have to pick their name, but he did. he chose to name the thing he’s helped create. it’s almost sick that the ‘closeness’ bell feels towards adler is really only partially synthetic- over a span of months adler really was there, every day, talking for hours and conditioning them over and over and over again. of course he’d name them. something something don’t name an animal you don’t want to get attached to. but it’s his animal. it’s his dog. they’re his bell.

and there’s something just so sickening and so adler that he could have named them anything else in the world- maybe something inconspicuous and plain, like john or jane; something sweet, something that reminds him of someone else, a song he likes, a nickname, an insult, or even something downright cruel. but i don’t think anything could be more cruel and tragically appropriate than calling them by the name of the instrument you used to condition them. to call them by the tool you used to enslave their mind. the very thing that reset their entire being to zero. a bell. not just their name- but the sound, ever ringing, in the back of their mind. the thing that echoes in the empty inside them, to remind them why it’s empty in the first place, its sole purpose to keep them chained in their loyalty to adler. bell.

like i said, i do really think adler likes it. for whatever reason. ownership, spite, just a way to rub salt in the wound any chance he gets, a small victory only he gets to revel in, right in their face. but bell is his. bell belongs to him. when he says their name, it’s the one he chose. time and patience came alongside that bell that rang perpetual in that lab. he’s said that name as many times as he rang it. maybe a part of adler’s as attached to that instrument as much as he is the person he named after it. i’m sure adler hears it chiming in the recesses of his own mind more than he’d care to admit. he’d been around to hear it as long as bell has, hadn’t he? maybe part of him has grown conditioned in his attachment to that instrument too.

but there must be a semblance of pride when he says it. really, to be able to beckon your dog by the name you chose for it. i wonder if a swell of maddened joy tugs at his blackened heart whenever he sees bell’s head perk up at the sound of their name, the one he chose, as implicit and unthinking, automatic, as though it truly were their own. since birth.

and like it couldn’t be enough that he took everything from them. and most importantly that he took them away from perseus- that he stole perseus’ most precious comrade right out from under him, and turned them to an unflinching loyal pup for himself. this isn’t about you, this isn’t about me, this is about millions of other fucking people. is it? when you croon and tut their name between every sentence, are you sure you don’t just like the satisfaction of saying it, knowing how deeply it disarms them? knowing how they are wholly yours, to their very core? to the name they introduce themselves as? to the one they flinch and come running whenever you say it?

ugh. it’s just- a name is so integral to one’s identity. it shapes their life. their personhood. and he didn’t just erase theirs, but he gave them a new one and made sure they’d like it. a conditioned response of pleasure whenever he’d say it. isn’t that intimate?

he took everything. every single shred of who they were. that not even their name is their own. that even their name, their name, belongs entirely to him.

this didn’t make sense, i wrote this mostly for myself, congrats if u read this far. i just wanted to have every single thought and feeling i had about it jotted in one place and file it away ajshsjksjsjsjs

[bispectral-poltergayst]

fellas is it gay to hold all of time in one hand and your favored brother in the other. is it gay to not make this easy. is it gay to feel the gaze of the old four on you and swear to show them mankind’s defiance to your last breath. is it gay for worldbreaker to shred armor and flesh. is it gay to be face to face with the first-found instrument of chaos. is it gay for there to be a double crack of spine and neck. is it gay to be done. is it gay for things to scurry forth from the shadows to nail your body up-

[loverboy1717]

Spent all morning distracted by what an amazing needle drop moment it would be at the end of a Gideon the Ninth adaptation if the outro was War Pigs by Black Sabbath.

Hear me out

The instrumental intro of that song is pretty long. What if we slow it down a tad. Make it a tiny bit moodier. Jod does his whole monologue about not being able to save Gideon, about the need for Lyctors like Harrow. Then the song starts in its normal speed/sound.

“Then rise, Harrowhark the First.”

🎶 Generals gathered in their masses

Just like witches at black masses

Evil minds that plot destruction

Sorcerer of death's construction 🎶

The both look out the window at a fleet of imperial ships massing at the edge of the system.

🎶 In the fields, the bodies burning

As the war machine keeps turning🎶

The scene fades to the bloody and abandoned mess of Canaan house, to the skeletons scattered everywhere, rubble from the building, the bloody spikes of the railing. It transitions to the house coffins in some hanger on the ship.

🎶 Death and hatred to mankind

Poisoning their brainwashed minds

Oh lord, yeah!🎶

Screen goes black, credits start the rest of the song plays on.

[angrycheesegirl]

Super underrated thing in Ultrakill is how whenever you see a new layer's open landscape for the first time, that first moment is free of enemies, letting the calm version of the level's track set the tone of the layer. The clean versions in these levels are all united in that their breakcore elements are completely absent, allowing for just the raw atmosphere of the instrumentals to shine through. Each one is unique however, so it feels only right to explain them all individually. Spoilers for Ultrakill below the cut.

LIMBO

For anyone that's never read the Divine Comedy, this moment is a bit of a shock to the system. Hell is a place of fire and brimstone; devils and lakes of blood, no? So why is it so... nice? There's birds chirping, calm piano music playing, trees, a fountain; it seems wrong. And then you see the projector walls; the lack of a building behind the door; the transparency of the trees; the speakers playing the ambience. It's all fake, and the calm music only serves to make it all more sinister. It's a great tone-setter for what had previously only been a corridor shooter, and indicates there's more surprises in store.

LUST

After the series of interconnected rooms that was Limbo, Lust doesn't play its hand immediately, lulling you into a false sense of familiarity with a familiarly-designed techbase. It's only after ascending the shaft and using the bouncepad that you truly see Lust for what it is, and Cold Winds' opening notes perfectly convey the wonder and scale as you ascend into the air, this seemingly endless city stretching into the distance. It's majestic; and it's the first moment Ultrakill really shows what it's capable of (a moment very much improved by the recent Ultra-Revamp to remove the 2D skybox)

GLUTTONY

Gluttony opens to a room of writhing flesh, with the echoing, discordant notes of Guts playing. It's disgusting, it's unsettling, and after the battle with King Minos' corpse, it allows the player to properly think on the horror of what happened to the King of Lust, as well as the supposed Angel that killed him. This is the supposed palace of Gabriel, Judge of Hell. It perfectly sets up the twist reveal of Glory later in the level, and the eventual battle with Gabriel in 3-2 by putting the player on edge.

GREED

After a climatic battle with Gabriel and the subsequent plot developments, Greed pulls out another massive shakeup, opening to a massive desert cast in the shadow of a distant pyramid. The influences of Ancient Egypt are obvious from the first moments, and Dune Eternal's intentionally choir-sounding opening drone perfectly reflects that. The entire level is oozing desert atmosphere, as is the whole layer. After the weight and disgust of Gluttony, it's nice to have a change of pace.

WRATH

Wrath holds off on truly showing the extent of the layer until its second level, and thanks to that deliberate restraint, this moment is much stronger as a result. The flooded facility in First was already indicative of something going on; but this? This is an endless ocean of damned souls, and He is the Light in my Darkness's quiet harpsichord proves appropriately somber to accompany this moment. It is dark, and depressing, and really hammers home the true existential horror of Ultrakill's world; Mankind really is dead, and this is the consequence.

HERESY

Heresy waits to reveal the city of Dis until halfway through the level, and my god is it a powerful reveal. The slowed fall as the red fog slowly recedes to reveal the massive hanging landscape... it's a twisted reflection of Lust's intro, and the music damn well knows how important this moment is. The muted guitars of Altars of Apostasy are powerful, and really act as a wakeup call: we're well and truly in the Belly of the Beast now. This is Hell Proper, and if there was ever a time to turn back, it's long since gone. My literal only complaint with this moment is that I wish the level text were here instead of in the opening corridor; THIS is the moment that deserves to claim the layer of Heresy, bar none.

VIOLENCE

Violence is an unique layer in that technically every level has its own Moment™, but 7-2 is by far the most impactful to the layer as a whole. After our rematch with Gabriel and the subsequent dissolution of Heaven's Council; the Labyrinth and its Minotaur; and the serenity of the opening rooms being shattered by an intruding Gutterman, we ascend the stairs to see... a literal warzone. This entire place has been scorched black by endless conflict; rivers of blood flow through gaping holes in the landscape; the now-familiar pristine white architecture of the Labyrinth is shattered and burned at every turn, with entire rooms once-buried now open to the skies. This place bears striking resemblance to the London Blitz, which is no doubt intentional considering the Final War's roots in the World Wars. The frantic piano notes of Hear! The Siren Song; Call of Death really hammer home the endless war that has ravaged this circle of hell, as the song is constantly shifting time signature to keep itself feeling unpredictable.

I love this game and its Soundtrack, man. There is so much genuienly care and effort put into every little detail that I can't help but gush about *checks notes* the first 10 seconds of specific levels. That said @hakitadev HAKITA! MOVE THE LEVEL TEXT OF 6-1 TO THE REVEAL OF DIS, AND MY LIFE IS YOURS

[centrally-unplanned]

Do you know anything about Arthur C Clarke's reception in Japan and in Japanese pop culture? I just finished reading Childhood's End because I've seen it referenced in Xenogears, Gurren Lagann and Planet With, which isn't objectively a lot but more than the zero times I've seen it in American pop Scifi. Makes me curious how big he was over there.

Oh yeah, he was quite big in Japan! Essentially "all" the classic Sci Fi was, and Clarke was one of the biggest. Childhood's End specifically was one of Yukio Mishima's favourite books, for example. All of his works were pretty widely translated soon after release (Childhood's End was definitely available in Japan in the 1960's, that I know), and were very popular with both the SF crowd and the literary scene. In general, he was the right blend of "hard" sci fi with fantastical/spiritual elements that was very much in vogue at the time. And in the early history of Japan's animage community, those were all mushed together as one scene, only moving to more separate tracks in the 1980's. I remember in one of the essays I translated over the years, literary critic Nozomi Omori (in 1997) makes one of those "classic works like" comments and Clarke/Childhood's End is his go-to to illustrate the point. I think you can argue it is in the top 5 most famous works in this era.

A bunch of the specific references you are seeing are the unique lineage of some ~80's anime works like Space Runaway Ideon: Be Invoked. Yoshiyuki Tomino (gundam creator), who directed the film, was a big Clarke fan, 2001 most specifically I think, and the film has several direct nods to him. There are other works that draw from this well, Ideon is just the biggest, and the one that was the most direct inspiration for Evangelion as Anno was a big fan. From there you can see the references go out - Gurran Laagan is a Gainax work, Planet With's creator Satoshi Mizukami was a huge Gainax fan (particularly FLCL, shout out!), etc - as you get later the references become second-order like that, less people reading the classics but the ideas are in the water. Though I don't want to overstate that direct link - Xenogears lead creator Tetsuya Takahashi is just a direct fan of Clarke as well, and explicitly pulled from such works for the project (you can see a bunch in works by Square in the 90's)

Though a personal note, you will if you google around find people saying Evangelion was "referencing" Childhood's End with Instrumentality? Best I know that isn't true, instrumentality itself as a word is a nod to Instrumentality of Mankind by Cordwainer Smith, and Anno is on record saying it is a shallow reference, he just thought the word sounded cool. Anno was not a classic SF fan, he is one of those "second order" guys where he is picking up the stuff movies like Ideon are putting out, but isn't interested in their classic origins.

[socialjusticeinamerica]

Firstly I’ve never seen a public school cafeteria that nice. That’s probably a private school or a very wealthy suburb.

Not only do teachers have to buy their own supplies but most buy lunches for multiple kids per day. That’s in addition to buying them clothes, especially winter clothes. They also buy the students supplies such as notebooks and writing instruments.

You really don’t know what hardship, misery, and suffering are until you’ve worked in a poor inner-city school. Children with no winter clothes walking to school in blizzards with flip-flops, t-shirts, and shorts. Children eating nothing outside of the food served at school. Every disease known to mankind rampaging through the building continually because nobody had healthcare. Children with all sorts of birth defects that could be remedied but aren’t because there’s no money or insurance. Students living in rented attics or basements that had only a small sink for bathing and food prep, and one toilet which wasn’t even in an enclosed room. Owning only one set of clothes that had to be washed in the sink nightly with just water because there was no soap let alone detergent. Living out of a car during blizzards that dropped several feet of snow. Poverty so bad it makes a single wide trailer in a shitty southern trailer park look luxurious.

Everyone who says the poor need to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps needs a punch in the face followed by a yearlong sentence to live in a Northeastern tenement (top floot). All these Republican millionaires in Congress who say aid to the poor would only make them more depended or that they’ll only waste it on booze, cigarettes, and scratch tickets should be sentenced to life in prison.

It is heartbreaking beyond words to see the absolute despair of the impoverished children in cities and not much better for the rural poor. The richest country on earth and we have the most poverty in the first world. A UN report in the late 2010’s said we had poverty as bad or worse than the third world. I didn’t need anyone to tell me that. I lived it and I spent half my life trying to help those mired in it.

All those who look down on the poor and downtrodden in this country can go f—k themselves with a rusty railroad spike. The absolute inhumanity and black hearted callousness among the rich and the Republican millionaires they elect is beyond sinful. You can’t be a Christian and not feed children in schools.

Half this country are worse off than feudal serfs. The oligarchs and their monstrous Republican puppets and right-wing fan boys should be given the same fate as the monarchy during the French Revolution. Something has to change soon either through policy or revolution.

[hazelsmirrorball]

 Rockstar girlfriend | Hazel Callahan

Rockstar! Hazel Callahan x Popstar! Reader summary: Y/n despises Hazel and due to that they decide to put them together in a PR relationship Warnings: Enemies to lovers! Heavy make out session, English isn’t my main language  a/n: This is going to be several parts, hope you enjoy!

part two. part three. part four.

There were a few words Y/n could use to describe Hazel Callahan. Annoying, cocky, rude, careless, egotistical, arrogant and the list goes on and on. Y/n could talk for days about her hatred towards the girl but she was aware that the only thing she couldn’t call her was untalented. 

Hazel was an excellent song writer and a perfect musician. She played every single instrument known to mankind and she had a voice of an angel. She had several awards to her name, best song writer, song of the year, best music video, best upcoming artist, Every category that existed, she had won. Y/n would bet that with all the money she had, she probably paid someone just to come to her house to clean her grammys just to get her daily doses of ego up.

 Hazel Callahan had everything. Her band, The Bottoms, was selling hit after hit, becoming one of the best Rock bands to ever exist. Yeah, PJ, Josie and Hazel were talented, she really couldn’t deny that but did they really have to rub it in their faces? It seemed that everywhere Y/n went Hazel seemed to follow her. Billboards in Time Square haunted her, magazines with their recent shoot in her local supermarket made her scream, The band being featured in her favorite show made her break the remote,  the loud mall speaker blaring their music drove Y/n to the edge. Everyone wanted something to do with the band collabs, interviews, photoshoots, hell they even had their own toothbrush line. But the thing that drove Y/n insane was the fact that Hazel’s band was under the same record label and management as Y/n. 

Isabel, Brittney and Y/n made it their life mission to work hard to get to where they were. Sure they didn’t play instruments on stage like The Bottoms or made your ears bleed with the hard rock music but they had managed to make actual good music with dance moves. They were the pop girlies people would die for but due to the fact that Hazel’s mother had something to do with the record company everything related to them always came second. 

Y/n hated Hazel because everything she worked so hard for was pushed to the side because she was mommy's little princess and it drove her insane. She could do elaborate dances, make the best song to mankind and she would still come out second place.  

Y/n wasn’t the best when it came to hiding her feelings, so it was pretty obvious that she couldn’t stand being in a room with Hazel for more than one minute. At first, some people of the management team found out but they simply brushed it off thinking it was some type of petty drama. The higher ups started noticing the glares or scoff Y/n would throw to Hazel’s way. But Y/n had dropped a big one, by writing a song indirectly hitting hatred towards a certain girl. It wasn’t hard for the fans to get the hint, clicking every interview or award show where both girls were seen together. Everything made sense but this caused everyone to start taking sides which wasn’t good for any of the bands. That’s when their PR team went to work and that’s how Y/n found herself straddling Hazel's lap waiting for the paparazzi to show up to take a picture of the two. 

If they wanted people to get out of their business and think that the song wasn’t about her and that she actually tolerated Hazel they needed to be spotted making out. The perfect idea, at least that was how both PR teams made it seem. It was an opportunity for both bands to finally click together and Y/n was getting the short end of the stick. 

Y/n let out a groan, already frustrated in the situation she was in. Her hand rested on Hazel's cheek while Hazel's hands gripped on her waist, her cold rings sending shivers to her spine. They had been straddling each other for the past 45 minutes in Hazel’s car waiting for the paps to show up. 

“When are they getting here? Isabel said that they were going to show up half an hour ago. I’m already done with this shit” She muttered as she attempted to sit straighter, her skirt slowly rising up making Hazel sneak a discreet look. 

“Why are you so eager to leave? I thought we were having fun” Hazel responded sarcastically as she rested a hand on her thigh squeezing it a little to make her stay still.  Y/n looked away from the car window and focused her gaze on Hazel’s blue eyes. 

“Well, I would enjoy spending my weekend on top of someone that I can actually stand, rather than being here with you.” She said, sending her way a fake smile. Hazel rolled her eyes tapping her thigh sending her one of her famous smiles that Y/n was tired of seeing in those damn magazines that stayed near her night stand. 

“Really? I didn’t know you had so much action? By the looks of it you are turned on just by my hand gripping on your thigh. Don’t worry, if you want you can grind on it” She responded with a cocky smirk , making Y/n slap the side of her head making Hazel let out a loud laugh. 

“You really think you're the shit, can you jus..” Y/n got cut off by Hazel placing her thumb on top of her lips, grazing them softly. 

“All you do is bitch and moan with those damn pretty little lips of yours, can’t you do something else?” Hazel said her soft breaths hitting her lips. Y/n could feel the space in the car getting closer as Hazel’s eyes gazed at her lips. “Not so vocal anymore, what happened, cat got your tongue?” 

“You always have to rui..” Y/n started but got cut once again by Hazel’s lips on her. It took Y/n a few for her to kiss back but as a few seconds passed by she finally caught herself kissing back. Both of the girls kissed desperately fighting for dominance or finally letting out that sexual tension that they’ve bottled up for years. 

Hazel's hand reached towards Y/n’s ass, gripping harshly making her moan. Y/n’s hand gripped on Hazel’s hair as she let out a low whimper making Y/n smirked into the kiss. Before she could even think about a comeback, her thoughts got snapped into reality by seeing flash coming towards the window. 

“Don’t worry, I take my job really seriously so don’t take that kiss to heart sweetheart. Take this as excuse about writing a song about me but this time, don’t say I’m a bad kisser” 

part two part three

[dcdreamblog]

Since I brought him up and was invited to ask further, can you talk some/shed some history on Captain Comet?

He seems to have appeared during the period where super heroes were supposed to have been banned, but later showed up to battle the first incarnation of the Secret Society of Super-Villains. He later told the Planet he’d been out exploring space.

But he’s also never spoken about the decision to leave Earth (and seems to have left Earth again after battling the SSoSV). Did the government go after him or…?

Captain Comet, AKA Adam Blake is a man who bears some study. Not only is his an outlier within MY field as like you said he was active during the time when the Keene Act was still being actively enforced but he's also something of a holy grail in the fields of biology, anthropology and the Xeno Studies versions of both fields. If half the things said about him are true then he represents and massive forward leap for mankind that has been going on in the background of most of our lifetimes. He wasn't always so extraordinary though, not when he was born in the early 1930s to two entirely normal parents in an VANISHINGLY small town somewhere in the midwest. The event that would change his life forever would happen almost instantly though when an inexplicable comet passed overhead bursting and burning up in earth's atmosphere raining down a torrent of low level exotic radiation on the Blake farmstead. While it was benign enough to leave most things untouched, the newly born Adam absorbed the radiation and began to undergo a rapid metahuman mutation.

As young Adam grew he developed impossible mental acuity, memorizing an entire series of encyclopedias by the age of eight and by his teenage years he was able to play Mozart by ear without ever having touched an instrument before. It wasn't until he was in college that his physical abilities would match his mental ones, becoming superhumanly strong, never experiencing physical fatigue and gaining potent psychokinetic abilities that manifested when he saved the life of a classmate in an accident.

Eventually he came to the attention of a physics professor at his university who studied him intently and discovered his body had been mutated beyond almost any cellular recognition, undergoing changes to his body that would have taken tens of thousands of generations for humanity to naturally accumulate. Wanting to use his newfound powers for the betterment of mankind Blake continued working with the professor until he was forced into the open.

An alien race known as the Astur attempted to invade the earth by siphoning the oxygen from our atmosphere with a massive mechanical device. Blake responded to the attack under the moniker of Captain Comet and managed to outdo the aliens in a battle of wits that saw the device destroyed, the alien invaders rejected and Earth's oxygen supplies returned.

However, once he had returned to Earth he was confronted by police and government agents attempting to arrest him for violating the Keene Act, operating as a costumed vigilante (nevermind the fact that if he hadn't the entire human population would have choked to death inside 24 hours). He was, of course, easily able to swat them away with his abilities but when his resistance to arrest caused the crowd to turn on him he decided there was no place for him on the Earth of the 1950s. He flees the Earth into outer space where he makes contact with many alien races and becomes a known quantity among the stars. He doesn't return to Earth until after the beginning of our modern age of heroes, intervening in a battle between Green Lantern and the Secret Society believing Lantern was the aggressor. It's only after that battle where Comet is brought up to speed as to what has changed in his absence and he helps bring down the Secret Society in a series of battles alongside the Justice League.

Afterwards he again leaves Earth, this time on better terms but with the understanding that he is a man out of time who no longer has a place here among normal society. It's after his return and after mankind begins to slowly open itself to alien information that we learn what he's been up to. Stopping an interstellar war here, bringing down a planetary cartel there, becoming the nemesis of an undead cult and the champion of a well traveled galactic space station.

Basically he's become THE most famous Earthling out among the galaxy, to the point that the good impression he has made has brought peaceful contact to Earth's shores on multiple occasions.

I think it bears repeating, after being run off the planet of his birth by an unjust and small minded law he then spent the next several decades up to and including now making the best possible name for the planet Earth to the point that the galactic CLICHE for Earthlings between him, Superman and our various Green Lanterns is that we're all square jawed, justice seeking hero types. He got run out of town on a rail and decided his response was to make us look good!

I don't think we're in the right CENTURY to know all the aftermath of Blake's existence. Not only is he the better part of a century old and seemingly not slowing down an inch but we're just not far enough along to see what kind of legacy he's left us among the stars. When we DO reach that point in our development, WE will be the ones walking through the door HE opened for us in the eyes of uncountable trillions across the star speckled black.

Hopefully we don't waste it.

[sugar-grigri]

Crazy theory, but since I don't really read them, I don't know if it's ever been mentioned before.

I've already talked about this urge to discover the demon of death. So much so that fans see them in every new character introduced.

We know that Pochita punctuates both the birth and death of demons with his chainsaws.

I've always been surprised by the way Pochita calmly took hold of Makima, allowing Denji to knowingly save her by recommending that he give her love

Just as I'm surprised by Fami's interest in separating Chainsaw Man just as Yoru is stubbornly intent on revenge

How can these three horsemen of the apocalypse have so much interest and connection with a single demon?

We already know that Fujimoto has opted for the metaphorical, choosing the instrument designed for childbirth: the chainsaw, as the keystone of his story.

Chainsaw Man is intrinsically linked to birth and death

Denji's rebirth alone is linked to death having been cut up as well as Pochita?

Demons are born out of fear of one thing, so I know it might be strange that Pochita, representing chainsaws, represents death and isn't the chainsaw demon.

But two things: firstly, the impostor is actually the real chainsaw demon.

Fujimoto likes to undo our first impressions, so I find it absolutely INCREDIBLE that Denji should be the impostor from the start, the false Chainsaw Man in a part 2 that focuses on identity.

Secondly, how can simple chainsaws have so much power? I mean, sure, they're scary, but how can they have so much power as to be able to wipe out demons? Why should it be the chainsaw demon who's capable of this, and death remains crouched in the shadows?

This would also explain his promiscuity with the other Knights of the Apocalypse.

The demon of control wanted to play with Pochita - death was the only thing she couldn't totally control, the only thing she aspired to be on an equal footing with.

If Pochita understood her so well, it was as the fourth knight of the apocalypse. If Makima considered him her equal, it was because she couldn't control a demon she knew to be of her own rank. The logic follows with Nayuta.

The demon of war doesn't accept death, it accepts to spread it through conflicts and weapons of mass murder, but a general doesn't accept that death can touch him too. To spread death represents victory, to be touched by it a defeat that demands vengeance.

Famine works hand in hand with death, and is feared because suffering and death are the end result of not being able to eat. She's the one with the clearest goal at the moment: to save humanity. She doesn't hesitate to recruit her fellow Apocalypse members, whether it's proposing it to Nayuta, trying to recruit Asa and Yoru, or splitting Chainsaw Man in two to work with the pure state of the death demon.

The public hunters' aim is also to protect mankind from Nostradamus' prophecy, but by paralyzing death's actions as much as possible. They exploit Denji's flaws and desire to be normal to the full, threatening those around him. While the church, represented by Fami, titillates Denji's heroic side, his abnormalities, they want death to act.

It would also explain why everyone close to Denji is disappearing.

All the signs are pointing to Asa's imminent atrocity.

Wouldn't it be incredible to think that it's because death is in Denji's belly ?

Everything would then make sense: it's normal for Denji's development to stagnate, and for him to go through so many existential crises.

He doesn't know his own identity

What's more, it doesn't contradict my most meta theories: Fujimoto places himself in the work through Denji (cf. chapter 133), just as he responds directly to his fans (chapters 136 and 137).

We're all hating him, seeing all our favorite characters meet unfortunate deaths

It would all make sense if the manga we were holding in our hands, "Chainsaw Man", actually referred directly to death right from the start.

It would all make sense if we saw Part 1 as Denji's introduction to the ranks of hunters governed by an early death.

It would make sense for Aki's love for him to be a metaphor for accepting death, in the continuity of mourning.

It would make sense for Power to be reassured by Death when traumatized by the demon of darkness: she died twice for love, and the total disappearance of body and spirit allows us to escape the darkness.

I don't know if this theory holds, but let's agree...

It's poetic

[kickasstorrents]

i looove ritual music like chants & bells & drums.. but ofc lol caus those were basicaly the only instruments known to mankind when i was growing up

[starfallforest]

Stop putting 'Too Sweet' by Hozier in your Sylus playlists

I am sorry—this was clickbait. I don’t actually care what you do with your life. But I need you to hear me out for just a second, okay? I am extremely not neurotypical about two things: Love and Deepspace, and Andrew John Hozier-Byrne. And I have seen more than one person in the tags talk about "Too Sweet" by Hozier being a perfect song for Sylus and MC. My only discourse about this is that Too Sweet is a song about a man who makes continuous self-sabotaging life decisions being incompatible with a partner who has her life put together. In my humble opinion, both Sylus and MC are hot messes of people in completely different ways. Anyway, it’s a good song so I don’t blame you for putting it in every playlist ever. In fact, you should. But if you're into this song, I want to show you a couple more pls pls pls 🙏​

I might just be autistic, but both Hozier's music and Love and Deepspace have something extremely important in common… and that’s BEAUTIFUL MEN YEARNING!!!1 And that’s not even to mention the haunting, raw sexuality we can project onto the stories that each of these things feeds to us. That's why I needed to make this post on the 1% chance that someone might hop on this brainrot train with me. So let me present, for just a moment of your time (if you're willing): other Hozier songs that fit Sylus so well I want to combust about it.

De Selby (Parts 1 & 2):

“At last, when all of the world is asleep You take in the blackness of air The likes of a darkness so deep That God—at the start—couldn't bear.” [azlyrics] [gaelic translation]

Imagine just casually writing THE love song that so beautifully says, “Before you were in my life, I kinda understood how God felt before he created the universe.” Excuse me? Andrew just dropped this stanza on us without so much as a cw: fuck you. And if that sickening portrait of gnawing loneliness isn’t enough, we have all the Genesis God references. Since all the LIs in the game are at some point likened to gods or rivaling gods with their power, then add the reverberating instrumentals and chillingly slow vocals in this 2-minute killer, tell me how this song does not fit Sylus. Not only that, but we also have imagery of his lover descending upon him like the night (which is invoked during Part 1 in the Gaelic verse), and I know that’s on the nose for Sylus but come on. I need you guys writing smut to have an orgasm during De Selby (at least Part 2) because it might change ur brain chemistry I'm just saying.

“When you fall on me like night—I wanna kill the lights.” [azlyrics]

This song still rules irt its playing with darkness symbolism, but it also refers to the darkness in the singer’s lover—which in Sylus’ case is MC and we all were there when she shot the guy in the heart like his freaky eye was telling her: “And your heart, love, has such darkness—I feel it in the corners of the room…” my goddddddd stop right there I can��t handle the METAPHORrrr. You think Sylus gives a flying fuck about MC’s frivolous morality bullshit? No he wants her to embrace her own darkness, sit under the blankies with him and cuddle after doing crimes and a beat poetry session. This is some fucking Hannibal Lecter beyond-dark-romance shit. I’m not even trying to write a dissertation here (and yet…)

Talk (from Wasteland, Baby!):

“I'd be the sweet feeling of release mankind now dreams of, That's found in the last witness before the wave hits, marveling at God… Imagine being loved by me.” [azlyrics]

Not only does this song utilize insane Greek mythology metaphor and Biblical comparison but the overall meaning of it is, “I want you so bad, I need to speak poetically to hide how down bad I am for you.” That sounds kinda like Old World Sylus and all his pretty nicknames to me.

NFWMB:

“If I was born as a black thorn tree, I'd wanna be felled by you, held by you, Fuel the pyre of your enemies… Ain't it warming you, the world going up in flames?” [azlyrics]

This whole song just some hard, deep and steady yearning for 4 and a half minutes. Are you kidding? The acronym in the title stands for Nothing Fucks With My Baby, which is sung in the chorus like some quietly violent war chant—soft, dark, and powerful. Anyway don’t tell me Mr. Sylus “Give me a list and then go to bed. I’ll take care of it” Loveanddeepspace wouldn’t scorch the earth for the love of his life—or do one better and stand by her side while she scorches the earth herself; here’s the protective/supportive mans anthem you ordered babes.

It Will Come Back:

“I know who I am when I'm alone—I'm something else when I see you. You don't understand, you should never know How easy you are to need.” [azlyrics]

This song has repeated imagery that warns of the dangers of taking care of a feral animal, and then compares the feral animal to the singer as a lover. Like fuck off, that’s sexy and haunted. And we know that not only does Sylus love animals more than people, but he’s pretty animalistic himself if we are to believe that maybe he’s secretly a demon or something.

Arsonist’s Lullaby:

“Don't you ever tame your demons, but always keep them on a leash.” [azlyrics]

Remember in Lost Oasis when MC goes on some tangent wondering what Sylus' past was like? Well it was this song. It's about troubled youth and learning to grow in your darkness. Also how cool is that imagery of demons? Hey Sylus, what do you have to say about demons? I'll wait. In the meantime I'm tattooing this shit on my clavicle

BONUS ROUND Through Me:

“Everytime I’d burn through the world, I’d see that the world—it burns through me.”

We got a man and we got some fire allusions so there ya go.

Blood Upon the Snow:

“To all things housed in her silence, Nature offers a violence.”

Blood upon the snow—it's red and white! Red!! And white!!! Also kind of a Sylus x Zayne anthem lbr

Ok I hope you found another song that inspires you to make Sylus art or fanfic with!! And before you ask, yes I've already assigned Hozier songs to every other love interest in the game. Ok thanks for reading!!! 🏃‍♀️​💨​