#I like my descriptors and it just so happens that I don't want to make plan deaths becuse I need the SYMBOLISIM!!!!

[pineapple-cheese-bread]

Me: *Talking to my Coworker about Fractured Timeline and how I'm excited to write it*

Them: Oh can I read it when you finish writting it?

Me: *Not really thinking about it* Yeah!

a few weeks later

Me: *Staring at the google doc for the double life section as I write the finale few deaths of the game, * He, Maybe I should have thought about my answer a bit more.

[sysig]

Getting up to trouble is his speciality (Patreon)

[buttercupblu]

Satoru's Psyche|Escalating

"Should I really have to suffer for my actions?"

Previous SessionSession 2 of 10|Next Session

🗂️Patient Chart Update: Patient Gojo displayed extremely flirtatious and unruly behavior during the first half of his visit. Mentions of escape and kid-napping were noted as well as enforced close proximity with his nurse. Threatening remarks were also made at the end of his lunch in response to mentions of disciplinary action. Patient is scheduled for a bath but is pending the possibility of negative punishment to instill corrective behaviors. 📋Length of Session (w.c): 8.1k out of "i said we will cross that bridge when we get to it 😊" 💊Intake Chart (tags): mild violence but no in-action descriptors, coercion, manipulation, drug use, angst, unwatched close contact and touch, nudity, mentally unstable Gojo, Nurse!Reader ✏️Doctor's angel’s note: i hope you know what you're doing, Nurse 🎼Waiting room music: Overheated|Billie Eilish

Choose wisely.

Hunger stirs in your tummy, and Gojo's words sit with you through lunch. Your spoon clinks around the bowl, stirring the soup growing colder by the second though the growls from your stomach are too obnoxious to be ignored. But your mind wanders.

You're stuck. Earlier, you were all for serving up justice on a silver platter, but now you're seriously second-guessing your "genius" idea to punish Gojo by making him someone else's problem.

As if anyone would be crazy enough to say yes.

Everyone already avoids his wing like the plague. It's kind of an unspoken fact that you are Gojo's one and only. The only staff he allows near him. Anyone else would be playing with fire.

And if someone was brave enough to willingly throw themselves into the lion's den, they definitely couldn't be new. New to nursing—new to the ward. High expertise was needed here. Someone seasoned—experience which you lacked yourself—otherwise, they wouldn't last a second with Gojo.

It'd be way too easy for him to make them snap, like tossing a bone to a dog.

"Persephone." Yuko brings you out of your coma.

You perk up, instinctively smiling. "Hey, what's up?"

"You tell me," she snorts. "You've been playing with your food like break isn't over in 10 minutes." She touches your arm. "Everything ok?"

It's written all over your face, huh? You could deflate right now.

This is why Yuko is your favorite co-worker. Always reading you like a book without you needing to say a word. Quick to call anything off out.

Leaning back in your chair, you huff, rubbing circles into your temples to relieve the headache you didn't know you had.

"Yeah, yeah," you begin, "It's just—" You stop, her eyes hold so much concern and you've barely opened your mouth. Not sure if you should now because you know what kind of person Yuko is.

And if she knew even half of what you don't tell her during your lunch breaks spent complaining about work, she'd hang Gojo out to dry if she could. She often makes it very clear she hates you have to deal with him at all.

"—I'm just a bit tired. Gojo's scheduled for a bath later, him and two others. Gojo's easy but...I don't know. I feel slower than usual today. Definitely won't get home until late, again, because of all these sponge baths." You cringe at the last part.

Aside from trying to keep Yuko cool, you also didn't want to risk the news getting back to the Director who could take you off of Gojo completely. No one else could take your place. And who knows what would happen if you disappeared from his roster for good?

How would his threats manifest?

Yuko scoffs, waving her hand.

"Gojo and easy do not go together," and you both shake your heads and laugh. "But I get it. You did come in super early."

"Thought there'd be less of us," you sigh.

"Sonya's been on our asses lately, right? But hey, she finally got us all here."

"A little too late. The damage is done," you pout, resting your elbows on the table, realizing you've accidentally grown used to chaos and ever-changing schedule.

You routinely plan ahead to make sure you can stand up when people fall short. Constantly putting yourself on the back burner seems to be a thing that always set you back.

"Sooo, you just need rest, ya? Nothing else? Gojo—" there it goes "—been 'okay' with you lately?"

Your heart skips. "Ya. he isn't so bad today," you lie, "I'd just love to be home on time for once. Maybe even a bit early, I'm soo close. Overtime's been wringing my neck for weeks."

Yuko looks at you with puppy dog eyes. And not in a "I feel sorry for you" kind of way, but one that almost makes you feel bad for not telling her the whole truth.

"Here," she pushes your soup towards you, "How about I do Gojo's bath and you get an early start on my last two? That way you can at least binge that show you won't shut up about later." She smiles.

You immediately protest.

There's no way you can do that to her.

Yuko never even crossed your mind and was far from your first pick, not because she couldn't handle him but because she was your friend. Not just a colleague, but someone you actually cared about more than anyone else in this run-down job even if she didn't feel the same.

She's too good of a person, and you'd be the Devil Incarnate if you let her do something so risky. Especially when you can just suck it up and get it over with.

"Woah, woah, it's just a bath, calm down," she says, taking your hands in hers as you ramble on trying to convince her that you'll be fine or that you'll find someone else.

Burdening her was completely out of the question.

"Who else but me, Seph'? You don't you think I'm as good as you?" And the way she says it, giving you that look she does when you're being stubborn, dares you to challenge her.

Now you really had to think about what to say.

Goddamn it, you regret saying anything at all, but Yuko's so motherly, how could you resist? Hiding from her is impossible, she would've sniffed you out sooner or later.

Easing your pains when she could was her specialty—helping to calm and settle you down when you're quick to blow things out of proportion.

Could this be one of those moments? Or were Gojo's words more than just hot air?

The back and forth was killing you, but the combination of Yuko's reassuring touch and your gurgling stomach put the final nail in the coffin as she reminded you of the time.

Eyes wide, you look at the clock, ticking away faster than you realized, then back at your lukewarm soup.

Denying that you needed help would be silly because technically it was true. You probably should've asked the Director for a little Gojo break long ago, even if just for a few hours a few times a week. It was better than nothing because if you couldn't function, Gojo couldn't be cared for.

And when you really think about it, who better to fill in for you than Yuko?

The gutsy woman has been your rock since you started at the ward, She's had your back, sticking with you through tough times at work when staff constantly dipped in and out of the facility like a rotating door after being unable to handle the job.

A real day one.

Next to you, she's the most competent nurse in these walls, fully equipped with a "take-no-shit" attitude that routinely keeps her patiently in check.

It'd be silly, downright irresponsible to trust anyone else.

Her offer is simply too good to dismiss.

"Thank you, Yuko," you cave, grabbing your spoon and finally allowing yourself to enjoy your meal. "You're...amazing. I don't deserve you."

She looks on happily. "Just promise me you'll take some personal time after this," she insists, worry evident in her voice. "We both know how much you care, but even superheroes need rest."

She's too kind and right in more ways than one.

"Besides, I think Gojo will like me, ya? I'm cool. I'm fun. He'll like a friend of friend, you think?"

Your eyes roll—ya, totally, cool people definitely say they're cool.

You don't know whether to joke back or wave her off, softly smiling at her concern instead before nodding. You vow to make good on your promise and feel a bit lighter knowing your wish for early release will actually come true.

Maybe.

The latest threat to your miracle in the making is Mr. Hampton, who is personally making it his business to drag the already long day by its edges. Almost bringing time to a standstill with the way he's handling his bath.

Enormous and lumbering, the man Yuko usually deals with took his sweet time gathering his things and even longer trekking down the seemingly endless halls leading to the bathing area. Occupying every inch of the space like those massive trucks on the interstate, hogging the road, yet inching along at a pace that makes a snail look like it's in a sprint.

All that was missing were the yellow hazard lights.

Oh no, please, take your time, you think, watching Mr. Hampton clean each limb painstakingly s l o w in a tub that's comically too small for him. You may have been able to rush through Yuko's first patient, but this one wanted all that time back.

His pace resembles a giant's, and his cheerful nonsensical hums echo around the hollow chambers, lulling you to sleep, turning your eyes into bricks under the spell of the melody. Perfect timing for the energy drinks from early to crash you out, tag teaming with the chair beneath you that feels a bit too soft as you lean over the tub, willing the colossal man to hurry up.

Warm water flows over your skin as you scrub circles on his neck, deciding to bite the bullet and take over the bath so he can play with the foamy bubbles, when you hear a blood-curdling scream.

Your entire body goes rigid, shock reverberating through your spine and forcing you to halt as your mind goes blank. But steamy water brings you back to life, drenching your shirt and upper thighs when Mr. Hampton jumps from surprise.

The rude awakening makes you lock in.

The scream. It sounds like...no, you know it came from the west wing...where Gojo is.

And Yuko.

Hurried steps rush past your door, sounds of multidirectional distress and frantic shouts echoing through the corridor—staff members and patients alike swept into a whirlwind of panic.

You're number one, dropping the scrubber and scrambling to help Mr. Hampton out of the tub, hands shaking as he grips them.

A security guard bursts into the room, face ashen and jaw tight.

"Nurse! We need everyone in the west wing, immediately!" The command is sharp, laced with an urgency you've never seen before.

And immediately feel responsible for.

"There's been an incident."

Without another thought, you wrap Mr. Hampton in a towel, trying your best to assure him that everything is fine when your obviously trembling body said nothing was. His confused gaze follows you as you lead him back to his room, the commotion in the air moving him a lot faster than earlier before you rush back out heading straight for the west wing—where chaos reigns supreme.

The usually pristine floors, normally squeaky clean floors due to lack of traffic, are now barely visible. Staff members crowd the familiar hall for the first time since Gojo made it his own, filling the space with more bodies than you were used to and making it difficult to find the source of trouble.

Not like you needed to. The truth is painfully clear.

It's disrespectful even to even pretend you don't know exactly what went wrong, and your heart feels as if it'll burst from your chest any moment now just thinking about it. Crushing guilt wrapped you in its clutches, but it was nothing compared to the pain you might've caused.

You push through the masses, clumsily bumping shoulders, heart beating into your ears making the world seem quiet as you inch closer and closer to disaster. Dragging imaginary shackles on your feet with each step until you all but collapse once you spot it.

Gojo—barely restrained by guards, straitjacket nowhere in sight—standing absolutely furious.

And for the first time today, time seems to slow down, your mouth becoming suddenly dry mouth when you look past him.

Yuko.

Halfway out the door to his room. Sprawled out on the ground. Bruised, unconscious, and no signs of breathing.

Your hands fly to your lips, mouth agape. Murmurs from the crowd swirl around you as attendants rush to Yuko's side, knocking into your pathetic frame as you stand too frozen to move.

They gently pick her up, careful to handle her motionless body and place her on a stretcher. Her usually vibrant face is drained of color, twisting the dagger in your chest when you spot the subtle rise and fall of her chest. Fighting for breath.

Fighting.

It hits you like a hammer.

Someone as kind as her, so full of light, love, and joy, always greeting you with warmth and empathy and capacity every time she sees you, should never have to lift a finger let alone fight for her life. The sight is too much to bear.

Waves of helplessness crash over you and you can't even look at her. Regretting with every ounce of your being that you sent her in your place. Knowing this could happen. Concerned only with your silly wants and needs.

But you're so confused.

The ward should have weakened Gojo—Yuko should have been fine. The only threat Gojo has up his sleeve is mental torture but Yuko might as well be Freud. Her mind is sound, strong.

And that's where you fucked up, forgetting that Gojo's pure strength, especially when he's lost his fucking mind and triggered, is stronger.

Even with his security system in place, the devil was still powerful enough on his own. And like this was some sick and twisted experiment to figure that out, Yuko was the one to pay the price.

"I warned, I WARNED YOU!" Gojo's words pierce the overlapping voices like a sword, drawing everyone's attention to the strange interaction between the two of you. "I don't like to be touched by strangers, Nurse." Guards struggle to restrain him as he tugs and pulls away.

All eyes fall on you and you can feel the tense stares. The unspoken judgment.

Why was Yuko here in the first place?Where was Seph’?How’d he get out?How did this happen? 

You don’t know if the murmurs are real or only in your head, but the effect is all the same, making you wish you could completely vanish.  You stand like a deer in headlights—and they're so fucking bright.

Gojo brims with malice and amusement, chaotic energy pulsing from the hellish man and threatening to send sparks flying. As if he's daring someone to be brave and push the button.

But despite his outward display of dominance, the pure rage on his face making you feel sick to your stomach about every decision you've ever made, something...uncertain lurks behind those fiery eyes.

Something like...apprehension.

Like he knew he had done something wrong.

Words escape you, as if anything even needs to or could be said. But fear and guilt soon turn to anger and threatens to consume you. Ready to eat you alive and spit out the bones with disgust.

You are not a victim.

You have no right to stand here, spineless, shocked, or feeling even a little sorry for yourself.

Your fists clench as you hold back tears. 

What was done was done. And someone needed to pay.

But you exhale, thoughts shifting to Yuko as you take a good look around at the results of what happened the last time you decided to punish Gojo. All of your actions, even now, rooted in selfishness. Like you've learned nothing.

You push down the knot growing in your stomach and turn away to follow the medics.

Your friend needed you more than you needed revenge.

And Gojo didn't deserve any more of your attention, even if it meant risking your job or even your life to turn your back on him.

And there's nothing Gojo hates more than being ignored.

Struggled and strained noises grow louder. Guards tighten their grip on the fuming man whose raw strength outnumbered thousands of them even without his cursed energy.

You look back, their determination to keep him contained makes you nervous—you don't want anyone else to get hurt and Gojo knows that.

You're painfully aware that your decisions have put you in this position, watching the guards' valiant but increasingly pointless effort to prevent Gojo from causing further harm.

But it's an obviously losing fight, and the unease on their faces is unmistakably clear.

You wonder why they don't just run like hell.

"Let's go," a guard barks, but Gojo remains fixed in place. Moving a boulder would be easier.

"No, I'm filthy," Gojo protests, smirking, "And if I don't have my bath soon, there will be hell to pay."

He sees no one else in the room, eyes locked only on you, his expression a menacing promise that would send anyone else running for the hills. A look that says, "Try that shit again, and there will be casualties instead of mercy."

Reinforcements are called but it'll never be enough. Not even the goddamn military. Gojo...is the strongest, after all.

"Stop this."

Your cry freezes the room, plunging everything into a tense silence.

You hesitate, fuck, what should you do?

What can you do? No one else can suffer—no one else should suffer. Because of you.

You take a deep, shaky breath, silently apologizing to Yuko.

"I'll do it," you say firmly, "Just stop this and...and I'll give you your bath. Please—" The sharpest pang you've ever felt cuts through you. "—just don't hurt anyone else."

Pathetic.

But necessary.

He looks into your pleading eyes in surprise, amazement even, then smiles.

The submission in your voice sounded better than he could ever imagine. Like sweet music feeding his already inflated ego.

The guards exchange uneasy glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed.

Gojo's strength is undeniable, and it's evident that restraining him forever is not possible.

And you know offering to give him what he wants is risky as hell...but this was your doing. Your mess to clean up.

You squeeze your sweaty palms and give a decisive nod, signaling to the guards to let him go. They hesitate, then reluctantly agree and step back, leaving Gojo standing smugly before you.

You close your eyes and breathe, hating the idea of looking at him, but needing to stay strong. For Yuko. And everyone else in the ward.

Gojo's satisfied grin says it all.

Let's get this over with.

The squeaking of your shoes has never been this loud, each echo bouncing off the empty halls and reminding you of how alone you are.

Alone—with a psychopath.

A bit more docile, doped-up psychopath but, the man could probably still rip someone's head off if he wanted to.

Still Gojo despises anything that alters his body—mentally, physically, all of the above. Alcohol, medication, coffee, energy drinks—anything that threatens his need for absolute control.

But he also needed to compromise, and you refused to be alone with him again unless he took something stronger. Otherwise, it would be you, all the guards in the ward, and a pay-per-view premiere of his bath time.

He knew he had to agree because his ass is not for free, but only if you took it as well.

You blinked, hard.

You knew he would be skeptical—hell, it could be poison, and he wouldn’t blame you. But to suggest something so ridiculous?

"Half, then," he said, as if that made his suggestion any less idiotic, but, surprisingly, as you waited for your supervisor to dismiss the insane idea, the back and forth with Gojo actually didn't save you. And there was no need to ask why. The entire ward shot daggers at you any time someone walked by now.

She reassured you that you'd be fine, the mild tranquilizer would be out of your system by the end of the day, then patted your back as if to say, "lay in the bed you made."

It felt unreal, holding the familiar pill between your fingers, one you were used to dishing out but now had to take.

With a quick snap, you broke it in half, holding the half-pill out to the leering man. Gaze unwavering, he leaned forward and parted his lips, waiting.

You took a deep breath and placed them both on your tongues, but he couldn't pass up this opportunity to feel you and closed his lips around your fingertip with a quick lick before you snatched away.

But it wasn’t quick enough to avoid the tingles shooting up your arm as you swallowed without needing the water you had set aside, a confusing mix of emotions churning as it spread through the rest of your body.

He made good on his promise and swallowed his own, still watching you with a knowing look. And damn him, he's probably still thinking about it.

The guards carefully lead you and Gojo to his private bathroom—they're more there for show than for protection, but you'll take what you can get, and they keep a firm grip on his replacement straitjacket.

You trail behind, mind buried with thoughts of what to say once you're really alone with him.

The door shuts behind you followed by the familiar sound of a series of locks clicking shut. "We'll be right outside," one of the guards mutters, eyes shifting between you and Gojo. A stereotypical hint lacing his voice, but even he probably doesn't believe it.

"Perv," Gojo sneers. And laughs, but you don't find a damn thing funny, keys to his jacket digging into your palms as you spin around the face him, furious. Debating on whether to slap him, kick him, or knock his teeth out. Or be particularly evil and just let him sit in the shower, fully restrained and drenched in cold water. A move you know would do no good but show him exactly how done you are with his shit.

"That isn't funny. None of this is funny. You've hurt someone—you hurt my friend."

His laugh fades, smug expression slipping from his face. Even you're surprised.

...oh shit.

You're actually confronting him.

The intense words burn through his usual arrogance, leaving a heavy, uncomfortable silence between you.

Then, for a fleeting second, his face does something weird.

Something you haven't seen before as his eyebrows draw together. Is that...regret?

"I'm sorry."

The record scratches.

...the hell is this??

You squint at him.

The words were muttered, reluctant, but there they were, hanging in the air between you.

"It...won't happen again."

And he's serious, the same seriousness you see when his heart races when you take his vitals...but why? Because an apology? From him?? Unheard of.

Gojo has said some nasty things to you in the past that you've immediately scolded him for but he's never apologized. He'd make a note when certain jokes didn't land, but he never took them back, preferring to cut out his own tongue rather than waste his breath being sorry.

You know better than to take anything Gojo says at face value, but...what the fuck??? You almost feel offended.

He has to be joking, fucking with you to dig even deeper under your skin.

Or is he?

Now you don't know how to feel.

He's so good at that. Stealing the air back and hanging his words in them. Tempting you to pause and even consider if he truly meant them. If he could mean them. The mind games are endless.

But then, the familiar cockiness returns, along with that smile that twists your stomach into knots.

"Now," he says, strutting towards the stalls, "let's get this bath started, shall we?" And his easy, but confident steps call you to follow, a stark reminder of who you're dealing with. But he never knows when to quit. "Or should I really have to suffer for my actions?" and the bastard pouts.

Though you know he's being sarcastic and not to feed into his taunts, you can't help but wonder—what would suffering even look like for someone like Gojo?

Violence? Physical pain? A slow and agonizingly painful death?

But the guy is damn near invincible. What on earth could hurt him?

Whatever it was, it would have to be his absolute worst nightmare, but nothing comes to mind other than frustration.

Damn it, you have to keep making choices.

Return his energy or keep it professional? Tolerance or revenge?

"Apologizing won't cut it," you snap and gesture at his jacket, wondering how the hell he slipped out of the first one without leaving a trace. "And no tricks, or those guards will be back in here faster than you can tell another joke."

Smooth.

Gojo sighs sooo dramatically, like he can see straight through your little kitty claws. "Fine, fine. Loosen up," he drags, "I won't cause any trouble. Just don't go getting any ideas now, Nurse." He finishes with a wink.

He's insufferable—but despite your smoldering anger, tendrils of doubt still creep in.

Your fingers slightly tremble as you begin to unfasten his straps, but each click feels a bit like victory. A fragile illusion of your 'control'—at least for now because at the end of the day, Gojo had chosen you to listen to. And after today, he's sure you won't forget there isn't room for anyone else.

The jacket falls with a heavy thud, your eyes immediately scanning his upper body in search of any signs of injury or stress. The cascading bruises on his arms surprise you.

They feel so feeble in your hands, the jarring evidence of him not as invincible as he seems. Pale, weak, and resting between your fingers. Devoid of the power that makes him so feared.

"Never seen bruises before," and he tilts his head, "at least not on me"

You hope Yuko was at least partly responsible for the marks on the villain, but they appear self-inflicted, and he's not as mobile.

Fuck, now you'll have to bathe him too. But it's strange, seeing him like this. Even weirder knowing that he could still do damage in this state and you can't shake the feeling of this temporary 'truce'. If it isn't obvious by now, you've learned that Gojo always has something up his sleeve.

Warm water soothes you a bit, flowing over your fingers into the large white tub—pristine, imported from somewhere far away and standing on decorative claw feet. Your eyes wouldn't stop rolling the first time you saw it, completely annoyed with Gojo's over-the-top alterations and sense of style, but you'd be a liar if you said you never thought about sinking your body into it.

The best you could do was cope with the little porcelain tub in your apartment, and you get lost thinking about how you'd love to take a long, hot, and steamy bath when you get home—if you'll even have the energy. There's no way you'll be leaving early now, not like you deserve it, and feel sick even thinking about it. You doubt you'll even have a job tomorrow.

You look so defeated Gojo thinks, sauntering forward, lifting the hem of his shirt. You turn away, focusing instead on the temperature of the water but the rustling fabric as he pulls the shirt over his head and pants to the ground sends heat to your cheeks.

He certainly isn't lacking in physique, even in his current state, but still, you wonder how such a slim but toned frame could be so...powerful.

Could you be more obvious? Your flickering eyes are so telling, darting between him and the water, but he catches your gaze from the corner of his eye as if he's read your mind. So cute trying to hide away your thoughts.

You toss in his loofah, "Well...go on. Your water's ready." But Gojo can only grin, amused by your attempts to look away despite seeing his muscled frame a number of times. Still managing to fluster you.

"Your shirt," he eyes your top, "Your pants. Looks like you've already started without me."

The water stains from earlier sit beautifully across your chest, not yet fully dry, and drawing his eyes to your semi-erect nips.

His teeth tug at his bottom lip, eyes shamelessly raking over your hefty chest. "Always such a tease, aren't you, Nurse?"

You grit your teeth, cursing the swirling conflict in your easy heart, fully aware of the thin line between professionalism and this game of intimacy he just refuses to turn off. Everything was always a game no matter the circumstances. And he loves to push your buttons.

"Just get in, Gojo," you order, and after what feels like an eternity, the silence is broken by splashing water as he steps into the bath.

He slowly sinks in, sighing at the warmth of the water. Ringlets of steam engulf him, almost making his silky white hair disappear with it.

His arms string over the rim of the tub, a look of relaxation resting on his face as if he's had a long, hard day. You resist the urge to slap it off.

Sudsy bubbles form from the solution you pour under the faucet, hoping to shield your eyes from his body. You've seen enough today and expect the mini-rebellious act to piss him off, but as the bubbles grow, so do his eyes. He picks up a handful and actually starts playing with them.

"Nice touch," he adds, blowing them right into your face, and you watch with a tight lip as he decorates the bathroom with them, knowing you'll be the one to clean it all up.

He sits a crown on his head and gives himself a bubble beard, nipping your nose with some that you're quick to wipe away.

His pale eyes flutter, settling on you in a curious way.

He leans, arms flexing over the edge—steam-slicked sweat dripping down his face that he doesn't bother to wipe away. "I'm ready for my sponge bath," he says, and if it was hard to take him seriously before, it's damn near impossible now—especially with this ridiculous bubble mustache.

Sickening, him managing to still be so playful, so unserious, at a time like this.

You know Gojo's unhinged, yeah, quote, "mentally unwell and a literal danger to society, tf did you think??", but to nearly take someone's life and then make jokes afterward?

God, you feel so stupid, walking around him like you were the shit but with the wrong guard up the whole time, playing right into his hands and accidentally rewarding this grown-ass man who likes to play with bubbles.

The reality of your circumstances replays in your head, the story of how you ended up here, coddling this monster. Still confused as hell as to why it had to be you.

But then again, this was your job...right? To heal. To help those who can't help themselves. To offer redemption, no matter how twisted they seem.

Loofah in hand, you resist the urge to roll your eyes for the 400th time today. "Keep talking like that and I'll stop, Gojo," you say, reluctantly drenching the tool in soap before gently washing his back.

He sinks into your touch, closing his eyes and letting his body completely rest on the cool cast iron, breathing. Feeling like he's won no matter what you say because your scrubs feel like magic.

Across his arms and over his broad shoulders, you work your way down, bubbles glistening in your trail as you're careful not to miss a single inch of skin but don't linger too long.

Every now and then, you catch glimpses of his marked skin between the foam and because you hate yourself, your brain absolutely refuses to give you a break. You have to give kudos to the dedication to his craft. The muscle definition, the scar tissue telling stories of battles won. Evidence of his past before corruption. Everything it takes to be a hero.

It's unsettling, yet fascinating, the polarity between his beauty and his monstrous deeds.

This is another first for you, this level of care. Gojo usually just hops into the shower and takes care of himself as you wait outside—easy and thorough but always taking his sweet time, all while loudly singing some annoying song that inevitably gets stuck in your head.

But after today, it'll be impossible to trust him or you again, and the hushed whispers as the guards walked you both to the restrooms made that abundantly clear.

The pitiful thoughts seep into the way you hesitantly clean him, moving down to his chest and abs and making sure to avoid more sensitive areas, but the malicious glint in his eyes is unmistakable.

"Whatsamatter, Nurse?" Gojo taunts, feeling you slow around his lower region, "Afraid of gettin' too close?" And you can't believe you're praying for a speedy recovery so he can handle this himself.

You ignore his comment, trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. You're humiliated enough as it is and he can sense it, mocking you with a laugh.

"You're so uptight. Can't you just relax and enjoy the view?"

You want to scrub his cocky brow right off his face. "Just doing my job," you mutter, twice squeezing the loofah that feels a little funny in your hand as the soapy water rinses his chest.

The water feels heavenly on his skin, but the subtle change in your movements makes his brows furrow. Slowing, more deliberate, heavy as if you're wading through molasses. You keep adjusting your grip but the material feels so strange—the texture almost too soft like it could melt into your palm.

Your breath catches when you brush his skin, not realizing how close your fingers drifted to the edge of the sponge, and though it was only a second, it sends an unexpected jolt through his chest.

The muscle relaxers. How could you have already forgotten, you both think.

But Gojo, ever observant, doesn't miss a thing.

His eyes narrow slightly as he watches you. "Feeling a little funny, Nurse?" his velvet voice teases.

"I'm fine," you lie, though you couldn't be less certain as the muscles in your hands start to relax more than you intended, the sponge gliding over his abs, down his sides, rhythm almost hypnotic and making the man's head fall back. You try to push through the haze, to finish quickly and be free of him, to try to regain your slipping control, but you're in a losing battle against numbness and heightened awareness.

ANd God, he has to bite his lip at your touch that feels so intense, a sensation too good to keep to himself that you obviously need to stop being such a tight-ass.

You need to loosen up in a way that medicine can't help. And Gojo knows just the trick.

He licks his lips, tongue curling over his canine before splashing a wave of water on you in one swoop.

Saying you gasp is an understatement as the steamy wash drenches your face and front once again. You've been hit not once, but twice in a day—a new personal record.

Instinctively, you reach up to shield yourself, the loofah slipping from your hand, but Gojo is quicker, wrapping his hands around your wrists and holding you in place.

A scream prepares to surge from your body when Gojo maneuvers both of your wrists into one hand and places a finger to your lips.

"Ssssh ssh ssh ssh ssh," he hushes, his voice a little too calm, "I'm not going to hurt you." He swipes a lone droplet hanging from your eyelash. "I just want you to listen."

You freeze, nerves on fire as you're forced into this close proximity for the second time today. Inches away from his face that softens.

Though you can easily call for help, you know better than to argue—he knows you know better but he never felt threatened in the first place.

Besides, he can feel your breathing slowing, the effects of the pill combined with his firm hold sending a faint buzz from your wrists to your stomach. His finger remains on your lips as he brings his closer.

"Now," his eyes flicker to your bottom lip, "You're so very good at your job, Nurse." He smoothly pulls it with his thumb. "That's why I like you. You're thorough but real. Just what I need to keep me sane."

Sane?

"Sane," he repeats like he's heard your thoughts. "Believe it or not, you keep me grounded...like a good boy. Be proud, not a single soul here or anywhere else can compare to my strength, let alone deal with me yet...here you are." He looks at you like you're a marvel.

"You can handle that...can't you?"

Words fail you. This feels rhetorical. Why does he keep torturing you like this? What is it about you?

You haven't really thought about it since your first few weeks with him but now he's forcing you to think about the little 'power' he's given you that he can easily snatch back.

What happens if he decides to go further than flirting?

You can't handle it, any of it, any of this.

You hesitate, unsure of what to say but know it could never be the truth.

Gojo must sense it because he leans closer, his breath warm on your cheek.

"If you leave, I just might crack completely, beauty." A breath you didn't realize you were holding slips. "How do you think everyone else will fare against me then, hmm?"

Gojo knows he's a prodigy, yet he still manages to surprise himself sometimes, eyes lingering over the spots on your uniform soaked through just enough to make the fabric cling—perfect aim.

Ice shoots up your spine from the heat of his unadulterated gaze, but you refuse to let him see you falter. He almost feels a prick from the daggers you throw with your eyes.

"Oh, don't be like that, Nurse," and he purrs, thumbs grazing your wrists in a mockingly gentle touch. "We all have our boundaries, right? I thought communication was key in a relationship."

"Let go of me," you find your voice, "We're done here."

Gojo slightly tilts his head.

Look at you calling the shots, he thinks. So strong, so very serious.

"God I can't help it," he breathes, "You're so fun to mess with."

He could laugh in your face, have his way with you, and show you that your resistance means nothing.

Instead, he slowly releases your wrists and lies back against the tub. "I know you think about it—there's nothing wrong with a little fun...right?" and though the connection is severed, you don't know if it's the drugs or just him that makes his amplified touch linger as you sheepishly rub your wrists.

Gojo watches you blush red—thoughts you didn't know lived within you rushing to the forefront as if he's pushed a button.

Grimy, raw, salacious, unwanted thoughts of forbidden fruit, wandering hands, and stolen touches in the dark. Wondering what his idea of "fun" was like under the sheets. With a psycho named Gojo.

You feel like you should throw up in disgust but the nausea never comes, instead you burn between your legs.

Fuck, you've got to get out of here.

You draw a breath, forcing away the torturous daydreams and quickly finish his bath.

"You should rest," you firmly say and pull the plug to let the tub drain. "And don't expect any more favors from me."

He sits up slow, his expression stone-cold as he slicks back his wet hair. Then he smiles. "I promise. Now dry me off?" he quips.

You ignore his request, swiftly handing him a towel before he can flash you. Gruffing, you lower to your knees and begin drying the floor of his messes, hoping to distract you from your questionable sanity.

Rustling fabric fills the chamber as he dries off, and when you figure it's safe, you look up to a nude Gojo. Still dripping with bubbles, hair plastered to his derpy face, and toned muscles, all the muscles, presenting themselves in all their glory.

The only things dry are his damn hands.

He throws the towel over over his shoulder, sauntering towards you with a wicked grin.

"Well, aren't you gonna help me put this thing back on?" He nods at the jacket he knows is more bullshit than security. "Don't want you getting all worked up again."

The first time your brain registered that Gojo was flirting with you was on your third day as his nurse.

"Well, aren't you a breath of fresh air?" Gojo was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall. It was the second time he'd noticed how sluggish you looked while tending to him, suggesting with a grin that you must be quite the party animal.

Ha. If only.

You tsked, tossing his bedsheets into the hamper, and assured him that your sleepy eyes and dragging feet were the result of long hours and running on fumes. Having time for fun was just a dream.

"I don't get out much myself," he says, alluding to the situation he's in, wearing sarcasm like a necklace. "I love a good night in as much as anyone else but, I don't know. The stuffiness hasn't grown on me yet."

You tugged the collar of your scrubs—the air did feel a bit thick, like the room hadn't been aired out in ages and you couldn't help but wonder how long he'd been sitting in it—how he could. That alone would be enough to drive you up a wall.

Sunlight flickered in your eyes, and you raised your hand to block it, noticing the small window perched above his chair.

"Ah, let's open this then," you said, walking over and wrestling with the ancient wood for a moment before finally pulling the creaky flap up to the ceiling.

Standing on your tiptoes to reach it, a sliver of your midriff peeked out, but what captured his attention most was the way the sun rays washed your face. You scrunched your nose, the breeze sending wisps of your hair to tickle it, and he imagined the feel of them between his fingers.

The view was beautiful, you thought, hands gripping the warm bars. Trees surrounded the vast area, stretching out as far as you could see, the pathway to civilization completely covered in dense forest from this angle.

You never realized how high up his ward was—or how long the drop was from here.

"Too bad I'm not small enough to slip through those bars." He rubbed his stomach. "But you know me, 'Mr. BigBack.'"

He joked around as he usually did, looking to trigger your defenses, but your sentiment was...odd.

This was the first time anyone had cared to do something so simple for Gojo. And the closest anyone had gotten to him without their knees buckling.

The first two days of your trial, the Director had guards posted right outside of Gojo's door, their presence a constant reminder to stay alert and maintain a safe distance from the convict and Gojo was positive the mental barrier would keep a wall between you forever.

But then you laughed. A real laugh. Snickery and cute. Finding his joke funny instead of threatening.

It surprised him, that sound. And he wanted to hear it again and again and again.

"Who knew you could bring so much light into this place?"

Later at lunch, you sat with Yuko, having your usual midday catch-up. You never start with yours but she, like most people in the ward now, was absolutely dying to hear about how you were dealing with the villain of the century.

"He's actually not so bad...yet. Corny, but," you took a pondering breath, "He kind of thanked me today?"

She immediately scoffed and waved you off and who could blame her?

You were the anomaly he chose to show mercy to and now he was thanking you??

Being polite was too far of a stretch to believe, you must have been mistaken. But when you gave her the deets on why he'd do such a thing, she nearly choked on her apple. "He said that??"

"Ya?" You patted her back with a concerned look.

"Watch out, Casanova." She cleared her throat and did a nervous laugh.

Her comment threw you off for the rest of lunch, but when you thought about it later that night while surfing for new shows, a light bulb went off.

He flirted with you.

Thinking it was just another one of those literal dry-humor jokes or simply gratitude for making his stay a little less crappy, it flew right over your head. You always feel warm inside when you help people so you didn't think too much about it.

To you, it was just a kudos. Nothing more.

But the way the stands in front of you now is everything.

As bold and brash as it gets.

Fuck. Me.

And your body betrays you, sending all of the vulnerable sensations you've been fighting to suppress from your soaking chest, tingling wrists, aching thighs, and heavy breath, straight to your throbbing clit.

Air escapes you and you scramble to grab your supplies and leave.

Enough is enough. The guards outside can restrain him and escort him back to his room for all you care. You just have to get out of there.

Away from him.

Away from temptation.

Hot, overwhelming, guilty, mentally and physically unstable temptation.

In the quiet of the hallway a level below Gojo's ward, you lean against a wall taking deep breaths, completely disgusted with yourself.

How are you supposed to keep dealing with this, with him?

He keeps pushing and pushing and pushing you to the edge until there's nowhere else to go. You can only imagine the hell the nurses he didn't like went through.

Taking care of him isn't getting any easier, and now you were fucking up and making mistakes.

But you're the only one who can do this. Who must.

So suck it up. Play along, Stop thinking only of yourself. Pretend.

Pretend.

Pretend?

...

What terrifies you the most is the thought that you may not have to.

You keep your scrambled thoughts to yourself when you're called into your Director's office at the end of the day.

You tell him the same story you told Yuko and take full responsibility for what happened, blaming it on exhaustion and needing a break. Swearing to never let it happen again.

By some miracle, you get to keep your job, though your one wish to leave early ended up costing you an hour and a half of unpaid overtime, and almost a friendship.

When you finally get home, you collapse onto your bed—images of the day, the ward, Yuko, flooding your thoughts, refusing to be pushed aside. You tell yourself that it's all just the guilt talking, just anxiety gnawing at your edges.

But then there's Gojo.

The most prominent one of all.

Staring you in the face with lifeless eyes and a ghostly smile. Tugging on your moral strings like a puppet.

When you close your eyes, you can't shake the feeling that he's waiting for you, a lurer in the shadows awaiting your every move.

Leave it. Leave it. Le—

You find yourself scrolling through your phone, deep-diving the web for information on your tormentor.

His past, his affiliations, anything to tell you who Gojo was, and who he is now.

The man is an anomaly.

Not much is known about him outside of mainstream news and internet rumors.

He's just this guy that kind of popped out of nowhere in the worst way possible. Conveniently on the tail of what could have been the most devastating incident in the history of Tokyo.

The media says he's a hero gone rogue but not much else. They damned him to hell and that was that. Even the Director disclosed very little about him during your briefing and you weren't allowed access to his files or records because it's all 'confidential'.

Nothing.

The more you search, you less that comes up. Not even silly conspiracy theories that you definitely thought would be riddling Reddit. The longer you scroll, the more you find yourself beginning to question your own sanity. Your interest. Sweet little buds of obsession.

Even though you hated taking it earlier, you actually need the pill now more than ever to relax, sleeping eluding you and mind wandering to imaginary scenarios as you stare at the ceiling. 

Tomorrow, you'll have to face Gojo again. And the day after that and the day after that and every day after.

In between your nearly non-existent off days, you'll have to seem him and decide what face you want to put on.

Because you simply cannot walk away.

After all, he's right—no one else can handle him like you can.

extended angel's note:

when i originally decided to make this into short story, i had no plans on using a y/n perspective. it was just going to feature an OC name i’ve used in stories before, named Persephone, buuuut i decided to wanted to keep it immersive and include no physical descriptors/personality specifics bc i knew i wanted to upload it to tumblr. 

to keep it reader-friendly, yk? 

alas, Persephone has had her claws in me the entire time i’ve been editing and said with her whole chest that i couldn't just dismiss her like that chile. so i decided changed the perspective but keep her name in place of y/n. 

you won’t see it too often in the story bc it’s not super significant or said a lot in general, bUT it is relevant for a certain moment later in the story. you’ll know when you know 🤭. 

anyway, hope it doesn't bother you guys too much. and def feel free to mentally plug your name when you see it to keep yourself grounded into the story.

tag list p.1: @reddiamondjazz @kiwismoother @rune1920 @blkkizzat @suguwife

@xerroe @enthyn @gloomuri671 @ressyshi @startatdawn

@khenanadeche @heijihatsutori @inluvkai @ixqiix @strawnanamilk

@rosso-seta @05-simply-06-simping @sims-4lifers @bratidol @rh-tg1

@hyunsuks-beanie @n1vi @luna-v-roiya @neteyamsluvr111 @supsiii

@natadecoco30 @chiyokoemilia @ririoutspoken @kyoxko @strawberrymilkshakes-posts

@nen-nyy @cinnamorochiroll @kazeniya @maybe7tommorow @sxnkuna

@misoyuh @lupitalove @sebastianlover @gojosatorubrainrot @sleepiebunniee

@mmmidkman @theonecrackhead @thathorsegotpoobrain @iveivory @samistar

@yuuan-66 @gojoslefttoenail @soyalovestoyap @winkwonks-world @thebiggestsimpforyou 

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hi, I really love your writing. It’s actually incredible how you can write people of the same pronoun and still make it easy to discern the two characters. I was wondering if you have any tips on how to do that without using phrases like “the short one” or anything like that.

1. Use the character's names

I often use 'the protagonist ', 'the antagonist', 'the hero', 'the villain' on tumblr. However, functionally, I use these like names and/or titles.

Using a character name allows you to periodically clarify who is talking or doing something when the reader would otherwise get confused. I know some people take this a step further by actually using 'Hero' 'Villain' as names more literally/directly, but I don't personally like doing that. It jars my brain.

I think 'the hero' etc works as an indicator where 'the short one' doesn't because it's neutral/not providing new info. Traditionally, we often only use physical descriptors when we don't know who a character is, so it creates distance/can jar when used in the middle of a scene. If you are in first person or limited third, there's just not necessarily a reason why your narrator would think of the other character in that way, which is another reason it can feel odd.

Basically, it's a bit like how we don't notice 'said', but would really notice if someone was uttering/shouting/mumbling in every dialogue tag.

2. Use proper paragraphing.

New character doing something, new line. New person talking, new line. New idea/point, new line. Shift in time or setting, new line.

3. Don't be afraid of easy beats

What are easy beats, you say? They are the moments of action or thinking in between dialogue. Body language. Whatever. Even if you don't use 'he/they/she said', because that can get repetitive. They are a way of providing context and variety to your writing, that can often do double work making it clear who is doing or saying something.

Example:

''So this is dialogue," they said.

"Right."

"And you didn't need to say you were talking next, because it was obviously someone else because it was on the next line. And now it's obviously me again. Hi!"

"All well and good until we've been chatting like this forever."

"Well." They stretched out, lazily. "That's what the easy beat that just happened was for. Did you catch me stretching in the middle?"

"But now I'd need a name or some kind of indicator," Character B replied. "Or it feels odd. Too many theys"

"It's all about balance, my friend. The instinct comes with practice."

Character B wrinkled their nose. "But what if I want to talk for a really long time?"

"Well," they said. "Then you can often start with a pronoun use or a character name to establish. Then you make your next point. Try and keep it relatively easy to follow. After that, try to have some kind of easy beat or action happen so the whole thing isn't talking heads." Character A rose towering to their feet, waggling their fingers in another hello. "And, if we're lucky, we never need to say 'the short one said' again, because we can flow our descriptions more naturally into the action.' Now." They sauntered closer, stopping in front of Character A with the worst smirk that B had ever seen. "Shall we ask the audience which of us is taller?"

[untitledmemes]

Baldur's Gate 3: Astarion Prompts

Part I An assortment of dialogue lines taken from the character Astarion in the game Baldur's Game 3. Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ You can kill it, can't you? Like you killed the others. ”

“ I was hoping for a kind soul. ”

“ Let's try to keep that lovely neck of yours in one piece, hm? ”

“ And to think I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards. Apologies. ”

“ I'm out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice. ”

“ Is that so? We clearly move in different circles. ”

“ You know, I was ready to go this alone, but maybe sticking with the herd isn't such a bad idea. ”

“ Wait, that's it? 'You're doomed, sorry,' and then off to the next adventure?”

“ My my, you've been busy. ”

“ Curling up in the dirt and resting is... a little novel. ”

“ You sleep. I'll keep watch. ”

“ We're all doing surprisingly well, given the circumstances. ”

“ I am open to suggestion. Knives, poison, strangulation - whatever you'd prefer. ”

“ If the last day taught me anything, it's that the impossible is more likely than you think. ”

“ Quite a sight. The stars, I mean. I could take or leave your chin. ”

“ Good. I don't want you to run off just yet. ”

“ I'm not easily impressed by people, but you're stronger than I gave you credit for. ”

“ You have your charms... more than you think. ”

“ No, no - it's not what it looks like! I swear! ”

“ It's not what you think - I'm not some monster!. ”

“ No, I needed you to trust me. And you can trust me. ”

“ I need you alive. You need me strong. ”

“ I shall be gentle as a babe. ”

“ Shouldn't take long. So many people need killing. ”

“ This is a gift, you know. I won't forget it. ”

“ Good morning. How do you feel? ”

“ Someone - or something - wants me alive. They've changed the rules. ”

“ As for my other quirks - well, we can figure those out in time. ”

“ I was worried people might turn up with torches and pitchforks. Although there's still time. ”

“ We're bound together, no matter what comes. ”

“ There now, we're all friends again. ”

“ Oh, you're such a sweetheart. ”

“ I'm here in the spirit of openness and honesty, to work together as a team. ”

“ I've never killed anyone! Well, not for food. ”

“ Do you think you could trust me just a little further? ”

“ I only need a taste, I swear. ”

“ Let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we? ”

“ Oh no. Something's terrible happened! ”

“ You're - you're here! Thank goodness, I was worried about you. ”

“ I understand you're upset, but let's not get carried away. ”

“ I can fight with all my weapons - teeth included. ”

[captainthisshipinmyhead]

Secret Desires

Sanemi x Fem!Reader, Giyuu x Fem!Reader (p sure I used she/her pronouns at one point but I don't think I use any descriptors really, so it could be read as GN!Reader, just wanted to tag as fem just in case)

Shinazugawa hates Tomioka, everyone knows this. But nobody knows the real reason behind this animosity-- or that it mostly has to do with you.

Warnings: angst, mentions of sex (no smut), OOC Sanemi tbh, cold/emotionless Giyuu (I put that as a warning bc it pains me. Giyuu is my lil cinnamon bun sweetie I hate making him that way 😔), very little plot outside the romance stuff lol.

WC: 5,182

A/N: I'm not rlly a huge fan of like, music-based fics but I have to admit I thought about the idea for this one when a Panic! At the Disco song came on shuffle the other day. These lines listed below in particular from "She Had the World" inspired this. Enjoy. As always, constructive criticism is much appreciated but please be kind.

“When I look in her eyes, well I just see the sky”

“I don’t love you, I’m just passing the time”

         It was no secret to any of the hashira that Shinazugawa hated Tomioka with a passion. To the few of them that had asked about this animosity outright Shinazugawa had given some lame answers before, like that Tomioka appeared to think of himself as better than the other hashira (true), that Tomioka had defeated him in all their 1v1 training sessions due to some really bullshit happenings that occurred each time and it was annoying (true), and that Tomioka had killed one of Shinazugawa’s pet beetles (not true). Though these were the reasons he gave for having such a hatred for the Water Pillar, they weren’t the real reason why Shinazugawa couldn’t stand the guy. The real reason that he would probably never reveal out loud to anyone else was simple: you.

         You were indeed the reason for the one-sided hatred between the two hashira. You didn’t know this, of course, but Shinazugawa absolutely couldn’t stand the fact that Tomioka had you. Though he never intended on telling you this, Shinazugawa had feelings for you. Deep, deep feelings that he actively had to push down when you talked to him with your bright smile, telling him another one of your stories about the crazy happenings of your day. He was no stranger to envy and not getting things that he wanted in life, so it wasn’t just the fact that Tomioka had you, but that he didn’t care for you as he should.

This was another secret Sanemi held closely-- not because he didn’t want to tell you, but because didn’t know how. He had found out Tomioka’s true feelings because Tomioka had gotten careless after one stressful week with back to back missions and left his personal notebook out in a common dining space. The only person around at the time to find it was Shinazugawa. He normally wouldn’t care about the personal musings of a random person but given whose notebook it was, he couldn’t resist reading a few tidbits. His jaw fell open in rage when he saw the way Tomioka had written about you there—not necessarily as if he didn’t care for you at all, but he was very clear in the fact that he had no romantic feelings toward you whatsoever. He was very clear in his musings that you were his partner simply as a way for Tomioka to relieve stress, seek out affection, and boost his own ego.

When Shinezugawa read this, he was beyond pissed. He was absolutely outraged. How could he? How was it that Tomioka of all people got to have someone as kind as you and he didn’t value you the way that he should? He could’ve killed Tomioka with his bare hands in that moment, but he knew that you were at his estate now, visiting your partner for the evening, and he knew that you hated unnecessary violence and animosity between fellow demon slayers. In the moment, he decided to place the notebook back where he had found it, and go on a walk to calm his anger. He would deal with Tomioka in due time, some way that wouldn’t have you angry at the both of them.

         In the weeks following this discovery, Sanemi could not shake the rage that filled him at the sight of Tomioka. And don’t get him started on how it felt seeing the both of you together. When you approached Sanemi alone, which you often did as you enjoyed talking to the typically prickly Wind Pillar, he forced his emotions down so that he didn’t burst forth with the knowledge he had on your little boyfriend. You absolutely deserved to know, but if he were to be the one to tell you he wanted to do it without anger, only with empathy and understanding. The way that you should be treated. Sanemi valued you deeply, and he never wanted to hurt you. It was his own deep-rooted care for you that made this situation so anguishing. He knew that he could treat you better—so much better. If only he had gotten closer to you first, then maybe....

         He tried not to linger on the maybes. He didn’t want to be your friend with any conditions attached—he never thought of himself as the most emotionally intelligent person, but he at least knew that wasn’t fair. So he let it play out, because although Sanemi didn’t necessarily believe in karma, he did believe that the truth always comes to light.

         As far as your relationship went, you were comfortable in it. While there were things that maybe had you desiring more, you couldn’t say that you weren’t content with Tomioka so that was good enough for you. Really, what more could you ask for? Your boyfriend was strong, handsome, perceptive to your needs, and your intimacy together was consistent. Sure, Tomioka wasn’t the most outspoken about your relationship or on board with PDA—or, when you thought about it, any kind of physical affection-- but you really didn’t have any complaints. I mean, is your relationship really in the trenches if your boyfriend doesn’t show you off? No, that wasn’t necessarily a deal breaker.

         But when you saw other couples together, you felt an ache in your chest. You couldn’t help but compare your relationship to the sugary sweet ones around you. You saw others who held hands on public pathways, fingers intertwined, and imagined what it must feel like to be in love so freely where everyone could see. You saw the way these couples would sneak pecks on each others’ cheeks or foreheads, and the way that they would blush at the acts of affection, and you sighed internally. You heard whispered vows of devotion and love, and couldn’t help but think about how Tomioka never professed his love to you. Not verbally at least. I mean, he had to love you of course, you two had been together for the better part of a year. He just didn’t show it that often. He was just subtle. That’s what you told yourself. You had muttered the three words to him before, but you usually only did it in moments of passion, when you could play it off as being really into the moment if he questioned it. He didn’t, but all you got in response to your proclamations were grunts in your ear or hums that you hoped were agreement. But honestly, not hearing those words from him hurt your feelings. You wanted a deep love; one that your mind never questioned because it was always made so clear to you how much you were valued. You wanted it so badly you dreamed of it, but you weren’t willing to end things with Tomioka just over feeling a little pathetic at not publicly being affectionate with him or hearing three words. Other than those desires of yours, you guys were perfectly fine, really.

         It only took about a month before the guilt and rage began chipping away at Sanemi’s resolve. He had to tell someone, even if it couldn’t be you—and Iguro was the only hashira Sanemi trusted with any tidbits of his personal life, so Iguro it was.

         He had invited the Serpent Hashira over for a training session one afternoon when he was particularly frustrated. Iguro pretty much knew the drill; when Shinazugawa invited him over for one-on-one training it usually meant he needed to rant about something and let off some steam. Since Iguro was more of the quiet type anyway, he didn’t mind keeping quiet and letting Shinazugawa grunt out his frustrations.

Sanemi may have thought that he was keeping his admiration for you a secret, but Iguro was much more perceptive than the Wind Pillar realized. When he finished telling his friend how shitty your relationship really was, he was shocked that his friend called him out instead of getting angry with him.

         “And you didn’t tell her this?” Iguro admonished Sanemi, “You’d keep such a secret from the girl you love?”

         “I...what? Love? I didn’t say anything-“ He cut himself off at the sharp look in Iguro’s eyes as he tried to deny his feelings.

“I can’t tell her, obviously! She would be angry not only at the situation but at me, for knowing now for a month that her relationship is a sham! You can’t just....just drop that on someone! I mean, did I even ask  for your opinion anyway? Geez!”

Iguro’s eyes peered sternly at Shinazugawa over his bandages. “You should have told her as soon as you knew. It wouldn’t have been easy, but it would have been easier than telling her now. Maybe she wouldn’t have been angry then, but she definitely will be now that you’ve known all this time, and you can’t blame her.” Iguro would never admit it, but he had grown fond of you over your time with the Demon Corps, and it was mostly contributed to how highly Shinazugawa, his friend, spoke of you. This whole situation now pissed him off as well.

         Sanemi found that he couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes.

“You think I don’t know that?! Know it all ass....” Sanemi mumbled, deflecting the shame he felt at being called out. “Look, whatever, I’ll tell her soon. I said already I should’ve told her before. God, this sucks.”

Iguro nodded in the affirmative, sheathed his sword and bid goodbye to his friend before heading back to his own estate, trusting that their training session had been helpful. And it turned out that it had been helpful, as it struck Sanemi to be called out so plainly by his typically cold friend, who he had not expected to scold him at their training earlier. I mean, what was that about? Iguro never spoke up when Sanemi ranted—it was like, an unspoken understanding of theirs. But hey, whatever. The longer Shinazugawa got to ponder on the oddity of the earlier conversation, the less he thought about what he was on his way to do.

Sanemi approached the residence of the Flame Pillar, who you were training under as his tsuguko. His steps faltered a bit as he saw that you were already outside and you spotted him quickly, giving him no more time to prepare his words. He forced a smile on his face that he hoped matched yours, and closed the distance between you.

“Y/n! Hey, how are you doing today?” He started out with some niceties, stalling.

“Oh well, I’m pretty good, Sanemi, how about you? I see you’re kind of flushed, if you need to come inside we can. It’s pretty hot out today. Here, let me get you some water as well!” As kind as always, you took him gently by the elbow and began walking him to the engawa nearby. As he was seated, he rubbed his sweaty palms on his pants. Gratefully accepting the water you held out to him, he drank deeply and sighed, knowing that the painful conversation had to begin.

“Y/n, I um... I came here to tell you something. I should’ve told you a long time ago, but I have been a coward, and I’m sorry for that.” He glanced sideways at your face, noticing already how the worry filled your eyes.

“About a month ago, I found some personal writings of Tomioka’s, and, well, they... they mentioned you, and...” He paused to take a deep breath, preparing to rip the metaphorical bandaid off. “He wrote in his notebook that he isn’t in love you”

Sanemi held his breath. It almost seemed in that moment as if the world held its breath too—he could feel a slight breeze but didn’t hear it move through the trees, and even birds that had been chirping had fallen silent. He forced himself to look at you and he immediately wished he hadn’t. Your mouth had fallen open in a delicate “o” shape, and your eyes sparkled with tears that had yet to fall. It appeared that you were trembling, and you couldn’t meet his eyes as they desperately tried to lock onto yours.

After a few moments of prolonged silence, Shinazugawa reached his hand out toward you, not knowing what to say but knowing he could offer you some physical comfort—and you jerked violently away from him.

“Go.” Your voice was low.

“Y- Y/n I’m—”

“I said go Shinazugawa,” you were practically growling at him.

“But wait, I-“

Your head whipped around so quickly he was startled, your expression as fierce as when you faced down a demon. “You knew. You knew for a month and you hid it from me. I thought we were friends, I- I thought that you cared for me!” The anger in your voice is exactly as he had feared.

He was going to lose you because of Tomioka—no, no.... he was going to lose you because of his own stupidity.

Not wanting to anger you further, he slipped down from the engawa and took a couple of steps away before speaking one last sentiment to you: “I am sorry, Y/n. I understand if you don’t wish to talk to me anymore, but my door is open to you if you ever change your mind.” He exited the estate and walked with a heavy heart back to his own mansion.

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

         You were devastated. Your deep fear had been confirmed by your friend, who had known long before you and chosen to deceive you. You had ignored Giyuu’s letters asking to meet for meals, and you had asked Rengoku to turn him away whenever he showed up at the estate’s entrance. You sobbed for a couple of days straight, then you could only lie in silence for the next day or two. Rengoku, the kind hearted man that he is, brought you all your favorite foods at mealtimes to try to entice you to eat, but your appetite was nonexistent despite his efforts. You finally reached a point where your sadness turned again to anger, but this time it was rightfully aimed toward the person who had deceived you longer than anyone—Giyuu. You finally instructed Rengoku to let him in after 5 days straight of the Water Hashira groveling outside. Rengoku, bless him, glared at Tomioka the entire time he marched to your door, though he knew not what was going on between the two of you.

         You had made an effort to clean your appearance up; you didn’t want to be disheveled in front of the man who had ripped your heart to shreds. Tomioka began the conversation, immediately starting to apologize, knowing how you had found out because Shinazugawa and Iguro had already ripped him a new one for it.

“Y/n please, I’m so so sorry. I can’t apologize enough for-“

“How could you?” You cut him off, not wanting to hear his bullshit apologies. If he were really sorry or guilty or whatever he would claim to you, why would he have kept his act up so long? Why pretend to care for you at all? If he wanted sex, it could have just been that. People make arrangements for situations to just enjoy sex all the time, there could have been some sort of understanding between you without the need for this senselessly cruel pain that you were put through.

“Y/n, I... I messed up. I was selfish, and I began a relationship with you knowing that a serious relationship wasn’t what I wanted, and I just.... I just hoped that somewhere along the line I would change my mind. I need you to understand though that it has nothing to do with you, you’re the best person I know, I just... I’m not someone who’s able to date right now. I don’t know if I’ll be able to ever, it’s just how I am. I should have told you that. I made excuse after excuse not to break things off. I enjoyed your affection and your attention, and I took advantage of it. I’m sorry.”

You listened to his small speech with a quivering lip.  He dated you for almost a year, with you thinking that you two were serious about each other, just because he liked your affection? You were almost more angry now that you’d heard his stupid explanation; it didn’t excuse this sham of a relationship. The silence stretched on as your tear-filled eyes glanced at the ground, at the trees behind him, at the birds in the sky....anywhere but at him, the man you thought you loved. Eventually, he broke the silence.

“You’re right to be angry. I would be too, anyone would be. You deserve better than me wasting your time. I’m so sorry. I know I never told you I loved you, because that felt like a lie, and I know you probably feel used. But y/n, if you ever forgive me, I know I could love you as my friend. I could be a much better friend to you than I ever was a lover. Please, take all the time you need. Even if you don’t forgive me, I’ll be willing to talk more whenever you’re ready.”

         He slowly began to turn around and step toward the estate’s main gate, and you watched him walk with slumped shoulders. At least you knew he truly felt bad about it all—Giyuu was not an actor. He couldn’t lie to save his life—not directly, like how he never said that he loved you. Once you were confident that he was out of earshot, you let out a sob that you hadn’t wanted him to hear, and turned to escape back into your bed for the remainder of the day.

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

         After a week of your grieving your future with Giyuu, in which luckily you had not been called on any missions, you finally felt okay enough to get ready and go to a group training session. Upon your arrival, you were approached by Sanemi, whose expression was more worried than you’d ever seen it.

“I came to check on you,” he said, eyes flicking between your own as if searching for a response there. You knew he had come to ask about you multiple times, maybe more times than Giyuu even, but Rengoku took his role as your protector seriously and turned Shinazugawa away even when he threatened violence.

“I wasn’t taking visitors.”

“Okay, yeah, I um—I get that. You needed time. Did you at least get my letters?”

You hadn’t realized he had been sending you letters also—you had instructed your crow not to deliver any messages to you unless they were from the master instructing you to go on a mission. Everything else could wait.

“Oh, my crow may have them stored away for me somewhere, but I didn’t want to read any letters last week either. Sorry.”

“Oh no, no, no need to be sorry,” He rushed to reassure you, placing his strong hand on your shoulder in a comforting gesture. You hadn’t realized how much you missed his company; how he effortlessly showed you his sweet side that others didn’t see. Your heart, having felt frozen solid for well over a week at this point, began to thaw out at the genuine warmth you felt from your friend. Overwhelmed with appreciation for him, you drew him into a hug, which he returned after a beat of hesitation.

         The training session went without a hitch as you slid right back into your regimen. Sanemi hardly left your side, and other slayers gave the two of you odd looks at the beginning when you had embraced. You couldn’t blame them—Sanemi was feared by many for his quick temper and how he resorted to violence in many situations that weren’t quickly and easily resolved with words. Though you’d never had to be fearful of him, you were able to see why others were.

         As you were gathering your things to head back to Rengoku’s estate, Sanemi asked if he could accompany you, which you accepted. You enjoyed his companionship too much to say no.

“Y/n, I want to apologize to you. I know you were upset with me for not telling you about Tomioka when I found out, and I should have. We’re... we’re friends, and I care about your feelings. I didn’t tell you because I was scared to hurt you, even though it wasn’t technically me who was doing the uh, hurtful thing? Look, I’m not good with words, so uh, I—” His cheeks blushed scarlet as you peered up at him in the evening sun. A tiny smile formed on your face before you cut him off.

“It’s okay, Sanemi. I know. And I know you probably wanted to tell me. I’m not angry with you really, you told me eventually. You’re a good friend to me. Thank you.”

         You looped your arm through his and continued walking, a comfortable silence between you.

Sanemi was the one to break it. “You deserve better, y/n. I always thought you did, but definitely with all this coming out you deserve better. You deserve someone to love you. I see other couples around, like, kissing and holding hands and stuff and... I don’t know, I just never saw him do any of that for you. The next person should do that and more. You should have someone who isn’t afraid to love you proudly. I know you have a lot of love to give, ‘cause that’s just who you are. You are love. So that’s what you deserve.”

You couldn’t say anything in response—you had never had someone tell you something so heartwrenchingly sweet before. You were coming up to your place, so you stepped on the engawa and turned to face Sanemi before dipping down to place a kiss on his cheek. His blush from before, barely having faded, returned with a vengeance.

“Thank you, Sanemi,” you said, voice barely more than a whisper. You hoped you conveyed how much you appreciated him. You smiled, and backed into your home, watching his lips turn up as he also backed toward the path leading to his home.

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

         Over the following months, you got back into your normal routine and felt much more at peace with your heartbreak. You had the support of the rest of the hashira, even if most of them didn’t know details of what happened between you and Tomioka—it wasn’t something that you were inclined to share. Not only would it cause more animosity to be directed toward him (he wasn’t the most popular slayer to begin with...), but it also caused you a bit of embarrassment that you were toyed with for so long. Regardless, you came to understand Tomioka’s reasoning for stringing you along, especially because of his lack of social life outside of you. You felt bad for him, knowing that now he truly had no one to spend time with; but you definitely weren’t ready to be on friendly terms with him anytime soon so you didn’t make efforts to see or speak with him.

         You had grown closer to Sanemi than you were before, which was a feat considering that you were already best friends really, even when you were with Tomioka. You both ate all of your meals together, trained together, often walked each other home, and confided in one another more than ever. Shinazugawa made you very comfortable around him. You were shocked when you realized one afternoon, head thrown back at the sky as you laughed at some clever quip from him, that he had single-handedly returned your smile to you after your heartbreak. You felt a tiny bit of warmth wiggling in your chest.

         Walking once again toward the Flame Hashira’s estate, your arms swayed gently by your sides. With Sanemi to your left, you felt very relaxed after a long day of training and goofing off with him and Iguro. You were looking forward to a nice meal and a hot bath. A sigh slipped from your lips at the pure contentment you felt in this moment.

         Sanemi’s head turned toward you, seeking your eyes.

“Everything alright?”

“Perfect, ‘Snemi,” your tongue was loose in relaxation and a strange version of his nickname slipped out, alongside a giggle at the slip-up.

         His face stretched into a smile, which was rare for anyone besides you to ever see. Walking down the bumpy path leisurely, the backs of your hands kept brushing. The warmth you’d felt in your chest since seeing Sanemi every day turned into a flutter everytime you touched his skin. As his knuckles bumped yours again, you decided to be bold—it was about time you started going for what you wanted, right? You caught his hand in yours and laced your fingers through his calloused ones. Your heart stuttered at the contact, and if you’d asked him how he felt he’d say the same. He squeezed your hand in his and rubbed his thumb in soft circles as you approached your residence.

“Y/n, I was actually wondering if you wanted to hang out tomorrow? With me? Well, duh, but you know...” Sanemi trailed off, his cheeks turning that shade of pink that delighted you so much. He was always so confident in every other situation—in fighting, in conversation with others, in his strengths, and he had been confident in flirting if what you’d seen in past years through your friendship was anything to go off of. His shyness with you was endearing; it told you that he cared what you thought of him. You knew he also had a level of comfort with you that he didn’t possess with anyone else, but you hoped in the near future you could express to him exactly just how much you valued him so that he no longer had reason to be so shy around you anymore.

  “Nemi, we hang out every day. Of course, I would love to see you again tomorrow.”

He kept meeting your eyes but then looking away. “Well yeah, yes, we do, but I kind of want to do something different, if that’s okay. Like if you wanted we could walk to the trees where the cherry blossoms are and I’ll bring a bunch of food and we’ll have, like, a picnic or something.” Your heart had to have swelled to twice its normal size.

         Still holding his hand, you gave him a reassuring squeeze. “I would love to.”

He finally met your gaze for more than half of a second and his still-pink cheeks broke into a grin wider than you think you’d ever seen on him. You didn’t know if you’d ever seen anything cuter. “Okay, then perfect! And, just to be clear, I wanted this to be a date. Like, romantically.”

You laughed again, throwing your arms around his neck and nuzzling into his broad chest. “Yes, Nemi. I want this to be a date too.”

Pulling back, you looked at his face, and you couldn’t help it. You were smitten with your friend. Well, soon to be more-than-friend, right?

“Can I kiss you?”

His face dropped into a look of pure shock, then elation as he breathed out, “Yes, y/n. I would like nothing more.”

So you leaned in, and he did the same, meeting in the middle. Sanemi may look rough around the edges to everyone else—but to you, he was nothing but soft and sweet. His lips were soft, not just in texture but in pressure, as if he wanted to make sure he wouldn’t be too rough with you. Your lips moved together as if you’d done this before. Thinking about how you knew now Sanemi’s true feelings for you made you smile into the kiss, and you felt his lips turn upwards too. Both of you were hesitant to part, but you had to pull away when it became difficult to breathe. His lips followed yours, not wanting to break.

Sanemi rested his forehead against yours and your peered up into his eyes. You didn’t think you’d ever seen him look so relaxed or blissful. “I should go,” you said after a moment, pulling a sigh from his mouth. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Sanemi. We’ll have more time together then.”

“Alright. If you must go,” he replied, pressing a sweet kiss to your brow before stepping away, off to his own estate. You watched him go. For the first time in several months, you could see yourself being happy again.

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

         A year later, you still walked everywhere with Sanemi, only now you two never went without your hands clasped tightly together. Your relationship with him had been completely different than the one before that had broken your heart. Sanemi held your hand with pride, he planted kisses on the top of your head and pecked your cheeks even when in the presence of others. When you became overwhelmed with how adorable your partner was and stretched up on your toes for a kiss, he still blushed if you two were in public, but he never turned down an opportunity to kiss his beloved. Not to mention, Sanemi never let a day go by without telling you he loved you. He didn’t really need to tell you in order for you to know—his actions spoke volumes about his true feelings—but each time he told you, you reveled in it and made sure to tell him the same back. And yes, you could say it to him anywhere, anytime without embarrassment or needing to play it off somehow.

His affection was shocking to others. The big, bad Wind Pillar who beat other slayers to a pulp at his trainings blushed when his girlfriend kissed him? He held her hand like his lifeline? His eyes weren’t full of hatred, but adoration? How could this be? Though this behavior was shocking to them when your relationship began, many were able to associate this new temperament to Shinazugawa fairly easily. While still rough in training sessions and prone to losing his temper, since he had been with you others could tell that he made a greater effort to hold his tongue or step away when upset rather than throw senseless punches. You made him want to do better for you, so he was better for you. He was a man of his word.

****

Now, when you walked Sanemi to a Hashira meeting, you placed a gentle kiss to his cheek and looked at the other hashira waiting in the Master’s garden. You waved first at Rengoku, who you’d see later on, then at Tomioka, who still hesitated to return your greetings even though you had released any anger you held toward him months ago. How could you hold anger toward your ex when you were so incredibly happy with Sanemi? Tomioka had taught you what you deserved, and Sanemi had been more than happy to put in work to be that for you. Now you could say with truth that you had no complaints.

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! I need advice for writing a character with oculocutaneous albinism who’s a platonic love interest without descriptions of her coming off as fetishising albinism. Her name is Glass and she’s blind and an investigative journalist and will be a reoccurring character in the series. The MC is gay and he describes her very affectionately in the narrative. When she’s introduced he fondly points out (to the reader) a lot of traits about her including things related to her albinism like “slightly wavy snow white hair in a fashionable bob and striking dark blue eyes that gently danced back and forth. One eye was pointing slightly inwards as she tilted her head and smirked at him.” I got the “dancing eyes” idea from a short film made by someone with albinism and nystagmus. I’m going to try and describe other traits about her more, especially about her personality to counter this.

I also have a question that might be too specific? I’m planning on giving her a little brother with ocular albinism, OA. If someone has a daughter with OCA are they more likely to have a son with OA or are the two kinds of albinism genetically unrelated? I wanted to include him to have more then one blind character in the story. Thanks for your time. :) -Anon Blue.

Hi! We don't currently have mods with Albinism, so I'll try my best. I recommend our #albinism representation tag for resources made by people with it! :-)

If you don't put most of the attention of how she looks to her hair or skin color, I think it should be fine. It's okay to mention it - I mean, that's just how she is, would be kinda weird to fully ignore it - but don't make other characters or the narrator gush over her paleness or eye color every time she comes up. Change it up and praise her fashion sense (like you did with her hairstyle!), the shape of her nose, how bushy her eyebrows are, or how her gums show when she's smiling instead! Her appearance shouldn't be reduced to just "girl with albinism" - give her other visual traits! :-) For other descriptors, I would avoid making her "angelic" or "ethereal" because of her disability. Remember to not make it mystic or magical; there's a whole "Magical Albino" trope out here that you should try to avoid.

You mentioning nystagmus and strabismus is great! Those are often forgotten or ignored in characters with albinism because they're not seen as "pretty". I've seen some people describe their nystagmus as "dancing eyes" before too, I think it's a very cool of conveying it!

In general, a good way to avoid fetishization is to include the "boring/mundane" things. When you show the medical parts of albinism like the esotropia, avoiding the sun, having her use a white cane or a guide animal, or using Braille, the representation will be more informed overall and not just an "aesthetic" - which a lot of characters with albinism unfortunately end up being. There's a big difference between a blind journalist guided by a German shepherd who happens to not have melanin and needs a Big Hat, and an evil sniper with bright red eyes and mysterious powers. I hope this makes sense!

In case that Glass is Black, I'd recommend looking at the #albinism tag at @writingwithcolor - it's always good to make sure your descriptions don't come off as unintentionally colorist if you go into her skin color. Things like describing her as more frail or delicate (when compared to other Black characters) would be in poor taste, so look out for that intersectionality if it applies!

The brother with ocular albinism part; those two types are completely unrelated, and it would be incredibly rare (not impossible) for that to happen as far as I know. For reference, almost all OCA (1-7) and OA (1-2) types are caused by completely different genes. The only exception could be OA1 and OA3; we don't currently know what causes the third one, and there's a theory that it's just a different presentation of the first. But I'm not aware of anything like that for oculocutaneous albinism, so if Glass has OCA1 (as I'm assuming from the description), her brother would have OCA1 as well (as opposed to OCA3 or any other subtype) if anything!

One interesting thing that you could do to have him have OA that I never see in fiction is to have him be adopted. I know multiple families who had a child with a certain disability and decided to adopt a second (or third, or fourth...) one with it! I think it could be very cool and would make sense with him being the younger one. Here is an interview/vlog from a real-life family with six adopted blind kids, if you want an example of that :-)

Wanting to include multiple blind characters is a great idea - if adoption doesn't work for your story, he could have the same type of albinism as Glass or have a non-genetic cause of blindness, like CVI, Retinopathy of Prematurity, glaucoma, or a whole lot of other things!

A story about a blind investigative journalist sounds awesome! Good luck with your writing!

mod Sasza

[thezombieprostitute]

Unwanted - Part 3

Summary: Your life is no longer yours. You've been forced into becoming a different species of human. Bought and paid for, what can you do but follow orders and obey your Alpha?

Warnings: Allusions to surgery, human trafficking, kidnapping; Angst; Depression; Suicidal thoughts. Let me know if I missed any!

A/N: Reader is described as big & tall, is female. No other descriptors required.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Unfortunately, upon landing, you found it was another empty promise from Ari. Instead of a meet and greet, like you expected, you were escorted into what looked like an interrogation room, but slightly less scary. Ari sends Johnny to get you some water while he sets up a recorder and notebook.

"We need to get some information from you," he tells you flatly. "You have inside knowledge of Hansen and Kemp's operation that we can use to save others. So please tell me everything that happened. Spare no detail." You give him a pained look and he sighs. "I know you've been through a lot, and not just today. But this information could save a lot of other lives from having to go through what you did. Or at least save them from being tortured to death by the process."

"For someone who smells like fire you can be ice cold," you snap at him.

"I'm trying to save people," he growls.

"By fucking things up for others," you snarl. "I was kidnapped off the street, a bag thrown over my head, by the man you called Hansen. I know because I recognized his voice earlier today. He had a lot of not-so-nice things to say about me and my body. But that's nothing compared to what happened when he gave me to Dr. Kemp. It was operation after operation after operation. My body didn't always have time to heal between them! I was in pain all the time! I was crying for someone, anyone to come help me and I'd just get laughed at by him! I couldn't breathe, couldn't stop hurting, couldn't...I couldn't..." you collapse into a ball on the floor, gently rocking and holding yourself like you did in your cell. Your world turns dark as you pass out.

You wake up wrapped in the arms of a woman with red hair and green eyes. Her scent makes you think of a river, slowly, but successfully, changing the environment around it by always moving. It's oddly comforting, but that could also be the fact that you're being held. In the background you're vaguely aware of a shouting match.

You try to lift your head to get a better sense of things but the woman gently places her palm on your forehead, "it's okay. You've been through a lot. More than you should have. Just get some rest for now."

"Who are you?"

"I'm Nat," she smiles. "I'm the lead Omega, for lack of a better term. I'm responsible for all the Omegas in the community, yourself included. You were supposed to be brought directly to me but apparently Ari didn't want to wait for you to catch your breath before pushing you too far." She looks towards the shouting match and you can hear a small growl in her voice. "Thankfully Johnny let us know what was going on and Steve, my Alpha, and the Pack Alpha, is putting Ari in his place."

"I think I understood what you're saying..."

She smiles at you again, "don't worry. We'll get you properly taken care of and the social aspects can be learned later. Right now, we gotta focus on your well-being. Do you think you can stand up? Walk with me to the kitchen area? If not, we can either keep laying here or I can get someone to carry you there."

You snort, "no one can carry me so easily." She makes a noise and shrugs her shoulders in a way that indicates it might not be so clear cut. "Do I actually have a choice in this?"

"Of course you do," she affirms. "You will always have a say in what happens to you."

Tears start pouring again, "I think I just want to be held for a while longer. If that's okay."

"I wouldn't have offered if it wasn't okay," she assures as she gives you a gentle squeeze.

Part 2 -- Part 4

Tagging: @alicedopey; @delicatebarness; @icefrozendeadlyqueen; @lokislady82; @peyton-warren; @ronearoundblindly; @startcarvingdarling

[see-arcane]

Jokes aside Jonathan must have felt so very vulnerable after that night. Getting both scared and horny for the first time in his life aside, now he realized that the Count 1. Has claimed him as his own 2. Has moved from touching/grabbing/pulling him to taking the liberty to undressing him 3. Yet is the least dreadful thing here and the one he can go to seek protection and safety from

Points 1 through 3 have already been picked to death so I won't beat them any further into the ground. But the 'Mark me down as scared and horny!' of it all is something that legit has me going back and forth, so I'll hop on that.

Jonathan does state outright that he finds the Brides attractive, or, specifically, that he wants them to kiss him.

"All three had brilliant white teeth that shone like pearls against the ruby of their voluptuous lips. There was something about them that made me uneasy, some longing and at the same time some deadly fear. I felt in my heart a wicked, burning desire that they would kiss me with those red lips."

The most straightforward read on this and his ensuing ~dreadful anticipation~ is that Jonathan is A) Naturally attracted to the hot vampire ladies and/or B) Having natural attraction being enhanced on a supernatural-hypnosis level. I can see either being in play. But I don't think it's the most interesting--or terrifying--read.

The first thing I want to nitpick here is that this almost definitely is not him feeling lustful for the first time in his life (we'll learn more on that point later in the novel ala his relationship with Mina being A Lot 👀). Jonathan knows what attraction is, emotionally and sexually, from being a staunch Minasexual. Which is a not-quite-exaggerated way of saying I personally see Jonathan skewing more towards the demisexual and biromantic side of the scale. In that lens, he has the potential to be attracted to anyone regardless of gender, but first they have to win his interest/heart before he even starts connecting any sexy dots.

Minor spoilers, but through the whole novel, Jonathan does not refer to Mina with any physical descriptors when he gushes about her. It's always a reference to her character, to her actions, to Mina being Mina. Which I think is interesting when put in context with his fixation on describing Dracula and the Brides' appearances, be that in attracted, repulsed, or frightened terms. Because the vampires are the only ones who get that reaction out of him. And I think the former, the automatic physical attraction, is its own unique red flag to him; though he may not have the language for it. It's not just him being ashamed to feel attraction or to write it down when Mina might see it someday.

It's because that attraction is probably not even his.

He doesn't know these women. All beautiful, certainly. But strangers. They haven't spoken with him, haven't endeared themselves to him, haven't done one (1) single thing to provide an excuse for his highly reserved libido to pay attention. And I doubt he's gone his whole life blind to any pretty people in his vicinity. Hot people have happened to him before and he has not cared because for Jonathan, care has to precede lust.

What the Brides have done is introduce a wholly alien sensation to him--an instant arousal that was injected rather than awoken from some natural place in him. It makes me think of Toxoplasma gondii, that fun little parasite that switches off rodents' natural predator response to cats and makes them docile when the pretty kitty creeps up with their mouth open. And while the Brides' and Dracula's trance effect does get the basic job done of Keeping the Victim Still and Compliant, having the side effect of forcing a bodily reaction on that intimate of a level is a violation in itself.

Though it does have a purpose too. Because the very first thought Jonathan has upon seeing them turns out to be the most dangerous one: He wants them to kiss him.

The One Thing that will see him bled to death, then undeath. Which has its own super fun parallel in things like, say, the fucking Cordyceps fungus that turns ants into zombies forced to aid in their own and others' slavery/destruction.

And while Stoker wasn't in on all the scientific lookalikes in the animal kingdom, I doubt that Jonathan's mesmerized fixation on wanting to be kissed first and foremost, running on in a written stupor about lips and teeth and breath, was an accident.

Just like a mouse holding still as the cat scoops it into their maw.

Just like an ant crawling up to the sun so it can burst with spores and share its half-life demise with its fellows.

Hold still, dear. You want to hold still for us, don't you? Of course you do. Good boy. Here. Have a kiss.

[skruttet]

What are your thoughts on Moominvalley's comet special?

I talked a little about it in this other ask response, but overall I was disappointed. I think it's quite telling that the part of it that made me the most emotional was the opening credits 😅

Someone else said it was "underwhelming" and I think that's a good descriptor for it. The rest of the season as a whole already didn't really feel final enough to me, and you'd expect the finale to make up for that and give you that big feeling of wrapping up the whole series in a satisfying way, but it just didn't hit that mark for me.

The actual journey in the first half just wasn't as epic and exciting as I was hoping it'd be, and I think that's partially due to them using elements from Comet in previous episodes so they didn't wanna reuse them again, like the stilts (though surely they could've brought them back...). The cave Moomintroll and Snufkin end up in also feels like a missed opportunity - it's such a beautiful setting, but all they do there is panic, then see the Hemulen, then he leads them out. Idk what exactly they could've done instead, but surely there was something interesting the writers could've come up with to utilise that space more.

The way Snufkin brought up the sun oil was so awkward and forced; I know it was to establish it so that Sniff could have his whole stinky salesman arc in the latter half, but it's really weird how he explains its origin to his friends again even though all of them apart from Snork were there in Fire Spirit! Speaking of, that was a real step down for Sniff, and I would've preferred him to have an arc surrounding the kitten instead. Maybe he spends the time trying to gain its trust or something, and then at the end, finally manages to do so and rescues it to bring it back to the cave.

And speaking of the cave, I didn't like that change, either (honestly I just think I disliked most of the changes they made from the novel tbh lol. like I get they don't just wanna rehash it and want this to be new and original to an extent, but sometimes that can go too far, or just in the wrong direction). It's just really stupid for them to be like "we need to face our fear and face the comet!" it's a COMET! It's not a mysterious noise you hear in the middle of the night that you can investigate, it's a big hot rock that'll kill you all!! And then Groke moves towards it, and ~something~ happens, but this is a family show so they have her moan again at the end to show she's still alive and I love Jack but his delivery of "I'm so relieved" is so weirdly flat that it doesn't help how awkward and unnatural this ending is lmao.

Now this is more of a personal gripe, but I don't like how Snufkin is positioned at the end. When they're facing the Groke, he's right next to Moomintroll, which I like (and also brings to mind Night of the Groke when they faced her together), but then after the white flash, he's not only nowhere near Moomintroll, but not even near their friends? And he walks away WITH THE POLICE INSPECTOR?! Like thank god Joxter doesn't know he's his dad he'd have a heart attack if he found out his son was so chummy with the cops smh. You could maybe argue this isn't even just a personal complaint, and that Snufkin has objectively been one of Moomintroll's most important relationships in this series, so for them to not have some kind of moment or interaction at the end feels wrong.

Something I was going to discuss in that other ask reply but I ultimately deleted because I couldn't find the words at the time was Little My's characterisation. This season in particular made me feel as though she's so, like, mad all the time. And I understand that anger is her thing, but it's usually a cheery kind of angry, you know? But in this series she sometimes just seems so frustrated and upset and although I like that it explores the more emotionally dramatic side of her, I was hoping that by this final season at least she'd be in a more comfortable and happy place. But in this Comet special she's so exasperated and moody with Moominpappa and I wish they just made it feel more like daughter-light-heartedly-poking-fun-at-her-dad, I guess?

Snork is interesting in this special because he plays quite a big role in it, but I also feel so sorry for him cause he's always getting cut off or used by Pappa and Sniff who don't properly listen to him and I just want to give him a big (figurative bc he hates hugs) hug my poor smart boy let him infodump. There's also a moment where he says "I can explain-" and his sister says "Thanks, Snork, but we really need to carry on!" which is so obviously the writers trying to squeeze in Snorkmaiden's characterisation from the book where she's practical in the face of her brother's long-winded meetings, and is a great example of the feminism of her character there, but it just doesn't quite work the same here. Once again just not as natural as it should feel.

On a positive note, I LOVED the look of the comet itself - every shot of it looked so cool and it changed the lighting of the valley in a fun and interesting way. I also liked how Jarmo and Samuli gave the score of the episode a funky sci-fi sound, which helped set it apart as something special for the series. And despite all my negatives, it's still entertaining! It's enjoyable to watch! Just, for someone who had expectations based on the whole series and the novel, underwhelming.

[machine-saint]

i think one of the fundamental problems with the word "techbro" is that it has multiple meanings, some of which contradict each other.

the original term brogrammer referred to programmers who act in a very stereotypical masculine way, as a pejorative. the word "techbro" was sometimes used as a synonym for this. this is why the word "bro" is there, because it's a comparison to frat bros. this is also the only sense mentioned on the wikipedia page. this is also the sense i see the least usage of on tumblr; it was really more of a thing back in 2012-2013 or so.

people also use it to refer to people who are pushing the latest fad; web 3.0, blockchain shit, NFTs, LLMs, whatever. this usage does not require that the person actually knows anything about programming. some of these people genuinely believe in what they're advocating for, some of them are just hopping onto the latest money-making thing. this is the y combinator set.

a third usage is to refer to people who are very into self-hosting, and "own your hardware" type stuff and don't understand that computing is a compromise and not everyone wants to spend all their effort getting stuff to work. this is the rms type. unlike the second definition, this one requires the person to have fairly deep technical knowledge. theoretically you could have someone who doesn't know a lot about computers but is real big into this kind of stuff, but in practice that never happens.

(i'm broadly sympathetic to this type; i avoid music streaming and sync all my music using open-source software, that sort of thing. the "techbro" part, in theory, comes when they look down on others for not making the same choices. of course, the line between "you're looking down on me" and "you're arrogant for simply believing that you're right" is thin.)

in particular, sense-2 and sense-3 "techbros" have very opposite beliefs! one wants to run everything "in the cloud", the other wants to run everything locally. one wants to let chatgpt run your life, the other hates the idea of something they can't audit be that important. both tend to be very "technology will save us" types, but the way they go about that is very different. one makes very sleek-looking but extremely limited UI, the other will make ultra-customizable, ultra-functional UI that's the most hideous and hard-to-use thing you've seen in your life.

and so you can see here the problem: what can we actually say about "techbros" that's meaningful, other than "techbro is when i don't like someone who likes technology"? if a word isn't used as a self-descriptor, but only as an insult, what stops it from becoming broader and broader until it loses all usefulness?

[outercrasis]

Welcome Home

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x F!Reader (reader is petite, with no other descriptors)

Word Count/Rating: 3.3k / Explicit 18+ only

Notes/Warnings: Western!AU, Paz & Reader are married & both are hot heads/combative (but they love each other v much), size kink, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, v light amount of spanking, more or less make-up sex, I have my own image of what Paz looks like and you all have to deal with it

Summary: Your husband finally comes home after 3 weeks. Surely you're going to welcome him home with open arms?

You don't turn when the door opens. Not for the familiar chime of his boot spurs, nor for the shuffle of his jacket and hat. You act as though you haven’t heard him – facing the window, focused on the same plate you’ve been washing since you heard the first footstep on the porch.

It's irritating how perfect this moment should be. Golden light streams through the dusty windowpane, bathing the kitchen in warmth. The enticing smell of dinner still lingers in the air. There’s plenty left for Paz. Even after three weeks you found yourself unable to adjust your portions to one.

You can feel his large presence behind you – waiting for you to turn and greet him. He probably expected a big homecoming. Fantasized about you running into his arms, kissing him desperately, crying tears of joy. It's happened before. Unfortunately for him, the Henderson boys ran by ten minutes ago to let you know they saw him riding back into town. Their warning ruined any surprise, not that you would have given him the satisfaction anyway.

Paz crowds behind you, placing his hands on your hips. You hate how quickly you want to melt into his warmth. To fall backwards into his broad chest and let him sweep you off your feet. It’s infuriating what he can do with a single touch.

You manage to find your resolve, slapping at his hands. "Get off me, you brute."

Paz chuckles, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you in tighter. "Why so full of venom, ner riduur'ika?"

You let go of the plate to push at his arms. It’s futile, but you're unwilling to give up the fight. "You know damn well why. Now get off me."

You struggle further, trying to escape his vice-like grip. It's all for nothing. Paz spins you around to face him, an arm still firmly around your middle. Even through layers of clothes, you can feel the shift of his muscles.

Upon seeing his face, you gasp. Some is as you expected it. That annoying self-sure grin, the healthy start of a beard, the playful shine in his bright eyes. Some is not. There’s a new, healthy scar forming along his cheek to match some old ones from long ago.

"What did you do?" you demand.

"Now why do you automatically assume I did something to cause this?" 

"Because that's always the case. I'll bet Din doesn’t have a single scratch on him."

"Thanks to me he doesn't." He says it with a strong hint of pride and that only sets you off more. 

You push and shove at Paz, but he's still unwilling to let you go. In a further act of humiliation, he picks you up with ease and sets you on the counter. You're directly face to face like this. Nowhere for either of you to hide.

"Darlin’, would you please tell me what's gotten into you?" Paz asks. His voice is gentle. You know he's trying to calm you and you hate that it's even slightly working.

"You." 

Paz laughs. "That can be arranged if that's what you're mad about." You try and fail to kick him.

His hand wraps around your calf, a harder look settling into his eyes. It would scare you if you didn't know him so well. Hell would sooner freeze over before he did so much as pluck a hair from your head.

"I didn't come home to be name-called and kicked, so you're going to tell me what's the matter or I'm not letting you leave this counter. That clear?" 

You resent the heat you can feel pooling low in your stomach at his command. Even worse is that he knows it too. All your buttons have long since been discovered and Paz knows just how to press every one. 

There's no getting out of this. Paz stares at you expectantly, willing to wait this out. The anxious soup churning in your stomach rolls and the fire burning in your veins dies only a little at the realization of there being no escape. He has you pinned.

You're not ready yet to talk. Instead, you reach out towards his face, inspecting the new cut that mars it.

You're happy to note it's clean despite the thin layer of dirt and grit that otherwise clings to the fine lines of Paz’s face. It doesn't seem as deep as his other scars and may even fade in due time. All in all, it's not as bad as it could have been. That doesn't make it any better.

You hate this feeling in your gut. The knowledge that your husband lives a dangerous life. Today it's a small cut, tomorrow it's his guts spilling on the cold, hard ground and becoming food for vultures. Paz doesn't know the terror that seizes you when Din crests a hill before he catches up. The thought every time that this is the time he doesn’t come home.

Your voice is small, half mumbling. "You promised."

Paz leans in towards you. "What was that?" he asks, voice still this side of mean.

You take a deep breath, resteeling yourself. "You promised."

Hot tears well at your lashline unbidden. Paz's face becomes wobbly, but you can see the confusion and concern written across it. The anger deep within your chest is reignited. It’s worsened when a tear finally falls and Paz gingerly wipes it from your cheek.

"You said you would talk to me before you took another job."

"I said I would try to."

You punch him hard in the shoulder. It doesn't hurt him in the slightest, but it's satisfying all the same. "Don't play word games. You promised me. You said you would and the next thing I know you're off with Din again."

"I left a note," Paz says, his chest puffing slightly. 

"And what a note it was," you spit back. "Gone on a bounty hunt. Be back soon. You'd think you went out to the saloon for the night with all the information you shared."

"I'm getting tired of going over this with you."

"That's why I asked you to talk to me before you leave,” you shout. 

Paz leans down to get directly in your face. The gray of his irises darken, like clouds before a thunderstorm. “You want to watch that tone, little miss?”

“I'll watch my tone as soon as you stop being an asshole. Oh wait, that'll never happen.” You try to push him away only for his arms to circle around you, pulling you flush against his body. 

Your legs are spread wide to accommodate his frame. You swallow a moan as your center is pressed against the bulge in Paz's trousers. Refusing to allow your baser urges to control you, you feign disgust instead. “You're a pig.”

Paz pulls you impossibly closer. One of his hands finds its way to the base of your skull, effectively scruffing you like a cat. “You had better find your manners real quick or I'm going to find them for you,” he grits out.

“Good luck.”

His lips are rough on yours. The kiss is more a clash of teeth and tongue than anything romantic. You detest the way your body easily betrays you and yields to his advances, but it has been a long three weeks without your husband. And there's no need for you to make things easy on him either.

You hook both your legs around his and pull them tight. He can't get any closer, but you still feel the way the pressure makes him stutter. You mimic his hand, pushing your fingers into his toffee colored locks, and pull him into you. He moans but then moves back from your embrace.

“Clearly this isn't teaching you any manners. I'm going to have to do a better job.”

Without any warning, Paz then lifts you up in a fireman's carry and hauls you off to the bedroom. You shout and pointlessly drum on his back to put you down. He responds with a smack to you ass that you can feel through your skirts.

Paz drops you onto the bed without ceremony and quickly positions himself over you. His large frame fills your vision entirely. The fabric of his shirt is pulled tight against his muscles, providing you with a delightful show, and you notice the obvious flush running down his neck. 

“Now I'm going to give you one more chance here, darlin’. You get yourself undressed right now and with no fuss, or I'm going to tear that pretty dress right off you.”

A rush of desire courses through you. As tempting as that sounds, this is one of your newer outfits and you'd rather not spend tomorrow trying to mend it back together. 

You shamelessly start to undress. Paz's gaze is heavy and eager. He looks exceedingly pleased with himself, convinced that you've decided to show him some manners. Poor cowboy doesn't know what you have planned.

Paz removes his vest and shirt, pulling back from his position over you. It provides the perfect opportunity. As he leans back over your now bare form, you quickly kick your feet up and plant them firmly on his chest. Despite Paz's size, your legs are powerful enough to keep him at bay.

His eyes widen in surprise for a moment before clouding over again. “Just what do you think you're doing, mesh'la?”

Your smile is wicked. “Nothing, riduur.”

You trail one of your hands along your body – Paz's eyes tracking them like a bounty that's close to getting away. You can feel the rumble in his chest as you slowly wind downwards.

“Don't you dare,” he warns as your intentions become clear.

You disregard him entirely and continue your path, not stopping until you've sunk a finger into yourself. The noise Paz makes is choked. Your pleasure doesn't last very long.

After only a few strokes, Paz makes his move. He backs away from your legs, quickly catching one under his arm and tearing your hand away from yourself. You would think the way his chest heaves is purely due to anger if it weren't for the obvious tent at the front of his jeans.

His large hand cups and covers your sex. You wait with bated breath to see what he'll do next. “Looks like I've got my work cut out for me,” he says and plunges one of his thick fingers into you.

Another day and you'd be embarrassed by how wet you've gotten. It's an afterthought at the moment. One of his fingers feels better than any and all of your attempts to feel full while he was gone. The noise he pulls from you is wanton and needy. 

“This what you need?” Paz asks. “Something to fill that little pussy of yours? Will that stop making you act like a goddamn brat?”

As good as you feel, your anger hasn't been snubbed out. “You think that's filling me?”

You watch as that comment makes something bigger within him snap. It makes your heart race with anticipation. In a flash, Paz has taken a seat on the edge of the bed and stretched your body over his knees. You hardly recall the feeling of his grip around your ankles.

His hands are greedy – touching and grabbing at every inch of your flesh. Just as you're about to make another comment, his hand comes down hard on your ass. You jump, hissing at the sting.

“Is this what happens when I'm gone for too long?” Paz asks. His hand cracks over your ass again. “You forget your manners?” 

You anticipate another sharp smack, but he surprises you with a soothing touch. His hand then glides over your curves and he presses two fingers into your pussy. The slight burn of the stretch is perfect. “Forget who this cunt belongs to?”

There's nothing gentle about the pace he sets. It's punishing, making your arousal drip down your thighs. He adjusts his fingers to find your clit, nearly overwhelming you completely. There's nothing you can do in this position but take it.

Your orgasm inches ever closer. Paz’s fingers glide over that spot you can never seem to find yourself, making you clench around him. His demeaning tsk glides past your ears. He changes his rhythm slightly and just as you're about to make that final leap he stops – going so far as to remove his hand from you entirely.

You whip your head around to glare at him over your shoulder. The look on Paz's face makes you finally understand Din when he calls it punchable. “Only good girls get to cum,” he says, punctuating his words with another light spank. You could really kill him now. Unluckily for him, you are capable of much worse.

You're not blind when it comes to your husband. You know his virtues just as well as his faults and although it has improved, his pride is still easy to take advantage of.

“Do you want to be good for me, mesh'la?” Paz asks. It's sweet that he thinks he has the upper hand.

You don't answer. Instead, you crawl off his lap and move to take off his trousers. Paz thinks this is a good sign. He really ought to know better. Maybe three weeks away made him forget who he belongs to.

His position on the bed is perfect for you. The self-sure grin tells you he doesn't suspect a thing. It's easy to further distract him by trailing gentle kisses along his body. You're relieved to see no further injuries he may have been stupidly trying to hide. It wouldn't be the first time.

You smile as Paz's eyes slip closed. He's so predictable.

Rather than settling yourself between his legs or on his lap, you turn around. He doesn't even catch on until you have his wrists pinned with your feet. You wrap your lips around his cock, humming as you hear Paz growl with frustration. In this position he's only able to look – not touch.

The pace you set is just as unrelenting as the one he used on you. He can do little more than moan as you overwhelm him with pleasure. 

Although there's no way to know for certain, you know Paz can't take his eyes off of you. Even if he wants to, the temptation is too strong for his eyes to close. You're so tantalizingly close, so fully on display, that he's powerless. It's not long before his bravado crumbles.

“Dar- darlin’ please. You've made your point, just, ah, let me touch you.”

You don't give into him just yet. As sweet as he sounds when he begs, you aren't satisfied yet. His hips jolt as you redouble your efforts. You missed the weight of him on your tongue and the ache in your jaw. 

“Please,” Paz continues to beg. “I can see the way you're clenching, let me take care of that for you.”

You can feel your wetness dripping down your leg at this point. Paz tenses beneath you, his breath hitching. You're finally able to take your revenge. 

You pull off of him, only leaving your hand to lightly squeeze at his base. You even sit up slightly, hiding yourself from his view. You sacrifice your pin, but it's worth it with your objective already achieved.

Paz wastes no time. You're flipped onto your back, his large frame once again filling your vision. “Are you going to be a good boy for me?” you ask, throwing his words back at him.

Thankfully he looks more amused than annoyed. “Can't help yourself can you?”

You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down to you. “Just shut up and fuck me already.”

His lips muffle your moans as he pushes into you. He groans back in response, relishing the way you open up to him. Despite his size there's no resistance. Neither of you will last long like this.

Words are beyond you both. Your nails dig into the meat of his shoulder – the other hand tangled into his hair. Paz holds you steady with one of his big hands on your hips. He trails hot kisses down your neck and onto your chest, no doubt making bruises rise. Normally you'd care more about making him stop. You do have an appearance to uphold in town.

Pleasure overwhelms you, your face twisting with it. There's no time or point in giving him warning. Paz lets himself go as you do, your peaks combining into one.

You miss his weight as soon as he rolls off. He lays back onto the pillows and you're quick to follow, using his chest as yours.

It's quiet as you both come down from your highs. There's a tension that still lingers in the air.

You trace idle loops above his heart, taking note of a few more grays making themselves known in his smattering of chest hair. You're unwilling to burst this small bubble just yet. Paz does it for you.

“Care to tell me what had you all worked up?” he asks. “I'm smart enough to know it wasn't just this.”

“What makes you think this had anything to do with it?” you challenge. 

Paz squares you with a truly incredulous look. “I'm not that stupid, neither.”

You sigh. He could have at least given you both a moment longer in the afterglow. “I already told you in the kitchen. You said you'd talk to me before you left again.”

He scrubs a beleaguered hand over the uninjured half of his face. “S'not like I really had the time, darling. We have to move fast when a trail gets picked up or we'll lose ‘em. Either to distance or other hunters.”

“I am not asking for much, Paz. A bit more of a warning. A kiss before you saddle up and ride out. Nothing more.”

You wish you could ask for more. Ask him to never take another job – to never leave you again. To hang up his holster and spurs to live out a nice, quiet life with you until you're old and gray. You can't though.

Asking for him to change would be asking for a different man. All you can do is sit by, pray to any higher power that might exist, and hope that he'll come home to you. A moment's more time with him before he leaves again doesn't feel like too big a request. It's not too much change.

Paz still looks frustrated. He pulls you off of his side and onto his body so that you're on top of him. His hand reaches up, thumb brushing over your cheek. You do the same, but make your best attempt to smooth away his worry lines.

“I can't have you asking me to stay,” he finally says.

“What?” You don't understand what he means.

“If I agree- if I tell you when and where I'm headed, you can't ask me to stay.”

“Paz, I don't-”

“If you ask me to stay, I won't go and I can't have that. Din can't have that. He needs a partner to make sure he'll come home to his boy and I'm the only one dumb enough to join him every time. So I can't have you asking me to stay.”

Your anger finally dissipates as his words sink in. He's still not completely forgiven, which you'll be sure to let him know, but you can allow yourself to soften. There's a look in his eyes you've never seen before. It's almost fearful.

“I won't ask you that,” you promise. “I just need you to share a little more with me.”

You run your fingers through his hair, noting that the curly ends are starting to become just a bit too long. Maybe you'll convince him to sit down for a trim tonight before he takes matters into his own hands and shaves it all clean off.

“Thank you, riduur.” Paz smiles. “Now, can I get my proper welcome home?”

You scoff and swat at his chest, this time far more playful than before. “There's some dinner on the stove for you,” you tell him, pointing to the kitchen.

Paz grins, wide and sharklike. “I've already got my meal here.” 

A/N: Yeah I'm aware this being a Western AU wasn't a major component here but that's why this is my fic so ya know, I can do what I want

[olympip]

The Sorting Hat // Peter Pettigrew & Neville Longbottom Being Foils *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Recently, I saw someone say they don't understand why Peter is a Gryffindor... and this made me want to talk about how the Sorting Hat possibly works. Harry tells Albus that the Sorting Hat takes "your choice into account", but I think the best descriptor is that the Sorting Hat takes what you value into account. For example, some people think Hermione should've been a Ravenclaw because she's intelligent and quick-thinking. But here's the thing- I think it'd be fair to say Hermione valued bravery over intelligence. She's passionate and outspoken with her beliefs and was determined to remain strong in the face of her adversaries. We see this in First Year and she only grows into these traits as she faces difficult situations. At her core, Hermione values traits like courage and determination, and happens to have a passion for learning and pursuing knowledge. And here's how Peter Pettigrew and Neville Longbottom play into this. Both were sorted into Gryffindor despite not really having been described as brave when they were 11 years old. However, I think it'd be fair to say that both valued bravery. We see Neville step out of his comfort zone and as the series continues, he grows more confident and (you guessed it) brave. He goes from being a nervous, shy 11 year old to being a leader in Dumbledore's Army while Hogwarts is under Death Eater reign. Peter, I imagine, had a similar start to his years at Hogwarts. He has these friends who are just so cool and do whatever they want and he loves that. He admires the courage they have to be able to do that. But, where he differs from the other Gryffindor students is that he never achieves that bravery himself. He remains a coward. He can't find it in himself to be brave and instead does what he thinks will keep him safe. That's what makes him a bit tragic, in my opinion. He never becomes what he values.

Just my thoughts on the matter, but I wanted to share because I like talking about this kind of stuff. I'd love to hear everyone else's thoughts or ideas :D i wrote this at like 1 am so sorry if it doesnt make much sense lmao

[hiskillingjar]

Voyeurism (Lawrence)

if i’ve gotten anything from this round of kinktober, it’s a real appreciation for lawrence. they might have gone up to my second favourite (sorry ren). also read the piano teacher.

day 27: voyeurism first person, from law’s pov.

I usually saw teenagers come into the forest.

The impulse was understandable. It was an easy place to hide from the prying eyes of society, after all, an easy place to get lost in. Covered by the canopy of branches and leaves, where any rustling can be mistaken for the skittish nature of woodland creatures, people could get away with an awful lot.

I usually saw teenagers. Rarely did I ever see adults.

But that's what I see tonight. 

I was just leaving my alcove, my sanctuary of rot, when I saw a couple, a man and a woman (it was rarely anything else, in spite of what popular culture attempted to suggest), stomping through the brush, hand in hand.

Well, hand in wrist was a more approriate descriptor.

I kept still on my own, beaten path, pressing myself against a tree to hide even more, watching as the man dragged the woman deeper.

I don't believe that I witnessed a rape, despite the force of his grip. 

I knew what those tended to look like, thanks to all of the edgy websites I visited as a teenager. I knew what so often preceeded the deaths that I was actually looking for, especially when the victim (nameless on some of the seedier sites, the ‘reputable’ ones tended to list who the person was) was a pretty, young woman surrounded by men. 

Some people say those kinds of videos make you lose your sense of disgust and compassion for other people. And while I'm sure that was the case for many others, I don't think it was the case for me.

If anything, my outright disgust made me recognise those things more clearly when I saw them in real life.

And this wasn't disgusting.

The woman tried to pull from the man's tight grip, her legs trembling from the cold of the evening, but the coy murmurs of "no, come on, not here, let's go back to the care" indicated that she had opposition to fucking out in the open, and not to fucking in general.

"Not in the car," He said, pulling her deeper (close to where I kept my cages, it would be so inconvenient if they stumbled across them). "Your husband could find something there."

"So, I'll clean it," She replied, pulling back entirely. "I don't want to fuck in the forest. It’s not romantic. What if we do it in animal shit, or something?"

I barely held back a scoff, rolling my eyes with a barely audible huff instead.

It was probably quite naive of her to be concerned about dirt and filth (the natural things of this world, more natural than human beings, certainly), as opposed to any dangerous people who might be listening in on their conversation (like me, for example), but that's just what people were like, I found.

So many people prefered to think that they would be smart enough to avoid outright violence, that they would make the right decisions as opposed to anyone else who would be foolish enough to make the wrong ones, than understand the reality of pure, random acts of violence happening to anyone.

They were selfish, in that way.

"Why can't we go to a hotel?" She asked, holding herself tight. It was a cold night, she's right to. 

"I can't afford a hotel this short notice," He murmured with a roll of his eyes, taking a step closer towards her. "And...I don't want to wait to get there, anyway. I want to fuck you now."

"Richard," She looked away, but I could tell that she appreciated his dirty talk, that she didn’t get it at home from her husband anymore, that ‘Richard’ made her feel special, sexy, wanted.

He sank down to his knees in front of her and pushed up her pencil skirt, the material bunching up around her thighs, as he kissed the front of her pantyhose.

If she didn't want to be on the ground, he would be, just for her.

She curled both hands into his hair and he pulled down her tights and panties, revealing a thick bush of pubic hair that he nestled his face against, like he was returning home.

I'm not aroused by any of this, even if my cock is reacting, twitching in my dirty sweatpants.

That was just the nature of being human. Bodily reactions that I couldn't control and didn't care for.

But just because I wasn't aroused, didn't mean that I wasn't interested in what was happening.

Sex was interesting, occasionally even very interesting, though I had next to no interest in doing it myself.

Thinking about sex made me feel hollow, like something had been carved out of me, like someone took a shovel and dug out all my insides. I know there's nothing in there, but I'm still too nervous to open myself up and check. 

But watching it was something else entirely. 

It was almost like watching those old videos, like watching death, gore, car accidents, or surgical procedures. 

Red tongues grazing over wet, pink flesh, sopping holes being penetrated by fingers, tongues, hard cocks, over and over again. Kissing, touching, making love, fucking. 

All so visceral and unclean, and yet, people craved it so much that it could drive them crazy.

Maybe they craved connection, more than anything.

People who didn’t connect tended to go crazy, after all.

She was moaning and gasping, loud enough for anyone else to hear her (if someone else but me was peeping on them), bucking her hips against his face and his probing tongue roughly, like a marionette without any strings to keep her stable. His hand was climbing up her inner thighs, carressing soft flesh, feeling her touch, feeling her.

I idly licked my lips, another pulse of involuntary arousal rushing to my cock, moving a little closer against the tree concealing me from the pair of lovers.

"Richard," She said sharply, looking in my direction (but not seeing me, nobody ever sees me and that's the way I like it.)  "S-Stop it, I can hear something."

"Huh?" He breathed, pulling away from her wet cunt, his face glistening in the low light of the mood above him, and looking my way too. "Come on, it’s nothing. It was probably just a bunny rabbit or something."

It might have been, if I hadn't killed another one tonight.

"This place is creepy," She complained, but didn't stop him from returning to his task, nuzzling against her pubic hair again. "Feels like I'm being watched...mh."

"Don’t be so paranoid. Nobody’s watching you, but me.," He offered with a titter, before pressing his fingers inside of her and smoothing his tongue over her folds. "Mmmhh...but hey, maybe you like being watched. You’re wet enough that it feels that way."

I hoped they liked being watched.

For my sake, and for theirs.

[mumms-the-word]

Illithid Souls - Part 1

What’s up with mind flayers and souls anyway?

I know this deep dive has been done before like a hundred times, based on all the Reddit threads I’ve read, but I feel like a lot of the "evidence" has been scattered about in a lot of places (reddit, tumblr, other threads, other socials, etc). So I figured...why not gather a lot of it here in one place?

As with all my deep dives, this post is designed to equip you with some lore so you can build your own theories and ideas. I’ll offer theories that I find interesting or feasible, but lore is always a little hazy so I’m bound to be wrong or you’re bound to interpret things differently. Just have fun with the lore!

I’ll start by defining what D&D calls a soul, and then…well it unravels from there. In this part we're going to dive into the lore about souls, the afterlife, and where mind flayers differ, along with a bit of in-game context. In Part 2 we'll look at individual case studies (Tav/Durge, Orpheus, Karlach, and Gale).

Buckle up, folks, cause it's a long one!

As always, I’ll include images and image descriptors/text written out in case the pictures fail or are too small to read!

What is a soul?

The entire game of Baldur's Gate 3 is heavily invested in the idea of souls. Raphael wants to bargain with your soul. Mizora has Wyll's soul bound to a contract. Cazador plans to sacrifice 7007 souls. Vlaakith consumes the souls of her faithful. Karlach wants to collect (and use) soul coins. Every tadpoled follower of the Absolute is called a True Soul. This game is OBSESSED with souls.

But it never actually defines a soul, does it? So what do the official D&D rules say?

Well...they don't. Older editions used to split hairs about the difference between a soul and a spirit, but those older editions also used to say that elves, orcs, and half-orcs didn't have souls, so...we've moved on a bit from those days.

In the game, a book on soul coins defines souls as "the sum of personal and magical essence," which is both helpful and vague. The general player consensus is that a soul is the animating "force" that is made up of memories, personality, intelligence, and (possibly) morality, and that in some cases, such as the spell Speak with Dead, a soul differs from a spirit, which merely "animates" the body but does not actually possess the personality or the thinking capabilities of the deceased (though it may have access to memories).

Speak with Dead [...] Until the spell ends, you can ask the corpse up to five questions. The corpse knows only what it knew in life, including the languages it knew. [...] This spell doesn't return the creature's soul to its body, only its animating spirit. Thus, the corpse can't learn new information, doesn't comprehend anything that has happened since it died, and can't speculate about future events.

So there's a chance that while an entire soul is generally made up of personality, memories, and some element of active thinking/decision making/speculation (intelligence, for lack of a better term), the part of a soul that functions as an "animating spirit" is what houses memory. In other words, animating spirit (memories) + personality + intelligence = soul.

This idea of the animating spirit (memories) being housed within a soul, but also detachable from a soul, is important for later, so remember this in a bit.

Souls also have power, which is why the game is obsessed with everyone fighting over souls. Raphael, Mizora, and Cazador trade in souls in exchange for power. There are insinuations in the game that the gods want to stop the "scourge of soulless illithids" (Mystra's words) because souls are a kind of currency to them (though, trust me, trying to find a recent D&D source that clearly states that particular stance is a damn migraine of an endeavor). But Withers does say that souls imbue gods with power, so the game at least operates with that assumption in mind.

According to Withers…

We all know that Withers, aka Jergal, aka the Final Scribe, aka the former god of death, aka the expert on souls, has plenty to say when you ask him to elaborate on anything:

Well, okay, maybe he doesn't. But he does have a bit more to say about souls and mind flayers. For example, when he first brings up the topic of illithids and souls in Moonrise, this is some of the information he can give the player.

Withers: I shall ask yet again. Do illithids possess souls? Player: These abominations are soulless, surely. Withers: Correct. - Player: I'm not sure. Don't all living things? Withers: No. Nor canst thou count mind flayers among them. - Player: I admit I haven't thought about it. Withers: Thou shalt think about it now, and I shall give the answer. Mind flayers are soulless. Yet the Three amass an illithid army, void of apostolic souls that could imbue them with power.

A couple of things to note here. Jergal, the guy in charge of putting down the names of people who die and keeping track of where their souls go, is pretty clear that he thinks mind flayers don't have souls. But his last statement clarifies two things: one, that he is referring specifically to apostolic souls (more on that in a bit) and that souls imbue gods with power.

Souls give the gods a kind of strength. He brings this up when he criticizes the dumb plot the Dead Three came up with in his post-epilogue scene:

Thou sought to bolster thy strength by taking away the souls of mortals. But souls vanish when their hosts become mind flayers.

So we know that souls are a source of power for deities and gods because they imbue gods with power and strength. But gods only get the power of these souls after a mortal dies with their soul intact. If someone becomes a mind flayer...well, let's just say the natural order of things gets disrupted.

What happens when you die?

You see, normally, when someone dies in Faerûn (assuming they are humanoid), their soul travels to the Fugue Plane where it basically waits around until a deity picks them up or Kelemvor decides they're just going to be part of the Wall of the Faithless for forever. From the Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide (page 20 because I am, as youtuber Swoop says in her docs, a thorough bitch):

The Afterlife Most humans believe the souls of the recently deceased are spirited away to the Fugue Plane, where they wander the great City of Judgment, often unaware they are dead. The servants of the gods come to collect such souls and, if they are worthy, they are taken to their awaited afterlife in the deity's domain. Occasionally, the faithful are sent back to be reborn into the world to finish work that was left undone.

This is where the idea of apostolic souls comes in. Apostolic, in its most basic definition, means "having the characteristics of an apostle," or having the characteristics of someone who dedicates their entire lives to the teaching of a particular religious figure (in our context and reality, this mostly means the apostles of Christ, but in BG3 it would refer to any deity). I think here, the definition gets stretched a little thinner to mean any soul that is capable of devotion to a deity, rather than a soul that is already devoted. Apostolic souls can be Faithful, Faithless, or False (which is how souls are separated in the Fugue Plane).

In other words, an apostolic soul is a humanoid-specific soul that the deities recognize and can use as a source of power by inviting said soul into their domain. Mind flayers do not have apostolic souls. Emphasis on apostolic here, but we'll back to mind flayers in a minute. For now, let's look at the Faithless and False souls.

Souls that are unclaimed by the servants of the gods are judged by Kelemvor, who decides the fate of each one. Some are charged with serving as guides for other lost souls, while others are transformed into squirming larvae and cast into the dust. The truly false and faithless are mortared into the Wall of the Faithless, the great barrier that bounds the City of the Dead, where their souls slowly dissolve and begin to become part of the stuff of the Wall itself.

Depressing.

The distinction between a Faithless and a False soul is a little hazy, but according to the Forgotten Realms wiki, a Faithless soul is someone who never aligned themselves to the worship of a specific deity or who just didn't believe in the existence of the gods at all (think of Astarion, who outright rejects all gods). A False soul, in contrast, is someone who did believe but failed to serve their god or outright betrayed them (a fate that Gale feels he is faced with for being on Mystra's bad side). Allegedly all the Faithless end up becoming part of the Wall, whereas the False could get mitigated sentences, such as becoming guides for other souls.

Of course, there's nothing stopping deities from combing through Faithless or False souls to collect them into their domains. But it could take a while. Clearly, the more souls a god collects into their domains, the more powerful they become, but the gods are also not exactly fighting over the souls of Faithless or False people, because people can end up waiting hundreds of years before Kelemvor is finally like "guess you're part of the wall now." Your only option to get out of that is to sell your soul to a devil, which isn't a much better fate.

From The Sword Coast Adventurer's Guide, page 25, regarding servants of Asmodeus:

To those not so dedicated, priests of Asmodeus offer the prospect of a reprieve in the afterlife. All souls wait on the Fugue Plane for a deity's pleasure, which determines where a soul will spend the rest of eternity. Those who lived their lives most in keeping with a deity's outlook are taken first. Others, who have transgressed in the eyes of their favored god or have not followed any particular ethos, might wait centuries before Kelemvor judges where they go. People who fear such a fate can pray to Asmodeus, his priests say, and in return a devil will grant a waiting soul some comfort.

This makes me infer two things: first, that the gods are kind of picky about which souls they want to join their domain (regardless of what actually happens to that soul in a deity's domain, which is a topic for a different post entirely, because the results may vary) and therefore the gods aren't just going to go with any soul that ends up in the Fugue Plane. Second, that the gods aren't exactly in a hurry to choose among wandering souls, likely because the Material Plane just keeps producing and destroying mortals, resulting in a constant flow of souls.

We see a glimpse of a god's perspective on the influx of souls when Gale confronts Mystra in the Stormshore Tabernacle (in this case, when you play him as an Origin):

Gale: You're one to talk. How many innocents were you prepared to sacrifice if I detonated the orb? Mystra: Such eddies are unexpectional. Souls arrive and depart your plane with every tide, in circumstances just and unjust. The Weave cannot be lost because we are unwilling to cause a ripple. And that is what is at stake.

She then goes on to say "With each day that passes, the elder brain threatens to become a new kind of god, its worshippers a scourge of soulless illithids." This is what's at stake. The loss of souls on the Material Plane.

The Absolute plot threatens that cycle of birth and death, of souls arriving and departing. But how, exactly, is the mind flayer plot a threat?

Well, for one, if everyone with a tadpole turns into an illithid (which doesn't have an apostolic soul, Withers is adamant about this), and then all the illithids kill all the non-illithids...who is making new babies with apostolic souls? And if there are no new fresh souls, eventually the deities will just also die out, since no one will be left to believe in them and thus their powers will diminish and eventually fade. It might take a few hundred years, but it still spells death for everyone involved.

The irony here is that it means the Dead Three gambled and lost even if their plan to ascend a Netherbrain ends with a success, such as when Tav or Durge decides to dominate the world by controlling the Netherbrain. Either the brain is destroyed and they lose, or the Netherbrain successfully completes its Grand Design and they really lose, because the only winner here after a thousand years would be the Netherbrain. Thus we have Withers taunting them in the post-epilogue scene by asking if they really thought their ploy would succeed.

Okay...so we know that mind flayers killing everyone on the planet is a bad idea because it means that apostolic souls stop arriving in the Fugue Plane. But what about mind flayers? If they don't have apostolic souls, do they have ANY soul worth eternal currency?

Remember, the only way to create more mind flayers is to tadpole a humanoid creature. Without humanoids, mind flayers can't reproduce. But when humanoids turn into mind flayers, they allegedly lose their souls. Right?

Withers says souls "vanish" when the body turns into a mind flayer. But this is vague, and thus allows for a few different theories. Perhaps souls move on to the Fugue Plane while the person-turned-mind-flayer continues existing on the Material Plane. Perhaps the soul just becomes obscured and unrecognizable by the gods. Or perhaps the soul really does go poof and is replaced by something else entirely.

So which is it? Well...first of all, let's set the record straight on mind flayer souls.

Do mind flayers have souls?

The short answer is...yes. They just don't have apostolic souls.

According to Volo's Guide to Monsters (page 80 for those looking through their copies at home):

Illithids acknowledge the existence of divine entities, but it is unusual for any but a deviant mind flayer to actively worship such a power. Since they are capable of planar travel, illithids don't view the afterlife and the Outer Planes in the mythic way that most other races do. Illithids don't believe they possess souls whose eternal fate is governed by the gods. Instead, when a mind flayer's brain is returned to the elder brain to be consumed, the creature's intelligence lives on. Only if an illithid's brain isn't retrieved after death would its consciousness be cast into oblivion.

And on page 72:

An elder brain has a perfect recollection of its race's history. Consequently, it views itself as both a refugee and a victim, forced into hiding by barbaric monsters. An elder brain also sees itself as a savior of the mind flayer race and a living memorial that preserves the memories of the mind flayers' prey. By its twisted logic, humanoids whose brains are devoured by the colony are rendered immortal, their memories preserved forever in the elder brain's labyrinthine mind. When a mind flayer grows old, becomes infirm, or is previously injured, the elder brain absorbs it—another form of immortality, as the mind flayer's mind dwells within the hive mind forever after.

So essentially, mind flayers do have a soul, but because they are a) not humanoid but are aberrations from another plane, and b) not faithful to the deities of Faerûn, their souls are not recognized by the gods. The souls might not even journey to the Fugue Plane when they die. Instead, mind flayers give up their consciousness (their memories, especially) to an elder brain to become part of its eternal collective memory.

It's worth noting that Volo's Guide to Monsters puts emphasis on memory and intelligence here, but not necessarily personality. Mind flayers and elder brains do have a kind of personality, because they experience emotions (we'll look at some conversations with the Emperor in Part 2), but their emotional range seems to be a little limited. For example, regarding elder brains:

An elder brain is arrogant, scheming, and power hungry, yet quick to flee or beg for mercy in the face of a powerful foe. It has no conception of joy, sympathy, or charity, but is well acquainted with fear, anger, and curiosity. It is an intellect utterly incapable of empathy or concern for creatures other than itself.

These limited emotions suggest there might be some element of personality here, but it's not exactly the same as a humanoid personality, which would normally be capable of a wider scope of emotional range. We'll talk a lot more about personality and how transforming into a mind flayer alters that part of one's identity (if not their actual soul) more in Part 2, but for now, just know that a mind flayer technically has all the elements usually present in a soul: an animating spirit (memories), intelligence, and personality (emotion).

When mind flayers die, their memories and intelligence are usually consumed by an elder brain, but it's unclear if the personality is too, or if the personality is destroyed. However, if they're not enthralled to an elder brain or if they die and their brain isn't retrieved to give to an elder brain...then their soul is "cast into oblivion."

Being cast into oblivion could mean anything. It could mean that their soul simply wanders around wherever it died, untethered to anything but unable to move on. Or it could mean that their soul simply ceases to exist. No one really knows what happens to it because renegade mind flayers are extremely rare. BG3 has Omeluum and the Emperor, but other than those two, official D&D lore only lists a small handful of other renegades out of millions of mind flayers over time.

So now you're probably thinking, "Well, wait, but is a mind flayer's soul the same soul that a person had before they became a mind flayer?" And the answer to that is complicated.

Let's talk about ceremorphosis

Normally a mind flayer isn't supposed to remember much of its life prior to ceremorphosis. This is partly why mind flayers eat brains, so they can literally absorb the memories of other creatures and make those memories part of the hive mind. But initially, after ceremorphosis, it seems like the the usual animating spirit (memories) of a person gets destroyed or displaced.

The tadpole grows as it devours the humanoid's brain, attaching to the victim's brain stem and becoming its new brain. Over the course of a week, the humanoid body changes form, and a new mind flayer comes into being. The emergent mind flayer often retains a few dim memories from its previous form, but these vague recollections seldom have any bearing on its new life as a brain-eating monster.

So right off the bat, a typical mind flayer loses the memories (perhaps the animating spirit) of the original host, and it's likely that it loses a lot of the initial personality as well (since it seems likely to lose some of the emotional range). Its intelligence is likely altered too, since the tadpole is literally eating brain matter. So this could lead us to believe two things.

First, that ceremorphosis utterly destroys the host's body and the host's soul likely goes to the Fugue Plane because they have basically died. Their brain has been consumed and their body transformed, so in essence they can't be themselves anymore. Instead, a new soul has taken residence inside the mind flayer body, though where this soul comes from is unclear since tadpoles probably don't have souls. The original soul, however, is free to move to the Fugue Plane and beyond.

Or, alternatively, the host's soul is transformed, shedding memories and personality to become a non-apostolic soul that aligns with an elder brain's hive mind somehow. This means that the host's apostolic soul might be destroyed because it's been changed so drastically, but there are some parts of the original soul still left (the lingering memories, for example). This means the host's original soul didn't move on, but is tethered to the mind flayer body and has been changed into something unrecognizable. When the mind flayer dies, the former apostolic-soul-turned-illithid-soul is either consumed by an elder brain or cast into oblivion.

If the first theory is correct, it seems a little odd that the BG3 companions are so concerned about losing their own souls. If it would just be the same as dying, there would still be some desire to avoid the fate of ceremorphosis, but the companions seem incredibly concerned about losing their own autonomy, as if their consciousness will be trapped inside a mind flayer body and their souls forfeit and unable to move on to the Fugue Plane. After all, Withers is in the business of plucking souls out of the Fugue Plane when we inevitably die in the game.

Specifically, Withers can take a body that has been completely turned to ash and resurrect it with True Resurrection, a spell powerful enough to completely restore a body to its former state. However, there is some assumption here that he wouldn't be able to do this with a mind flayer body, thus the push in the game for a cure.

True Resurrection You touch a creature that has been dead for no longer than 200 years and that died for any reason except old age. If the creature's soul is free and willing, the creature is restored to life with all its hit points. This spell closes all wounds, neutralizes any poison, cures all diseases, and lifts any curses affecting the creature when it died. The spell replaces damaged or missing organs and limbs. If the creature was undead, it is restored to its non-undead form. The spell can even provide a new body if the original no longer exists, in which case you must speak the creature's name. The creature then appears in an unoccupied space you choose within 10 feet of you.

In other words, if theory one is correct, and a person simply dies when they become a mind flayer, Withers should technically be able to resurrect them by pulling their soul out of the Fugue Plane and giving them a new body. You'd have a weird mind flayer clone of you running around, but you wouldn't have to worry about ceremorphosis again.

(But then again, we know the game ignores the organ-regrowing properties of True Resurrection for Karlach, too, so the game intentionally limits the capabilities of True Resurrection.)

If theory two is correct, and the lore is extremely unclear about this process if this is the case, then the companions' reactions and dialogues make a bit more sense. They all talk as though turning into a mind flayer means their soul is somehow destroyed. Mind flayers having souls is likely not common knowledge in the universe (certainly no one in the game is arguing that they have souls), so if a person's soul is transformed beyond recognition it could certainly seem like the host's soul got destroyed. Additionally, this would result in a person's consciousness being trapped inside a mind flayer body, so the loss of autonomy would be a terrifying possibility here.

Plus, we know that when a mind flayer dies, the soul they have (whether a brand new soul or an apostolic soul that has been altered) is consumed or thrown into oblivion. So if theory two is correct, there will be no eternal consciousness for you, allegedly (though there's some debate as to how much eternal consciousness you have in the Fugue Plane or the Outer Planes too...)

We don't know which of these theories is correct, and the game sort of slides between these two theories (as we'll see in Part 2). But, and I cannot stress this enough, this lore only applies to normal mind flayers.

BG3 has altered the usual mind flayer tadpoles with Netherese magic such that things get a little wonky. And beyond that, the ultimate tadpole that changes you (or Karlach, or Orpheus) into a mind flayer capable of wielding the Netherstones is a Supreme Tadpole that has been further altered by the Emperor:

The Emperor: I took this one from the nautiloid. I have been nurturing it ever since - priming it for your use. It is not dissimilar to the experience you already had with the previous one. Only this one is much more potent. All you have to do is open your mind to it. Its latent potential will do the rest.

We don't know how the Emperor has been priming this tadpole, but if it came from the nautiloid, then it is imbued with the same Netherese magic as all the other tadpoles. It's not the same as the Astral-touched tadpole (from Act 2), which has been in the Astral Prism for millennia, but it is somehow more powerful, or at least more effective in transforming you into a new kind of mind flayer, one that can think independently of the elder brain.

So now you (or Orpheus, or Karlach) are a new special kind of mind flayer. Does that change anything?

Yes. In fact, it seems to change quite a lot. But this post is already super long, so you'll have to check out Part 2 to see what I mean.

~*~*~

You made it to the end! Gold stars!!!

✨⭐️🌟⭐️✨

I'll link part 2 soon~

Tagging those who wanted an update! @galesdevoteewife @stuffforthestash

[untitledmemes]

Dune: Part One Prompts

Part I An assortment of prompts taken from the movie Dune: Part One (2021). Adjust as necessary to fit pronoun and/or descriptor. In case of Multimuse, don't forget to specify which one/s. Reblog, please do not repost or add.

“ Dreams are messages from the deep. ”

“ Their cruelty to my people is all I've known. ”

“ Who will our next oppressors be? ”

“ It's good you're up early. ”

“ Why do we have to go through all of this when it's already decided? ”

“ If you want it, make me give it to you. ”

“ There is no call we do not answer, there is no faith we betray. ”

“ I'd like you to take me with you. ”

“ Can I trust you with something? ”

“ It felt like if I had been there, you'd be alive. ”

“ You're not taking me seriously. ”

“ Dreams make good stories, but everything important happens when you're awake because that's when we make everything happen. ”

“ I've been training my whole life. What is the point if I can't face an actual risk? ”

“ I need you by my side. ”

“ I told my father I didn't want this either. ”

“ A great man doesn't seek to lead. He's called to it, and he answers. ”

“ I found my own way to it. Maybe you'll find yours. ”

“ Don't stand with your back to the door. ”

“ The slow blade penetrates the shield. ”

“ You fight when the necessity arises, no matter the mood. ”

“ I see you found the mood. ”

“ You don't understand the grave nature of what's happening to us. ”

“ Don't be too sure it's an act of love. ”

“ When if a gift not a gift? ”

“ Defiance in the eyes. Like his father. ”

“ An animal caught in a trap will gnaw off its own leg to escape. What will you do? ”

“ I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer. Fear is the little death that brings obliteration. I'll face my fear and I'll permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past, I will turn to the inner eye and see its path. And where the fear is gone, there will be nothing. Only I will remain. ”

“ If you had been unable to control your impulses, like an animal, we could not let you live. ”

“ You inherit too much power. ”

“ Do you often dream things that happen just as you dreamed them? ”

“ Did you have to go that far? ”

“ Do you see so little hope? ”

“ How does it feel to walk on a new world? ”

“ Don't be fooled by the welcome. ”

“ Let's get you out of the sun. The heat can kill in this place. ”

“ They see what they've been told to see. ”

“ If you mean to harm me, I must warn you that whatever you're hiding, it won't be enough. ”

“ When you have lived with a prophecy this long, the moment of revelation is a shock. ”

“ Sire, I failed you today. There's no excuse. ”

“ It must never be known. ”

“ Thanks for the humiliation, old man. ”

“ I have never come so close to dying. ”

“ I respect the personal dignity of anyone that respects mine. ”

“ I believe your people and mine have much to offer one another. ”

“ Name what you want. If it's in my power to grant, I'll give it and ask for nothing. ”

“ Honor requires that I be elsewhere. ”

“ You have good eyes. ”

“ If we take one step out there, we're as good as dead. ”

“ I recognize your footsteps, old man. ”

“ Everything they left us is in shambles. We've been set up to fail. ”

“ I had a vision. My eyes were wide open. ”

“ You can't know that. I barely know that. ”

“ I trusted you completely. Even when you walked in shadows. ”

“ Why are you having these thoughts? This is not you. ”

“ I thought we'd have more time. ”

“ Why don't we just cut their throats? ”

“ Don't! You are not ready. ”

“ For hundreds of years, we've run blood for blood. But no more. ”

“ Here I am. Here I remain. ”

“ I am commanded to say nothing. To see nothing. ”

“ Tell me, please. What do you fear? ”

“ Somebody help me, please. ”

“ You know who you are. ”