#cw. misogyny

[monaisdark]

KEN x READER

➵ cws; f!reader, noncon, misogyny, talk of virginities, unrequited feelings, slight thoughts of death at very end, reader is a doll, bad ken :( ➵ a/n; ken is definitely ooc but idc i need him carnally. wrote this so fast after seeing the movie (amazing btw) spoilers be warned!!! p.s inbox is open ^^

Barbie's plan is in motion, and it seems like everything is going perfectly. Dolls are getting un-brainwashed left and right, including you. The moment you snap out of your trance and look down to see the incredibly small pink skirt and lace top dawning on your body, you can’t ever believe you agreed to wear that when Beach Ken gave it to you from Stereotypical Barbie’s wardrobe.

Ken. The one who started this mess. The one had you serving brewski beers and listening to long explanations on stuff you pretended to care about. A certain emotion pooled in your would-be stomach.

The Ken you used to watch pine after Barbie so deeply, the one that you always tried to console when Barbie rejected his advances. Now he’s taken over her house; well, Barbieland in general. How could he?

As Stereotypical Barbie hugs and welcomes you back as you leave the van, a thought pipes in your head. Maybe he’s doing this because Barbie doesn’t want him. She was so headstrong, front and center in every party she hosted, her smile iconic in every way imaginable. And Ken… was always on the side. Whenever he danced with you at her parties, his eyes were glued to her.

It hits you, he thinks this will work. That maybe she’ll turn around and jump into his arms once she notices what a big, strong, man he is. It won’t work and you know. But, he doesn’t. 

A Barbie fills you in on what they’re doing, and how they want you to distract Beach Ken as long as possible while they round up more Barbies to un-brainwash them. Telling you how it’s perfect since he had you around a lot and he’ll be none the wiser to realize everything that’s happening.

♡♡♡

“Hi, Ken!” You exclaimed as he let you into his dojo mojo casa house. “Hi, (Y/N)!” A smile framed his face once he saw you. The artificial-looking moon hovered in the sky as a quiet hum surrounded you in the empty neighborhood.

“I was looking for you, how come you aren’t with everyone at the bonfire on the beach?” His face seemed to drop but he didn’t let go of his macho persona. “Wasn’t feelin’ it. Rather…” He thought for a second, “Watch horses. Y’know. Man things.”

You nodded, “Oh, yeah! Love all these horses you have around.” It clicked that he was avoiding things, avoiding Barbie. He wanted so desperately for her to come to his door. For her to come to him. Instead, it was you who knocked and stood in her clothes. 

He huffed thanks and sat on the couch, you following beside him as he stared at a white horse gallop loop on the screen in front of both of you. It was obvious he was still bothered by his situation. A pang of sympathy left at the tip of your tongue, “Are you okay?”

This seemed to stir something in Ken, the air felt thick. “What am I doing wrong?” His voice was low. So quiet that you were almost sure it was like he didn’t want you to hear him.

But you did and you felt… bad for him. You grabbed his hands that laid on his lap with one of yours, “Ken, you can’t make something that won’t happen, happen.”

He brought his eyes from the TV to now stare at you. His blue eyes held something brooding behind them, but it didn’t deter you from continuing. “Some Barbies don’t have a Ken. Not everyone is made to follow a set of expectations, like how there’s one Alan… or me.” You trail off to include yourself, hoping he sees how you understand him.

“What I’m saying is, it’s okay that Barbie doesn’t want to be with you. I’m sure there’s more for you out here. Someone for you.” You tighten the soft grip you have on his hands to show comfort. 

His face is almost unreadable, an uncomfortable silence echoes in the living room as you wonder if you messed up in trying to help. His hands now grasped yours, although a lot tighter than you’d liked. Ken chuckled, but it carried a sense of something you couldn't quite place.

“I’m an idiot!” His voice finally booms to break the silence in the house, “You’re right. You’re right. I don’t need her.” You would’ve been more optimistic in helping with his realization of independency but the grip he had on your hand was starting to hurt.

“I’ve spent so long trying to make her notice me, but why would I need her when I have you?” Your eyebrows furrowed as you tried to stand but he immediately brought you back down on the couch.

“No, no. That's not what I meant, listen to me–” He inched closer to you, using his strength to pin you down on the large couch. “No, you’re supposed to listen to me.” Betrayal, sadness, fear. So many emotions you weren’t used to swirled inside of you. 

“You’re perfect, y’know? I’ve been thinking about this, us. I wasn’t sure but the way you’ve been by my side all this time, so ready to make me feel better.” He speaks as one of his hands leaves your wrists to dough at your breasts through your lace top.

“So happy to follow me around with bewski beers and to wear the cute little outfits I picked out for you. Dare I say, you look better than Barbie in them.” A dark laugh left his lips, the contrast making your stomach turn as he ignored your small pleas for him to let you go. “Now I see so clearly. We should’ve been together all this time! Ken and (Y/N). I like the sound of that more.” 

You weren’t sure why your chest seemed to pound, or your mouth felt dry, or why tears pricked in your eyes. This wasn’t meant to happen. “What– what are you doing?” You felt almost twice as small as you normally were, wishing your body would shrink and wiggle out of his grasp.

His hand trailed from your chest to under your skirt, between your legs. A gasp left you when he rubbed the foreign part of you covered by a thin underwear.

“The books I’ve read said this,” His hand gave you an oddly warm sensation down there, “It’s important for us to be together. To make you mine.” Suddenly he spread your legs apart to peel down your underwear.

You’re terrified to move, not even noticing that there wasn’t a grip on your wrists anymore. His demeanor alone was enough to keep you down. 

You knew what you had down there, a vagina, and you knew Ken had a penis. Though everyone in Barbieland had one or the other, nobody acknowledged it. It wasn’t something that was shunned per se, but it was like how some dolls had breasts and other’s didn’t. The peak of anything suggestive was making out, and even that disinterested you.

Now, whatever Ken is doing, is making you feel as if you're about to melt. His fingers circle around your entrance and you don’t even get enough time to get used to that feeling before he pulls away and starts lowering down his joggers to free his aching cock. His stupid faux mink coat already having been long discarded right next to your underwear. 

His breathing is heavy, “That should be good, right? You’re ready now? For the sex?” Ken stares at your flushed state with lidded eyes, “I can’t wait anymore. Don’t worry, it should feel amazing!”

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s kissing you now, loud moans leave his lips as he sinks into you. Pain. It hurts so bad. Whatever he said about being ready, you definitely weren’t.

The stretching tears you apart and you’re unsure if the burn will ever go away. Ken’s body lays on top of you, a blubbering mess. “Ah, ah, this– this is great, so good.” 

So many feelings overwhelm you in a way that it makes you want just to scream. Hate. Hate is the strongest one. You guys used to be good friends. Everything used to be right. You hate him, you hate him, you hate him. You can only repeat that in your head once he starts to thrust into you. 

“Y-you’re mine, aren’t you? Ah– I, I took your virginity. That means, agh– that means you have to stay with me.” His voice mixes in with the sound of his skin slapping into yours, he says something about patriarchy and virginities. He’s claimed you, as the book says. 

You wonder how long this is going to last, you’re pretty sure he’s feeling amazing, but all you feel is an ache. The pain travels up and down your body as all you can do is whimper weak cries. “(Y/N), ah-- I love you.” Ken’s thrusting faster, trailing kisses down your jawline. “Say it back, (Y/N).” 

No, you can’t and you won’t. Ken keeps moaning and saying he loves you over and over again. Each time it’s like he expects you to respond with the same thing back, you don’t. It doesn’t stop him though, his movements become more and more messy. You think he’s getting tired when a harsh snap of his hips with an especially loud moan takes your breath away. A new feeling. Full. 

Again, you didn’t know what just happened. A confused sob is finally let out once you catch your breath, “Ken, what did you do?” You hope he understands you through your choked breaths.

He ignores you, taking sight at the mess he just made. White cum drips out of you, a beautiful scene. “Oh, (Y/N). I wish you can see how perfect you look right now.” His hug around your body is suffocating, "I'm so excited for us to do so many new things tonight."

The new thought of dying creeps into your mind. 

[coulsonlives]

Holy shit, Shapiro had his ass handed to him. This is so satisfying to watch.

[nekropsii]

We need more images like this. If you have any, drop them in the reblogs or somethin'. Fandom is a nightmare.

[sugurouge]

— taste of the divine : getō suguru x f!reader

content warnings! DARK CONTENT, forced marriage, kidnapping, mind break, heavy manipulation, dubcon, breeding/pregnancy talk, misogynistic topics, torture (isolation & darkness), conditioning, pet names (love, little dove, good girl), depression, stockholm syndrome

summary: Set out on the honourable task of finding the right wife for their leader, Getō's followers have abducted a special sorceress to bear him children that will carry on his will and legacy. Unfortunately, unlike your rather promising lineage, your temper and beliefs are anything but befitting for his wife. But not to worry, there are many ways to reshape a person. You will learn. Of that, Getō is sure.

❝ la sensualité de ton regard, la fragilité de ton corps. je brise ta pureté. deux âmes s'emmelent pour l'éternité. ❞

wordcount: 3.5k | my kinktober masterlist

by clicking read more you are agreeing to consume dark content. don't interact if you cannot differentiate fiction from reality.

Never have you felt as objectified as you do in this very moment: the lustful, piercing stares of Geto’s countless followers bore through your clothing as you are thrown before him—a man you know all too well from hushed whispers and dark stares within the Jujutsu Society. He is the enemy, a lost man.

The white robe they forced upon you, a mockery of a bridal attire, does you no favours. They made sure to leave nothing to Geto’s imagination: he should easily see how thoroughly they searched for a perfect fit when they took you.

And yet, somehow, he doesn’t even acknowledge your presence—not once does he seem to look at you, unlike everyone else in the room.

That is the first blow to your pride.

Then, there’s the way they speak about you as if you are not even there. Coming from a prestigious, ancient sorcerer family, your bloodline offers Geto everything he could possibly desire, all he could ever need from his perfect breeding vessel to bring forth some sort of prince to revolutionise the world. Indeed, they say, you are perfect.

“That monster will not lay a hand on me!” Your fighting spirit is adorable. But nothing could have prepared you for the sudden, heavy impact landing on your cheek. Geto can’t hide his chuckle at your shocked reaction. Did you truly expect to insult him in a room full of his most loyal men? They would never hesitate to put you in your place before continuing their praises of their great Geto-sama.

Strike number two followed so quickly, it made your mask crumble. The frustration becomes a thrilling decor on your face as you continue to hold your bruised cheek. There is so much hatred in your eyes—Geto looks forward to replacing it with fear. You will learn your new place, he is sure of that. You will love to obey him, to bear him children that will carry out his will and create a society of the promised.

Yet, Geto appears to hold not the slightest bit of interest for you, no desire found in those deep purple hues you nearly drown in.

He knows he needs to play this game wisely. He can’t have a woman at his side who despises him, can’t risk the danger of a mother who would rather kill her children than let the riders of his apocalypse trample the grounds of this world. You need to fall for him, have to desire him. For that, your strong-willed mind has to be broken, to turn you into the most ethereal sacrificial lamb the Jujutsu Society has ever known.

With a softly spoken command to "leave us," the room empties. His followers depart swiftly, their obedience causing you to frown. How can they submit to a demon like him?

A demon—that’s what he is to you. Dangerous, devious, twisted—yet alarmingly beautiful. As he approaches, the air seems to catch in your throat, and, of course, Geto notices the heavy swallow you're forced to take.

Is this the moment he’s going to claim you? Right here, in this dreadfully cold room, surrounded by an atmosphere of adoration for his sick schemes? Your body instinctively leans back, shrinking away beneath his stare. You already appear so submissive. He doesn’t trust it.

Standing tall with feet planted firmly on the ground, Geto looms above your kneeling figure. You didn’t expect the shiver that crawls over your skin as your eyes meet his. It’s as though he has flipped a coin and donned a different personality: one of intimidation and something darker, something sick. He might kill you on the spot if you speak now.

Hence why your lips part, yet no words escape before you shut them once more. The nervousness clouds your mind, paralysing your thoughts as you waver between holding his gaze or looking away. You're already caught in his web.

"Learn to love your new home," he says—the only words he speaks before leaving you alone.

The man you expected to force himself upon you, to bruise you, to scar your body and mind—he never touches you. He never seeks you out, never again meets your gaze. Your first night welcomed you to a life of isolation. You can only cling to the sticky feeling of fear that attaches itself to your new daily existence around Geto’s presence.

𓍯𓂃

Every day, you are expected to be part of his reception, dressed in fine clothing, your hair styled in ways befitting your title. Yet, despite this, you are forced to kneel, your forehead touching the ground, just like all his followers. You have reluctantly accepted this role after spending your first weeks locked away in a tiny room, with barely any light or kindness to sustain you. 

During those weeks, you never once met your 'husband'. He refused to be bothered by your disobedience, unconcerned with the punishment his most trusted men inflicted upon you. 

It all played perfectly into his hands, as you began to believe these men to be far worse monsters than Geto could ever be. After all, he never laid a hand on you, never tortured you, never dragged you into the dark dungeons until you began seeing things. 

After months of this twisted game of escape within his temple, with only his henchmen for company, he finally deemed you broken in. No one had ever lasted this long under his torture before. He might have even said he was impressed by your willpower. But that strong-willed part of you was gone the moment Geto finally decided to free you from the darkness. 

He may never forget the state he found you in: the hatred in your eyes shifting to relief upon seeing his face, your body worn down and weak from exhaustion, your fighting spirit crushed by the horrors your mind encountered in that cell.

You wanted to be saved by him. 

Deprived of human contact, kindness, touch, affection, you crave to be cradled in his arms. You want nothing more than to feel a hand pat your back, to be held tightly while you finally allow yourself to cry until you pass out. But the torture continued. Geto assumed it wouldn’t take much more to get you to eat out of his hand. So, for now, he shall continue this farce. He shall refuse to touch you since you aren’t fully ready to accept his love just yet. 

That much was clear since he could still catch you stealing glances towards the nearest escape route, no matter which room you were in. Until eventually, even with the doors unlocked, you no longer dared to look. You were too aware of what they would do to you if they caught you again. You couldn’t bear to be plunged back into the darkness, where the monsters you carried out of that room still haunted your sleep. 

So, you learned to listen, to bend in an attempt not to break, while your mind slowly began to fade. Geto loves this version of you. How you bow to him each time he passes, how your body stiffens at the mere sound of his footsteps, how your eyes search for him. What are you looking for? Have your resources finally run dry? Do you need him now? Need him to fill you with his love, his affection, and his seed? Geto can only admit to himself the joy he feels upon comparing this new you to the feisty thing you once were. It makes his desire almost unbearable, his cock heavy with the urge to pump into you until you give out, until you bless him with the perfect children. 

You should really stop clinging to your dignity and surrender yourself to him. 

Instead, you isolate yourself further. You behave, yes. You don’t act out, you don’t try to escape. You are now a perfect rule follower, much like a robot, little like a wife. But what else could he do but leave you space. He swore to contain himself. He’s not some monster that would hurt another great jujutsu sorcerer. Plus, he adores you too much.

But he does start to worry. Worry for the plans that will fail if you succumb to your depression and fail to cling to him for support, for purpose.

𓍯𓂃

Imagine the surprise Suguru tries to hide upon learning about the person standing in front of his most private chambers, seeking an audience at such a late hour. A defiant shadow of the woman you once were enters his haven—your hair loose and unstyled, a soft and tired expression gracing your beautiful features, and that delicate robe you chose to wear for him. Your guard is finally gone.

After another slumber filled with dark monsters and fears, you find yourself desperately searching for comfort and found yourself in front of these doors.

Suguru moves closer, tearing through the final walls you've erected around yourself. He didn’t expect you to break down merely from his acknowledgement of your presence. Was he too hard on you? He wonders, as gentle hues of purple try to solve the riddle in front of his eyes. The kind words of “You are so beautiful,” make your shoulders sag, they add a tremble to your bottom lip—a reaction Suguru hadn’t anticipated. His sudden gentleness feeds your depraved ego. Careful not to turn into a glutton. 

The smell of incense and sandalwood might just become your new favourite. The creamy sweetness blended with earthy undertones seems to be a comfort you didn’t expect once Suguru stands in front of you. The warmth of his palm, another trait you wouldn’t have granted him—you always expected him to be cold to the touch. Yet, as a hand lightly rests against your neck, you feel yourself melt.

To Suguru’s astonishment, you lean into his touch and let your eyes fall shut. This serene moment allows your mind to finally slow down thanks to the much needed human contact. For some reason, you feel safe, protected. 

You are so docile now.

Your eyes meet as Suguru tilts your chin upwards, leaning in until his forehead rests against yours, his fingertips tracing the contours of your neck and collarbones. “You’re empty,” he breaks the silence with a gentle voice. “Let me change that…” The tip of his nose nudges yours, soft lips graze your skin before trailing kisses along your jawline. “I can make you forget about your past struggle and give you a new purpose…” Your hand fists the fabric of his attire as an attempt to ground yourself, his affections have you hum in sugary content. “A purpose greater than you ever anticipated.” Suguru’s free arm finds rest around your waist, to stabilise your tired form against his chest while his mouth attaches to your neck, leaving kisses in its wake. 

“Give yourself to me, be mine forever,” his husky voice reaches your core, hits exactly where he wants to influence your body most as he whispers the words into your ear. Then he pulls back, to cradle your cheek while commanding you. “Look into my eyes, little dove.” He tilts his head, challenging you to focus on him, to finally speak, surrender. 

He needs to taint you, to finally shatter the perfect image you’ve been trying to uphold. “Let me save you.”

You can barely offer more than your pliant body, seemingly overwhelmed by his greed for you. “Save me, please,” the whispered words threaten to burn themselves into Suguru’s memory.

His fingers run over your shoulder, down to your chest and above your stomach. You feel hot beneath his touch, needy to be filled with life and love again.

The alluring touch reaches beneath your robe, between your soft thighs, allowing him to tease you through the fabric of your panties. The tip of his finger grazes the delicate area, soft moans escaping your lips as your hips push into his touch.

The moment lures you forward, to close the distance and have your shaky lips meet his in a searing first kiss. Who would have thought you were that starved? Naughty girl. But he happily leans into your guidance, kissing you without restraint, teeth tugging at your lower lip before his tongue pushes into your mouth, leaving you breathless and needy.

As you break away, your face finds refuge in the curve of his neck, sighing your pleas for “more…” against his warm skin. “Patience, love,” Suguru breathes, eliciting goosebumps to decorate your skin and a flood of pleas to cloud your mind. One of his fingers hooks under the silky fabric, tugging at it teasingly to let the cool air hit your pulsing heat before a single fingertip begins to tease your clit, then enters your clenching little hole.

Your moan is unholy, a sound so exquisite Suguru couldn't prepare himself for it. He won’t let you hide them. A finger redirects your face to force you to look at him and allow him to drown in your glazed eyes. The irregular huffs from your lungs warm his skin, as he loses himself in your irises. You’d kiss him again if not for the firm grip on your chin.

“I’ll make you feel good every night, as often as you need me,” the once-dangerous man promises, before showing you his mercy. His hands release you to finally tug at the overflowing fabric of your robe, exposing your heavenly form to his eyes. And yet, you don’t feel exposed, don’t feel shame anymore as you watch Suguru admire you. You’ve never felt so good.

“Undress me,” Suguru’s firm voice commands, though he seems so pliant, so soft. Let your rush of confidence guide you to close the distance again, let your fingers untie his robes and slip beneath the heavy layers. His eyes close upon your touch, almost as if he’s allowing you control. Leaning in, his temple rests against yours and strands of dark hair drape over your shoulder area while the fingertips that trace along your waistline already feel like home.

As you push the fabrics off his shoulders, you can’t help but explore Suguru’s built figure. The contrast between his skin and the richness of his hair, illuminated by the moonlight, makes him look almost innocent. You swear you feel him shiver as your fingertips thread through his hair, his shaky exhale dampening your skin. “So pretty,” you murmur subconsciously, upon which his eyes open, a newfound desire now pools in them. 

You don’t mind the blunt nails that dig into the plush of your ass, don’t mind being pushed back until your calves bump against his bed frame. Yet, he keeps drawing in, to fully push your figure up against him while cupping your face to kiss you again. Suguru’s hardness meets your stomach, tainting your skin with his pre-cum while seeking such teasing pressure. The thought of being inside you any moment now has turned him needy. He kisses you more erratically, lips crashing against yours until they nearly turn numb.

He guides your body to find comfortable rest on his mattress as he leans above you. There is a moment of pure adoration as your hands cradle his cheeks gently, before curious fingertips explore the flexing of muscles beneath the required force to hold himself up. His hand roams over your heaving chest, appreciating the form of your tits before trailing along your waistline and hip to take a firm hold of your inner thigh—parting your legs with ease to prod the head of his cock against your achingly ready hole.

Your eyes shoot up to him as he guides his length to run along your puffy lips, coating himself in your arousal and relishing the way your hips push against him. It’s too tempting not to push into you, especially when you roll yourself against the head of his cock, stretching your entrance around him ever so slightly and forcing a moan from Suguru’s lips. Your hands rest in the long strands of his hair and at the soft skin of his nape. Every fibre of your being lures him forward, pleading for him to make you feel complete.

He succumbs, leaning down to swallow your moans as he whispers, “Forgive me for my sins,” just a second before he sheathes himself deep inside you. You never expected to experience pleasure this intense upon your surrender; the stretch of Suguru’s cock a wicked reward that steals the last drops of sanity from your mind. Your lustful moans echo in the shared space between your bodies, and the chilly temperatures of the season make your panted breaths seem feasible.

“Finally,” you think you hear his breathless murmurs before he leans in again, lips latching onto your perky nipple while Suguru palms your right breast, gently squeezing your soft mound and rolling the nipple between his fingers. His teeth spoil—or rather, overstimulate—your left side, nibbling on the sensitive area until you whine and writhe beneath him, your hips pressing against his cock perfectly. How could he resist putting a little torture on you?

“You feel so good,” his words drip like honey into your ear. The tips of his hair and the trained muscles of his upper body brush against your figure, tickling and teasing your awareness as he sinks deeper to finally bottom out.

The addictive moan that escapes you leaves him no choice but to refuse to kiss you further; he doesn’t want you to cover up the sounds of pleasure he’s bringing forth. Instead, he redirects his mouth to nibble along your exposed skin, planting one love bite after another along your neck until he reaches your collarbone.

His world stops spinning when you moan his name—so shamelessly, so heavenly—that he could ascend right in this moment. “S-Suguru!” you plea, so smoothly, he can’t help but thrust harder into you. Your fingers drag over the duvet while he pulls his heavy cock out of your fluttering walls only to push back in. You cry in pleasure, praises to his name spilling from your lips as his hips roll against you. His hands securely grip your shaking form, holding you perfectly in place for his own selfish desires.

Your soft moans mix with his rich ones, creating the most beautiful harmony as your bodies share the deepest connection possible. Warm palms glide over your figure to take a firm hold of the back of your thighs and press them flush into your chest. His entire weight squishes you further into the mattress and allows for a reach that appears incomprehensible. The sudden intensity seems too much to bear; it makes you painfully aware of just how deep he is inside you. His thighs slap against your hips at a rapid pace, each thrust jolting your body against the mattress as his cock repeatedly hits your cervix.

By surprise, you hear him suck in a sharp breath as he witnesses the state he’s left you in: fat tears staining your cheeks as the mix of pain and pleasure leaves you unable to form coherent thoughts. You’re so perfect, perfectly submissive and ruined for him to rebuild.

Now, you feel his love, the adoration pooling in his dark eyes as he can’t seem to look away. Eager to witness every second of your pleasure. “So perfect, such a good girl for me,” he praises, his lips caressing your forehead to calm you down, while he continues thrusting into you with the same strength, speed, and desire. “Let go for me, give into pleasure,” he encourages, the clamping of your walls a telltale of what impedes. 

You barely manage to nod in agreement, moans and hiccups making it impossible to form coherent thoughts while Suguru knocks the air from your lungs. You whimper against his sweaty skin, your breath tickling his neck while your nails claw into his back. “‘S too much,” is your final warning before your walls tighten perfectly around him, and the coil in your stomach finally snaps.

With all this newfound love, he can’t resist breaking his little rule. Suguru seeks out your lips, hurriedly placing his own over yours—surely not to drown yours, most likely to cover his own—as he almost immediately follows your orgasm with his own. He thrusts all the way in, coming deep inside your fluttering walls, which practically milk him dry.

His hand slides from your thigh to gently press against your stomach, accentuating where exactly his length resides and his cum lands, praying that your womb savours every drop of his seed to hopefully turn fruitful.

Your bodies are close enough for your heartbeats to thump against each other’s skin, pants and whimpers stifled by the shared kiss as you both come down from your highs. “Don’t ever dare to leave me.” The words are nothing but a whisper as his lips return to spoil your body with kisses, but the intensity behind them makes your heart stumble. The loneliness he must have repressed since his days at Jujutsu Tech have ended something you never once considered before.

But now you are here. Here to stay with him, to be his family, his weakness and strength all at once and forever. He broke you just to hold you. Now let him make it up, forever.

dividers by @/cafekitsune

[homoeroticicarus]

I want my kinks to ruin my life. I want to be so horny all the time that the only thing I can do, only thing I want to do, is rub my cunt for hours every day.

I want to be porn, cock, and sex addicted

I want to be so brain dead and used that I'll listen to exactly to what I'm told. I want to be a mess of a person & only be of use when humiliating myself

[bunnyreaper]

john helps you with your gender studies work, then decides to properly educate you.

(18+/MDNI, established d/s dynamic, dubcon(ish), misogyny kink, degradation, choking, pussy slapping.)

part of you wanted to slam the textbook shut the second your handsome distraction of a boyfriend walked through the door, but a large part of you knew you had to get your reading done now before your ability to concentrate evaporated come nightfall. 

you try to focus on the words on the page as you hear john shuck off his jacket and boots, and throw his keys onto the table by the door. 

"home, love." he calls out, before stepping through into the flat. 

"hey." you greet back, small smile on your face even if your response is a little half-hearted. 

john shuffles over to the couch, collapsing down onto the plush cushions before he pulls off his beanie and throws it on the coffee table. 

he gives you a few moments to wrap up the page you're reading, then he expects you to come over and fuss over him like you always do. 

the fussing doesn't come. and his leg starts to rock in impatience--after a trip to the base, he needs his soft, sweet girl in his arms. needs his love cooing over him and staring at him like he hangs the stars in the sky for her. 

instead, your nose is in that fucking book. 

growing impatient, he calls out to you once more, though his voice doesn't betray the way he sits on the couch and fights the urge to bounce his leg, or the twitch of his fingers. "what's that, love?" 

"new class." you flash the book cover at him, key concepts in gender studies. 

john parts his thighs, making a space before he taps them. "come sit here, bring your textbook." his command is gentle yet compelling, and you rise to your feet without a second thought. 

"study snuggles?" you ask, a bright smile on your face as you make your way over. john often tempted you into his arms so he could cuddle you while you read, and you both got what you wanted. 

"something like that." he smirks, grabbing your waist and pulling you into his lap so your arse is flush against him. he circles an arm around your waist, keeping you securely in place as you get back to reading. 

john can't help himself though. his girl in his lap, right where he wants her, and he's sure if he just starts teasing he can make her forget all about the book. he's done it so many times before. 

he pulls the fabric of your top down your shoulder, baring your skin to him so he can press ravenous kisses all across your shoulder and all up your pretty neck. he knows your weak spots, targets them directly with hungry licks and playful bites, until he hears you gasp and sigh in delight, until he feels you squirm in his lap.

"john, i'm trying to focus." you sigh, protest weak as his kisses continue.

one of his hands trails up your thigh, pushing past the hem to expose your thighs and tease your sensitive skin, his hands on a mission. 

like a good girl, you sit and take what john gives you, desperately trying to keep your focus as arousal fogs your brain. maybe you have to re-read the same line about five times, but you're determined to keep going--the book's contents have made you feel determined and powerful. 

john's hands both settle on your knees, pulling your legs wider until they're stretched over his and exposing you to anything john wishes to give to you. 

still, you try to keep your mind on the book and not on the way his fingers creep up the silky skin of your inner thighs, or the way his hardness presses against your cheeks. 

you turn the page over, finally having finished with the prior one. john settles his chin against your shoulder where it glistens with his spit, and you can feel his eyes on the page, reading along with you. 

"don't you feel silly, darling?" he whispers, fingers teasing you further, making you jerk in his lap. 

"why?" you ask, trying to not pay him or his like of questioning too much mind. 

"reading feminist theory when you're far from one." his voice is taunting, a purr that shoots right through you with how condescending it is.

"i am a feminist. you're a feminist." you reason, yet as you say it, you catch onto his little game. at the same time, he reaches up to take ahold of your hand, squeezing. you squeeze back twice. 

"i mean look, women and power." he scoffs, taking your finger to point to the sentence, as if couldn't read it on your own. "i think you should drop the class, darling."

"why?"

one hand moves back to your thighs, thick fingers pads stroking across the outer seam of your panties, the other comes to the nape of your neck--stroking and kneading, giving you goosebumps everywhere.

"don't want it filling your pretty little head full of nonsense." he coos, punctuating his words with a tighter grip. 

"nonsense?" you ask, voice sweet and innocent. 

john hums for a moment, before his slips round the column of your throat. "who has power in this relationship?"

he choses that moment to ghost his fingers across your clit through your panties, and he watches as your body tries to chase his fingers. 

"y-you."

"and why's that, princess?" he turns your head and kisses the side of your jaw, hovers his fingers inches away from where you need him most. 

"because you're older and wiser, but really it's because I give you power!" you protest, voice growing whiny as your body betrays you. 

john laughs--a low, mocking sound. his fingers tighten around your throat, restricting your blood flow. "hmm. but you like listening to an older man, don't you?"

"yes..."  

finally he pushes his fingers firmly into your clit, chucking as you buck and your legs almost start kicking. "how is that empowering?"

pleasure floods you immediately. your grip on your book tightens, your eyes slip shut and a breathy moan pushes past your lips."it's just a fantasy... it's not... real."

"isn't it? are you sure?" he coos again, talking to you like you're beyond stupid. his fingers quicken, his grip chokes you harder. "if you wanted me to stop, could you fight me off?"

you thrash against his hold but find it entirely futile. "no!" you cry out. 

"why?" 

john relents, stilling all movement so you can calm down and give him a semi-coherent answer. even with his hands not actively teasing you, it still feels so hard to think.

"well you're in the army for one." you mutter, a sarcastic edge to your voice that earns you a short, sharp slap to your pussy that brings you back in line. "because you're bigger and stronger. 

"why do you think that is?"

you hate the way it feels like john is actually picking apart your thoughts, invading your brain and reprogramming you--and you know he hasn't even gotten started.

"because... you're a man."

"hmm, it's natural for men to be strong, powerful." he explains, his words patient and authoritative. he returns to massaging your clit, making you associate the words with pleasure. "for women to be weaker, in need of protection." 

you wrack your brain to think of a response, a rebuttal to john's claim. "that doesn't make us unequal."

"no, princess, this little slit between your legs does." he mocks, as his fingers now dive underneath the fabric of your soaked panties to probe at your hole. "what is a cunt's purpose?" 

"to... get fucked?" you mumble, feeling shy. finally, you close the book, tossing it down on the floor and listening to john instead.

"fucked and bred by a man. dominated. conquered." his fingers thrust inside you, ruthless as they piston into your needy hole. "it's just nature, hmm? a cunt gets fucked, a cock does the fucking." 

"i... guess." what he is saying makes sense to your aroused, confused, weak female brain. 

"and your body knows it too, that's why you're leaking all over my fingers." he croons before sweeping your wetness all over your aching clit. 

"no, that's because--" 

he slaps your cunt again. 

"If you didn't like it, you wouldn't be soaked darling." he tuts and shakes his head, dismissive of your feeble protest. "it's normal, princess. your body doesn't believe in fantasy, it just knows reality." 

"s'not a bad thing to want to be protected, coddled, cared for. not wrong to give into your instincts, to want to be filled up with cock and cum, to please a man." 

he keeps talking, keeps re-educating you as his fingers work over your puffy nub and the sensation of being a little messy girl overwhelms you. 

"goes both ways love, wanna please you too, but we each have our roles, no?" 

"yeah... you're right..." you nod weakly.

"there has to be a reason this is the way things have always been, hmm?" 

john continues, launching into a long speech as he works you closer and closer to the edge. "and look at what you do for me. what would they think if they could see you now?"

your brain starts to slow, his words echoing around your empty little brain. 

still, he persists. still, he preaches his patriarchal gospel. "if they knew the times you skipped classes just to stay at home, down on your knees, worshipping my cock with that pretty fucking mouth?"

his words turn to a condescending growl, a mocking roar as he infiltrates every last corner of your mind. "if they knew the way misogyny gets you fucking soaked, love." 

the hand on your neck glides as his fingers intrude into your mouth, pressing down on your tongue and choking you on the digits. "could you even spell patriarchy right now, explain feminism? no? go on, tell me you're a feminist, princess." He urges, unrelenting.

all you can do is gargle and choke in response, unable to do the one simple thing john asks of you, unable to do it because you're weak. a woman. just a needy cunt.

"good girl. my good girl. that's it, surrender to a big strong man like me. s'just natural, love." his filthy, forbidden words have you right on the edge. but you know the rules, you don't come without his permission.

luckily for you--john is merciful, kind, and takes care of what's his. after all, he only wants what's best for you. "cum for me. cum the last of your brains away, sweetheart."

with his command, the coil within you snaps, sending you over the edge of a brain-shattering orgasm--a high unlike any other. it feels like you do actually cum your brains out, as your body shakes against john's hold and cries leave your throat until it's almost raw.

john holds you steady, safe in his arms as you come down from the high and he presses sweet kisses along every inch of exposed skin he can possibly reach. 

"fuck, john." you sigh, eyes remaining shut in your blissed out state. you cling to where john's arms are wrapped around you, squeezing him back. 

"good?" he whispers as he strokes you soothingly. "didn't go too far?"

"no, i loved it." 

he smirks against your skin, relieved that you enjoyed exploring the fantasy with him.

"good. how about i take you to bed and really fuck the feminism out of you then?"

[loudclan-clangen]

Come Over (Again) - Fiercestripe

Thank you guys for being so awesome! As a reward for being so patient with me on my break, here's a PMV and a backstory drop for everybody's mom, Fiercestripe:

Born Flower, she grew up with a group of cats that believed that she-cats shouldn't learn to hunt or fight. This ideology prevented her from running away on her own, and before she knew it she had a mate (Coal) and a kit (Thorn) and was well on her way to living the rest of her life there. It wasn't until a chance encounter with Wildfirecry, having recently left his old clan, that Flower saw a chance at freedom. Wildfirecry stayed with Flower's family for several days, hesitantly telling stories of Starclan and his old home, but he refused to stay long, claiming he had to continue his search for Starclan. Realizing this might be her only chance, Flower left in the night, determined to find him. Upon catching up with him however, Flower was disappointed. He told her to go home, that she would only slow him down or die and she had a kitten to care for. At this, Flower lashed out, she didn't care if it was dangerous, if she might die, at least she would do it away from here. Couldn't he understand that she was giving up everything for this chance? Her only chance? Eventually he relented, comforting the young she-cat and agreeing that she could travel with him, but only until she learned to take care of herself... And the rest is history. Fiercestripe will always feel guilty for leaving her daughter behind, but she doesn't regret it. A kitten, even an older one wouldn't have survived the journey they took, and because of her choice Dogwood and Rosehip were born into a loving family where they can have whatever future they want to have. She only hopes that Thorn found her own way in life, and that she's safe and happy wherever she ended up.

Fiercestripe was 15 moons old when Thorn was born, and 20 moons old when she left with Wildfirecry, so Thorn would be 75 moons old now. (only a few moons older than Siltsplash!)

[If you guys are interested I'll make a part 2 with the rest of the song! (featuring modern day Fierce, Silt, and Owl most likely) I've never made anything in video form before, so this was a really fun experiment! The only way I could wrap my head around a project this big was to make the canvas size really small, so apologies if it's not super high quality. (It's high quality in my heart.) The song is called Come Over (Again) by The Crawlers, it's one of my all time favorites, highly reccomend.]

[oreocookiecrumble]

I think more people need to acknowledge how transmascs being told to shut up about our oppression mirrors the stereotyping we go through as submissive individuals, which mirrors the misogyny cis women face. Does "shut up and look pretty" ring a bell to anyone?

The queer community as a whole has never seen us as real men, we're cis men's "better" counterpart because we're submissive, we're weak, we're fragile. We're all the things misogyny says women are, because they still see us as womanly. I'm so often forced into a submissive role because of my existence as a trans man, even within the queer community. I'm forced into these roles that have been historically stereotyped as women's roles because I am still conceptualized as being a woman. And so often I am afraid to stand up for myself within queer spaces because I know once people stop seeing me as a submissive (womanly) trans man I become a problem. Because dominance is associated with manliness. Dominance means I've accepted fully the mantle of being a man and that means I am now scary. I am now a problem. I am now a danger. I cannot be angry, I cannot be hurt, because if a trans man shows anger, he becomes scary. I am no longer the queer standing up against oppression, I am an angry man, which is a monster to be feared.

Now, people seem to believe misogyny is only directed at women. Cis women experience misogyny because they are women. Trans women experience misogyny because they are women. However, people can't accept that trans men face misogyny even as trans men (or cis men experiencing it, as a matter of fact). To other people, once we take the term "man" to refer to ourselves, we've lost our ability to experience misogyny. Because not only are we no longer women, we have renounced womanhood. We are the "Least Woman" (as cis men could discover they're actually trans women!). Which ultimately makes it taboo to say that we're still treated as women, we still experience misogyny, even within queer spaces. If people believe we are the Least Woman, how can we experience misogyny? How can people treat us like women?

And yet... if people don't treat us like women, if we don't act like women, we aren't allowed within their spaces. Queer and non-queer alike.

Anyway, rant over. Have a good one. Sending love and positive vibes to all you queer and non-queer folks out there.

[nekropsii]

This is very funny because the only reason he was ever graced with a Fan Favorite title and the only reason he’s as rigorously defended as he is to this day is because he’s a White Boy. There isn’t any other reason.

Feferi is still cast as a stone cold heartless bitch for… [checks notes]… Trying to amicably break up with a guy she was no longer comfortable dating, while Eridan gets away scot free with being unrelentingly, unrepentantly callous and hostile, tremendously hemoloyal, literally committing a genocide on purpose which was his dream to achieve in life, and also objectifying Feferi at every turn. Cool!

[dathen]

Okay now that we’ve beaten the point of “the text doesn’t portray Lucy as deserving her death or a whore/madonna dichotomy with Mina” to death, now we can actually address what IS in the text: the vampire as the corrupted woman, a whore/madonna dichotomy contrasting with Lucy when she was alive.

Jack’s narration today is a bit “saying the quiet part out loud” in this regard. We drag him for how many times he says ‘voluptuous,’ but almost as many times he mentions purity in contrast: the blood staining the ‘pure white lawn’ of her burial grown as a vivid example. Over and over her corruption is described as a horrifying sexuality, fascinating and attracting and repulsing the suitors much like Jonathan was fascinated and attracted and repulsed by Dracula or the vampire women.

In the rush to victim-blame Lucy for her own death, critics miss the crux of the symbolism, and leave the xenophobia largely unaddressed. It’s especially clear when looking at Lucy’s plot as a whole: threatened by the dark, exotic and dangerous East, which is temporarily held at bay by Strong Western Blood which is praised for its quality of breeding (😬), and how she is unrecognizably evil and twisted once the corruption takes root.

[heartless-aro]

As an aro ace woman, there’s something fascinating to me about seeing people, including acephobes and arophobes, in recent days talk passionately about the 4B movement and discussing the backlash against it. It’s interesting how, now that a substantial number of the people doing it are straight alloromantic allosexual women, choosing not to have sex and choosing to be nonpartnering are being spoken of as radical acts that society punishes women for. How come it isn’t radical or subversive when I do it?

Aphobia and misogyny intersect in so many ways, but when they do intersect, so many people only want to acknowledge the misogyny aspect of things (which is important, but still not the entire picture). I’m aware that aromantic and asexual women are not the only women affected by politicians declaring “childless cat ladies” to be worthless or sexist men resorting to rape threats at the slightest hint that some women may choose not to date or have sex with them. But I do wish that people were more willing to acknowledge how aromantic and asexual women are disproportionately harmed by the violent reactions misogynists have towards women who say no.

[trans-androgyne]

The refusal to notice or believe that transmascs experience such high rates of sexual harassment and assault reminds me of the way girls considered conventionally unattractive have been told they’re either making it up or they should feel lucky. “Why would you be a target, you’re not even pretty?”

[punkeropercyjackson]

A punk male character can the on par with mfing Princess Peach in terms of femininity and y'all will call him 'positively masculine' because he wears pants and has a backbone and a sense of humor and basic decency towards women

[thebusylilbee]

what's even fucking crazier about the Mazan serial rapes case is that everybody is already so shocked by the basic facts of it (Dominique Pélicot drugs his wife for 10 years and gets her raped while unconscious by 73 men or more) that the medias literally often forget to mention that DNA testing suggest that the husband is actually a whole ass killer who killed and raped at least one woman in the 90's before getting married to Gisèle Pélicot

[bunnyreaper]

welcome to the 141

kinktober 3 - bukkake, hate sex

price + ghost x reader

(18+/mdni, noncon, misogyny, no but seriously... misogyny, degradation)

Real men belong in the 141, real women belong on their knees.

That's what your arsehole friend had joked when you told him about your intention to transfer, but you were determined to prove him and everyone else wrong. You'd gotten this far, and you could make it just that little bit further. 

You sit in the gym, anxiously waiting for Captain Price and Lieutenant Riley to arrive and begin a physical assessment with you—their reputations precede them, and you want nothing more than to impress them, so they have no choice but to accept you into the task force. 

The squeak of the door pulls you out of your thoughts, redirecting your attention to the two behemoth men who have just walked through the door—all bulging muscles barely contained in tight-fitting compression shirts. The way you rise to your feet is sheer instinct, as you rush into a greeting that is swiftly cut off. 

Captain Price walks with a swagger, and stops at the side of the mat in the middle—he beckons you forward wordlessly, as Ghost steps forward to meet you in the middle of the mat. 

"So you're the girl that wants to try out for the 141?" The captain asks, and you internally bristle at his use of such a diminutive word, but you decide to push down your protests as you decide to ignore it.

You nod eagerly. "That's me, captain." 

He smirks, his face twisting with sick amusement as he crosses his arms over his chest and his eyes crawl over your body. "It's not going to be easy, last chance to back out."

The taunt only makes you more determined. "Thanks, but no thanks." 

He and the Lieutenant share a look, one you can't really perceive the meaning of, but you know whatever comes next is going to be the biggest challenge of your career. 

"We'll start with a sparring session, you can show the Lieutenant what you're made of." 

You nod obediently, turning to Ghost as the two of you start to square up and prepare to spar. He doesn't say a word, and neither do you, as you quietly appraise him and figure out how to use his massive stature against him. 

The tension is thick, each second crawling by as you breathe in and hyperfocus before making your first move. 

You barely get a grip on him before he's slamming you into the mat, limbs pinning you down with ease as you fight to suck down your breaths. "Fuck."

"Impressive." He mutters, tone completely dry. 

The whole situation makes your temper flare, as you can feel them already underestimating you, can practically taste their misogynistic attitudes in the air. You struggle against Ghost's hold, still unable to grapple free. "Let me go again, I wasn't ready." You rush out an excuse, yet you're determined to not let him get the better of you a second time. 

The Captain's voice cuts in, heavy with judgement and condescension. "You think out in the field they'll be waiting for you to be ready, soldier?" He scoffs and shakes his head. "Dumber than I thought, clearly." 

Each word stokes the fire inside you, makes you more and more desperate to prove yourself. Your chest heaves as your anger and determination escalate. "Just let me try again, please." 

Ghost looks to his Captain, who nods in approval before Ghost moves away and allows you to climb to your feet once more. 

Again, you both prepare, staring each other down. This time, you know a little of his tactics, of his plan to rush you and overwhelm you with his bulk, and your mind switches to executing more evasive maneuvers. 

You wait patiently for Ghost to make the first move, which you dodge with ease, you just make it out of his reach when he's rushing for you again, anticipating your dodge and sending you flying into the mat once more. 

You're not sure what burns more between the pain in your back and the humiliation you feel, but Ghost is on top of you, pinning you again. His hands are on your wrists as his hips are pushed into your core, and you can feel that the bastard is fucking hard. No amount of thrashing throws him off of you.

"Same result. Stop struggling." He growls, voice deep and menacing and impatient, as he grinds down and keeps you firmly in place.

"See this is the thing about little girls like you." Each word is snarled, sheer aggression unfolding from behind the mask. "You think you can make it a man's world, in the army, but you can't." 

"I can, women can." You whimper, voice frayed with pain as the lieutenant's grip tightens. 

You hear the dull thud of the Captain's footsteps as he moves into your line of sight and stares down at you.

"Go on then, break free." He commands, watching as you squirm fruitlessly, and a predatory smile crosses his face. "Pathetic, darling."

Price gives Ghost another look, as he frees you once more, and you stumble to your feet red-faced and mortified. 

"Captain—" You're about to challenge him, about to call him out on all of this sexist bullshit when his hands come to your shoulders, forcing you to your knees once more. 

"You can tell me all your precious feminist thoughts while you're down on your knees." He scoffs, working on unbuckling his belt right before your shocked face. 

Ghost does the same, belt clinking as the two men work to free their erections—you try to stand, but their hands keep you pinned before them, kneeling and waiting. 

"I'm not gonna do whatever you think you're asking!" You squeal as their thick cocks bounce free and taunt you with their appearance. 

"I'm not asking, I'm telling you to put that mouth to use instead of opening it for your pointless protests." The Captain begins, his hand working over his length slowly."  "You want in the 141? Know your place, on your knees and serving your superior officers, as a woman should."

Ghost does the same, gloved hand working his length dangerously close to your face. "That look in your eyes tells me everything we need to know. Strong, independent woman until you see a nice hard cock." 

"That's not true, I—" You open your mouth to protest, but find it stuffed full of the Captain's dick—his salty precum coating your tongue as he works his way inside. 

You suck on instinct, and of a creeping sense of fear of what will happen if you don't. They've gone this far, maybe it's just hazing, maybe this is how you— 

The Captain takes hold of your ponytail, pulling you up and down his length leisurely. "Much better, good girl."

The words make you flush against your will, your body betraying your usually headstrong self. 

He thrusts his cock as deep as you can take it without gagging, stilling there for a moment. "I'll break you in properly before long. Keep you under my desk, yeah, love?" 

The noise of rejection you make with your mouth full sounds awfully like approval to the men's ears. 

Ghost reaches down to grab your hand, wrapping your smaller fingers around his cock as you continue to suck the captain, while he taunts you. "This is your natural state, brain off, mouth full of dick. You don't have to pretend to be strong with us, it's better for all of us this way."

Price groans, deep and chesty in a way that makes your body sing against your will. "Always in need of some stress relief after a mission, you'd be perfect." He sighs, continuing to guide you up and down him. 

He pulls you off of him, guiding your head towards Ghost's length so you can swallow him instead. Ghost's hands hold either side of your head, working his cock inside before he thrusts with reckless abandon. "Fuck. If you weren't made to suck then why are you so fucking good at it, huh?" He all but growls, continuing to use your face as nothing more than a little fuckhole.  

He's rougher than Price, moves you faster up and down his cock, and forces himself deeper into your throat, your gagging sounds filling the room. "That's what I like to hear." 

"What do you think, Ghost?" The captain asks. 

"Need to make sure she knows her place." Ghost snarls, pulling you off of him harshly before forcing your head down to the floor, down to his boot. "Kiss it, then you can hump it like the desperate little slut you are."

"I'm not—" You whine, but he's tilting up his but to meet your mouth, so you can start to worship the leather. 

Tears prickle at your eyes as you lick and kiss his boot, desperately hoping the act will please him.

"You're a cunt, you're just a set of needy holes." He pulls you back up by the chin, repositioning you so your clit is pressed against his foot, and you start grinding down on instinct. 

"You deny it love, but look at the way you move those hips, it just comes naturally to you." Price laughs, his eyes blown with arousal. 

You hate it—hate what they're doing and what they've reduced you to, but at the same time you're so fucking needy, and Ghost is at least giving you some semblance of relief. 

"Grinding on my boot like a pathetic little doll. Don't make a mess, or you'll be cleaning it with your mouth." 

You want to cry out and rebuke them, but as your mouth opens, nothing comes out. 

"Shhh." Price coos, bringing up your hands to each of the man's dicks. "Just focus on us, darling." 

Your doe eyes stare at them desperately, as you do the only thing you can, jerk their cocks with fervor and chase the shocks of pleasure you get from rubbing against Ghost. You're so lost, so reduced, and yet unable to stop.

The volume of both men's groans increases, as they urge you into stroking faster and faster—it isn't long before they're both crashing toward the edge. 

"Paint her face, Simon." Price commands his Lieutenant, who takes hold of his cock and rubs until he's spilling fresh, sticky cum all over your face—in your lashes, on your lips and cheeks, even a little in your hair. 

The sight is enough to send Price over the edge too, his ropes joining Ghost's as they both cover your face entirely in rope after rope of cum.

"New fucking uniform for you." Ghost chuckles, slightly breathless, as he milks his cock for any remaining drops to stain your face with.

"Look at that." The look in Price's eyes is almost sweet, as he tilts up your chin to inspect your painted face. "Good job. Welcome to the 141, princess."

[spooky-donut-ghost-house]

I have to laugh whenever people say "Oh LaUrA iS hAvInG mAiN cHaRaCtEr SyNdRoMe WiTh ImOgEn!!!"

You people didn't seem to mind when Percy was "technically" the main character of campaign 1 given his deep and rich connections with The Briarwoods or didn't seem to mind when Caleb was "technically" the main character of campaign 2 due his connection with Trent and The Cerberus Assembly

Or is it that you are noticing only this with Laura because she's a woman and you hate women?

Fact of the matter is all three campaigns had a "main character" which wasn't even a "main character" it was just a PC that had massive amounts of connections to the main plot of the story

For campaign 1 it was Percy

For campaign 2 it was Caleb

And for campaign 3 it's Imogen

But y'all never attacked Liam and Taliesin for having "main character syndrome"

Is it because you never noticed this pattern until your misogyny made it a problem or did you always know it was here and only had a problem when a female got to be the "main character" of the campaign?

Laura and the rest of the cast deserve so much better from all of you (by all of you I mean the toxic fans y'all non toxic fans are great and I love y'all <3)