#thinking about the people who basically built me up to be about who i am

[macr0pla5tics]

rant that nobody should or will ever read

sorry for the typos for the half a person who reads this :>

[yieldtotemptation]

ANIMALS ft. Natty

natty x male reader smut

10k words

“All I’m saying is,” Natty starts, like she always does, with more unsolicited advice than you can handle at 2 AM, "for someone that complains so much about not having a sex life, you really don’t do much to fix it."

“And what, oh wise friend of mine, is your recommendation.”

“I don’t know. Get a haircut. Dress better. Try not being a massive pussy?” Natty shrugs. Or at least you think she does. Only so much you can tell over the phone.

You sigh. Bite back the urge to tell her to fuck off. But then, who else would talk you to sleep at this ungodly hour? So instead, you concede the point. “Noted.”

“Or, you know, if it’ll stop you from being such a little bitch,” and now she’s laughing, cackling really, and not once has that ever, ever meant anything good. "You could always just fuck me."

—

Two weeks and twelve hours post-Natty’s incredibly unhelpful suggestion that did absolutely nothing to alleviate you of your insomnia, and you’re back on the phone with her.

Only this time, there's video.

So, yay.

"Help me, please."

It’s a Friday and Natty's begging, again.

Because she knows she can count on you, knows that you’ve long since resigned yourself to your fate as Natty’s on-call ‘fixer’. There for everything from life-changing career decisions to helping her figure out what show to stream next.

And now, apparently, choosing her outfit for tonight.

“Help me, help me, help me, help me.”

God, this woman and her begging. Knowing full well that it’s your kryptonite.

"Okay, okay, okay," you're relenting, much earlier than usual. Mostly because as far as Natty’s petulant requests usually go this one’s a walk in the park. “But don’t you have people for this sort of thing? People who don’t, and I quote, ‘have a dogshit taste in style?’”

“It is dogshit!” Natty calls out, already turned around and leaving you (her phone) on the vanity, facing out to her bedroom and all its hideous pinkness. She disappears from the screen, diving deep into her closet for yet another pair of shorts that will most certainly hug way too close, or a top that dips way too low, or a pair of heels that scream—'hey, I have legs, would you like to spread them?' "But!"

Natty returns to the camera with a leather belt—oh no, that's a leather skirt—in hand; clad in nothing but a casual cotton bra/underwear combination that she’s filling out far too well for your sleep-deprived brain to handle.

She holds up the skirt against her waist for your consideration. Poses. It wouldn't cover a thing. Or maybe that's the point—again, you don't have any fashion sense, whatsoever.

“You’re a man, and I need a man’s opinion because I’m hoping to take one home tonight to fuck my brains out until I forget about this shit-storm of a week. So, you know—help a girl out?”

“As always, you have quite a way with words.”

Natty leans towards the camera, bending down to stare right at you. It makes entirely too much sense that she’s built an entire career around doing just this.

“It’s my third language, asshole.”

The insult lands softer than she likely intended, considering well, you’re a little too distracted to take it. It’s entirely her fault. The angle makes her tits look far too immaculate to pay any attention to her mouth.

Maybe she should consider going out just like this?

Yeah, that’d definitely get her fucked.

But, she frowns before you can make the suggestion, turning on her heels and sashaying back to her closet, leaving you to choke on air at the sight of her ass stretching out her favourite pair of panties. (The white pair with the pretty-pink bows. The one that rides up her ass when she stretches, bends, sneezes—basically any time she’s not standing perfectly still. And even then.)

Anyone else and this whole thing would be weird. Well, weirder than it already is.

See, you and Natty have this thing; this odd, cat and dog relationship that’s been going on since what feels like the dawn of time:

You’ve watched her shamelessly cycle through men faster than a teenager through a box of tissues, leaving a trail of broken hearts and broken cocks in her wake.

While she’s been forced to witness every time you’ve met ‘the one’, only to be there months later to help pick up the pieces when you’re burying your feelings in video games and alcohol and porn, wondering how it all went so wrong.

All this to say that seeing Natty bouncing around in her underwear with that laser-beam of a smile of hers; with all of her soft curves, thick thighs, her ridiculous ass and again, those immaculate fucking tits isn't that unusual.

In fact, it doesn't really do anything for you at all.

(Fucking liar.)

“Here, how about this.” Natty appears from the corner of the screen, having found a top that’s somehow made of even less material than the bra she’s already got on. The gall of her to ask, "Too much or not enough?"

You deadpan. “Does it come in adult sizes too?”

Natty grins, because she can read it right on your stupid face. She looks so, unbearably hot. Without even trying that hard. This bitch. “So just right, then.”

And then she twirls, leaving you to face her back, and before you even have time to blink, Natty’s bra has fallen down her shoulders; and you’re hating how you lean in to look because this damn app has no zoom feature to save your sorry eyesight.

Her fucking tits. Perfect, bouncy. Even through the pixels, even from behind, you can still see the way they spill.

She slips on her chosen top for the evening—a tiny, strappy number—and spins back around to face you in all her Natty glory. By the skin of your teeth, you’re looking away and leaning back, feigning nonchalance and leaving her none the wiser.

You think.

“You know,” Natty says, tilting to one side, hand on hip. Fuck, even that slightest movement makes them bounce. Utterly, utterly obscene. “You should just come tonight.”

You’re saying, “Fuck no,” before she’s even finished her sentence. ‘Coming tonight’ means ‘clubbing’, and ‘clubbing’ means being stuck listening to the shittiest music, surrounded by the worst people in all of Korea, drinking overpriced slop and watching Natty turn down a revolving door of douchebags on the dancefloor.

So, yeah.

If ‘fuck no’s’ were bricks, you’d be building the Great Wall of ‘Fuck No’, big enough for aliens on the other side of the galaxy to see with a fucking telescope and have their first contact with the human race be a giant ‘Fuck No’.

And that’s your polite way of turning her down.

Yet somehow, Natty’s hardly deterred.

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Natty sing-songs, shuffling on her tiptoes, shifting her weight from foot to foot, making her entire body jiggle. It’s like she’s intentionally trying to sell you on the idea with every little movement. Make you believe that if you came with her, you’d be able to find someone who comes close to looking half as good as she does in that… whatever-the-fuck that is. Bralette? Crop top? Whatever. Fat chance. "Come on, come, come, come. Be my wingman please!"

You already have your second ‘fuck no’ queued up, but Natty just won’t stop fucking talking.

“Don’t you want to get laid? Don’t you think you need to have fun after what’s-her-name?” Natty continues, pouting at you through the screen.

And there it is, a study in how Natty usually gets her way—jutting out her bottom lip, digging her thumb into the waistband of her panties to expose just a smidge more skin, leaning just right to make her tits look like they’re about to pop out. It’s like she’s got a fucking manual.  

“Don’t tell me you’d rather stay at home with Handalf the Grey than come out with me and all my hot friends?”

“You mean having to clean up after all your ‘hot friends’ and their bullshit while you run off to score free drinks?” You retort, recalling all the other times when she managed to entice you out of your self-imposed isolation and into the deafening, sweaty hellhole known as a nightclub.

“Said hot friends that you’re too much of a pussy to hit on, mind you,” Natty chides, and then oh-so-casually decides to drop this nugget: "They all like you, you know, they'd be more than happy to break this dry spell of yours if you just asked. Don’t act like I haven’t seen the way you look at Julie."

You can feel your cheeks reddening. You’re not a teenager. You shouldn’t blush at this shit. But here you are, falling for Natty’s words and their magical abilities to needle at your insecurities and fill your head with thoughts of her friends and all their... well, incredibly positive attributes.

Natty pounces on your lapse in composure and gets closer to the camera, crouches. Drops down so she’s on her heels and all you can see in that tiny window of your phone is the red of her plush, plump lips.

“Come, you pussy—”

“Natty—”

“Do it pussy—”

“Natty, if you think that’s going to work—”

“Pussy, pussy, pussy—”

You’re yelling down the phone: “Fuck, fine!”

Natty’s victory dance is already in full swing before the words have even left your mouth. Bouncing around her room in pure joy at once again having ruined your evening. Dancing in that barely-there outfit, treating you to entirely sinful ripples across her curves and dips, pure sex on a pair of toned legs. Really makes you wonder how the fuck is she not illegal in at least fifty different countries.  

You hide your face in your hands, because there it is, the reason you’ve never really been able to deny her:

Her laughter, her energy, her fucking shameless glee whenever she manages to get her way (which, if you’re keeping count, is every single time).

She’s just so frustratingly adorable.

Somewhere in her celebrations, Natty finds exactly what she was looking for. Reaches down to the floor, picking up a belt—no, that’s another skirt—this one even tinier than the first.

“Oh, this is perfect,” she preens, holding it out to the camera (to you), before stepping right into it. She spins around, making it dance around her hips. It does wonders for her thighs. "How do I look?”

You swallow. “Like you’re going to get fucked tonight.”

The glint in Natty’s eyes. Like you’ve just served up the finest compliment on a silver platter. You feel sorry for whatever poor soul crosses her path tonight.

Natty winks. “Here’s to hoping.”

—

Guess what?

Turns out you were right: this is the worst place in the world.

Only, you’re the sole person here that seems to think that.

Hours have passed since you helped Natty look perfectly fuckable and you’re at the bar, trying and failing to get the attention of the bartender. Unfortunately, he, like every other male with a beating heart and a boner seems far more interested in Natty’s little dance routine than his thirsty clientele.

You can’t blame him, really. It’s built in how she moves.

Strobe lights cutting through the air like knives, slicing her into this series of absolutely pornographic snapshots as she dances. And she’s not alone, she has friends—beautiful, all of them, in their own ways. They spin and twirl around her; but Natty’s the sun here, the star that everything orbits.

(You included).

You see it play out—the Natty effect. Men, even women alike gravitate to her, drawn by that magnetic force that is Natty at her very best. Trying to get a dance, maybe whisper a line they stole from some movie in her ear, even dare to reach out to touch or press themselves up against her.

But she’s a black hole, a dark star. Can’t get too close.

One by one, they’re swallowed up by the void of Natty’s disinterest. The shoulders slump, the smiles falter, and the hope in their eyes dies as Natty, with a simple flick of her wrist sends them stumbling back into the crowd, forgotten almost immediately.

And the whole time she’s doing this, she’s got you in her line of sight. A wink here, a smile there, a dance on its own; and all you can do is nod and pretend like you’re okay with all this.

You inhale. Deeply.

Her outfit looks even tinier in person.

You turn away for just a moment, shaking off thoughts of Natty, of her hips and their sway and her winks and her smile; attempting (and failing) to flag down the bartender once more.

This fucking night.

But, when you look back, Natty’s no longer on the dancefloor.

She’s standing next to you. Arms looping around your neck.

“Natty—”

But she’s not listening. Her eyes are darting around the room, searching for something—or someone—that you can’t see. Your stomach clenches, because that look on Natty’s face? That’s not her usual I’m-about-to-make-some-poor-soul-my-bitch look. That’s something else entirely. That’s fear.

“Shut up, I need a favour,” she’s in your ear, yelling over the thrum of the bass that’s rattling your ribcage.

You lean in, bend down to meet her, because, frankly, you’re worried. You’ve never seen Natty like this, wide eyed and shaky. Never seen her be anything but comfortable.

You’ve also never been this close to her. Felt her breath hot against your neck, felt her body press up against you, felt her softness, felt her—

Fuck, you should be asking her what’s wrong, but before you can even do that, the bartender's filling two shot glasses and sliding them over to Natty.

She takes one. You take the other. It tastes lethal.

Natty’s nails dig into the back of your neck, and she looks at you, intense. Words fast and frantic. “Just pretend we’re together, okay? For a bit. Until I can figure this out. Just—just keep playing along, yeah?”

You blink. The room blurs around you. You think you might’ve misheard. “What?”

“Be my boyfriend,” she says, taking a second shot before you can even digest the first. “I need you. There’s some creep and I need you. Now, please?”

You turn immediately, scanning the floor, but the lights and shadows make it near impossible to make out anything other than vague shapes and strobes of colour, let alone pinpoint a face. "Natty, where is he, I can—"

"No, no, no," she cuts you off with a shake of her head. “Focus on me.”

“Wait, why do I have to—”

“Oh, shit there he is—”

And then she’s kissing you.

Ending whatever argument you may have had, because she’s grabbing, pulling you in, and her lips are on yours and oh fuck, she’s really, really kissing you.

It’s a slap to the face, and you need to reel in from the sting. Because you’re already forgetting what you’re doing, forgetting how your limbs work, because Natty’s putting on the performance of a lifetime and you’re having trouble keeping up.

Her hands are in your hair, yours at the small of her back, and she’s pulling you close, squishing against you and the taste of her—sweet like candy and sharp like vodka—filling you all the way up.

Your tongue catches up, flicking against hers, licking inside of her mouth and she’s even convincing you—as if she’s the one that’s always been into the love at first sight bullshit and you’re the non-believer.

And it’s a problem, how right this feels. Because this isn’t what friends do—definitely not Natty and you. But still, you can feel her tension, her need for this to be believable; and you don’t dare to fuck it all up.

So you kiss her back, because that’s what you do for Natty.

You always do what she needs.

You’re about to pull away; this should be enough to have every single person here convinced that you’re hers and she’s yours. But Natty’s already sliding her tongue back in your mouth, pleading, “Keep going,” the moment a gap opens between your lips; and you’re diving back into the kiss without a second thought.

And then you hear it.

A flash of a camera.

A cheer.

A whistle.

Julie, Haneul, Belle—Natty’s friends, staring at you like proud fairy godmothers witnessing their own magic at work.

You break the kiss. You look down at Natty.

She giggles.

You feel like a fucking idiot.

"There is no creep, is there?"

Natty shrugs, looks up at you, and she actually looks—what is this? Shy? Embarrassed?

"There could’ve been," she says, her eyes wide and innocent, a mask. You see through her like you should have when she first wrapped her arms around your neck.  Oh sure, like she’s ever been innocent for a second in her entire life.

She’s far too smug for that.

You roll your eyes. You feel like every other idiot that’s ever fallen for a bat of her lashes and a peek at her tits. Hope is a hell of a drug, especially when Natty’s the dealer. And yet, despite yourself, the corner of your mouth quirks up. "You're fucking insane."

“Maybe.” There’s a long pause. She’s staring at your mouth. She presses a finger to your sternum. “But I had to do something.”

It takes a second. What?

What does that mean?

You stare at Natty, lick your lips. Her taste still lingers.

“Ask yourself the same question I’ve been asking myself for months now,” she says, louder this time, her voice cutting through the noise of the club and hitting your ears with a sobering clarity.

You know what she’s going to say—what she’s going to ask before she’s even opened her mouth. You’ve been asking yourself the same thing too.

So, swallow hard, try to ignore the way Natty’s friends have gone quiet. Try to ignore Natty’s hand still resting against your chest, her eyes burning a hole right through you.

“Why haven’t we had sex yet?”

The blood’s rushing to your cheeks; the music's too loud, the lights too bright, and the room's suddenly spinning around you like a carousel.

Fucking embarrassing.

But Natty doesn’t crack a smile. She just looks up at you. Hopeful. Searching you, searching your eyes for an actual answer; and you already know what it is.

“Because, Natty, we’re friends.” You offer up a weak smile, hoping against hope that she’ll buy it.

But she shakes her head. “Oh, please. Like that’s ever stopped anyone before. Besides, if you want to put a label on it, call it whatever the fuck you want. I just know what I need. Do you?”

You sigh. She gets closer. And closer.

Until your nose is brushing hers. Until her breath is hot on your face, until your heart is racing so fast you can feel it in your ears. Until her hand is sliding down, down, down, until it’s resting over your pants and oh, oh no, you’re straining.

You gasp. She smirks.

“See? You want it too. And I know you do, because, sweetie, your cock’s practically begging me to pull it out and shove it between my tits right here in front of everyone.”

She just throws it out there, so casually, so bluntly, she might as well be talking about the weather. And maybe, maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just Natty being Natty, but fuck you can’t do anything but stay frozen still.

You’re letting her hand linger. You’re letting her touch you like she’s got every right in the world. You’re letting her because there’s a part of you—the part that’s growing by the second—that wants to see just how far she’ll take this.

“So, what is the real reason, ba-by?”

Because you’re in love with her. You’re in love with her, and you can’t just have casual sex with someone you’re in love with because it will ruin you.

But you don’t say that. Instead, you just tell her: “Timing.”

That makes her laugh. Has her closing what little gap remained between your bodies, until her tits are flush against your chest, and you’re coming to the conclusion that, yes, you did help her pick out the perfect outfit for tonight.

Perfectly, hopelessly, fuckable.

“Well,” she says, and she’s pulling you back down again and shutting you up with yet another kiss. “We’ve got all the time in the world now, don’t we?”

—

You’ve been here before.

Many, many times before.

You installed the showerhead and fixed all the cabinets yourself. Even secured the lock that you’re now unlocking with the digits that you coded.

But somehow, it feels like a first.

First time you’ve kissed her in the back of a car, pushed your hand up her skirt, felt the heat of her against your fingertips. First time you’ve pinned her against the wall of an elevator, made her feel just how desperate you were for her against her thigh, made her promise to be so good for you when you got to her door.

First time being pulled through the threshold, hands at your chest, tearing your shirt off you before you’ve even stepped foot in her apartment. Had her smiling against your mouth, because she’s won, again, and you can’t even bother to argue because you’ve lost to her so many times now that this shouldn’t be so surprising.

What is surprising though is how you’re naked first.

"Terrible, terrible taste." Natty's clicking her tongue as your shoes, your shirt, your pants are scattered along the floor behind you. “We’ll have to fix that.”

And then she’s moving on, hands clawing down your stomach to land at the waistband of your underwear, hooking her thumbs in and yanking down. You’re so obviously hard—you’ve barely made any effort to hide it from her—fuck, you pretty much flagged down the taxi with it.

"Holy fuck," is the first thing out of Natty's mouth when she takes a hold of you, feeling the naked weight of you in her palm. "You’re really not messing around, are you? I was expecting—"

"A sad, lonely little thing," you finish for her, because you've heard it before. "Yeah, you like to mention it a lot."

But Natty’s not laughing now.

She’s just staring. Almost reverently. She decides, her voice a little raspy, tinted with an apprehension that you never knew she was capable of mustering, "I like it. It's... massive."

You lean in, pressing your mouth against hers because if she’s going to say that, you’re going to kiss her, again and again, and there’s a strong possibility you're never going to stop.

She whimpers, gasps into your mouth, says your name for the first time—not some nickname, not a jab or an insult. Just your name, in your ears, like it’s something sacred.

You’re not a saint. You can’t ignore that.

Your cock jumps in her hand, and as if on instinct, she strokes you.

It's slow, purposeful. She's too good at this. Knows the right pressure, where to twist and wind her wrist. How to sweep her thumb over the tip, smear pre-cum over your skin, and this entire time she's staring down at your cock like she's discovered something new.

“This is going to ruin me, isn't it?” she whispers, and you nod, because your voice is lodged in your throat and she’s stealing the air from your lungs. “Going to fit so fucking nicely inside me. Fuck it’s going to stretch me.”

You groan, collapse your weight into Natty, press your lips against the column of her throat.

Both hands now, one underneath, toying with your balls, balancing them in her fingers, and the other doing its best to squeeze, to pump, to make you fall for her with every stroke.

“I can’t wait to ride this,” Natty kisses these words into your cheek, your jaw, leaves these marks all over your collarbone. “I wonder if I can fit it down my throat. God, can you imagine what it’ll look like between my tits?”

And that makes your cock throb.

Because face it, Natty has always had a way of getting into your head; is far too dangerous with her words, and she’s all too willing to abuse this power she has over you to get you do what she wants, which is now, apparently, fucking her senseless.

You let her, let her build and build this pressure, let it coil inside you, tighter and tighter. Until the need to feel her, all of her, is too much to handle.

Until you grab her, take her by the shoulders, push her—not hard, but firmly—against the nearest wall.

You’re not gentle about it, because Natty doesn’t want gentle. She wants rough, she wants passionate, she wants to be fucked and have her cunt worshipped by way of complete ruin.

She’s told you as much.

"That's more like it," Natty bites into your ear, grips your shoulders. She follows your eyes. "Let me guess, my tits?"

So, maybe she has caught you looking once or twice. Either way, you don’t care much for her top anymore, it’s served its purpose. You take a fistful of it and pull, ripping it right off her and tossing it to the floor with everything else that’s kept the two of you from tearing each other apart.

“Better?” Natty poses for you, puts her tits on display—and yeah, you were right all along. Fucking immaculate.

You take a hold of one, palm it; fill your hand with flesh, twinge those dark, plump nipples, because of course you’re going to. You’re going to pinch and squeeze and suck on them. You’re going to mark her like she’s already done to you. Mark them, with your teeth, with your tongue. Fuck, you’re going to make them yours.

But for now, you're just going to slap them, because you want to watch them jiggle up close.

You laugh. Natty does too.

"Much better."

And with that, you’re back on her. Kisses that are sloppy, wet, and filled with all the pent-up want that's been simmering for months. You don’t even know where to begin with Natty, but you start with her mouth. It’s a good place. It’s always a good place with Natty.

Her hand doesn’t stop moving, can’t, won’t. The friction is heaven; you just let her touch you, fuck her hand while you indulge in her tits. Get to know the weight of them, the balance, the softness.

A sigh into your ear as your tongue finally finds her breasts, deep and messy, sliding over her nipple—she’s already so sensitive, just a flick and she’s gasping. You’re not even trying to be precise anymore, not that Natty needs it, not that she needs anything but for you to enjoy yourself against her.

It all makes the room seem smaller, the walls close, surrounding you with the scent—cinnamon and sweat and something else that’s just her.

“See this is why fucking me is such a great idea,” she slurs against your shoulder, hand tightening, stroking you harder, faster.

You mumble an affirmative into her breast. It’s a miracle you can still stand upright.

“Isn’t this so much better than like everything else? Anyone else?” She sighs, breathy, sweet sounds, as she takes you by the wrist, guides your hand southwards.

Fingertips graze her stomach, trace around her belly button and lower; until you’re digging into her skirt and feeling the heat rise off her skin. She’s soaked right through her panties, dripping with it. Another place for your tongue to land.

“We can just be fucking honest with each other,” Natty’s explaining, eyes tearing when your finger pads her clit, pressing down just right. “You already told me all the things you hate. All the things your bitch exes never let you do.” And she smiles, wicked. “Never had the tits to give you.”

Christ.

“And I can get you to fuck me exactly how I want with this big, fucking cock,” Natty finishes. "We’re a perfect fucking match."

It’s at that moment you find the zipper of her skirt, tugging it down, watching it fall to the feet. Leaving Natty to step out of the tiny scrap of fabric she calls her panties; abandoning the sticky mess of cotton.

You take a step back, unlatch your lips from her tits, because you need to see it. Need to finally see her, see your Natty, see the Natty you've never allowed yourself to look at.

So, take your time, drink her in—because the way she’s standing there, the way she’s touching herself now; biting her lip, sighing your name. All but saying, ‘Look all you want, but don’t you dare look away’.

Look at the arch of her neck, the red you’ve left there, that trail you’ve burned down to her tits. Bruised and swollen from your tongue, your kisses, and yet still not marked enough. Follow the curve of her hips; how they flare out from her waist, the plush squish of her ass cheeks against the wall behind her.

You want to kiss her, from the tips of her toes to the top of head; all of her, every part of her, because now she’s going to finally let you.

Because now you're going to fuck her until all she knows is you, going to make her scream your name, going to make her beg for you to fill her with your cock and cum and never ever leave her cunt empty again.

That’s the plan, anyway.

But Natty’s got plans of her own.

“Didn’t you say,” Natty begins, sighing, circling her cunt in a rhythm that you’re dying to recreate. She licks her lips. “That your last ex refused to suck that lovely, magnificent cock of yours?

"Yeah," you stammer, at a loss for breath at just the sight of it all. “And weren’t you trying to find someone to fuck your brains out?”

Natty’s eyes light up; and there's that easy, charming grin that knocks you right off your feet. "You’ve always been such a good listener."

—

Natty's plotting to ruin you.

It's the only possible explanation for the way she's looking at you right now—on her knees, at the foot of her bed, flanked by walls painted an ugly shade of pastel pink and Natty's tits, sandwiching your cock.

You’d imagined it, thought about it when you shouldn’t have been thinking about it. Whenever she brought you to watch her perform, whenever she sent you pictures of her outfit of the day. But your eyes always went there. Straight to Natty’s tits, every time.

You knew they were big.

You’ve felt them, on accident (though they don’t seem like accidents anymore).

But now, to have them enveloping your cock, drowning your shaft in their softness, and to have her, staring at your face with so much fucking excitement as she gives you everything you’ve ever wanted—it’s surreal.

You’re dying to paint them white.

“Looks like you’re already about to fall apart, baby,” she teases, and it’s even worse now that she’s calling you these sweet names, saying them like she’s always wanted to, like she’s finally letting herself. “Couldn’t wait, could you?”

“Fuck, Natty—” you breathe out, your hands finding her hair, tightening, because that’s all you can manage to do when Natty’s in control. Like she’s always been.

“Mmhmm,” she hums, keeping her eyes on you, making sure you’re watching, even as her tongue flicks out to taste you. A slow, taunting lick to make you buck your hips, desperate to feel the suction of her lips. “You must have been dreaming about this, huh?”

You don’t bother lying. She already knows the answer. “Every. Fucking. Night.”

Natty’s smile spreads across her face, and she rewards you with a kiss, pressing her lips down onto the head of your cock; before sliding them lower, eyes fluttering shut with the first taste of you. “Well, what took you so long? All you needed to do was show me your cock and I’d have been happy to do it whenever you want me to. Happy for you to use my tits as your cum rag. You know that, right?”

She moves; and the sight of it alone—Natty’s tits wrapped around your cock, bobbing up and down, hypnotising you with the flicker of her nipples—up and down, up and down. It’s merciless, unrelenting, and she keeps talking, keeps kissing these sweet little words into your cock that makes your hips jerk, trying to fuck her tits faster, harder.

"Look at how perfect you look," Natty keeps going, "how your cock fits so snug."

The sounds she’s tearing from your throat as her tits take you, and she’s barely even started.

“But we can do better, can’t we?”

Her pace picks up, and with it, the tightness of your grip on her hair. She’s pushing the ample mounds together, squeezing, putting her whole body into it, into this new art she’s pioneering. Driving you insane with just her breasts, making you swell between them, throbbing as she works you over.

“So big," she’s panting from just the effort, the bounce, bounce, bounce of it all, "I can feel you getting so much bigger."

Everything’s going too fast, her tits are too soft, her lips on you too hot, and she’s drooling, her spit dripping down onto your cock. You want to tell her to stop, that you can’t take it, but Natty just keeps going.

"Fuck,” Natty mewls, pinching her own nipples, for you, for her. Pinching and rolling them, making them nice and stiff and swollen. “Let me just try and—”

She cranes her head, bends; takes your cock deeper into the warm, wet heat of her mouth. Her tongue darts out licks your cock, gets that sweet spot on the underside, makes you shake underneath her.

Natty holds you there, even as you groan, even as your hips rise; just licks, spits, sucks. Her mouth moving up and down on you, making a mess down your shaft, down her tits. Taking you deeper, deeper, until you’re fucking her face.

She moans around you as your hips buck and you push deep, desperate for it. Her eyes water, her cheeks hollow, and she’s got you. You’re in her mouth and she’s loving it. Loving the power she has over you, loving giving you what she wants, loving how you’re pulling her by the hair, desperate to feed her more of your cock into her throat.

Like your entire relationship has been building up to this moment—to Natty’s tits wrapped around you, her mouth all over you, her eyes on yours, watching as you fuck her face.

"Fuck, Natty," you grunt, your voice barely recognisable. "What the fuck—"

But Natty's just smiling, you’re fucking that smug little smile on her lips, and she’s taunting you. "Come on baby, keep going, keep going."

It’s utterly obscene—the smack of her lips around your cock, her slobbering all over you, her gagging, her moaning around you, looking up at you and asking, “Is that all you’ve got?”

You're so close, so fucking close, and she knows it. Moving her tits faster, faster, and you're about to blow your load all over Natty's pretty face, her chest.

But she keeps talking.

Even as you stuff her cheeks, even as you muffle her, “None of those other skinny bitches could do this, could they, could handle this big, fat cock?”

Even as you force her down, pull her by the hair, “You’ve been so obsessed with my body, so obsessed with my tits, haven’t you?”

Even as her tits slide off you and your cock smacks her across her cheek, “I always saw the way you looked at them, fuck I was showing them off for you, you just took too fucking long to notice.”

She won't stop fucking talking.

You finally snap. "God, are you ever going to stop?"

But Natty just laughs, bats her lashes. Slides her tongue from your base to your tip. "Maybe you should find something to gag me with."

Your hand wraps around her throat, squeezing just enough to make her eyes go wide, to make her mouth pop open. She rolls out her tongue for you, and you know what she expects you to do, what she expects you to fill her mouth with.

But you don’t—instead, you fill it with your kiss.

It's deep, it’s bruising, it’s saying ‘fuck you’ in the sweetest way possible, without uttering a single syllable. Natty laughs against your mouth, a ‘fuck you’ right back with her teeth, biting down on your lower lip. Not breaking skin—not yet—but the promise is there.

Her hand leaves your cock to wrap around your neck, pulling you closer to her, her mouth eager for yours, and you don’t even think twice before you hoist her up, her legs wrapping around your waist. Giggling again—another sound that’s going to be your undoing—before you’re both stumbling back onto her bed.

The mattress dips under the weight of your bodies falling back into it. Natty straddles you, presses her cunt down onto your thighs. So wet you can feel it on your thigh, leaving your skin sticky and stained with her. Your hands move to her hips, dragging her closer, so you can feel the friction grinding against your cock, making you ache.

She breaks your kiss, gasping for air. Her eyes are dark, pupils blown wide—seeing her pant like this, it’s not even fair. She’s just so fucking beautiful, like a painting you’re afraid to touch because you might smudge it.

You tell her as much.

She blinks. Blushes.

Grins.

“You,” Natty breathes, her hand trailing down your chest, finding your heartbeat, resting there for a beat, two, “are so fucking in love with me.”

You don’t argue because she’s right.

Her hand slides up your arms, nails dig in and she’s got your wrists, pinning them over your head. You let her. Let her grind herself against your cock, feel the warm, wet heat of her cunt against the tip.

She takes her sweet time, melting herself into you, pressing her tits into your chest, and you can feel her heart racing against yours.

She whispers, “God, I’ve waited so fucking long for this.”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, so you just grunt.

“I’ve dreamt about this so much,” she continues, breathless words sending shivers down your spine. “Your cock, fuck, it’s just as perfect as I imagined. And now, it’s all mine.”

And then she does it—she sinks down onto you, slow and sweet, her pussy taking you in inch by glorious inch. You groan into her shoulder, your eyes shut as Natty’s tight heat surrounds you. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before; sure there’s been others but something about Natty’s cunt is so intense it’s almost painful.

“So tight,” you grit out, the words torn from your chest like they’re made of glass. She just laughs, low, sultry, and starts to move.

It’s a dance, a rhythm that’s been building between the two of you for what feels like an eternity. She’s rocking her hips back and forth in this torturous grind. Fucking you like it’s the last thing she’ll ever do, like she needs to make the most of it. Like you’re going to vanish into thin air the second she lets you go.

“I knew you’d feel this good,” Natty sighs into your neck, already surrendering to your cock. “Fuck, I knew it—why did you keep this from me?”

You can’t answer, not really.

You’re too lost in the feel of her, too consumed by the way she’s moving on top of you. Every inch of her body is pressed against yours, and she’s so warm, so alive, that you can’t think of anything but how Natty’s finally letting you in. How she’s letting you make her whole.

But it’s too much. Natty’s cunt, tight and wet, fucking you so slow it’s a fucking crime. Pinning you down, a butterfly on a board spread out, displayed, unable to do anything but take her sweet, sweet punishment. And she’s whispering it in your ear, grinding down, rolling her hips, “Fuck you. Fuck you for keeping this from me,” with every stroke.

She’s doing it on purpose, you’re sure of it. Driving you crazy, making you beg, making you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything in your life. Your hips jerk up to meet her, trying to speed things up, to get that friction you need, but Natty just pushes down on your shoulders, keeping you in place.

So you tell her, "This is fucking torture."

Natty just smirks, her hips never stilling. "Is it?" she asks, as if this all isn’t intentional. Like she doesn’t have some grand plan to ensure you never forget the things her cunt can do to you. "Do something about it then."

So, you do.

It takes more effort than you’ll ever admit, but you break her grip on your wrists, grab her hips, and flip her over, sending her sprawling onto the bed, face down.

The squeal from her. It’s music.

How her eyes go wide when you treat her like a ragdoll, how her tits juggle and bounce, smacking the mattress. And when you push down into her, slamming your hips into her ass, how she arches back into you, her back bowing like a fucking violin.

“Yes!” She cries, fucking cheers into the mattress, like she’s been waiting for this—for you to have had enough of her shit and take her without asking. “Yes, yes, yes—”

You hover over her, throb inside her. "Is this what you fucking wanted?"

Natty sighs into the bedsheets, urging her hips against you, begging without words, begging for you to do more.

“You want it rough, baby?”

“Yeah,” Natty says, pushing back against you again, nodding immediately. “If you can.”

Still with the provocations, unable to resist pressing at your buttons.

You grab her hair, yank it back so she’s staring at you, force her to look at you. And you fuck her hard. Fuck her like you’ve wanted to since the first time she walked into your life and decided to make it all about her.

You fill her with deep, long strokes, fill the room with the smacks of your hips colliding against her, of your cock thrusting into her cunt again and again.

She claws at the sheets, trying to find purchase, trying to push back against you. But you’re too strong, too desperate.

You pound into her, impale her with your cock, watch her face twist in pleasure, in pain. You’re fucking her like you’re trying to break her, like she asked. Trying to solve her—how hard can she take it, how deep, how fast.

But Natty won’t give you an answer, she just takes it all—every inch, ever pump into her sopping wet cunt. Just grins and takes every bit of your need, your frustration. A bottomless pit of pleasure, begging for more with every whine, every little noise she makes that’s not quite a scream but is so close that it rattles your brain.

And when you finally let go of her hair, Natty’s licking her lips, and without even a care for what it does to you, she coaxes, “You can do better.”

You don’t know how she can talk right now, how she can even think with your cock so deep inside her, but something about the way she says it makes you want to test the limits of her ability to stay coherent.

But first, there’s the problem of her ass.

“Let’s see about that,” you murmur, dragging your hand down her spine, feeling the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, and coming to a stop at her perfectly rounded ass. It’s a masterpiece, a work of art, and you’ve always had a bit of an artist’s soul.

You do what comes naturally.

A spank against Natty’s ass. Hard, hard enough to make her yelp.

Again—another slap, another yelp, louder, better.

You keep fucking her, keep spanking her, keep watching red bloom across her cheeks and Natty squirm underneath you. The whines get louder, her cunt gets wetter, but it’s still not enough to dull that smug look on her face.

“Fuck yes,” Natty gasps, raises her ass, presenting it to you like a trophy for you to claim. “I always knew you had it in you.”

You grab her hips harder, your knuckles white, your hand a blur as it connects with her ass. It’s so explicit, the sound of it in the quiet of Natty’s apartment—each spank echoing through the room like a gunshot.

But Natty just takes it, her body jolting with each hit, her cunt tensing and tightening around you.

“God, don’t fucking stop,” Natty sputters, tears of pained pleasure leaking from the corners of her eyes. “You’re using me so good.”

You lean down, kissing hard against her neck, branding her shoulder. You want her to feel you, to remember you. To not be able to ever feel remotely good again without first thinking of you.

"It's your fucking fault, Natty," you growl into her ear. "You drive me mad."

And she laughs, the sound vibrating through her body and going straight to your cock. "Good," she answers, "Good. Be mad. Be angry."

But you’re beyond that now, beyond the point of no return. All that you know is Natty’s cunt, Natty’s ass, Natty’s moans, and Natty’s grin that you’re aching to wipe off her face.

"Fucking hate me if you want," she’s saying, and she can’t seem to stop, "just don’t stop fucking—ah!”

You nearly stop when you realise you’ve finally done it. Finally left Natty out of breath, lost for words. A fucking miracle, really—the kind that makes you feel like a fucking god.

It doesn’t stop her cunt clenching around you, tight as a vice, because even now, Natty’s got some kind of death grip pussy, and she’s using it to fucking kill you.

You whisper in her ear, “You like that?”

Her only response is a breathy, needy little whine, so you spank her again.

And again.

Her cunt tightens. She’s close, so close. You can feel it.

“You like it when I use you, Natty?”

She nods, her eyes screwed shut, her mouth crying into the mattress, a mess of hair and sweat and utter bliss.

“Say it,” you demand, slapping her ass once more, watching as the pain ripples through her. “Say it.”

And Natty does, because she’s a good little whore, because she’s yours now. “Yes, yes, I like it when you use me, when you fuck me like this, when it’s only about you, your cock, your needs, your pleasure—”

God, it feels good to hear her say it, but you still want more than just words. You want her to fucking scream it.

You make the bed shake, knock the headboard against her wall, it’s a competition of what’s going to break first—the frame or her.

“This cunt. Your cunt. I’m going to use it. Fuck it whenever I want.”

But Natty catches you off guard, because that’s what Natty does best. She opens her eyes, looks right into yours, and suddenly she has her voice again: “Whenever I want. You’re going to fucking move in with me.”

You freeze. Your hand mid-spank. Your cock mid-thrust. It throws you entirely off, because, what the fuck?

"You're going to be my boyfriend now," Natty says, wrenching back control, fucking her ass back into you. Stating not asking, leaving no room for argument. "Move in with me, your place sucks anyway."

"You're out of your fucking mind," you start to protest, but she cuts you off with another squeeze of her cunt around you, and now she’s the one fucking you, her hips rolling back and forth in this maddening, sinful way that has you biting down on your tongue to keep from shouting.

"Move in and just fuck me every day," she says, all light and airy, like it’s already been decided, like moments ago you didn’t have her dead to rights. "Morning to night. It would be so fucking nice."

This is real, you know that for sure. It’s not just something she’s saying to get off, not another way to get under your skin. You know it in her voice, she’s deadly serious and suddenly your mind’s racing.

"Come on," Natty purrs, punctuating each word with a slap of her ass against your waist, "You know you want it, why fucking wait?"

She’s not wrong. It makes too much fucking sense to deny. And yet, part of you still can't believe it. That Natty, the girl who's had countless men at her feet, could have any man at her feet, actually wants you. That Natty is underneath you now, eyes glossed over with need, mouth swollen from your kisses, ass cheeks flushed crimson from your palm.

"I'll take such good care of you, baby," she says, unaware that she’s already completely won, unaware that her cunt already has you bending to her will. "Every day, every night.”

You can't help but nod. You're too consumed in her to do anything else. You just let go of everything. The fears, the doubt, the fucking logic.

And Natty says it, the three words that seal your fate—"I'll love you," she cries out, "I'll fucking love you forever if you just keep giving me this fucking cock."

It's like the world stops, like everything you've ever wanted is right there in front of you, wrapped up in Natty's tight fucking body.

You're so close, so fucking close, that you can almost taste it—the sweet release of your orgasm; giving in to Natty’s unbelievably sensational cunt sleeving your cock, pulsing with each thrust, desperate to milk you dry.

There’s nothing left to do but give Natty wants. Fuck her, hammer into her so hard that you’re going to fuck a Natty-shaped hole into the mattress, fucking shatter her bedframe, and then keep drilling her straight through the floor.

And she’s crying out your name, forgetting about everything that isn’t you, isn’t your cock, isn’t the dream of your cum filling her to the brim and spilling out of her cunt every single day for the rest of your fucking lives.

“Are you close, baby? Are you going to cum for me? Please, give it to me, I need it so bad, I need it now, because I'm about to, about to, about to—"

And then it happens.

Fucking destroys her.

It hits. A crescendo that peaks as you bottom out inside her, shaking her to the core. Her cunt spasms about you, her body rises off the bed as if you’re performing a fucking exorcism, and she screams your name so loud it’s only a matter of time before the neighbours come banging on her door.

"Oh my fucking god you—"

Natty gushes around your cock, juices running down your shaft, your balls, and she’s squirting. Oh god, she’s squirting all over the fucking place.

Natty’s body goes rigid, her back arching so much it’s like she’s trying to fold in half, crying, sputtering these words that don't even make sense—until you realise she's speaking an entirely different fucking language.

Not that it matters, because you can tell what she's saying, read it in her body, in the way she's spurting and making a big fucking mess beneath your bodies. Whatever she’s saying sounds utterly depraved, filthy and so, so good to your ears.

It keeps going and going, until she has enough sense to speak your language again, needing to make sure you hear it when she says—"fucking fill me, baby," she whimpers. "Give me everything, all your fucking cum."

And it’s your turn to be hit—like a fucking freight train.

You're cumming, hard and fast and out of fucking nowhere. Your balls tighten, your cock throbs, and you’re flooding Natty’s cunt.

It’s biological, in every cell of your body—like your entire being is coming undone, and the only thing holding you together is Natty, Natty, Natty.

Her body shaking beneath you, her cunt contracting around your cock as wave after wave of cum fills her up.

She’s so fucking tight, so fucking perfect, that you can feel every pulse of your orgasm, every drop of your cum spurting into her. You're not sure how long it lasts, how much you give her, but it’s enough to make your muscles shake, enough to knock the architecture right out of your limbs.

"So fucking good, so fucking good," Natty coos. "Fucking finally, finally filling me up so good."

Her moans a lullaby, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body with every syllable. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of her neck, your every inhale and exhale ragged as you try to catch your breath. Still twitching inside her, still releasing the last of your cum, and Natty’s just lying there, her body limp, her eyes closed, basking in it all.

"So perfect," she keeps repeating, right up until the very end, “So, so, perfect.”

You collapse on top of her, just lie there shivering together, your face next to hers. She’s got this look on her face, a victorious glow, and you just have to accept it. Yeah, she’s won again, in devastatingly convincing fashion.

For a second, you’re both just that—spent, exhausted, entirely drained. Like you’ve just run a marathon. Or been in a fight. Or both.

Then Natty’s got the nerve to stir, to kiss your cheek with the tenderness of a whisper. Lips softer than you thought possible, given how hard she’s just been fucking you. And that’s it, the moment your body decides it’s had enough of playing dead, enough of lying there like a sack of potatoes.

You roll over, bringing Natty with you, her body curling into yours like she’s been made to fit there. Her head rests on your chest, her legs entwined with yours, and for a moment, you just hold her close.

It feels fucking right.

"Tomorrow," Natty sighs contentedly, her cheek finding home atop your heartbeat.

You blink. "Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, you're moving in tomorrow." Natty’s deciding for you already, setting the dynamic for the rest of your future. Doing all this with her eyes still shut as she snuggles closer to you. "I'll hire the movers."

You sigh, the weight of the world and Natty's body both feeling surprisingly light. You think about the next few days, the weeks, the years even, with Natty. The idea is so ludicrous, so absurd, that it feels like a fever dream.

But as you hold her, feel her warmth, her unabashed, blatant satisfaction, something inside you shifts. A reframing of the concept of Natty that you hold in your head. The thought of her naked body in your bed, her laughter in your living room, her mess in your kitchen—it doesn’t feel like an intrusion, it feels like home.

"Are you sure?" you ask. A little shaky, a little hopeful.

Natty opens one eye to look at you, a laugh playing on her lips. "Oh, you know I'm going to be the worst fucking roommate ever."

"Yeah, I can see that. But as long as you keep being the best fucking everything else..." Your words trail off into a whisper, your hand tracing idle patterns on her back.

And then she says it again.

"You’re so fucking in love with me."

Natty kisses you hard, deep, her tongue sliding against yours. And you know, you fucking know, that she's right. You are desperately, entirely, so fucking in love with her, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

You laugh, the sound a little desperate, a little wild, and roll her again, pin her down again. A strange feeling rushes through your mind. Like you’re going to be repeating this exact same motion for the next hundred years. And somehow, that doesn’t sound like the worst thought in the world.

Natty squeals, cheers, moans when you settle between her legs.

"Fuck you, Natty."

"Oh, baby," Natty giggles, reaching down between your legs, squeezing you. Once. Twice. Until you're filling her hand once more. "That's what I'm here for."

[biboomerangboi]

My friend was watching the show for the first time and they brought up a misconception that I think we see a lot in fandom. So I want to talk about The Gamblers Den and specifically this scene in particular:

My friend genuinely wondered what Hua Cheng would do and then when they heard his explanation they were even more confused:

They basically messaged me saying, wait Hua Cheng would have made the bet. He bets people’s lives and some how Xie Lian is okay with that. How???

And to anyone else who’s thinking the same thing or falling for the Demon King vibe Hua Cheng is trying to sell here I am here to tell you, you have all been duped.

What’s import to understand is that Ghost City actually came from making one of Xie Lian’s ideas work:

Xie Lian is talking about a specialised market here, a place where the common people couldn’t just stumble into without reason and that’s what Ghost City is and The Gambers Den is the foundation of it. While Xie Lian didn’t say hey go gamble, Hua Cheng is taking a risk and playing into his greatest strength and then showing of for his crush is the most dramatic way possible when talking about it.

For Hua Cheng the house always wins! Literally. Or at least what he wants the bet to be will always happen. His luck is just that good. If the gambler wins it’s genuinely because Hua Cheng let him.

In the Den he is acting as Judge and Jury with Xie Lian as his moral code but he can’t just turn down the deals. If he does then these people could go to less safe options (looking at you Qi Rong) to get what they desire which negates the reason he built Ghost City in the first place.

Hua Cheng has to let these people play by his rules if he wants to follow his Gods wishes. So he has to be creative and look at loop holes, phrasing and Xie Lians most important teaching finding the third path.

For this moment specifically giving the options I think Hua Cheng would have taken the 20 years of his daughter’s life. Why you may ask? Well the phrasing is easier to manipulate. While the eradication of his competitors is pretty well laid 20 years of his daughters life is pretty vague.

Option 1) Hua Cheng could take her away from her shit father and put her in an apprenticeship and marry a man of her choosing since her hand is now her own to decide since Hua Cheng doesn’t want it.

Option 2) She has to work in Ghost City for 20 years and is married to Yin Yu in name only (because Hua Cheng can’t have a wife at all or he won’t win Gege) then gets pleasantly divorced and giving a severance payment after 20 years.

Option 3) He could decide life is a vague term and after she dies she has to spend 20 years in Ghost City and matchmake a future marriage between her and another ghost.

Option 4) He could decide what she has to do with the next twenty years of her life which could include an actual good marriage and education. Where she has to worship his shrine and be only his devotee for 20 years.

Option 5) He can literally say I’ll collect when I decide and never cash in.

He can do anything because the wording is so fluent and for Hua Cheng debater and Civil God Killer it’s probably easy. He’s not a demon king, he’s a crafty trickster spirit basically a fae lord.

He’s playing the system and he’s winning that’s what Xie Lian figured out and why he supports it. He knows Hua Cheng well enough even back then to trust that he would make the right decision because he believes in Hua Cheng and he’s right too.

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[open-sketchbook]

i'm super high so forgive the rambling but

as somebody who grew up catholic and read the bible a bunch because it was words in a book and that's what i did in school, a thing thats fucking insane about christianity is how, like, the foundational text of christianity and christanity-the-institution are basically completely the opposite of one another

original observation i know but this isn't me like, doing a new thing, its reeling over an old well-worn thing because its just so insane

like fundamentally the pitch of christianity, as presented in stories about jesus, is "god made himself into a guy, but not just a guy, a poor working man in roman-occupied judea. this guy went around telling everyone how god is on the side of the poor, the oppressed, and the downtrodden, and against the rich, the occupier, and the authority. to be kind to each other, help each other, even the ones you're supposed to hate, and take solace in the face the day is coming when those in power get what's coming to them."

but then the romans decided christianity was theirs now, and i dont think we like... understand how fucking weird that is. its like if the president of the united states one day got up and declared that actually, its Soviet America now. nothing is changing materially, capital still rules america, but the flags are all red and there's hammers and sickles on everything and people call each other comrade

because that's exactly what it is, right? none of the stuff in the jesus parts of the bible are really, like, conducive to the state religion of a giant conquering slave empire, especially not the part where the romans killed the dude. so like, basically every single thing about christainity is this bizarre smoke and mirrors game with theological wordplay to get around that. the institutions of the church exist to undermine the core stuff that's written in their foundational document through a game of theological telephone.

and again like, i keep coming back to the soviet america example idea thing. because that's exactly what it is, right? imagine its like, a thousand years from now, and in some liberal government culturally descendent from the united states you got an election and the two candidates get up and cite the parts of Capital where Karl Marx is like "alright i'll hand it to the capitalists they sure built a lot of machine tools" to show their devotion to communism, which of course teaches that capitalists should own the means of production

its exactly that! they literally took a religion built around a dude who really fucking hated the roman occupation and talked endlessly about giving to others and sharing with others and helping those unlike yourself and made it into the religion of rome, of taking and keeping and hurting those unlike yourself.

its so fucking wild man (again; i am so goddamn high. to be clear, this isn't a defense of christianity or of issues with jesus as portrayed, like im not saying that actually we should be Original Jesusers, i fully agree that christanity has antisemetism at its core, its more just musing on how wild it is this happened)

[vexwerewolf]

why is it that we only have like two licenses from any mech producer that’s a good guy? For a game where like there are clear good and bad guys (even if who you play isn’t necessarily linked to that) it seems strange to me that the only loot and XP you get is… more benefits from the bad guys

I can tell you the answer, but to do so, we're gonna have to talk about a completely different TTRPG.

If you've read @makapatag's truly excellent Filipino martial arts TTRPG Gubat Banwa (and if you haven't, here it is), you may notice that every single character class description (with one notable exception) ends with one of these babies:

I am not Makapatag, and I cannot write with quite as much grace and eloquence as he can, but I will try:

If you choose to become a Lancer, ask yourself why you mock the name of peace with these weapons of war. You call yourself a saviour, but your steed was forged from the murder of a world. You stride across the sky in a colossus built in your own image, so why are you too cowardly to give it your face? Why do you believe these machines of death can preserve life?

It is important to note that the admonitions in Gubat Banwa are not just there to make you feel bad; they are there as legitimate questions. The Sword Isles have seen so much blood, death and tragedy. Wars are not glorious and killing is not a game. So, knowing all of that, why have you taken up this discipline - no matter how noble and virtuous it might claim to be - to shed more blood, to bring more death, to write more tragedy? What could possibly drive you to this? What need is so great that you must kill?

The thing with Gubat Banwa is that there are legitimate answers to these questions! There are bad people doing bad things, and some of them will not be stopped with words or kindness. Sometimes, as sorrowful as it is, killing is the correct choice to prevent greater suffering and deeper tragedy - but adding less misery and death to the world is still adding some amount of it. Even the most necessary wars will drench the ground in the blood of the innocent.

A sword is a tool meant to kill humans; while it can be used for other things, it is not well-suited to anything other than this. A mech is, in its most basic essence, just a very complicated sword: it's usually used on things larger than a person, but it's still a tool built to kill.

So why have you taken up this path? Humanity was saved from the brink of extinction and has created wondrous technologies like printers, cold fusion and mind-machine interface, and yet you use them to play soldier in a giant metal man. Why do you choose to take up this machine of death, built by the greedy and pitiless? Why do you think these machines can ever make things right?

Because sometimes, despite everything, they can.

Warhammer 40K shows an awful world full of monsters and monstrosity, and in the darkest moments of its history, Lancer's world looked just as bleak, but Lancer's world differs in one crucial way. Warhammer's world has long given up trying to be better, but Lancer's world never did. Lancer's world kept insisting a better world is possible, and it used what tools it had to make it so.

Sometimes the correct choice, no matter how bitter it may seem, is to kill someone. When you need to do this, a sword is a perfectly good choice for the job.

If you find yourself discomforted by the fact that all the people you can buy mechs from are corrupt and immoral - good! You have correctly engaged with the text. You have understood that the sort of people who would make giant walking death machines and sell them for profit are not good people. But you still have a job to do, and you need the correct tools, and those people have them.

Lancer is not a game about a perfect world - it is a game about a deeply flawed and imperfect one that does not let its imperfection stop it from trying. You have to try to make a better world, even with imperfect tools made by unpleasant people.

[caughtthedarkness93]

Ok, I guess I gotta talk about that one scene in Dragon Age: The Veilguard eventually because I've heard about discourse regarding it and it's driving me up a wall with how some of the criticism ignores key context from the rest of the story that informs how it's written. Spoilers for Taash's storyline follow below the cut.

So I mainly have seen this referenced on TV Tropes because I am not on the hellscape that is Twitter, but people, it seems, have been criticizing the scene where Taash comes out as nonbinary to their mom for how they get pissed at how their mom takes it. Often this is used to frame Taash as being unreasonable as their mom is struggling to understand what that means.

And I feel like that criticism kind of misses a big part of what that scene is actually about. Because Taash's relationship with their mom is complicated. This is something that their storyline stresses repeatedly. Taash has fond memories of growing up with their mom and knows that she basically gave up her whole culture to ensure that Taash wouldn't be forced into a soldier's life. It's clear that their mom is still very attached to Qunari culture and she outright expresses a couple times that she feels like being a Qunari scholar equipped her extremely poorly to actually raise a child. That checks out - under the Qun, that would be someone else's job entirely.

So this informs a lot of Taash's relationship with her - Taash recognizes that she gave up a very privileged position with the Qunari for their sake. Because she wanted a better life for them than what they'd get there. That's a huge sacrifice.

However, you watch how they interact, you can see that Taash's mom is also very critical of them and very controlling. She doesn't care much for Taash's privacy, tries to make a lot of their decisions for them without putting a lot of thought into what they actually want, and she is extremely critical of them sometimes about things that don't really matter.

So we get to that scene late in their storyline - the Lighthouse dinner. I think the critical mistake a lot of people make when looking at this scene is thinking that it's about how she reacts to Taash's gender identity.

Which that informs it, sure, but there's more to it. When Taash yells that nothing they do is good enough for their mom, it's not a reaction to how she responds to their identity, it's a reaction to the way their whole relationship has been built up throughout the game. It's the straw that broke the camel's back. And it's true to Taash's character.

One of the things that I like about Taash is that they're someone who likes a straightforward, direct solution to most problems. Thing in your way? Break it. Big scary monster? Kill it. They like to be able to take the most simple, direct path through a problem, preferably one that involves slaying a big monster, and Veilguard constantly puts them in situations where that isn't an option. And in those situations, they struggle a lot. Taash struggles to get along with Emmerich because that involves overcoming internalized prejudices (and understandable ones too - necromancy is something that would probably make a lot of people uncomfortable irl and for a culture where cremation is the norm and undead can be a legit issue, that would go, like, quadruple - of course they're uncomfortable with Emmerich). That's not an easy thing to do because it involves a lot of introspection and interrupting thoughts that you've been trained to think. Taash questions their gender identity. Definitely no easy, straightforward way to solve that. They angst a lot over being afraid they're broken somehow for feeling these things. A fraught, complicated relationship with a parent who sacrificed everything so that you would have a better life, but can't seem to bring herself to let you actually live it the way you want? Can't hit that with an axe.

And ultimately, that's what's happening in this scene - the whole game, we've seen Taash struggle with this really complex, nuanced relationship, this mother who clearly loves them and wants the best life possible for them, but struggles to understand what their child really needs and often says or does things that are hurtful. In this scene, this bubbling, brewing resentment, definitely exacerbated by Taash being outside their mom's orbit and with a team that has more faith in their skills and abilities, finally comes to a head.

The scene is only about Taash's identity on the most surface of levels. Yeah, that's what sparks the argument, but it's not what the argument is about.

[lune-redd]

Hello, it's Lelly.

As you may know, I have recently deactivated my Twitter account. A lot of people are speculating I left because I was being harassed for drawing my older depiction of Bubbles from The Powerpuff Girls as chubby. However... that's not the direct reason I left. In fact, I didn't really see much of the comments of folks on there getting riled up about it as I muted the tweet the morning I saw that it blew up. I was only merely aware of it all by being told about it from friends, with there being some other users on the site making other really fuckin' stupid comments about my art.

This does however lead into why I actually left Twitter, and it's because of Twitter's overall toxic nature. Overtime, I've really gotten sick of how absolutely revolting Twitter has become to experience. The site is basically built around dunk culture and doom scrolling. You know that one tweet of someone making an example of Twitter's utter stupidity by using pancakes and waffles as an example?

I bring this up because I think this fits my point about how Twitter has this thing of assuming the absolute worst about the most insignificant things, even the most innocuous. The "Bubbles obesity" comments weren't the only stupid comments that came out of that post. I also got a quote retweet that I was "forcefully feminizing Buttercup", even though the whole fucking point of that drawing was to depict a usually tough character in an unusual situation for her. I have also gotten stupid comments on other drawings though, like the one where Mitch pushes Buttercup down for trying to look taller than she is and I got called a misogynist for it, though I'm pretty sure that one was bait (Twitter users have a tough time figuring out what is and isn't bait, it's dunk culture that I'm about to talk about really doesn't help this).

The site's dunk culture is also really fuckin' bad. Quote retweets are a disease, as unlike Tumblr's reblog comments, quote retweets count as a different post. Someone disagrees with you? Show your audience how stupid they are on your page! Hey, are you trying not to see the most abhorrent racist statement imaginable? Well TOO BAD FUCK YOU here's a le epic own giving them all the attention in the world even though one of the most common internet rules are DON'T FEED THE FUCKIN' TROLLS YOU IDIOT. Oh hey, are you trying to explain how you prefer a certain artistic choice over another in something you like? Well you're a deranged ungrateful whiny nitpicker, get owned!

I've seen so many of my friends be belittled for simply discussing their artistic preferences of things they're passionate about. I had a friend who said he prefers the original Crash Bandicoot design over his redesigned look in Crash 4, and had legitimate reasons for why he felt that way (even if he didn't really explain them clearly), and he got dunked for it which made me mad. I'm sick and tired of it all. The reaction to my art is only a mere example of the shit I despise about that site.

I had been planning on leaving Twitter for quite some time, as my follower count was growing nearer and nearer to 10K. I had planned on leaving after 10K followers because that amount was wayyyy too fuckin big for me to handle. I'm a young and growing lad, and I felt it wouldn't be good for my mental sanity to handle all that, so I dipped. The amount of attention I've been getting is simultaneously both wonderful and extremely overwhelming. Even the explosion of new followers and asks on here is quite the load! (Seriously, calm the fuck down y'all) I am very grateful for all the supportive asks I've gotten even though I won't be able to answer them all, thank you all so very much.

tl;dr I didn't leave Twitter because I was being harassed or anything, but rather because of the site's overall toxic and belittling environment.

Adios.

-Lelly

[rene-darling]

[imagine]

Dom/topGn!reader [talks about thrustin from strap or dk up to you.]

Something isn't right, it doesn't feel right. It's not his first time, you're not taking his virginity or some shit, hell- this isn't even the first time you two fucked. But something about the mood, this fuck session was...off.

Your thrusts were deep and- slow, which- wasn't entirely unusual maybe you're tired? You sometimes go slower when you start- no. Fuck, it was a few hours into your fuck session and the entire time you went so deep!

You went fast when he whined for it you kept at a pace most pleasurable to him. Why? It- it wasn't like he was your boyfriend or some shit. You didn't need to be all sappy and slow, hah, did you lose your touch?

Why're you touching him like- like he's delicate. Soft and- like you- fuck who do you think he is? He's [______] he doesn't need to be treated softly, he can handle it. He can fuck. He won't break he can endure it, he- so why does he like it. All soft 'n shit.

"Have y-you gone soft on mhm- me." He finally built up the courage to confront you about your weird..behaviour

Bringing your hand up, you touch his face, his cheek. You didn't slap him even though he flinched as his face tightened in preparation for that. "You're the one, who's gone soft." He's crying, globs of tears flowing down his numb face, fuck. Why's he crying?? You aren't going rough so he has no excuse. Shit. Maybe he has gotten soft on you.

He- he doesn't know what to say- or do- shit. Are you gonna stop? Leave him like this? He's pretty useless if he can't handle you, fuck who would've imagined him, of all people melting into your soft touches crying over some basic decency.

"I- uh mm..hic..I don't-..uh..mm hic-" shit what is he doing? Looking up at you, trying to formulate a sentence as his stream of tears turn into rivers, drool dripping down his lips, as his mouth opens and closes like some damn fish. Looking up at you with his glossed-over eyes, his body seems to pull away from you, trying to curl up into himself.

Since.. your arrangement started, there were only two rules, no catching feelings, and- no kissing on the lips, made to protect the first rule. You've wanted to break it many times yet never had the guts to cross that line, yet, here you are. Lips crashed into his as he pulls you back into him, closer. This time curling into you rather than himself, arms around your shoulder and back as you break away, shock prevalent in those glazed eyes, and a gling of something else too.

"fuuuck, [_____]. Maybe- hah..maybe I am the one going soft after all."

...MICHAEL KIASER...reo...ness...SCARAMOUCHE...fratboy Eren...judar/judal...GOJO...toji...+your favs...

[thebestsetter]

If Isagi knew his old teammate had invited him to hang out just to talk shit, he would have thought twice about coming.

"I mean, c'mon dude!" Tada, one of the players from his old team, said "You scored an excuse-me goal like that with pure luck and nothing else!"

"Excuse-me goal...?" Isagi muttered, clearly confused about what his friend meant

"Yeah! You used up all your luck on that one, not gonna lie"

If it had ended like that, Isagi would have still managed to accept it.

People have different views about his plays, so it's okay for him to think it was pure luck. He's probably just too stupid to even understand what Isagi did, even if he explained it to him.

Isagi would be just fine if his teammate didn't say anything else.

If only Tada had stopped there.

"And don't even get me started about your sudden relationship!" He said, smirking at Isagi "(Name), isn't it? Japan U-20's manager who trained the Blue Lock team for a while?" He nudged Yoichi with his shoulder "She's hot, bro. Man, you're just way too lucky! This amount of fortune should be illegal or something!"

Luck? Luck?

Isagi was dumbfounded. He didn't even react to what the guy said.

The beginning of your relationship wasn't based on his luck. If anything, it started because of how unlucky he is.

Because honestly, he doesn't want anyone to know that you two met because he entered the wrong restroom.

The restrooms were still being built in the blue lcok facility and all, so there weren't any signs indicating which was the female's one and which was the male's. Therefore, it was a 50/50 chance of entering the right one. The men's one.

Also, most people on the facility were men. There were basically only 2 girls: you, a manager who had already worked on Japan's U-20 and was just curious about the Blue Lock project, and Anri, Blue Lock's official manager. What was the possibility that he'd enter the wrong bathroom and see any of you two there?

It seemed pretty high, actually.

And he hates this story because not only did he enter the wrong bathroom, he managed to convince you this was the men's one and that the other one was for the women.

Let's just say you both ended up bounding over restroom trauma.

See? It isn't a cute, movie-like love story.

Luck? There was no way he got with you by being lucky. He fought for you.

He was the one who suggested you should be Blue Lock's manager for a short period of time. He was the one who had to build up courage to ask for your phone number after training with you for weeks. He was the one who dedicated the last goal of the match to you, all sweating and smiling.

Luck? Be for fucking real. Isagi knit the threads of fate himself until all he could see in it was your name and face.

But, sometimes, he thought about your relationship deeper. Because if he met you through his mischance, why does it feel so great to have you in his arms?

According to the dicitionary, bad luck is "an unfortunate state that results from unfavorable outcomes". When he looks at you, though, arms stretching towards him, he doesn't see any "unfavorable outcome".

Was it really bad luck, after all? Or was it all his luck dressed up as misfortune?

"Isagi? You good there, man?" Tada asked, waving his hand in front of Isagi's face

Yoichi finally smiled, looking at his former teammate after snapping out of his daydreams.

"You know what? Maybe I am, indeed, very lucky"

You know what they say: unlucky in cards, lucky in love.

But when Yoichi comes home, seeing you in his jersey, cooking for him and watching one of his old games, he can't help but wonder.

Maybe he's lucky in both.

[lunatic-pudge]

Mercs Being Jealous

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Requested by menenthusiast900069)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aight, so let's make a quick list of most to least jealous, just so you get an idea of my very bias beliefs, I am semi willing to debate this.

1.) Sniper

2.) Demo

3.) Scout

4.) Medic

5.) Pyro

6.) Soldier

7.) Engie

8.) Spy

9.) Heavy

Now, onto the headcanons!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Scout:

-Such a jealous baby, he can't help it

-A lot of it comes from his insecurities and also being the youngest of eight. He's used to being "the runt" of the group, even with the mercs. So he feels like he has to compete with them for your affection, even if you two are dating

-Like, someone could stand just a little too close to you and he's already starting the side eyes

-Scout, chill, for real for real

-He will attach himself to you once the jealousy kicks in. Arms wrapped around you, nuzzling up against you, it's that inner dog in him

-He will get mouthy with whoever is causing the jealousy. Talks a lot of smack for someone who is built like a damn twig. So it goes from him loving on you, to you having to prevent a fight from happening. Yes, depending on who it is, he can win the fight, he's a mercenary afterall. But when it comes to guys who have a big build like Heavy, then you'll really need to stop him

Soldier:

-Isn't really the jealous type, surprisingly. I think it comes from an oblivious stand point. Like, you need to point it out that someone's flirting with you for him to get even an increment of jealousy

-He really feels like he has nothing to worry about (which he's right). He's more than confident that you're loyal to him cause he is with you

-I feel like when you do say someone is flirting with you, he isn't gonna be violent, moreso he will make a big name and shame thing out of it (he basically did that to Miss Pauling in the comics)

-Like, "Who do you think you are flirting with MY GIRL, maggot! You are a disgrace to this country! Now drop and give me 100!"

-But that don't mean he isn't ready to throw hands. Cause he will. Homie's down to break a few necks. But if you don't want him doing that then you're gonna have to remove him from the situation

Pyro:

-I feel like they're kinda like Solider is the more oblivious aspect, but not as much. Like, they can tell when someone's flirting with you, but whether they truly care or not is up for debate

-I don't really see Pyro as a violent type when jealous. Why waste their energy on someone so insignificant to them?

-If anything, Pyro will just resort to loving all over you, more than usual. All the while giving the offending person a death stare

-It's a very effective form of intimidation

-Cause think about it, are you gonna want to fight a person wearing a flame proof suit, that isn't speaking, and is just giving you the thousand yard stare? No, you wouldn't

Demoman:

-Poor baby can be quite insecure. I feel so bad for him

-Constantly worries about not being good enough. He's so used to being beat down by the people around him that he doesn't have good self-esteem

-He will stand nearby you, waiting for you to notice him, looking like a sad and lost puppy

-Once you finally notice him, you'll have to pry him open to find out what's wrong. He doesn't like burdening you with his problems so he tends to sit and stew about everything til he bursts

-He will need to to reassure him that you aren't going anywhere and that you love him. He needs a lot of verbal reassuring cause he's a worrying lad

Heavy:

-Heavy? Jealous? Where?

-While Scout, Demo, and Sniper might be the top three most jealous, Heavy, Engie, and Spy are the least jealous

-Heavy is this big, strong bear, why would you ever wanna settle for less? Like, frfr, you'd have to have an IQ less than an orange to stoop to such lengths

-But let's play along and say that he did get jealous. One of those very rare times it happens. He knows he doesn't have to do much to make the offender leave, all he has to do is stand there

-And stare.

-And stare..

-And stare...

-He's got that resting angry face so he just has to stand behind you and exist to make people leave you alone. It's kinda funny to think about it. He'll gently take your hand and leave after that

-Why be around people when you two can be locked away in a quite room with a good book?

Engineer:

-Again, not a jealous person. But he does have his moments sometimes

-He's a confident boy and knows you wouldn't do anything. Plus have you seen him? He's an intelligent man, got such a nice voice and accent, and can build a machine to keep you safe

-When he jealous, he's passive aggressive. He doesn't like to be hostile, especially so up front, so he'll do little things to help get his point across

(Would give examples but I'm not passive agressive, I'm just aggressive, oops)

-He'd come up to you, slide an arm around you, give you a kiss on the cheek, and say how he was looking for ya while side eyeing the offender

-THAT MAN COULD USE HIS VOICE TO SEDUCE YOU ALL OVER AGAIN, FIGHT ME

-Weirdly enough, I can see him as someone who will look into the offender, find all the person's info and hand it over to Medic, basically saying "Here's someone you can harvest organs from. Have fun, Pookie."

-Then Medic and Engie proceed to make out and get married. The end

Medic:

-Medic's an interesting fellow. I feel like he's like Pyro where it all depends on his mood. Somdays, he doesn't give a shit, and other days, HE'S FUMING

-He will NOT tolerate the disrespect  >:(

-Cue sassy Medic. This man will verbally murder a bitch and I'm here for it

-Will get "handsy" with you (he'll just throw himself on top of you, maybe even make you hold him bridal style if you're strong enough)

-Will be loving all over you while verbally berating the offender. Everything is getting called out. EVERYTHING. He wants to ensure his point is made

-Buuuut, this can also be a chance to score some fresh, new organs. He's always in the market for that stuff so he can easily kidnap the offender and harvest the goods. And no, you can't talk him out of it. Once his mind is made up, nothing can stop him

Sniper:

-Oh my poor baby boy. Where do I even begin with you?

-Sniper can't help but get so jealous so easily. He's never been one to have relationships with people so when he is in one, he gets so insecure at times

-Worries he's not good enough at times. He know he's a "quirky" individual, so he worries you'll want to be with someone who's more "normal"

-Will stand nearby, giving the offender dirty looks. They can feel the daggers that Sniper is giving them, it's enough to make them leave

-Afterwards, he'll pull you away from everyone and be all over you

-While Demo needs verbal reassurance, Sniper needs physical reassurance. So please love on him and tell him it's gonna be okay and that you love him and only him

-But I can also see him needing to prove that he's better than any guy through "fun" means (Medic would too but I forgot to add it. They both horny jealous people)

Spy:

-Again, not a jealous person, and rightfully so

-We all know how suave this man is. He can pull anyone and everyone without even trying

-But I'm sure even Spy has his own moments when he feels a slight bit of jealousy

- He'd be so pissy with the offender. Like, fuck you, pal. That's MY partner

-Welp, time to go over there and seduce you all over again, which isn't hard for him to do. He's got that magic in him, ya know? He;s a man who knows what words to say and what moves to make. He'd make the offender jealous that they couldn't be with Spy

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

OKAY HELLO UH. SAVANACLAW DREAM UPDATE SPOILERS ?!?!!2!!2!2

THE. WAY BOTH JACK AND RUGGIE ADMIRE LEONA SO MYCH AND FEATURE HIM IN THEIR DREAMS 😭😭😭😭 Jack making Leona basically nOT HAVE DEPRESSION QUFBWKANDK 😭😭 and making him a fair player... Jack my boy... your dream is lovely but you made him do stuff hED NEVER DO 😭😭

AND RUGGIE. THE FACT HE AND LEONA NEVER MET IN THIS DREAM *BUT* THE AMAZING DRESM SCHOOL HE ATTENDS WAS SKGNKENAKjfkenalNIfjeksksn MADE/PROPOSED TO BE MADE (?) BY LEONA 😭😭😭 AND HE SAYS THAT PRINCE LEONA IS MORE POPULAR THAN FALENA AMONGST TYE YOUTH AJFNWKNudnekskalakdknsk tHEY WANT ME DEAD. D E A D.

and then ... ruggie says smth about him choosing the king he'll follow and LATER WHEN REFERRING TO LEONA HE SAYS SMTH TO JACK LIKE. "LET'S GO WAKE UP OUR KING" I'm fuckifnwjzbslakznaklNdkdkals akehueuqjakansksk THEY ADORE HIM SO MUCH. I CAN'T DO THIS.

So this means we'll get a full chapter ONLY for Leona's dream... I don't think we'll see him crying like Jack and Ruggie but GOD IF WE DO SEE THAT I'LL BE FOUND DEAD- i just knowwww that whichever way they go w it (the "he already knows it's a dream theory" or SMTH else), there WILL BE drama and I *WILL* die internally... my Leona plushies will pay the price (they will be hugged very tightly)

[Referencing the book 7 part 11 update!]

Me, coping: Oh, the book 7 Savanaclaw update is split into two parts? That means the first part must be dedicated to Jack and Ruggie and the second part must be Leona only. Surely this means I am free from being sniped in the Jack and Ruggie segment. Me, from the future:

. . .

ME EXPERIENCING THE FIVE STAGES OF GRIEF ALL AT ONCE

WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT 💀💀💀 I was kind of expecting some element of respecting their dorm leader to come up (definitely for Jack's), BUT NOT THIS EXTENT OTL

Of the two, Jack's dream was the more obvious one to feature Leona in a very positive light. His admiration for the guy was clear ever since book 2, in which Jack--someone who regularly sucks at expressing his feelings--confessed MULTIPLE TIMES that it was Leona's passionate magift play on TV that inspired Jack to follow in his footsteps. And that's why he was so disappointed to learn that the guy he admired all along was a scumbag that would play dirty to get ahead. The Leona in Jack's dream might be that version that Jack had in his head... The Leona he yearns for the attention and praise of, the Leona he thought was a virtuous leader who values hard work and good sportsmanship, the kind of person who gives speeches to inspire his team and helps people up by the hand when they fall. Another reading could be that this is the Leona Jack believes is still possible if he works toward it, because this dream seems to be set a YEAR after their loss to Diasomnia. And this is Leona at his best and most dangerous because he's throwing literally everything he has into this training, so he'll probably do the same in combat; Yuu and co. have to develop a whole strategy in advance to isolate Jack because they KNOW they're going to get blasted by dream!Leona if they give any inkling of trying to wake the dreamer up. JACK LITERALLY DREAMED ABOUT LEONA THRIVING, BEING HIS BEST SELF... Jack, the self-proclaimed LONE WOLF, who claims he doesn't like GROUP ACTIVITIES/SPORTS, longs to be part of the pack that LEONA leads... But he won't follow just anyone, Jack has standards AND LEONA APPARENTLY MEETS ALL OF THEM (or, in Jack's eyes, Leona can meet those standards).

THEN WHEN JACK WAKES UP... Hoo, boy... The way he was smiling but then broke down into shouts and sobs... That's literally got to be my favorite kind of emotional distress (part of why I loved Idia's breakdown when he was introducing his newly built little brother to the Styx researchers). You can hear how betrayed he feels in his voice, all the raw emotion that didn't come through as strongly in book 2. ASKHLBLBIASDIVDAI SORRY TO DUNK ON BOOK 2 AGAIN BUT IT'S TRUE. Jack's feelings of betrayal... They were so blunted there, it felt like he was reacting to a minor setback (he seems to easily shrug off being called a traitor by the guy he supposedly admires) rather than genuinely being hurt. I'm glad that the emotional weight that wasn't addressed then is finally getting the spotlight it deserves now.

Then Ruggie's dream???? 😭 That one caught me SO off-guard. The way it opens with Yuu and co. suspecting it's Leona's dream because they arrived in Sunrise City, one of the few industrialized places in Sunset Savanna... The lore review of how it's difficult to get the people to get behind developing the land due to how it would negatively impact the nature they want to live in harmony with (plus the brand-new reveal that these disagreements can become VIOLENT)... and Idia realizing that this, THIS is why Leona actually decided to take an internship at an energy and mining lab back home--because Leona realized he cannot change the country on his own, no matter how often he butts heads with his brother. He needs even more knowledge and a team to work with him. An NPC donut vendor lady randomly drops it on us that it's thanks the PRINCE LEONA that Ivorycliff Academy was able to be established. Not only that, but turns out Leona has graduated already and has spent his time after NRC building schools and establishing magift teams for Sunset Savanna (the latter being something Leona expressed interest in, as having a national sport and/or famous sporting teams can enhance his country's soft power). AND HE'S MORE POPULAR AMONG THE YOUTH THAN FALENA IS???????? MR. LEONA I-HATE-DEALING-WITH-KIDS KINGSCHOLAR IS POPULAR WITH... THE KIDS????? ? ?? ?? ?? ? ?? ?????? ?? ? 💀 The guy who claims to only help the underclassmen because they'd otherwise be an inconvenience to him... is admired by the same underclassmen... and now that has translated over to Ruggie's dream as the youth of Sunset Savanna loving him... OTL YOU'RE KIDDING ME RIGHT/????? ? ??? ? ??v????? ? ? ????

The most bewildering detail to me about Ruggie's dream is that he and Leona haven't met at all; Ruggie acts pretty clueless when asked about it and Leona graduated from a completely different school than him (NRC). There's no way they could have met, yet the dream still deemed that Leona was an important enough aspect of Ruggie's life that he was incorporated into it... and, unlike in real life, Leona now has the influence to make these systematic changes not just for bettering Ruggie's life, but the lives of everyone in Sunset Savanna...

UUUURURUGUUGHHGHHHHHHHGHGHHHHHHH H H HH H H HHHHHHH H H H HH H H AND THEN WWHEN RUGGIE FINALLY WAKES UP AND AND ANADNANDANDANASHADSNADSNADSNAN NDDDSDD SD SM ADSB,M ADSDBSM DDD HE CALLS HE WON'T FOLLOW A "FAKE KING", HE WANTS TO CHOSOE THE KING HE FOLLOWS 😭😭😭 RUGGIE TELLS JACK THEY SHOULD GO AND WAKE UP "OUR KING"... Ruggie, who constantly complains about how easy rich people have it and how hard Leona makes him work for his coin, is standing right here and HE'S CHOOSING LEONA.

This is all so crazy to think about because back in book 6 (citing the moment that broke me Yet Again, lmao) Leona implied that while he has hope in others (like Jamil), HE DOESN'T HAVE THE SAME HOPE FOR HIMSELF. But there's literally his whole dorm who trust him to lead them and their futures as professional athletes 😭 Jack who believes Leona is capable of being that shining, ideal senpai he dreamed of... Ruggie who believes Leona can and will change not only his life for the better, but also the lives of marginalized beastmen like hyenas, the younger generation, and heck, why not their whole country too... OTL

THIS IS LITERALLY THE WORST POSSIBLE OUTDCOME FOR ME... . . . . ....... . .. . . . .. . / / / / / . . . .. . .. ... . . . ... . . YOU JAVE JACK'S DREAM SUPPLYING THE RELIABLE BIG BRO/ONII-SAN LEONA... THEN RUGIGE'S DREAM SUPPYL inG THE SMAR TDETERMINED PRINCE LEONA ... AND THEN NEXT UPDAT.E.XBBCXL V.CV . . . . . . . . ...... .. .. . . . . OTL ASCTUAL LEOPJNA DFGFAYVAFIVAVIYAIAGIGEIYGEPEIQAGfhgpaebpyrwqeg,hpgqeugqm[gqepg./l.,pjm9hmh4 gephmhurwhbaudavmudfsgnyofegnyoifui

GOD IF EW SEE THAT BITCH CRYi NG gkj eabihlaegbiaegibyegoqetpr13569 87q3tbkhl3o tyb6fOfonfOTFsugfaiugfanyoigFGION qit' S LEOVER FOR MEAMBFFVHAJVFFVEUGFO EOFAENYFEOFHdhmFSLJGADFsmf aLALLL OF HIS PENT IUP FRUSTRATIONS JUST SPILLING OIUT;V .F,DSBFAHLFLFFNODGOVSMHFAV UEGOFEAHMAEGDGSKPFSHIM THE RAGE AT MALLEUS DFN BAFVKJAFYGLAFGIDGIDGIODGSOIDN FOR FOTRICNG THIS LIE UPON HIMFDS NFASVAEFBLADFIOBY AGIOQEGONYFWmpdphGAMGobf IT'D BE SO SEXSYFDH HOT IF HE KNEW IT WAS A DREAM ALL ALONG PELEEEEEASE 🙏 I'M ONT MY HANDS NAD NDD KNEEESLSD DFS,SFHBAFLHAFDLI EO FQEYG VADGNOVSHUPVPUFFmhagyo 4wpeq/pll.,wjph9q80th9umpdbsaihoadnFSuov fsogyFSGUOFSu SNOGYAVUO FSA

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. Ah-HEM!! 😇 Sorry, I don't know what overcame me... I just blacked out and when I came to I don't remember what I was doing or saying for the past several minutes 💖 Now if you'll excuse me, I am filled with an intense desire to enact violence on the nearest lion-shaped object I can get my hands on--

[linkspooky]

I WANT YOU TO UNDERSTAND ME

It's not surprising to me that Gojo's dying monologue he spent more time talking about his fight with Sukuna than any of his students. Gojo's priority from the beginning isn't to save Megumi but to fight all-out against a strong opponent, the line is: ""The Absolute Strong. The loneliness that follows. The one who will teach you about love is..."

This fight is basically the climax of Gojo's identity crisis which has been a long running issue for him throughout the manga. He's simultaneously a self-confident individualist with an overpowering sense of "ego" and a person with little idea of who he is outside of the role in society that was given to him. Gojo went into the fight looking for someone capable of understanding him, the fight is about Gojo seeking an answer to who he is, that's why he fights and that's why he loses.

Gojo is Not Normal

Nanami's statement is misinterpreted I think.

"You live for Jujutsu. You don't wield it to protect something. You use it solely for the sake of satisfying yourself."

A lot of people took this to mean that Goo didn't care about anyone but himself, even though Gojo directly contradicts this earlier.

"I love everyone and don't feel lonely snow, but somewhere along the way there was a line I drew, not as a human but as a living creature."

He states he does love other people, if only from afar, he just doesn't understand them. Gojo can't make other people his reason to fight, because he only understands himself. He only sees himself. He can only fight for what's inside himself.

"You can make a flower bloom, you can admire it, but you can't tell that flower 'I want you to understand me'

Gojo's students are the flowers. Itadori, Fushiguro and Nobara are all named after flowers. He's raising them up to be as strong as him, he's fond of them, but he doesn't think they relate to him because he exists in a different category of other people.

A lot of people want Gojo to be a more traditional caring mentor figure like Kakashi or Aizawa they're missing what's really interesting about his character. When Nanami says "Gojo only cares about being the strongest" it's true because his entire character is written around the statement "I am the strongest". He is conceptually about what it is like to be the strongest man in existence. That is the character concept, and Gojo's entire identity crisis revolves around that he's built up his personality around being the strongest at Jujutsu and nothing else.

Gojo can only fight for his own ego and self satisfaction as Nanami says, because he has nothing else, he has no identity outside of that.

However, before I get into why I want to point out that Gojo is not normal. It's not because someone on his power level is fundamentally incapable of relating to other people, but Gojo himself...is not right in the head. He's making an active decision to choose not to empathize with people whatsoever, it's not just that it's hard to understand him, it's that they can't understand him.

Gojo talks about his students like they're members of another species. They're flowers. They can't relate to him on a human level because he's something other than human. A friend had an interesting reading on why specifically it's flowers Gojo chose for his metaphor.

Plants are less sentient than insects, they don't contemplate anything they are just taken care of by their gardener and grow towards the sun. That's how differently he sees himself from others.

I wanted to include this take from @kaibutsushidousha as well.

Gojo's not from the planet mars he's a human who has human emotions and human psychology like everyone else, so that's simply not true, but Gojo believes it is and that belief influences how he interacts with everyone.

Gojo can't see himself reflected back in other people for some reasons that aren't his fault and some reasons that are. Gojo has been from birth, treated as different from everyone around him, not for anything he really did but because he was born with a really strong jujutsu ability. He's a literal chosen one. He always seen as the six eyes user, the strongest, before he was seen as a person. His entire life has been defined entirely by the abilities he was born with, he was born to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer so of course that's what he builds his entire identity around.

Not only is he told that he's categorically different from others, but he also believes it. We know little about his early childhood besides Gege's statements that he was spoiled, but we do see later on in childhood there are people who are willing to treat Gojo normally despite the position he has as the strongest. This is when it starts being Gojo's fault that he continues to see himself as different from other people.

Shoko, Gojo's closest confidante in his schooldays after Geto's days basically tells him that. She's been with him for years and yet he still has the audacity to act like he's all alone in the world. Even when people try to treat Gojo normally and relate to him on a personal level, Gojo actively ignores their presence in his life like he did Shoko because he's not only been told he's different from other people because he's stronger, but he believes it and he's built his entire world view around it.

This is why the only person that Gojo ever let in was Geto, because Gojo believed that Geto was someone who could stand on top with others. THe only person who could believe the strongest, or teach them about love was someone equally as strong. Gojo just happening to meet another sorcerer who was special class as a teenager not only allowed him to have a friend, but fit perfectly into his narrative that he was separate from others and only someone as strong as him could understand. There are people like Shoko and Nanami who treat Gojo normally despite the fact he's the strongest, but Geto was the only one Gojo met in because he met the qualifiaction of being someone equally as strong.

This isn't really the case for Geto. Geto comes to see weak people as inferior yes in the sense he sees Non-Jujutsu Sorcerers as inferior, but Geto is capable of making connections to other Jujutsu Sorcerer. Geto has his family, he has Nanako and Mimiko and the rest of his followers who he all cares about equally. Geto met all of them and chose to relate to them, he even tells Gojo after killing his biological parents that he's choosing who his real family is now.

"It wouldn't be fair if I made an exception for my parents, now would it? Besides my family now consists of more than just them."

Geto demonstrates someone as powerful as Geto can make a choice to relate to other people. It's shown in the way that Geto treats Nanako and Mimiko, he is their father and he raised them as his daughters. Compared to how Megumi is just a student to Gojo. Gojo's only invested in making Megumi into a strong Jujutsu Sorcerer, because Gojo doesn't fathom connecting to someone weaker than him. He's only their to raise up a strong sorcerer, whereas Geto who's capable of connecting with people in other ways is raising up Nanako and Mimiko and they're connected as parent and child.

Geto and Gojo are similiar in a lot of ways, same level of strength comapred to the rest of humanity, same god complex (and yes it is a god coplex, there's a reason the two people Gojo relates to are Geto who has constant religious imagery associated with him and Sukuna who's literally satan) and yet Geto shows someone roughly Gojo's power level can make connections to others Gojo just chooses not to.

This is where I'm stealing from a friend's post a bit. @theanimepsychologist points out that Geto notices the beginnings of Gojo's identity complex soon after it started with Toji.

I always thought of the panel above as Geto being jealous of Gojo surpassing him in strength but, in retrospect, I think Geto’s disappointment had more to do with Gojo’s sense of self over-identifying with the title “the strongest” and how that made him harder to relate to, which is one of the main themes in this chapter. I’ll come back to this in a sec. But first… Quick depth psych segway. I think I’ve said this before, but it bears repeating again that an overwhelming sense of self is all ego. There’s nothing wrong with ego per se. The problem is that an over-identification with ego means inherent separateness because, as an organ of the psyche, the ego sense of self is what gives us a separate identity from the collective.

Geto notices that Gojo is drawing a line between himself and other people, and pulling away because of that because people in the second category of weak can't possibly understand the strong and he's reacting to it. Geto is also the only person to underline to Gojo himself that he's unsure about his own identity.

Gojo knows he's the strongest, but he doesn't know anything about himself besides that, or even what being the strongest entails in his relation to other people. He's never constructed an identity outside of it in part because he's never had to, nobody has ever challenged him for his title as the strongest, and he also fits jujutsu society's mould perfectly. He's perfect at what he does, why would he need to change? Why would a person who reached enlightenment at seventeen need to reflect upon himself or figure out who he is? You can't really become more enlightened.

The other reason he's never constructed an identity is he's never interacted with anyone on equal terms. Metaphorically Gojo exists in a vacuum of human interaction. How appropriate is it in a way that he was sealed in a box where time didn't move completely alone for who knows how long, because that's kind of just how Gojo sees himself in relation to the rest of the world.

As Psycho points out an unregulated ego results in an inherent separateness from the collective. People don't exist in a vacuum however. We wouldn't know who we are if we were entirely alone. We are defined just as much as ourselves, as we are by our interaction with others.

Ich and Du, translated as I and Thou is a book by philosopher Martin Buber. His two main porositions is that we may address existence in two ways:

The attitude of the "I" towards "it" towards an object that is separate in itself, which we either use or experience.

The attitude of "I" towards "Thou" in a relationship in which the other is not separated by discrete bounds.

I -> It is the world of sensations. If I am looking at a chair, I say "This is a chair. This chair is an eyesore." I am seeing the chair. I don't relate to the chair.

I -> Thou can be used to refer to a relationship between human beings. You don't experience the human being., you can only relate to them and what that relationship means to you. He goes on further to say that love requires a subject -> subject relationship. To love someone means you have to relate to them as if they are another being, you can't love an object.

He's a philosopher to put forward that it's human's connections with each other and their ability to relate to each other that brings meaning to life. Gojo in Buber's terms is only experiencing the world around him, not relating to it. How appropriate of someone with the six-eyes, an ability that gives him sight far better than anyone else to see himself as only an observer to the outside world, like a floating pair of eyes.

The choice that Gojo makes not to relate to other human beings on an equal level, not only isolates him, it affects his sense of self. People cannot exist within a background. Gojo's like a vampire who can't see his own reflection. ? It's all because of this caveat that Gojo himself has set up that no one can possibly relate to him unless they were equally as powerful as him that he can't see himself in others. He can't see himself in others, he can't find anyone to help him understand himself, and therefore his identity crisis goes unresolved.

Twitter user @ det_critics pointed this out that the question: "Take away his strength and what is he?" isn't one Gojo has an answer for, and one he's actively been running from.

As I said Gojo literally doesn't have a reflection, we see that in story when the prison realm opens its eye and it's just a void where Gojo's face is supposed to be. Gojo choosing not to think of himself as the strongest is also a choice not to think about who he'd be if he wasn't. A question he evades over and over again by telling himself that he can't be understood by people who are weak b/c he categorically exists on a different plane of reality.

When he does look for an answer it's telling just how not normal Gojo is in who he chooses to empathize with: which is Sukuna.

This is who Gojo as chosen to be the only other person besides Gojo he felt he could relate to. The same person who monologues about weak people like this.

The same person who monologues that weak people shouldn't even be alive, they should be culled. Sukuna sees weak people as insects. Gojo sees them as plants.

The first person that Gojo relates to as a subject rather than an object Geto is cut short, the next person he relates to as a subject is Sukuna of all people. He chooses to see himself in Sukuna, because Sukuna validates that incorrect idea Gojo has that someone as powerful as him could never possibly be understood by other people. After all, Sukuna the strongest sorcerer of all time isn't even really human anymore, he's a curse a calamity. For Gojo who doesn't see himself as relatable to other human beings this is validation of that mistaken notion.

It's also telling of how much Gojo's own identity issues have warped him that he finds a curse personally relatable, and even pitiable because it's lonely. Sukuna, who's main problem is that he's bored because a life of killing people is unfulfilling and it's turned him into an adrenline junkie. This is who Gojo's personally chosen to relate to because they both only see the world in the category of "the strong" and "the weak."

Gojo's viewpoint of other people is mistaken for several reasons, but one interesting one was pointed out for me by Psycho. He refers to his students as flowers, but they're lotus flowers. Lotus flowers mean many things, but they're seen as symbols of purity because they rise up from the mud. Gojo is only looking at the flowers, not the mud they rise from .

"No mud, no lotus. The mud is what makes us who we are, and no one can 100% understand what wading through the mud feels like. I think people see oh shiny lotus, the outcome of wading through the mud but they overlook the self because we live in an outcome oriented society.

Gojo is someone who doesn't see the mud and therefore doesn't relate to the personal struggles of others. Which sabotages a lot of his personal relationships. Which like, to bring Megumi into this, Megumi is proof that Gojo IS NOT NORMAL.

Megumi is the kind of special genius that Gojo is, he's born with the strongest technique one capable of killing Gojo, but he doesn't become a special class at seventeen like Gojo, nor is he interested in doing that because Megumi is an entirely different person with differnt personal struggles than Gojo. He has all the raw potenital that Gojo does, but they have wildly different upbringings. Gojo was primed for success by being the spoiled child of his clan, while Megumi is an abandoned child. It proves again Gojo's maxim of people who have that much power are inhuman and don't follow human psychology is wrong because Megumi has all the potential to be as strong as Gojo, but he's just a normal kid. Megumi is still wading through the mud and Gojo doesn't see that.

GOJO IS NORMAL

Jujutsu Kaisen seems to be following Buber's logic on how identity is defined by the interactions we have with other people, because there was a period in Gojo's life where he did create an identity outside of being a sorcerer and that's when he was Geto's friend.

In the afterlife we even see him regressing to that previous state of being. There was a period for three years in his life that Gojo was something besides being the strongest, and that was when he was Geto's friend too. If Jujutsu Kaisen is about how identity and meaning are both constructed from the interactions we have with other people (subject -> subject) interactions then it's telling that Gojo reverts to his seventeen year old self because that was the first and only time in his life he was capable of relating to another person, and acted like a fully developed person outside of the role of sorcerer he was born to play.

If identities are constructed though that means they're not inherent. Gojo is not inherently the strongest, just as he's not inherently different from other people. This is different from what Gojo's been told his entire life. He was born the strongest. It's inherent to his identity, a fundamental part of who he is. Therefore people who are strong are inherently different from those who are weak, it's something internally different about them which makes it impossible for Gojo to comprehend the motivations of weak people.

Rather than just strong and weak being constructed categories. Gojo's the strongest at Jujutsu but if you took him outside of Jujutsu and asked him to work any other job he'd no longer be the strongest. He's only the strongest as long as he remains in his fish bowl that is Jujutsu Society. However, Gojo believes differently, he believes being the strongest is what he is, it's something inside of him, and something that makes him fundamentally different from others. This is the line that Gojo has been told due to being born with the six-eyes and this is what Gojo has bought.

This is also what his ability the limitless symbolizes, no one in this world can touch him or reach him, he exists somewhere else. However, the limitless can be breached and Gojo has been shown before there are others capable of touching him.

Toji is the first and only living human being to challenge him, until Sukuna comes along. However, Toji does arguably more in story than just give Gojo a good fight. Toji full on traumatized him, soemthing which Gojo refuses to acknowledge. Toji is the beginning of the end of Geto's friendship, the death of Amanai Riko sends Geto on a spiral for an entire years, and drives a wedge between Geto and Gojo's friendship when Geto self isolates and Gojo doesn't know what's wrong with his friend.

Gojo also experiences what it's like to be defeated for the first time in his life, and his response is to perfect the limitless so he runs it constantly all the time. Remember, before that he was exhausting it doing it for three days in a row, and when Geto told him to take a break Gojo reassured him he wasn't worried because he knew Geto had his back. Gojo was someone who could let down the limitless before that, but afterwards Gojo always insists on fighting alone with his shields up all the time. All to deny that feeling of vulnerability that Toji inflicted on him for the first time in his life, something he remembers years later, you know like trauma.

There are times when Gojo is reminded that it's possible he's the same as anyone else, he can experience human weakness. Geto's fall is another time, one post says it's particularly challenging for Gojo to comprehend why Geto would defect because he saw Gojo and himself as above others and therefore immune to human weakness.

gojou 100% has a god complex and thats why getous downfall hit him harder than anyone else. he saw himself and getou as above everyone else and exempt from ‘regular’ peoples flaws, he never thought either of them could be led astray and when getou finally snaps hes bewildered that something like that could ever happen to either of them. hes not just heartbroken over his best friend becoming an enemy, hes thrown for a loop because getou, the one person he thinks of as just as above everyone else and incapable of failing as he is, could ever do something wrong, could ever be wrong. hes finally put into a position where he has to face the fact that hes just as capable of screwing up as anyone else and he can’t make sense of it. gojous hesitance in killing getou isn’t just a byproduct of their friendship, it’s also him realizing that it could have easily been him on the other side of the conflict, which breaks the illusion of him being better than everyone for a second. and like that’s still not enough for him to reject this idea, personally i think that his comment about him and getou being 'the strongest’ in volume 0 is indicative of the fact that despite everything he still hasn’t grown out of this delusion.

Gojo has trauma, because he's a human being with human psychology. He makes mistakes, he has terrible past regrets like his friendship with Geto gone wrong, but he doesn't acknowledge those things because as stated above Gojo thinks he's immune to having regular people flaws. Gojo seeing himself in another category from regular human beings also allows himself to deny an vulnerability, because the strongest isn't supposed to have weaknesses. Seeing yourself as too distant to ever be touched by others also means they can never hurt you, emotionally or otherwise, an extreme form of the hedgehog's dilemna which is explored an Neon Gengesis Evangelion, an existentialist piece Gege takes obvious inspiration from.

The fact that he avoids other human beings, not because he's fundamentally incapable of understanding them but because he's distancing himself from human feelings like loss, pain, suffering these weaknesses that are part of the human experience just proves he's the same as everyone else. If he wasn't capable of feeling those things he wouldn't avoid it, he wouldn't spend ten years mourning Suguru but not killing him directly until he was forced to on December 24th, he wouldn't be trapped by the box because seeing Geto alive made him have a three minute long trauma flashback.

Gojo is a normal human, with normal human emotions and human psychology, albeit twisted from the power he was born with and his unique viewpoint of the world but he doesn't believe that he is. He uses that as an excuse not to interact with others and because of this his identity suffers. Gojo is someone defined by how limited he is in the story despite having limited power.

Gojo fails as much in the story as he succeeds. As my friend @justapanda put it.

"But, it loos like being strong isn't enough..." Another point could also be made here that, regardless of being the strongest at this point, Gojo was incapable of stopping his closest friend from straying down a dark path, which is perhaps Gojo’s greatest failing in the series. This failure also comes back to bite him much later on as Kenjaku’s ace in the hole to finally checkmate Gojo involved surprising him with the now possessed body of Geto, which distracted Gojo long enough for him to be successfully sealed by the prison realm. Once again, the vast amount of power that Gojo had attained turned out to be completely useless in preventing his own sealing, which has now placed him in an inactive role for over half of Jujutsu Kaisen’s duration. Earlier in the story, Gojo once said: “Ironic, isn’t it? Given everything, but unable to do anything.” when referring to the function of his own domain. This was another intentional use of foreshadowing to describe the dilemma that Gojo was inevitably going to face himself. Satoru Gojo is no limitless man, for no one man is without his limits." Another point could also be made here that, regardless of being the strongest at this point, Gojo was incapable of stopping his closest friend from straying down a dark path, which is perhaps Gojo’s greatest failing in the series. This failure also comes back to bite him much later on as Kenjaku’s ace in the hole to finally checkmate Gojo involved surprising him with the now possessed body of Geto, which distracted Gojo long enough for him to be successfully sealed by the prison realm. Once again, the vast amount of power that Gojo had attained turned out to be completely useless in preventing his own sealing, which has now placed him in an inactive role for over half of Jujutsu Kaisen’s duration. Earlier in the story, Gojo once said: “Ironic, isn’t it? Given everything, but unable to do anything.” when referring to the function of his own domain. This was another intentional use of foreshadowing to describe the dilemma that Gojo was inevitably going to face himself. Satoru Gojo is no limitless man, for no one man is without his limits.

Gojo has moments where he brushes up against the idea that he's not capable of doing everything, that he has faults and fails like every other human being. However, that feeling never really lasts for long. He always tends to double down on his belief that he's the strongest rather than facing his faults because that's where he's comfortable. Gojo can't see himself reflected in other people and therefore is not capable of reflecting and critically evaluating his faults. Not only that but avoiding looking too critically at those losses, he also stops himself from feeling the pain of those losses and denies that vulnerability.

Gojo exists on another plane from other human beings, and therefore why would he experience human sadness and pain? All he feels is a vague sense of loneliness and unfulfillment because he's been so alienated from his own emotions and in Gojo's mind that's better than struggling with weakness. Who would deliberately choose to be just like everyone else when you can be special? Why get close to others when the hedgehog's spines are just going to stab you? However, people form connections because of their weaknesses. Humans cooperate with each other because they are a social species. All of society exists because people divide labor and help each other out. Even Gojo can't say there's no point in his life where he was weak, because he was cared for as a child and raised in a family. He didn't come out of the womb a fully formed individual. The darwinian survival of the fittest, and the black and white strong vs. weak way that Gojo sees the world just doesn't exist, especially in modern society. There's nothing wrong with individualism, but the extreme end of individualism is wrong because no one exists in this world alone you share it with everyone else.

Gojo doesn't even see that though, because he's not living in the same world as everyone else. In his mind the limitless makes it so he basically exists on another plane of reality, but again the limitless can be breached.

Detective critics basically said that Gojo's delusion was always a false one, he always existed in the same world as everyone else, he simply deluded himself into believing otherwise. There are reasons for this, his upbringing, trauma and not wanting to face the pain of that trauma, but it's still a choice he made. Gojo didn't want to live for other people, he didn't want to relate for them, so he lived for himself pursuing his own strength. Ironically, it reflects Toji's own decision to take pride in neither himself or others and live only for the sake of showing that the Jujutsu World that rejected him was wrong.

Toji chose to live a life where he only lived to fight and prove he was stronger than the sorcerers who rejected him. He chose it over his own son Megumi, abandoning him in order to continue his lifestyle as a mercenary. He even chose it over continuing to live because he stayed and fought against Gojo to prove he was stronger than the pinnacle of Jujutsu. Toji lives for strength, and he is someone even Gojo respected the strength of, but what else does he have?

Toji's identity is unstable, he doesn't really live for any purpose, he kills people then blows the money gambling, he jumps from women to women to mooch off of them, he's also mentally unstable as well he shoots a little girl in the back of the head and feels nothing. The instability comes from his isolation, Toji is rejected by everyone the same way that Gojo is lauded by everyone. But Toji goes on step further in that he fails to construct any identity outside of being rejected and his entire life is spent rejecting the people who rejected him. Why does Toji want to be strong, he doesn't know. Purpose is something you have to construct for yourself, because there's no inherent meaning to life. Identity is something that's constructed by both yourself and your interactions with others because people aren't born inherently one thing or the other.

Gojo and Toji just refuse to do this, and only focus on themselves and the goal of being stronger. In Gojo's case I'd argue he doesn't fight for other people because he doesn't feel that connection with other people or rather he doesn't let himself. Hedgehog's dilemna to the extreme. Gojo only fighting for himself isn't Nanami calling him a selfish person who doesn't care about others, it's sad because Gojo never found any other reason to fight or meaning to his life but by getting stronger for its own sake.

Gojo only fights for the sake of satisfying himself, but here's the clincher, he's unsatisfied. Not only did he fail in his goal of giving Sukuna the fight of his life, because he knew Sukuna was holding back on him, but also admits to Geto that what would have really been satisfying is if Geto was there with him to pat him on the back.

He's failed on both fronts, he's failed at being the strongest and he's failed at making a connection to the people in his life. Gojo and Toji die in pretty much the same way, they die standing up in the middle of battle, but their last thoughts aren't of disappointment that they lost but their loved ones.

They spent their entire lives believing they were stronger and therefore different than others, and fighting to satisfy their ego and what does it amount to? Toji lived a life of hedonism and then died abandoning the one person he genuinely loved. Gojo has failed his stated goal of revolutionizing Jujutsu Society and dies before he can see whether or not his dream of a reset Jujutsu World will even come to fruition.

They belived they were someone stronger and therefore inherently better, and are put in their place when someone stronger comes along. They die just like all the other mortals. They believed they were alone so they died alone. It's sad and it goes to show how destructive being "the strongest" was to Gojo's identity in the end. Gojo thinks he's Sukuna but Gojo doesn't want to be Sukuna, because Sukuna's alone, and unlike Gojo you could make the point that Sukuna's not a human being who has human emotions because he's a curse. If Gojo was truly someone who could understand Sukuna he would have been truly alone the same way Sukuna is, and that's not what he wanted.

It's too bad Gojo never thought seriously about what he wanted, and therefore learned his lesson too late. He was always looking for someone he could relate to, except for in the people who were right in front of him.

[waywardstation]

The other day my thoughts went back to the "Train of Thoughts" AU we created here and how incredibly community driven everything was...

...and it got me thinking how this AU also could be something to be explored in the way your new reblog-story-game-thingy (do these have names btw?) go.

Like which memory-train to tackle next, banter and chatting with MG!Emmet along the way and intermissions with Ingo on the outside reacting when certain memories are unlocked. Also in General interactions with MG!Emmet and the Mind Station. There should be something of a disclaimer at first but I'd love to see a return of this AU as it is still a big favorite for me.

of course no rush on that. I just wanted to share this idea since it could be a fun thing to make at a later point and also would be on brand here since it is your (and our) potluck AU!

(I apologize that this took so long to respond to, I’ve tried to post it three times now but my internet is terrible right now and I’ve had to rewrite this every time!!)

OH I STILL LOVE TRAIN OF THOUGHT AU SO MUCH!! It was so fun getting to build that together with everyone else who brought so many cool ideas and expansions to it!!

SO THAT IS SUCH A COOL IDEA TO MAKE IT AN INTERACTIVE COMIC!!! I would have so much fun doing that and I think others would too! And it keeps the community-driven aspect of it too with letting people pick from options!

I LOVE THIS IDEA!!! It’s such a good idea just like everything else you always come up with, thank you for the suggestion friend!!! ^^

————

I understand that I have not talked about the Train of Thought AU in such a long time. I am sure there are a lot of people here now who don’t know what this AU is. So you are free to check out the respective tag for it, or read the summary below!

So, Train of Thought AU is basically an AU that takes Ingo’s amnesia and turns it into a purposely-caused safeguard to protect his mind from a mind parasite that could permanently destroy it.

So in this AU, Ingo fell to Hisui through one of Giratina’s wormholes. It was not smooth and things definitely clashed together. While going through, a part of Giratina’s essence meshed with him, becoming trapped in Ingo’s mindscape when he exited the other side of the wormhole and into Hisui.

This part of Giratina quickly developed into an entity. This part is not Giratina itself, but rather something that grew from Giratina’s characteristics. Named Remnant, this entity was mindless, did not act on a conscience, and much like a virus, has a one-track mind, one direction — to get out of this mindscape and into the real world, destroying everything on the way out if it has to.

And that is exactly what is began to do.

For reference, Ingo’s mindscape resembles Gear Station. There are many traincars inside that hold different memories, and many lines for these cars to operate on that are meant for different trains of thought. (There is a line for memories to influence dreams while he’s sleeping, there is a line for things that get stuck in his head and play over and over, like songs, there is a train yard where embarrassing memories are banished to, etc.)

Once Remnant had realized what was going on, it began destroying memory traincars in a fury to get out, damaging important memories.

In doing this, a system that was implemented realized something was inside the mindscape that was damaging it, and it made a heavy decision in the moment to protect it.

This system is referred to as a Mind Guardian. Mind Guardians are the mind’s security system basically, dedicated to protecting the mind. They manifest in the mindscape as the person the mind trusts the most — in Ingo’s case, it was Emmet.

MG Emmet made the decision to lock all the train cars (trapping Remnant inside one of them in the process) and send them all into a train yard meant for memories that should be forgotten. Emmet built a barricade by cramming so many cars together, keeping Remnant securely in a prison.

But by doing this, MG Emmet left Ingo with so little to remember, he fell into an amnesia. MG Emmet knew this would happen, and it would leave him with a severely disfunctional mindscape to oversee, but intact memories that were locked away were better than memories that were irreparably damaged.

But that meant that all of Ingo’s memories of Emmet were locked away as well. With Ingo’s consciousness unable to recall Emmet, MG Emmet lost practically everything that made him “Emmet.” Most of his appearance and speech patterns were lost to darkness, blurs, and static, and without a name to remember, he simply became the Conductor.

While Remnant was locked away, unable to escape the memory it was trapped in, there was one loophole where it could still roam the station. Whenever Ingo would fall asleep, many of the mindscape’s functions would pause or stop. Remnant could use its tendrils to wander the dark station, in search of anything it could get ahold of or take advantage of — one of those things being MG Emmet specifically.

Remnant knew MG was the one who trapped it, and all it sees MG Emmet as is an obstacle, an adversary keeping it stuck in this mindscape. It wants to hunt down and eliminate MG Emmet.

MG Emmet knows this, so whenever Ingo goes to sleep and the station goes dark, he knows he has to hide. Usually, he takes shelter in the memory car that contains Ingo’s recollection of Emmet’s joltik hoard. He finds comfort in it and it’s easy to hide under layers of joltiks.

And so, for Ingo’s entirety in Hisui, he was entirely unaware of all of this, assuming the amnesia was from a head injury or a rough trip through a rift (which, technically yes it is haha) and thought nothing of it.

However one day when Akari brings the Lake Guardians to Professor Laventon for help with further studies (and for him to get to admire them), Uxie senses Ingo, and that something is very wrong with his mind. It’s not empty, no. Rather, everything is still in there, it’s just inaccessible. Very strange!

Uxie decides, with everyone’s agreement and Ingo’s consent, to try entering his mindscape and trying to figure out what’s wrong. They attach themselves to Ingo to make a mental link, but within moments, the link is broken. Uxie tries again, only to be ejected again. Another try, another forceful rejection.

MG Emmet is the one kicking Uxie out of Ingo’s mind. He already had enough of a mess with Remnant, he is not going to let a second pokemon into the mindscape again.

So a solution comes down to Uxie connecting Akari and Irida’s minds to Ingo’s, and putting their consciousnesses into his mindscape — Ingo is most comfortable with both of them going in, as they’re the two people in Hisui who he knows and trusts best — Uxie sends them in, but has to stay connected to Ingo’s head the entire time so as not to break that connection.

(The sketches below were done before we got Ingo’s hairline reveal lol. I didn’t know what to work with so I just made something up. Also why Ingo looks so different here; I was still figuring out how I wanted to draw him.)

Akari and Irida are sent into the mindscape, and immediately begin running. MG Emmet reflexively goes to kick them out, but he has to catch them first to do so before they split up.

Initially, Akari and Irida have to be careful and keep avoiding MG Emmet, who is hunting them down every free moment he has. They almost get caught several times (See the memes below lol).

This goes on for quite a bit, until Ingo falls asleep and the station shuts down again (he still has no idea that sleeping will make things dangerous for everyone in there — all he knows is Uxie will keep them connected as long as it needs). The three of them run into Remnant as it’s now scouring the station, and MG Emmet gets hurt.

They all manage to escape, but Irida and Akari come across MG Emmet recovering in his joltik car while looking for a place to hide. They join him and do their best to help him, and this is when they finally have a chance to show him that genuinely, they’re here to help, and want to restore Ingo’s mind and get rid of Remnant, just like he does.

From this point on, MG Emmet begins to trust them and joins them, making sure they stay safe navigating the mind station. He will explain the situation in more detail, show them all of the traincars and what the different lines are meant for, show them the manifestations of people and pokemon that Ingo has come to know in Hisui (like Lady Sneasler!) as well as Ingo’s manifestation of his own damaged self-image, and help them unlock more of Ingo’s memories, slowly but surely making their way to the memory traincar that Remnant is trapped in.

MG Emmet also cannot help but torment Ingo like the brother he is — he will go out of his way to show Akari and Irida embarrassing memories of things that Ingo has said and done throughout his whole life. MG Emmet laughs at them, Akari laughs even louder. Irida is just mortified. And Ingo, to his horror, can tell they’re going through these memories when he finds he’s suddenly remembering all these embarrassing things at once.

There is so much more to this AU, this summary, as long as it is, has barely scratched the surface! There is so much more with many ideas, scenarios, and expansions that people have graciously shared, and they’re all so cool! If you find yourself interested in this AU and would like to see more where people have presented really cool ideas and expanded upon them, I highly suggest browsing through this AU’s tag -> #Train of Thought AU !

[sexydoffyman]

Can you write a size kink scenario where Konig has anal sex with a much larger m!reader, and m!reader's cock is too big for him? M!reader is 8ft tall and built like a shot putter, for reference.

SIZE KINK

genre: smut

characters: König

A/N: I researched the size of a male 6’10 human rectum just for this post I hope you appreciate it!🐞

He was panting uncontrollably. He wasn’t used to stuff like this. His hands were shaking and he was barely able to hold himself up. Usually, it was he who was the bigger one, he never understood why his partners always asked him to be more gentle. He felt as if He couldn’t get more gentle. He always felt like they were overreacting. That was until he met you.

You had him pressed into the mattress. This time he wasn’t the one in charge. He felt humiliated that a man as huge and masculine as him was in this position. His mates dared him to go on a one-night stand with you. For some reason he accepted. He told us straight away. “I got dared to sleep with ya.” Was what came out of his mouth.

You understood right away why they dared him to do it. Unfortunately for him, he didn’t, but he was about to find out. He felt strange and embarrassed that he had to ask you to slow down. This was the first time someone had him pinned down. He couldn’t move at all.

“Common, get up sweets.” You laughed at him, teasing him. He was a dick, and you were there to put him in his place. When he eventually tried to get up, you pressed deeper into him. He made an unholy sound and completely stopped trying. Frustrated, he yelped out “How big even are ya, you monster?!”

You found this as an opportunity to tease him even more. “Desperate to find out?” “Agh! No, fuck off!” He was so pissed. So pissed that he wasn’t able to take you. “Too much for ya sweets?” He hated it when you called him that. He was always calling people degrading nicknames. Now he was the target.

He kept grunting. He knew he would win that damned dare no matter what. “Common sweets try harder.” You chuckled as you thrusted with what you felt was a normal amount of force. He didn’t feel that way. You were basically rearranging his insides.

“God damnit!” He grunted. He was close, and you could feel it. “Let it all out darlin.” “FUCK OFF!” He yelled as he came into your sheets. “You are so cute when you struggle.” Now, he had to face another problem. He was done, but you weren’t.

He felt so pathetic that you made him cum. You went a bit rougher, not caring about his well-being. Your moans filled the room as he just let you use his body to get off. He felt relieved when you finally came. You filled him up. Sperm leaking out of his asshole. You pulled out only to see his stretched anus. You had to laugh to yourself.

You got up and started putting on clothes. He felt weird that you didn’t want to stay. And that’s when he realised. That this was all fucking planned. All the things he did to people smaller than him you did to him. You were probably paid to do this.

As you were leaving the room, you looked at him. “You look like you enjoyed that way too much, so stop lying to yourself. Whenever you want to be dicked down, you know where to find me sweets.” You smirked at him. “No way that he actually enjoyed that. You had to be faking it.”

He couldn’t finish thinking when you turned to him one last time. “You asked how big I am.” He waited for a follow-up. “Looking like a puppy at me. You really have to want it inside you again.” He sighed you tricked him again. You opened the door and started to leave. You spoke one last thing before you closed the door.

“Eight inches”

[gatorbites-imagines]

Hello! First of all I wanted to say that damn I love your fics, they give me so much gender euphoria and are so validating. Second, I understand if you feel unconfortable with this request but how do you think Homelander would react to reader's self harm scars? Since he's basically a god, I wouldn't be suprised by how a "fragile little creature" like a human could do this and why.

John Gillman/Homelander x male reader

Headcanons

idk why i chose this gif, he just looks so cute here.

I ignore how in canon hed probably be a horrible guy about it. I am a firm fanon believer.

In the beginning I don’t even really think John would register that his lover has self-harm scars, since it’s never something he’s thought about himself. I imagine he’s had self-harming thoughts before sure, but never cutting himself since nothing can cut through him.

Hes probably tried to hurt himself one way or another, since he isn’t really the best place mentally, or when he thinks he isn’t doing good enough and whatnot.

But at first it doesn’t really click for him, since he’s so unused to seeing scars since he has none himself. It would probably take John longer than he would like to admit for it all to make sense, and it would be after you got comfortable enough to go around in short sleeves.

Maybe you think he’s just always known, since he’s got x-ray vision and all that, so he must have known from the beginning, right? And he just never said anything about it. yeah, not really.

He will act like that’s how it all went, because there’s no way Johns gonna admit that he didn’t notice something so important, no matter if they are old or fresh. If they’re fresh, John would build a habit of checking on you every time he sees you, just in case, you know?

He might still do this, even if they are old and you haven’t done it in a long time. Because who knows, maybe things become so stressful that you need that outlet again.

Shamefully, to John at least, the hero would find himself going online to check it out. Hes got no training in mental illness or how to deal with that, which messes with him since he’s supposed to be perfect.

So he finds himself on different forums, from both people who have done it, and partners of people who have self-harmed, reading into how they deal with it or react. John being, well, John, would probably grow annoyed because its all types of emotionally vulnerable stuff, something he’s horrible at.

There is also little chance he would bring it up, at least in the beginning. Again, because it’s a new ground he’s never been on, and its an emotional conversation he can’t figure out how to navigate.

The conversation would end up coming up as you two are cuddling, and John finds himself carefully stroking the area with the scars, trying to comprehend why and how you would do that. What did you go through? There might also be some guilt, since he couldn’t save you from whatever made you self-harm, even if you guys didn’t even know each other at the time.

It would end up with you explaining it to him, since you guys are in a relationship and its all built on trust, right? And he’s been so chill about it this entire time, so why not tell him.

You almost get a heart attack when he starts getting glossy eyes and his bottom lip wobbles just a little, because John has been stressed about this since he figured it out, and he just doesn’t know how to react or what to do.

In the end its you that has to comfort him, and explain that it isn’t a big deal and nothing to cry about. But you also know it’s a new experience for John. Theres also some fear in John, since seeing your scars make your morality so clear. If you could get scars from that, imagine what others could do to you.

After some cuddling and comforting, John would tell you strictly to never do it again. You cant take him seriously though, since his usually styled hair is all mused and his eyes are pink around the edges, and, he’s pouting again.

You promise not too though, since it gets him to smile a little and cuddle you again, clinging to you as hard as he dares with his super strength. You make him vulnerable, and the Homelander part of him doesn’t like that, but the John part of him basks in it, at how human you make him feel.

Maybe hed even let slip that he had thoughts like that too, even if he couldn’t cut or burn himself like you could. That just means his self-harm shone through in more mental or extreme ways.

John builds a habit of brushing his fingers or kisses over your scars, not just the self-harm ones, but all of them. Its part to remind himself that you are so fragile, but also to remind him that you are alive and there with him.

He won’t admit this though, since its cheesy. And he grows embarrassed if you ever bring it up, making him grumble and walk away to pout. It never lasts, and he’s back not long after.