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alygator77 · 3 months ago

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ᰔᩚ motherhood and matrimony I ch 5 ᰔᩚ

ꨄ︎ pairing. au ceo! satoru gojo x single mom secretary fem! reader

ꨄ summary. satoru gojo, the arrogant and irresistible heir to a billion-dollar corporation and the son of your boss, the ceo... but when satoru’s father dies unexpectedly, his inheritance hinges on a stipulation: he must marry and have a child, but the child doesn't necessarily have to be his, right? together, you strike a deal: a fake marriage that promises financial stability for you and corporate control for him. as the lines between business and emotion blur, you must decide if your partnership is purely contractual or if it could evolve into something real.

ꨄ︎ warnings/tags. 18+ MDNI, nsfw, enemies to lovers, opposites attract, fake marriage, slow burn, smut, fluff, bit of angst, reader is single mom who recently broke off her engagement, satoru being a cute step dad, naoya is your crappy ex, some triggers of domestic abuse (emotional abuse but it can be a bit suggestive/interpreted as physical, from naoya not satoru)

ꨄ words: 8.3k

ꨄ a/n. here we go guys 🫣 idk what to even say, so i'll see ya'll at the bottom. enjoy♡

ꨄ taglist: closed (ao3)

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ch 5 // a leap of faith

You stare out the window of Satoru’s limousine, the city lights blurring into streaks of color as the world rushes by—but your thoughts are too loud to let you fully take it in.

You’d think the upcoming interview at the gala would be your primary concern, considering that’s where you’re currently headed, but instead, your mind is trapped in a loop—the memory of Satoru’s phone call.

Do you really know him at all?

The bone chilling temper you overheard has left you questioning everything, only heightening your doubts in him.

There was something in his voice that you can’t shake—a bite that fills you with fear, a kind of fear that whispers in the back of your mind, warning that one day his icy detachment could be directed at you the moment you fail him.

Satoru sits across from you in the luxurious backseat, but despite the close proximity, it feels as though a vast distance separates you now—a chasm of unspoken thoughts and lingering doubts.

And you—so consumed by the questions swirling in your mind—fail to notice that Satoru is watching you—his gaze steady, searching, as if he’s trying to read something in your expression.

“You’ve been awfully quiet today,” he observes, “Is everything okay?”

You stiffen, pulse quickening.

Fuck.

Can he see right through you? Does he know about the doubts gnawing at you, the secrets you’ve been keeping?

His eyes search your face for something you’re not ready to reveal, and your defenses go up instinctively.

“I’m fine,” you blurt out, but the moment the words leave your lips, you inwardly cringe, the tonality of your voice holding an unintentional harshness.

Well, shit… it wasn’t meant to come out like that. But it did.

He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Uh…you sure?”

“Yes,” you counter abruptly, too abruptly, and your gaze darts away from his as if meeting his eyes might unravel the carefully constructed facade you’re desperately clinging to.

You feel the anxiety begin to bubble, threatening to spill over, and as your eyes fix on the window, you watch the world blur by, anything to avoid the weight of his scrutiny.

But Satoru’s sapphire eyes remain steady, unwavering. He rakes a hand through his tousled white hair and lets out a soft sigh, laced with a quiet frustration.

“You know… we’ve been living together for a while now,” his tone gentle, yet probing, “I think I can pick up when something’s up. You’re not as good at hiding it as you think. I mean, you tried to put the TV remote in the fridge this morning.”

A flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks.

Okay…rude, why does he have to call you out like that? Yeah sure, you have been out of it today—but how can you not be? The pressure you’re feeling is unbearable.

You let out a small, forced laugh, trying to brush it off, but there’s a hint of defensiveness in your tone.

“Uhh, it’s called ‘mom brain,’ Satoru.”

He furrows his brow, his expression softening even as a playful grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

“Mom brain? What the heck is that?”

Your eyes meet his for a brief moment, and in that split second, you catch a glimpse of the genuine concern lurking behind his playful facade. Your heart drops at the sight, a pang of guilt twisting in your chest.

Dammit, why does he have to look at you like that?

Why does he have to make this so much harder?

The frustration bubbles up inside you, not just at the situation, but at him—at the whole confusing mess that’s become your life. You don’t know what to believe anymore, and that uncertainty gnaws at you, leaving you feeling raw and exposed.

You break eye contact, looking away from him yet again, and an exasperated sigh escapes your lips.

“It’s what happens when you’re a mom and you’ve got a million things on your mind at once. Sometimes, your brain just… short circuits. It’s like, where did I put the keys? Oh, they’re in the fridge next to the remote. No big deal.”

Satoru chuckles, the sound low and warm. For a moment, it feels like the tension might ease.

“Sounds like a pretty convenient excuse to me,” he remarks playfully, but as his voice softens, the teasing edge gives way to genuine concern.

His gaze turns serious as his eyes search yours, intent and piercing, as if he’s trying to see past the walls you’ve put up.

“Mom brain or not… I know you, y/n. And I know when something’s really bothering you.”

Double fuck.

There’s a moment of panic, a fear that he might see right through you. The truth you’ve been burying deep inside threatens to surface, and the pressure of keeping it hidden feels suffocating.

You can’t let him see it. You can’t let him know.

“I’m…I’m just nervous about the interview,” you blurt out, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate attempt to deflect, to steer him away from the dark, treacherous waters he’s unknowingly wading into.

But the excuse feels flimsy, like a poorly constructed lie that could crumble under the slightest scrutiny—and so you reach deep within yourself, trying to find a way to make it more believable.

“Not everyone can be like you Satoru, all carefree with no worries in the world. Must be nice.”

The moment the words escape, you feel them slicing through the air, sharp and jagged, and you know you’ve made a mistake. Regret twists in your gut like a knife, its cold blade cutting deep as you realize the bitterness laced in your voice, bitterness that surprises even you.

Triple fuck.

What the hell are you doing? Why are you attacking him like this?

The resentment, the fear, the overwhelming sense of inadequacy—all of it comes crashing to the surface, bubbling over before you can shove it back down where it belongs.

Great. Now you’re lashing out, emotions spiraling out of control, your composure slipping through your fingers like sand.

You can practically see the words hanging in the air between you, ugly and heavy, and the guilt that follows is instant, a crushing weight on your chest.

God, get it together.

For a moment, Satoru says nothing, his expression unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s angry, hurt, or simply trying to process your outburst.

You bite your lip, a nervous habit you’ve never been able to shake, and you force yourself to look away. Satoru does the same, both of your eyes falling yet again on the familiar blurred scenery outside the window, searching for answers that aren’t there.

The silence stretches, thick with tension, until finally, Satoru shifts across from you. He turns his head just enough that you catch the movement out of the corner of your eye, and you force yourself to glance back at him.

The corners of his mouth twitch upward, but there’s no humor in the gesture, just a faint, almost imperceptible sadness.

“You think I don’t worry?” he murmurs, voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it.

The rawness in his tone cuts through you like a blade, slicing through the walls you’ve built around your heart.

You turn to face him fully, really looking at him, and for the first time, you notice the subtle signs of weariness etched into his features—the shadows beneath his eyes, darker and more pronounced than you remember, the way the light in his eyes seems… dimmed, like a flame that’s burning too low.

Has he always looked this… tired? Or is it only now that you’re seeing it?

“Well…you’re always so confident and composed. It’s hard to even imagine you worrying,” you admit softly, and the defensiveness that had been there moments ago slips away like water through your fingers. “You’re able to handle all this with such ease. It’s like… nothing ever phases you.”

Satoru lets out a soft, almost bitter chuckle, the sound tinged with disbelief, as if your words are some kind of cruel joke.

“Yeah, that’s the thing, isn’t it?” he shakes his head slightly, “It’s not that I don’t worry. It’s that I can’t show it. People expect me to be… well, this,” he gestures vaguely to himself, “Confident, capable, always in control.”

You blink. The realization hitting you like a wave, washing over you and leaving you unsettled.

All this time, you’ve seen him as an invincible force, someone who could handle anything with a smile, who never let the pressures of his life touch him. You’ve relied on that image, drawn strength from it, without ever questioning the reality behind it.

But that’s not the case, is it?

Beneath the polished exterior, behind the confident facade, he’s been playing a role, just like you. He’s been hiding his fears and insecurities, presenting a version of himself that the world expects to see, while the real him remains concealed.

Your heart aches at the thought, a pang of guilt threading through the tenderness you feel for him. He’s been carrying this burden, this expectation of perfection, and you’ve been too wrapped up in your own struggles to see it.

You were right—you truly don’t know the real him. But… you want to. Desperately.

You take a deep breath, eyes searching his face for the truth behind his words.

“But… why?” you ask gently, “Why is it so important to you to keep up this image? Why can’t you just… be yourself?”

There’s a moment of silence, a heartbeat where you think he might not answer, where the vulnerability in his eyes seems to retreat behind the familiar walls he’s built. But then, he speaks, and the words that spill from his lips are raw, tinged with a quiet resignation that cuts through you.

“Because ‘myself’ isn’t good enough,” he admits quietly. “Not in this world. Not with the expectations people have of me.”

The sheer weight of his words, pierces through you, and your heart aches with an almost unbearable tenderness. There is a deep vulnerability in his admission, and the need to reach out, to comfort him, burns within you.

But would he even accept it? Could you close this growing chasm between you, this distance that feels both vast and fragile?

“But Satoru, who says you have to meet these expectations?” you whisper, voice trembling with emotion.

He lets out a bitter laugh, the sound devoid of any real humor, and the gesture is almost painful to witness, as if he’s mocking himself more than anything else. When his eyes finally meet yours, there’s an emptiness in them that chills you to the core, as though he’s become a shell of the person he once was.

“I’m a Gojo, y/n. There’s a certain… standard that comes with that name. It’s not just an image, it’s a legacy.”

He pauses, his gaze drifting away from yours and settling on the passing scenery outside the window yet again. There’s something almost haunting in the way he stares out, as if he’s lost in a world you can’t reach.

“People look at me and they see the name before they see the person. And if I don’t live up to that legacy… if I don’t maintain it…”

“—but doesn’t that mean you’re living for them, and not for yourself?” you interject softly, the question hanging in the air between you like a lifeline.

Satoru’s eyes flicker to yours quickly, a flash of something unidentifiable crossing his features, but then he looks away again, his gaze returning to the window. This time, there’s a distant sadness in his eyes, a melancholy that seems to settle over him like a heavy shroud.

“You shouldn’t have to sacrifice who you are just to fit into a mold that someone else created. That’s not living, Satoru. That’s just… existing.”

The silence that follows is thick and palpable, stretching out between you as if the very air around you has become denser. You watch him closely, searching his face for any sign that your words have reached him, that they’ve touched something deep within.

But as the moments pass, a new question begins to form in the back of your mind, creeping in slowly with an undeniable urgency.

Is Satoru truly happy with this life he’s been forced to live?

Or has he become so accustomed to the role he’s been given, the expectations he’s been made to carry, that he’s forgotten what it means to live for himself?

The smile he often wears—the one that dazzles everyone around him—feels different now as you think about it. It seems less like a genuine expression of joy and more like a carefully crafted mask, designed to hide the cracks beneath.

But then there’s the smile you’ve seen when he’s with you and Haru, one that’s softer, more genuine, like a fleeting glimpse of the man he could be if he weren’t weighed down by the immense burden of his family’s legacy.

If Satoru were truly as calculating, as cold and self-serving as you once thought, then why does he seem so… trapped?

Why does it feel like he’s just as much a prisoner of his circumstances as you’ve felt in your own life?

The thought sends a pang of guilt through you, a realization that maybe, just maybe, you’ve been too quick to judge, too quick to believe the worst without truly understanding the complexities of the man sitting in front of you.

You know that feeling all too well—the suffocating pressure to be someone you’re not, to live up to the expectations others have placed on you.

It’s a burden you wouldn’t wish on anyone, least of all someone who, despite everything, has shown you kindness and care.

“You know…there was a time in my life when I was just… existing, too,” you murmur, the words fragile yet heavy as they slip from your lips.

His eyes flicker to yours briefly, a small spark of interest igniting in the blue depths, but he doesn’t turn to face you. His posture remains angled toward the window, his gaze distant and unfocused, as if the world outside holds the answers he’s searching for.

“When I was with Naoya,” you continue, the name tasting bitter on your tongue, “it felt like every day was a performance. I had to be what he wanted, do what he expected, or face the consequences. It was like I was living in a cage, unable to be myself because ‘myself’ wasn’t what he wanted.”

You steal another glance at him, wondering if he understands, if he sees the parallels between your experiences. The memories flood back with each word you utter, their weight pressing down on your chest.

“I was just going through the motions, trying to survive,” you admit, voice trembling slightly. “It was… exhausting. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t, always afraid of what might happen if I let the mask slip.”

Satoru remains silent, his profile bathed in the soft glow of the city lights as they pass by outside the window—but, in the dim light of the limousine, you catch sight of his expression—thoughtful, pensive, as if your words have found their way into a place in his mind where he rarely allows anything to dwell.

“It sounds… suffocating,” he finally says, his voice quiet, almost reverent. His gaze remains on the world outside the window, though you know his words are meant for you. “Living like that, always having to be someone else. I can imagine… how hard that must have been for you.”

“It was,” you admit, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your heart drops as you experience a sudden realization—a realization that…with Satoru you are falling into that same pattern.

Forcing yourself to put on this façade of being the perfect wife of a Gojo—trapped in a life that doesn’t feel like yours, performing a role that someone else wrote for you.

How is it that your entire life, you have been a victim of control—first by Naoya, the man you once loved, and now by Satoru, the man you are beginning to care for?

All you have ever wanted is what’s best for you daughter.

“But… I did what I needed to do, for Haru’s sake.”

Haru’s sake.

The words echo in your mind, a reminder of the choices you’ve made, the sacrifices you endured to protect her. And as you sit across from Satoru in this limousine, another question lingers at the edge of your thoughts—a question that fills you with uncertainty.

…what is the right choice to make for Haru’s sake?

Would staying with Satoru mean condemning yourself to another life of pretenses and expectations? A life where you continue to lose pieces of yourself, where you’re forced to hide behind yet another mask?

You steal a glance at Satoru, searching his face for answers you’re not sure you’ll find. His expression, though calm, doesn’t give much away, and it only deepens your turmoil.

Could he break free of these shackles with you?

Could he let go of the image he’s been forced to uphold, and be the person he truly is, without fear of judgment or rejection? Without being dictated by the weight of legacy and obligation?

The questions whirl in your mind.

Do you risk telling him everything, laying your soul bare in the hope that he will abandon this life for you? That he will choose you and Haru over the cold, unyielding expectations that have bound him for so long?

Or do you betray the man you’ve come to admire so deeply, the man who, despite his outward strength, is already so fragile, so vulnerable, hidden behind a mask of confidence?

As the silence stretches between you, you realize that the answer to one question in particular might be more important than anything else.

Because if Satoru can’t break free—if he can’t be himself, even with you—then what kind of future could you possibly have together? What kind of life could you offer Haru if you’re both trapped in a web of lies and half-truths, forced to play roles that don’t fit?

Your heart clenches painfully at the thought, and for the first time, you begin to doubt whether you can keep playing this role, whether you can keep pretending that everything is okay when deep down, you know it’s not.

But…you want to believe in him. So, so badly.

You want to believe that Satoru is different, that he’s capable of more than just playing the part assigned to him. You want to believe that, together, you can carve out a life that’s real, that’s yours, free from the weight of expectation and the shadow of legacy.

The desire to believe in him, to trust him, is almost overwhelming, and it takes every ounce of your strength not to reach out to him, to demand answers, to plead for him to show you that he’s more than just the image he projects to the world.

“So how did you break free?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper, almost as if he’s afraid of the answer.

Your breath hitches as his words hang in the air, and for a moment, the weight of his question feels like it might crush you.

You let out a trembling exhale, your emotions teetering on the edge of control, threatening to consume you whole.

“Just… a leap of faith,” you manage.

The words are simple, but they carry the weight of everything you’ve been through, everything you’ve survived. And in that moment, you hope—no, you pray—that it’s enough.

Enough to show him that there’s a way out, that there’s more to life than the roles you’ve been forced to play. Enough to convince him that he can take that same leap, that he can be more than just the legacy he’s been bound to.

Because if he can’t… then you’re not sure you’ll survive another fall.

ꨄ︎

The rest of the car ride passes in an unusual, heavy silence, but as the limousine nears the dazzling venue that will soon thrust you both into the public eye, you steel yourself for what’s to come.

The quiet, introspective moments you shared with Satoru within the backseat of this vehicle start to morph into something else—an unspoken agreement that whatever doubts, fears, or conflicts surfaced during this ride must now be hidden, locked away beneath yet another carefully constructed facade.

After all—in this world you are both living in, there can be no room for hesitation, no cracks in the image you both must maintain.

Satoru straightens in his seat, his expression sharpening into the confident mask you’ve seen him wear so many times before—like an actor preparing for a role.

It’s as if every trace of the man who moments ago, shared his deepest insecurities with you is now tucked away, replaced by the flawless persona the world expects to see.

And the way he does it so effortlessly—well, it only intensifies the ache in your heart.

But you have no choice to follow suit—the night is just beginning, and so, just as he did, you force your own worries into the back of your mind as you too prepare to play your part.

The limousine comes to a smooth halt at the gala’s entrance, and your eyes widen in awe.

It’s not as if the last charity gala you attended wasn’t elegant, certainly it was, but this—this is on an entirely different scale, a spectacle of grandeur that borders on the surreal.

The venue—a massive hotel nestled in the heart of the city—stands like a beacon of luxury. Its grand entrance a marvel, adorned with sparkling lights that bathe the surrounding area in a warm, golden glow.

The red carpet stretches out like a river of crimson, flowing beside the gleaming wheels of limousines that pull up one after another.

Their doors open to reveal the crème de la crème of society—elegantly dressed attendees stepping out, their outfits glittering under the lights and the air filled with the lively murmur of conversation and bright flashes of cameras.

You recognize several faces in the crowd—renowned actors whose performances have moved you to tears, musicians whose songs have been the soundtrack to your life, influencers who have set trends you've tried to keep up with.

These are the people who’ve always seemed larger than life—whose lives have played out on magazine covers and in the flicker of movie screens. And now, here they are, mere feet away from you, mingling in the same space, breathing the same air.

God, this is terrifying.

You’ve stepped into the domain where every glance, every whisper holds weight—every word you utter, every expression that crosses your face, will be scrutinized, dissected, and judged.

The world is watching you.

Bright lights from cameras flare up, nearly blinding you as your foot touches the red carpet.

The media presence is quite overwhelming, and instinctively, you reach for Satoru’s hand, seeking some sort of anchor in the chaos—without even considering how, just moments ago, you could barely bring yourself to meet his eyes.

As soon as your fingers brush against his, you hesitate, unsure if it’s the right move.

You steal a quick glance at Satoru, trying to gauge his mood, to see if he’s feeling the same dissonance. But before you can pull away, he responds immediately, his hand closing around yours with a gentle squeeze, intertwining his fingers with yours.

His expression remains carefully composed, and he offers you a small, comforting smile—one that feels reassuring in its familiarity.

But… isn’t that just how it is between you two?

Pretending like nothing happened, like there isn’t a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface.

His smile is a mask, you know that, but despite it all, it’s still a small comfort—a quiet reminder that, despite everything, you’re not alone in this.

At least, you’re in it together.

As Satoru leads you down the red carpet, carrying that familiar unshakeable confidence—the second skin he effortlessly slips into—you can’t help but feel a subtle tension in the air of attendees, an undercurrent you can’t quite shake.

Why is it that the media’s gaze feels sharper…more pointed, as though they’re all waiting with bated breath for the slightest crack in the façade, for a single moment of vulnerability to pounce on?

And you can’t help but feel like that crack might come from you.

You catch sight of the interview station ahead—a stage set for judgment with its sleek, modern setup. The charity event’s logo glows prominently against a backdrop, creating a space to remind everyone of the event’s significance, yet for you it feels more like a gauntlet.

Oh, God…

Suddenly everything feels unbearably heavy, magnified under the relentless scrutiny of so many watchful eyes: Naoya’s threat, loosing Haru, Satoru’s intentions and your conflicted feelings for him.

Guests are ushered forward one by one with rehearsed smiles and practiced answers ready for the waiting reporters, and microphones glisten under the harsh lights, capturing every word, every inflection, while cameras click and whir, immortalizing each moment.

Throughout the chatter, you overhear a famous actress gushing about the importance of supporting children in need, her voice carrying a practiced sincerity. Next to her, a well-known musician is cracking a joke, easing into the limelight as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

They make it look so easy.

But for you, every step closer to the cluster of reporters feels like a step closer to the edge of a cliff. The knot in your stomach tightens, coiling like a snake ready to strike. The distance between you and the flashing cameras, the probing questions, the scrutinizing eyes—it’s closing in too fast, and there’s no escape.

This is it. This night will test your resolve and your ability to maintain this façade, perhaps more than any before it, and the cost of failure is far too high.

Satoru glances at you, his expression a mask of calm and composure, but there’s something more in the way his thumb traces soothing circles against your skin.

A silent reassurance—one not for the cameras. A promise that, despite everything that happened in the limo, despite the unresolved tension still hanging between you, he’s here.

He’s with you.

You look up at him, and for a moment, the noise and chaos around you fade into the background. In his eyes, you see a softness that’s only privy to you—a vulnerability that he keeps hidden from the world.

It’s a look that makes your heart squeeze painfully in your chest, a look that almost makes you believe that maybe everything will be okay.

“You ready?” he murmurs.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm within, nodding slightly as you force a smile onto your face. The muscles in your cheeks feel tight, strained, but you hope—desperately—that it’s convincing enough.

“Yeah,” the word sticks in your throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

As the reporters spot you, you can practically feel their collective gaze zeroing in. The intensity of it is suffocating, and as you step into the designated interview area, the cameras flare to life, their bright lights nearly blinding you.

A female reporter steps forward, her smile bright and impeccably professional. She’s poised, microphone at the ready, her demeanor polished to perfection, as if she’s trained her whole life for this moment.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo, you both look absolutely stunning tonight,” she begins, voice smooth and tailored for the camera.

“Thank you,” Satoru responds effortlessly, slipping into his role with grace. “We’re both so honored to be able to attend.”

“You’re one of the most talked-about couples this evening,” the reporter continues, her eyes gleaming with interest as she watches you both closely. “Tell us, how does it feel to be here supporting such a noble cause?”

Your heart races, pounding so hard in your chest that you wonder if she can hear it over the noise of the crowd. But you can’t let it show—this is the moment where the facade must hold, where you must be the perfect wife, the perfect partner, the perfect everything.

And so, you force yourself to smile again—stepping into the role you’ve rehearsed in your mind a thousand times.

“We’re here to support a cause that’s very close to our hearts,” your voice is steady, though beneath the surface, you feel a faint tremor threatening to break through. “The work this charity does for children in need is truly incredible… and we’re honored to be a part of it.”

Satoru steps in smoothly, his voice rich with a warmth that seems to effortlessly draw everyone’s attention.

“Absolutely,” he adds. “As parents ourselves, we understand the importance of giving every child a chance at a brighter future. We’re here to do whatever we can to help make that happen.”

There’s a sincerity in his tone that makes it easy to forget the mask he wears, eliciting nods and approving smiles from the reporters.

For a moment, even you are almost convinced, but you know the script, know the words.

You catch a subtle glance he throws your way—a silent check-in, his eyes asking the unspoken question: Are you okay? And you manage a small, almost imperceptible nod in return, meeting his gaze briefly before turning back to the reporter.

“That’s wonderful to hear,” she responds. “And how have you both been? The public is so curious about Haru.”

Here it is—the anxiety settles as you transition from the safe ground of charity work to the more precarious territory of your personal life.

You can feel the eyes of the crowd on you, the cameras zooming in, capturing every flicker of emotion, every nuance of your body language—as though the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for you to falter.

Satoru’s hand releases yours only to wrap around your waist, pulling you close, and the warmth he provides brings you a fleeting moment of comfort.

“We’ve been great,” his smile unwavering. “Life has been busy, but we’re grateful for every moment we get to spend together with our little one. Haru keeps us on our toes, that’s for sure.”

There’s a practiced charm in Satoru’s voice, the kind that can turn any situation into a favorable one. You muster a smile, trying to match his composure, nodding in agreement.

“Yes, she does,” you add, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside. “It’s a whirlwind, but we wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The reporter’s smile widens, clearly pleased with the smooth delivery, but there’s a lingering tension in the air, a sense that she’s searching for more, for a crack in the veneer.

“There’s been a lot of speculation about Haru,” her voice soft yet probing. “Many are wondering Satoru… is she your biological daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun, the implication sharp and clear.

The crowd seems to lean in, the cameras zooming closer, waiting for your reaction, for any sign of hesitation or discomfort.

But Satoru anticipated this moment—it was one of the questions he had prepared for, a part of the script meticulously crafted to navigate the murky waters of public scrutiny.

The media has been relentless, swirling with unanswered questions about Haru, speculating about who she is and what she’s like.

It’s no secret that you’ve both been fiercely protective of her, keeping her out of the spotlight, away from the prying eyes that would dissect her every move.

For that, you’ve always been deeply grateful to Satoru.

And so, he handles the question with the same effortless grace that he’s maintained throughout the evening.

He chuckles softly—a sound that feels almost disarming warm in its sincerity, as if the question is nothing more than a casual curiosity, easily addressed and dismissed.

“Haru is my daughter in every way that matters,” his tone firm yet kind. “She’s our pride and joy, and we love her more than anything in this world.”

His answer is flawless, designed to reinforce the image of a perfect family. Yet, as the conviction in his words leave his lips, you feel a surge of bittersweetness.

Haru deserves what he is saying…she deserves that reality.

But alas, it’s nothing more than a rehearsed line delivered in front of an audience that’s eager to believe in the fairy tale.

The reporter shifts slightly, her eyes gleaming with curiosity as she continues.

“I see. It’s clear that family is important to both of you. What’s the secret to balancing your high-profile lives with raising a young child?”

You force yourself to smile, the answer ready on your lips.

“We just focus on what’s important,” you begin, the words flowing smoothly despite the tightness in your chest. “We make sure to carve out time for each other and for Haru. It’s all about prioritizing what really matters.”

“It’s not always easy,” Satoru nods in agreement, “but we cherish our time away from the spotlight, and we’re very protective of Haru’s privacy. At the end of the day, we’re just like any other parent—we want what’s best for Haru, and we do our best to make that happen.”

Another perfectly crafted answer, one that’s sure to satisfy the reporter and the audience watching from behind their screens. You can almost see the checkmark being made in her mind—a box ticked off; a line drawn under the discussion of family life.

The reporter, sensing she’s reached the natural conclusion of the topic, shifts her stance slightly.

“Thank you for sharing. It’s clear that Haru is very lucky to have you both.”

Her gaze sharpens, the glint of professional interest cutting through the pleasantries.

“And what about your own relationship? How do you manage to keep the spark alive amidst all the chaos?”

Here it comes. The question you were dreading, the one you hoped she’d skip over.

It’s one thing to talk about Haru, to present a united front when it comes to your daughter...

But your relationship?

That’s a minefield, one littered with unspoken truths and half-hearted lies. And it sucks. It really sucks that Satoru has to deal with this kind of intrusion daily—a life where privacy is a luxury you can barely afford.

“Communication is key,” you begin, the words flowing out of you like second nature. Lies. “We make sure to talk about everything—our hopes, our fears, our plans.” Lies. “And we make an effort to have regular date nights, just to reconnect and remind ourselves of why we fell in love in the first place.” Lies.

As the words leave your lips, you can almost hear the hollow echo of them in your mind, a mantra you’ve repeated so many times it’s lost all meaning. You know it, and Satoru knows it, too.

But he plays his part flawlessly—lifting your hand to his lips, brushing a tender kiss on the back of it. It’s a small gesture, one that seems innocent enough, but you feel the weight of it—the expectation, the need to present a united front, to sell the illusion.

As the warmth of his lips lingers on your skin, your heart clenches with yearning.

“That’s right,” Satoru adds, his voice carrying that practiced sincerity that makes everything he says sound like the absolute truth. “We support each other, and I’m so lucky that y/n is my biggest cheerleader. We’re a team, and that makes all the difference.”

The reporter nods thoughtfully, her smile curling up in a way that suggests she’s found the narrative she’s been looking for.

“You know,” she begins, her tone shifting into something more conspiratorial, as if she’s about to reveal a tantalizing secret, “speaking of… you two have quickly become the talk of the town—everyone’s eager to know more about your story. Satoru, you were once considered the world’s most eligible bachelor, but now… here you are. How did this all begin?”

There it is—the question that forces you both to delve into the past, to recount a story that’s been polished and perfected, but one that still feels strangely disconnected from the reality you’re living.

You shift slightly in Satoru’s hold, the rehearsed answer poised on your tongue, designed to fit the narrative you both agreed upon—but before you can even open your mouth to speak, Satoru takes the lead.

“Well," he starts, calm and measured, "Y/n was looking for a new job, and I needed someone with her expertise. It was professional at first, but we just… clicked. Like it was meant to be.”

The familiar words from the script slip effortlessly from his lips, just like you practiced, and the interviewer’s eyes light up, clearly pleased with the response—at least on the surface. But there’s a glint in her eyes, a spark of curiosity that suggests she’s not quite done yet.

The microphone inches closer, capturing every word, every inflection, as if she’s trying to draw out something deeper, something more than the polished story you’re offering.

“That’s wonderful,” her voice takes a more intimate tone as she leans in. “But Satoru, what was it about y/n that made you realize she was the one? I mean, surely there was something that stood out, something that made you think, ‘This is the woman I want to spend my life with.’”

“I’ve always admired how she puts Haru first," he begins reciting the script, voice steady and composed. "Her dedication to being a mother, to making sure Haru has everything she needs, it’s something I truly respect…”

But then, there’s a pause—a brief, almost imperceptible silence that stretches time, making your heart skip a beat.

Did he just hesitate?

His gaze flickers to yours, and for a moment, the practiced facade slips. There’s a softness in his eyes that makes your breath catch—but before you can process it, he continues.

“Actually, you know… when I first met y/n, there was something about her that I couldn’t ignore. She was different from anyone I’ve ever met—strong, intelligent, and fiercely independent."

Wait… did he just change the script?

An unexpected flutter stirs in your stomach, and your pulse quickens as the weight of his words sinks in. This wasn’t part of the agreed-upon answer… so why is he veering off course?

Your eyes narrow slightly as you search his face, trying to decode the sudden change.

"It’s strange,” he continues, his voice softer now, more introspective, “because at first, I thought it was just her strength that drew me in."

A small, almost nostalgic smile tugs at the corners of his lips, and there’s a warmth in his expression that makes something inside you twist.

"But as I got to know her, I realized it was more than that. Y/n has this incredible ability to make everyone around her feel seen and valued… she’s honest, sometimes brutally so, but she’s also kind in a way that’s rare."

The interviewer’s expression changes, the curiosity in her eyes deepening as she senses a sincerity in his words.

Is he… speaking from the heart?

It feels like a quiet confession, one meant only for you, despite the audience that surrounds you both.

Your breath catches in your throat, and you find yourself holding it, afraid to let go of this moment, afraid to shatter the delicate truth he seems to be laying bare. His words wrap around you like a cocoon, drawing you in, making you feel both vulnerable and cherished in a way you haven’t felt in a long time.

This isn’t the Satoru you’ve come to expect—the one who carefully controls every word, every expression, ensuring that nothing slips through the cracks. It’s as if he’s just lifted a curtain, showing you a glimpse of something real, something you didn’t think you’d ever see.

But why now? Why here, in front of all these people?

Is…he willing to take that leap of faith?

In that instant, the hope blooming inside you feels almost tangible, like a fragile flower unfurling its petals for the first time. It’s delicate, yes, but unmistakable, and it fills you with a warmth that you’ve longed for—something you thought you’d never find again. It’s enough to make you believe that maybe, just maybe, everything can change.

For so long, you’ve hidden behind masks, playing roles that never truly belonged to you. But now, if Satoru is willing to step beyond the boundaries you both created…

The world around you—the blinding lights, the flashing cameras, the buzz of the crowd—seems to fade into the background, blurring into insignificance.

All that remains is the two of you, as if you’ve stepped into a world of your own making, where nothing else matters.

Satoru shifts slightly, and when his eyes find yours, there’s a depth and intensity in them that you’ve never seen before.

It’s as if he’s seeing you for the first time, truly seeing you—not the roles you’ve played, not the masks you’ve worn, but you, the person beneath it all. In that moment, it feels like you’re the only person who matters.

“For the first time in my life, I feel like I have someone I can truly trust. Someone who doesn’t just see me as ‘Gojo Satoru,’ but as a regular person, with all my flaws and imperfections.”

Trust.

A knot forms in your chest, constricting each beat of your heart as Satoru’s confession echoes in your mind.

The burden of that single word feels unbearable as the guilt you’ve been suppressing resurfaces, suddenly making it hard to focus on anything else.

Here Satoru is, baring his soul to you in a way you never expected, revealing the depth of his feelings, his vulnerabilities, and all the while, you’ve been holding onto a secret—a lie that could shatter everything.

No… it’s not just a lie—it’s a betrayal, and the full weight of it settles on your shoulders, heavy and suffocating.

Fuck, you’re losing your composure.

You’re acutely aware of the cameras, their lenses trained on you, capturing every fleeting emotion that flickers across your face.

The pressure is immeasurable and you swallow hard, desperately trying to hold his gaze, to anchor yourself in the sincerity you see there, but your smile feels brittle, like it might crack at any moment.

Satoru leans in closer and instinctively, you want to pull away—terrified that the closer he gets, the more he’ll see, the more he’ll understand the depths of your turmoil. But you’re trapped, rooted in place, every movement scrutinized, recorded, and you know you can’t falter.

His breath is warm against your skin as he places a gentle kiss on your temple, a touch so gentle that it nearly undoes you. This wasn’t part of the script, unlike the calculated kiss on your hand earlier, and the tenderness behind it, is almost too much to bear.

When he pulls back, his eyes meet yours, and his words—intended for the camera—feel like they’re meant for you alone.

“I guess you could say that y/n has this way of making me feel… grounded. Like I can be myself, and that’s enough.”

His words cut through you like a knife. What are you doing? You can’t keep lying to him, not after this.

As the crowd around you buzzes with life and the cameras continue to flash, capturing this moment of intimacy, all you can think about is the price you might pay for this secret you’ve kept.

Once he realizes you’ve been hiding this from him, will he ever be able to look at you the same way again? Will he still see you as someone he can trust?

This new fear surges forward, and you feel your composure slipping, the mask you wear cracking.

Fuck. Is it obvious?

Can they all see the turmoil roiling inside you, the fear that everything is about to come crashing down?

Is your panic written across your face, as clear as day for the world to see?

“That’s such a beautiful sentiment,” the reporter’s approving voice cuts through the haze, snapping you back to the present with a jolt.

But before you can fully regain your bearings, her gaze shifts, locking onto you with an intensity that makes your heart pound against your ribcage.

Her eyes seem to bore into you, searching for something beneath the surface, and suddenly, you’re terrified that she might find it.

“And how does it feel to hear him say that, y/n? To know that you have such a profound effect on someone like Satoru?”

The question hangs in the air, and for a moment, you’re frozen, the weight of her words pressing down on you like a physical force.

What are you even supposed to say?

You practiced for this, rehearsed the lines until they were second nature, but nothing could have prepared you for the raw honesty in Satoru’s words.

How does it feel?

God, the truth is, you don’t know how to feel—happy, surprised, comforted, terrified…there are too many emotions surging through you at this moment, too many to untangle and make sense of.

But…you have to say something, the world is watching.

Blood rushes in your ears, drowning out the noise of the crowd, and you force a smile, hoping it doesn’t look as strained as it feels, searching for the right words, the ones that will satisfy the reporter.

“It’s… I’m so lucky,” you manage to say, stammering slightly. “Knowing that I have that kind of impact on him… it’s an honor. I just hope I can continue to be that person for him.”

Is it enough?

The words feel hollow, a weak echo of the truth, but they’re all you can manage. You just hope they’ll hold the world at bay, at least for now.

The reporter nods, her professional smile unwavering, but you can’t shake the feeling she’s watching you closely, searching for any cracks in your veneer.

Her eyes linger on you for a moment longer, as if weighing the sincerity of your words, but then she steps back with a practiced ease, seemingly satisfied.

“Thank you so much for sharing your thoughts with us, Mr. and Mrs. Gojo. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

As she moves away, you experience a fleeting sense of relief once the crowd’s attention shifts, the cameras swiveling to capture the next moment.

Satoru’s hand finds yours, guiding you away from the spotlight as the next couple in line takes your place under the glaring lights.

The silence between you is thick, and around you, the crowd blurs into a haze of indistinct faces and flashing lights.

You try to decipher Satoru’s mood, searching his face for any clue, but his expression remains an unreadable mask as you both maneuver through the throng of people, each step carrying you further from the intensity of the interview and deeper into the swirling uncertainty of the night.

Then, as you cross the threshold into the grand ballroom, the change in atmosphere is immediate with the soaring ceilings, glittering chandeliers, and the soft hum of polite conversations—yet, despite the grandeur surrounding you, your focus is entirely on the man beside you—the one who just moments ago bared a piece of his soul to you in front of everyone.

Almost instantly, Satoru is swarmed by people—important figures and familiar faces, all eager to exchange pleasantries with the man of the hour.

You watch as he slips effortlessly into casual conversation, his charm and charisma on full display—a scene you’ve witnessed countless times before.

But that’s because, to the outside world, nothing has changed—he’s the same confident, untouchable figure he’s always been. It’s as if the heartfelt words he spoke moments ago, laying his heart bare before you, were never uttered. As if they were just another part of the performance.

But you know better.

You saw the look in his eyes, felt the sincerity in his voice. And now, as he engages in yet another conversation, flashing that same easy smile, you can’t help but wonder…

What is he really thinking?

His gaze lingers on you as he effortlessly navigates each conversation, and there’s something in his eyes—an almost imperceptible signal, like he’s reaching out to you, a silent communication that only the two of you can understand.

You’ve made up your mind.

You want more with Satoru—something real, something unburdened by the lies and pretenses that have cast shadows over your relationship.

You can no longer allow this secret to fester, growing like a dark cloud that threatens to eclipse whatever light might still exist between you.

To truly move forward, you have to release the fear that’s been holding you back—you have to come clean, to trust him, just as he has placed his trust in you.

But you know the timing isn’t right—not here, not now, surrounded by the glittering facade of this world you’ve both learned to navigate so well.

When you finally lay bare the truth you’ve been hiding, hopefully Satoru will understand.

All you can do is wait, hope, and wonder what the night will bring.

hello lovelies, thank you so much for reading and supporting my fic 😭 i cannot tell you how much it brightens my day to read your comments! to be completely honest, i really wasn't expecting much with this fic, it has really transformed into something that i had no intention of doing, but the thing is, i'm really enjoying writing it, so SO much, and i'm glad ya'll are enjoying reading it 🥲🫶🏻 this is only 2/3rds of the original chapter 4 i wrote...lol. i still have to edit the last 1/3 (apparently i cannot stop yapping) so it just seemed right to split it up and let this section breathe a little bit too, it felt like a natural stopping point before we delve into y/n getting that closure with satoru. y/n finally got the push she needed to make up her mind 🥲 i know it took her a bit, but being in an emotionally abusive relationship has left her with a lot of trust issues, and seeing satoru open up to her made her realize that despite their differences, they are going through similar struggles. poor baby satoru 😭 he needs a hug. like my heart literally breaks for him. this chapter felt really vulnerable to write...maybe that's why i was so hesitant on posting it. like it just hurts my soul lol. anyways, i wanna let you know that with this month coming to an end, my schedule is going to be getting pretty busy as i will be starting classes. it's my first time returning to school after 10 years...and i'll be doing it while still being a mom and working. i'm literally gonna be feeling like y/n, juggling a lot (the mom brain is a REAL THING YA'LL) so if my updates take longer that is why. much love to you all, and again thanks so much 🤗 -aly 💕 → onto the next chapter ꨄ

taglist :

@geniejunn @fortunatelyfurrygiver @rosso-seta @acowboykisser @mikyapixie

@shokosbunny @fire-child-kira @aluvrina @laviefantasie @kurookinnie

@poopypipi @painted-hills @stillserene @mira-lol @k-kkiana

@sebastianlover @blueberrysungie @kalulakunundrum @doireallyhavetonamthis @lingophilospher

@ichikanu @artist1936 @christianacj27 @watermelon-online @jkbangtan7

@angelina7890 @aruraa @han11dh @jonesmelodys

@a-trashbag @jotarohat @khaleesihavilliard @tsukistopglazer

@stevenknightmarc @maskedpacific @that-redheadd @lovelyartemisa @eolivy

@alwaysfreakingout @valleydoli @voids-universe @sukunadckrider @aishies-stuff

@saccharine-nectarine @ilianasau @pinksaiyans @evalynanne @tbzzluvr

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astrosky33 · 1 year ago

Text

𝐒𝐄𝐗𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐘 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏𝟎 💋

Aquarius Venus’ got that wet wet. Aquarius’ symbol is the water bearer and Venus rules over the p*ssy

1st house/Aries Mars will f*ck you really passionately

Having an Aries Mercury can indicate having sexual humor or not being afraid/embarrassed to talk about sex

Jupiter in the 8th house can indicate having a big dick - ex: drake (he got leaked you can see for yourself on X). For a girl it may indicate a lot of inner labia/an outie vagina or a big clit

Scarlett Johansson said she enjoys having car sex which makes sense cuz she has Mars in the 3rd house. Mars represents lust and the 3rd house rules over cars

Jack Harlow said he only masturbates to girls he knows and doesn’t like p*rn which is because of his Moon opposite Mars aspect. This is very common among people with Moon-Mars aspects since the Moon rules over emotional connections and Mars rules over lust. They prefer having connection and comfort with someone over randos when they’re tryna get their sh*t on

Angelina Jolie admitted she has a blood k*nk and that she even used knives the first time she had sex. This makes sense because Mars represents blood/violence and her Mars is in primary rulership (Aries Mars) also at 10° which in numerology would equate to 1 (1+0=1) and is the number of violence/aggression

Asteroid Charmaine trine/sextile Mars can indicate being really good at flirting because of the natural charm you have - code: 10642 -> more about this asteroid

Kim Kardashian has Asteroid Tape in the 10th house and her leaked sex tape back in 2007 was a big reason their show got so much viewership. It’s also squaring Mars the planet of lust - code: 12158

𝗠𝗢𝗥𝗘 𝗦𝗘𝗫𝗧𝗥𝗢𝗟𝗢𝗚𝗬

𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧

𝗦𝗨𝗕 𝗧𝗢 𝗠𝗬 𝗣𝗔𝗧𝗥𝗘𝗢𝗡

#astro community #astrology #zodiac #astro placements #astrology tumblr #astro chart #birth chart #sextrology #sex astrology #asteroid astrology #mars #mars astrology

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gay-dorito-dust · 7 months ago

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Could I request Welt, Dan Heng, Sunday, Gepard, and Argenti finding their s/o's poetry collection of them?

Argenti:

Would sit himself down somewhere nearby and read every last poem, each one leaving him with a full heart, butterflies in his stomach and another addition to the list of reasons why he adored your creative soul.

He’s extremely honoured that you decided to chose him as your muse for your poems, for he could feel the love and respect you have for him through your writing, before holding the collections of poetry made in his name against his chest as he beamed with happiness.

He’d even openly praise you for your works if he were to see you later on in the day, which would make you understandably upset and embarrassed that he went through your things, but with the way that he passionately talked about your writing and the look upon his face that clearly shown his appreciation and admiration for poetry.

At the end you’re the one who ends up being flustered whilst Argenti was still sending appraisal after appraisal your way, all the while re-reading your works and proudly reciting his favourite passages without shame.

Sunday:

He thought it was sweet that you write poetry about him.

He didn’t feel as though he was invading your privacy at all, seeing as how he’d like to claim that whatever of yours was now also his by osmosis…totally not because he’s fishing for stuff to hold over you and maintain control should you act out…

Anyway- he’s taking his sweet time reading each and every poem you’ve written with him in mind and smiling at the hold he’s taken within your heart, finding it fascinating what adoration could make one do just to express their whole array of emotions.

It was almost as though they were on some timer that others couldn’t see just to express all their innermost feelings towards the special person in their life. Then again love tended to make people feel as though they were invincible, so the unthinkable and accomplish things that they never thought that they were capable of achieving in the first place.

So it didn’t matter whether or not you were able to wax poetry before him, but it was obvious to Sunday that the moment he had taken hold of your life and your every thought, poetry has became your primary outlet for feelings that you weren’t nearly brave enough to say aloud to him. Rest assured however for that day will come for you to open up about those unspoken feelings of yours…sooner or later.

Gepard:

He feels as though he was invading your privacy by reading your poetry collection and wanted to leave before he’d inevitably get caught, but just as he was about to take his leave, he stopped when the title of the first poem caught his eye;

Everlasting winter

He found himself reading through the first few opening sentences and immeditly made connections between himself and the person within your poem. To say it didn’t take long for Gepard to realises that the similarities between him and the person in your poem were purely intentional, and that he was the one the poem was actual about.

His face was blossoming red upon the realisation and averted his eyes elsewhere as he takes in the fact that you found him a perfect enough muse for your poetry. Him, the man who couldn’t hold a tune to save his life, grows flowers that unfortunately don’t last long, and wasn’t possessed with the basic skills of drawing.

And yet you found something about him that was worth writing poem after poem about. He didn’t know why that was but he was appreciative that you found something in him that urged you into written it down on paper, where your affection and admiration for him would be forever immortalised…He also may or may not have taken a poem to read to himself later on at night.

Dan heng:

He had noticed that you left a piece of paper laying about one day and was about to call out to you and give it back, while scolding you for leaving your messes everywhere for him to pick up after, only to see that it was in fact a poem about him.

Red faced, Dan Heng still planned on taking the poem back to you and journeyed to your room where he found that the door was left ajar, but could immeditly tell that your room was empty. Sighing, Dan Heng opened the door and quickly made his way towards your desk, where’d he found more poems in regards to him.

Much like Gepard, Dan Heng felt as though he was reading something he shouldn’t but he found himself unable to look away as he was secretly tempted to know how you viewed him. What he found was nothing short of you portraying him in a way that he’s never quite thought of himself before. If he wasn’t already so easily made flustered by your words alone, your writing was enough to put the poor man into a catatonic state.

Dan Heng wasn’t use to being smothered in a love like yours. Where you felt as though speaking your love for him wasn’t nearly enough, so you had to expand and start writing it instead in the form of poetry. He doesn’t feel as though he’s deserving of it but isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth and is more then willing to try to accept the fact that you care deeply for him; especially when he can not find it within him to find anything about him remotely worth being with.

Welt:

He’s made copious amounts of drawings of you that he’s kept hidden in his room. So upon coming across your poetry collection about him, it only made him feel more comfortable knowing that he wasn’t the only one to express his innermost feelings through an art form.

Besides it wasn’t like he was actively searching your room for your poetry collection, he really wasn’t as he just came across them out of pure coincidence. He was currently about four poetries deep and was finding it extremely endearing how you viewed him in most of your writing: which was mainly as an well educated, wise man with a young man’s heart and restlessness sense for adventure, who had a talent for drawing.

Welt would chuckle under his breath at all the moments you’ve shared together, before you’d then went on to write about how beautiful he was in every possible way. From his sweet, insightful eyes that seemingly held all the knowledge you could ever ask for, to his calming, velvety voice that could lull you into a deep sleep within seconds.

You posed him as this figure of comfort, a figure of warmth and Welt soon finding himself not so subtly sneaking some of your poetry into his pocket to read for later. Your poetry only gives Welt the confidence he been looking for, as he would then starts to leave his drawings of you in places where you’d be able to see them; all in hopes that you would know that you had just as much of a huge place in his heart as he did in yours.

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clonerightsagenda · 7 months ago

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May I ask what the 'no sex in space' rant is? Zero G sounds like fun :<

The space sex rant is my passion. Possibly because I have no emotional investment in the act so when it gets broken down into weird biology and mechanics by the cruel forces of physics, I find it kind of fascinating.

Sticking this below the cut because it will get long. My primary source is Packing for Mars by Mary Roach, but A City on Mars gets into the same issues. Yes, at least two books have entire chapters devoted to the space sex problem.

Note that this is all assuming microgravity. Many of the problems go away if you have artificial gravity, which we haven't cracked yet beyond building centrifuges. Your Star Trek fanfics are safe. So without further ado, and in no particular order, reasons why you probably shouldn't have sex in zero gravity and it probably wouldn't be that fun if you did:

The infamous 'no boners in space'. Since we're evolved to live in gravity, our bodies compensate for it by putting more effort into getting fluids above our heart. In microgravity, that's unnecessary, so you end up with fluid shift - more fluids, including blood, in the upper body. Your total blood volume also goes down. This would make an erection more difficult, and in fact most astronauts interviewed for whom this would be relevant claimed they didn't get any. The outlier here is Mike Mullane, but having read his memoir, he is the kind of guy who would lie about that. Now, as I touched on while despairingly liveblogging Barrayar, that does not prevent you from having a good time. However less blood flow would presumably mean less sensation in general for anyone below the belt. Or if you stimulated too much blood flow, with the lower total blood volume, perhaps that 'got dizzy because I got horny' joke will actually come true.

In microgravity, body heat and CO2 don't disperse the same way they do in regular atmosphere. Astronauts have to make sure they sleep in well-ventilated areas and are also trained on symptoms of CO2 poisoning. If multiple people are in an area exerting themselves, that buildup will happen faster and would need to be taken into account. It would be super embarrassing to suffocate crammed into a closet for some hanky panky.

The laws of motion are not your friend here. I've seen videos of astronauts pushing themselves across the room with a strand of hair. If you're trying to hold onto someone, you'd either want a relatively small space (maybe not a great idea, see point 2) or hold on really well. One astronaut Mary Roach interviewed suggested duct tape. Perhaps fuzzy handcuffs are critical here. Still you're going to need to put a lot of thought into every move you make.

Space is gross. :( Right now astronauts just wipe themselves down with clothes and dry shampoo. "Skin flakes" is a serious problem. Also we're still not entirely sure why, but astronauts develop awful body odor. According to Mary Roach again, while armpits are famous as a BO source, apparently the crotch is as well, it's just that those regions are typically further from our nose. So idk if anyone's going to want to get that close and personal with anyone else while they're up there. Then again I'm sure people have hooked up in grosser situations.

I'm probably forgetting some tidbits since I just woke up, but in summary, zero gravity sex would need to be carefully choreographed, require some equipment (fan, fasteners), and probably wouldn't even be as enjoyable as its Earthnorm counterpart. It's a good thing that's not what anyone's up there for.

#terrible space facts #does this count as nsfw? idk #talking about sex in a mostly clinical fashion

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ddarker-dreams · 9 months ago

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mini love report — gojo satoru

relationship health diagnosis — 70%*

symptom one — permanent honeymoon phase

he's obsessed with you an (ab)normal amount and makes it everyone else's problem. satoru loves seeing how many compliments he can get in before you're swatting him away from embarrassment. he'll capture your wrist, smother your pulse in kisses, then continue his praise. it's not always suave either. he alternates between having decent game and coming off as cringe. you have no idea how he says half the things he does.

satoru gushes about you to everyone. poor ijichi, mortified higher-ups, the elderly lady sitting next to him on the train; no one is safe. his chest swells with pride every time he remembers that he managed to pull you. it doesn't matter if you're teenagers sharing your awkward first kiss or if you've been married for decades, he'll be singing your praises until the end of time.

symptom two — weirdly possessive

satoru isn't possessive in the traditional sense. when others encroach on you, what troubles him runs deeper than simple jealousy. his smile becomes strained and he physically inserts himself between you and the offending party. you're then whisked away, regardless of how rude the abrupt departure comes off. this isn't limited to instances where you're being flirted with outright.

it's actually amplified when the other person holds some unique position in your life that's exclusive to them. satoru prides himself on the fact no one knows you better than he does. so it's disconcerting when another person has access to information and memories entirely detached from him. he's overwhelmed with the urge to prove you belong to each other — no one can come close to the bond you share. this acrimony lingers even after the interaction ends.

gojo satoru is a greedy man. he might not be the type to insist you cover up if your outfit is revealing, but he does experience this antipathy toward people who fulfill a niche he can't.

symptom three — obnoxious

you deserve a reward for putting up with him honestly. he wasn't wrong when he described himself as having a terrible personality. while it's rarely malicious, he isn't the most considerate person when it comes to others. he'll speak what's on his mind without a second thought. zero filter. if you're around, he's a stunning 10% nicer so you'll chew him out less. the number could be higher but he finds that disciplinary side of you hot. this is a direct admission from him.

he likes your attention and will pursue it relentlessly. as he grows up, he slightly improves this habit. or, to be more specific, he hides it better. he feels he's way more interesting than whatever book or video game you're playing. shooing him off so you can get stuff done is a commonplace occurrence. on the upside, when trudging through chores, he helps with the passion of a thousand suns if it means having you all to himself sooner.

primary area of concern

satoru's seemingly infinite (heh) supply of pep often doubles as a shield to deflect uncomfortable emotions. he isn't one to linger on negative events, the pace in which he seemingly moves on is concerning. the innerworkings of his mind are shrouded in mystery for such an open individual. getting him to open up about his fears or past hurts is almost impossible. he won't dodge your inquiries outright, that'd prove too suspicious. he'll throw a few crumbs your way and hope that's enough to satiate your worry.

the word vulnerability isn't in his vocabulary. this isn't owed to a lack of trust on his part — if anything, the care he holds for you makes it tempting at times. however, taking that first step toward opening up is daunting. you'll have to be patient with him. if it doesn't pertain to your relationship, it's unlikely he'll have an extensive heart-to-heart about the specters haunting his mind. rather, those aforementioned crumbs become more substantial. a late-night conversation will unexpectedly veer toward a sensitive subject.

it'll be fleeting. you don't have to shower him with platitudes, simply grab his hand and squeeze. it's an unspoken message that he isn't as alone as he sometimes feels.

prognosis

gojo satoru can be too blunt, he struggles with emotional intimacy, and he's shameless in getting what he wants from you. he's a mess but he's your mess. you don't revere him like a god among men, you make him feel human. you're his best friend, his soulmate (he keeps the latter description to himself, it's one of the few sentiments that embarrasses him). he'd do absolutely anything for your sake. when you enter the room, it's like everyone else ceases to exist. he brightens up and chases after any laugh, smile, or flustered expression he can get.

he believes meeting you altered the balance of the world more than his own birth.

*the universe has tried (and failed) to wrench you apart (0-20) your friends are praying that you'll break up (21-40) 'well it could/has be worse' bargaining mindset (41-60) a lil messiness as a treat (61-80) pure and wholesome (81-10)

#i wrote this with golden girl in mind but it isn't exclusive to the story .#gojo satoru x reader #jjk x reader #gojo brainrot #mini love reports #valentines 2024 event

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black00olive · 3 months ago

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With you, always (unfortunately)

A/N: Reader can be interpreted as any gender

Pairing: Lucifer x reader

Wordcount: ~1,300 (very lightly proof-read)

Summary: It was Lucifer’s turn to cook dinner but student council work had forced the two of you to stay back late. So, instead you propose the idea of buying some takeout on your way home for everyone. As always with your wonderful ideas, Lucifer agrees and the two of you head to Hell's Kitchen. However, as he opens his wallet to pay for our giant order (the curse that comes with living with the Avatar of Gluttony) something catches your attention— rather a photo tucked safely into a clear slot of his wallet. A photo of you. There's no way you're not going to take this opportunity to tease the hell out of him. Or, Lucifer keeps a photo of you in his wallet and quickly grows very embarrassed when you point it out. In public, as well.

The unfortunate side effect of becoming part of the student council is days like these. Granted, you had willingly agreed to stay after with Lucifer at RAD to finish up some of the work for the upcoming event (which event was it now again? Diavolo holds so many you can barely keep track of them anymore) but that wouldn’t stop you from complaining a little. In your mind of course. You gather the papers Lucifer had finished going over and put them in their respective folders. Silence fills the room as the two of you harmoniously work to at least make a little dent in the giant pile of paperwork. Why do these events always result in so much paperwork?

As if Lucifer could sense all the complaining you were doing in your mind he speaks up: “Let us wrap it up here.” Shock is the primary emotion that takes over once you process his words— glee being the secondary emotion. Lucifer, workaholic, Morningstar is willingly not working on the paperwork until you force him to stop? You glance at the pile of paperwork that had just barely changed in size since you had started then turn your gaze back at him.

“I can tell you’re growing tired with all of the paperwork, soon enough you would start whining about it out loud,” he sighs as you send him a glare, a little offended at how accurate he was. “And furthermore, I am incharge of dinner tonight. We’ve already stayed out far too long for me to make a proper dinner, we stay out any later and we might end up with Beel destroying the house again.” You accept that, you had wanted to head home as soon as possible anyway. Lucifer straightens out his uniform as you subconsciously end up doing the same, not missing the small smirk that forms at his lips once he notices.

“Hey, let’s just buy some takeout on our way home. I’ll be quicker and the sooner we get Beel food the better, y’know?” You suggest, Beel isn’t the only reason you suggested it though. You can tell Lucifer is quite tired himself and cooking for what could basically count as 16 people is something that takes a lot of energy. However, if you were to point that out he would glare at you, claim that he’s the furthest thing from tired, and stubbornly cook a dinner for 32 people instead.

“Alright,” he nods, “you’re right that the sooner we get food to Beel the better. So, I suppose we can have takeout today. Let us pass by Hell’s Kitchen then.”

We enter Hell’s Kitchen as servers rush past. No surprise, they are a very popular restaurant. You follow as Lucifer heads up to the register. Effortlessly he starts listing his and each of his brothers’ favourite orders, Beel’s order taking about twice as long as all of the brothers’ orders combined. The worker’s face grows paler and paler as Lucifer continues without pause. Once he finally finishes he turns towards you and you say your order. The poor worker hesitantly repeats our order back to us and Lucifer nods as he pulls out his wallet. Mammon must have been rubbing off on you too much as your attention instantly strays to the wallet as you look at everything he keeps in there. Several different credit cards— Goldie included—, some receipts, and a couple of membership cards for different services’. That’s all to be expected in the wallet of someone like Lucifer, but what really catches your attention this time is a photo. Tucked safely into one of the flaps of the wallet that has a clear side.

What catches your attention even more is the fact that the photo is of you. Just you. It would have made sense if it was a family photo, with you and his brothers, but nope. You feel a smirk pull at the corner of your lips at the same time you feel your heart melt a little at the prospect that Lucifer had wanted to keep you with him at all times. Your urge to tease him about it was just as strong as your urge to coo at him. Satisfyingly, both would be equally as embarrassing to Lucifer.

Lucifer puts his wallet away after he finishes paying and the two of you go to stand further away as you wait for the unfortunate workers to finish your order. You have enough self-restraint to not point it out right in front of the worker and wait until you are at least a little more obscure from all of the other guests when you point it out. “It’s really cute of you to keep a picture of me in your wallet, Luci.” Of course, being a little more obscure didn’t mean that demons weren’t keenly paying attention to the two of you (when you’re out attention tends to always be on you anyway), both the curse and blessing of being a part of the Student Council. A blessing in this case as Lucifer knows just as well as you that the demons are desperate for anything they could gossip about, and in your opinion “Lord Lucifer keeps a picture of the newest Student Council Officer, the former human exchange student, in his wallet at all times?!” is a great header for the tabloids.

Lucifer glares at you, probably both for pointing out the picture and for using that nickname out in public, as he scoffs. “I do not keep a photo of you in my wallet, we must get your eyes checked soon. Humans shouldn’t be seeing things that are not there.” You roll your eyes at his response, you know very well what you saw and he wasn’t going to make you seem insane. As quickly as possible with your human body you grab onto his uniform and reach for his pocket where he kept his wallet. Lucifer is faster though, not super shocking news, and grabs onto your wrist. It doesn’t hurt, you note as you try to free yourself, but you really aren’t given any wiggle room here.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He sighs as you try to get your wrist out of his hold again, to no avail.

“I was going to grab your wallet,” you say as nonchalantly as if you were talking to him about the weather, “I mean, if I was really seeing things you should be okay with me checking your wallet, right?” A deep scowl starts to form on his face as you continue to press him with a face full of mock shock. “Unless…” You gasp. “You were lying to me, Luci? Don’t tell me you were trying to gaslight me! Really, what am I supposed to do with you? There’s no need to be ashamed of keeping a picture of me in your wallet. Really, I support it, I know you can be pretty desperate and clingy so this way you can still keep me with you at all times,” you tease him.

Lucifer’s scowl deepens even more— you didn’t know how that was possible— as he practically sends you a death glare. You’re sure that if you had been anyone else you would have withered away on the spot, but you’re not anyone else and you can tell he’s just trying to hide how flustered he is. “You humans always spout such inane things,” is all he says as he lets go of your hand. You carefully note how he hadn’t really disagreed with what you had said. Of course he wouldn’t, you both know nothing you had said had been nothing but the truth. You also manage to catch how the tips of his ears are bright red before he quickly walks to the pick-up area.

“Our order isn’t ready yet. You know that right, Luci?”

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me swd #om! shall we date #om! swd #obey me nightbringer #om! nightbringer #obey me lucifer #obey me luci x reader #obey me luci x mc #obey me x reader #obey me x mc #gn reader

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rainbow-crane · 16 days ago

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got a totally random rush of Emotions about Chihiro's gender so hi let's talk about how the entire account of Chihiro 'totally being a cis dude guys' is told by Monokuma, the guy that later goes on to fake a suicide note and falsify an entire class trial just to be pissy. Ah yes top 10 most reliable narrators ever of all time, yes, yes, very convincing

Not to mention in the exact same fucking motive he's very obviously purposefully warping the truth and lying to the cast's faces?? Within the 'embarrassing memories' motive Mondo's is a warped version of the truth. "Mondo killed his own brother" but he didn't, and just about everyone is able to grasp that one. He indirectly led to the accident, but Daiya made his own choices. So wouldn't the same logic apply to Chihiro's motive? "He dresses like a girl but actually is a boy" sounds like you're actively warping her own life experience to send her into Despair.... which is Monokuma's primary character motive.... crazy how that works........

And now, a compilation of every line Chihiro delivers in her own backstory, without the narrative padding from Monokuma explaining to you why this is totally her hating being a woman and wanting to be a man

"Now nobody will be able to say anything about 'even though you're a boy'..."

"I'm... weak... Weak, weak, weak, weak, weak, weak, weak, weak...!"

"Now's my chance..."

"I'm going to get stronger... and accept who I am..."

"Strong enough so that when someone says 'even though you're a boy' it'll be okay. I'll get better!"

"Maybe talking to Mondo about it will help give me some courage..."

So yeah, once you pull out the unreliable narrator. You get like, 6 lines total. 1/3 of which specify that she IS AFRAID of people saying "even though you're a boy". Now, call me crazy, but if we're genuinely arguing that Chihiro is a cisgendered man, why the hell would she say the equivalent of "I need to accept being a boy. Gee, I sure hope no one calls me a boy while I do so!" That's. That's inherently contradictory. More than anything, looking at Chihiro's lines as the most reliable source of Chihiro's thoughts about herself, it starts to look less and less like a man who wants to rise above being gnc and be a true manly man, and more like someone who's about to get fucking outed and mocked by Monokuma and trying to do damage control, steeling herself to be called a man and strengthening her mind and body to prepare for said outing.

Earlier in chapter 2, Chihiro is already thinking of starting to try working out, but is too afraid to enter the lockers because she's well-aware she can only enter the boys' locker rooms. The inference that Makoto comes to is that Chihiro is an individual trapped in a killing game that couldn't defend herself verbally in the library the morning prior, and is visibly the physically weakest in the class. Ergo, perhaps she wants to be able to defend herself better? Well, neither of those facts that lead to said inference magically change after the discovery of her dick, so perchance, the reason she wanted to get stronger was still so she could defend herself both verbally and physically?? The ONLY reason you'd have to come to the conclusion she wants to reconnect with her assigned sex is because she is being actively threatened into it by Monokuma's motive, or if you take Monokuma's story at his word, that he'd speak respectfully of the dead. Just like he did with every other character in that game, right?

Also, it's worth noting that in the actual conversation-turned-spiral between Chihiro and Mondo before Chihiro's death, neither Chihiro nor Mondo actually talk about Chihiro's gender, only her strength and desire to destroy her weakness. Yes, Mondo is using he/him in the voiceover, but the entire class is atp, and again. Using that as genuine evidence falls flat because we see in that very same scene that Mondo WAS NOT completely present for that conversation. He saw Chihiro's willpower and spiraled, conflating Chihiro with his brother and lashing out in a ptsd-induced blackout.

Also also, if you're gonna argue Chihiro has no reason to need to get physically stronger unless it's to be more masculine, A) Sakura exists in the same game, and B) please god look up any statistics on the amount of violence trans teens receive. That alone is a perfectly reasonable justification for a trans woman to want to be able to defend herself, especially when locked in a place where you cannot escape your potential aggressors.

TLDR Chihiro is legitimately more believable as a trans woman, and every intervention attempting to explain otherwise comes from a character defined by his love of twisting the truth for the sake of causing suffering. Hi hello does anyone hear me

#idk I've just seen one too many ppl saying anyone who hcs Chihiro as transfem is “disrespecting his character arc” and I just #did we play the same game #and I really don't care if you like masc Chihiro who dresses femininely! It's fine! Art is meant to be interpreted by the viewer and all th #but are ppl seriously arguing Chihiro MUST be referred to as a man because Mono-fucking-kuma said so #all the themes of mental v physical strength actually completely continue to exist and be meaningful even if one of them is a girl actually #strength =/= sex #gender =/= genitals #chihiro fujisaki #ranting #sometimes 'men who dress like girls and use she/her' do so because they like being girls actually #sincerely a gnc trans man

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regretevatorr · 7 months ago

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★ Pest Relationship Headcanons ★

tags: pest/reader, general relationship headcanons, sfw

★ To get with Pest, I'd take a WHOLE lot of effort for him to even begin to think of you in a romantic manner. Even starting up a friendship with him is difficult, so you better bet this is going to be quite the challenge.

★ But somehow, some way, you two lovebirds end up in a fresh, brand new, relationship together.

★ Pest will likely keep you at an arms length just as you two were in friendship. Not too close, not too far away, but still out of his personal little space. Even though he trusts you as he would a close friend of his, he doesn't trust you enough to get too close. It just makes him a tad bit uncomfortable.

★ His primary love language is quality time and his secondary is acts of service. He won't engage in physical touch or affection early on in the relationship, the most he'll do is put a hand on your shoulder and rub it gently, basically his way of getting a feel for physical affection.

★ A good while into your relationship he'll start advancing his affections. Something like pressing his cheek to yours and whispering something (you probably don't understand) in Japanese. More than likely they’re sweet nothings that he doesn’t want to say in a language you can understand. It'll embarrass him far too much to say it to your face.

★ At some point, he'll start to feel more comfortable touching you (in private, as PDA is a hard no for him) cuddling, holding hands, laying next to each other; all that romantic jazz.

★ Pest doesn't show too much emotion so don't expect him to be anything less than a little distant - he won't initiate any affection but he won't deny it either. That doesn't mean he doesn't love you though, he just shows it in very different way, unlike many other people.

★ Will kiss you if you beg him enough; but not without some teasing on his part (but when he does he'll have to be extra careful not to scratch you with the sharp ridges of his mandibles)

★ Gets you (very much stolen) gifts he thinks you'll like. If it's small enough he'll just sneak it into your pocket with a sticky note attached to it and if it can't fit he'll just throw it at you and scitter away. He doesn't know how to approach you in gift-giving situations.

★ If anybody insults you in his presence or harasses you expect Pest to take action. He is not afraid to throw a punch if they continue bothering you. He's not the kind of person to let people have their way with you, no sir!

★ Doesn't outwardly show a lot of possessive behavior, but when he's jealous and feels as if the other person is challenging him, he will, without a doubt, hiss at them and give them a sharp glare in the form of narrowing eyes in hopes the person would get the message and scram. He doesn't want his or your time being wasted by some nobody.

★ He listens to every word you say; that includes any details about your day, yourself, or others. Pest may seem careless, but he is very attentive, especially when you are the one speaking. Somebody annoyed you today? He'll have a word with them. So (Insert food item) are/is your favorite food? He'll definitely keep that in mind next time he's in the kitchen. You had a terrible day? He knows just what will help. Any detail, minor or major, is running through his head as soon as you say the word.

★ Conclusion: Pest my beloved.

#₊˚ෆ ׂ regretevator writings #pest x reader #partyguest x reader #regretevator x reader

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markantonys · 25 days ago

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i've got to put out an attempt to spread the good word of wheel of time to some of my new rings of power followers!

are you hankering for a new fantasy show to fill the void of ROP? look no further than wheel of time! it's also on amazon prime and is something of a sister-show to ROP. there are 2 seasons out currently, and season 3 is in post-production and slated to release sometime in 2025.

here's what WOT is about:

in a world that has reincarnation, rosamund pike's character who has been described as lesbian gandalf learns that an apocalyptic figure called "the dragon" who broke the world 3000 years ago has been reborn as a new person. accompanied by her platonic work-husband to whom she's psychically bonded, she narrows her search down to 5 potential candidates, a group of 20-somethings from the same little village. the group embarks on a quest to figure out which one of them is the dragon reborn, but even the ones who are not the dragon have nevertheless been chosen out by fate to have their own remarkable powers and key roles in deciding the fate of the world.

here's what makes WOT similar to ROP:

multiple-storyline ensemble show with a variety of personalities among the main characters, so you'll be sure to find Your Blorbo in somebody (and there's a pretty big variety among the fandom of who everyone's faves are, which goes to show how good ALL the characters are!)

epic fantasy that earnestly and wholeheartedly embraces its genre and the inherent whimsy and fantasticalness therein, without acting like it's embarrassed about having fantasy elements or like it considers itself too good and too prestige for the genre

it has some truly dark and harrowing stuff, but it never feels like it's gratuitous/just for shock value and never descends into cynical grimdark territory. it centers on the importance of hope and togetherness to fight against evil (tolkien was a primary inspiration for the WOT books' author robert jordan, so some of the vibes and themes are similar)

incredibly in-depth worldbuilding and world history

gorgeous costumes, sets, scenery, soundtrack, and production value. i could wax poetic about the soundtrack all day but will restrain myself and just say that it's a similar approach as ROP of specific character themes rearranged ad infinitum to suit the tone of different scenes and that it has a very unique soundscape that stands out from traditional orchestral fantasy. the costumes, especially in the second season, are some of the most unique and distinctive i've ever seen in a fantasy show, using lots of sharp/modern silhouettes to evoke a different feel from your standard medieval-inspired fantasy costumes. and vibrant colors!!!

absolutely Perfect casting across the board, with every actor from the most seasoned veterans to the newest-comers delivering wonderful performances, embodying their characters perfectly, and clearly having the time of their life making this show.

major character recast between s1 and s2 haha but like with adar, both mat actors are wonderful and it's impossible to wish one was the other while watching their respective performances.

Wholesome Boy Besties, and overall a lack of toxic masculinity and a total comfort with letting men be tender and kind and emotional (in fact, i'd say WOT does even better at this than ROP)

mesmerizing villains who run the gamut from tragic to Sexy Fun Evil to straight-up bonechilling (oftentimes multiple categories all rolled into the same villain). what if sauron was a sexy sexy lady whose top hobbies were serving cunt and gaslighting her boytoy? watch wheel of time to find out.

on that note, what would you get if you took the toxic hero/villain/villain polyeroticism of galadriel/sauron/adar, dialed it up to 11, and made it borderline canon that they used to be in a throuple that ended badly? one of the major dynamics of WOT s2, that's what.

a slower, establishing first season followed by a bombastic second season that raises the stakes, lets the villains out to play big time, and generally knocks it out of the park. so if you're on the fence while watching s1, keep going to get to the glowup!

and here's what makes WOT better than ROP:

while they both improve in their second season, imo the first season of WOT is quite a bit better than the first season of ROP (anecdotal evidence: i started both shows as a complete show-only with no prior familiarity with the source material (bar having watched the LOTR movies), and WOT had me hooked by the end of 1x01 whereas ROP i watched 2 episodes and abandoned it for 2 years before coming back for another try and successfully getting hooked)

i'd say the main reason for this is that the story of WOT s1 is fairly simple and small scale and laser-focused on just our 7 main characters who all share a single storyline together (breaking up into 3 sub-storylines for the middle portion of the season, then coming back together again), and it holds off on expanding the scale of the world & story until s2. this was much more effective at getting a newcomer like me assimilated in the world, hooked on the story, and invested in the characters than ROP starting out with a massive sprawling cast and story right off the bat and kind of overwhelming me with too much going on. WOT s1 was also very clear in establishing Here Are The Stakes And Here's Why You Should Care immediately in the pilot episode, whereas i struggled for a while with seeing what the Point of ROP was or why i should care about these characters (because there are too many of them and not enough time spent on any).

WOT is better at character depth and development, in large part because its main cast is about half the size of ROP's so there's just a lot more breathing room. like with ROP, some characters/storylines are naturally more important than others in a given season and thus everyone's prominence ebbs and flows, but unlike ROP, the characters who are in their "off-season" still get proper season-long arcs and never feel like they're getting neglected. no primary WOT character has ever been wholly absent for more than 1 episode per season (except for mat absent from 2 eps in s1 for recasting-related reasons).

following off of that, i'd say WOT is better at handling multiple storylines, because of the above point of fewer characters and also the earlier point that all the characters start together, then separate. this ensures that all the different storylines feel connected to each other, unlike ROP where there are some groups of characters that have never even met anyone else. the Found Family and Power Of Friendship themes are extremely strong in WOT, and the bonds between the core characters are unbreakable! and this makes all the storylines feel connected and cohesive even when they're taking place across the continent.

another similar point: WOT strikes a better balance between epic scale and narrative intimacy. i can't describe this any better or think of specific examples, it's just a Vibe i feel that ROP sometimes gets lost in its own scale whereas WOT always keeps us very firmly anchored in the characters and the personal stakes no matter how vast the world or conflict becomes. i might exemplify this by saying that if you enjoyed the sauron-celebrimbor scenes in s2, you'll love WOT because it is a huge proponent of "2 characters in a room talking to each other" scenes that further the larger plot while also keeping things intimate and personal and fleshing out the characters.

oh also, focal episodes! every season, WOT does 1 or 2 episodes that focus in deeply on one particular main character (different one every time) at a key point in their journey and deliver some amazing in-depth characterwork (while still furthering the story and allotting time to the other characters & storylines too). characters truly are one of the strongest aspects of WOT, both books and show, and i love that the show takes the time to give us episodes like this. it is so so good at balancing character & plot, and understanding that we won't care about the plot unless we care about the characters.

there is a HUGE cast of female characters, and a very varied cast too. the main cast is 50/50 men and women, and the supporting cast is at least 50/50 too if not majority women. in both the source material and the adaptation, women are integral to the story and so many of them are huge players that drive the narrative, rather than feeling like afterthoughts the 2020s adaptation is fruitlessly trying to cram into source material that was not designed for them as is often the case with ROP imo.

branching off of that: one of the major institutions in WOTworld is an all-woman wizard faction, complete with a lady wizard pope. this gives us things like battle scenes and political scheming that's mostly or exclusively between women. it's awesome!

edited to add: might be obvious from the point about there being a lot of women, but WOT also has lots of female friendships! and female mentorships and rivalries and romances too. just so many relationships between women, quite a contrast to nori and poppy struggling to singlehandedly make ROP pass the bechdel test.

canon queer characters and relationships. and queerness is not only present in WOTworld, it's normalized!

and finally, you'll have to wait til s2 to get her, but WOT is better because it has elayne trakand and thus is better than every show that does not have elayne trakand (can you tell who my blorbo is)

#wot #wot on prime #the wheel of time #rings of power #rop

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germiyahu · 8 months ago

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That "racism of low expectations" point can be applied to more than Westerners patting their little Jihad Meow Meows on the head by the way. I think it also applies to American Jews, usually assimilated, acting like Israel is this Entity and not a country made up of mostly Middle Eastern Jews, people. When they do acknowledge that Israelis are people who aren't just acting in the interests of an all powerful governmental animus, they act like all Israelis are bloodthirsty frat bro soldiers wreaking havoc in Gaza because they think it's fun.

Because what is this? This tweet was in response to the chaotic backlash against Jonathan Glazer, who espoused a nearly identical sentiment. That sentiment being: Israel is using our Jewishness for some nefarious political purpose. It's not fair! We didn't sign off on GENOCIDE! How dare they use us to do this!

Israeli Jews are seen too unenlightened, too religious, too much of an embarrassment, to much of Diaspora Jewry. And yet at the same time their Jewishness is not even considered to be part of the political calculus of Israel at all? These not in my name types truly think Israel is a shadowy cabal of like 20 old white men (ironic) getting off on destroying lives and using as shields these poor innocent Americans and Brits, famously two peoples who've never twisted or corrupted the legacy of the Holocaust before.

They obviously have very hurt feelings that Israeli Jews dare to be Jews, to invoke their own Jewishness, Jewish values, to justify military action. They're not even really doing that? They want the hostages back. That is the primary concern if you poll Israeli citizens right now. And that's been the case pretty much every day since the pogrom. That's it. That's why they're saying Never Again. If that offends you as a Jewish person really let that steep. Really sit with your emotional reaction to Jews having a trauma reaction to traumatizing events and relating other events of Jewish trauma throughout history to that event. Ask yourself if it's appropriate to insinuate that they're using their Jewishness, sorry just YOUR Jewishness apparently, to make you look bad?

Israeli politicians have invoked the Holocaust outright, as a comparison. Because clearly the country whose "white" population is mostly made up of the descendants of Holocaust refugees has no business doing that? That's an affront to your name and your values?Again, why do you think everything is about you? Why do you think everything Israel does is even in your name in the first place? Is it American Brainrot Disease again?

You think Israeli Jews are so incapable of rationality and of yearning for social justice (they just want their family members back) that you erase them from the conversation. Israeli leftists are not real and are not working with Palestinians as we speak, and certainly aren't advocating for a ceasefire more successfully than anyone on this continent! Israeli politicians who speak to their constituents and use the shared cultural language of being Jews are trying to brainwash and influence Americans, because they have no constituents. Israel is just a bunch of racist politicians and a mercenary army that's trained to kill children specifically.

Like this is getting so annoying. It's clear they wish they could just excommunicate all Israelis, because they're Bad Jews. They want to take away their Jewish card, because that's not what Real Judaism stands for! And then they get offended when non secular Jews around the world dare question their Jewish identities in response to this behavior. Which I'm not condoning for the record, but how about you practice what you preach for once?

#I know so many people on jumblr view these kinds of disavowing Diaspora Jews with sympathy #But uh... the casual pervasive dehumanization and delegitimization of half the world's Jews... nah #leftist antisemitism #jumblr

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eveningepiphany · 2 years ago

Text

lessons | H.S

my masterlist <3

summary: sitting on harrys couch, he gets it out of you that you have never intimately touched someone else, and he offers straight up for you to learn off him.

warnings: SMUT, m receiving handjob and blowjob, heaps of dirty talk and praise, gentle dom! harry, virgin! y/n

a/n: I have to be up early in the morning so I haven’t done a final proofread since it’s nearly midnight, so sorry for any mistakes. this trope with h makes me weak at the knees 😵‍💫

———

“No way…” His tone is hard to dissect, it’s filled with emotions.

You purse your lips, looking to the grey of his couch beneath you— immediately regretting admitting the truth to him.

He’s your best friend, but god you do not venture into territory like this. Hence his shock, and disbelief at the admission that had come out of your mouth.

You were close next to his side while chatting that evening, a romantic comedy playing unnoticed in the background.

He joked briefly about himself, something about his… size. You hardly recall what he’d exactly said about it, other than him remarking about how ‘large’ he is.

Your eyes widened at the words, and he smiled a bit at the reaction.

It’s rare he gets to see you flustered, and if an opportunity has presented itself he can’t help but use it.

“What? Does that rile you up a bit?” He’d smirked, green eyes trying to find yours.

“No!” You’d hissed, glancing at the TV.

“Why’d you go all shy then?”

“Because you’re talking about your dick, and I don’t wanna know!”

He laughed at your rushed response, “anyone would’ve thought you’d never seen one in your life.”

Your response is delayed, in all truth you had— briefly, an unwanted showing at a college party, one of your ‘friends’ drunkenly trying to get in your pants. He’d pretty much flashed you before you got the fuck out of there. So how much it counts, is more the part you were hardly sure about.

“Of course I have.” You’d said, trying with your all to sound convincing— like as if you’d done more than just see one.

But the energy had shifted the second you’d paused, and the words pouring out your mouth were not helping your case.

“Wait— have you not actually seen a dick bef—“ his brows were furrowed, lips quirked, still unsure how serious you were until you cut him off.

“God, no— yes— shut up!“ you’d cupped your hands over your eyes, wishing to go back and just laugh at his stupid joke instead of getting all flustered and ending up here.

“You haven’t?” He pushed a more little.

A sigh had pushed out your nose in defeat, “hardly.”

So now it leaves you here, staring anywhere but at him as he mutters a ‘no way’ to you.

You felt more than embarrassed, you were mortified at this point. You and Harry had been friends since your first year of primary school, so to have him find out something you have kept to yourself for so long and was so personal was terrifying.

Having never really covered this topic with you, he was undeniably curious, “so you’ve never touched one…?”

“You’re making this so much worse.” You scrunch your eyes closed.

“Ok… so that’s a no.” He laughs a little, and all you could do was nod. He nudges you with his shoulder. “Hey, yknow it’s ok right? M’not judging you or anythin’”

You take a careful glance to see his expression, it’s sincere and you take in a careful breath.

“I know. It’s embarrassing though.” You advert your gaze back to a thread on the soft fabric of your sweatpants.

“S’not embarrassing love, I was just surprised. You’re a gorgeous girl— y’know I think that— so I just assumed some guy was lucky enough to have been with you— intimately that is.” He says casually, then adding, “and y’ve had a few guys, so I just thought…”

Your stomach fluttered at his compliments, even though he never shied away from giving them to you.

“Those relationships never lasted long enough for us to, uh, get to that point.” You clarified, clearing your throat.

“I don’t wan’ you to feel uncomfortable, or like I forced you into talkin’ ‘bout it by the way.” He quickly clarifies, “jus’ was curious, is all.”

You find the courage to lock eyes with him again, “i wish I wasn’t so… inexperienced— I really do. But it’s beyond the point of awkward when people find out, you know?”

You were on a rant now, he’d officially opened the door to all your thoughts, “and now it’s like, I have no real way to learn. Unless I go out and hookup with a random, but I’m not desperate enough for that yet— nor comfortable with the idea.”

“And being a uh, a virgin this late in college is— not really common. So automatically people kind of get weird about it.”

He wished he could say the hardening of his cock was just from the fact they were talking about sex— and that he had been sticking to his hand for a while now— but he knew that the real reason was much more related to you, which he felt almost guilty about. You sitting here opening up and all his prick can think about is how gentle and unsure your hands would be around him.

Keyword being almost.

“Y’know you can always touch me… right?” The words spilled from his mouth before he could stop them, a vague innuendo laying between each syllable.

“I- pardon?” You stuttered, uncertain if he meant what he just said in the way your brain had processed it.

“Like, if you ever want to learn or do anything. I’m here.”

Your eyes fell to his groin without a thought behind it, and you could see he was perked up in his sweats. He watched immediately as your gaze travelled down there.

“Just an offer. Don’t have t’take up on it now— or ever if y’don’t wan—“

In the few seconds of him talking you’d got a rush of confidence to do this. He’s practically handing himself to you on a silver plater.

“Can I?” The words were a fast question, a lingering hope behind them.

He almost groaned at them, the fact you were comfortable enough to be seemingly following through with his offer.

“‘Course you can, darling.”

You shuffled a little next to him, reaching to brush your hand over the fabric covering his groin, watching as he lifted his hips so you could pull his pants down.

You did it carefully, and your lips parted with a little gasp as his cock slipped out— he wasn’t wearing any underwear.

The tip of him was flushed to the same colour of his lips, and he wasn’t kidding about his size. At the base he had neatly trimmed hairs with a tiny curl to them.

You glanced back up at him, unsure what to do now. You almost had whiplash, because a minute ago you have never thought you’d see— let alone be able to touch his cock— and now you seem to have freedom to do whatever you please with it.

“S’alright darling, touch me however you want.” He reassured you, pressing his shoulder into you again. Solidifying the fact you really could do whatever you wanted with him.

Your hand hesitated a bit as you reached out to run a gentle finger on the underside of him.

Your hands were so fucking soft, softer than he even imagined, so he knew already this was going to kill him.

Going off the only kind of sexual experience you had— which is obviously with yourself— you didn’t want to be too gentle, so you wrapped your hand around the base of him and gave an experimental pump of his cock.

He groaned at the contact, not expecting it in the slightest. You were surprised at the sound that you’d just elicited from him, and the way he jutted his hips up to your touch.

“Fuck, sorry.” He carefully apologised, not wanting to scare you off. You were anything but scared though, more so fascinated, and frankly a bit turned on.

You said nothing as you continued to touch him, trailing your fingers up to the head of him. A small drop of precum seeping out.

He looks at you intently as you stare, “taste it, if y’want, love.”

With his prompt, you swipe your thumb gingerly across his tip, gathering up the few beads and lifting it to your lips.

It was a small portion, but he watched to see your micro-expressions at the taste. It was nice—really nice, in all honesty— compared to what you expected.

It was easy to see on your face you wanted more.

“Can I, uhm…” you paused, trying to figure out a way to word it, “taste you…?”

He pinched his eyes closed, running a hand through his now unruly hair. It was hard to control himself, he just wanted to pin you down and please you himself— thank you for making him feel so good already. Wrap his mouth around your probably puffy clit and make you come before he showed you what it feels like to be fucked.

Obviously he couldn’t do that. And not that he wanted to act like you were a delicate flower, but he was trying to keep you feeling comfortable— and that everything could progress at your pace.

“Jesus, love. ‘Course y’can.” He groaned, struggling to peel open his eyes.

“Can you tell me how you… how you like it? Show me even?” You ask, gently.

He shifts his hips, “Anything you give me I will like. But I can kind of direct you, tell you what feels good, I guess? If I can form a coherent thought with y’mouth ‘round me.”

You nod slowly, feeling the wetness gather between your thighs at his praise.

Deciding it would be easier, you slip off the couch onto your knees, placing yourself between his legs. You felt intimidated a little, the sight of his pulsing cock this close infront of you.

Yet still, you were salivating over it. Grateful you had a secure enough relationship to be able to do this. Especially with someone you felt so much for.

You glanced up at him, watching as he tracked your every move. He could’ve moaned aloud at your soft eyes looking up at him like that.

Your hand runs up his leg, resting to bracket the side of his thigh as you lean forward, gently kissing his tip.

A puff of air sounded from his lungs, egging you on just enough to keep going. You swept your tongue over the same spot you kissed, but trailing it down along his shaft.

You felt a little clueless as to what you were doing, in all honesty. So you glanced up, looking for a prompt on what to do next.

You wished it would just come to you naturally. Obviously in all the porn, they took the cock all the way down their throat, bobbing their heads and sucking like it was on their life. But you had no idea what your limits were, and how realistic half that shit is anyway.

“Sorry…” you muttered looking away, feeling your face flush with a tinge of embarrassment.

“God, Y/N. Don’t apologise, doing well for me baby. Just take me into your mouth, if you can.”

“Ok, I just want to make you feel good. So please tell me if I do something that has the opposite effect.” You sigh.

“I will, even though I highly doubt I’ll need too. Y’have such a nice mouth. Never knew it’d feel so good wrapped ‘round my cock.” He says this while cupping your cheek, and a part of you wants to just bend over and let him take you right there on the floor.

You never knew it could be like this. So open and filled with reassurance.

You lowered your lovely warm mouth back over him, sliding his tip past your lips, flattening your tongue on the underside of his smooth head.

“Fuck, so warm.” He whispers before continuing, “try and suck on me, hollow out those pretty little cheeks.”

You slide further down before you do, filling up your mouth with him, “don’t take more than you can handle sweet girl, use your hand for the rest.”

You nod around him when he says that, merely to show your taking his advice, but he groans loudly as you do.

So you do as he asks, wrapping your hand around what’s left of him and begin to suck.

He’s immediately lost in the sensation, digging warm fingers into the grey of the couch beneath him.

He can’t lie, you’re an attentive learner. You listen to the sounds he makes as you try something, like pulling your mouth all the way to the tip before gliding back down— or how you take note the way his body reacts with a shudder when you squeeze the base of his cock with your warm hand.

His directions are quickly falling away, into the back of his brain as you let your mouth explore his cock. It seems you’re fairing ok, now you’ve had proper encouragement.

You had been so in your head about making a mistake, now that you finally weren’t as worried about that, you could just focus on his body. Be intune with his reactions.

“Baby, you are so good at this.” He moans, driving his ass into the couch to keep from bucking up into your throat.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, the image of him fucking your throat comes to fruition, and he has to shove it away. Leave it as something to jerk off to later, when he starts to miss your hot mouth, which probably won’t take all that long.

“Told me y’never touched anyone like this before. Think that’s a lie, how good your little tongue is working me. Y’gonna have me coming soon.”

His words bring a flutter to your core, the way his accent is all husky from pleasure. Pleasure you’re giving him.

“Such a good girl f’me, hmm?” He asks, and you hum a yes. The vibration of it flys through his cock, constricting around his spine as he moans out.

He stares down at you, eyes glazed with pleasure. Spit is glistening around your chin, and no doubt when you pull off his cock will be coated in a thick layer of it.

“Christ, faster for me baby. Moan all around my dick.” His thoughts start to spill from his lips, and your brain lags trying to process how filthy they all are.

Not that you’re surprised he’s like this whatsoever, but to be hearing it with your own ears, and it to be directed toward you makes it a whole other ballgame.

“This mouth is mine.” He curses, and you dig your fingers into his thigh as you feel your cunt throb.

“All fuckin’ mine. Trained up just for me.” He groans, and you slip off him just enough to get a few words in.

“Yours, Harry. Please… pull my hair.” You plead, wrapping your mouth over him after a short second, quickly jumping back into the fast rhythm you’d built up.

“Fuck, not sure gonna be able to be gentle f’you if I do that, darling.” He hisses, clenching his fist, imagining your hair between it.

You whine around his cock, looking up at him, desperate for it.

At this point, you don’t care. He can be rougher. You pretty much have instilled every ounce of trust you have in him— which you had done prior to this, but especially now.

Your hand scrapes up his shirt, nails clawing at his taut abs, pleading for this.

He thinks he could almost just die, seeing your needy side quickly being unleashed per his undoing.

His resolve caves, his hand coming to nestle into the hair close to your scalp. You moan at the feeling of it merely being there, his cock pulsing on your tongue.

“More dirty than I ever could’ve thought, Y/N. Wanting me to pull your hair like this, begging. M’trying to be gentle with you— making it so hard for me.”

You suck harder, and he sticks to his word of being careful, his hand tight around your hair— but never forcing you down.

Even though you don’t think you would have minded if he did, he was clearly getting close.

“Love, shit!” His legs were shaking, and his face was flushed a gorgeous pink.

“You’re gon’ make me come.” He grunted, “Hard.”

He told you this so you could pull off, maybe finish him with your hand or something. But you didn’t budge, you just kept sucking and sliding your perfect tongue all over him.

He couldn’t imagine finishing this fast with anyone else but you. Your messy, virgin mouth making him nothing short of a train wreck.

“Y/N, baby, I’m— holy fucking shit—“ you squeezed his balls in you hand, and he was hurtling toward his high.

“If you don’t pull off I’m, god, god I’m gonna come down your throat.” He rushes out, whole body ready to snap.

You don’t budge, you take as much of his dick as you can, wanting to feel his warm come shoot into your mouth.

The second he realised you wanted him to finish in your mouth was the same second he felt an indescribable pleasure hit him.

His jaw dropped, and stomach muscles clenched so hard he would’ve keeled over if he was standing up.

You pulled back. Hand coming to stroke where your mouth had left. But you kept his tip in, which was still spurting his come, placed on you tongue.

It coated it, dripping down onto your bottom lip and chin. And just the sight of it would be enough to get him off for the next 5 years.

His Y/N, his best friend, who he not even 10 minutes ago found out was a virgin, had just taken his load half down her throat and half smeared all over her tongue.

“Fuck me, baby. That is so unbelievably hot.” He almost whined, completely out of breath.

“Rub it in with my cock. Then swallow it, love.” He said, watching as you immediately did so, coating your tongue with him.

“Such a good girl. Swallow.”

You did that too. Placing a little kiss on his thigh after, and standing up.

Your knees felt a little weak, and you sat down next to him again.

He reaches over, kissing you without shame of where your mouth just was.

His hand slipped to your waistband of your probably soaked-through sleep shorts, and you halted it, “You don’t have to, Harry.”

“I know love, I want too though. But if you don’t, then that’s ok.” He caresses your hip.

You take your bottom lip between your teeth, thinking. You do. But at the same time, maybe not just yet.

Despite what just unfolded on his living room couch, you still feel almost shy. Not ready.

“Maybe not yet… that was— it was a lot. And very unplanned.” You purse your lips, worried he’ll be offended or something.

“Of course, darling.” He scoots his hand away, laying it on your cheek instead.

“We’ll take it at whatever pace you want.” He smiles, kissing a quick peck onto your lips.

“How about, i turn that off,” he gestures to the TV, “‘n we go cuddle?”

“That sounds great, H. Thank you. For everything.”

He chuckles, plucking his sweatpants from the floor and slipping them over his legs, “I should be thanking you. Thank you for trusting me. And for giving me probably the best orgasm I’ve had in ages.”

You flush, harder than you’d like to admit. Maybe this won’t be a bad impulsive arrangement after all.

———

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ptn-imagines · 8 months ago

Note

hey hey, can i request zoya, deren and langley walking in on chief trying on their outfits :3

I usually try not to get too spicy unless it's explicitly requested, but Zoya's part of this definitely has some spice (though not explicit) so be warned of that!

Walking in on Chief trying on their outfit

Zoya

Chief Is In Trouble. In a hot way.

She doesn't knock before entering, swagger in her step as she strolls in like she owns the place. Seeing Chief wearing her clothes does stop her in place, but the look in her gaze is both playful and hungry, rather than surprised.

She spends a long moment taking in the sight before her, her clothes far too large on Chief's body. Still, she seems to like it, judging by the way she licks her lips.

She finally speaks, leaning against the doorframe as she does. “Like my clothes, do you, Chief?” she teases. “How about we get some in your size? You can hardly decide if you like it with it hanging on the floor like that.” She laughs at Chief's blushing face as they try to stammer out a reply.

It's hyperbole, of course, but it only takes a few days before she shows up with a copy of her outfit in Chief's size. She'll turn her back if Chief asks, but if given the chance, she is absolutely watching Chief put the clothes on.

Once Chief is dressed, Zoya's gaze quickly sharpens to that of a hungry predator, and her teeth suddenly seem like fangs as she grins, appraising like she's looking at her next meal.

“You look good, Chief. Big fan of how it shows off your body, even if you don't exactly have my build.”

It makes Chief blush, but it's true. Zoya does like it. Seeing Chief dressed in her clothes… It's certainly awakened the hunger inside the wolf.

Langley

Once again, Chief Is In Trouble. But it's in a different way this time.

As soon as Langley sees Chief putting on her clothes, a slow smirk spreads across her face. “Rookie, I don't recall giving you permission to touch my things… Let alone my clothes.”

Chief turns bright red, flailing for an explanation. Langley only watches, her smirk growing ever wider; she enjoys watching Chief squirm like this.

Once she's had her fill of Chief's torment, though, she gestures for them to be quiet, and they quickly silence themself. “I'm willing to forgive this transgression, rookie, if you do something for me.”

It's a trap, Chief is sure of it, but Langley's punishments are known for being brutal, so they don't want to risk the alternative. Still, they're surprised when Langley's request is to finish dressing up and sit down in their desk chair, doing their best impression of her. It doesn't make sense to them, but they comply anyway.

They realize the reason behind the strange request when Langley snaps a photo of them with her phone, and they flush red to their ears. The picture is set to Langley's background, and she teases them about how cute it would look framed on her desk – a subtle warning not to touch her things without permission again.

Deren

Deren definitely has the most lowkey reaction of the three. She stumbles across Chief looking for the very clothes they were trying on, funnily enough.

When she walks into the room, midway through a sentence, it takes her brain a couple of seconds to process what she's seeing. Once she does, though, confusion is her primary emotion rather than embarrassment. “Uh, Chief? Why are you wearing my clothes?”

She's surprised when Chief says they wanted to see how they looked in them. “Well, you'd look good in anything, but… Why my clothes? They're nothing special. I can get you a hundred different outfits that'd look better than my stuff.”

A very flustered Chief has to explain that their interest in the clothes is largely due to the fact that they are Deren's clothes. The director is taken aback at first, but then she laughs.

“Is that so? Well, sure, go ahead. I won't stop you, so long as I get a front row seat~”

Deren's gaze on the Chief is still flustering, but she's a lot less intense than the other two would have been. When Chief apologizes to her afterwards, she waves it off, saying Chief can wear her clothes anytime, she doesn't care. It's the truth, and of course, it doesn't hurt that Chief looks good in her clothes.

#ptn #path to nowhere #ptn zoya #path to nowhere zoya #zoya #ptn langley #path to nowhere langley #langley #ptn deren #path to nowhere deren #deren #ptn headcanons #path to nowhere headcanons #headcanons

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a-bad-case-of-the-stephs · 5 days ago

Text

Okay!

After nearly a full decade of our time of Stephanie Brown being told to go home and give up being Spoiler, Batman takes her on as a student and sanctions her, with no preamble or warning.

That’s weird, let’s talk about it.

Batmans strange choices in how he treats Stephanie Brown can only be understood by analyzing his character.

Let's place Batman in context of what is going on directly before his decision to bring in Stephanie Brown as part of the team. The last major event preceding Stephanie Brown being sanctioned is Officer Down, which by the time it concludes Batman has lost two of his oldest allies: Jim Gordon has retired and Alfred has resigned.

In the wake of Officer Down, I’d like to track two key conflicting characteristics of Batman, how they are exacerbated, and how they influence how Stephanie is treated.

1. A Longing for Companionship

Batman's desire for the company of others is increased post-Officer Down, as he deals with suddenly being isolated from most of his core group.

Other characters point this out:

Batman #590 (1940)

Additionally, for the first time in a long while, Bruce Wayne is entirely alone in the manor.

Gotham Knights #20 (2000)

So, why doesn’t Batman just do the normal, healthy thing and reach out to the loved ones he still has? I personally believe it’s because of how embarrassed he is after getting epically owned by Alfred, but the more general answer is: he’s the Batman.

Out of paranoia his feelings will be used against him, or out of fears those close to him will be harmed if he directly expresses affection for them, or out of just being too damn cool for “emotions”, any way you slice it, Batman is:

2. Deeply uncomfortable with appearing emotionally vulnerable

We can see this with one of Bruce’s primary response to immediate grief: denial and silence

A simple example of this is how he acts after Jason Todd is killed. Bruce completely refuses to acknowledge his existence, and remains utterly silent when confronted.

Batman #437 / #440 (1940)

Another easy example of this is how he inexplicably approaches Nightwing dressed as Matches Malone in order to express that he isn’t trying to step on his toes:

Nightwing #14 (1996)

While it varies over time how emotionally closed off Bruce is, I believe one of the biggest triggers for an increase in this emotional cut off is when he is made to feel helpless.

During Cataclysm, he is helpless to stop the earthquake or meaningfully protect Gotham, there’s no enemy to fight, it’s just pure random crappy luck. He responds to this feeling of circumstances being out of his immediate control by cutting off almost all of his allies and sending them out of Gotham.

After he learns about how Zatanna and some other JLers wiped his memory and betrayed his trust, his reaction is to create an artificial intelligence to spy on the Justice League.

When Batman is put in situations which makes him feel physically or emotionally vulnerable, when he’s subject to circumstances out of his control, Batmans response has been historically to double down and isolate himself and cover up any potential weaknesses by convincing himself he’s better off alone and paranoid.

Eventually, after some time of this, he has a big moment where he decides to let people in, but his knee jerk reaction is always to pull away first.

This aversion to vulnerability is in play during and post-Officer Down, where Bruce is confronted by Jim’s mortality and retirement as well as Alfred’s resignation, all “enemies” he can’t just punch away.

Nightwing #53 (1996) / Gotham Knights #13 (2000)

In the wake of Officer Down, these conflicting traits are prominently portrayed.

In particular, Gotham Knights #18 demonstrates how these ideas clash.

Batmans loneliness is explored heavily: he starts the comic off talking to a bat, repeatably calls Oracle who is trying to sleep, and wanders through the completely empty manor.

His loneliness is conveyed through how he is framed: a shadow in a batsuit, wandering though desaturated and darkened hallways and rooms, completely silently, like a ghost.

Finally, the silence ends. Bruce calls Aquaman, asking for help excavating his giant penny. They have an awkward conversation, until Aquaman eventually calls him on his BS, pretty much directly stating that the penny was a total excuse, and that Bruce just wanted company, that he only called because he was lonely.

Gotham Knights #18 (2000)

When confronted with his loneliness, we see his desire for companionship come into play. He tries to talk to the bat, to Oracle, and then Arthur.

We also see it mitigated by the second impulse, his aversion to vulnerability. He can't tell Oracle that he just wants to talk, he has to frame the interaction through a case that he himself admits he no longer needs her help with.

Likewise, he can't just tell Aquaman that he wants to hang out, he has to make up a lie about needing help moving his giant penny.

His desire for companionship drives him to reach out, while his aversion to emotional vulnerability forces him to obscure this desire for human connection.

So, thats fine and all, but what does any of this have to do with Stephanie Brown?

As I mentioned earlier, Officer Down is the event that occurs just before Batman brings Steph onto the team. I argue that this dynamic of yearning for companionship vs. resistance to emotional vulnerability influences heavily his decision to "sanction" her as Spoiler.

Stephanie as a balm for Batmans loneliness.

This is immediately clear if you compare how much he's talking in Gotham Knights #18 to how he chatters away at Stephanie. He directly references Tim and Alfred's absence. But unlike Gotham Knights #18 the absence is not a bad thing per se, its framed against Stephanie's presence, how he allows her to stay.

Green Arrow #5 (2001)

Stephanie's role in assuaging his loneliness is evident in other places as well, for instance, in the Gotham Knights Last Laugh tie in. Stephanie realizes she forgot to turn her comm of, and had been "blabbing in [his] ear all night", Batman reassures her that he isn't upset. Just the opposite in fact, he tells her to not turn it off, saying he "doesn't mind the company" and placing a hand awkwardly on her shoulder. He clearly appreciated the relief from his loneliness her "blabbing" had provided.

Gotham Knights #22 (2000)

So Batman's embarrassing loneliness might have had some role to play in him taking her on as a student and "sanctioning" her. But what about that second impulse? How does it come into play?

2. How Stephanie as an outsider allows for emotional vulnerability

Originally, Batman takes Stephanie on because he needed her to help him find Tim at Brentwood, as he is unable to go himself. The reasons he "can't" go himself only become clear when Tim confronts Bruce, calling him out for being afraid of running into Alfred.

Robin #87 (1993)

This scene illustrates how Stephanie satisfies the second impulse, her outsider status. Stephanie is different from the rest of the team.

Tim has access to the context and information which allows him to expose Batman's emotionally vulnerability. Tim can call out Batman out for his pettiness and cowardice in how he hides from Alfred.

But Stephanie? Stephanie doesn't know who Alfred is, or how embarrassing it is for Batman to be avoiding him after Alfred yelled at him and called him a baby. She doesn't have the context that Tim and the rest of the team have.

So what does this mean? It means that Batman can tell her shit that is not true, like that he calls his car "The Car" instead of the Batmobile. And, more importantly, it means that he can express emotional vulnerability without any of the potential consequence. She has no context, and she has no one to tell.

Alfred is beefing with her over Bruce's choice to tell her Tim's identity, so that potential friendship is over before it could begin. And she gets (seemingly) brushed off by Batgirl.

Robin #88 (1993)

She doesn't even have Tim, who Stephanies believes is mad at her.

Robin #94 (1993)

I cannot emphasize this enough: she has nobody to tell. And Batman absolutely knows this.

He is emotionally vulnerable with her, expressing concern for the future and uncertainty:

Robin #92 (1993)

This moment is weird. It stands out. Stephanie seems aware of the strangeness of this moment, she reflects on it internally.

This moment parallels something in another comic. His fears and uncertainties about bringing other people into his "war"? We see a similar dialogue in the beginning of Gotham Knights.

Gotham Knights #1 (2000)

These are his uncertainties and fears that he can normally only express through creating a case file where he writes in the third person, assessing himself as Batman as if he is a completely different person. But theres no subterfuge here. He just straight up tells Stephanie Brown, utterly unprompted.

And this isn't the last time it's mentioned. At least half a year later, at the very start of War Games, the strange and scary vulnerability of this moment is still etched in Stephanies mind.

Batman: The 12 Cent Adventure (2004)

And while Batman gets to dump his insecurities on Stephanie, it's not exactly reciprocal. Stephanie expresses fear that Batman will drop her if she goes to him for help after her dad threatens to kill her. She has no feeling of security in her place on the team if she's afraid of this.

Robin #94 (1993)

And she's not even wrong about Batman's willingness to fire her at the drop of a hat, it just occurs later.

And when it occurs is important. The events of Bruce Wayne: Murderer lead to Alfred coming back into the manor and Bruce's employ. It ends with a big reconcilltion between the primary team, where Bruce explains he's been off since Officer Down.

Batman #605 (1940)

Alfred is back, no questions asked. The "real" team gets an apology and an explanation. And in other words, Batman is no longer as alone as he was before.

Everyone was locked out of the cave during Bruce Wayne: Murderer/Fugitive, but Stephanie is the only one who is not let back in once it concludes. She doesn't get an explanation, and Batman did not seem to have a plan to tell her she's been fired. She had to track him down and confront him to find out he'd given up on her.

Gotham Knights #37 (2000)

We can see how his isolation contributes to how she is treated by who is told when she is fired/sanctioned. When he brings her on the team, no one knows ahead of time. We don't see him tell anyone at all. In contrast, once his primary support system is firmly reestablished post Bruce Wayne: Murderer, Bruce separately informs Tim, Cassandra, and Alfred that Stephanie was fired. He's able to do this because his web has been repaired.

Stephanie Brown essentially fulfills the same role as the bat that Bruce talks to in Gotham Knights #18.

A new presence, unencumbered with the point of view the rest of the team has, unknowing of Bruce's history of fucking up. A sounding board, a stand in for Bruce's normal company.

Stephanie's presence perfectly satiates the contrasting impulses Batman deals with when it comes to how he interacts with other characters. Through her, Bruce can have companionship without being afraid of the danger of emotional vulnerability. She doesn't have the context, she doesn't know Bruce Wayne. She only knows Batman, and she seems pretty starstruck about finally being let on his team.

#stephanie brown meta #batman meta #Bruce Wayne meta #stephanie brown #Batman #bruce wayne #dc comics #detective comics #robin 1993 #mine

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