#the you are the only person who has understood me in any way and I don't even comprehend that so I'll kiss you kiss

[kittyit]

One thing I don't like about trans critical spaces is how they are focused on trans women being unattractive and 'cringe.' this is just my personal experience, but I have been sexually victimized by multiple trans women, most of whom passed, many of whom were skinny and beautiful and most of which had high brow tastes and no interest in anime or other cringe topics. one of these TIMs was a serial sexual assailant and I think probably attracted to underage boys, and she was also beautiful and charismatic. Meanwhile, I also know multiple trans women who are good people and don't infringe on female spaces but who are conventionally "ugly", broad-shouldered, and have masculine interests. It also seems like the only thing TIMs criticize about each other publically is being "ugly", large, or fat.

my position has consistently been for about 15 years that mocking someone's appearance is not a feminist act. it simply isn't.

mocking appearance is essentially a cruel hobby, it's primate social aggression we're using our huge brains for. it's really fun, and that's why almost everyone does it. i sometimes do it too, in private, in intimate company, and it's enjoyable. i say this to clarify that despite my position, i don't set myself apart or above from women who do it. i do it too. and it's constant in basically every subculture online. julie bindel actually posted on her facebook recently troubled about this same thing. as you said, it's so common in queer/trans circles too, the long-forgotten 2013 values of tenderqueerism fallen to the wayside. stan culture, politics, just basically everything...i really can't stress enough that in my opinion, it is a hobby

mocking appearances is not feminist or activism. it quite often is anti-feminist. it's kindergarten stuff to not judge a book by its cover. it doesn't matter what a male person looks like - he is still male and all considerations that apply to male people apply to him. i don't need to think a male person has a hideous appearance to criticize him for any of the oppressive acts he's doing. focus on appearance (or other unrelated personal attacks) often takes the sting out of a criticism of someone's character, morals or actions and makes your argument easier to dismiss. and of course the now mocked & dismissed concept that when you rip into someone's appearance, you do friendly fire to anyone around who shares those features. but of course this doesn't matter to anyone because it's 1. so fun 2. we're so used to it 3. everyone is doing it 4. so who cares? (I do. However)

i also just can't really scrape up that much finger wagging anymore at women who do spend a huge amount of time blowing off steam mocking the insane parodies that trans women present as. it's basically evil imaginative play. it's just not activism and acting like it is, as you said, is really detrimental to radical feminism being understood as a feminist way of thought that deeply affects women's lives.

as for the rest of this, have you read pronouns are rohypnol? you do not have to call a serial rapist pedophile you knew she. there is no one here but us, he cannot hear you. i encourage you to free up processing power in your mind, especially if you've survived trans male violence. calling the men who harmed you he can be a turning point in reclaiming your own sense of reality, it was for me

[softquietsteadylove]

Thena thanks Gil for bringing back Olympia. Kiss on the cheek?

"He's in there."

"Thank you."

Gil straightened up as the door opened an, instead of the club doctor Ajak walking in, it was Thena. She had sent him to get checked by Ajak after rescuing Olympia, of course, but he watched her take Olympia back to the stables herself. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see how you're faring," she said gently, in that pretty accent she had. She closed the door behind her, walking in, still in her boots and her white sweater dress. He could see where she had gotten mud on her from hugging Olympia and wiped it off after.

"Ah, I'll be okay," he smiled, hoping to downplay his current state. He naturally went to rub at the back of his neck, but flinched his hand away before he could upset the burns on his palms. "Nothing to worry about."

Thena visibly chose not to believe him, seating herself on the stool across from the examination bench. "Gil, really--how are you?"

He sighed. He was exhausted. He hadn't exactly prepared for a mountain hike at top speed this afternoon. And even once he had found Olympia, it was no easy feat, getting a horse back up through the woods to the club grounds.

And that was ignoring when Olympia had fallen and he had to all but pick her up, or when she had stumbled and crushed him into a tree with her rib cage, or when she had headbutted him any number of times in her panic. He'd had a rough day.

"I'm okay," he admitted, his shoulders sagging. Thena looked like he had completely lied to her but he raised his hands and shrugged, "really! I mean, it's nothing serious, is all."

"I didn't ask about the severity," she huffed, but didn't lecture him the way she had lectured Olympia about running off and causing trouble. She reached out, running her thumb over some scratches on his cheek from branches hitting him in the face.

He nearly leaned into it, her touch was so cool and so soft. But he restrained himself, trying not to seem like a pathetic fanboy or something. He cleared his throat, "is Olympia okay?"

Thena rolled her eyes as if he were asking about a child they babysat or co-parented. "Do not worry for that spoiled mare, she is safe and snuggled up in a blanket."

Gil chuckled, though. "I know how worried you were."

Thena's more stern facade melted, and the times he had seen this side of her were some of his favourites. She far preferred her horse's company to that of any person here at the club. And she cared for that horse like her own child. "She is uninjured, for the most part. And although she may lack confidence for the next few days, I believe her recovery will not be so hard a road."

Gil hunched even further, resting his elbows on his knees, "that's good."

Thena looked at him again, tilting her sandy blonde eyebrows. "It is thanks to you that she's home safe and sound."

"Hey," he shrugged, rising as she did the same. "I'd do it again--in a heartbeat!"

"I know, Gil."

He blinked, suddenly finding her hands on his. He blushed, but Thena turned his hands over, examining the balm that had been applied to the raw skin there. He hissed as she pressed.

She glared at him, "nothing severe?"

He gave her his most innocent shrug, "Ajak fixed me right up. So I'll have to wear gloves for the next few days. These things happen."

Her eyes flicked up at him, making her annoyance clear as she examined his palms, then the tiny cuts and scratches anywhere else she could see, even pulling his sleeves up just a little. "These things do not simply happen. They happen because someone is...careless."

It would be easy to think she was referring to him, but he caught the downturn of her lips and the little knot between her eyebrows. "Thena, there wasn't anything you could have done."

She tugged his sleeves down for him again, developing a hunch in her own usually immaculate posture. "I should have been out there watching her. I should have gone after her. You wouldn't have-"

"Thena, listen," he cut her off, happy to interrupt her this one and only time. "Look, I won't say it was easy to get her back. But are you capable of lifting half a horse's weight?"

She looked away, not that she really wanted to admit that she couldn't.

"If you had gone after Olympia I would have been out there trying to track both of you. Then it would just be the three of us stuck out there," he chuckled, imagining poor Thena trying to get Olympia's award winning haunches up a mudslide. "I'm glad you didn't have to."

"You do entirely too much for us." He wasn't sure if she meant 'us' as in the club as a whole, or just her and Olympia. And if she was referring to just herself and her mare, then she was entirely correct. It was almost enough for him to have to worry about favouritism. But not quite.

"I do my job, Thena," he corrected, still with a smile. She pursed her lips at him and he just this once admired how the pink colour of them caught the light. "The rest is just because Olympia is, like, my only friend here."

Thena paused for a minute before clearing her throat. He tilted his head but she swatted his hands away from her, "oh, your only friend?"

She crossed her arms and raised her eyebrow at him. She was unhappy to be excluded from that.

Gil blushed. "W-Well, I-I mean, I didn't, uh...wanna assume-"

Thena stood from the stool, swiping her lips over his cheek on her way up. "You are so adept at reading the horses, Gilgamesh. I suggest you brush up on your ability to read humans, as well."

Gil had to grin, although he successfully bit back a chuckle; that was rich coming from the Ice Queen. But he his cheek tingled and he felt like he had been given morphine, or maybe pure adrenaline. "I'll study up on that."

"Hm," Thena sufficed to say, collecting herself to leave as if she hadn't kissed his cheek like it was the most natural thing in the world for her.

"Leaving so soon?" Ajak asked, catching her on her way out.

"I came to see how he was doing," Thena used in her own defense, looking down at Ajak and then back at Gil. She kept her expression unreadable but he liked to believe he could see a hint of a smile on her lips. "And he seems fine, now."

He was much more than fine, maybe the best he'd felt in months.

[bereft-reeling]

Vent post

[boyczar]

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[criminalamnesia]

HIIII!!! I just wanted to say that i really love ur writing! I've read ur traitor series and I can't wait for part 4! I'm a new author, and english isn't my first language, so it's sometimes very hard for me to write bcs i'm stil not that good, but ur fics have helped me improve<3💗!

thank you so much!🫶 im glad you’ve enjoyed the series! and speaking of part four, here it is :)

ALL PARTS CAN BE FOUND HERE

simon didn’t turn to watch you leave the gym.

he stood there, eyes forward, mask clenched in one fist. he could feel the blood drying on his skin. he made no move to wipe it away.

he didn’t blame you for your anger— he couldn’t. he understood the rage. had felt it himself a time or two.

but he couldn’t take everything lying down.

did he deserve your wrath, your fury? yes— and he knew that. there was no making up for what he did; he realized that, but why couldn’t you understand?

he’d never fully taken his walls down around you, and that was no fault of your own. he was a guarded man, and his past gave him every right to be.

he had been burned and broken too many times. he’d seen the people he loved murdered because of him.

he swore he would never let that happen again. he put those walls up, and you knocked some of them down.

but there were some you’d never gotten through, at least, simon told himself you hadn’t. there was always something he was holding back, a piece of himself he wouldn’t give freely. he told himself it was because he couldn’t stand to love you so deeply and then watch you leave.

but really, it was because he needed an out. he needed a way to justify his leaving if something ever happened— and that’s what got him here.

simon trusted the 141 with his life. he trusted his captain with his life. price had never led him astray; john knew his face well before any of the others. well before you.

and when someone you trust so deeply, someone you’ve followed for years, tells you that the person you love has betrayed your team?

you can’t help but believe them. and that’s what simon did.

the evidence was coincidental at first. wrong place, wrong time. but then, everything started to seem like more than a coincidence. pieces of a complicated puzzle were fitting together. things only you and the rest of the 141 would know were leaked.

and all the signs pointed to you.

and although he didn’t want to, simon couldn’t help it. the second price had confided in him that you may be the rat, simon began to distance himself. you had been confused, but he had offered no explanation.

price was the one to question you first. it was a heated conversation in his office, consisting of him showing you the evidence and you becoming furious at the accusations.

johnny came to you next, buttering you up with his flirtatious and unarming words before asking if you’d leaked information.

then there was kyle, who pleaded for the truth. he told you that a case was being built against you, and that if you came clean now, things wouldn’t be so bad.

simon never tried to talk to you about it. the other men would tell him what you’d said, but he had never gone to talk to you himself.

maybe it was pride. simon wasn’t trusting, not after his past. he had let the 141 in, had let you in. and now you were a suspected traitor, and he was angry at himself. angry he hadn’t seen it sooner; angry he’d let you in at all.

but maybe it was hurt. hurt that you’d done this to him, to the team, after knowing everything they’d been through. after stitching up wounds on the battlefield and taking bullets for one another. after sharing simon’s bed and whispering you loved him.

all he knew was that he trusted price. and as evidence built, so did the distance between the two of you, until you were tied to that chair.

and simon had taken his hurt, his anger, out on you. he wasn’t proud of it, and he knew now that he was wrong. but he was still a little angry. angry because you couldn’t see his side of things— not like he could see yours.

so, he was an ass. he didn’t apologize. he snuck flowers to your bedside but kept his distance. he told you to watch your tone because you were still part of the team, and speaking to price like that was only something an outsider would do.

and he told you that he’d spared your life because he had. anger had consumed him, and truthfully, you were lucky he hadn’t done worse.

even if he’d smothered his feelings for you with rage, he still harbored love for you, and that’s why some part of him held back.

he knew you would probably never forgive him. he had made his peace with that.

but he couldn’t stand the fact that you couldn’t understand why he’d done what he did.

the creak of the gym door opening broke simon from his thoughts. he pulled his mask back on before turning around and making his way to the door.

it took one firm knock on the door for price to answer.

the door clicked open, and price sighed when he saw simon, scrubbing a hand over his unruly beard before letting the taller man in. price turned, walking back to his desk chair, while simon closed the door behind him and locked it.

“this is a bloody mess,” the captain said, falling heavily into the chair. it squeaked at the sudden weight, old leather crinkling and crackling.

“doc came and saw me earlier, ‘fore she left for the night. told me about some new injuries, and yelled at me for letting that happen.”

simon didn’t speak. price’s eyes met his, and he sighed again.

“fuckin’ hell, simon. what the fuck did you say? doc said she had to stitch up both their hands.”

“doesn’t matter what I say,” simon spoke, eyes still on the captain “they won’t fuckin’ listen.”

price shook his head. “that’s not true, ‘nd we both know it,” he sounded tired as he spoke, dark bags under his eyes. he paused for a moment, then spoke again.

“spoke to laswell after you left earlier. she said she’ll try to speed up the transfer process. tryin’ to avoid more fuss, and im not fightin’ it any longer.”

“they’re part of our team,” simon spoke, tone rough.

price shook his head. “they are, but I can’t keep doin’ this. can’t keep pushin’ off transferin’ because of you lot. it may be better for us, but not for them.”

the room fell quiet. simon inhaled, exhaled. his fists clenched at his sides before quickly unfurling once more.

he didn’t have a right to be mad at you for leaving, but he was.

“laswell say anythin’ else about tha’ transfer?” simon asked.

price leaned back in his chair, arms folded across his chest. “not much. no word on where or with who, but even if she knew, doubt she’d tell us. for their sake.”

simon gave a small nod and made to turn, but froze as price spoke again.

“she did say she didn’t know if it would go through. they’d have to pass another eval.”

they both knew what that meant. if laswell said that, then she didn’t believe the transfer would happen. kate wouldn’t outwardly say it, but price had known what she’d meant.

pushing the transfer through wouldn’t matter if you couldn’t pass a physical and psychological evaluation— and laswell didn’t think you could.

although he wouldn’t admit it, price was unsure, too. torture was something that took an incredibly devastating toll on the mind and body.

but torture at the hands of your team? there was no telling the damage that that would do to someone. to you.

an honorable discharge was more likely. and, if that was the case, then your rage would likely grow tenfold.

you career, your livelihood, taken from you by the hands of the men you trusted the most. your family, cutting you up and pushing you out.

damned by your team and your country, regardless of everything you’d done for both of them during your service.

you were just another cog in the machine, one that had been damaged and discarded, and a discharge couldn’t make that any clearer.

he thought back to what you had said in the gym earlier, before you’d left.

‘you should have killed me.’

maybe he should have.

thanks to everyone for your patience! also just incase you didn’t see my post about it—

im no longer doing a taglist! my side blog @troiastitans will reblog my works from now on, so if you want to know when I post, follow that account and allow notifications!

as always, thank you for the love! (also I hope you all enjoyed a little peek into simon’s head!)

[hazelfoureyes]

The Big Part

Alastor x Virgin FemReader smut

(part 2)

You were dead, it was time to divest yourself of your virginity. When you ask Alastor, he takes to the task immediately. Unfortunately, he seems to enjoy surprising you.

warnings/promises: Alastor x Reader smut, Alastor dislikes getting naked, virginity does not rock, possessive Alastor, head pats, reader is an adult she’s just a nervous idiot bad at words

Horny little deer cult: @frompeach , @chirimeimei , @poppingaround , @polytheatrix , @itsmskeisha , @stygianoir , @celestial-vomit , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @amurtan

minors dni, this isn’t educational in the slightest and is just straight smut

It made sense, at the time. You didn’t want a relationship and you didn’t want to meet a stranger you couldn’t trust, that left very few people to ask. Husk would say no, and probably stop serving you drinks. Angel would most likely agree, but you were a little intimidated by his experience. That left Alastor. While you hadn’t spent much time together, your interactions were always cordial. And plus, this was hell. Isn’t this kind of situation a sinners dream come true?

For most, maybe. But you didn’t know Alastor. Not yet, not really. Everything he did had some ulterior motive. Perhaps nothing he had ever done was simply selfless. If Alastor wasn’t gaining something, Alastor wasn’t interested.

You caught him in the hallway one evening after redemption-oriented activities, deciding to get the moment over with as quickly as possible.

“It’s a favor, little… odd. But you’re the only person I have to ask.” Your eyes darted around his face, down the hall, up the walls, anywhere really but his eyes.

“I’m all ears!” Alastor tapped the microphone to the ground with a satisfying ‘thud’.

Oh— you had rehearsed this but you hadn’t prepared to be staring at that large, toothy grin. It wasn’t unsettling, it was just distracting. Would he be smiling the entire time he… ya know.

“I am,” you steepled your hands, pointing them at him, “a virgin.” You paused, hoping maybe he’d just infer the rest and you could stop talking.

His face was motionless save his eyelids rising up.

“And I don’t want to be. Anymore.” Your lips pursed together. C’mon, Alastor. Figure it out.

Alastor nodded.

You dragged your fingers down your face, “Would you help me with that?”

His head cocked to the side like a golden retriever being handed a book on ancient Egypt. Very nice offer but what exactly do I do with it?

“Help how, precisely?” He finally spoke, tone unchanged from any normal topic of discussion. Alastor watched your face scrunch up, mouth moving around words you abandoned half way through. You weren’t saying anything, just making panicked sounds. “I find annunciation most helpful when wanting to be understood, dear.”

You wanted to somersault out the nearest window. “Alastor will you take my virginity?”

“Take it where?”

You groaned, he laughed, “Just kidding, my dear! All in good fun. So, to be clear, you would like your first sexual experience to be with me?” He pointed the microphone from you to him.

You nodded, “Yes, please.”

His smile seemed to strain. Staring down at you, he tried to understand what your motivation was for this. But as he looked into your big, concerningly innocent eyes, he realized there was none. You really, simply, want him to be the first.

Ooh, as he thought it, he felt his pulse quicken in his lap. The first. A spot no one else could take. For the rest of your afterlife, he would always be the one who was first in you. A delicious thought. He could work with that.

“Are you free now?” He leaned down to your level.

“Oh. I wasn’t-,”

“Expecting immediacy? Perfect, the element of surprise has never failed me before.” His hand wrapped around your waist and drew you in to his chest, there was a rush of cold air over your skin before you felt yourself falling back.

It was soft, the room was dark, save for a small floor lamp in the corner. Your room, you realized.

“I didn’t know you knew my room number.”

“It’s my job to know everything about the hotel.” He said, tossing your shoes behind him. Was this happening now? Right now?

“I can do it, it’s, it’s fine.” You sat up and began undoing your pants. Alastor just standing there, watching. Smiling. Fuck, was it going to be this awkward the entire time? Should you say something? Touch him? You were lifting the hem of your shirt when you realized he was still fully dressed. “Are you going to take off your clothes?”

“Why would I do that?” Head lolled to the side.

You stopped mid-way through unhooking your bra, “Alastor you do know I was asking you to fuck me, right?”

He nodded. Maybe this was a mistake.

After taking off your bra, and finally your panties, you crawled to the top of your bed and drew your knees to your chest. Your feet hid your sex from view. Heart racing, but it wasn’t excitement, as you had anticipated. It was nerves. Would it hurt? Would you make a stupid face? What if he didn’t like the sounds you made? What if you regretted it after?

Alastor got on the bed on his knees, undoing his belt buckle but not his pants. The way he looked at you, your heart skipped a beat. You suddenly remembered he was called the ‘cannibal deer’ as you saw something akin to hunger in his eyes.

“What experience do you have?” His voice was suddenly low, deeper than before. This wasn’t the pun loving radio man you saw prodding the staff.

“I dated. Before. Kissing, um, I don’t know the bases. Groping?” You grimaced, it sounded so formal.

“Have you ever,” he began to slink toward you on his hands and knees, red eyes glowing in the dim light of your room, “been entered?”

Your cheeks burned, your head suddenly swayed as if it was half full of water and someone tipped you over. “Just myself, my,” you lifted your hand.

“Show me.”

All the air left the room, sucked out of your lungs and into his grin.

Uncrossing your feet, you tried to open your thighs without seperating your knees. It didn’t work, but you still managed to get a hand between your legs and to your entrance. You could have cried, you were soaking wet to an embarrassing degree. Your eyes return to Alastor, his gaze never leaving you. Even as you slipped a finger, then two, into yourself. You thought for sure he would want to watch your hands playing with your wet pussy but no, his eyes stayed on your face. Somehow, that was worse.

A shaky sigh escaped, your eyes closing as you tried to focus on relaxing around your digits.

Your head smacked against the headboard when you felt a third finger enter. Not yours. Your eyes flew back open to see him now directly in front of you.

“Two won’t do, dear.” He spun his finger around, pulling slightly at the thin skin of your entrance. “Unless you’d prefer this to hurt?”

You shook your head no, still stinging from the impact you had made. “May I?” His hand took your wrist and removing your fingers. Swiping your wetness from your ass to your clit, he coated his claw-like digits and pushed three back in. They were longer than yours, sharper. You could feel he moved gently, in and out. Your head was heavy, breath short and fast.

He laughed, bringing your consciousness fully back into the room, “Already wanting to change your mind?”

You shook your head side to side, still too embarrassed to speak, and took a grounding breath to help your body accept his fingers. He took his time, sliding in and out of you. His fingers picking up the slick and letting it lubricate your lips. It was so slow, the only pleasure for you was knowing it wasn’t your hand doing it.

But then his stretching of your hole stopped, and he grabbed both of your knees from underneath and pulled you down toward him. Now on your back, legs up and in his hands, you heard his belt slide through the loopholes, his zipper drop. You wanted to look, but you also absolutely did not want to look.

Your knees came together when you felt something hot and round at your entrance. “Ah-ah,” He opened them immediately. He reached for one of your hands, and brought it down to his cock. It was so hard under your fingers, but gave a little when you squeezed. It made him hiss.

“You tell me when to stop, little doe.” He pressed into your opening, pulled back. Pressed in, just barely making it past your lips, pulled back. He kept this pressing and pulling, head making slightly more leeway every time. Your fingers were holding right behind the tip.

“How about this, dear. I’ll just get the head in for now. Manageable!”

“Just— just get the big part in first?” You asked, the pressure at your entrance building with every shallow thrust.

He laughed, nodding as he held both of your knees further apart. When he attempted to get past the curve of his cock’s head, your hands flew down to press against his thigh, pushing back with the intrusion. Alastor stilled, sighed, and pressed his head fully in with a determined thrust. Instinctively, your feet came to his chest and tried to push away from him. It felt like you were being torn down the middle, your body forced apart at your most sensitive junction. He held you still now by the ankles, legs splayed in the air.

It burned where your walls were pushed aside. Stinging where the skin tore slightly just beneath your hole, unable to stretch.

“Breath, sweetheart.” He set your ankles down. “Does it hurt?”

You nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a bit,” he settled on his legs, looking down at where he was connected to you. Your pink little pussy looking positively overwhelmed by his cock. No one has ever been here before, and he could feel it. Your walls were pressing so hard against him his shaft was slightly curved from the force pushing his head out. You still had so much to take, there was so much more of you for him to explore. You tried to calm your breathing but your heart was racking against your sternum.

Hand reaching down again, you let your fingers count little paces from his core to yours. You knew the hardest part was over, but that didn’t bring much comfort as you felt how far you still had to go.

Alastor let his eyes wander away from your not-so-virgin cunt to your face. Your expression was twisted, not pained but clearly uncomfortable.

“How does it feel?” He asked, gesturing to your lap with a nod of his head.

“Full, so full.”

His cackle disheartened you, “Darling I am no where done filling you up.”

You clenched when he said it, earning a small groan from him. You were already too tight, when you spasmed on him it was nearly painful. There was more to do yet, more of you to claim as his. Just the tip of his cock was simply not enough.

His hips started moving again, the folds of his head pulling at the skin of your entrance but not actually crossing the barrier. He was gently rocking, barely making friction between you two. Your hand clawed at his knee, breath hitching. You let an airy moan slip, his head no longer an intrusion but something hot and melty barely rubbing your walls. It started to feel almost good.

Alastor’s cock was throbbing, his shaft touch-starved and desperate for the heat of your cunt. Your face was relaxing now, eyes blinking around new sensations. He wanted to see you experience more, more firsts and frighteningly foreign pleasures. He wanted to see you scared of how good he could make you feel. Alastor wanted you to never feel whole again without him buried balls deep in you.

“Can you take more?” His voice was like gravel, a radio static crackling in.

You met his eyes, glowing still in the dim light, wide and nearly frenzied in their dilation. His smile was practically beaming down at you.

“I don’t know.” You were scared to move forward, even though you wanted more.

“I don’t like liars.” A pop of electricity arcing at the end of his words. You pulled a pillow over your face, trying to hide from the reaction you knew he’d have as his voice made you tighten around him. “Your body says otherwise,” he hissed.

You wanted to say ‘yes’, if this could feel good then how great would all of him feel? But you were scared to vocalize it. Scared to make it start. Alastor lifted the pillow, “I need to see you, dear.” He set it beside his leg, “Do you remember what I said earlier?”

Brow furrowed, you shook your head. His grin widened to his ears as his hands slid down your thighs to your hips and he sank his cock to the hilt.

The element of surprise definitely made the nerves of saying ‘yes’ dissipate, but you were now choking on your breath, hands gripping at the blankets beneath you. Was this normal? Was he too far inside you? You felt nauseous, your guts prodded by Alastor’s member.

“How does it feel now?” He watched your eyes scanning the ceiling for an answer. You felt sure there was no way his head could leave you ever again. It was so snuggly fit in you, you feared you’d be pulled inside out. “Words, dear.”

You sat up on your elbows, sweating from the nerves of it all. “Like there’s a big stick stuck in me.”

“Accurate!” He laughed, and began pulling out. You whined, head dropping back. Almost taking himself out completely, he paused before thrusting back in. The head of his cock dragged against your walls, you could feel him with such detail. Every inch of him leaving impressions behind. Alastor could feel it too, how your soft warmth moved out of his way with every push. How pliable your womb was to his intrusions.

More. You could take more, he was positive of it.

Slowly, your moans began to get louder as the pressure faded into pleasure. Every time he bottomed out, you jumped. Every time he pulled out, you wanted to chase after him with your hips.

Watching your face soften, eyes now watery, Alastor was sure you were relaxed enough. He grabbed the pillow beside him, lifting your ass and sliding it under the small of your back. You didn’t ask, just waited to see what the point was. Dissatisfied, he grabbed another and added it under you.

Your hips were up, ass hanging over the ledge the pillows made, back bent upward. When he began to thrust again, you whinced feeling a new part of you widen for him. “Can you see me?” You looked at him when he said it, but he grabbed your hand and placed it beneath your belly button. When he pushed back in, you could feel his cock beneath your hand. Moving it, you watched your stomach bulge slightly when he was completely sheathed in you.

“Oh fuck-,” your head fell back into the bed, it was too much to feel let alone to watch, “Too deep.”

He hummed an acknowledgement, picking up his pace. “Let me see how you cum.”

Your face was hot, reluctantly bringing your hand to your clit and rubbing.

No, this wasn’t a mistake at all. If anything you regretted not asking sooner.

His thrusts now brought lightning to your core, your finger quickening in speed with the realization of just how good he could feel.

Studying your face still, he adjusted his angle until he saw the muscles in your neck tighten. He knew he found your g-spot, your moans dipping into cries.

“I can’t—,” You couldn’t get over the hump, knowing he was watching you, waiting for you.

“You can”, the lights flickered, his eyes now black with small red pupils illuminating your naked body, “and you will, my dear.” One of his hands stopped pressing finger sized bruises into your hips to instead push your own finger aside. The wide pad of his thumb took over and began thrumming you fast and hard.

That familiar build up of pleasure was stronger than you’d ever felt it, and when it finally snapped your muscles from your thighs to your toes cramped. How long had you been tensing?

You practically sobbed into the crook of your arm, Alastor’s hips slowing but still carrying you through your orgasm. They moved slower and slower, until stopping entirely. His head popped out of you, leaving you feeling hollow. Cold.

Eyes wet and blurry, you looked up at him, “Aren’t you going to finish?”

“If we do everything now, what ‘first’ will we have for tomorrow night? And the night after that?” He smiled, member already hidden away and pants buttoned. Your thighs twitched. “Same time tomorrow, little doe?”

You covered your face with both hands, and nodded.

His big hand came to your head and patted you gently, “Good girl.”

I hope you liked it 🥺 I don’t feel as confident about this one. Fun fact, my first time involved bondage. Very on brand, huh? 💖

༻Masterlist༺

Gonna start calling his dick ‘the element of surprise’. You look tired today! What happened? Oh the element of surprise kept me up all night.

[happy74827]

A Smile From Hell

[Homelander x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Despite the amount of unpredictability The Homelander has, he still catches you off guard with something as small as a smile.

WC: 3576

Category: Angst, Supe!Reader {TW — Homelander for obvi reasons}

In honor of Season 4’s weekly releases, this one is for the Antony Starr girlies (and you @summerrivera777777)

『••✎••』

John fucking terrified you.

He terrified everyone, really.

He had the power to level an entire city block with a glance. He was strong enough to crush a man's skull with one hand and fast enough to catch a bullet. He was an unstoppable force of nature. He was The Homelander, and he was a threat to anyone who stood in his way.

But, the thing was...

You knew everything about him. Everything.

And he absolutely despised that, but there was nothing he could do to change it. You had seen him at his most vulnerable and pathetic. You had seen his humanity, it’s amazing he still has any after the way Vought has abused him, and you had seen his inhumanity.

Jessica, or Sister Sage, had confronted you on several occasions, trying to get you to tell her your secrets. She wanted the upper hand on her arch nemesis, the only one in the world who was a threat to her. It was her mission to end the reign of the superhero she hated most, and she was willing to do anything for it.

You could see right through her, and you didn’t need magnificent amounts of intelligence to do so. You could see the fear in her eyes. You could see the doubt in her face, hear the strain in her voice, feel her uneasiness when she was near him.

John knew it, too. He just simply chose to ignore it. He had grown used to being the scariest man in the room. It’s been that way his whole life, and it seemed it was going to stay that way.

But, despite all that fear, she came to you for answers. Again.

And this time, the question was a simple one. It was so simple, yet completely understandably complicated.

How are you allowed to live?

That was a question that stumped you. It took you a long time to grasp the meaning of it, the specific answer she was looking for.

After a few clarifications, you finally understood what she meant.

She wanted to know why John allowed you to live. She wanted to know why he hadn’t killed you. She wanted to understand why you were the only person alive after calling him by his name.

Not his stage name, his real name.

For being the most intelligent person on the planet, you’d think that she’d be able to understand it. I mean, the answer was right there, in front of her face. She didn't need to be a genius to figure it out; all she needed was a little more insight.

A little bit of understanding.

"Respect," you said, your voice soft. Your words were clear, though, and she heard them perfectly.

The confusion on her face was evident, as was her disbelief.

"What?"

"It's respect. Anyone I respect is someone that deserves my respect."

She snorted.

"Right," she said. "Like he could actually respect anything other than himself."

"He's capable of it if that's what you're thinking," you told her. "And this isn’t about him respecting me; it's about me respecting him."

She narrowed her eyes at you, her suspicion rising.

"Why would you respect him?" she questioned. "You're not blind; you know exactly who he is."

Yes, you did. You knew more than most, and compared to The Seven now, you probably knew the most. His actions? Completely unredeemable. He was, in fact, a monster; there was no arguing that. He was a horrible, twisted, monstrous individual; no one would deny it.

His actions weren’t excusable, but he had an explanation. A reason for why he was the way he was.

He wasn’t born a monster; he was turned into one. That… that was the respect part. You respected him because you respected his story. You respected his pain. You respected his anger.

You respected his past; anything after that was on him.

"I don’t like using stage names to those I respect enough, so I call him John. He allows it because he knows I don’t mean it the way others would if they used his name; it doesn't hold the same power with me."

She rolled her eyes at you.

"Same goes for you, Jessica; I have no desire to call you Sister Sage."

Her flinch was barely visible, but you still caught it. Again, what is intelligence if not knowing the chances of a particular outcome?

"I’ve noticed you don’t call Deep or that fire chick by their real names."

You just smiled, leaving her to solve that answer for herself, and it didn’t take long at all. You knew the exact moment she came up with a conclusion. She was quite predictable, in that regard. Maybe you should’ve been the big-brained hero instead.

And now, you really should’ve been because when you turned down the hall, catching wind of the elevator doors opening, you knew he had listened to it all.

But you didn’t say anything, and you really didn’t say anything after a simple glance at him.

He was completely drenched in blood, a look that would terrify even the toughest of men. But not you, oh no, you were very used to that. He’s done a lot worse.

Besides, you were too distracted by the fact that the blood wasn't his. Too distracted by noticing how this time was different. He was smiling, but it wasn’t his usual cruel smile. This time, it was genuinely happy.

Relief, almost.

It reminded you of the night you two bonded. No, not that type of bond. The bond that told you both that you weren’t alone.

He had a friend, but he wasn’t really your friend. You don’t believe you could ever consider him one. Not really, not with the things he has done.

But, still, you were the closest thing he had to a friend. You were the closest he had to an equal, a person he could relate to. Jessica carried the same intelligence (obviously a lot more), but the similarities between the two of them stopped there.

You had a similar history but different outcomes.

And that reveal between the two of you happened that night. This was way back, even before Starlight joined. Back when The Seven was in its prime.

Stillwell threw a party, something she always loved to do before Teddy became her focus. It was the usual: people in fancy dresses and suits, lots of champagne and liquor.

The difference, however, was the main focal point. Usually, given Vought’s status, all of The Seven members were the main event. Everyone was mandated to wear their hero outfits. It was a great way to advertise and get people to buy more of the products.

The theme this time, however, wasn’t about the group. It wasn’t about any of you. For the first time in a long while, John wasn’t in the spotlight.

Due to this, Stillwell banned everyone from wearing their costumes. No capes, no spandex, no leather, no masks. Just suits and dresses.

It was nice, actually. A little break from the norm. It felt good to go a night without the tight leather on your skin. You were actually surprised at how well it was received.

The rest of the members of the group seemed to be having a wonderful time as well.

Except for one.

He was standing in the corner, glaring at everyone. Madelyn had an entire argument with him about the suit. You weren’t there, but you knew exactly how it went.

His costume was a part of him. It was a symbol. It was a mask. A representation. An embodiment of who he was. Without it, he was a naked target.

Madelyn clearly did not give a single shit. In the end, the argument resulted in the two of them getting into a screaming match, causing him to storm off in a fit of rage.

So, there he was, standing alone, seething at anyone who passed him. Madelyn won; of course, she did, and she didn't even bother trying to apologize. She wasn't sorry.

She was just mad that he refused to listen in the first place.

But, hey, that wasn’t your problem. You were enjoying yourself. The night was going pretty well; the alcohol was flowing nicely, and the music was just right. You were dancing and laughing and having a great time.

But, of course, things weren't always easy for you.

You weren’t expecting it to last long; you weren’t one to have good luck. You knew, deep down, that the night was going to come crashing down on you. You were just waiting for the ball to drop.

The ball dropped the moment you decided to go cheer up the sourpuss.

It was obvious the way his shoulders tensed, and his head tilted ever so slightly. He knew you were approaching. He was aware.

"Don't," he said.

He was clearly angry, and you weren’t smart enough not to push. This is where Jessica’s powers would have benefited you greatly.

You ignored his warning, walking up beside him, mocking his stance.

"You okay?" you asked, your tone soft and light, a hint of playfulness.

His eyes flicked over to you, and the glare he gave was terrifying. His eyes were so intense, and his teeth were clenched. You could see his jaw tensing.

He was a volcano, ready to erupt.

You could practically see the steam coming out of his ears.

"I'm fine." Humorously enough, it sounded like the opposite.

"Really?"

He turned his head to look at you, his anger increasing by the second.

"Don’t you have anything better to do?"

You shrugged. "Yeah, but I'm choosing to talk to you."

He looked away from you, grumbling, "And why's that?"

"Because you’re ruining the party," you answered. "Miserable face and all."

He rolled his eyes. He actually does this a lot, believe it or not. It's the only expression he has besides anger that isn’t fake.

"And why do you care?"

You shrugged again. "I care about enjoying myself, and I can't do that when you're moping."

He turned his head towards you. He was not amused.

"Go find someone else to entertain yourself with.” He pointed behind him. "I’m sure Deep will be glad to show off his fish facts."

That one caused you to make the same face he had moments ago. The absolute look of disgust on your face was enough to bring a smug grin to his own.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Don't make me throw up, John."

The name.

It was a simple slip-up, nothing more. But, of course, it meant so much more. This was before everything, so it doesn’t seem likely that a slip-up like that wouldn’t result in consequences, but it secretly was a turning point.

He could've killed you.

He could've easily grabbed you and thrown you across the room, and no one would be able to comprehend what had happened until after you were unrecognizable.

He didn't, though.

No, instead, he stared at you, his face blank, and his mind processing. You were nervous, of course. You had no idea what was going on in his head.

After a minute, a look of realization came upon him, and you could see the exact moment the gears started turning.

Then, a simple hum fell from his lips. One said he wasn’t expecting it but was deciding whether to accept it.

Then, after a few seconds, his face relaxed. His jaw was unclenched, his eyes softened, and his eyebrows relaxed.

"Let’s have a chat."

Uh oh. That’s a code red—a sign of danger.

You were so done.

And yet, for some odd reason, you followed him. You don’t know why. It was a stupid move, in your opinion. You should've run while you had the chance. You should’ve listened and just punched fishlips or something.

You didn’t, though.

You followed him, allowed him to fly you somewhere private, and just waited. You waited for your imminent doom. You were going to die; you were sure of it.

But, for some reason, your death never came.

Instead, the two of you landed on the tower’s roof, the cold New York air hitting you hard. He had set you down on your feet and went all the way to the railing.

You stood awkwardly, waiting for him to turn around with those beams in his eyes, but they never came.

He was just looking out into the city, his back turned to you, his hands on the railing.

After a few minutes of silence, he turned his head, looking at you through the corner of his eye.

"Aren't you going to ask?"

Ask what? What was there to ask?

There were plenty of things to ask, actually, and yet you had no idea what the right thing to ask was. Because, again, even here, he was unpredictable and unreadable.

You didn't want to anger him; you knew that for sure. But you were also tired of his mind games. It was a constant battle of wit, and you were sick and tired of being left in the dust.

So, you chose something simple to say. Something easy, yet not so simple to answer.

"Are you going to kill me?"

You wouldn’t be surprised if he turned around with a smile and answered yes.

He didn’t, though. Oh no, he stayed turned, staring into the city, his eyes searching. Searching for what you didn't know.

"No."

Simple and clear.

You didn't respond, and he didn't elaborate. It was silent, and it was cold, and it was a tense moment.

But you didn't leave. You just watched him, watched his movements. The way his shoulders hunched over, his head tilting down, the grips on the railing, the way his hair slowly became unstuck due to the wind.

You always thought his hair looked better when it wasn't slicked back, but this is the first time you've ever seen it that way. It was… it was nice.

Then, his shoulders relaxed, and his head straightened. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t speak. He just looked over his shoulder at you, his eyes piercing yours.

Even with a few strands of hair on his face, his eyes were so sharp and clear. So blue. So cold.

It felt like they were reaching deep into your soul.

It was terrifying. He was terrifying.

"Do you remember your parents?"

The question took you by surprise. It wasn’t what you were expecting, but then again, this whole encounter was the definition of unexpected.

"Yes. Why?"

His eyes scanned yours as if looking for a lie. Then, he turned back around, leaning on the railing.

"I can't remember mine," he said. "Sometimes I wonder if I even had them."

Oh. Oh. This was huge. This was a big one. You had to search deeply even to find out his actual name. Now, here he was, telling you of his past.

Of all people, he chose to tell you.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

You were honored, yes. You were excited, definitely. But, most importantly, you were worried. Is this him letting you in? Or is it him preparing you for your demise?

It was an unknown territory, a field of landmines. You knew a lot about his past already, but now he was aware of the fact that you knew. He knows, and yet he is still giving you the information.

Why?

"I mean, it doesn't make sense. Everyone has parents, right? And I couldn't have been born out of nowhere. So, I must have had parents. A mom, a dad, some form of guardians."

His face was scrunched, and his eyebrows were furrowed. You could see the way his brain was working. He was really thinking about it, wondering how the pieces fit together.

He was struggling to make a connection, and he was mad at himself for not having it.

"I'm assuming your childhood wasn't the best," you said. You knew it was a risky move, joking about his past, but so far, he seemed to like the boldness and humor.

And he did, in fact, let out a snort.

"Understatement of the year."

You smiled but quickly stopped. It was a serious conversation, and smiling probably wasn’t the appropriate reaction.

Silence filled the space again, and he was back to thinking. He was trying; he was really trying. But he just couldn't.

It wasn't the fact that his parents were a mystery; he's come to terms with that. It was the fact that he couldn’t remember anything.

All he remembered was the torture, the pain, the experiments… nothing about how he got there. Nothing about the people before the scientists. Nothing about a home. And the fact that they were currently building a fake one for him made him so angry.

It was a mockery—a complete joke.

He felt all of these emotions and yet couldn't express them.

And he was frustrated. He was pissed off and tired and angry and sad and empty and-

"Did you rip off your tie?" Your eyes had caught sight of his bare neck, the black fabric missing.

It was the only way to pull him out of his head, and, to your surprise, it worked. You could see the moment he snapped back to reality, the moment he was pulled away from his mind.

"Yeah," he answered. "It was suffocating me."

You could tell.

His hair became more unkempt due to the wind. The strands of hair on his forehead were getting in the way, and it was getting annoying. Not for you, no, but for him.

For you, it was… humanizing. It made him seem a little less like a god.

He lifted his hand, his fingers gently combing through the locks. It was a struggle, a normal struggle that you've had with your own hair.

Plenty struggle with deviating the locks away from their desired location. You've had your own fair share of moments.

But this was the first time you'd seen him experience it. The first time witnessing him do something so simple and basic.

Such a human thing. It had you wondering what else he was capable of.

He sighed, his hand dropping back to the railing. Again, it is a normal thing to happen. But, it had you smiling, the corners of your mouth curving ever so slightly.

The action did not go unnoticed.

"What?" he asked, not even bothering to turn around.

You shrugged. "I've just never…"

Your mind kept changing images. His hair, his eyes, his shoulders, his jaw, his nose, his ears, his neck, his hand, his lips, his chin, his cheekbones, his eyebrows, his skin…

Everything is listed in your mind, including the little imperfections and details that make him, well, him. This was the first time you saw him anything other than perfect.

The perfect monster he was, the god of all men. The man of the century, the one to take the world by storm. The strongest, the smartest, the best.

The symbol, the image, the mask.

The facade.

This was the first time you saw him as just a person. A human being. Just a regular guy.

"Sometimes I wonder how different life would be if you were…"

Normal.

The word was at the tip of your tongue. You could've said it; you should've said it. It was the truth. It was obvious.

But you couldn't.

He knew where your sentence was going, though. Of course, he did.

"If I was… what?" He still wanted to hear it. He was looking for validation, and he wanted it from you. His eyes were on you, his body turned, but there was this one odd thing.

A smile.

It wasn't his usual one. The one you were used to. The one that made everyone scared and uneasy. No, this was a real smile.

A soft, small one, but still a real smile.

A true smile. As if he knew the words you were going to say, as if he knew your thoughts, and he found them amusing.

You found him amusing.

And just because of that, you didn’t give him the validation.

"It’s fucking freezing out here," You coughed in hopes of successfully changing the subject. "I’m gonna get a jacket."

He was going to argue, but you were already walking off, telling him you’d take the emergency ladder down.

Nothing was spoken about that night. No words were exchanged.

But something had changed. Something had shifted. You weren’t quite sure what it was, but it was something.

So, seeing that genuine smile again in that elevator was a shock.

He had the same face as he did on that roof. It was that smile. That one specific smile.

Capable.

That's what it was.

He was capable.

He was capable of feeling and being human. He was capable of being something other than a monster.

He was capable.

All he said to you when you walked by was a simple goodnight. Something so small, yet so big. This time, those words seemed to have a little more meaning.

So, just to raise his unsettling mood, you winked and said, "Goodnight, John."

Again, a smile.

The smile.

It was hard to continue walking, and it was even harder not to turn around. But you did.

You did it knowing you were going to have a hard time sleeping. Knowing that, no matter what, you weren’t going to forget that smile.

The demon that still had a little bit of humanity in him.

A demon that was capable.

[benegesseritofficial]

The effects of face paint on Harrowhark's psyche

I've now cosplayed Gideon Nav 3 times, with my wife along as Harrow every time. Naturally, this has included full face paint for both of us each time and I have some thoughts.

Let me start by asserting that everything Muir writes in TLT about the face paint is accurate. Rubbing off your lips first, smearing into gray where the black and white meet, the way sweat makes it ooze but not run. I can't say if Muir (a known Homestuck) ever cosplayed as a troll, but I'm positive she tested out the practicality of the skull face paint or otherwise has first hand experience with extensive use of grease paint. Also, the way she describes normal people flinching when they see you is spot on.

I've noticed while putting on the make up that once most of my skin is covered, any flesh tones sticking out start to become unsettling. Specifically, the red/pink of the inner mouth and around the eyes jump out upsettingly. Every time I've done skull paint I find myself meticulously trying to patch over these edges of skin, despite knowing that it's inside skin that Shouldn't Have Make Up On It. Once my face is monochrome, I don't want to be able to see a scrap of real human under there. Smiling, or otherwise opening your mouth wide enough to see the pink, looks UNSETTLING. My own skin causes the uncanny valley effect. You see where this is going. In NtN we learn Harrowhark disassociates often enough that Crux isn't surprised or concerned to see "Harrow" insisting she's someone else. Obviously this is due to her schizophrenia, and perhaps trauma besides. But it doesn't account for every aspect of why Harrow's "like that." On her most lucid days Harrow ignores her body to the point of sweating blood and passing out. She goes entire days without eating. She thinks of herself as a skeleton unfortunately covered in flesh. She sleeps in her paint.

All of which is heinous, but that last one has stuck with me. From age 13-18 I barely glanced down while I showered and whatever I saw I basically blocked out. I wore underwear and a bra under my pajamas to sleep every night. I was going through the wrong puberty, "my body was in open rebellion" as I liked to say at the time, and the only way to cope was to bind it down and pretend it wasn't happening. By Gideon's narration in HtN one gets the impression most nuns of the Ninth are putting their paint on after breakfast and taking it off when they get home. It's not even expected the average person wears it every time they leave the house. But Harrow regularly only takes her paint off in order to redo it. I suspect a combination of being the most brainwashed person in her own cult, knowing how she was conceived, and the regular disassociation make it very difficult for Harrow to conceptualize that she actually lives in a body. If she faced that fact head on she'd have to ask why it so often feels someone else is using her body. She'd have to cope with owning this body, being a part of this body, that was bought with the blood of 200 children who should have been her peers and friends. Instead she pretends it's an object on loan from them. And she does it with 10 layers of black petticoats and so much paint she never has to see her own skin.

Which brings me to the final thing I've noticed wearing full face paint. It dehumanizes you to yourself and everyone around you. I couldn't read my own expressions in a mirror. Even people who understood and were delighted with my cosplay were visibly nervous talking to me. You don't look like a person. Studies have shown that faces wearing heavy make up are ranked as harder to read and perceived as less empathetic. It's a particularly insidious trap of patriarchy that many women find self esteem in wearing make up, while that very act makes everyone around them treat them more callously. And, worst of all, if you stop wearing it once you're used to it, your naked face is shocking. You look sick due to your colors being less bold and the normal small flaws of your face appear unbearably ugly. With all this in mind, Harrow has trapped herself in a feedback loop of not being able to witness her own face and becoming more and more disgusted with the flesh and person underneath whenever she has to glance at it.

[shooting-love-arrows]

𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐇 𝐌𝐀𝐍

SYNOPSIS: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 basks in the fact that you're ofically his. PAIRING: 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 x Reader (gender isn't impiled/mentioned/specified) Tw. buying reader, kidnapping, general lack of consent, possessive/obsessive behavior, power imbalance, blackmailing, threatening; A/N: Quick reminder. I do not support this kind of behaviour. This is just a piece of fiction and serves as enetrtaimnet purposes only.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 who had bought you.

Earlier that week, unknowingly to you, he visited a small apartment you and your family were occupying. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 was aware where and how you were living but it still mortified him how you – his precious darling – could be living like that. 

“You deserve better…more…” he repeated in his head every time he thought about you. Which was always. So it didn't come as a surprise to anyone he had decided to do something about it sooner than later.

Yes, 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 greatly appreciated being so warmly welcomed by (his soon to be in-laws) your family. He even witnessed himself from where you got some of your traits from but business needed to be made.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 was straight forward from the start.

The deal was simple: he will pay your family a handsome sum of money monthly and you'll belong to him wholly. They'll completely disappear from your life, becoming nothing but a shadow of your past. In his head he knows you won’t need them anymore.

If not, their financial situation which was already bad will be even worse. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 is a man of power and has a lot of money. Your parents, knowing this, quickly understood that it's either willingly giving you away and getting the money or he will forcefully do so with them landing on a street, probably dead.

From the beginning, they had no choice.

"And here you are, my precious." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 whispered lovingly into your ear before gently laying you on the king size bed. You were put in a deep sleep by an alcohol you drank during his luxurious party (he threw to celebrate sealing the deal but shhh...) and strong sleeping pills he had added to one of your drinks. He made a mental note to pay the doctor he got them from an extra since you didn't even twitch the whole way you were carried here.

"I hope the bedroom will be to your liking." Your (captor) future husband carefully took off your shoes and laid them by your new bed. 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 wanted you to be as comfortable as one person can be. Then he took the neatly folded blanket made from the highest quality silk and processed to snuggly tuck you in. When he finished, you looked like the bed could swallow you at any given moment.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 couldn’t help himself and brought his hand to your head, caressing it while staring at your face in adoration. "If not I'll change it however you like it."

Secretly, he hoped you'll be sharing a bedroom (especially bed) soon.

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 sat down by your side, the softest mattress he could find easily dipping under him. He didn’t care that he was wrinkling his expensive party wear consisting of a black tuxedo imported straight from Italy that accentuated his lean body in every positive way. He was looking his absolutely best. For you.

"Oh how I love you, my precious." 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 purred and his fingers ghosted over your cheek. He leaned down close enough to your face that your soft breaths were fanning him. Some of his slicked back hair fell down tickling your forehead. His mesmerizing eyes were gleaming with the passionate and deep rooted love he had for you. "You belong to me."

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞! 𝟏𝟗𝟐𝟎'𝐬! 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡 𝐌𝐚𝐧 sealed your fate with a peck on your lips.

All of the published posts on this account/blog belongs to @shooting-love-arrows. I do not consent to my works being: translated, stolen, published or reposted on this and other sites. Likes, reblogs, comments are highly appreaciated. Thank you.

[draconic-desire]

Gosh i just loved your Sunday fic.. 😫

Im wondering what about a naive type darling? With so much isolation, it has made darling insecure. Darling thinks Sunday deserves a better woman and just ups and leaves Sunday when he isnt home. But ofc is soon found not long after 😋

ohhhh so personally i imagine this happening after sunday uses the harmony one too many times on poor reader…you never saw it coming, never would have thought sunday would hurt you despite being isolated for so long. any thoughts you had about escaping, even going outside to see friends, are obliterated. sunday becomes your whole world.

Yan!Sunday x Naive!Gn!Reader

You’ve been standing in front of Sunday’s door, fist raised and poised to knock, for twenty minutes now.

For what feels like the millionth time, you lower your hand, worrying your lip.

He’s been in there all day. Sunday is a busy man, his schedule constantly filled with meetings and Family affairs, but never too occupied that he would ignore you for an entire day.

Your mind fears the worst; even those initial days of being drowned in the Harmony, before you realized Sunday was trying to help you adjust to your life with him, is preferable to this. Did you do something wrong? Who is he in there with? Is he ignoring you?

Has he…grown tired of you?

The mere thought chills your heart and fills your veins with ice as you take a step back, inhaling sharply.

The wooden door before you is polished to a fault, bright enough that you can see your faint outline. It bitterly reminds you of how inferior you are compared to him, a mere speck of dust, a fleeting shadow on the wall.

You start to spiral. Surely Sunday, the most handsome and sought after man in Penacony, could have his pick of anyone—so why would he settle on you? Why did he bring you here, trap you in this mansion, keep you by his side, if only to throw you away in the end?

Did he never love you?

Why does that thought hurt you so much?

Heart pounding and tears blurring your vision, you quickly turn and flee, your knock forgotten.

~*~

It has long grown dark on the streets of the Golden Hour.

The normally bustling city is slumbering, the only light provided by the plethora of flashing billboards that never sleep. The few individuals you have passed are either drunks stumbling home or the stray Intellitron. You’ve been walking aimlessly for hours, wiping away tears and fruitlessly searching for a way to escape to reality.

After all your time mulling in your sadness and insecurities, you have come to the conclusion that you should relieve Sunday of his care of you. He’s much better off without you, or rather with a better individual than you. He should be dating royalty, a celebrity, an angel. The type of person who would have knocked on that door, would have strutted confidently into his office and sat directly into his lap to—

Another pair of footsteps echo behind you.

You almost don’t hear them at first, but you most definitely see the haloed shadow on the wall in front of you.

“And where do you think you’re going, (Y/n)?”

You immediately freeze, your breathing becoming erratic and shallow. His voice sends little butterflies pounding against your chest, begging to fly to him.

“Do you really think this pathetic attempt to escape would succeed?” A hand wraps around your waist, spinning you around to meet golden eyes rimmed in violet. You expect them to be filled with anger, perhaps even loathing, but you’re shocked to discover they are brimming with nothing but thinly veiled panic.

His grip tightens when you don’t respond immediately. “Answer me, (Y/n).” His voice cracks as he says your name again. “Where have you been?”

Words clog in your throat. “I—I thought—you were—you didn’t want—”

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you. You weren’t thinking. I believed we had moved beyond your futile attempts to leave, that you understood that you are mine—”

“But what if I don’t deserve to be yours!”

The two of you freeze in the wake of your outburst. His breath hitches as you lower your head and whisper softly, “I thought you stopped loving me the same as I love you.”

For once, you’ve caught Sunday off guard. His beautiful gaze widens in shock as he truly takes in your form—shivering, tears rolling down your cheeks, nails digging into your palms—and realizes his mistake.

You left because you thought he didn’t want you.

The mere idea baffles him. Standing before him is the most beautiful individual he has ever seen. Every fiber of his being screams for him to lock you in a birdcage and throw away the key—you are a precious treasure, meant to sing only for him. He has created you to be the perfect devotee in his very image.

And all of his efforts have succeeded, because you said you loved him.

His anger and fear immediately melt into softness as he holds your face between both hands, his forehead lowered to press against yours. “Oh, darling, no. You cannot fathom the adoration I harbor for you, the multitude of praises I wish to preach each day in your name.”

His voice takes on a nearly holy reverence, but his eyes shine with an untamed desire. “There is nowhere you belong except for by my side. Finding you missing this evening nearly tore my heart out. You must never venture out again, do you understand, my precious dove?”

You sniff and lean into his touch, a smile parting the river of your tears. Yes, that’s right. That’s what the Harmony said before, too: your purpose is to please Sunday, to serve Sunday, to live for Sunday.

Why would you ever doubt his love?

Why would you ever want to leave him? What a silly idea.

You think you feel a tiny pull at the back of your mind, a hook that wants to tether you to reality. But a quick slash of a knife severs the line, leaving you floating in a sea of multicolored bliss.

“I’ll never doubt you again, Sunday. I love you.”

Sunday’s lips curl into a smirk as he lifts your chin and examines the rainbows dancing in your eyes. “I love you, too, (Y/n).”

[mysicklove]

Toddlers are known to look at their caregivers to see how they should react when they trip and fall. Even if the stumble of their wobbly legs doesn’t hurt them, in many cases, they will still cry if their guardians fuss over them. Although, if the adult doesn’t give them a time of day usually the little beasts get up and go back to playing with their friends.

This phenomenon is pretty common for the toddler you raise. The small child seemed to master how to react during certain situations depending on who is watching him, you or his wicked older brother.

The three of you go to the park where Yuuji runs around the playground, letting out giggles and squeals when Nobara and Megumi play tag with him. You somehow drift off on Sukunas shoulder on a nearby bench, closing your eyes and slumping against your boyfriend, content with the fact that he has his eye on the reckless child.

As to be aspected, Yuuji, after being warned very harshly by his “doting” brother to go slow when going down the steps of the playground, ignores the caution and sprints down the stairs only to miss a step and fall straight to the bark. It wasn’t a hard fall — his legs collapsed beneath him, and he landed on his knees with a plop. No harm, no injuries, mostly just shock of him falling a couple feet into the bark.

The first thing he does is look toward you, unconsciously questioning if he is about to cry out from the pain so that you can pick him up and coddle him. But he can’t catch your sleeping gaze and instead finds himself face-to-face with Sukuna.

His brother only raises an eyebrow at him, shaking his head as if to say “i dare you to cry right now”. The two of them make eye contact for longer than necessary, silent communication, and Yuuji sniffles, gulps, and slowly gets up before going back to playing.

The elder Itadori puts his hand in front of your eyes, blocking out the sun from disturbing your sleep and continues to watch his younger brother walk much more carefully up and down the playground. It was good to not coddle the boy; Sukuna didn’t want Yuuji to grow up spoiled; he was to be a man, strong just like him.

But of course, Sukuna happened to be raising him with you, a person with the biggest soft spot for the child. And so when you wake up from your nap, and Sukuna calls the boy over to leave, you notice the tiny piece of bark sticking out of the boy's leg. It was surface level — Yuuji didn’t even notice it, but still, the image looked much more gruesome than it was really.

You gasp and begin to fuss over his “injured” leg, asking the boy if he tripped and fell if he was hurt at all if he was okay. And suddenly, to Yuuji, it seemed that maybe that fall did hurt a little too bad. Maybe he wasn't okay like he thought.

Tears begin to well up in his eyes.

“Don’t you give me that shit. You’re fine. You tripped like five minutes ago, and I know it didn’t hurt.”

Yuuji shakes his head, ignoring his brother and rubbing his eyes while he looks up at you. “O-Owie…” he whines, rubbing at his knee.

“Poor thing, did you hurt yourself? I’m sorry baby, I wasn’t watching.” He reaches his hands up to you, and you scoop him up while he begins to cry into your neck.

It was a fake cry, obviously enough. It makes the elder Itadoris mouth hang open. “You little liar!”

“Don’t be mean, Sukuna.” You say, teasing him because you realized quickly enough that the boys “cries” didn’t produce any liquid from his eyes. You didn’t mind spoiling the boy either way.

Sukuna, realizing you also understood, lets out a dramatic groan, shaking his head before exclaiming, “Why am I surrounded by weaklings?!”

You just laugh at him, thinking about to a few years earlier during highschool. Sukuna was the one who would dramatize his pain whenever he got in a fight. You would listen to his whines (after he profusely exclaimed that he won by a longshot) over a busted lip and a black eye while you would fuss over him, just as you are doing to Yuuji.

He got into a lot of fights during highschool because Sukuna could never get enough of you fretting over him. He liked when you played nurse and coddled him, way too similar to the way you cooed at Yuuji.

The two of them, although Sukuna would never admit it, are way too similar. Both are strong and independent boys who happen to turn into whiny, attention-seeking puppies when you are around.

[greg-montgomery]

Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader ♡ (boyfriend’s dad!hotch) - 18+ minors dni

summary: part 2 to this.

your bf cheated on you? fuck his dad!

cw: uhmm a little bit of choking? age gap.

♡ ♡ ♡ ♡

“Put your phone away.”

Mark stared at his father for a moment without even lifting his head, and then continued to type on his phone.

“You’re being rude,” Aaron said.

“What’s your problem?”

“Your brother has been talking about this dinner all week. When Jack sits at the table, that thing better not be in your hands. Understood?”

“Understood,” Mark said, and placed the phone right next to his plate harsh enough to make Aaron wonder if the screen cracked.

Despite his annoyed appearance, Mark kept his promise and stayed engaged in the conversation with Jack. His little brother admired him and Aaron would do anything to protect his son’s feelings - even from someone who shared the same blood as him.

Still, Aaron had no complaints; Jack seemed happy and that was more than he could have asked for.

Sadly his feelings quickly changed, when after dinner he accidently overheard Mark talking on the phone. Aaron was a profiler, but any regular person could easily understand he was flirting with a girl. The only problem though, was that the name he had called said girl, was not yours.

--

Mark made his way outside the kitchen only to be stopped by his dad with a hand on his chest.

“Who were you talking to?”

“What the hell is wrong with you today?”

“Who were you talking to?” Aaron repeated, determined not to give him an easy way out.

Mark raised his eyebrow at him. “Don’t you think I’m a little too old to be asked questions like this by my dad?”

“Are you cheating on Y/N?”

“Why are you so fucking obsessed with her?” he snapped. “Why do you even care?”

“I didn’t raise a cheater.”

“No, you don’t give a fuck about me. It’s her you care about.” He smirked, and Aaron was worried his next words would be exactly what he was afraid of.

Mark confirmed his fears. “You think I don’t see the way you look at her? You wanna fuck my girlfriend and then be the one who teaches me about ethics?”

Aaron stood there frozen watching him walk away, too stunned to stop Mark from leaving without saying good night to his little brother.

--

Ethics.

His son was right. There was nothing ethical about the way he looked at you. There was nothing ethical about the way he wanted to steal you from Mark. And there was definitely nothing ethical about the way he had fucked his fist in the shower to the thought of you that same night you had asked for his help.

But Mark didn’t treat you right, he knew that. You deserved better and Aaron could be that for you.

He’d hold you in his arms, keep you safe from the rest of the world, let you know how beautiful and precious you were. Then he’d sit you in all fours and take you until you forgot your own name.

--

“This is so wrong,” you sighed, rolling your hips forward and the word ‘wrong’ went straight to his dick.

“That’s why it feels so fucking good, baby,” he said staring at your lips and you leaned in to kiss his open mouth.

How did he get there? In any empty parking lot, and his son’s girlfriend riding his cock?

- -

It all started with a sweet “Mr. Hotchner?” when he picked up his phone in the middle of the night.

Then those two beautiful eyes he’d do anything for, looking at him like he was their hero.

“You said you’ll always be here. That’s why I called you,” you said when you were inside his car. Your cheeks were smudged with mascara and he wanted to murder the reason behind your tears. Only the reason was of course no other than his own son.

“You did well, sweetheart.” He cupped your cheek rubbing it with his thumb, and you nuzzled his hand. “You can trust me.”

“I do.”

It was impossible for him to keep his hands away or not to leave a soft kiss on your forehead.

“It’s over,” you sniffled. “This is the second time he cheats on me. I’ve had enough.”

“He never deserved you, honey. I’m sorry he hurt you.”

“Don’t be. You’re nothing like him,” you whispered. “How are you two even related?”

Your hand found his and your fingers naturally intertwined.

The kisses on your forehead soon turned into kisses on your cheeks and then on the corners of your mouth. He couldn’t stop and the way you were trembling against him was an invitation to touch you more.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he muttered against the skin of your neck and you pulled his hair softly. He shouldn’t be doing that, but he’d rather take his last breath at that moment than let you go.

“I know. But I need you so bad,” you whined.

“Take off your panties and come to my lap.”

Aaron watched the fabric move all the way down your legs and pulled you into his lap. Before he had the chance to lift up your dress, you started rubbing yourself against him. He took your chin between his fingers and made you look at him. “Aren’t you a desperate little thing?”

“I wanted you to fuck me from the day we met.”

“I know.”

The feeling of your wet pussy against his slacks and the sound of your little moans drove him crazy. He bit your right nipple through your dress and you finally called him ‘Aaron’.

“Say my name again.”

“Aaron, Aaron, Aaron,” you moaned, moving desperately against him.

“Baby, I need to be inside you,” he said.

Once he was buried in you, his hands went on your hips, guiding you, showing you the pace he needed you at.

You were so good; such a good learner.

“This is so wrong.”

“That’s why it feels so fucking good, baby.”

You leaned in to kiss him and Aaron took the opportunity to wrap his hand around your neck. He noticed you failing to bite back a loud moan.

“You like that, huh?”

“Mhm…”

“Want me to rub your little clit too? Will that make you cum faster, sweetie?”

“Fuck, yes.”

He did as promised, moving his free hand between your legs, touching you softly and slowly. He loved the tortured expression on your face.

“Faster, please,” you begged him.

“You’re so fucking desperate,” he moaned, and picked up his pace.

It didn’t take much longer for you to cum, and he followed right after you.

You didn’t leave his lap. Aaron wrapped his arms around you protectively and pulled you so close to him, it was hard to tell where his body ended and yours started.

“What now?” you whispered, your face hidden in the crook of his neck.

“Now you’re mine.”

tags : @hotchhner @sabage101 @yurfavmommy @mrs-ssa-hotch @justarandommom @m4gn3ziu @rosaliedepp @indigosamsblog

[casscainmainly]

Gender and Sexuality in Batgirl (2000)

While Kelley Puckett's opening run on Batgirl (2000) deals with Cass experiencing human connections and human life outside of fighting, issue 37 onwards takes a hard turn into gendered experiences. For sure there's some problematic elements (Cass gets sexualised a LOT more), but Horrocks' run does explore Cass' view on gender and romance in an interesting way. I'll be focusing on issues 37 - 57, essentially Horrocks' run but including guest writers (Gabrych, for instance, is our starting point). By the way I'm not a gender studies expert so feel free to disagree with any of these readings.

Riot Girls

Issue #38 (written by Gabrych) opens with this Batman conversation, which sets up Horrocks' run perfectly. Cass has never experienced a close female friendship (Babs is more mother/daughter) until Stephanie. Yet Bruce strikes a nerve here: she's not like you, and she never will be. He tells Cass something she already suspects - there's something she lacks that Stephanie has. (Bruce is, ironically, trying to say that Stephanie's the one lacking, but that's not what Cass hears).

This leads into the iconic Steph-Cass conversation:

Steph reveals she's had a baby, and this is Cass' reaction. She realises how much she doesn't understand about her body, romance, and gender in general. Stephanie has "finally beat [her] at something." She has experienced 'girlhood' in ways Cass can only dream of.

At the end of the issue, Stephanie asks if Cass thinks "he's right" (referring to Bruce), and Cass says yes. By siding with the male perspective (Bruce, or the he), Cass falls out with Stephanie, losing her first female friend. The whole of Horrocks' run should be understood in the context of this issue, with Cass searching for an understanding of her gender/sexuality.

The Superboy Saga

When Babs takes her on vacation, she makes Cass put on a bikini. Cass ends up meeting Superboy, getting grossed out, and delivering this excellent speech. It's Cass' first proper encounter with the male gaze, and it's especially disquieting for her because a) she knows the power of vision and b) she's brushing up against sexism and systemic injustice, something she hasn't really experienced before. She's encountering a power that can't be defeated with fists, and she is struggling to understand it.

She eventually does kiss Conner, and decides to take a trip to Metropolis. The decision occurs after this panel. Cass' desire to be with Conner stems from her desire to understand these feelings of passion, to want/need and be wanted/needed by others. The top panel here is interesting, too; she sees sexism playing out with other people ("check me out, girls!" / "Jerk."). Her anguished expression indicates she's having trouble reconciling the harmful forms of passion (top panel) with the sweeter forms of love (bottom panel).

At the end of the Superboy saga, Cass learns to distinguish between her romantic and platonic feelings. This taking place after the fallout with Stephanie (who explicitly repudiated her friendship) makes this extra intriguing - Cass calls the creature they're fighting "lonely," clearly meant to show insight into herself. Without Steph, she felt 'lonely', thus sort of falling into this relationship with Conner. Conner, however, is unable to fulfil that loneliness. Which leads us to...

Bruce Wayne Strikes Again

I noted in my other post how Bruce is super disapproving of Cass' love life. While it's hilarious, it genuinely impacts Cass' ability to express her sexuality freely. Here, Bruce pits Cass' sexuality against Batgirl; he implies that these attempts to understand herself harm her vigilante career. The way Cass responds ("I want to. I need to") is strikingly similar to the passions panel ("I want you. I need you"). Instead of being directed to another person, Cass directs her passions to Batgirl as a career. She's sliding back into her early mindset where Batgirl was all she was.

Again, another contrast between her and Stephanie: Stephanie fought for recognition in the suit, but Cass has to fight for an identity outside of it.

The Tai'Darshan Tale

But the real motivator for Cass' sexual awakening is, of course, Tai'Darshan, the semi-racist-caricature metahuman terrorist from Tarakstan. He flirts with Cass constantly, and makes a lot of gendered references ("easy, girl," "I don't understand why a woman like you," he calls her "beautiful") (#39, #40). He is the first significant character to take an interest in Cass as a girl, and without his flirting Cass probably wouldn't have kissed Conner (she kisses him after fighting Tai'Darshan twice).

Tai'Darshan does a big tornado thing and Bruce, intent on not letting him kill, knocks him aside, killing him. I'm low-key mad about this plot point, but that's okay 'cause so is Cass! In an echo of the Steph-Cass situation above, Bruce entirely disapproves of Tai'Darshan, but Cass likes him. Unlike with Stephanie, however, Cass doesn't side with Bruce. Instead, she keeps her feelings "secret" from Batman. It's the start of their relationship fracturing, as well as the start of Cass prioritising her own feelings and self-development over Bruce's perception of her.

No Soul

After all of this boy drama Cass understands romance a bit better, but is still in the dark about her gender. When a woman tells her she has "no soul," Cass goes to Barbara, who tells her the following:

Barbara connects 'soul' with Batgirl and femininity. Cass believes her, putting on Barbara's old suit (which one panel associates with "girl power!") and heading into the streets. What's interesting is that to achieve girlhood, Cass discards her suit in favour of Barbara's. Once again, there's this belief she's not 'feminine enough'; she's not like other girls, and she never will be.

But the suit obviously doesn't match Cass' fighting style, and in the end Cass returns to her old one. We get this great speech from Babs:

Cass is asleep here, but I do think she's learning that there's no 'right way' to be a girl - that she doesn't have to be Stephanie or Conner's girlfriend or Batgirl or Barbara, but just Cass.

The Dick Debacle

Cass gets hit with a drug called 'Soul' and has these hallucinations. This mostly male group sexualises her, criticises her for being sexual, calls her ugly, calls her hot; Cass is visualising the overwhelming contradictory standards applied to women everywhere, a compression of all her experiences thus far. Even Babs has fallen victim to pushing Cass towards stereotypically feminine experiences, and Cass' anguish is not so much at these people but at the patriarchy she's finally beginning to understand.

Dick, in particular, seems to represent this anger:

Finding out Dick broke Babs' heart seems to be the final straw. Here, her hallucinations paint her rage as feminine; the devil repeatedly calls her "girl," and Soul is being peddled by an all-female group who were 'tired of being girlfriends'. Then Cass kicks Dick out a window.

The Dick incident represents a culmination of her negative gendered experiences, beginning from her fallout with Steph and ending with another one of her close female companions (Babs) being hurt by a man.

Fallout

In the final issue before War Games, Cass essentially loses both Barbara and Steph (after making up with her and seeing her as Robin). I just like the parallel between Cass looking at Barbara as she leaves, and Stephanie looking at Cass - in a way, this is the most 'like' Stephanie Cass ever gets.

There isn't really a satisfactory conclusion to the explorations of gender or sexuality in Horrocks' run, or even in Gabrych's after. I think there's a lot to explore and I hope whenever Cass gets her next solo they look into all this a little further!

[sugrhigh]

THE BOY IS MINE - ( m.s )

REQUESTED**

summary- after years of friendship, you’ve seen matt date people before, but none of them have been as bad as this new one. you’ve never interfered with any of the girls in the past, but one night she takes it too far and your true feelings come out.

warnings- cursing, unprotected sex (pretend ur on birth control but also wrap it before you tap it), choking, cheating, dom!matt, it’s smut with a plot guys are we surprised (read at ur own fucking discretion PLEASE!)

a/n: thank you @stonermattsgf for the request!! i fucking loved this concept and the song eats down i hope i did u some justice <3 the touch it chris fic will be coming too cuz im fuckin with that song as well (if you weren’t tagged it wouldn’t let me tag you, i’m sorry!!)

@fawnchives @teapartyprincess4two @sturnioloco @mattinside @l9vesick @sturnsblunt @ev3rgreenxtrees @wh0resstuff @matthewsmocktails @cherrypostsposts @bxbynyah7 @seababehh @sturnsfav @mattsluv @sturniolossss @melanch0lybby @sturniolos-blog @lustfulslxt @sturnioloobssesd @ginswife @amypull @vivianalovesmatt @st4niolos @sturnioloobessed @sturnlova @bigbeefybitch @minhyucks @iheart-zegras @vicsguitarr @melonjollyranche @hearts4matty @vickyzloserz @user8000000 @xoxo4chrisss @unfilteredassmf @mattsbiggesthoe @chrisstopherfilmed @st3rniolo @goldengrapejuice @luv2matt @vsangel-starbies @mikaelabutterfield @mattnchrisworld @bluesturniolo333 @wurlibydominicfike @kp07on @hayleyreadsblog

in no universe did you expect to be pining after one of your best friends.

it had always been strictly platonic between you and matt, aside from a little harmless flirting over the years. you loved him and his brothers so much that you never wanted to mess anything up, or complicate things when the dynamic was already perfect.

but as much as you’re close with each of them, you know you’ve always understood matt on a deeper level. you share the same goals, the same fears, even the same taste in music and movies.

he’s always been the first person to check in, the only one who can read your mood like the back of his hand, the guy who cheers you up and lets you cry on his shoulder when things are shitty.

despite these sweet gestures, you’ve both had your fair share of relationships and flings while being best friends. none of them have ever bothered you before, and you’ve always tried to be respectful and kind to whichever girl he picks.

that is, until now.

matt is sitting across from you on the couch in their living room, slight frown etched on his face. his girlfriend, maya, has her legs sprawled across his lap comfortably, arms linked like she’s claiming him.

her eyes are practically locked on you. you don’t blame her; she’s well aware that you’re not her biggest fan.

all she does is complain about all of the things she doesn’t like about matt. last time she hung out with you guys, she was bitching about the fact that he kissed her in public at a party, as if she was worried he was scaring off other guys.

when he buys her flowers, they’re the wrong ones. if he takes her to dinner, she whines about the food. she’ll even criticize his clothes, demanding that they match and he hides the tattoos. to her, he can’t do anything right, even though he’s incredible just the way he is.

so it drives you absolutely insane watching the way she walks all over matt, all over his brothers, even you. it’s been two months of this agony, and you can’t believe it’s even lasted this long.

you spend nearly every day thinking about how much better you could treat him. every time he touches you, no matter how briefly, your skin burns in desire. it’s selfish to want someone who’s taken, and you’re well aware of that.

but you just love matt, you know him. and he deserves better. maybe it’s you, maybe it’s not. but it’s certainly not maya.

“give it to me, fuckhead.” chris’s voice rips you out of your trance, and you snap your head toward the middle of the U-shaped sofa.

he’s currently fighting nick for the remote, who slaps the side of his arm rather hard. chris lets go, only to pull his brother into a headlock seconds later. nick lets out a yelp of surprise, jamming an elbow into his side to get him to stop.

in all the commotion, you decide to grab the remote for yourself, a wide smile settling across your features as you take it into your palm.

they both notice quickly, groaning in protest as you wave it at them tauntingly.

“too slow! now i get to pick, idiots.” you tease.

“c’mon, i just went to war for that thing.” nick complains, kicking your leg half-heartedly, but you just shake your head.

“snooze you lose.”

you scroll through your options, trying to pay no mind to the way maya is whispering to matt for so long she could be reciting the bible. then your eyes land on a title that makes you pause, chuckling a little to yourself.

“oh no way, they have fucking cocaine bear on here?” chris cackles.

nick looks rather amused himself, raising his eyebrows like he’s intrigued. “i mean, i’m game.”

you glance over at matt, who’s already looking at you with a grin on his face. he mentioned the movie to you a little while ago, and how he just had to see how stupid it was eventually.

“why would we waste our time watching this shit? isn’t it supposed to be awful?” maya chimes from beside him, and your gaze narrows in on her.

“it’ll be funny, you know, ‘cause it’s so bad.” you reply, trying to keep your voice light and friendly.

she tilts her head to the side slightly, studying you with disapproving eyes. “yeah, i’m not so sure about trusting your taste. i mean, that god-awful outfit is just one example.”

the air seems to be sucked out of the room as you grip your sweats self-consciously. nobody moves, nobody speaks. you feel the anger flare up in your veins as you look at matt, wondering if he’s going to step in like he should.

but he doesn’t. in fact, he’s avoiding your gaze altogether. so you square your shoulders and turn your focus back to the girl you dislike so much. you’re done with the passive aggressive comments, with all of the bullshit glares and insults.

you’re done letting her bulldoze you. if matt wants to go through that, fine. but he doesn’t have to take everyone down with him by subjecting them to maya’s presence.

“well, you seem to be the only one who has a problem with my taste, so maybe you should just leave.” you say calmly, smiling sarcastically at the end because you can’t help it.

her mouth pops open, and you can hear chris and nick trying to stifle their gasps and chuckles. even the corner of matt’s lips turn up, which makes you wonder.

maya turns to look at her boyfriend, completely astonished. “are you seriously going to let her talk to me like that?”

he seems conflicted as he briefly looks your direction, clearing his throat to buy some time. you tilt an eyebrow, crossing your arms like you’re just waiting for him to pick his side.

she may have asked the question, but now you’re dying to know the answer.

“maya is right. and, uh, i think you should apologize.” matt fumbles with his words, unable to speak to you directly.

you feel the fury work its way up your face, and you force yourself to blink away the burning sensation of frustrated tears. maya looks far too satisfied, and you want to slap the smirk off of her face.

but you know you can’t lay hands on her, so you decide your words will have to be your knives.

“you know what, i am sorry,” you begin, raising your hands in surrender.

they’re both a bit surprised by this change in direction, so after a brief pause, you continue.

“i’m really sorry that you’re dating a stuck up bitch. i’m sorry that she’s constantly taking advantage of your kindness. i’m sorry that she treats you like shit, that she talks down to you like you’re a child, that she’s never satisfied with the things you do. and i’m especially sorry that you continue to let her, because you can do so much better.”

if maya’s eyeballs could pop out of her skull, you would imagine it would be exactly like how she looks right now. matt is also slack jawed beside her, and you can’t be near him any longer.

so you stand up, turning to leave the boy you love so much without another word.

the fresh night air of spring is a relief once you step out the front door, and you try to let it calm you as you hustle toward your car. you can already feel your phone buzzing in your back pocket as you move, presumably nick and chris.

you hope they’re not angry. it’s bad enough knowing that you’ve royally fucked things up with matt, but you couldn’t bare it if all three of them hated you.

you practically toss yourself into the drivers seat, slamming the door closed with a force that shakes the entire vehicle. you’re peeling out of the driveway before you can even reflect on the consequences of your actions, speeding home as if your life depended on it.

your ringtone continues to erupt as you drive along the backroads, but you force yourself to ignore it for the time being.

only once you throw the car into park in your own driveway do you check the messages, scrolling through the numerous notifications. unsurprisingly most of them are from nick and chris like you presumed, wondering if you’re alright and applauding you for finally standing up to the wicked witch of the west.

for a brief moment, their kind words make you feel better.

but then your eyes catch a contact that you actually don’t expect; matt’s. you stare at your device, throat going completely dry. a missed call and two texts.

matt

i’m coming over

don’t bother saying no, im already on my way

that was five minutes ago, which means he’s not too far behind you. you tear out of your car and across the yard, throwing the door open carelessly.

your heart is still slamming against your ribcage, and fear crawls up your throat as you press your back to the wood, kicking your flip flops off in the general direction of the coat rack.

your mind flashes to the idea of him yelling at you, which you suppose would be somewhat warranted. you’ve seen matt angry on a couple of occasions, and you can’t imagine he has anything kind to say to you right now.

you pace the foyer as you wait for his arrival, picking at the beds of your fingernails anxiously.

and then it happens; the loud knock on the front door, followed by another series of harsh slams.

impatient motherfucker.

you straighten up as your palm wraps around the knob, sucking in a breath before pulling it open to reveal a rather disheveled matt.

he’s breathing heavy, hair messy as if he’s been tugging at it for the entire drive. his earrings glint in the porch light as he stares at you like he’s trying to commit every feature to memory, wetting his lips hungrily.

“matt—”

you barely get his name out before he wraps his ring-clad fingers around your throat, pulling your mouth to his harshly. he molds against you perfectly, his other hand traveling to your hip to hold you flush against his own body.

he just couldn’t help it. he was so desperate on the entire ride over, replaying your outburst on a loop in his mind as he drove further and further away from his girlfriend. there’s been only a few occasions he’s seen you that upset, and your comments had been a necessary slap in the face.

plus, watching you fight for him when he was too much of a bitch to do it himself was a bigger turn-on than he’d like to admit.

all he’s ever wanted is you. and it shouldn’t have taken this long to admit it to himself.

matt guides you backwards, hand still squeezing your neck as he blindly kicks the door shut with one foot. you feel your back bump against the kitchen counter, and you’re trying to register what the hell is going on, but his kiss is so fucking intoxicating that it’s impossible to think clearly.

his tongue slides against yours passionately, and the flavored chapstick you’re wearing is driving him insane. you can feel him growing hard against your thigh as he toys with the elastic waistband of your pants suggestively.

you have no idea if this means it’s officially over with him and maya, but you find that you quite frankly don’t give a shit.

in this moment, he’s yours.

his fingers finally dip into your sweats a few seconds later, traveling down to brush against your clothed heat as he moves his mouth to your jaw sloppily. a breathy moan escapes before you can stop it, involuntarily rutting your hips against his cold rings in search of more friction.

one of your hands goes to grip the hair at the nape of his neck while the other claws at his back, desperately wrapping your knuckle around the cloth of his muscle tee.

“you like that?” matt grumbles against your throat, nipping at the skin as he begins to apply real pressure to your cunt in little circular motions.

your back arches and you tilt your head to the side so you can give him full access, silently hoping he’ll leave a mark behind.

“you’ve been thinking about me touching you like this, haven’t you? wishing i would come fuck you instead of her?” he questions further, moving his head slightly so he’s speaking directly into your ear.

the hand that was choking you slides down so he can grope your chest, his thumb running over one of your hardened nipples through the thin shirt you’re wearing. the combined pleasure has you whining in his grasp, a submissive sound that you wish you weren’t making.

you can feel him grinning as he presses his mouth to that sweet spot below your earlobe, his tongue darting out to wet the area.

“you want me just as much.” you manage to find your voice, though your claim is muttered with no conviction.

matt pauses his movements and brings both hands to your waistband again, which makes you whimper as you clench around nothing. his mouth finds yours briefly to swallow the sound, and he bites down on your bottom lip as he pulls away.

“you’re not wrong. so are you gonna give me what i want, baby?” he asks as he teases your sweats and panties just a little lower on your hips.

“keep going.” you plead.

you let go of your grip on his body so he can tug both items down to your ankles, helping you step out of their grasp before discarding them a couple feet away.

matt doesn’t immediately stand back up; instead he takes his time, kissing the side of your knees as his hands slide up the outside of your thighs. you feel so exposed, so on-display that you clench your legs together before you can help it.

he immediately pries them apart, shaking his head slightly with a little smirk. “don’t be shy now, you had so much to say earlier.”

his words spur you on, so you spread yourself wider, opting to grip the counter as he reattaches his lips to your inner thighs. matt inches closer and closer to where you really need him, taking his time to nip at the supple flesh that comes before.

he pulls away right when you think he’s finally about to put his mouth on you, letting his hot breath fan across your soaked center. it makes you shiver in anticipation, and you’re getting a little too needy now.

“quit fucking teas—oh shit.”

you throw your head back as his two fingers spread you apart, tongue coming in contact with the middle of your cunt as he laps at the wetness that had pooled there.

he slows his pace slightly after a moment, making sure to pay attention to the whole area, working his way up until his nose bumps against your clit. you spit a curse out, letting one hand go so you can grip his soft hair.

matt continues on, his lips closing around the sensitive bud so he can apply more pressure and suction. your gut flips at the sensation and your grip on his roots tightens as his mouth works.

he grumbles, loving the way you’re pulling at him so desperately. the noise sends vibrations through your core, which only makes the experience more enjoyable.

“fuckkk, matt, feels so good.” you praise dumbly, your words slurring.

the vocal admiration makes his pulse quicken, and at this point he’s straining against his jeans. he just can’t believe he’s got you like this, grinding your cunt against his face as if he’s the best you’ve ever had.

he can tell you’re growing closer just based on the little gasps and moans leaving your mouth, and your legs begin to shake ever so slightly. but he won’t let you finish just yet.

“want to be inside this pretty pussy.” he pulls away to say it, pressing one more wet kiss to the delicate area before he gets up.

you’re craving more, so you decide to take initiative, reaching for his belt and fumbling to undo the buckle. you tear it from the loops and toss it away, moving to his zipper as he reaches behind his head to tug his loose tank off.

his pants fall to the floor, leaving him in only his tented boxers. he’s quick to kick his shoes off, followed by his jeans right after.

then his hands go to your waist, fingers digging into the smooth flesh.

“up.” he instructs bluntly, helping lift you onto the end of the marbled countertop so he’s standing between your legs.

he lifts your shirt up next, and you help him out by throwing your arms above your head so he can fully remove it. his eyes train downwards, admiring the way your sheer bra hugs your tits. it hardly leaves anything to the imagination, and matt finds it extremely hot that you’ve been wearing it all night without him knowing.

before he can make a move, you surprise him by reaching back confidently to unhook the garment yourself. you let it slip from your shoulders before throwing it to your side, revealing your bare chest to him wordlessly.

he pulls his lip between his teeth as he exhales, gently guiding you downwards so your back is pressed flat against the cool surface. matt looks intimidating standing over you, his dark eyes drinking in every inch of your body.

“you’re so fucking sexy.” he says in awe, leaning down to give you another real kiss, a salty mix of sweat and arousal on his lips.

then he finds his way down to your collarbone, staying there shortly before traveling between the valley of your breasts. without warning, he presses his tongue flat across one nipple, flicking it back and forth.

you push your chest further into his face with a moan, both hands in his hair this time. he moves to the other perky bud, sucking on it as his teeth graze the tissue ever so slightly.

you’re practically writhing underneath him, and you can feel the pit growing in your stomach again. so even though it feels incredible, you yank his head back off of your chest by his hair.

“need you to fuck me.” you mutter, pushing his hair out of his face with both of your hands.

matt nods once, straightening so he can slide his underwear down. his erection finally springs free, pink tip glistening with precum. you watch as he spreads the wetness around, pumping himself in his hand a few times.

he’s bigger than you expected, and your mouth is watering just thinking about how much you want him to be pounding into you already.

“wrap your legs around me princess.” he commands gruffly, and you do just as you’re told, hooking your ankles behind his back.

his dick presses against your heat, and you buck against it to try and feel more. matt is quick to steady your hips roughly, holding you down against the edge of the counter as he teases himself into your entrance.

you both moan, his low and rumbling, yours high-pitched and greedy. you use your thighs to pull him closer, forcing him to drive into you fully so you can feel that pleasurable stretch.

“mmmn—fuck, you’re so tight.” he sighs, giving you another moment before he begins to drag his cock in and out at a steady pace.

you rock with him as best you can, finding the perfect rhythm so that he’s plowing his full length into you, filling the house with the sound of skin slapping skin.

matt lets one hand wrap around your neck again to choke you, tattoos on display as his muscles flex, and the pressure traps your lewd cries in your throat. his other fingers continue to toy with your nipples, which makes you arch off the counter, head rolled back as your eyes screw shut.

“look at you, taking me like such a good girl. just like i knew you would.” he compliments breathlessly.

he starts snapping his hips harder, enjoying the way your tits bounce as you slide slightly against the slick counter. you look so fucking beautiful, mouth partially open, barely able to squeak out a moan.

never in a million years did matt think he’d get the opportunity to fulfill all of his shamefully dirty fantasies about you, but here you are, completely naked and spread out in your own kitchen.

you’re squeezing around him now with every stroke, and he somehow keeps getting deeper, hitting your g-spot in a way that makes you jerk.

the familiar feeling of your abs tightening occurs as you get closer to your orgasm, and you swear you’re seeing stars at this point. he’s right there with you, a groaning mess as your fingers reach up to dig into his bicep.

“yes, matt, right there! m’gonna—” you fumble over your words, unable to finish the thought as the satisfaction builds.

he uses the last of his strength to drill into you, moving both hands back to your waist quickly so he can slam you down on his cock a few more times.

“come all over this dick baby, don’t hold back.”

you’re practically screaming his name as you hit your high, releasing all over him as his hot cum spills into you at the same time.

he slows his movements as you look up at him with bleary eyes, enjoying the last moments of being inside you before he pulls out. you feel your mixed arousal dripping out onto the counter, and you don’t even care that you’ll have to clean it up later.

that was completely worth the mess.

your chest continues to heave as you relish in the come down, dropping your thighs from his hips so he’s free to move around.

but matt stays between them, leaning down to capture your mouth with his one final time. it’s brief, but it means more than either of you truly understand.

he’s the one to break it first, pressing his forehead against yours before he speaks. “you’re incredible, you know that?”

you smile weakly, pushing against his chest to put some distance between the two of you. reality is creeping back in, reminding you that this was probably a one time thing.

“help me down?” you ask, and he complies.

matt lifts you a bit as you slide off the countertop, setting you back on real ground a second later. you’re not sure what to say as you stand before him, completely fucked out and terrified of whatever is coming next.

“so, um…i should probably get cleaned up.” you try to sound casual, even though you’re feeling anything but relaxed.

he immediately notices the switch in tone, the way you’re wrapping your arms around yourself like you’re trying to shrink away and hide. he’s also pretty sure he knows where this insecurity is coming from.

his fingers go to grip your chin gently, demanding that you look him in the face. your eyes widen as he brushes his thumb along your swollen bottom lip.

“i’m cutting things off with maya. i just…love you. and i’m sorry it took me so long.” matt finally admits.

it takes a second to click in your brain, but when it does a wide grin spreads across your face. butterflies erupt in your stomach, and you kiss the pad of his finger as he moves it along your mouth.

“i love you too, but i think you knew that already.” you tease playfully.

“yeah, maybe. but i like hearing you say it out loud.”

[lxmelle]

Those letters for his students was like Gojo’s way of showing consideration for them.

That’s what Geto Suguru, the “Gojo translator”, would say to them, if he was there.

I mean, there was a reason they were best friends - Geto understood him the best. He helped him learn how to (and the importance of) connecting to others - how to not be lonely.

It was the same in the scene with Kuroi. Right before he shouted for Gojo over the time, he just instinctively knew how to connect with Gojo and helped others with sympathising with Gojo.

I didn’t play the JJK game but I think the undercurrent dynamics is similar. Their bond. The exclusivity. Love. The whole breakup was about their friendship. The change the new generation got was also due to the path forged by them. As it stands, Gojo is shown to be largely misunderstood and nobody aside from Yuta has shown much affection for Gojo. Maybe Yuji ... to some degree. But I digress.

Maybe it’s an unpopular opinion, but considering how Geto-centred Gojo’s GIGA Character book was, he was likely influenced by Geto’s strong protective love for his “family”.

It makes sense to me that Gojo thought it would be important to put the students’ minds at ease with any thoughts/questions about their family. Hence the letters to help tie up loose ends.

Megumi was shown to be thinking about his father, whin he assumed was out there somewhere. Even if he didn’t want to know, there is a subconscious level of unfinished business from thinking this. And to know that Gojo killed him, may have helped him realise that his sensei had his back all this while. He was worth protecting all this while. That chapter of his life can truly close.

And just how bloody typical of his sensei, who has no “delicate-ness” about him!

As a sensei, and as a person, Gojo always protected others from his own personal concerns. He and Geto both stubbornly lived & fought “alone” because this was just their belief as the burden of the strongest = to protect others. The line was drawn and Gojo only ever wanted Geto to understand him, hence his conversation in 236. Only ever needed Geto by his side: hence his only complex was Geto leaving him behind.

We see this in how Shoko felt distant from them both. Stating in her inner monologue how she could never love either of them, but she was there - insinuating what they had between them was not something she could give (love) but her friendship was there if only Gojo let her in. And we see it in how, when she tried to connect with Gojo post-unsealing, by including Geto’s body as someone to be retrieved, he was a bit taken aback, starting his sentence with a long pause “……...” and keeping it simple / not elaborating (だな - it’s like the equivalent of a “yeah” but implies agreement).

Also, the fact the students and others can joke and call him an idiot, etc. means he really hid it well. Gojo protected them all. (As a teacher and adult should, I guess.)

I’m reminded of this scene.

Geto helped Gojo empathise & “not bully the weak”, but to also consider what else may be important... even if they may not think so themselves.

Until they receive what they thought they didn’t want, only to realise it was what they needed after all.

Cuz… y’kow: people (especially children) don’t always know what they want or need.

Sometimes what you want isn’t what you need. What you need isn’t necessarily what you want.

Gojo & Geto lived through that too... didn’t they? On so many levels… wanting, needing, denying, losing, yearning. Carrying their burdens they had nobody to share with. Making decisions on their own. Giving to the other a piece of their heart. Sacrificing themselves. Accepting each others loneliness as their own. Thinking they were better off loving the other by being apart.

The painful lessons that shaped the way for the new world. Children given the protection from The Strongest Sorcerer of the Modern Era. Granted a world with fewer curses for 10 years due to the Strongest Curse User.

Children who had adults to guide, protect, and care for them.

Children who do not have to be killed for the mistakes of others, who were forced to commit sins, or for being born a certain way.

I think every single sorcerer who were adults helped the kids in some way. The layers and layers of this story is just... overwhelmingly beautiful.

Much remains to be seen now. I’m worried that Yuta will have to live in Gojo’s body and that Kenjaku’s eerie words of Yuta being “the next Gojo Satoru” will extend beyond that battle.

People on X seem to be speculating whether a world without curses will exist (going back to jjk 0 and Geto’s ideals). What of the barriers without tengen? Some question reality as we are being shown - is it an elaborate dream? Hm.

I hope for the plant/flower trio at least... Megumi and Yuji can use their shared tragedy as vessels who committed sins to bond and support one another. Nobara is a great buffer and heroine in her own right. Their dynamics are really amazing. Independent, yet so bonded.

I’d love to see Gojo & Geto at peace. I guess whatever happens, chapter 236 is a bit like salvation. And doesn’t Megumi’s smiling pic (above) look similar? If these two smiled as if they had no regrets , we can assume Megumi smiled sincerely upon receiving the letter, too.

As long as Gege doesn’t do anything to change it.

Please please don’t. They deserve a reward for their hard work and sacrifice!