#and not justified under any circumstances

[underwaterspiderbird]

look in the media literacy mirror fuckwad, and no trolling here, i mean every word with unfathomable sincerity. the jedi literally other and vilify anybody who doesn’t agree with them, justifying their genocide with “they’re an evil abomination! they would’ve harmed ppl if we didn’t invade and kill them.” just like the catholics, AND buddhists, and any other organized religion.

pulling the nuh uh card and playing dumb to that just makes you look like a complete doofus thinking you did something when everybody’s wondering who even invited you.

the jedi are a systemically dominant cult, not a valid group of ppl, all of their ppl come from “dark & unnatural” families who’s they glorified tore them from & told them the way they are is bad & wrong “but its okay bc the jedi will fix them”. if they didn’t glorified kidnap kids under the pretense of their family’s consent they wouldn’t have any members. literally a high control religion that exists only to preserve their hive-minded status quos. not beating those allegations.

idc what any poindexter ass definition says, not a genocide. if the jedi didn’t steal & brainwash “dark & unholy” children & then throw them away when they don’t mold to their box, they wouldn’t have any members to kill. the jedi are not a valid group of ppl, they’re a romanticized cult. are the members who died victims of circumstance? absolutely. is it a genocide? fuck no. if anything, they slowly killed themselves every moment they stayed in the jedi & melted away their brain trying to force themselves into being something they’re not. not sorry.

and the sith are not based on nazis, they never were. that’s a lie, it was palpatine’s empire that was based on nazis, which is entirely separate from the sith & basically just palpatine’s excuse to jerk himself off like trump & use the term sith as a justifying shield for doing so. just like the jedi in their “galactic peace”. if anything, the jedi are more nazi like than the sith could ever be, they’re just sneakier about it & hide behind a halo.

sure there’ve always been fuckin’ weirdos in the sith, like ANY group of ppl but their core beliefs are about personal freedom and self-empowerment. not nazism. weird mfs/bad apples just take those concepts and use them as an excuse to be jackasses for every greater majority of sensible sith focused on survival. it is what it is, & all you can control is what you do.

sith concepts themselves are genuinely great. all i learned from the jedi is that my feelings & who i am as a person are bad and wrong & that i “need their saving”. sith taught me to finally love myself & stand up for my world & existence. the sith are bigger symbols of hope & freedom to me than the jedi ever claimed to be.

for the millionth time, the sith are not nazis. they never were and never will be. far from it. the very first sith were former jedi who broke away because they didn’t agree with their dogma, which the jedi didn’t like so they threw away the “filthy heretics” like moldy leftovers. if you really cared about fascism & oppression you’d see how much the jedi are like catholics & nazis themselves, even beyond their veneer of “peaceful monks”. idk if you know this but the jedi are known liars; they’ve had the systemic power to lie & do whatever they want for eons and in that respect, are even worse than the sith.

in other words, you’re the media illiterate one here. you’re the sad one here. you’re the one who doesn’t know what they’re talking about. not us. you. have a drink, hit your bong, whatever you gotta to cope with that & get over it.

nobody likes explaining to you weirdos why shit in fact stinks & having a different point of view from you doesn’t make us “fascists” or “genocidal” or whatever other word’s hot that day. you’re the weird church kid in school that tells all the non believers they’re gonna burn in hell for all eternity & then cries “persecution” when met with consequence. fuck off 🖕🏼

order 66 was NOT a genocide. you can only genocide people & cultures, you can’t genocide a systemically deified super-religion that wants everyone in existence to either agree with them & exist their way or burn in hell for eternity. any decent ppl who went down with the purge forfeit their lives down the drain along with their family, home & very sense of self. they. had. it. fucking. coming.

from an indigenous person, fuck y’all for even comparing order 66 to genocide & talking all over survivors of real genocides to save face for your evangelical faith & the people you think are good guys. you are not about to disrespect the continent-sized OCEANS of blood that make up our ancestors & loved ones who were lost to real genocide. fuck off.

[gingerswagfreckles]

Lotta people on this website get a big kick out of yelling "PUNCH NAZIS!!1!!" and it's like. Babe. You are the Nazi.

Like if you see the brutal murders of literal children as "sad" but justified because civilian Jews are "invaders" who "don't belong"....I have some news for you about what you would have been doing in 1940s Germany.

[clarissaweasley-10]

This might be a controversial take, but l don't think Eve deserves or should get a redemption arc.

[angelsdean]

ruthlessly deleting old 2021/2022 posts (not by me) from my dean studies tag like *click* un-incorporating that from my beliefs system! also the way SO many posts have me like ok uh-huh good aaand then say one completely wrong thing that loses me. it's so many posts.

[dionysus-complex]

.

[writhe]

im so sorry but like. does this anon think the prisoners are the one choosing the death sentence. for themselves. like

the argument was essentially that 1. the death penalty, when employed, should be more efficient/humane (sure but this isn’t the conversation we need to be having & the ways it is inhumane & cruel are connected to deeper rooted issues & not logistics) and, 2. that prisons are necessary to keep the population safe (bad take), and, 3. it would be merciful to allow prisoners to kill themselves as a visible alternative to incarceration (HELLO?)

[occasionaltouhou]

What do you think the effects of a nuclear bomb would be on a youkai? They are very mythologized weapons, not only regarding their destructive power but also like, their ability to cause mutations and stuff. Would a random nameless nuclear bomb still be enough to kill or mutate (could be the same difference for a youkai, I'd say) a powerful youkai just because of the sheer human belief on how ultimate of a weapon nuclear bombs are, or would it still need to be a "bomb made to kill youkai" to do the job?

this is a great question. this is like, the essence of powerscaling. who would win, a nuclear bomb or a youkai?

i would say that a nuclear bomb, used as a weapon of fantasy, would kill youkai, but it would also be vastly more destructive than an actual nuclear bomb (which is already pretty fuckin scary), because the general mythology of the nuclear bomb is "a weapon that kills cities and ends wars", neither of which is technically true (wwii was already in its closing stages, and both hiroshima + nagasaki have recovered)

it would also, definitely, create a godzilla. so it's impossible to say if it's bad or not

[frazzledsoul]

I may be an outlier here, but I don't think a relationship where Rory is entitled to cheat on Jess at any time she wants (since it's justified whenever she does it to anyone else), he can never be forgiven for what he did in high school (although she is never responsible for any of the hurtful or cruel things she has done) and she is deemed to be perpetually morally superior to him is at all a relationship that I want him anywhere near. He worked hard to create a life on his own and become a stable, successful, reliable, and generous person as an adult. I do not want to see that person suffer under a relationship where he is going to constantly emotionally abused and deemed to be inferior.

Do I support a mature, adult relationship between these two individuals where they could admit their past mistakes, not judge either one to be inferior to the other, and genuinely respect and remain faithful to each other? Absolutely. However, none of that is possible if Rory is allowed to treat him the way she has treated her boyfriends in the past and all of the bad things she has done are deemed to be completely justifiable. The cheating, the lying, the gaslighting has to stop. He deserves to be treated with more respect than that.

This is not a new or unacknowledged dynamic between them. He said this to her verbatim in season 6 when she tried to manipulate him into being used to cheat and she agreed. He deserves better than this.

The cliche is still true. The person she was at the end of season 4, the end of season 6, the end of AYITL is too messed up to be good enough for him. Until she learns to grow up and take responsibility for her past mistakes, she will not be any good for him.

He matured: she didn't. Now it's her turn.

Oh, and while I'm at it, Logan deserves better than the relationship described above as well, even if he is just as much of a filthy cheater in AYITL.

Oh, and as a final note, it really isn't a sign of immaturity to want your favorite character to be treated with basic decency and respect. If Rory is too selfish to consider that because all she cares about is making herself happy and doesn't care who she hurts, then she really doesn't belong with him until she changes for the better.

[starlooove]

Wait y’all think Damian drew disturbing things JUST to fuck with Bruce?

[sleepygaymerdisease]

im trying to respond to people on my post who have questions or are confused but theres just so many 😭 i dont know how to explain the intricacies of classism or how hard it is to get a lawyer to start and WIN a discrimination case. especially since i dont know australian laws. but like... this behavior, denying someone a job for their outfit, is really common across the world. classism is pervasive and it's dangerous and it costs people their lives. we would have to change the capitalist system, change policies across the globe, and work on our internalized classist beliefs for the rest of our lives.

[the-bagelbitch]

u know what? I had a great body positivity moment today so I’m just gonna share it here. if you don’t want body talk, don’t see more, k? :0 smooches you. btw.

today I felt so at peace with my body. I felt so happy with the way I looked as I stood at the mirror after getting out of the bath.

my top surgery scars are healing well. maybe one day they will almost totally fade.

my body is masc af.

I’m hairier than many cis men could ever dream of being. and that’s sexy af.

also I’m a hot ass motherfucker.

even though I still struggle with accepting my big thighs, I can leg press 120lb and could probably murder several small children with them. and I know some people are really into thighs. and that makes me feel a lot better about my body.

and yeah, I’m fat. I’m a chubby guy. but it’s literally The Archetypal Dad Bodytype. there are so many men out there, cis or no, with bodies like mine. and we are beautiful. and we are hot and sexy and desirable and whole.

and we are allowed to love our bodies. It’s the only one we’ve got.

[bibliocharlie]

when ur dad starts defending slave owners, it’s time to leave the dinner table

[kyliaquilor]

You ever see someone post a really, truly, deeply noxious freezing cold take, and you want to ask them a question about a related topic just to expose their hypocrisy, but you also don't want to actually touch them with a fifteen foot pole to ask?

[garfield-mug]

I love letting spiders and other little friends outside.

[profoundathletecowboybanana]

We don’t see Insane Nightwing enough for my tastes like:

This mf listens to NO ONE if he doesn’t want to and everyone just goes “omg what a great leader always with a better plan.”

Argues with fucking BATMAN of all people and is not a stranger to winning said arguments.

Has been kicking villain ass since 8 years old and can figure out what your great-great-great aunt twice removed was doing on April 16, 1721 and will use it as blackmail for your entire bloodline.

Probably still uses Facebook.

Would 100% wear Velcro Lightning McQueen light-up sketchers and outrun you in them only to do a quadruple backflip at the finish line as his victory dance.

He knows the exact behavior patterns and personalities of his entire team/family/coworkers and can plan their movements/reactions to near perfection in almost any circumstance. Has used this to prank them.

Learned how to cook out of spite to prove to Bruce he could live on his own (after one of the aforementioned fights. Also, after proving he could live on his own, was not immediately alerted to his little brother’s passing because Bruce has a Complex).

“Tim! Tie your shoes when you walk down the stairs you could trip and get hurt!” “You literally just got shot please worry about yourself for once??”

Has trained under Batman’s pacifistic “no killing” policy and then also fucking Deathstroke the Assassin and Mercenary. Neither one was particularly kind to his psyche

Killed the joker but imo was very justified and not insane at all. But also just sort of just… let blockbuster get killed that one time. Has also killed others

The whole vampire series??? I still haven’t read that one yet but everything I’ve heard about it has been against my will

Has had beef with multiple children (special shoutout to Jason Todd)

Somehow made peace with his family after Bruce allowed all of his other children to don the name Robin, which was given to Dick by his Very Dead mother (and of which the meaning how now been diluted and the connection to his parents severed)

Please add on to this if yall think of anymore bc I just know that man has his Moments

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Nursle.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 3.4k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Mentions of Pregnancy, Implied Stalking, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Lactation, Slight Breeding Kinks, Daddy Kinks, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, and Age Gaps (Gojo is 20, Reader is 35+).

[Part Two] [Part Three]

A few days into the new school year, you decided that Gojo Satoru could not be Fushiguro Megumi’s primary guardian, despite what the paperwork filed by the former claimed. Honestly, the fact that Megumi’s name had been misspelled in every conceivable way across the aforementioned paperwork should’ve been enough to make that clear, but after a decade of teaching, you’d learned to pick up on the smaller signs; a certain discomfort that passed through Megumi's expression whenever you asked about his homelife, the lapse before a half-hearted answer whenever you posed a question to Satoru as to Megumi's preferences. It didn’t necessarily mean anything bad was going on, just that something was going on - something you couldn’t ignore, not completely.

Four weeks into the new school year, you decided that Fushiguro Megumi did not like Gojo Satoru. All your students were at the age where they were suddenly eager to distance themselves from any adult they could call an authority, but Megumi was the only one still in your classroom hours after the school day ended, the only one who stayed for as long as you could afford to let him. Sometimes, Satoru would make an appearance, loiter outside of your classroom or pass time with the best attempts at small talk someone nearly two decades your junior could make, but Megumi made a habit of ignoring him and try as you might, you'd never had the heart to be very strict with your students. The only days he didn’t stay to help you (as much as a nine year old could help anyone do anything) were the days when his sister was free to pick him up and, much to your relief, Satoru was nowhere to be found.

Two months into the new school year, you found yourself on the doorstep of Gojo Satoru’s listed address which, notably, was not the dingy flat you’d dropped off Megumi in front of whenever he stayed too late to justify letting him walk home alone. Instead, you gaped openly at the skyscraper in front of you, as tall as the eye could see and pouring out the kind of people you couldn’t help but want to get away from. You’d called ahead, let Satoru know you’d be making a home visit to discuss some of your concerns about Megumi, but for as long as he’d kept you on the phone, he’d never bothered to explain why he would ask you to meet him in a place like—

“You’re early, Miss (L/n).”

You stiffened, glanced over your shoulder to find Gojo Satoru – dressed in his usual plain, black uniform and unaccompanied by the student you’d come to discuss. He greeted you with a wide grin, a lazy nod, and you returned it with a purse-lipped smile and a tightened hold on the strap of your messenger bag. “Well, I’d hate to waste your time.” You toyed with the idea of meeting his eyes, but your gaze skirted over the pitch-black lenses of his sunglasses and settled firmly on the collar of his button-up. “And you don’t have to call me that. It makes you sound like one of my students and—” A slight pause, a nervous laugh. “I think you might be a little too old to blend in.”

Satoru’s grin only widened. With only your own paranoia as warning, he strung an arm through the crook of yours, dragging you towards the entrance of his looming tower. “I think it’s got a nice ring to it, Miss.”

Something sharp pricked at the back of your throat.

In hindsight, it might’ve been easier to do this with the nine year old.

You kept your teeth grit and your smile plastered on as he led you through the lobby – all shining crystal chandeliers and glistening marble floors – and hauled you into a gold-gilded elevator, the kind that would’ve let you know you were somewhere you didn’t belong under normal circumstances. You watched in stomach-knotting, heart-stopping terror as the numbers ticked up, up, up, until the mirrored doors were sliding open and you were stepping into the living room that could’ve swallowed your shoebox of an apartment whole. Your heels (blocked, low, practical – the only pair you’d found the strength to wear since coming back from your leave) clicked against the bare tile floor as you stumbled into the remarkably open space, his furniture sparse and largely utilitarian. You spotted one of Megumi’s drawings on a low coffee table, a pile of Tsumiki’s hairbands forgotten on an otherwise empty bookshelf, but any other signs of life were either nonexistent or exceptionally well-hidden. Any hope you had that Megumi and Satoru’s situation might’ve just been that of a young, overburdened guardian and his slow-to-warm ward evaporated immediately. Those of limited means tended not to live in penthouses that cost triple your annual salary in rent.

If Satoru noticed your growing anxiety, he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. With an exaggerated yawn, he strode past you and collapsed onto a leather couch – too pristine to have been recently visited by two hyperactive children. When you stalled near the entryway, he let his head lull to the side, his tinted glasses falling low on the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to be shy. There’s plenty of room – not that I mind the view, if you really wanna stand.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a long, labored exhale. He’s practically a kid, you reminded yourself. You could only be thankful you hadn’t gotten him a couple of years ago – otherwise, you’d be dealing with an actual child.

Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders and perched yourself on the far edge of the sofa. Satoru immediately closed the distance, draping his lanky arms over the back of the couch, his fingertips just barely brushing against your shoulder. You pulled your messenger bag into your lap, opening your mouth as you looked for Megumi’s file, but Satoru cut in before you could start your well-practiced monologue. “This is your first year at his school, right? I’d remember if I saw a teacher as pretty as you around campus.”

“It’s my first year back,” you corrected. “I’ve noticed Megumi very introverted for a boy his—”

“Let me guess – maternity leave?”

Your lips quirked into a tight frown. Fighting the urge to cross your arms over your stomach self-consciously, you sent him a withering look out of the corner of your eye. “I’d rather not talk about my personal life, if it’s all the same to you. Like I said, I’m not here to waste your time.”

Your tone was clipped, your voice strict, but Satoru’s only response was an airy chuckle, a careless grin. “I’m not in a rush,” he said. “But you’re probably eager to get back home to your baby girl. I know you try to spend time with her on weekends.”

This time, you didn’t try to breathe. Letting your bag fall back to your side, you moved to stand, but Satoru was quick to catch you by the wrist, to pull you back down with a single, playful jerk. Your bag fell off of your shoulder, hitting the floor and spilling open at your feet, but you didn’t reach for it. He was stronger than he looked, and you already knew everything you had to about strong young men with more power than they knew what to do with. “I’d really rather not talk about myself when Megumi is—”

“Can’t be easy, leaving her all alone like that. Did you ask your neighbor to babysit again, or was it that brat of a teenager you call up on weekends?” His hand fell to your thigh, and you immediately regretted wearing a dress, let alone one that ended well before the knee. You’d wanted this to seem causal, unintrusive, but as his fingertips bit into the plush of your thigh, you regretted not going straight to the police as soon as you noticed something strange. “Can’t be easy, not having a husband to dote on you and the little princess anymore.”

You keep your eyes on your feet, on one of the manilla folders spilling out of your bag. Megumi's name was scrawled messily across the upper right corner in red pen, because red was his favorite color and you knew he would see it every time he helped you organize paperwork for your other students. “I appreciate your concern, but we’ve managed to take care of ourselves.”

“I know.” He was close, too close. You could feel his breath, hot and humid, against the shell of your ear. “It’s just that I think I might just be able to take care of you a little better.”

“I think I should leave.” You spoke slowly, your tone flat, factual. Like you were talking to a child, or a dog, or worst of all – a man in monks' clothing, ready to worship at his own alter. “Before either of us does anything we might regret.”

Satoru let his lead lull forward, his fanged smile biting into the corner of your jaw.

You tried to bolt, but it was already too late.

It happened too quickly for you to process. One second, you were writhing in your own skin, your favorite student’s neglectful guardian pressed into your side and the next, you were on your back, splayed over the length of his couch, Satoru’s knee between your open legs and his hands on either side of your head. Your body reacted before your mind, trying to run, to resist, to get away from him, but Satoru’s hand was on your chest before you could so much as sit up, keeping you trapped underneath him without a trace of effort. “You can stop working so hard, momma.” His glasses had fallen away completely, revealing eyes as blinding as the cloudless sky and as unfeeling as raw ice. It was hard to remember why you’d ever thought a man like this could ever have anything to do with a boy as sweet as Megumi. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

You shouldn’t have been so worried about the dress. It didn’t matter how long your skirt was, not when the cheap material fell apart so easily under his eager touch – your bra and panties discarded with just as little thought. You panicked, started to kick and shove and thrash, but his hands were already locked over your hips, keeping you pinned to the couch as he bent down and buried his face between your thighs. However young you’d thought he was, he must’ve been younger; his inexperience shining through in the overzealous way he nipped at the inside of your thighs, how hastily he laved the flat of his tongue over your slit. His pace was rough, his technique nonexistent, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had time to touch yourself, and you hadn’t slept with someone else since…

This time, when your mind went blank, you were the one willing away fractured thoughts and bitter memories. You didn’t want to acknowledge the twisted pleasure Satoru was forcing onto your body either, but it would’ve been impossible to ignore the way his teeth grazed over your clit as he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, to not hear the slick sound you just couldn’t seem to believe a part of you would make as he forced two fingers into your tight pussy. You threw your head back, clenched your eyes shut, but no amount of aversion could seem to block out his throaty laugh, to make the reverberations his deep voice sent pulsing through your cunt anything short of unbearable. “Needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling away just far enough to press a lingering kiss into the apex of your hip. “Bet he was neglecting you even before you ran off. Is that why you had to leave him? He didn’t know how to treat a pretty thing like you?”

You would’ve given anything to make him stop talking, but you didn’t have a chance to try and bargain. While his fingers pumped mercilessly into your pussy, his mouth pushed slow, wet kisses into the rounded curves of your stomach, your midriff, your chest. He noticed it before you did; saw the thin trail of thin, near-transparent fluid running down the curve of your chest before you felt the telltale soreness in your breasts, managed to draw a connection between that and the shallow, airy moan Satoru let out as he ran his tongue over your leaking nipple. He took long, agonizing seconds to lick up the spilled milk before his lips found the closest nipple and finally, he latched onto you properly.

He was worse than your newborn. It was an awful thing to think, it was a terrible thing to have to think, but it was true. He was rough, and clumsy, and noisy – groaning as he lapped and sucked, eager to swallow down anything you had to give. Drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth, whatever pain he might’ve alleviated immediately replaced as the fingertips of his free hand kneaded into your swollen tit. By the time he pulled away, he was panting, scissoring open your pussy with enough force to leave your toes curling, your thighs twitching, little involuntary whimpers slipping past your lips despite your best efforts to choke them back.

He didn’t so much earn your climax as drag it out of you, piece by fractured piece, broken moan by stuttering convulsion. Your hands shot to his head, fingers soon knotted through messy white hair, but he didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to mind, his attention devoted entirely to spreading open your cunt and milking your chest dry even as the last of the aftershocks faded and the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. When he did pull away from you, it was with an exaggerated smack of his lips, a teasing nudge of the heel of his palm against your clit, a cocky smirk that reminded you of the expression Megumi would sometimes draw onto his doodled stick figures as they were hit with simplistic, two-dimensional cars or torn apart by black and white wolves. That was something you’d meant to bring up during your conversation with Satoru – Megumi’s tendency towards more violent forms of creativity, how it could be an early sign of emotional unrest in children too young to properly express themselves. Now, you could only wonder why he didn’t draw Satoru more often.

You were barely conscious by the time he drew back working one arm under your back and another under the bend of your knees. You let your eyes fall shut and, by the time you found the strength to open them again, you were on your back, dark satin sheets underneath you and Satoru above, snowy hair providing a much-appreciated barrier between you and those terrible eyes. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from meeting his prying gaze, and he welcomed your bleary stare, drinking you in for one second, then another, before dipping that much lower and slotting his lips against yours. The kiss was surprisingly gentle – all slow tenderness and delicate warmth. Your mind flitted back to dark eyes and pitch-black hair, pointed teeth and deceiving smiles and you willed yourself not to think at all.

You heard fabric shift, felt his hands curl around your thighs. With an aching sort of slowness, he pushed your knees into your chest, leaving you spread open and vulnerable below him. You felt the head of his cock press against your slick entrance, heard a raspy groan trickle past his lips as he thrust into you – bottoming out in the same stroke.

He didn’t wait for you to adjust to his size. With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he rutted into you with short, brutal thrusts; never pulling out of you entirely, never happy unless his cock was abusing the deepest pocket of your wet heat. Immediately, it was overwhelming – too much stimulation being forced onto you too quickly with too little preparation. Your hands fell to his back, your nails biting into his skin as he fucked into you with a jagged kind of desperation. His cock scraped against something soft and spongy inside of you and you cried out, arching against him. “I can’t— It hurts, Gojo, slow—”

“C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.” His voice was low, airy. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the corner of your jaw, rolled his hips and pressed himself that much deeper into you. “What’s my name? Who’s takin' care of you from now on?”

It was more an act of desperation than anything; a broken plea that you could barely recognize as your own voice. “Daddy,” you sobbed, shrinking against him. “Please, don’t cum insi—”

You were cut off by an unabashed moan, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you. His hips pressed into yours, his thrusts growing shorter, more violent as he pumped something warm and awful into your pussy. At the same time, his thumb found your clit, pushing harsh circles into the vulnerable bundle of nerves and bringing your exhausted body to its second climax. Your vision burnt white as your cunt clenched around him, as his thrusts turned labored and languid, as collapsed against you – limp and boneless. Idly, almost lovingly, he nuzzled into the side of your neck, letting several seconds pass in silence before sighing, the pinnacle of satisfaction. Eventually, he picked himself up, resting his weight on his elbows as he cupped your face. “Pretty girl. I think the brat’s got a crush on you, too – always going on about his favorite teacher, telling me to keep my dirty hands away from you.” He laughed, shook his head. “Think he’ll be excited to have a younger sister?”

You didn’t answer, but Satoru didn’t need you to. He was already picking himself up, already pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck as he straightened his back, staring down at you with eyes that must’ve gone lifeless years ago. Eyes that, despite your best efforts to ignore their similarities, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d seen before.

“Speaking of, I think it’s about time we checked on our baby girl.”

~

Less than an hour later, you found yourself in your makeshift nursery; the corner of your bedroom occupied by a crib and a few shelves of miscellaneous supplies. You sat on the foot of your bed as Satoru held your daughter in his arms, rocking her as she sniffled and threatened to cry. You’d taken a taxi back to your apartment – called up and paid for by Satoru, of course. He’d given the driver your address before you so could so much as process where he was taking you, something you were currently choosing to ignore.

“She looks just like him.” His tone was light, his smile soft. He gestured to your daughter’s curly tufts of dark hair, her brown eyes – both only a shade away from black. “It’ll get worse as she grows up. He was always like that – couldn’t stand to let anyone else be the center of attention.”

You felt sick. Black spots still danced in the corners of your vision, and it took all your strength just to choke something coherent out. “He’ll never meet her. I’d die before I ever let him put his hands on my daughter.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He flashed you a grin, then turned back to your daughter. “I’m gonna keep both of you safe, be such a good daddy to both my pretty girls.” He pulled her that much closer to him, pressing a ginger kiss into her forehead. “You know, you really gotta open up more. I tried as hard as I could, but I don’t think I ever managed to catch her name.”

That made sense. You tended not to use it, when you could help it, when you were strong enough not to think about the man who’d given it to her – the man who’d tried to take yours, before you’d gotten away from him and and his monsters. You weren’t feeling very strong right now, though.

“Himari,” you mumbled, the sound of it alone still enough to steal the air out of your lungs, to leave the taste of blood heavy on your tongue.

“Geto Himari.”