#what was that about forced martyrs?

[theicarusconstellation]

thinking about how rachel woke up first before she died. how she was fucking furious. how her dream of being a model, of being seen was turned against her, and all she felt was anger.

[kohakhearts]

hey that pokemon 2000 gifset + your jn dub analysis made me think about the pokemon 2000 dub - I've only seen it subbed once (compared to the hundred times I watched it dubbed as a child) so I could be misremembering, but didn't the dub completely change the themes of the movie with the chosen one ash thing?

i actually haven’t watched the sub nearly as many as times as the dub either :p but i have read extensively about this topic bc it’s personally my favourite pokemon movie and yes! the first and second pokemon movies are both victim to this (like mewtwo’s epic speech we all love so much at the end of the first movie…being a complete fabrication by the dub team :p you gotta give those writers credit - they were VERY good at what they did), largely i’m guessing due to cultural values and expectations. since they were trying to sell the anime to an american audience, not a japanese one.

tangentially, i will say i also think that’s the root of this like…subtle distinction some people have between the characters “ash” and “satoshi.” i don’t differentiate them in any big way myself because fundamentally they still are very much the same, but it is true that in japanese, ash has somewhat different mannerisms and responds differently to events at times, especially in the early anime when it was so much easier to get away with making big changes for…a big assortment of reasons haha.

in THIS movie in particular, some of those things are like…well. the prophecy is probably the most obvious change. the dub team rewrote it to include the chosen one reference, which works great because of the word play on ash’s name. in japanese, it just says “an exceptional trainer will appear to help calm the wrath of the gods.” ash’s response to this is more mild trepidation than outright fear. he doesn’t hesitate like he does in the dub. and tbh? both reactions make perfect sense for his character in my opinion.

in japanese, his concern is more "do you really think i can fit that role?" this...tracks pretty well with his character development by this point. like yeah he said he could win the indigo league, but he's also thinking about dropping out after gary loses; it's that little grain of insecurity he has, which he's normally good at covering up with arrogance (a lot of which is also very genuine, don't get me wrong). but he sees the opportunity to help and he takes it. that's just...what ash does.

in english, though, the prophecy is pretty clearly about him. there's no one else it could be. it has to be him. and he...doesn't like that? that scares him. which, fair. anyone would be terrified by being singled out like that. it's also so much...not ash's thing, even at this point in the series. his character development is about embracing having to work hard to do well. to keep trying until you get it right, no matter how many times you get it wrong. the idea of being a "chosen one" completely robs him of his ability to be so single-minded about what he wants his destiny to be that it manifests as pre-determined; it just...pre-determines it for him, if that makes sense. lol.

the thesis of the japanese version of the film is that no one person or pokemon can stand on their own. everyone needs help. it's about harmonizing with each other and with nature. about letting others help you, and helping them in turn. the english version rewrites that into a story about power and destiny. the title alone says it all, right? it's called "the power of one" - no reference to lugia, no reference to the birds. in japan, the title is about the revelation (or "birth") of lugia.

westerners love a good chosen one story, so this was a really good choice by the dub team in that respect. i mean, it's a narrative that's stuck really well. fandom loves chosen one ash! in general, western fanbases are really into this narrative. it's everywhere. and there's a lot that goes into that, culturally, and especially religiously, historically, etc. so at the end of the day, i don't think the change is so much about conflicting ideas about collectivism and individualism. it's more about goals and ideals, on a personal level.

let me say again for the 273456784th time, i love that they resolved ash's story by having him realize that the goal he's really been striving for all this time is to meet and befriend pokemon. to learn from them. to earn their trust. it's like...he did the thing that everyone else thought represented his goal, maybe even himself included, only to realize that his dream was never about the end of it anyway. it was about everything he learnt and everyone he met along the way. (i also suspect nobody writing in 1997 knew that that would be the ultimate resolution, either. but it makes sense in the entire context. it's kind of a nice irony, even. to only figure it out after writing the story :p)

and i think this little distinction is important to that goal! it's his whole character! which is why even though i too love chosen one characters, i don't necessarily think of ash as one. because even if he is, his whole Thing is that he wants to try. a lot of the chosen one narrative is about characters being reluctant to be used for a "greater good," or about them collapsing under that pressure. ash doesn't really have that. he does what he thinks is right because he...thinks it's right. sometimes, sure, others have to push him into it a bit, but usually they're actually pushing the other way - it's too dangerous, you're going to get hurt, etc. and to me, i don't know - thinking of times he's died, or nearly died, and some legendary or mythical pokemon has saved him at the last minute...i don't think that has to mean he's special in a cosmic sort of way. i think it just means he's special to them. that he did something for them, or for someone else they had come to care for (thinking manaphy responding to may's emotions, not just to the fact that ash was drowning, or in mpm ash convincing latios to trust him because of their mutual desire to save latias, etc.), and so they want to help him. which is completely opposite to the typical chosen one narrative, i think? because he doesn't do those things out of obligation...he does them because he thinks he can become a better trainer by doing them, and he wants to do that. and well. he did do that.

anyway my tl;dr here is YES they changed the theme a lot haha, but i find it fun that they also changed the characters’ responses to that theme. funnily that’s…kind of also what fanfiction writers do all the time, lmao, but that’s a whole other conversation.

[bijoumikhawal]

abruptly realization that a fantasy book I liked a lot as a kid was about a child being groomed and escaping her would be abuser

[i-dreamed-i-had-a-son]

A thousand times yes! This gave me so much to think about. Specifically, your point about how his name represents his old self/identity is very interesting to me, given what we see from him with Cosette towards the end of the novel.

I find it striking that Valjean tells Cosette to refer to him as "Monsieur Jean," out of all things. It makes sense that, because of his conversation with Marius and their belief that he must be cut out of Cosette's life, he wouldn't allow her to call him "Father." And, even though he literally has a full, sobbing breakdown in front of Marius when it seems like Cosette will find out about his past (the only time we see him cry in front of someone else, I'm pretty sure?), he doesn't go by Fauchelevent to her. Cosette likely would've found that less unusual, since we see her refer to him as "my father Fauchelevent" quite naturally, and it would make sense that Valjean would want to minimize her suspicions. But his great denied desire, as he expresses to Marius, is to be a part of a family; that's exactly what he felt he couldn't do as Fauchelevent. Keeping that name would mean he would always be worried that "the mask would suddenly be torn away," and he would be driven out as a monster. He wants to be accepted and loved for who he truly is, and while this isn't by any means complete honesty, in confessing to Marius and dropping the alias with Cosette, maybe he feels a little closer to what he's longed for.

There's also the social and metatextual significance of having Cosette call him "Monsieur Jean." First, in dropping his alias (which supplied Cosette's maiden name), he further severs any perceptible social tie between the two of them. "Jean," as you mentioned above, is a homonym of gens, which is fitting, since JVJ views himself as having become "just another person" to Cosette. And yet, calling him by his first name indicates some level of familiarity; social norms at the time meant that formal address used the last name. "Monsieur Jean" is oddly straddling the line between distant and personal (as Valjean himself is attempting to do).

Maybe most interesting of all is that, as many have noticed, Hugo almost exclusively refers to JVJ by his full name, Jean Valjean. This is one of the only instances in which the last name is dropped, which is part of why it stood out so much on my readthrough. It feels noticably more intimate, but also incomplete. And I think it ties into what (as you mentioned above) his last name means: "voilà Jean/gens": "behold the man." He's not ready for Cosette to know the full truth about who he is, so narratively, it's fitting that the withheld last name (which would allow her to learn about his past) is one which itself references a full and raw perception. It was first used of the suffering Christ, naked and humiliated and condemned and innocent; Valjean, in his fear and self-loathing, does not allow that revelation of himself.

Les Mis Hidden Name Meanings: Jean Valjean

Every Les Mis character’s name is either a pun or has some deep symbolic meaning– or both at once! Jean Valjean’s name has a ton of layers so let’s dive in.

When we’re first introduced to him, Hugo tells us that his name is quote “a contraction of voilà Jean, or “here is Jean.”” We’re told that he was named after his father, and that his family name probably began as a nickname.

The word “Jean” in french sounds like the word “gens,” which means “people.” So his last name is a pun meant to make you think “viola les gens”/ “here are people.”

The most obvious layer to his name is that Jean Valjean is basically John Doe. He is the anonymous Everyman. His sister’s name is Jeanne, so she’s basically Jane Doe. They aren’t special or exceptional or unusual; they’re just behold! The regular people.

In fact his name is so common-sounding that it's a plot point. Champmathieu, the man who is mistaken for Jean Valjean, has a name that the police connect with his. Javert theorizes that "Champ" is a version of "Jean" in a specific accent, while Mathieu was actually Jean Valjean's sister's maiden name. ("Champ" is also the French word for "field.") The fact that Jean Valjean is a peasant everyman makes it easy for others in his position to be conflated with him.

But the other layer is that this is all an elaborate pun biblical reference!

When Pontius Pilate presents a bound Jesus Christ to the crowd before his crucifixion, he says the words “ecce homo” or “Here is the man!”/”behold the man!”

“Voila Jean” or “here is Jean!”/”behold Jean!” is meant to be a reference to that.

During his death scene Jean Voila-Jean even references the “Ecce homo” line explicitly, gesturing at a crucifix and saying:

“Voilà le grand martyr.”

Which Isabel Hapgood translates as “behold the great martyr.”

At another point in the same scene Marius says to Cosette:

“He has sacrificed himself. Viola l’Homme. Behold the man.”

But more references to that biblical moment appear throughout the novel; Jean Valjean is associated with it constantly, all the time. It’s one of his defining biblical allusions. He’ll be trying to live anonymously, or under an alias– and then suddenly his true name and criminal past will be revealed, he’ll be revealed to be ‘the man,’ and some great horrible act of martyrdom will follow.

Sometimes Jean Valjean is the one revealing his own identity, but sometimes Inspector Javert is put into the role of Pontius Pilate. Javert himself explicitly makes that comparison– Jean Valjean as Jesus, Javert as Pontius Pilate– when he’s contemplating suicide.

And this ties into one of the largest differences between the book and the stage musical.

In the musical, “prisoner 24601” is the name that represents Jean Valjean’s dehumanization–while “Jean Valjean” is the name he uses while standing up for his own humanity. He will be called 24601, and proudly declare that “my name is Jean Valjean” to assert he’s still a person.

And while this is a great storytelling choice, it’s almost the opposite of how the name “Jean Valjean” is handled in the book.

Because in the book…. Jean Valjean IS the name that dehumanizes him. Jean Valjean is the name that he’s running from. The name that Javert uses when he’s insulting him, the name that bigots use when they’re threatening him, the name that ignorant people use when they’re mocking him – it’s not 24601, it’s Jean Valjean.

And there’s a special kind of agony to that.

The name that is being used to torture, humiliate, and dehumanize him isn’t 24601– it’s his name.

He thinks of it as a “fatal name,” as a punishment. Living under that name is living in hell. When Jean Valjean is living under one of his aliases, concealing his identity, he thinks:

That which he had always feared most of all in his hours of self-communion, during his sleepless nights, was to ever hear that name {jean Valjean] pronounced; he had said to himself, that that would be the end of all things for him; that on the day when that name made its reappearance it would cause his new life to vanish from about him, and—who knows?—perhaps even his new soul from within him.

It’s no wonder that he ends up internalizing the way society views him, and developing so much fear and hatred of himself. He’s grown to see his name as just….well, ecce homo, behold the man. His name is just the two words people say before they violently punish him.

Names and namelessness are a major theme in Les Mis, and he’s the character who has the most complex relationship with his own names. He has a legal name, but it’s used to torture him, and he has a series of false names he uses to escape torture.

If I were to describe Jean Valjean– one of the most complex characters in all of literature, in one word, that word would be “grief.”

The criminal justice system takes everything from him, including things he wasn’t aware he was able to lose. His name, the last connection he had to his family and his old identity, gets warped into this thing needs to view with fear and horror. The thing society despises isn’t 24601, isn’t a number they’ve placed on him – the thing they despise is Jean Valjean, some intrinsic inherent part of himself. He isn’t hated for what he did, he’s hated for what he is, and that is something he can never escape.

{But speaking of complexity we’ve actually barely scratched the surface of how Jean Valjean reacts to names, because he spends most of the novel living under a series of nicknames aliases. And guess what! Each of these names also has some elaborate symbolic meaning! If you’re interested in more posts covering his different aliases, feel free to leave a comment in the replies!}

[thanks for reading! For more in-depth analysis, check out the @lesmisletters readalong or join our discord server!]

[fading-event-608]

It’s thanksgiving in us and black Friday tomorrow. I do not participate in either, and I hope you do not too. But if you do, I want to remind you that there haven’t been a safe day in Gaza for over a year. For this thanksgiving many in Gaza would be lucky to be warm or sated, and I'm not even going to talk about safety. Falastin’s family (and many more) will be thankful to have ANYTHING on the table today, and with the current rates of donations they will, and I promise I’m not over exaggerating, freeze or starve to death.

Her family has endured more than 50 displacements now and has had many family members martyred since last October. They wanted to buy another tent and waterproof materials in September* but they didn’t get enough donations (they are forced to spend what they have on food) and now they are starving. 

Last time the campaign met the daily goal of 500 USD was 22 days ago - a goal that was meant to be a stepping stone. And this week they didn't even raise 400 USD so far. If you are not familiar with prices in Gaza or Falastin’s campaign you may think that it’s a lot, but it’s very far from the truth. Prices in Gaza are still rising, aid is getting sparser (just like the world's attention to Palestine) and they need all the help they can get to feed 26 people. Even 1 or 5 dollars can help since it will push the campaign up in the algorithm on gofundme.

Donate via Gofundme (in SEK! check rates below please): LINK

$5 CAD = kr39 SEK $5 USD = kr55 SEK €5 = kr57 SEK $10 CAD = kr78 SEK $10 USD = kr109 SEK €10 = kr115 SEK $25 CAD = kr195 SEK $25 USD = kr274 SEK €25 = kr289 SEK $50 CAD = kr390 SEK $50 USD = kr547 SEK €50 = kr577 SEK $100 CAD = kr780 SEK $100 USD = kr1,094 SEK €100 = kr1,155 SEK

Donate via PayPal (in USD): LINK

Incentives:

raffle for a hand-made Palestinian thob LINK (from 50 USD)

commissions from me (from 15 USD) - LINK for an example.

Please match/up my donation from 3 days ago if you can.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Vetting info: #282 in El-Shab-Hussein and Nabulsi's spreadsheet [here], #957 in the Butterfly Project spreadsheet [here]

Falastin's account - please visit and reblog.

*the post says 24 family members but on oct 6th this year Falstin's cousin was martyred and his 2 orphaned children are now in their care.

[esyra]

Haven't heard from family in days. I feel like it's time to accept they're gone. I know in my heart Palestine will, one day, be free, but it wasn't supposed to be like this.

We feared another Nakba, and it happened. 700,000 pushed out of their homes in 1948 to 1 million being forced to leave their homes in 2023.

We thought it couldn't get worse or more deadly than the Israeli invasion in 2014, and it happened. We lost 2,251 people in 50 days then. Now we're past 2,300 in one week.

What I heard most from my grandmother the first days it's that "this time is different". And I feel like a rock is crushing my heart in pieces because i've been hoping that speaking out, teaching people about the historical oppresion of Palestine would help but it's not helping. Nothing is changing.

I feel like I'm screaming into a void. There's some sympathy from people online, until I see content documenting Palestinian oppresion being flagged as 'hate speech' or check the comments of any updates on Gaza and it's: "blame it on hamas", "tell them to give up hamas", "the hamas asked for it". They're not even among civilians!!!!!

My heart feels full seeing the manifestations in favor of Palestine, then I see police forces breaking protests apart and remember that the people that can actually save Gaza don't care.

If there's nothing left to do but to watch the extermination of my people, then I'm going to beg for anyone reading this to please don't forget. Please.

Israel is hiding behind Judaism to commit genocide against Gaza. Netanyahu supported the Hamas militant group to prevent the establishment of the Palestine State, and now he's using them to justify his agenda of ethnic cleansing. He abandoned Israelis and left them to die because he cares more about seeing Gazans dead!

Every single person and institution supporting and financing Israel is complicit. I hope the deaths of every Palestinian haunts you for the rest of your lives and that you never find an ounce of forgiveness, for you do not deserve it.

Just as in the Iraq War, the US government is financing and cheering for the slaughter of millions of innocent Arab lives. The media is complicit by engaging in biased propaganda and other nuclear powers, such as the UK and Germany, are complicit too. You are fascists and war criminals and every drop of Palestinian blood is in your hands. I hope every single day, for the rest of your lives, you look in the mirror and see nothing but the blood you've helped spill.

This serves as yet another proof that not a single Western in a position of power, be it in the media or in government, sees Arabs as humans beings.

For decades, the US has comitted terrorism and crimes against humanity in the Middle East and has NEVER been held accountable. Over one million in Iraq; over 150,000 in Afghanistan; and now they'll turn Gaza into a graveyard. Punishing selected soldiers over the years does not erase the fact that the American military and its government validates their crimes during execution and are never punished for it.

Please never forget: Joe Biden is a genocidal terrorist, Rishi Sunak is a genocidal terrorist, the American Democrat Party and UK's Labour Party are led by genocidal terrorists, the European Union is led by genocidal terrorists, fuckass Walt Disney Company is led by genocidal terrorists; every celebrity that called for Palestinian death or stood by silently while ignoring our suffering is a genocidal terrorist.

May Allah protect the people in Palestine and grant the martyrs the highest level of Jannah. Wallah what keeps me here is knowing that the Akhirah is theirs. May Almighty Allah grant us imaan and Taqwa as high as the people of Gaza. Ameen.

[swanpyart]

Honestly, there’s a lot of instances of the game where Jimmy’s intense rewriting of history really shows how delusional he is. And I don’t think these manifest from guilt, but from a victim-martyr complex: a lot of these are used to make himself look good to the audience, but the utter dissonance between these visions and reality make it terrifying instead.

1. The Birthday Party scene

It seems like something obviously scary, but it’s actually what Jimmy thinks his crew should do. He wants to be celebrated, wants to be admired, and up until he dies is still convinced he was just a well meaning guy who did his best. The party was not a guilt and fear ridden hallucination, but Jimmy deluding himself into thinking he’s the hero. His team should be thanking him and throwing him a party, even when they’re all dead by his own actions. In reality: there probably isn’t even any balloons or confetti, and all Curly sees is Jimmy and the rest of the corpses of the crew sitting at an empty table in a dark room.

2. Curly in the Chair attached to Wheels

The scene where Curly is attached to wheels that must be turned for his organs to sit right so you can feed him his leg is also a good example. This isn’t how bodies work, and Curly is a burn victim, so his internal organs being rearranged makes no actual sense; all of his health issues are external. No, this is what Jimmy thinks must happen; that Curly simply can’t keep down his food, and that all Jimmy needs to do is try harder to get him to eat it. Jimmy, in reality is probably just forcibly feeding Curly his own puked up leg chunk over and over again until Curly grows too tired to fight. And isn’t it like Jimmy to shove a square peg in a round hole and insist it’s the hole’s fault? Jimmy already has shown he’s perfectly fine with force feeding Curly already and is not afraid to get violent when doing so. The reality of that situation is that Curly was probably resisting as much as he physically could, but eventually grows too tired of the abuse and just gives in.

3. Swansea with an axe

And with Swansea, the entire sequence of Swansea chasing him around with an axe may be partially true, but a lot less even-sided in reality. Swansea was shown to have a temper, but killing Daisuke was horribly difficult and emotionally crushing, even if he wouldn’t admit it outright. Jimmy on the other hand clearly views Swansea as an axe wielding maniac who kills without remorse and wants to hoard the cryotank all to himself. I think Jimmy was hallucinating Swansea chasing him around, because I think it would be in character for Jimmy to witness Daisuke’s death at Swansea’s hands and, rather than think over his actions, instead become paranoid and fearful that Swansea would target him, too.

Cus think about it: while Swansea is bigger, he’s also a drunken old man whose grieving the loss of a kid he viewed like his own, while Jimmy is a comparar healthy younger man with a gun. Jimmy already has a track record for picking on those he sees as vulnerable (Anya being the only woman with her room not having a lock, Daisuke being the youngest and easy to influence, and Curly being physically disabled and unable to fight back). What’s more likely: that Swansea suddenly goes from sullen and mournful to an axe wielding maniac gunning for Jimmy’s blood, or that Jimmy is paranoid about an older grieving man and holds him at gunpoint to tie him to the chair?

Feel free to add more examples, this is fascinating

[transmutationisms]

obviously i blocked this person on sight (go fuck yourself etc) but what pisses me off about this is that i think a lot of people on here actually do agree with that first sentence and it's part of why this website (demonstrably used by more than a handful of wealthy imperial-core citizens!) is hard for palestinians to fundraise on. the people of gaza are undergoing a horrific genocide, and every single martyr killed is an unconscionable injustice. but gazans are also here, alive, speaking directly to you to beg for their lives! you don't get to just write them off as lost causes and sit there, safe in your own home, refusing to lift a finger and ignoring people who are in desperate need because it makes you feel bad or guilty or whatever your problem is. get over yourself, stop collaborating with the genocidal occupying force, and do what you can to help these people because they are actively, currently suffering and not a single one of them deserves to die.

if you need somewhere to start, mohammed's sister still needs proper treatment for her bullet wound, and all 27 family members, including the children, endured a terrifying amount of bombing right beside their tent less than 24 hours ago. they're verified by 90-ghost and i've explained numerous times before why i trust them so donate what you can and share on any platforms you have. no excuses, this is bare minimum.

[pears-palette]

"A Tale as Old as Time..."

[ID in Alt]

This piece took me forever, but finally the Beauty and the Beast inspired Faricille stained glass is complete! And it only took like 21 hours lol. RIP my hands- remember to stretch, kids!

I feel like the symbolism is kind of obvious (for the most part at least), but I will go ahead and explain it.

MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD

Falin and Marcille are depicted in the unfortunate fate the dungeon led them to- Falin as a chimera and Marcille as an unwilling dungeon lord. Their expressions morose yet they interlock their fingers like in the bath scene. The design between them is the summoning circle Marcille stood in while resurrecting Falin. I did my best to copy the runes as closely as I could.

The golden feathers of the wing lion embrace the scene, and his symbol is also displayed at the bottom. Specifically, it is made to look like Kensuke's guard, a subtle nod to Laios, who is such an important person for both of these women. Thistle frames it with his ties to the lion, the dungeon, and his role, intentionally (with Falin's) or unintentionally (with Marcille's) unfortunate fates.

In the background, two scenes are specific to each character, and two have shared meanings for the characters. On the right, Falin's staff is lit up with magic, like the kind that teleported her party out and martyred herself. On the left is Marcille's mindscape library- the scene split in half between the black and gray of a nightmare and the color of a dream. Both symbolize driving forces in their lives- Falin's to protect those she loves no matter what, and Marcille's to escape her fears (and her own way of trying to protect those she cares about). At the bottom is the beginning- the raspberries they shared as girls that signified the start of their friendship. At the top, it wasn't the final ending but an ending nonetheless. The rabbits are tied to Falin because the rabbit stew is the catalyst to have her die for another time, a meal when one is starving, feeling like salvation despite death (Can't death be considered salvation on its own?). The rabbits also signal an extremely traumatic event for Marcille as she watched all her friends die because of them- once again, either actively in the case of her party or as the result of in the case of Falin.

[mortalityplays]

huge uptick recently in people playing the put-upon martyred voice of reason going "umm are we allowed to point out that 99% of the fundraiser DMs are probably scammers yet or will I be murdered with rocks and knives and called a racist nazi and cast into the street for dogs to eat?" and straight up posting screenshots of spelling errors and translation mistakes to laugh at like we haven't had this basic fucking conversation repeatedly for the last year and a half

I'm not sure you guys recognise that almost every fundraiser I share under my 'vetted fundraisers' tag is one that has been sent to me via DM. the reason you don't recognise that is because I don't directly post the DM I received (no shade on those who do, just pointing out what you don't see!) I go out of my way to individually check the vetted status of the campaign, and then I share the person's pinned post or whatever version I can find that seems to have the most complete information/vetting credentials.

I would estimate maybe 1 in 8 of the messages I investigate end up having no verification source associated with them at all – and that doesn't mean they're scammers, mind you, just that they are unvetted. A few are 'vetted by association' (vouched for by someone in gaza who has been vetted, usually a relative) and I mark these as such. The vast majority are vetted, often by multiple sources. Many of them are names I see again and again, who have been reaching out for help since January or February or even earlier. The gofundmes are donor protected, some have multiple committed supporters who have been in regular contact with them for months.

If you don't see this stuff, it’s because you don't look. And part of the reason people don't look is because this insidious 'hmm why would someone frightened for their life use DMs to promote their fundraiser' 'umm emojis? to catch my attention? something fishy here' 'personally I just think anyone who needs financial aid should speak fluent english first' bullshit keeps worming its way into common discourse and making it acceptable to just assume your prejudices and anxieties are justified.

So yes actually I do think it's racist to reflexively assume anyone who reaches out to you using google translate to beg for their life is a grifter. I do think it's disgusting to absolve yourself of making the effort to recognise real people in crisis just because you think emojis are tacky or AI art is vulgar or whatever. Get a grip. Nobody can force you to care but stop mewling and snickering about something you can't even be bothered to investigate in good faith.

[dashitsxx]

duty | gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary. Forced into a loveless marriage was the future of a lady of nobility. Being engaged to a man you never met was your fate. You were destined to be a doomed wife, doing the duties of pleasuring your husband solely for just simply being the daughter of a greedy and corrupt father. Yet, at the wedding night, the man you'll be wedded with, somehow shifted your perspective and unveiled what a real marriage is.

genre. angst, smut, 18+

word count. 6.2k

warnings. arranged marriage. historical au. explicit smut. toxic family. mentions of dissent. mentions of traditional gender roles and historical norms. mention of punishment (once). oral receiving (reader). multiple creampies. petnames. jealousy (if you squint). dominance (?). sadistic tendencies (gojo). missionary. cowgirl (ride that cock girl). praising (gojo). gojo calling himself daddy (....). quite naive (reader but that's okay). gojo is actually sweet.

disclaimer. Please note that this work is entirely fictional. It is not intended to condone, glorify, or encourage any form of violence, illegal activity, or harmful behaviour. All characters (credits to the manga artists), scenarios, and events are products of the author's imagination and/or used in a fictional manner. Any resemblance to actual persons or real events is purely coincidental. The purpose of this work is to entertain and provoke thought, not to promote harmful behaviour.

notes. has been sitting on my drafts far too long here you go sluts and i'm finally back for real, university sucks ass

"You may kiss the bride."

These are the words you never once thought you'd hear at age 20. Yet these are words that will truly seal your fate as a bride of the groom—no, as a wife of a husband. You never once thought your future would turn out to be in the situation you are in. An unknown beginning that was never introduced in the dreams of your future. A door that those old hags and ogres forced you to walk into while they always say—you quote, "This is the real future of a young lady of the L/N family."

Hell to that damn future! They should have thrown you on the streets rather than trample your dignity. You'd rather be a bride of a bear than be betrothed to a man who'd used you as a breeder for heirs.

However, once the man you've never seen and known pulls the veil off your face, you'd officially be gesturing your commitment as a wife to your new husband. Well, you can break that off… but in the current world you were born in, the veil also symbolizes that a woman is willing to lose her innocence to her lifetime partner.

Oh, how you hate women including you are tied to the role of a martyr wife in a marriage.

You just prayed to the heavens that the groom you are to be wedded with was born with a godly appearance that you will probably succumb to. At least, you'll have some dignity left in you.

The delicate lace veil blurred the sight of the man who held your hand on the altar with you as he slowly lifted the bridal accessory over your head. You take in a quiet hitch of breath, which makes you close your eyes and tightly grip the bouquet of lilies of the valley in nervousness. You waited in anticipation as once you felt the cold air kissed your skin.

You slowly flutter your eyes open. Your orbs widened as your lips almost let out a gasp when you saw the groom—no, your husband. Suddenly, the world around you becomes blurred, your eyes clearly focused on the enticing beauty of the familiar man.

It was none other than the famous and most desirable bachelor, Satoru Gojo. You never expected it to be him.

The man who was revered for his breathtaking beauty, applauded for his sword-fighting skills, and desired for his mind-boggling prowess in the sheets. The things you've heard from rumors yet you never believed them.

Although, there was one thing the rumor was right about.

Once you see him, you'll be baited by his beauty entrapment. This man was one of the most pulchritudinous beings in this botched universe. His snow-white hair perfectly complemented his eyes' bright blue color, which resembled heaven and oceans. Perhaps, even the skies. A fair skin and subtle red tones that painted his cheeks and lips.

It was your first time looking at him this close.

At the moment, you'd almost forgotten you were getting married. Your cheeks began to heat up, so you forced yourself to break out of your reverie. You strayed your gaze from him, embarrassed at your dumbfoundedness.

Gojo stared at you intently as the corner of his lips twitched slightly. You were startled at the distance between the both of you, yet he leaned further towards you, making you gulp at the closing proximity between you and him.

His eyes are too enchanting for you to gape into that it took the man to try to keep his laughter. Then his deep voice cuts the silence, "Lady Y/N, I think it is time we should seal one of the parts of our promise."

You almost accidentally choked on your saliva. Oh, you should slap yourself for your impudence. You are facing the most wanted bachelor of the empire.

Get your head in reality.

Even so, you've never kissed before. You are quite afraid of learning about your inexperience in that certain field and you don't want to disappoint the expert.

And the Satoru Gojo being your first kiss was a whole new experience and sensation to you. You have no clue how kissing works, which is why you'll let him take the lead. Your cheeks reddened further as you bit your bottom lip.

"Then place your lips on mine," you spoke.

A smirk appeared on his rosy-colored lips and captured your lips in a somewhat needy kiss. He places his huge hand on your lower back and the other on your nape, pulling you to his warmth. Because of the abrupt pull, your hands accidentally came in contact with his sculpted chest (which you felt through his clothing).

What the hell?

You were about to pull away, but Gojo pulled you even closer, tightening his hold. He tilted his head, gaining more access to your mouth. You quietly whimpered at his actions.

Then, roars of small cheers and claps echoed through the whole wedding hall. Satisfaction was spread over the faces of the crowd, staring at the newly married couple.

Gojo pulled away after a few seconds, leaving a trail of burning ache over your lips. Your plush cheeks were still flushed red as you tore your gaze from him. You were too embarrassed to face him after that heated moment. You carefully reached your lips with your fingertips as you touched them lightly. You wanted to ignore the feeling about the need and delight you felt after the kiss, it was more than you… expected.

The seal is almost done.

You're married.

And you are a wife.

"Your Grace, is the water fine?" one of the maids worriedly asks as she watches your reaction. You offered her a small grin, "It is fine, dear. You may wait outside."

The maid was flustered at the term you used. Nonetheless, she lowered her head and exited the room. And you were left alone.

You released a sigh of relief as your tensed shoulders drooped down in relaxation. You leaned back on the cold marbled, giving shivers from the foreign sensation. You settled down to the fragrant water as you looked towards the ceiling.

You recalled the events that happened a while ago. Everything felt surreal—the wedding and reception. You haven't even grasped the thought that you are married. It was just like yesterday, your head was buried in piles of books.

However, what was more unbelievable was marrying the Satoru Gojo.

You recently realized that your family never revealed who you were marrying. They just busted into your room and "surprised" you with a "gift," which was the marriage, for your birthday.

You bitterly chuckled.

It evidently shows how they badly want to get rid of their only daughter. They don't even gave an ounce of sincerity or care in their actions. They didn't ask your opinion or consent to this marriage. There are countless of crimeful actions they did to you that you can name.

They are definitely a family of shameless shits. Oh, why were you unfortunate in this life? You never even asked to be the daughter of a count, much less be the wife of a duke.

Duke. Satoru Gojo. Duchess...

"The duchess of Gojo, Y/N Gojo," you mutter.

As the name rolled from your tongue it was as you expected. It does not fit well but you didn't hate it.

Suddenly, your mind wondered about your husband. Was he also in the same situation as you? Was he also forced? Or did he need a wife to fully secure his position and chose a plain lady who wouldn't give a milliliter of care about his private affairs like you?

Regardless of his reasons for marrying you, it would be better to do your duty as a duchess than a wife. There are frequent numbers of loveless marriages in your society, and they include your parents.

Perhaps the Gojo, Geto, and Kento families are an exception. Their lineages, like Marquess Kento, are well-known for prioritizing heart above mind regarding love. The story of him and his wife was one of the most gossiped subjects among young ladies and masters. He met his wife while attending the Royal Academy, where he was acclaimed for his clever intellect and anticipated to graduate in a year. However, he graduated after two and a half years just to be with his current wife.

It was surprising to learn about the story. He was a man with a cold appearance yet born with a warm heart.

But those families were fortunate in love; they weren't foolish (except the Gojo you are wedded with). You also admit that you wish to experience and find a love like theirs, but the world isn't forgiving to you. To you, who is the daughter of a corrupt and power-hungry noble.

You sighed as you raised your head before splashing the water into your body. You could not afford to waste time any longer.

The seal is not yet complete.

--------------------

You approached the bedchambers of your partner with skittish feet. Bollocks, your insides were churning in extreme anxiety. You've always heard stories from married women of how the first time will always hurt. You're an adventurous lady, but the current situation is a whole bloody hell of uncertainty.

This is not the adventure you anticipated.

The wedding night must have slipped your mind, if only your maid hadn't reminded you, you'd embarrass your husband accidentally and rumors would spread.

"Damn me," you cursed your forgetfulness.

Despite that, here you are, standing in front of the door. The calm expression on your face contradicts your shaky hands. The two maids who were steps behind you patiently waited for your signal. You take a deep breath to calm your nerves then you nod.

They hurry to open the door. It was barely lighted beyond the depths, but you didn't notice the figure waiting on the side of the bed.

You gulped silently before lifting your foot and finally, stepping inside. When you compelled your way in, the maids you were with quickly closed the door, leaving you alone in this heavy atmosphere.

You lift your head as you hitch a breath. The man—Satoru Gojo was really out of this world in any style, form, and angle he was in. He wore a high-collar shirt with three unbuttoned buttons and dark trousers that elongated his already tall physique.

As for you, the maids forced you to wear lingerie that falls below your ankle, gently hugging your body that subtly shows your curves. The straps laid on your shoulder but they kept sliding off your skin since it was a bit thinner than the usual chemise you wore. The neckline was rounded and was letting your ladies from almost peaking out, displaying your cleavage. Moreover, the material was made from satin, attracting attention due to its sheen and softness.

You couldn't believe that satin can be sewn into this design. And you didn't expect your attire to be this... revealing. But you let it pass since it is your wedding night and as much as possible, you don't want to ruin his too.

"I didn't perceive you as the type who'd have their mind above the clouds."

"Oh!" You gasped loudly as you stepped back immediately. The white-haired man appeared tall in front of you. A playful grin comes on his handsome face. "Why startled, my dear?"

My dear? Your cheeks heat up at the name. It is not that you dislike his choice of name, but it sounds nice to hear. "I w-was not. I was just... admiring."

The grin never left on his face as he arched an eyebrow, "Me?" He steps closer and bends down to your eye level. His bright blue eyes stare into yours, expecting to get a reaction from you. Almost immediately, you avoided his purposeful watch.

He is too close! Too close!

It's as if he read your mind, he straightened his back and pulled away but still held eye contact down at you. "Your choice of evening attire is... quite unanticipated," his eyes scan your body from head to toe.

He was able to take a peek at that? You wrapped your arms around your body closely, tightly pulling the robe. You frowned at his words. Does he mean the lingerie does not suit you at all? "Well, I suppose that I should change into a more mode-"

"It enhances the natural grace and allure that you possess."

Your eyes became wide. Was your hearing right or is he losing his mind?

You realized that you were flushed deeply. You tilted your head to the side and cleared your throat. You now understand why ladies are smitten with this man. His looks were the flower, and his words were like opium. It certainly meets his description in its entirety, much like a poppy flower.

Suddenly, you felt a rough yet warm skin holding onto your wrist. "Come." Without waiting for your response, Gojo gently holds your wrist and drags you to the edge of the bed. With your wrist still in his grasp, he sat down on the bed with you facing him. The expression on your face was contorted into puzzlement. Despite this, he widens his legs and pulls you in between.

You looked down at him as he made eye contact with you. Your knees almost fall to the ground. Oh, his eyes are so hypnotizing.

Then you caught a breath when he placed both his huge hands on your waist as he rubbed your sides slowly and sensually. You put your hands on his toned forearms, and your gaze slid to his arms. The veins on his arms bulged, creating a delicate pattern beneath the surface.

"Take the robe off." Gojo blurted.

You snapped your head at him in surprise. Another gulp made its way through your throat as you left the warmth of his arms to untie the belt tie of the robe. Your hands nervously pulled the tie, yet the man's gaze never faltered as he watched you with such intensity that your heart raced faster.

The robe smoothly pooled below your feet. The silence was so deafening that you thought the temperature dropped even more. The cold air of the room hits your skin, and you feel so bare in your lingerie. You shuffled on your feet uncomfortably while you attempted to cover yourself until Gojo took hold of your wrist.

"Don't." You hear the tone of authority in his voice. One word from him crumbled you into obedience, which made you dropped your arms to your side.

There was an awkward silence that bore in the room as Gojo just gaped at you.

"Oh, darling..." he sighed heavily as he shifted. You were brought even closer to him as you felt the warmth of his body. He leaned his head on your stomach, inhaling the addictive scent you were bathed in.

He roamed his hands around your body. Each roam he did, slowly tightened his hold. He grunts lowly before planting a kiss on your stomach, you bite your lower lip. Gojo continued to place kisses on your clothed stomach as he slid his hand down, grabbing the fabric upwards, and exposing your legs.

You gripped his forearms tightly, your breaths becoming labored and heavy. Shivers ran down your nerves. Gojo bunches up the material above your belly as his lips come in contact with your bare stomach once again, "Ah!" you moaned.

Then your hands gently slipped up to clasp his hair, causing him to growl. Gojo swiftly exchanged positions with you, pushing you down into the bed. He tugged your dress upwards over your chest, and you gasped loudly at his daring move.

He smirks as he touches your thighs. He then imprisons you with his body. You yelped in agony as the man, who was intently studying your reactions, opened his lips and sucked your exposed breast. Licking every area, up, down, left, and right then sucking it for a while.

"W-Wait, n-not like that..." you whimper.

The middle of Gojo's eyebrows wrinkled before switching his lips to your other nipple, sucking them languidly as he fondled your other breast in the same manner. Your back arched at the sensation.

He should not be doing these things to you—it is not his duty.

You pressed his shoulder, causing him to part his lips from your nipple, a delicate strand of saliva connecting. His expression screams craving for more, stares at your flushed face. You breathe heavily as you push yourself with your elbows.

"You should not be doing this," you shake your head. "It should be me."

He glowers, "What are you implying?" He slowly gets up. He changes his position by lifting his knees on either side of you, caging you completely. Both of his hands sink onto the fluff of the bed on either side of your head, bending down as he almost closes the distance between you and him. But he turns his head to your neck, feathering with light kisses and rough bites. You gripped his back, digging your nails in pleasure as you attempted to open your mouth to speak.

"I-I meant that — ah — my d-duty... heavens." You state, head dizzy by him. The white-haired man still continued to mark you. "I should b-be... pleasing you, not you."

Suddenly, Gojo halts as he pulls himself up. Your eyes widened, trying to ignore the throbbing marks he burned in your skin. His godlike visage had an unexplained look. If you were to characterize one thing, it would be a scowl. It's as if he was angry—no, enraged, if you will specify it. Your husband's impassive eyes met your mystified orbs. He then cocks his jaw and pushes his tongue into his cheek.

He tilts his head curiously. Then speaks in a sneering tone, "Do you really take me for a man who only cares about their own pleasure?" There was a menacing aura brewing from him. Why is he furious at such a matter that is a fact? It is your duty.

You denied his claim, "N-No! I was pertaining that I am your wife! And... th-that I shall be giving you what my husband deserves from his wife. Please, let me do it. I promise!"

But he stayed quiet instead there was this "the calm before storm" silence extruding from his stare, what was he bothered about?

However, you continue with your words. "I assure you that you do not need to force yourself to do the duties of a husband," you reassured him. "Since this is not real." You add.

Your husband remained silent as a collective sigh passed across his lips. Then he ran his fingers through his hair while his other hand began to unbutton his dress shirt and asked, "What's not real?"

Your gaze moves down to his body, his firm chest peeking from the shirt. Oh, how'd you want your touch on it.

You shake your thoughts clouding your judgment. Now is not the time to be drooling...

You swallow anxiously, "... the marriage."

Then, you felt the presence of dead stillness in the room. Gojo halts his actions, a look of passing emotions crossed his features. Tensed shoulders and tiny droplets of sweat appeared on your forehead; your husband's silence was frightening. His shirt was already gone from his body.

Suddenly, your garments were ripped from your body. You gasped loudly as you gazed down at yourself, and your mouth fell.

Now you're nude... bare, naked!

"Gojo!" you exclaimed. His eyes twitched as you shouted his name, but he did not speak, instead, he scowled again at you. And you could feel the blazing fury that was seething in his veins. "Gojo!" You attempted to get his attention agaim.

But he was ignoring you. Once again, Gojo stoops down to plant hot and open-mouth kisses on your jaw. You winced as you felt a delicious pain as he stroked your bare breasts, with his other hand holding your wrists above your head.

"We are both aware that we hardly know much about each other." He begins talking as he softly drags his lips over your flushed cheeks. You felt his hot breath brushing across your ear, tickling you. "Whether it's an arranged marriage or not, I intend to be a good, if not, a great husband to you, darling," he whispers in a low and intimidating tone.

It was like a switch, you didn't manage to prepare yourself as he seized your lips in a bruising kiss. You gave out a moan and he thrusted his tongue into your mouth. He wrapped an arm around your waist, pinning both of your wrists above your head. He devoured the taste of your mouth, moaning against it.

The tension of his kiss was similar to the one he gave you at the altar, however, this was more needy, hungry, and possessive reaction. He twisted your nipples as you whined in pain. He finally parted his lips from yours. Your chest was moving up and down heavily as you saw him gently glide down, his other hand on your wrists gradually losing its grasp.

Your body was beginning to feel hot.

He peppered kisses all over your body till he stopped in between your legs. His hot breath brushed across your clothed cunt, and he made markings on your inner thighs. His gorgeous eyes glance up at you, "So... if you ever speak of that nonsense again. I assure you that your punishment won't be taken lightly."

He places a light kiss on you cunt, which made you whimper upon contact. You gripped the sheets gently when you felt a finger slide around your clothed slit. He played your covered pussy as you felt it dampening your panty.

Until he pushes your underwear to the side, a smirk coming to his face. You took a sharp inhale as you felt cooling air around your bare cunt, panicking internally. He shouldn't do these actions, it is such dishonarable act for a nobleman! You try to move away from him discreetly, yet the man notices your futile attempt as he braces your thighs even more.

He glowers, "Whether it is of convenience or not, doesn't mean we can't make it real."

Finally, he latches his mouth on your slit, licking up a stripe. A strangled moan escaped your lips as your back arched high. "Ah!" You gripped the sheets desperately from pleasure. He sluggishly swirls his tongue around your opening before pushing it inside.

"G-Gojo!"

Gojo continued his sensual pleasuring to you, glancing at you from time to time, clearly observing your reactions. It's as if he was still craving for more, a mischievous idea popped in his head. He stopped his actions with his tongue.

You stopped your moans as you glimpsed down at him, wondering why he stopped while your face transforms into a frown. "Why'd you st—oh! W-Wait!" Your breath suddenly becomes heavy as your veins are popping through your neck at the sensation. You clenched your toes hard as you panted.

He captured your clit with his mouth in an avaricious sucking motion. A fresh experience rushes through your nerves; it wasn't just pleasure. It proppelled you into a whole new world, it was on top of the world. He grunted against your pussy as you gripped his hair and squeezed it tightly.

You shifted in an attempt to free yourself from the excruciating pleasure he was giving you. As his tongue played about your bud of sensitive nerve fibers, you exclaimed loudly, "Oh my God!"

You felt him release one of his grips from your thigh, and he pulled you into a new, lewd posture by pushing both of your thighs with his other arm. You noticed that cunt and buttocks was more exposed. You object in a dismayed voice, saying, "This is so strange," but the nasty man simply disregarded you and carried on with his meal on your pussy.

Then, as he ravenously gobbled up your clit, Gojo moved his finger up and down on your slit. At last, he inserts his finger into your vagina. You emitted a soft groan. You were a sweaty, groaning, disgusting mess. The way he was making you feel good did not match the statements or expectations you heard from married women.

He pushes and pulls his finger as he curled it, hitting your g-spot. "Found it," a smirk forms on his lips momentarily before continuing his motions. You kept moaning and moaning, your hair was disgustingly sticking onto your skin, and your knuckles were turning white from the grip.

It was until you felt something curling around your stomach, "G-Gojo! Please, s-slow d-d-down! I feel something!"

When he heard that, he quicken his pace and added another finger inside you, making you full. Then you moaned loudly, the curl on your stomach faltering as you released. Your husband didn't shy away from savoring your juices as it coated his mouth and chin.

Your chest heaves as it rises and falls. You were about to close your legs when Gojo stopped you with his leg. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at you.

Is he still not finished?

You swallowed a saliva. "Gojo..." you said, pausing. His eyes were still squinted at you as he hummed in response. You said, "It's time for my duty," quite slowly.

When you said the word "duty," he rolled his eyes and snickered. You tightened your teeth and said, "Why are you acting so immature? I am doing you a favor."

His endearing grin turns into a slight scowl and an upward eyebrow. He sighs and unstraps his belt with a sliding motion of his hand. You noticed that the temperature dropped, chillingly hugging to your warm naked skin.

"A favor, darling? I never mentioned I wanted a favor from you." He begins talking. You watched him with wide eyes while he slowly pulls strap from the belt loop. The way he was pulling it was so... seductive and his hands are so sexy and huge. Oh! What promiscuous thoughts are clouding your mind?

"It is quite frustrating that is how you think of me. Well, I don't blame you. Rather, I blame your father. Although, I am quite satisfied that he gave you as my wife."

You? As his wife? What did he mean by that?

His belt finally was out of his hips as he dropped them on the ground, then he unzipped his pants gently but carefully, as if he is teasing you.

He smirks. "However, my wife couldn't get the silly word out of her mouth and mind. Duty? What an absurd word to use. Maybe, showing you might be the best way to reveal what a real marriage is."

He pushes both of his pants and underpants down his legs as his member springs against his toned stomach. You almost choked on your saliva when you saw the size of it. This is not what you expected from what you've learned from the mouths of those married noblewomen.

How is that size possible?!

He wraps a hand around his shaft as he slowly pumps it, a conceited expression spreads across his face, amused at your reaction that he expected.

"Like what you see, darling?"

You gasped as you averted your gaze in embarrassment. His words are so... crude. You speak in a shushed manner, "That won't fit."

"We'll make it then."

Your face contorted into confusion then panic when your husband pushed both of the back of your knees to your body, exposing your cunt in the most vulgar way. "Gojo!"

He ignored your calls.

Heavens, why do you feel so helpless and weak right now? Is it because the unforgettable pleasure he gave you? He positioned himself in between your legs before sliding his shaft on your pussy to coat it with your juices.

Gojo hissed when he stroked his cock using your cunt. He pushes and pulls his hips to pleasure you and himself. You felt his tip hitting your sensitive bud painfully, making you jerk everytime it touches. Gojo licks his lips when he sees your reaction.

He bends down to your ear as he whispers, "Once I push it in, I'll engrave my mark on your body, heart, mind, and soul. I'll ensure that you'll never have eyes for any other men... or even women if you prefer them." He gently bites the lobe of your ear as you feel the tip of his manhood almost prodding in your entrance.

"I'll make you love me, and I'll learn to love you."

Finally, he pushes his long and thick cock into your pussy. A deep gasp emitted from your lips, leaving you shocked from the godly size. "Fuck... you're — oh — darling," he hissed as he pushed in further into your cunt. You bit his shoulder tightly from the pain.

It took a long hard minute for you to be fully adjusted to his size. You were panting heavily until he finally sheathed his manhood in you. Your husband observes your response as his softened eyes gently asks if he could continue, which you responded with a nod.

Then he thrusted into you sensually. "Ah!" You moaned breathily. He pushed his hips back and forth, ensuring that you feel him inside. But it was lacking, you wanted him to be more rough and mean.

You reached out to him as his eyes were focused on the part where you and him are connected, mesmerized by it. Your voice snaps him out of his trance. "G-Gojo."

"Satoru." He growled.

"Huh?" Puzzlement sets on your face.

A smirk transforms on his lucious and swollen lips. He leaned closer to your face as he pulled his hips until his tip is just inside before slamming his thickass cock hard into you. A sharp inhale left your pretty mouth, your back arching from the sudden slam. His lustful eyes stares at your face, satisfied.

"If you — ha — call me Gojo, I m-might think you're – oh fuck – moaning f-for my father." The smirk never left his face, a glistening sheen of sweat from his forehead were dripping from his face. How does this man manage to look so... sexy and mouthwatering?

"How rud– ah!" You were cut off by another harsh and rough pound. A smirk formed on his luscious lips, satisfied with your reaction.

"Louder. I wanna hear you, darling."

He snapped his hips, making you jerk from the force. "Ah! Oh, lord."

He leaned closer to your ear, his breath fanning against your skin and teeth grazing lightly on your lobe. "My name, darling," he snapped his hips again with much more force.

Your back arched as you screamed his name, "Satoru!"

His handsome smirk widens more at your heavenly voice. "What a good girl," he pulls his body up. staring at your lewd expression.

Oh, how badly he wants to have it painted and be hung in his office. He bit his bottom lip seductively at the thought. He thrusted harder and faster than the pace he did at the last one. A loud moan was emitted out of you.

Sweat was trailing down on the contours of his bulk back, heaves and moans filled the room with ecstasy and pleasure. His snow-white hairs sticking on his forehead as muscles tighten each time he pushes and pulls. Large and rough hands of his gripped the plush of the back of your thighs, forcefully pushing for his huge cock to go deeper inside you. His gaze switches from his dick to your face, loving the ministrations he does to you, so much.

You were so addicting. Fuck.

Out of nowhere, he pulls out. You whine at the empty feeling and prop on your elbow. The smug grin was plastered on the beautiful man's face as he wrapped his hands on your waist before switching positions. He gently places you on top of him, your essence flowing on your thighs sticks to his stomach. You set your hands on his chiseled chest, gasping from exhaustion. You stare at him with lidded eyes, your hair framing the sculpture of your face. What does he want now?

When Satoru sensed the confusion, an amused chuckle emitted out of him. Without effort at all, he lifts your hips and pushes your cunt into his erected cock. A sharp gasp falls on your lift as you drop your head. The way your walls hugged the size of his made Satoru fall his head back, loving the way you take him so well. His right hand grabs your tits, playing with your nipple roughly.

You whimpered at the pain.

"Fuck, s-so tight..." Your husband hissed at the sensation. One of his hands left the warmth of your ass cheeks before placing it on the back of your head and pulling you closer.

"Ride me."

Your husband says. His body slouched against the bedframe, his hair dropped over his eyes, creating a shadow beneath it. Yet his stare was unyielding and full of lust. Your eyes widened as you pulled away from him. The tip of your ears slowly paints red.

Why did he have to say that so.... sensously?

His sky blue eyes bore into you.

"Ah!"

You cry loudly. His huge hands gripping your waist as he thrusts up, the tip of his member hitting the walls of your cervix. "S-Satoru!" You moan.

A smug smile transforms on his swollen lips as he pushes his body towards you, "Now ride me, darling." He lies back down, the mattress sinking softly from his weight. He waits for you to move, his dick warm inside your walls, eager to be milked.

You gulped silently.

Slowly, you brought your knees down on each side of his hips and placed your palms on his toned abdomen, guiding yourself up before bringing your weight down, You moaned in arousal. Satoru throws his head back, a groan leaving his lips. You rocked your hips again, your clit rubbing against his skin.

"That's it..." a hiss comes out from your husband.

You do it again, gasping at each thrust you do. Once you slowly get used to it, your pace becomes faster. Satoru guides you with his hands on your ass, up and down. Every time you set in your motion, you feel every vein of his dick. You wetness leaking out of your hole. It coated a slippery feel on your thighs and his member.

"Good job, darling," he sighs lowly.

Every time he praises you, his tone, his words, just arouses you even more. Motivated, you bring yourself up and thrust down hard, a sharp and pleasurable pain soared through your body.

Satoru brings his right hand in the middle of your legs, setting his thumb on your clit, rubbing it in tight and quick circles. A new nerve sensation shoots up on your body, pleasure all over.

"Heavens...! O-o-oh!" You squeal but that didn't falter your pace rather it made you want to get that release again. "Come on, y-yes."

His eyebrows furrowed as he also quickened his pace on your clit. He finally feels his abdomen clenching, he lazily gazes at you. "Feel that, baby? You can do it. Come on, let daddy make you full." His encouragement made you shift your position slightly, gaining more access with a nimble rate.

Then you feel something churning inside you, twisting and clenching. "I f-feel it," you gasp heavily. He senses you as your walls clenches his dick, making a sharp sound from his mouth. He thrusts upwards, matching your pace as his thumb was still on your clit.

Your release was coming closer, so was his. Each second, your cunt tightens. Then, something was curling inside your stomach, "I-I-I'm coming! Ah---Satoru!"

"Come on, darling. L-Let's do i-it... together. "

Finally, your juices releases from your hole. Satoru thrusts upwards, pushing himself closer to you regardless of the non-existent distance between the both of you. His thick and warm cum fills you up to the brim. He stays comfortably inside you, his cock being coated with your juices, same as your walls. Your combined cums leaks out of your hole, dripping on your inner thigh and his abdomen.

His cum is so warm as it brings you to the brink of bliss. You moaned loudly, arching your back at the same time. Satoru has his hands on a dying grip on your waist, pushing you down further and further to his overstimulated cock. After a while, the noise and gasps dies down in the room as you found your highs. It was tiredness ans sleepiness greeting your body.

"Darling, you're my heaven." Satoru croaks out as his last drop of his cum overflows your insides.

Your body succumbs into exhaustion as you drop down to your husband, your sweat sticking to your bodies. Your eyes were droopy and heavy, you just have no energy after that intense intercourse. Satoru pulls out as he places you comfortably on the bed, grabbing the duvet to cover you with it.

You settled in as you let it hug you, sleep was calling for you.

Your mouth was tight shut as your mind and body slowly shuts down. Yet before you walk into your dreams, you ears somehow caught his words faintly.

"I'll take care of you, darling. I'll give you everything."

all dividers are from @/cafekitsune <3

[third--planet]

This is my message from Bangladesh

i'm sorry but this is going to be political, but my country's students are currently at war with the government. beleive it or not, we are being mowed down with bullets in our own country, only because we spoke up about our rights about equality in job sectors. they are killing students of ALL AGE, when i say that i mean from kindergarteners to university students. what started as a peaceful protest about the quota system of our country soon turned into a blood bath, all because the govt leaders ordered the specific section of students under them to attack the protesting students, more that 50 students have alr died and more are being hunted down and killed. and now they have deployed police forces.

PLEASE, please respond to our calls, spread this news as fast as you can. they are turning off mobile data nation wide, and i'm currently using a vpn to post this. my hands are shaking and there's gunshots outside my window. no student are safe, people i know have been shot in the chest for joining protests.

being at war with my own country's leaders was not something i would've thought of happenning even 5 days ago, but here i am holed up in my room refreshing my feed with shaking hands just get news of more of my brothers dying.

i'm sorry this isnt what i post usually, but i cant right now, the martyrs had so much to live for, they are aspiring students, briliiant minds of this country. and now their parents and friends mourn their untimely death.

[nuancefem]

i think more neurodivergent people should practice saying "hey please only say yes to me infodumping to you about my favorite things when you have the emotional capacity for it, don't force yourself to or it defeats the purpose and if you hide it you'll grow resentment unnecessarily and if i ever find out i'll feel incredibly betrayed" to loved ones, even if they also are autistic/adhd/etc. it is an important boundary that is in OUR control and would radically change our sense of trust with others. we can be authentic AND build trust if we communicate effectively with other people

this can also apply to passionate ppl in general, and to their loved ones who think that making a martyr of themself so their loved one can ramble to them beyond what's comfortable makes them a better partner. it actually often does not. the only way we can learn to trust that you actually want to listen to us when we ask is when you say no sometimes too. otherwise we'll go into a guilt loop everytime, bc we don't have the data to prove that you would tell us if it was too much. i think even without neurodivergency being involved ppl are likely to martyrize themselves for their loved ones not realizing that being a martyr AT ALL will ALWAYS backfire at your loved ones. it never just affects you, and it always impedes genuine connection and trust. even i have been guilty of letting my autistic friends ramble at me until i was exhausted, and then straining beyond that bc it felt too rude to tell them, even when it was negatively affecting our emotional connection on my end. but communication is key, folks. it's a hard habit to learn but one we all must learn, and both sides need to do it

[fear-is-truth]

PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY ࿐

warnings — menstrual cramps. dacryphilia (if u squint). perv!rafe. very suggestive .. mdni a/n — repost + tweaked the ending

rafe cameron fights back the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose to ward off an incoming headache. of all times he should not be thinking about this—shouldn’t be noticing the way your lips are all swollen, or how pearly droplets of tears cling to your lashes. it’s fucked. he knows that. and yet, when you sniffle again, burrowing deeper into the pillow with a pitiful little whimper, his dick gives an interested twitch.

jesus christ.

“babygirl,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face, trying to snap himself out of it.

“c’mon.”

no response. you’re curled up in a fetal position, shivering under the blanket as if you can hide from the onslaught of cramps if you just make yourself small enough. rafe clenches his fists. unclenches his fists. fights down something in his gut that stirs at the sight of you so helpless and pretty like this. he forces it down, because shit, you’re in pain, and that’s not—this isn’t—he shoves it away.

“god, enough,” he sighs, reaching for you.

“let me help.” you shake your head, sniffling, curling up tighter. god, you’re so fucking stubborn. his fingers twitch, and then—fuck it. he hauls you up, maneuvering you into his lap, manhandling you like you weigh nothing. you land straddling one of his thighs, his arm bracketing you in despite the weak, hiccupy protests you make. you struggle for all of two seconds before your body falls entirely limp, tearstained cheek pressing into his chest. he sighs, keeping a steady grip on you as he settles back against the headboard. a toned arm locks around you, one hand gently pressing against your lower stomach.

“you’re gonna listen to me, alright? this isn’t the time to play a goddamn martyr.” his voice has lost its authoritative edge, gone softer, but no less firm. you hiccup against his chest, eyelids fluttering shut when his thumb starts moving in slow, repetitive circles. applying gentle pressure, easing the cramping away.

“poor baby.” rafe clicks his tongue in sympathy and affection. you sniffle, fingers curling into his shirt, and he rubs a circle over your belly. it’s just that—just him taking care of you, like he should—but then you let out this content little sigh, so soft, so fucking sweet, and fuck. the protectiveness in him is immediately tainted with lust.

he catches himself wondering where he can make you wetter, what other sounds he could pull from your mouth if he really tried. his dick twitches again (thank god you didn’t notice, because how the hell is he going to explain that), a sharp pulse of heat low in his gut and he forces himself to ignore it. later. right now, you need him. so he rocks you a little, and presses a kiss to the top of your head. trying to ease the strain in his jeans, rafe carefully shifts his weight, but you make this sweet little noise when the movement jostles you—something between a contented sigh and a moan— goddamnit, he knows you didn’t mean it like that, because you’re still all soft and pliant from the pain, but.. he simply can’t help himself.

“that feel good?”

you nod, nuzzling against him, and his hand is still rubbing absently over your stomach, dipping just a little lower, teasing the waistband of your shorts.

“mm.” a sleepy little hum, barely even words. “feels nice.”

“yeah? bet i could make you feel even better, princess.”

[not-neverland06]

Hey! Love your writing and love Flux!! I was hoping to request a kind of angsty/fluffy fic with the worst!wolverine where the meet her in the void and maybe Logan knew her just not very well and he’s finally letting himself open up and be close with her (likewise with reader/flux towards logan) and they get into an argument or maybe logan has a nightmare and he ends up stabbing her with his claws and maybe the aftermath of him beating himself up and sabotaging the new relationship until reader finally snaps him out of it and says it was an accident and she still loves him?? Thanks!!

mistake

Logan Howlett x fem!reader

a/n: I want to thank you for this request because I've been having the worst writer's block in the world. I was worried about having to go into another unofficial hiatus, but this made something in my brain click together and I knocked it out in two hours. my life is yours 🙏🙏 Summary: You know him. Or, you knew him. And you never blamed him for what happened in your world. It wasn't his fault that everyone you loved died and you barely escaped with your life. But you never actually thought you'd have to see him again. You don't know what to do when all these feelings resurface with his appearance.

No one truly knew who you were back in your universe. After the horrific incident at the mansion, you had run. You’d run as fast and as far as you could from the slaughter of your friends. You’d barely escaped with your life, and from the amount of blood and gore they’d left behind, most people just assumed you were dead. 

It’s not like anyone cared about you. Scott, Ororo, and Jean had been the real heroes. But it didn’t matter because they were still mutants at the end of the day. It didn’t matter how many people they saved. How many lives they positively changed, no one would ever see past the fact that they were mutants. 

Being one of the newer members of the recently disbanded X-Men gave you enough anonymity to get through daily life without being recognized. It did not, however, protect you from being sucked into the shit fest that is the multiverse. 

You’re not sure what it is about you that just attracts bad luck. You don’t know if it’s some hidden power that’s a part of your evolution. You’re just apparently perpetually fucked. The TVA had determined that you were interfering with the proper flow of your timeline or some bullshit. 

Now you’re here. Stuck in the void with nothing but decay and drunk former superheroes. If you have to watch one more Captain America ‘rally the troops’ you’re gonna kill him yourself. You’ve considered switching teams and joining Cassandra Nova at times. If only so you don’t have to deal with Johnny Storm and the rest of the dipshits. 

You get along with Laura, at least. She likes to tell you about her Logan and you like to dodge her questions about yours. She doesn’t need to know that not every version of Wolverine has a golden heart and story worthy of tears. Yours was a fuck up, plain and simple, but you never thought the incident was his fault. 

As much as others tried to push the blame on him. The people who raided the mansion were determined. There was no other way that day was going to end up. You’d just have one less X-Man. But people always love a martyr more than a victim. 

After a couple of years, you get used to the monotony. Your days are only occasionally broken up by dodging Cassandra’s henchmen and trying not to get sucked up into the soul destroyer. Other than that, you spend your nights getting drunk with Gambit and pretending you know whatever the fuck he’s talking about. 

“Laura! I managed to find some chocolate!” You run into the hideout looking for the girl. It’s rare to find good food that isn’t already a month past its expiration date. You weren’t planning on sharing the candy with her but you figured she’d smell it on you and it’s not worth the fight. 

Instead, you stop short as the familiar blue and yellow uniform you’d always try to force on him comes into view. He’s stealing Gambit’s liquor and you know that’s not going to go over well. What you don’t know is why you are so sure that this is your Wolverine. 

You’ve never had a Wolverine in the void. Not once. This could be any one of the hundreds of thousands of variants. But you see that look in his eye. That familiar watery gaze shows just how much he hurts, even if he doesn’t want to admit it. 

“Logan?” You breathe his name out in disbelief. Bypassing the Deadpool standing nearby. You’ve dealt with enough of those in your time down here. He takes a step back, fixing you with a distrusting look. 

He keeps the bottle of alcohol clutched close to his chest like he thinks you’re going to take it. You track the movement and you scoff. “Right,” you shake your head and stop short. “Of course, the only thing you care about is still getting fucking drunk.”

He glares at you, taking a step forward like he thinks it might actually intimidate you. “Do I know you, bub?” He reaches forward, probably to jab his finger in your chest. You drop your gaze to his outstretched hand and narrow your eyes. 

The material of his suit fluctuates, pulling back and rippling over his arms like liquid and not spandex. He doesn’t notice the manipulation of matter until it's his skin you target. It melts off his adamantium bones and he stares down in horror. 

You know he's scared because he’s watching his body dissolve but he’s not feeling any pain. You could make it hurt, but that’s not what you want. You just want to see if he’ll remember you now. If there’s anything half-decent left in that alcohol-rotted brain of his.

“Flux,” he grits your X-Man name out through his teeth like it hurts him to say it. 

You nod and his skin and suit go back to normal, like you’d never tampered with it in the first place. “You do remember me, then?”

“Thought you fucking died with the rest of them.” Your face drops before you feel an astonished smile on your face. 

“You know, it’s a comfort to know nothing about my world has changed. You’re still the same spineless dick that left us all to die.” You shake your head and storm out of the hideout. You don’t know how long they’re planning on staying but you pray they leave soon. If you have to deal with him longer than a week, you’ll just kill him. 

You step outside just as Laura’s coming back from the bonfire. She greets you with a stiff smile and you wonder what’s got in her in a mood. It only takes a glance over her shoulder to find the reason.

Logan is sulking by the fire, nursing yet another bottle of whiskey. He’s drinking it like water and even with his healing, his liver should have turned to mush by now. “I can see why you didn’t tell me about him,” she mutters as she passes by you. 

You know she tried to be quiet but you can see the way Logan’s head tilts slightly towards you. He’s heard her and you know it has to sting just a little.

You glance down at the leaves under your feet, eyes glazing over as you feel the guilt sink into your stomach. You shouldn’t feel bad, you didn’t do anything wrong. You didn’t hurt him, technically, just reminded him who you were. But you still feel bad for what you said. 

You’ve never blamed Logan for what happened. And if you did, you would be a hypocrite. Because you survived too, and you left them all behind. You ran like a coward. You could never blame him when you failed to save them just the same. 

You take in a deep breath and steel yourself. You’ll just apologize, walk over there, and explain to him you didn’t mean what you said. You know he’ll be a dick about it. Claiming he doesn’t want your apology. You’ll just leave him alone after. 

You’re about to step forward when he barks out a gruff command, “Don’t fucking stare at me like that. I don’t want your company.” He turns back to the fire and takes another swig from his bottle. 

You roll your eyes and walk towards him. “You can be as miserable and self-pitying as you want, just let me say one thing.”

His head whips towards you so quickly you’re surprised you don’t hear it snap. “I’m not fucking pitying myself,” he grits out. You quirk your brows in amusement, glancing towards the bottle in his hand and the clear way he’s sulking. He turns his attention back towards the fire, intent on ignoring you again. 

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” you tell him. You ignore the warning look he shoots you, taking a seat beside him even if he doesn’t want you to. “I-” you choke on the words, struggling to admit to yourself what you’ve never wanted to. 

“Don’t.” You know it’s meant to be a warning. But when you look at him and see how completely broken he is, it sounds more like a pathetic plead. 

But you need to say this. As selfish as it is, you need to say this to someone., Need to unload this guilt you’ve carried for so long. “I was there, Logan. I could have saved them and I didn’t. I fucking ran.”

“Kid, don’t do this-”

“Jean was still moving,” you blurt out. You feel the way your heart speeds up at the admission. Your fingers shake and the air around you stills. 

His face drops and he slowly turns towards you. You’re afraid to look at him. You feel like a bunny staring down the snout of a wolf, there’s no escaping this. You’ve created this trap for yourself. 

“What?” He demands. His voice has lost that tremor of vulnerability. Instead, he sounds like he did when he first found out what had happened to you all. That same deadly level of calm that makes you want to bolt again. 

“She,” you stare into the fire until your eyes burn. You don’t know if it’s from the light or the smoke but the pain focuses you. “She was shaking on the floor. There was blood everywhere and she could barely breathe. They had gassed us with something. None of us could use our powers, it’s the only reason they got a one-up on us.”

You can feel yourself slipping back into that moment. You feel the warmth of the blood on your skin. It seeps into your suit and makes the material cling to you. Your gut is split open and the only thing holding your intestines in is your hands. 

Jean is in front of you. Her hands are twitching by her sides. There’s blood pouring out of her lips, dribbling down her tongue and cheeks. Every breath is a rattle so deep you feel it in your bones. 

Each inhale sounds like someone dragging glass through the membrane of her lungs. Her chest rises and sinks shallowly as she gasps for air. She’s practically convulsing, eyes twitching every which way.

The gas has faded from the halls. The people have left, satisfied with the carnage. You’re alone, surrounded only by the blood and bodies of your friends. None of the others are moving. Some of them are so mangled you can’t even tell who they are anymore. 

Jean’s eyes lock onto yours. The only anchor she has. And you can see it, the frantic, wounded animal gaze on her face. She knows she’s dying. She knows there’s nothing she can do about it. 

You can only stand by and watch as your friend dies. You could be her comfort. You could be the last face she sees before she dies, distracting her from the sight of her dead fiancee behind her. 

But what do you do?

You hold your guts in your stomach and you run. You can’t look at her. You can’t look at any of them. You can hear her croaking behind you. And even when you’re out of the mansion, when you’re in a hospital somewhere getting repaired and Logan’s on a rampage, you still hear her. 

You feel something heavy on your arm and it’s like you're being forcibly dragged out of a trance. Logan’s looking at you with something you’ve never seen before. But it’s something you’ve always desperately craved. 

It’s like he’s seeing you, really seeing you. For the first time in a long time, you feel that ache of guilt ease away ever so slightly. It doesn’t disappear, but you’re sharing the burden with someone else and it’s a relief you’ve desperately craved. 

“You’re not a bad person for leaving, kid.” He swallows roughly and you place your hand over his. He doesn’t look completely comfortable with the touch, slightly flinching away from it, but he doesn’t move. “If you hadn’t, you would be dead.”

You squeeze his hand, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I never blamed you for what happened.” emotion is so thick on your tongue and in your throat that the words come out a whisper. “Their deaths weren’t your fault, and what happened after wasn’t.”

He clenches his eyes shut and jerks his hand out of your grip. You sigh, knowing you’ve lost him. “I slaughtered them.”

You scoff, “They slaughtered us!” You nearly shout, anger bubbling hot in your gut. When you heard about him killing those who had hunted down your friends, you’d celebrated. And when you heard the way the public was crucifying him, you realized that no matter what you did they would never love you. 

You would always be nothing more than a mutant to them. 

“And the people who didn’t hurt them? The innocents I killed?” 

You don’t have anything to say to that. You just stand up, placing a hand on his shoulder as you pass by him. “I never blamed you, Logan.”

You don’t see Logan again after that. At least, not while you’re in the void. What was left of your little resistance was sucked up into the purple cloud of death. Only you and Laura are left with the carnage. 

Logan and Wade have disappeared to who knows where. It stings, to be on your own again. Sure, you have Laura, but she’ll never understand the pain of what happened to your universe. 

As much as it hurt, at least with Logan, you had someone to share the pain with. You could share your burden with him. You feel lonely and cold. Like there’s a part of you missing. You finally figure out what that ache is when the TVA comes to collect you and you see him again. 

He’s standing behind Wade as he enthusiastically tells you and Larua all about his world. But you can’t take your eyes off Logan, or the tentative smile on his face. Whatever had happened during that fight with Cassandra Nova had changed him, for the better. 

You smile back at him and it feels like taking a breath of fresh air after years. 

Apparently, whoever this world’s Flux had been, she was fucking insanely rich. And dead, which sucked for her but was great for you and Logan. 

It’s not hard for you to fake some government identities and explain that you’d been mistakenly marked as dead. It’s apparently pretty common in this universe. Superheroes are blipped out of existence all the time. You couldn’t get all of her assets as some had been liquidated, but you did get her giant ass house. 

You let Logan and Laura stay with you until they decide where they want to go. It’s better than living with Wade and his coke-fiend roommate. Laura finds her groove pretty quickly, it is her world after all. But you and Logan struggle to figure out what to do with yourselves. 

Neither of you has an interest in being X-Men again, and it seems like they’re not incredibly present in this world either. You also hadn’t been the best of friends, even before everything went wrong, back home. 

You’re not strangers, you’re not friends, you’re that awkward place in between. Each day is another opportunity to get to know each other. The progress might be slow, but you know that you’re getting closer to something real. 

It’s why you don’t feel any qualms about running into his room when you hear him shouting. You burst into his room and the door slamming against the wall isn’t even enough to wake him up. 

He’s writhing around in the bed, sheets twisted around his waist while sweat beads down his forehead. The noises he’s making remind you of a wounded animal. There’s something heartbreaking about this. 

He doesn’t get peace even when he’s sleeping. It makes you hurt for him. You want to smooth over the aches and pains he carries and burden yourself with them. 

The thought snaps you out of your reverie and you’re shocked by the revelation. You’d been growing closer to him, but you hadn’t thought you were growing this close. You feel so strongly for him, but you’re not ready to put a name on what it is that you feel for him. You just know that right now you want to make him feel better. 

You approach the bed cautiously, taking a seat beside him. The bed ripples and jolts underneath you as he tosses and turns. You place a gentle hand on his arm and shake, “Logan,” you whisper. You don’t want to startle him too bad. 

But he’s not responding to anything. It doesn’t matter how much you shake him or call out his name. Finally, you can’t handle it anymore. You get on your knees, sitting over him and bringing your palm down across his face as hard as you can. 

In a second he’s shooting up. You don’t even notice his hand until you see the way his vision clears. The visceral panic fades and something is aching in your gut. “Oh god, no no no,” he says the word so many times it stops sounding real. 

You look down and see the blood dribbling down his palm, the claws buried in your stomach. It’s almost funny, how perfectly aligned they are with the scar that already lived there. The reminder of your friend’s death being erased and reformed by Logan’s hand. 

He pulls his wrist back and you quickly snatch it up. “Don’t!” You shout, jaw clenching against the pain. “Don’t pull them out, I’ll just bleed out.”

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” You know he’s worried, that’s why he snaps at you. But it doesn’t help the way you feel yourself fighting back tears.

He sees them drip down your cheeks and his face drops. His other hand, the one not in you, comes up and cradles your cheek. “What do I do?” He whispers, and he sounds more desperate than you do. 

You know he doesn’t want another death on his hands. But there’s something beyond that. He doesn’t want to be the reason you stop breathing. There’s a startling clarity when you’re slowly dying. 

He cares about you. Just as deeply as you do for him. You can’t make him go through this pain again. Can’t let him suffer alone, not when he’s made so much progress. “Slowly,” you tell him, guiding his claws out inch by inch. 

It’s hard not to black out. You’d barely felt it when he’d gotten you the first time. You think it’s because of how fast and sudden it was. But this, having them oh so slowly slicing through your insides is the worst form of torture. 

But you don’t heal like him. You have to close your eyes, focus on the pain, and forcibly reknit your skin back together. It’s a clever manipulation of your powers, but it’s a slow one. You could never take serious damage on the field because you wouldn’t be fast enough to repair yourself. 

This is easy to repair. But that doesn’t make it hurt less. It feels like an hour before he can safely draw them the rest of the way out. The second he does, you’re sinking into his arms with a pained sob. 

He clutches you so tightly to his chest you worry your back might snap. He keeps muttering apologies into your hair, hands desperately grasping at every inch of you he can hold. You’re too tired to say anything. 

You realized you should have. You should have told him you don’t blame him. You were the one who snuck into his room. You should have been smarter. But it doesn’t matter how many times you tell Logan not to blame himself, he always will. And you were too tired to try anyway. 

You only realize what’s happening two days after the incident. You figured he might need some space to process what happened. And honestly, you did too. It was awful and incredibly draining. You’ve felt fatigued ever since.��

But when you try and approach him and he just brushes past you like you weren’t even there, you know something is wrong. You watch his retreating back with a disturbed glare. You connect the dots quickly, already knowing what he’s doing. 

He doesn’t want to be responsible for hurting another person he loves. He can’t handle a loss like that again, even if it’s not by his hands. He wants to make sure you don’t want him, that you don’t care for him. Like that might ease the pain and guilt. 

But it wouldn’t. It would just make him feel worse. It would make you feel worse. 

You don’t waste a second, following him up the stairs and barging into his room before he can slam the door shut. It bounces off the wall and he lets out a deeply irritated sigh. He doesn’t turn to look at you, just walks over to his nightstand and rummages around through the doors.

You know he’s not looking for anything. He’s just trying to ignore you long enough for you to give up. It’s not going to happen, he should know better. 

You take a step further into the room and the smell of chemicals slams into you. Your nose wrinkles in disgust. It smells like he pumped Lysol into the vents. Your eyes dart to the bed and you sigh. 

Your blood, you’d completely forgotten. He must have been cleaning it up the morning after. You can’t blame him for wanting to get rid of the remainder. But this seems excessive. 

“Strong nose,” he mutters. You hadn’t realized you’d spoken aloud and you glanced over at him. “I can still smell it, even after cleaning.” He takes a seat on the bed and you hate the way his shoulders are slumped. 

He’d seemed so much more comfortable with himself lately. It’s like one accident has undone all his progress. “Logan,” you start, taking a step towards him. He holds his hand up, still not looking at you. 

It’s driving you insane. You wish he would just meet your eyes. You feel like you could change his mind if he would just see you. Maybe that’s why he won’t. He won’t let himself be happy. 

“Look, that night just made me realize what a huge fucking mistake this was.” He gets up and slides something out from under the bed. It takes a moment for you to register what it is. A duffel bag, packed with all his essentials and what little clothes he owns. 

He’s going to leave.

You act without thinking. Pure panic making your powers surge out. Logan grunts and the bag falls out of his hand. “Quit it,” he snipes, bending over to pick it up. But he can’t because it’s so heavy it’s making the wooden floor splinter and crack under its weight. 

“You don’t get to just leave when things get hard, Logan.”

He stands up, hands propped on his sides. There’s a challenge in his eyes that makes you nervous. “Fuck this,” he scoffs and brushes past you. 

It’s beyond manipulative to use your powers against him. But sometimes, someone is such a fucking idiot, they need a little outside help. You slam the door closed and the handle disappears, locking you both in his room. 

He turns towards you with a fierce glare on his face. “Open the goddamn door before I break it down.”

“You can try,” you taunt, a nasty tone to your voice. You’re sick of this. You’re sick of running from what you want. You’ve been miserable and alone for years. You want to be happy. For the first time in forever, you want something. 

And you want Logan to be happy with you. You can’t force him to feel the way you do. But you can stop him from actively preventing this. “Stop acting like a goddamn child and just talk to me!” You shout at him. 

There’s a disbelieving look on your face. You don’t understand why he won’t let this happen. Why does he have to fight so hard against any semblance of happiness in his life?

“I’m going to hurt you. That is all I do. I hurt the people I love and I cannot hurt you too.” Your eyes widen in shock at his outburst. Beyond anger, there was so much fear in his voice it was almost enough to make you miss what he’d said. 

“You love me?” You can see the realization dawn on him. The fact that he let slip why he’s so hesitant to be around you. You know he wants to leave, his eyes are darting around the room for an escape route, but you’ve blocked them all. You can’t let this go, not now. 

“Logan,” you snap, demanding an answer from him. 

“Fuck you,” he mutters, something vicious on his face. 

He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to lash out and say something cruel so that this doesn’t happen. You know him because you’ve been him. He will take every possible route to get out of this if it means he doesn’t have to face his feelings. 

You roll your eyes and take a step forward. You jerk him towards you and throw yourself on him before he can say something stupid. The kiss is brief, just enough to snap him out of this ridiculous headspace he’s in. 

When you pull back he looks dazed, but he’s relaxed in your hold, sinking towards you. You grin up at him, “I love you too, dumbass.” You lean up to kiss him again but you dart back at the last second, a mean glare on your face. “Pull some shit like this again and I’m going to melt your dick off.” 

You kiss him before he can respond, but you feel the smile against your lips. You can taste the defeat on his tongue as he wraps his arms around you and tugs you into his chest. He’s not going to push you away and you’re not going to let him. 

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

General Taglist: @evasmlp

Logan Taglist:  @nonamevenus @smexy-bucky-waifu @wh1sp @peony-always @corvusmorte  

@mrs-ephemeral  @wolviesgirl @allllium  ♡ 

[fairuzfan]

Also re:necropolitics of israel (click)

A few days ago there were reports of Israeli soldiers "returning" bodies of martyrs they took like just straight up from Gaza. Here is a report about bodies being stolen from al-Shifa (click).

The director of Al-Shifa had reported the bodies being stolen back in November (click) before his arrest. The hospital workers mentioned not knowing why the soldiers would do that. The speculation of the photo-op arose because the photo-op of October 7th within Israel happened a month and a half after October 7th, after the Al-Shifa raid. People (Palestinians) noted that the level of violence done to the bodies seemed similar to what they had been seeing with the bombs in Gaza, and found it hard to believe that Hamas could inflict that much damage. There was a thread that was examining this idea but I haven't found it as it's been a bit. If I find it, I'll comment on this post.

But even then, Israel routinely makes corpses serve out their sentences or even outright steals them for the sake of enacting psychological torture onto the relatives of the martyr (click). The burial process is an essential step in mourning and grief, which means by withholding the bodies, they ensure that the family is unable to recover emotionally from the death of their loved one nor are they allowed to move on. This is essentially a form of ensuring that people are unable to resist as the emotional toll this takes on them is quite high.

A variety of reports and testimonies are linked in this article regarding the harvesting and removal of organs throughout the years by Israel (click). The most damning of the evidence is a testimony by Dr. Meira Weiss in her book "Over Their Dead Bodies." The article has a translated passage from Hebrew about the period at the turn of the century and their practices then (roughly 1996-2002):

“They would take corneas, skin, and heart valves, while noting that non-professionals would not notice the absence of these organs as they would place something plastic in place of the corneas and ‘take’ the skin from the back so that the family wouldn’t see it. In addition, the bodies of detained martyrs are used in medical colleges at Israeli universities for research purposes.” Weiss confirmed that “in the first Intifada, the army effectively allowed the institute to extract organs from Palestinians under a military procedure that required the autopsy of a Palestinian prisoner. The autopsy procedure was accompanied by organ removal, which was used by the Israeli Skin Bank established in 1985 to treat burns suffered by Israeli soldiers. This was after the Chief Rabbinate Council issued a ruling legitimizing it, which led to saving the lives of many Israelis who were injured during attacks on Palestinian citizens, continuous assaults, and wars — at the expense of Palestinian martyrs, according to specialized Israeli medical sources for burn treatment.”

It's worthy to note: as an occupying force especially, Israel should not be doing ANYTHING with these bodies and just returning them to the families. I've seen some people say "they didn't JUST harvest Palestinians' organs, they also harvested Israeli organs." It doesn't matter. They are an occupying force that enacts systematic violence on Palestinians especially and within this context, anything Israel does towards Palestinians is a targeted, racialized violence. It is widely known that Israel denies crimes it has committed until many, many years, especially from during the Nakba, such as well poisoning.

People provide evidence that organs can't be used after a certain point in time.... in this context (October 2023-December 2023), it's not about whether or not the organs were used for anything. It is specifically for the purpose of body desecration which Israeli soldiers especially have not been shy about. Here is a report during the bulldozer massacre in which people report that Israeli soldiers run over bodies for no other reason than desecration (click).

Also, remember the grave desecration that happened a few days ago? It was reported that they had stolen bodies believed to belong to young Palestinian activists then (click). This is widely known as 'necroviolence' on Palestinian bodies in order to humiliate them (click).

You cannot remove the context of an oppressive force (Israel) that is documented to have disrespected graves and bodies. You must analyze it within this context, not any others. Withholding bodies of Palestinians, no matter what they did while they were alive, is a form of disrespect and oppression on a subjugated population. To deny that this happens and to attribute it to antisemitism is not only disrespectful of Palestinians' mourning rights, but also an effort to remold the narrative into one of "Jewish people against Palestinians" by emphasizing the Jewishness of the occupying force rather than focusing on... you know... the fact that they're an occupying force known to enact violence on Palestinian martyrs.