#past: death doesn’t discriminate

[line-of-fire]

Just a little moodboard I made at one am instead of sleeping.

Teenage!Red, for all verses because that time is the same for all of them.

But gee, it really is a shame what her life turned into. How those hopes and dreams were turned to dust with a single deployment.

Sometimes the tragedy isn’t in what was lost, but what could’ve been.

[gojoest]

ENTANGLED ━━━ chapter one

pairing: gojo satoru x zenin f! reader

series masterlist┊next chapter

synopsis: you — the daughter of zenin naobito (the head of the zenin clan), born with no cursed energy and therefore deemed to be the disgrace of the clan — have only one dream. to escape from your own blood that’s rejected you ever since birth, even if it means you have to dirty your hands in the process. when simply running away is not an option, for they would indubitably find you and drag you back for worse, you find your getaway in the arms of an enemy clan  

warnings: MDNI, canon divergent, non-linear narrative (a lot of jumping back and forth between past & present, it’s indicated accordingly), female reader, she/her pronouns, reader is a zenin born without cursed energy, discrimination, abuse and bullying during childhood (she gets the toji treatment :/), brief mention of direct maternal death (regarding reader’s mother), childhood friends that fall out but come together, marriage of convenience (but with a twist), eloping, pining, kind of slow burn ngl, ijichi, shoko, geto, naoya + naobito cameo, mentions of food and alcohol, terms of endearment (calls you miss zenin, bride-o-mine, then mrs gojo later on + sweetheart <- so do you but with a lot of sarcasm behind it), sexual tension, male masturbation, although it’s left vague there’s some elements of incestuous behaviors on naoya’s end, wc: 9.3k

chapter one guideline & timeline:

I. The News — takes place in the present time.

II. The Proposal — two weeks prior to The News.

III. Sealing The Deal — two days after The News.

IV. The Past — flashback to the past, mainly from reader’s pov. this part is to be continued in chapter two, from satoru’s pov.

V. The First Night — after Sealing The Deal.

VI. Bad Faith — the day after The First Night.

The News 

Nobody could ever predict what Gojo Satoru was up to, except for one specific behavioral aspect of his — those who’ve spent a fair amount of time around him could easily figure that whatever it was on that man’s mind, it was, without any doubt, unorthodox and crazy. 

Yet every now and then, Gojo Satoru managed to outdo himself and exceed even their wildest expectations. This time — by dropping a bomb nobody saw coming, especially not from him.  

“Gojo-san, there’s an upcoming mission assigned to your students, and you are to supervise them throughout it”, Ijichi hands a document regarding the occasion, but his arms hang in the air as the blindfolded man is absorbed in a rather peculiar activity, patently unwilling to receive the papers. 

“Eeeh”, Satoru drags out a displeased whine, without even bothering to look at Ijichi. Currently seated and mindlessly spinning around in a swivel chair that he rummaged out earlier that day from one of the storage units in Jujutsu High and dragged into the classroom for god knows why. His entire attention focused on keeping his long legs up in the air as he spins as fast as he can without possibly breaking the chair, but still, he shows some semblance of interest. “When? Where? What’s it about?”, the words spoken in slow monotone. 

If you look at the papers, you might know the answer to all these, Gojo-san. Ijichi thinks to himself but, of course, doesn’t dare say it out loud. “It’s in two days from now, the location is—” 

“Stop right there”, Satoru cuts him off, ceasing his childish ministrations with his feet landing a heavy stomp on the floor. He slowly gets up. “In two days?”, he rubs his chin, thinking, “I am afraid, I can’t. I am getting married then” 

Of course, you are. Ijichi thinks in an internal monologue. 

“With all due respect, Gojo-san”, he clears his throat to push back the laughter that’s about to climb up and out his throat. “You could’ve come up with a better excuse than this to, umm—”, after fixing his glasses, he continues, “—ditch your duties” 

“That was not an excuse, Ijichi, nor was it a joke. I can’t believe you think so lowly of me as a teacher”  

For a second there, the evident seriousness in his voice sends a shiver down Ijichi’s spine, which, to be honest, is not entirely caused by the way Gojo spoke to him, but also what he spoke of just now.  “I really am getting married”, he repeats. 

“Oh?”, Ijichi’s eyes widen, unable to utter another word other than an exclamation while processing the credibility of his words. This man is not joking? This man, of all men, is getting married? For real? 

“To be more precise — in two days from now, I will be busy kidnapping this bride-o-mine” 

“Oh?!”, still speechless, another gasp leaves Ijishi’s mouth. “You’re eloping?”  

“That is correct, ten points for you Ijichi!”, Satoru claps his hands. “Keep this a secret for the time being. I know it's a matter of time for everyone to know, but I'd rather they found out after it’s official since prying eyes might get in our way and spoil our plans. Got it?” 

Ijichi only nods in return. 

“Good. As for the mission — let Nanami handle it in my stead, the students will be fine as long as he’s with them” 

After Satoru left, excusing himself with a “oh, so many things to do before the big day, you know?” spoken with his trademark silly chuckle, Ijichi stood there in the empty classroom for a while, frozen. Shocked to his core still, but now also curious. Who was that woman to make Gojo Satoru want to marry her? 

The Proposal 

(two weeks ago) 

“To say I was surprised to get a call from you would be an understatement, Miss Zenin”, Satoru grinned at you, taking off his sunglasses immediately upon your arrival and placing them on the table. 

It’s not that you were late — he was simply early, something quite bizarre for him honestly. Already ordered drinks for the both of you and waiting for you to show up with his legs crossed and fingers nervously tapping on the table — again, being nervous was something quite unusual for him as well. 

“And to ask me to meet you here of all places—”, he sprawled out on the chair, leaning his back against the wooden splat, his long legs reaching the other side of the table from beneath and pushing the chair there with his feet to invite you to sit. He was being a gentleman in his own way, to which you rolled your eyes but made no remark. “Are you going to ask me to kill someone for you?”, a mocking chuckle escaped his lips after he finished his sentence. 

“Not necessarily”, you replied, unamused.  

The day before, you called him. Asking to meet you here, in this secluded spot disguised as a cafe which regular people avoided, since it was a place swarmed by dangerous individuals and illegal activities. Drugs, kidnapping, assassination — whatever shady dealing you could think of. It had to be this place, after all there was no way for a Zenin to meet a Gojo out in the open, considering the bad blood between the two clans since generations ago. Especially not the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the clan head, and Gojo Satoru, the pride and leader of the Gojo clan. It would’ve caused consequences, for you at least. 

“You’ve got some balls to come here alone though, I must admit. As intriguing as always”, Satoru scoffed. “I don’t remember the last time I sat this close to you. Not since we were kids”, his lips slightly curved into a nostalgic smile as he reminisced about old times. “Now you avoid me anywhere you see me, like I’m some sort of disease”, and the smile shifted back to a regular one, although you could tell it was forced, just to keep his usual nonchalant appearance. “Not that we meet outside of clans’ gatherings, but still—” 

“Can we skip the yapping and cut to the chase? I don’t have much time”, you interrupted. “Sure, Miss Zenin”, he shot back. 

Miss Zenin. The way he called you that annoyed you abysmally, and that probably was his intention all along. But you had to ignore it for now, you really didn’t have much time on your hands — you had to go back home before anyone would notice you weren’t around. 

“I have a favor to ask, actually — it’s more of a proposal” 

 “Listening”, his head tilting to the side, eyes locked on your lips, awaiting the words. 

“Will you marry me?” 

Silence. 

It took him a few seconds before he could speak, pondering in his head whether he heard you right. Eventually the only word he could utter was “What?”, to which you said nothing. You figured it was best to give him some time to process the information.  

“What’s the catch?”, he spoke again, eyes now squinting. 

“Glad you asked”, you gave him a knowing smile. 

“Of course. I would say it’s a joke but no way you’d call me out of the blue just to pull my leg” 

“True, it isn’t a joke” 

“I believe it’s not out of love either? Unless... I am wrong? Have you been harboring such strong feelings towards me all these years?”, his tone slowly transitioning back into mocking after the initial shock had faded. 

Rolling your eyes, you scoffed. “You wish. See, that would only happen in your dreams” 

Laughing, he slowly shifted in his seat. Leaning his body forward to rest an elbow on the table and press a cheek against his palm, his other hand playing with the straw of his drink. “So, you want out of the clan, huh? And finally have the courage to do it” 

“You figured?” 

“Well, I grasp things quickly. Considering how the Zenins treat women and especially those born without cursed energy, like yourself, this wasn’t hard to predict. But I am surprised by the choice of your method” 

“And I am surprised you didn’t cut me out by now since this was a shot in the dark”, you eyed him, baffled but pleasantly. 

“Let’s say I am intrigued by your proposal, which turned out to be quite unromantic, but I'll look past it”, a mystifying grin splattered on his lips. "Also, as you already know, there’s a Zenin or two I am willing to help”, he laughed. “So, tell me — what’s in that beautiful head of yours?” 

"Well, as you already guessed — I want to leave the clan. Being a Zenin is not for me, never has been. I’ve been treated like an abomination all my life, looked down upon like I barely fit the criteria to be human in their eyes just because I was not gifted with abilities, and I am done with it”, you paused, trying to hold back the cracking of your voice. All the years of mistreatment washing over you as you spoke. You took a deep breath, “Simply running away is not an option, they will find me and drag me back for worse. You know it. But if you help me—” 

“—their hands will be tied”, he finished your sentence.  

You nodded. “They can’t go against you. Well, there might be a slight commotion, namely coming from my brother, Naoya. But he won’t do anything brash without father’s approval” 

“That lousy brat? I didn’t know the two of you were so close”, Satoru lifted an eyebrow, a bit bothered by this. 

“We’re not, but it’s complicated” 

He got the message — you did not wish to talk about it. And he’d let it slide. For now. “And you think you’ll be free once you become a Gojo?” 

“Not immediately, but eventually — yes. I don’t plan on staying by your side until death do us part, you know” 

“What an eventful meeting this turned out to be — first I get a marriage proposal, and now a divorce, all at once”, he laughed, covering his eyes with a hand. Perhaps to hide something in them that didn’t quite align with his laughter. “What if I get attached and refuse to let you go?”, he spoke, with a tone more serious that it took you aback a bit. “Have you considered this?” 

“Are you a comedian now?”, you brushed it off. “We both know such thing won’t happen” 

“How come you’re so sure?” 

“It’s happened before, you know it” 

“We were kids back then”, he smiled softly, with a sprinkle of regret on his lips. “We used to sneak out to spend time together, but things are different now” 

“But you stopped coming” 

“My training got more intense, didn’t have time for games anymore” 

“You bet. I know you did it to keep me out of trouble. You were aware I was getting scolded and punished for meeting you” 

“Oh?”, he gasped. “You knew?”, a powerless laughter followed the realization that all these years you didn’t just avoid him out of spite. Part of him felt at ease about it, that you always understood him, even without words. Just like back then. Maybe because you were both a mutation of a different breed — a special boy put on a pedestal by many, a monster if you will; and a nonspecial girl looked down upon by her own blood as a disappointment, barely a human — yet the loneliness you carried weighed the same on your hearts. 

“Yea”, you sighed. “Back then you did it to keep me out of trouble, now you’ll do it to get me out of one. When the time comes, we’ll separate but keep it a secret. If my clan finds out, they won’t let it slide. I’ll show up for gatherings every now and then, to dodge any possible suspicions, but that’s all. Treat this like a deal” 

“That’s all good, but deals require an equivalent exchange so both parties benefit from it. You get your freedom. But what about me — what do I get in return?” 

Your lips curved into a scarce smile, delighted that he was willing to negotiate. This could actually work, you thought. “Well, it’s not like your family will be very pleased to have me but still. The most important thing is, you won’t ever have to deal with the blind dates your clan sets you up on, with an arranged marriage in mind. I bet they’re nagging you about it constantly since you’re pretty much of age now” 

“What my clan is concerned about is an heir, marriage is just a stepping stone. How will this temporary thing between us do that? Temporary and fake on top of that?”, he questioned through a scorn. 

“I’ll give you a child”, you shot at him in a heartbeat, voice unwavering. This was part of the plan after all. 

“What?”, he laughed, tilting his head in pure astonishment at your offer. 

“We will lead a normal married life, like a proper wife and husband. I’ll have your child, this secures me even better. That way I’ll be tied to the Gojo clan forever, not the Zenin” 

“You’re aware what we need to do in order for you to have my child, right?” 

You were, but when he put it like that your face got hot against your will, heat burning your cheeks and sizzling on your ears. “I am”, you mumbled, unable to look him in the face. Petrified to meet his gaze. 

“You really are insane”, he covered his face with both hands. Perhaps he was petrified, too. 

“Coming from you that’s rather concerning. Now back to the point — you up for it?” 

“Alright. Let’s do it” 

Sealing The Deal 

(back to present) 

For the past two days Satoru pulled all the strings possible in order to speed up the marriage procedure. He diligently prepared all the needed documents to officially register your matrimony. All that was left was to go to the ward office and submit the marriage application after signing it along with two witnesses. 

With that, today would mark your last day as a Zenin. 

“Do you know who the girl is?”, Shoko asks, leaning against the wall in the ward office hallways, waiting for Satoru and the mystery bride to arrive. 

Geto shrugs from next to her, “Nope, no clue. Still trying to wrap my head around the fact that this is happening — he is actually getting married” 

“You of all people didn’t know he was involved with someone?”, she scoffs, turning her head in his direction. “Strange, maybe he was hiding the love of his life from you so you wouldn’t snatch her away” 

“He wasn’t involved with anyone, if he was — we both would’ve known. Besides, what do you mean by that? I would never break the bro code, come on” 

A semblance of a lazy laugh slips through Shoko’s lips. One can tell she didn’t get much sleep (again) by how lethargic and unenthusiastic her reactions were. “Girls end up falling for you always, so maybe he chickened out to introduce her” 

“That’s because he sucks with girls”, Geto snorts.  

Satoru wasn’t exactly the sweep-you-off-your-feet type of guy. His looks were bewitching, that was a given, and women would latch on him, only to give up shortly after. And all the reviews were unanimous — I want someone that will put me first, but with him — I don’t see it ever happening, his mind is elsewhere.  

“Maybe he finally caved in after years of his family pestering him to get married”, Shoko throws another guess. 

“Satoru caving in to an arranged marriage? Seriously, Shoko... Does he look like the type to listen to what elders tell him to do?” 

“He never looked like the marrying type either, yet here we are” 

“I don’t know”, Geto sighs heavily. “This is way too odd” 

“Hey, hey~”, Satoru’s voice echoes through the hallways. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my bride was barely able to sneak out from the Zenins. You know how the old farts there are” 

Hearing the name Zenin, Shoko and Geto glance at each other with the same perplexed look in their eyes. A Zenin? Sneaking out? 

Forcing a somewhat adequate smile, you shake their hands. You could tell they were taken aback after hearing your name, it was written all over their faces that they didn’t quite endorse this insane whim of Satoru’s. 

“Satoru, can I have a quick word with you”, Geto pulls him to the side after giving you a polite smile as a form of apology. 

“Are you eloping?”, he whispers, although quite audibly, “With a Zenin? Have you actually lost your mind, Satoru?” 

“Suguru”, Satoru lazily drapes an arm over Geto’s shoulder, “Yes to your first question, as for the second — have you ever seen me be normal about anything?”, he laughs. 

“Not the right time to humor your misery, Satoru”, Geto says through gritted teeth all while forcing a smile looking your way, to avoid any awkward impression on your end that the two of them were talking about you (even though that’s exactly what was going on). “There’s existent animosity between your clans already, are you trying to start an actual war all over again?”, he snaps, giving a sharp nudge to his side. 

“Ouch~”, Satoru yelps. “Come on, Suguru. What can they do to me?”, his words brimming with confidence compel Geto to rub the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “Do you remember, that one time on the rooftop back when we were still students in Jujutsu High, I told you about a girl from my childhood?”, Satoru continues. 

Geto nods. He does remember it vividly, after all it was the first and last time Satoru has ever talked about a girl of his own accord and with so much passion behind his voice. 

“That’s her.” 

“It’s our turn”, Shoko interrupts. “Let’s go get you married” 

As you all entered the hall, Suguru gave Satoru a soft pat on the back and glanced over his shoulder at Shoko with a validating nod. 

Satoru got a pass from his moral compass. 

-- 

Signatures were inked, rings were exchanged, and vows were made to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part. 

It is said that vows are crucial in a marriage, they set the tone for your relationship going forward and serve as a ground to build your values on. Whatever values could be built on a soil soaked with lies, you thought to yourself as you all walked out. As soon as the ceremony was over Shoko rushed out to get the dose of nicotine her body was yearning for the entire time inside the ward office, leaving you three behind. 

There was nothing holy about your union, it was a lie to begin with. And, naturally, so were your vows. It shouldn’t bother you this much that you were to break the fake promises you just made to the man that handed you a one-way ticket to your freedom. 

“What’s with the face, Mrs. Gojo?”, Satoru softly pokes you in the arm, the unease in your expression doesn’t go unnoticed by him. “We just tied the knot, yet you look like you just walked out of a funeral” 

A funeral. Right. That’s how it felt to you. 

You buried yourself, your past, in there. You got what you wanted, but part of you was terrified of the new person you were to become. Mrs. Gojo, huh? You were not in the right headspace to be snarky about it now. 

“I’m fine. All these formalities are draining, that’s all” 

“Then we’ve got to recharge”, he grins, then turns around and shouts at Geto who’s walking a few steps behind and scrolling on his phone, “Suguruuu, let’s celebrate, shall we?” 

“Geez, you’re loud, Satoruuu”, he cracks an irked grimace, sticking a pinky finger into his ear. 

“There’s no need for that”, you whisper, tugging at the hem of his shirt.  

Satoru’s fingers trace over your knuckles, hesitant to get a proper hold of your hand, but he gives in anyway, “We have to pretend there is”, he speaks in a low voice, and wraps his hand around yours. “Besides, it’s lunchtime. We need to eat” 

You don’t resist, neither his touch nor his words.  

On your way to the restaurant that your (now) husband made a quick call to reserve a table for four, Satoru sat on the driver’s seat — a rare occasion, usually Ijichi drives him everywhere — glancing at you beside him on the passenger seat at every opportunity, studying your features and how much they’ve changed compared to his childhood memories of you. It’s not like he never saw you after that. But you’d never let him take a good long look at you, always running away the moment you noticed him around. Before he could know it, he was smiling, mouth agape — a soundless “ha” passing through the crack of his lips, the sunlight hitting his eyes, yet he couldn’t blink — he had to take you in. He was back to being a child at that moment, wearing his genuine feelings on his face without knowing how to mask them. And you... you were even prettier now. 

The two sitting on the backseat exchanged an astounded look after observing the scene unfolding before their eyes. Who would’ve guessed that their friend had such a hidden, soft spot for someone and could make such genuine faces? 

The Past 

You were born with bad luck. 

That’s what you told yourself. And that’s what others, who felt sorry for you, thought so too. Mostly those unfortunate enough to be servants in the Zenin clan that have witnessed way too many things happen to you. 

First, you were born into the Zenin Clan as the daughter of Zenin Naobito, the leader — that alone was the biggest mishap the heavens bestowed you with. A problematic clan with questionable values, where owning powerful cursed techniques was held in highest regard and considered the measure of your worth as an individual and whether you were fit to be a Zenin. Rejecting, without an ounce of remorse, their own flesh and blood and looking down at them like inferior beings did they deem their ability weak and unworthy. 

With that being said, here comes the second — you were born into that clan, with no cursed energy. You didn’t make the cut ever since the beginning. The clan didn’t even mourn the fact you were lacking, they simply treated you indifferently, and sometimes with disgust, like you were one of the servants — easily replaceable. “It’s not enough that you were born a girl, but you are also lacking the gift. You were never meant to be part of this family to begin with, the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”, your grandmother would often tell you, right before throwing you into the disciplinary pit with curses. Till then, maybe through some miracle you could manifest some cursed energy if she locked you up there for long enough, so you could be at least a little bit useful. 

Wait. There’s a third, too — your mother lost her life giving birth to you. It’s not like you felt any guilt for that, you never knew what parental love was anyway, therefore didn't see it as a burden that weighed on your conscience. In fact, you were partly relieved that there was one person less to mistreat you there. 

Your older brother, Zenin Naoya, would often use this to harass you. Telling you “Maybe you’re not that hopeless after all, since you killed mother. Or maybe that’s even worse — she’s going to be your only kill” with that revolting laugh of his.  

Other kids looked down on you too, avoiding you like you carried some disease. There were rumors even, how childish, now what you think back — that if you came closer to them, you’d rid them of their powers and of their mothers too. Oddly enough, those rumors were started by none other than your brother. Perhaps he wanted to be the only one to pick on you. While he made every woman walk three paces behind him, he’d keep you close, telling you in a condescending manner “How am I to look down on you if you keep walking behind me, little lamb?” 

And you truly were a little lamb. Living and growing only to get the life in you eaten away by the Zenins. A sacrifice for no good. 

But the summer of your sixth year was different. 

You met a boy. 

He looked like winter in the middle of summer. Snow-white hair falling over his face and likewise lashes, sitting like tender snowflakes on his eyelids. The bluest blue in his eyes you had ever seen in your life, and if you stared long enough it’d throw you into a trance. 

There was a sense of loneliness to him akin to winter too. 

How when the cold months came around, people would spend less time outside and instead run to their homes to warm up in front of the fireplace. He was the winter people were hiding from. 

And you figured, you had heard of him. He was the special boy of the Gojo Clan, the first in centuries to inherit both The Limitless and The Six Eyes, whose birth alone shifted the power balance in the world, who had a bounty over his head at such a young age for being a force too great to be kept alive. 

He was the complete opposite of you, yet somehow the same as you. One rejected for being too much, and the other — for not being enough. Both were similarly exhausting, arduous, and lonely. 

You first met during a clans’ gathering. The big three brought together under one roof to discuss some matters you can’t quite recall now, just like you don’t remember the reason you were brought along. Perhaps to carry stuff around, like you always did. 

An exchange of shy glances as you waited outside, sitting on the wooden engawa (veranda) led you both slowly scooching over closer to one another, until the gap between you was small enough that you could see how his heartbeat made the collar of his kimono flutter ever so slightly. 

“Is it sweet?”, the boy pointed at the popsicle in your hand. “It is”, you answered along with a nod. Bringing it up to his mouth ��� “Want some?” — you invited him to take a bite as he looked at you with uncertain eyes. A blush painting a beautiful cherry hue on the pale complexion of his cheeks. He nibbled on the side of it — “It is!” — his eyes grew wide, a glow in them. 

“You’ve never had one? — surprise in you voice. “Of course, I have”, he lied, scratching the back of his head, a bit embarrassed of possibly seeming uncool in your eyes. 

He had a strict regime when it came to the food he consumed. Whatever he put into his mouth had to be of great value and nutrition, diligently prepared by the best chefs, so his body, or as others saw it — the shell where a god resided in — would grow healthy and strong to be on par with his powers. 

It was the first time you shared food with someone else. You usually ate alone, disgusted by the Zenins surrounding you around the table that your throat felt too tight to swallow anything that you put in your mouth, be it water even. 

And it was the first friend you ever made. While everyone up until now turned a blind eye and avoided you, he didn’t run. He even stayed. 

Introducing himself as “Satoru" only, he deliberately refrained from saying his full name at first. When you never pushed him to reveal it, he turned a bit fidgety. 

“You never asked about my last name” — lips slightly pursed, the muscles on his face fighting off a pout but failing eventually. “Maybe I’m not that interested in you” — tilting your head, you teased, yet — “Just kidding, I know who you are” — you quickly added upon seeing his brows knitting in dejection. “But you can be just Satoru with me” 

From that day onward you’d meet in secret every now and then, whenever both of you could manage to sneak out. For just a little bit. To eat popsicles and other sweet things together. 

That was, until your brother found out. 

Naoya always kept tabs on you after all. You were a prey to him, and chasing you was like a game. It was only a matter of time before he knew. Or perhaps he did already but let you sneak out on purpose so he could use it to his avail and torment you further. 

Naturally, the time you spent with Satoru fell shorter compared to that spent in the disciplinary pit. “That’s to teach you a lesson, little lamb”, Naoya would say with a twisted look in his eyes as he locked you up in there. 

At times like this, you’d remember your grandmother’s words — “the name of Zenin will abandon you once you get married”. 

...and an idea brewed in your mind. 

If you could run away right now, you would. But where would you go? What would you do? You were only six. If your own flesh and blood was this cruel to you, how could you expect the outside world to treat you any better? 

You were not that naive. You knew you had to wait. 

You endured the endless hours that felt like days and weeks in that pit, surviving by pure miracle every time. Or was it hope that kept you fighting? Because you knew, by the end of it, as long as you were alive, you’d find a way to meet your friend, the only one you had. And maybe he could save you one day. Maybe, tomorrow you could make a promise to each other — that when the time came and you were both of age, you would take his last name and be freed of the curse you were born with. 

...but Satoru never showed up. 

(to be continued) 

The First Night 

(back to present) 

It was getting late. You spent more time than originally planned at lunch with Shoko and Geto as everyone had already cleared out their schedules for the day to join you on your escapade. 

You thought at first, that the entire time you would have to dodge questions such as How did this happen? When did you start seeing each other? When did you decide it was time? Who proposed? How? Doesn’t the animosity between your clans worry you? Have you considered the consequences even? Are you perhaps pregnant? Is this why all the rush is for?, etc...  

But that never happened. Neither of them pried, nor made you uncomfortable invading your personal space. In fact, they made you loosen up a bit by being warm and friendly, already treating you like one of them, mocking Gojo’s constant mischiefs in front of you. The setting resembled that of a parent-teacher meeting where you were in the role of the parent, and they were the teachers complaining to you about Gojo. It was a rather humbling experience for the whitehaired man who sat there pouting and subtly gesturing for them to cut it.  

But when he heard you laughing at their stories, he ceased. Sucking it up, he let them continue playfully bashing him. He had really missed your laugh. 

“So~ we’re here — welcome to your new home”, Satoru points at the huge mansion after helping you hop out of the car. One of the bodyguards in the yard immediately took the keys from his hand and drove the car away to park it in the garage area. 

To say this thing before your eyes was huge would be an understatement actually. After you quickly scanned the place you noticed there were a few more houses built around the mansion, and perhaps even behind it.  

The Gojo household was located in a huge, fenced area with a single front entrance, for security purposes (so it would always be known who walked in and out under meticulous surveillance), leading to a big yard with a well-kept garden befitting the Gojo Clan. The first house in front, and the biggest, was the main mansion — inhabited by Satoru’s parents and grandparents (from his father’s side), while extended family (like aunts, uncles, cousins — basically the most important members of the clan) resided in the ones around it. 

Satoru, despite being the clan head, did not live in the main mansion. His place was relatively isolated from the rest (ironically resembling the life he led and the powers he had), situated far behind all the houses, right before a path that led to a forest-like area as part of the Gojo property. 

“No way”, you gasp — “Don’t tell me you live with your entire clan?” — as you quickly pad forward, leaving him a few steps behind, to further inspect the place. 

“Not technically but yea, we stick together — clan traditions deem it this way”, he sighs. 

“Never took you as the tradition following guy, to be honest” 

He chuckles, “What can I say — I am full of surprises~ But truthfully, as the clan head I can’t just up and leave, you know? Besides...” — a pause, observing you as your eyes roam around studying the place, head turning from one side to the other in astonishment. Then his gaze shifts to his left hand. Lifting it slightly and spreading his fingers to look at his ring, and then back at you. “...sometimes deeply rooted habits are hard to break. Especially if one holds onto them for too long. It’s hard to let go no matter what kind of person you are” 

“There’s something even beyond you, Gojo Satoru?”, your voice almost mocking but somehow lacking the right tone to it, too distracted by your surroundings. 

He laughs, “Maybe. Just one little thing only” — words mumbled under his breath, too soundless for your ears to catch on. 

-- 

After you made it in, he gave you a full tour around the house. Walking you through each and every room, thoroughly explaining where things were and how you could touch up anything you desired and change it to your liking — this was now your home, too.   

The last stop was the bedroom.  

“Should I carry you in bridal style? That’s how newlyweds do it~”, Satoru smirks at you, arms crossed around his waist, his side leaning against the doorframe. 

You were about to make a face there for a second and give him an eyeroll, maybe even pick on him for watching way too many romcoms, but you held back. 

“Sure, why not”, you mumble instead, looking down. 

After all, before you was the room where certain things were to happen in, according to your deal, and you thought it’s best to let him indulge in this play pretend and carry you in as your feet were frozen in their tracks anyway. Nervous of what was ahead, you couldn’t bring yourself to move. 

“Oh?” — caught off guard, not expecting you to actually go along with it, he gasps, but then — “Right?” — quickly plays it cool. “Alright, bride-o-mine, here we go” 

Charging towards you with a slow step, he leans down so your eyes are on equal level, face an inch away from yours. So close that, as he cracks his lips open to swipe a tongue across them his hot breath feels like steam against your skin. Licking his lips, a habit you were painfully familiar with, it was something he did when he got nervous that seemingly didn’t change from when he was little. 

He scoops you up effortlessly, holding you tight but tenderly at the same time. His fingers clutching firmly around you yet at the same time careful enough to not bruise you.  “Almost there”, he pushes the creaked door open with his foot and carries you in through the doorway. 

Flustered, you turn your head the other way in an attempt to hide the heat eliciting from your face. You were way too close. His scent invading your nostrils, you could almost distinguish his natural body odor from his perfume. 

“Oh, my... If you shy away this easily”, he carefully sits you on the bed — “how are we to make that baby~ Hm?” — and smugly smirks as he plops down next to you right after, his knee scarcely brushing against your leg.  

“Tch...”, you click your tongue, heat still spreading like fire on your cheeks, and even far up to your ears. “Didn’t know you wanted to bed me right away?” — is he really going to jump on you now? Why bring up the baby talk otherwise... 

He gasps in an overexaggerated manner, gluing fingertips to his mouth, “Thought I could give you some time to adjust, but if you insist...” 

“Ugh, Gojo”, you aim a reflex eyeroll his way. 

“What now, are you talking to yourself?” 

“Excuse me?”, you lift a brow. 

“You’re a Gojo too now, you know?”, a grin on his lips, the kind he makes when he’s about to win something. “When you refer to me, you have to say my first name — Sa-to-ru — to avoid any confusion~” 

See, that was his goal all along — to make you call him by name, just like in the past. 

...but two can play this game. You had no intention of losing this battle to him. 

“Sweetheart”, your tone overly delicate on purpose, as you tilt your head, cheek pressing against your shoulder. “Isn’t this better?”, you flutter your lashes at him. 

His reaction comes slow. The full grin from a second ago is now a half, the other half — a surprise, with a sprinkle of a new, unknown to you glint in his eyes. “You’re playing a dangerous game there, sweetheart”, he breathes, scooching closer to you. An arm finding its way around your waist, wrapping itself from the small of your back all the way front, hand stopping at your navel. 

A flinch shudders through your body, but he’s got you still, you can’t pull away. “What happened to giving me time to adjust?”, you mutter, not as feisty anymore. This was a side you haven’t seen to him, which you figured was natural. You knew him as a kid, now — he was a man. And like all men do, he was acting on his urges. 

“You push my buttons”, he’s leaning closer, and closer, and closer, until your noses are brushing and breaths are exchanging. His free hand rolling up and tucking the few strands of hair falling on your face behind your ear, then slowly sliding to the back of your neck. “Trying to get me excited?” 

“If a mere endearment excites you this much, what will become of you when I say your name?” 

He laughs, his breath infesting your mouth. Lips accidentally grazing yours from the action itself, which draws a low, helpless hum out of him. “Care to find out?” 

You jolt — something about the way he was looking at you told you this wasn’t just some simple teasing — and finally bring your hands to use and push him away and get up. “I need a shower” 

“Ah, got all hot and bothered? It’s okay, I am used to it — I have this type of effect on women all the time~”, he chuckles, earning yet another eyeroll from you. Reaching behind to grab a pillow and sit it on his lap, subtly hiding the fact that he got all hot and bothered, too. “You know where the bathroom is, sweetheart” 

He won this round. 

-- 

Satoru is still sitting in the bed, back relaxed against the headboard with one foot thrown over the other on the mattress, as you make your way out of the bathroom. You smell like him now, he thinks — only natural after having to use his shower gel and shampoo — as your freshly showered self approaches the side of the bed your pajamas were carefully folded and placed at. He took it upon himself to buy them for you, along with some clothes, and shoes, and bags, since you couldn’t pack and take anything with you. 

“Can you, umm”, you fidget, “turn around or something? I want to get dressed” 

“There you go again, shying away from your own husband”, he smugly teases. 

“Oh, you want to watch so bad? How perverse of you, sweetheart”, you mock, loosening the belt of your bathrobe so the fabric covering your shoulders slides down a bit, revealing more of your flesh. 

There’s a good chance for this reverse psychology to backfire now, you think, but you just couldn’t make peace with him picking on you like that. 

He shifts in his place, now sitting up on the opposite side, legs touching the ground and his back turned against you. The transition was so quick and instinctive as if he, by sheer luck, dodged a bullet aimed to take his life. “I’d love to stay for the show but, you see...”, he rubs the back of his neck, “I need to check the report regarding my students’ mission from today” 

“I see”, a victorious smirk on your lips as you watch him walk away. 

This round was yours. Now you were even. 

-- 

You were going to be trouble. 

The report was, of course, an excuse. He had to make it out of the room, or he would’ve done something terrible to you. 

His face burning hot as he quickly stripped himself of his clothes in one of the guest rooms downstairs and went straight into the bathroom to cool off. An aching pulse on his groin dragging inaudible curses from his mouth. Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

A stream of ice-cold water hitting his face, hugging his shoulders, cascading down the rest of his well-built body before washing down into the drain. He stands there still and completely unaffected by the temperature. He was burning inside. 

Eyes shut, he thinks about you — about the way that bathrobe loosely enveloped your frame, about the gap temptingly revealing bits of your cleavage, leaving little to the imagination... about sliding his hands down into that very gap and pushing it open, taking the fabric covering your shoulders in his hands and pulling it down your arms to expose your breasts... about clasping both of your wrists behind the small of your back while his other hand moves to the side of your face and holds your chin before kissing you hungrily... then moving to your jawbone, and then lower, and lower... and lower, kissing and nibbling until he reaches your nipples, and then further below... 

His hand relentlessly stroking his cock to the visual of you in his imagination. Part of him absolutely disgusted by what he was doing right now, thinking how he was tainting the innocent girl from his memories. But then another, the one he couldn’t suppress — shamelessly trying to picture even beyond, making up in his mind what he thought your sweet expressions and obscene sounds would be like under his touch.  

His balls tighten up to him as he pumps himself from base to head with firm strokes, low growls rising from his throat echo through the walls the faster his hand works up and down his shaft. 

The tension soon leaves his body, his cum oozing out from between his fingers and spraying all over the bathroom tiles.  

Oh, you were going to be trouble for sure... 

-- 

“What puzzles me though, is that nobody has called you all day”, he walks into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his hips. “In all honesty, it’s been bugging me for a while now”, a hand brushes back his damp hair. 

“They think I’m staying over at a friend’s place”, trying to ignore the view before you, you avert your gaze from him and his ridiculously lean body and well sculpted six pack that looked way too perfect to be real. He probably came here half naked, on purpose, to get back at you for earlier... Say nothing, say nothing, say nothing — you kept internally repeating to yourself. Play it cool. 

“And they let you?”, he casually saunters over to you, his hand reaching behind you to grab a hold of his nightwear sitting on his pillow. Seriously? He had to walk all the way to your side only to reach for the pajamas placed on his? What a sore loser... 

“Mhm”, you hum, lips tight and eyes looking down at your lap, “I managed to convince father. The odds were in our favor, I guess? — But I have to pay them a visit tomorrow, to deliver the news” 

“We will pay them a visit”, he corrects you. “I’m coming with you” 

“You don’t have to” 

“But I want to”, he insists, his resolve is solid. 

“Okay”, you don’t resist any further. “What about your family? When are we telling them?” 

He makes his way to the bathroom inside the room, while still speaking to you from over there. At least he’s not as shameless to get dressed in front of you.  

“They’re easy, I’ll talk to them some time tomorrow. Might organize a little thing to introduce my wife properly, heheh” 

“How do you think they’ll take the news? I mean, I know they won’t endorse it but — on a scale from one to ten, how bad do you think it will be?” 

“What does it matter when it’s fait accompli? Besides, they can’t go against my decisions, so”, he shrugs after making it back, fully dressed now. Thanks god. But wait... 

“Did you seriously get us matching pajamas?”, you look him up. He was wearing the exact same pair in blue, while yours was a light shade of pink. 

“Yea?”, he emits a dorky snicker. “Don’t you think it’s cute?” 

“Ew, cringe”, you fight back a snort. 

What a truly bothersome man... 

Bad Faith 

— (n.) dishonest behavior with the intention of deceiving someone. “bad faith” refers to dishonesty or fraud in a transaction. depending on the exact setting, bad faith may mean a dishonest belief or purpose, untrustworthy performance of duties, neglect of fair dealing standards, or a fraudulent intent 

You slept well for once in your life, despite being in a new place, a new bed — you knew you owed it to the fact you were away from the Zenins.  

The same can’t be said about Gojo though. 

He stayed wide awake all night, restless, turning and tossing, making occasional visits to the shower even, to calm it down. Annoyed to some extent by how he was the only one in turmoil while you innocently slept next to him, unaware of his condition. He felt like an insatiable teenager all over again. How embarrassing, he thought... 

During the whole car ride to the Zenins, he kept yawning and rubbing his eyes from beneath his pitch-black sunglasses that were adeptly hiding his dark sleepless circles caused by none other than you. 

“You can wait in the car”, you try your chance one last time after arriving. 

“I said I’m coming with you, so don’t waste your breath” 

“Fine” 

After you both make it past the gates of the Zenin household, the few of the servants standing in the veranda quickly pad inside — most likely to bring it to your father’s attention, you think. 

All the rest you got the night before instantly leaves your body now that you’re in Zenin territory, your chest filled with unease as you cross the threshold of the place that, despite being so big, could never quite fit you in and be a home to you. 

Your mouth feels too dry, you try to swallow the lump in your throat, but it keeps sitting there like an immovable object, growing bigger even the further you step in. 

Unknowingly, you’re grabbing Satoru’s hand, squeezing it tight. “Relax. I am right here”, he leans in to soothingly whisper in your ear, which makes you realize your actions. You pull your hand away, picking up your pace. 

...only to slow down and take a step back the moment your eyes fixate on none other than your brother, Naoya, leaning against the wall in the hallway. Waiting for you. His hair falling on his face, covering the look in his eyes but by the way his teeth bite into his lower lip, you can tell — he’s not thrilled by the view of you together.  

“Well, well”, a loud, hysterical laughter erupts from Naoya’s mouth as he strolls over to you, thumbing the bridge of his nose. “If this doesn’t remind me of good old times when my little sister would sneak out to play with you — are you perhaps falling back into that bad habit of yours, little lamb?” 

You flinch as Naoya’s claw-like hand reaches for your shoulder, ready to hook his grip on you, but with a swift move Gojo stands in front of you and stops your brother, leaving him unable to go any further due to his infinity. “Hello to you too” 

Naoya clicks his tongue, not pleased with the impenetrable intrusion. “Tch... Move, don’t butt in in family matters” 

Satoru chuckles condescendingly, “I am family too now, you know? — Dear brother-in-law" 

A jarring burst of inconsistent, unsettling laughter follows this declaration, each sound leaving Naoya’s lips grows more hectic and twisted, the tone wavering between low and high, and it sends a chill down your spine. 

“Huh... sis... that true?”, the deranged madness in his voice dying down now, but he speaks with a timbre of sinisterness. His eyes wide, unblinking and staring right at you with piercing lunacy in them. 

He had the same exact maniacal aura to him right now, just like years ago when he first confronted you about the secret escapades with Satoru. 

Terrified, you hug your shoulders. Head turned the other way, trying to hide from the sharp daggers in his gaze. 

You only manage a nod, and the sick sound from seconds ago echoes through the hallway once again. 

“You—”, Naoya grits his teeth, trying to draw near you but the whitehaired man before him won’t budge. “How long have you been plotting this for, huh?” 

Irritated at Gojo’s technique that leaves him unable to come any closer and wipe that mighty grin off his face, Naoya takes his frustration out on the wall by punching a hole right through it. “You fucking as—” 

“Naoya”, your father’s voice approaching from behind him interrupts the commotion. “Go cool your head off” 

“Tch...”, it’s not that he feels like complying, no. His arrogant self would never bow down to anyone, not even his own father, the clan head. 

But walking away right now gave him a chance to pass by you — and he’d gladly take it, as there was something he wanted to confirm.  

“Did you let him touch you, little lamb? Answer me — did you?”, he stops right behind you and whispers from over your shoulder. 

You wince, his breath on your neck sending shivers down your spine. Noticing that Satoru’s hand is moving slightly up and getting ready to possibly attack your brother, you gesture at him to stop. Mouthing a silent it’s fine. 

“Don't but in in husband-wife matters, our sex life is off-limits for you, brother”, you mutter over your shoulder. 

“Pfft”, his eyes squint knowingly at you. “Good — I don’t smell foreign residuals on you. Good, little lamb. Good.” 

-- 

“So, you two, huh?”, Naobito, sitting cross-legged on the floor in the tatami room, takes a sip of his sake and wipes the droplets drizzling from the corners of his mouth. 

It was barely noon, yet your father, as per usual, had already started his drinking for the day, most likely during the early hours of the morning at that. 

You hum, but the man beside you, your husband, had something more to say. 

“What can I do, old man — your daughter’s a beauty, I had to go and take her. Pardon my rudeness, I forgot to ask for your approval first” — to which you basically facepalm yourself. 

“If you had done that first, you wouldn’t be sitting here now, you arrogant brat”, Naobito drags out, the alcohol must be getting to him. “But the damage is done already, what can I say”, he adds through a hiccup. 

“—or do, against me — Right, old man?”, Satoru shoots a proud grin, then on a more serious tone, he continues — “She’s mine now. And I don’t quite fancy it when people pry on what belongs to me. So, I ask of you to act accordingly from now on, or there will be consequences” 

“You ask? Yet this sounds more like a threat to me” 

“It could be, depends on you” 

Silence. 

The air in the room is intense and heavy after these exchanges. There’s a calm smile on both of your father’s and husband’s faces, yet the glare in their eyes is as cold as absolute zero. 

“With that being said, glad we’re on the same page and thank you for the half-assed belated blessing~ I will take care of her from now on, don’t you worry”, your husband nonchalantly breaks the silence, then looks at you with a quick shake of his head towards the door. Meaning, our job here is done. Let’s go. 

“You might go, I wish to speak to my daughter, alone” 

Satoru glances at you, looking for consent in your eyes. You nod affirmatively, “Wait for me in the car” 

Before walking out, Satoru gives one last warning. “Old man, if you try anything funny, I’ll make this place one with the ground beneath you”  

-- 

“Make this place one with the ground?”, Naobito laughs uproariously. “You’ve gotten under his skin. Good.” 

He gulps down another cup before proceeding, “He’s always got a soft spot for you. I’ve seen his eyes wander in search of you during clans’ gatherings, but this — this is beyond my expectations even”, he wheezes. “Good job. You’re finally doing something right and being useful to the clan” 

“I’m not doing this for you. I’m doing this for my own sake”, you grit your teeth. 

“I don’t care for your purpose so long we sow the benefits of what you reap, just like I don’t care how you do it so long you take him down — poison him or slit his throat in his sleep, I couldn’t care less. Just make sure he’s dead by the end of it — it’s the only way to get that lousy freedom you’ve been babbling about all these years” 

The terms were clear from the beginning, yet your stomach fills to the brim with guilt, threatening to spill out from your mouth the more your father speaks of it. 

And he continues, “If you give him a child too in the meantime — even better. That way the Zenins can take over the Gojo Clan”, a greedy curve on his mouth wet with sake. “But in all honesty, what surprises me the most is you, actually — you’re more of a Zenin now than ever”, an unhinged laughter cracks his lips. 

Your father’s words stab through your heart like a sharp knife. Snapping a few necks for the greater good for yourself, your freedom, shouldn’t be a problem after all you’ve been through. 

But then, why does it feel like he is right? You are more of a Zenin now than ever. Why does it feel like the more you try to run away from the Zenins, the more you become one? 

And why does your heart ache so much for the man you are to kill soon?

[chandralia]

Toga saying she loves both boys and girls explicitly, that she loves differently, was ridiculed/abused for FOR loving differently, saying she wanted to be like people around her instead. Twice suggesting her villain name be Carmilla? (THE FIRST LESBIAN VAMPIRE)

Ochako calling herself strange for wanting to save Toga, reaching out and leveling, speaking in a way only Toga can understand, telling her she’s the cutest girl in the whole world, and offering to give Toga her blood for the rest of her life??

Deku saying “I’ve spent my life chasing after you,”“you’re my image of victory,” that he “can’t imagine a world in which kacchan doesn’t exist,” “kacchan and everyone else” over and over again, LOSING HIS MIND WHEN ONLY KATSUKI’S INJURED, being told to control his heart three times (COUNT THEM: THREE) over Katsuki?? Kudou having to use Katsuki to motivate Deku? “their feelings become one” just from locking eyes…???? Deku’s world shifting when Katsuki’s alive again, looking at him in awe (the way he’s only ever looked at him).

Katsuki risking his life for Deku repeatedly, thinking of only him before death, having to imagine Deku in danger to further his quirk, being targeted because he’s the closest to Deku (VERBALLY STATED BY SHIGAFO), avoiding medical care at every turn to get to Deku, always reminiscing about their past, A MISSED HANDHOLD, imagining their future together and breaking down crying in front of Deku at the possibility of that being ripped from him, saying he wanted them to keep doing this forever?

“that’s just how shonen is, everyone’s gay but no one’s canon” SHUT UP PLEASE. we quite literally do not know what Hori is or isn’t allowed to do. He’s been vocal about fighting for what he wants in his story, and even if it is an executive or editor saying “no you can’t do this” look what he’s managed to do so far.

not to mention THREE canon trans characters, toga correcting overhaul at misgendering. kendo saying “I just want to be me” when talking about gender, the entire side plot with discrimination and people fighting for acceptance, Hori reading and approving all the stuff that happens in the light novels/team up missions, AND thanking/praising those authors for knowing his characters so well.

His assistant (nstime23) openly shipping bkdk, drawing fanart of them, blatantly using their ship name, WHILE STILL BEING MUTUALS WITH HORI.

and the reception???

Hori does not live under a rock. It’s not an “oopsie he made it gay on accident” thing, and it’s not done maliciously either.

sharing what I’ve said before because I’m tired:

[euphoria-looney]

Hold Me, Console Me, And then I’ll Leave Without a Trace, No One Noticed by The Marias

Before we start this has many ideas for authors and some are specific, so if you notice “Hey that looks like what idea I put into my post” PLEASE TELL ME, I would love to give you credit, bc I probably would have never made this without it!

and greatgooglymoogly (my friend, I don't discriminate against other greatgogglymoogly's) if you see this scroll, admire how aesthetic this post is and scroll./j

(This has a mother!darling and a daughter!darling, and they are separate from the reader- unless you decide they aren’t 😍😍)

gn!reader (if I accidentally make them seem too feminine, I’m sorry 😞)

So Much More.

Pt. 1 Pt.2

All my life, I held onto this thin piece of thread called hope. It started off as a rope, almost strangled myself with it, but as time went on and as it started dwindling down, it started snapping.

So, now, the only thing that kept this “rope” connected was a thin piece of thread, too bad, it broke. Due to people who were honestly victims.

Bruce Wayne.

Everyone knows him, who cares if you love him, who cares if you hate him, I mean eat the rich, and who cares if you don’t care about him. To me, he’s a good-for-nothing sperm donor who was also my landlord.

My dear mother, (M/N) (L/N). What a diva she was. She gave me everything and so much more. She embraced me in such comfort that I could feel myself slipping when it disappeared from right under me.

Gotham City is one of the many crime-raided cities there is in the world, anything could go wrong.

Luckily for momma, she died through a natural death, unluckily for me, she was my everything. I mean really, a child no older than 4 frantically searching for something, anything. Desperation creeping in, dialing an emergency call, with terrible service and small fat fingers that didn’t even know how to operate such a stupid telephone that only worked if you used it at an angle.

May my dearest momma lay in a field of flowers, sunlight kissing her skin, that was the fantasy she told me she’d love to take me to. Something Gotham City could only be reached if there was no such thing as heroes, villains, or vigilantes.

If it wasn’t for my appearance I’d would had gone to an orphanage, th officer or whatever he was, Gorgan? Gordon? Doesn’t matter, he called him someone.

a man who seemed so formal and elegant showed up, he would be my father figure, for the time I would spend in the manor. Since, it just so happens I had a 100 percent match with a certain millionaire, billionaire. The man that showed up was none other than my light in the dim, depressing place.

Alfred, the butler for the Bruce Wayne.

Ecstatic, I was, that’s when the rope appeared, my thoughts ran rapid.

Do I have siblings? How many? How’s my dad?

Questions after question, answered with… I hope you’re hungry for…

nothing 😐-

Alfred had answered all my questions, of course I met them all… eventually,

Richard, other wise known as “Dick”

He tried to give the impression to the family as a caring big brother. Well, not to me obviously. When he first met me, his first words were “Who’s the kid?”

“Who’s the kid?” Dick asked

“This is your new sibling, [name] Wayne”

He was there, for y’know that one second, moving on Tim.

Tim

I’ve never held a conversation with him, he breezed past me.

Jason.

BFFs, before he died, then came back to life, then shut me out.

Barbara, Cassandra, and Stephanie

Was my idol, but they stuck their head up so high that they didn’t notice me. Making her nothing more than a second thought in my head.

Duke

Sweet kid, from what I've seen in the shadows.

Damian

He really, broke me in, hell if anyone’s impacted me, it’s him.

degrading me like I was a bug infestation.

Then he stopped, saying “I don’t have time to waste on you.”

Are you kidding me?

I did everything and more for the attention of my family.

Sports? You name it. I probably did it.

Instruments? Do you even know how many medals I've won?

Singing and dance are challenging but that doesn't mean I'm not perfect to the T.

But nothing worked, it's funny you'd think, with how pathetic I am, especially with all these attempts that idiotic thin thread would've already snapped.

No.

Do you know what made it snap? [M/D] and [D/D]. (The second D- stands for darling)

The pair were everyone's obsession.

[M/D], Bruce Wayne's one true love, if this hasn't been obvious my mother was a fling/rebound of Mr. Wayne. [M/D], beautiful, kind, and the object in the family's eyes. It's quite sad if anything, she's like a caged bird.

[D/D], younger than Damian.

Oh, I haven't given you the age scale from oldest to youngest.

Dick and Barbara are the same age, being the oldest

Jason

Tim, Stephanie, and Cassandra

Me

Duke

Damian

[D/D]

Out of these many children. Three are blood-related with Bruce Wayne, Me, Damian, and [D/D].

I'm getting off track.

[D/D], adored, so small you'd want to keep her in your pocket.

One thing was clear about these two. They were everything to the Wayne family.

That's when the string broke.

They came probably by force and hated the very thing I wanted, attention, and love.

I wish I could say I hate them, as they were parallel to me and my mother.

My mother, who was the other woman.

My mother, who never held a grudge.

My mother, who died in a cold, dark room.

My mother, who could never see what type of person I am today.

But I couldn't hate them. I can't. They were the only other ones who gave me that family bond that wanted for so long.

It didn't help that they seemed to deem me to be the favorite. [M/D] loved to be my 'mother' and in her eyes, I was her favorite child, of course behind [D/D] since I was normal compared to them.

[D/D] If I'm near her, maybe grabbing a snack while the family is having 'family game night' she'd somehow spot me, giving that puppy-eyed look, pulling me to join them.

I would, if it's not for the way I would feel these eyes boring on me.

'Why do you have to be here, why are you ruining the moment, who are you?'

I'd pull my hand away, shaking my head, patting her hair, before making it back to the dim, dark hallway, so empty, that you could hear each echo of the step.

As I sit here complaining, at least today's, the day. I'm officially 18.

That's right. 18 years of age and everything I just wrote down has been a recap of my life.

This is my 14th journal. For each year that I've been in the manor, I had a journal, that captured each year of my life, from my emo phase to my popular phase, and now here, the year I graduate, the year that I officially move out.

My first journal was a composition journal, Alfred had no idea what I would like, everyone else was busy according to him, he gave me this journal and told me to write everything I felt, and nobody would ever see it. It's stained definitely. My first-ever entry was: "I wish I got a pet to keep me company, at least that would be better than this stupid silence."

Okay, so maybe there were a lot of spelling mistakes. I don't need to write it down. Even trying to decipher that whole sentence was hard. Not the point I would lose interest every few months before coming back to it. Then it became a hobby. It's very important to me.

I graduated yesterday, too bad nobody was there. Alfred was too busy to come to celebrate it, since graduations are long and take a while, his job came first before anything. Today is my birthday, it's a joke if anything. The day before my graduation is my birthday. I bought this journal yesterday as a little celebration gift and to me in general to celebrate my birthday.

That should be all for my entry.

Yours truly,

[Name] [Last Name]

-

Standing up I glance at my bookshelf filled with different genres of books, split into non-fiction and fiction. Journals filled with information from books, facts that mattered, and scenes that hit me deeply.

Junk journals, bullet journals, and the sheld that mattered the most to me.

My personal journals. 15 journals including the one that I was holding my hand.

A knock broke my thoughts, I slipped the journal I had in my hand onto the shelf before opening the door.

"Happy birthday, young master. I made a cupcake batch for you. Even an edible candle." He held cupcakes to me arranged so delicately with a candle on the center cupcake.

I'm going to miss him so much when I leave. So much so that I didn't even notice the tears slipping from my eyes.

"Oh dear, young master, I'm so sorry that I missed your graduation yesterday, and of course, the others wanted to be there- they were-"

"No, it's not that Alfred- Thank you so much, for everything." I engulfed him in a hug. Something I hadn't done since I was a child.

He held me and consoled me before leaving as it seemed [D/D] had adopted another feral animal or something like that.

I smiled and nodded at him when he apologized for having to go, shaking my head in understanding.

I looked over everything in my room. I would leave everything behind, including my journals. Even the newly bought one. If I was going to leave. I wanted to at least have something that showed.

I existed.

I would leave without a trace that I had left in the first place. And even leaving all these books here, I'm sure you couldn't even tell this would be a room without the bed, just some library with random entries from this random room.

Like a coward, I'll leave a letter for Alfred. For him, and only him.

With that, I bid the manor goodbye. With whatever presents I had anyway.

Also if this is cringy, just let me be delusional and believe that I ate this shit up.

Kind of new to how to format on Tumblr, and how to make posts pretty.

Anyway I wrote this with Grammarly so if you see any mistakes with the writing, I say "boo"

Hoped you enjoyed, bc I'm brewing up the next part... and also how to make a masterlist and all that jazz.

[mywitchyblog]

I love the dedication for explaining the most basic stuff for some of these shifters because some of them lacks common knowledge everyone is so attach with the past they always talks about you can't do this because this and that it happened to me happened to them acting like our cr is the only one who has a past in every reality there's a different race who experienced discrimination like all the stuffs that people reason on why people shouldn't race change but they forgot that in every reality every race, age, gender has a different past some realities gender is equal no one fights about whose gender are more important. In another reality it's the opposite of race who experienced discrimination. People like to create discourse because they are so attach with the cr all they talk about is cr. these people won't shift with this mindset it's very limiting they always let the past affects their journey they are the same people who affirm about not being in the past and that they don't live in the old story but still continue to get mad when someone want to change their form in order to experience infinite possiblities. What shifters need to learn is that if they always talk about being in the 4d and that they live in the imagination they should start observing 3d and view their cr life as someone's old story a character who will end their roles to start a new and better one never let the past affects you. Focus on your own journey your own story NEVER LET PEOPLE'S OPINION ON TUMBLR AFFECTS YOU block them and move on don't interact live your life you wanted it to be stop being miserable stop complaining stop starting a discourse but instead educate yourself read a book find a hobby that helps with your shifting journey stop complaining about peopel having different opinion as you those are just people on the screen on your phone don't let their energy touches you and ruin your day. YOU WON'T GET ANYTHING FROM ARGUING PEOPLE WITH DIFFERENT VIEWS OF YOU FROM TUMBLR. ALWAYS LIVE IN THE PRESENT DONT FORGET ABOUT THE PAST ONLY OBSERVE IT. If you're aware that you are a consciousness nothing can hurt you only your cr self gets hurt but you are a consciousness you're just observing your cr self just like your dr self your cr self get hurt because it has a senses, feelings and emotions it has a story a past but you already live now in your dr. In death only the body dies. Life does not, consciousness does not,reality does not as someone who died multiple times in every reality you're CR life is never that serious the Cr character dies we moved on and live for the next adventure we were never born never dies we just exist as consciousness moving to different forms bodies appearancess. The real power is not the method it's the awareness knowing that I'm Aware that every method works for me or im aware that i can go to my desired life just by living in the imagination and not relying on my limited senses.

Thanks for the compliment! It’s wild how many people need the basics explained over and over because they’re so stuck in this reality (CR) like it’s the only one with a history. They think if something happened here, it must be the same everywhere. Spoiler alert: different realities have different histories, and just because one group faced discrimination here doesn’t mean it’s the same in every reality. In some realities, gender might be totally equal, and in others, it’s flipped, with totally different groups facing discrimination. Reality’s a mixed bag, babe, but some people just can’t handle that.

What really grinds my gears is the fake moral superiority they try to flex just because they don’t race change or age down, as if they’re not out there aging up whenever they feel like it. Babe, this reality isn’t some golden blueprint—there’s no “original reality” that’s the end-all, be-all. That idea? Complete illusion.

And when they try to argue? It’s always the same old trio of logical fallacies: ad hominem attacks, straw man nonsense, and hasty generalizations. I’m just waiting for a solid argument against age or race changing that doesn’t rely on flimsy fallacies. Surprise, surprise—they can’t. There’s no ultimate right or wrong here—no supreme law governing what’s okay across all realities. It’s laughable, really.

People clinging to CR norms like their lives depend on it are either going to struggle to shift or not shift at all. Shifting is as simple as plugging into a different outlet—your awareness is the plug, and each reality is a different socket. Unplug from one, connect to another. Meanwhile, I’m basing my views on logical observations, and they’re acting like their opinions are rock-solid, when really, they’re about as stable as quicksand.

And it’s funny how people forget the total subjectivity of shifting before they jump on their soapbox. It’s always “um, excuse me, but you’re doing it wrong because I said so” (cue fallacies or their utter lack of shifting knowledge). Arguing with keyboard warriors? Beyond pointless. Block, move on, and don’t waste a second on that nonsense. I’m here for real debates, not this mess.

They’re obsessed with CR and all its baggage but claim they’re “moving on” or “not living in the old story.” Yet the second someone ages down or changes race, they lose their minds. Shifting is all about infinite possibilities, but they’re too busy being mad over CR norms to see it. It’s beyond limiting, and if they keep letting CR baggage control them, they’re going to miss out on everything shifting has to offer.

If they’re so into talking about the 4D and living in their imagination, they should start seeing CR as just an old story that they can move beyond. They need to stop letting random opinions on Tumblr—or anywhere—control them. Block, focus on your journey, and stop wasting energy on what others think. All this complaining? It’s useless. Shifters who are busy policing others are missing what really matters—their own dreams and their own lives. Educate yourself, pick up a book, find something meaningful for your shifting journey, and stop letting some random on the internet ruin your day.

At the end of the day, live in the present. Observe the past, but don’t let it control you. If you’re aware of yourself as consciousness, nothing can truly hurt you—not people, not opinions, not CR drama. Your CR self might feel the sting, but you? You’re a consciousness, moving beyond bodies and histories. Life, consciousness, and reality never end. When you shift, your CR self wraps up one story and moves on to the next adventure.

In the end, it’s not about any one method being the answer. It’s about awareness and knowing every method has potential. I can live in my Desired Reality just by embracing my imagination and moving past limited senses. Thanks for recognizing that—here’s hoping more people catch on soon. It’s time to stop treating CR like it’s the center of the universe and start seeing the limitless possibilities of shifting.

[jamiethebee]

(In which I spiral down a rabbit hole with Midoriya that has little to do with @codenamesazanka 's original post that started this (x).  FYI I sorta separated Deku/Izuku to indicate Deku as the hero and Izuku as the person outside of heroics.)

I started thinking about this post again (see the link above) and how Deku doesn’t really understand that non-perfect or sanitized victims exist AND still need to be saved and not by destruction. (The "maybe killing someone does save them" thing is a great way to assuage guilt but it's a stupid copout.)  Deku (hero) and more importantly Izuku (person) doesn’t really understand that though because he WAS a “perfect” victim.  Midoriya stayed quiet and inconspicuous and didn’t make a fuss about the bullying or discrimination he faced, he just kept his head down and hoped that something would change without any real effort on his part.  And if he had died as a result from the bullying he would’ve been hailed as an unfortunate victim (of who? or what? Don’t worry - isn’t his death so tragic? oh well now on to our next news story -), so any critique of society and the individuals who reinforce the status quo don’t actually have to do anything.  I know there’s more nuance here and lot of cultural things happening with this all but I’m not gonna dig into that right now.

Moving on!  Quite frankly the boy didn’t live long enough to get out of his childish mindset and get some “righteous" anger at the wrongdoings and failings of society.  All Might came along when he was still starry eyed and hopeful to lift Midoriya out of the trajectory of his life and Izuku never had any time to get to the point where he comes to terms with the hurt caused society’s rejection of his self and get angry about it.  As such, he can’t understand the league.  It probably doesn’t even occur to him that he's missing that understanding because for him it worked out - he got the attention and support to be able to escape the circumstances of his birth/quirklessness and to leave the box (deku) that society shoved him in. Twice and Toga never had that support – they both lived how they needed to in order to survive in a world not meant for them until they broke down.  (Maybe that's why Vigilante Deku AUs were so popular back in the day - they speedran Midoriya past the hopeful kid stage and to a point where a lot of the fanbase was in their own lives - seeing the issues in the world and wanting to affect change.)

Izuku, for all that he claims to want to connect to the villains, hasn’t given enough thought or empathy to understand how continuing to live a life where you don’t fit in with society can be deeply hurtful as well as the emotional repercussions of having unchangeable parts about yourself be reviled.  This isn’t to say Izuku had it easy -  of course Izuku went through hardships but.... there’s a big difference between living through stuff as a kid and finding a way out of it vs living through that, growing up, maturing, and in turn looking critically at society.  But I can’t bring myself to fault Midoriya for those exact reasons because he's just a kid. He doesn’t have the perspective to see outside of himself – at least not for the villains.  Because that seems to be too far of a stretch for him?  But Todoroki was close enough to Izuku’s mindset for him to help back in the sports festival arc.  I also acknowledge that he's a teenager and IS capable of critical thinking, but from what we've seen, his schools have never actually made the students examine the world they live in - which is a different skill from quirk analysis or historical or literary analysis or the various writing exercises that students go through. 

(Believe me – you can have the brightest kid but, most of the time, unless you point out the shortcomings of their mindsets, it won’t occur to them to look further.  (Not necessarily assuming that they’re wrong, but rather that their consideration of life is not as expansive as it should be. Especially for a kid wanting to be the greatest hero and save everyone.)  For example: many abled bodied people don’t realize how inaccessible places can be until someone brings it up to them or they find themselves in that situation (like a temporary crutch or wheelchair).  It’s through no fault of the able bodied person that they weren’t aware enough to consider it in the first place, but what they do once they realize physical accessibility is an issue, is on them.)  Back to the point – hero society never calls attention to it’s own shortcomings despite the proof quite obviously existing and the people within society don’t seem to spare much thought either. The adults who have seen more of these instances are then of course more culpable in this than the kids who haven't.

So, Midoriya was also failed by society (cough all might cough) as well, but he chose the hero path - to save people. We see him starting to consider the deeper issues in his talk with Uraraka, and the few times he “tries” to talk to various villains shows that he is aware enough of underlying issues - which makes it his duty as a hero to do something about it.  In that way, he is at fault. He chose a profession to devote his life to that should require this of him.  And through his hero work, Midoriya has seen the problems in society and yet he’s chosen to turn away from them (and by problems/them I’m referring to the villains “too far gone to save” and the issues they represent). 

(Sorry Midoriya, but considering we’re nearing the end and you haven’t shown any growth in this area….. I am faulting you for metaphorically pushing your head in the sand.  I do want to be wrong though.  I really want the kid to prove me wrong.)

And he’s able to turn away from them guilt free, in part, because he’s gotten the proverbial thumbs up by his classmates that it’s ok and that they’ll just be better and be model minority heroes and that will fix the problem! Because they’re positive representation!  Or something?  If you can put your mind to it that will fix things! Just try harder! Again, very idealistic but they are kids, so it comes with the territory.  (Horikoshi didn’t have to make them unquestionably right in that approach though.  Toga and Uraraka coming together for the win! The Shoji and Spinner match up not so much.)

Overall, there’s something about how Deku still fit into society's boxes in an acceptable way and never truly faced what existing outside of "acceptability" was like.  Don’t get me wrong it’s tough to live in the mha world as a quirkless person and of course it has its problems and restrictions, but that’s still a box that society provides for, even if the society in question doesn’t like it. 

And I'm not saying that Izuku had to live through a terrible life to understand the villains!  Just that, he has the capacity to look outside himself and be empathetic, but the application of it is lacking, despite knowing there’s problems, despite having LIVED with some of those problems. Extrapolate, boy!!!! You don't need empathy to reach out to others but the whole compassionate/kind Midoriya thing has been touted since the beginning! So I want to see it!

(Not sure how much sense this will make to people, but there’s a maturity that comes about with either time or certain circumstances that can be hard to grasp unless you’ve lived through it.  And quite frankly, Midoriya hasn’t. He went from a perfect/acceptable victim to the top tier of society (heroes).)

(Basically: Midoriya never **matured in the restrictive environment he grew up in and can't emotionally connect with the league who did, because of that. Instead he seems to have internalized the "if they were better" or "if they were truly good" then there wouldn't be a problem because just look at his classmater!, so villains being villains is their own fault and no one else is culpable.)

**centers on the idea that someone starts off as hopeful in regards to their discriminated position in life and over time matures to understand how society supports that discrimination and come to terms with the hurt that it's caused them personally (and in this case to fight back against it)

also, if you made it this far, i'm just having a fun time reading codenamesazanka's posts about the latest chapters

[poetryvampire]

Can I request headcanons for (poly but none of them are dating yet) Zevlor and Rolan reacting to gn human Tav confessing to both of them but they explained they would understand if they're rejected since they're the same kind who has discriminated them so much? With a happy ending please?

Sweet beautiful Anon! Again I thank you deeply for your patience and am sorry it took so long. I absolutely loved the idea though and turned it into a little fic. It is going to be two chapters and here is part one (second one should be ready later this week lol) Please enjoy the angst and yearning (✿◡‿◡) 💜💜💜

Falling into Place

Pt 1 (pt 2 is Here !🥰)

Reader x Rolan x Zevlor

Light suggestive imagery (the nsfw lives in pt two)

You hadn’t intended on being so bold when you planned to visit Ramazith’s tower, but something in the way the corners of Rolan’s mouth curled as he brushed off your words sent a rush of boldness through you. Even as you sat on the corner of his desk, obscuring part of the map that ran past the edge practically hitting the floor, the wizard kept a playful look in his eye that made your heart pound. 

“You know, if I wanted a horrid little creature to disturb my work and make a mess of my things I could have picked up an alley cat by now.”  He mused, still pretending to read the papers in his hands. 

 “You should! You’ve got the room now.” You smiled as Rolan rolled his eyes.“Will you at least consider it?” 

“Consider roaming around the countryside- for gods knows how long- looking for a troop of goblins?” He leaned back in his chair throwing the papers to the side. “I’m sorry, but it doesn’t sound terribly appealing.”

“Oh come on, won’t it be a nice change from locking yourself in here night and day?” You gesture around you at the chaos of books and scrolls that was his office.  

“ Well, hero,” Rolan scoffed. “I am perfectly comfortable in my tower and don’t require saving at the moment. You’ll be the first to know should that change.” He turned his attention back to the map in front of him. 

“Please.” You whine. “It’ll be fun! And they’ll just be a few of us. Wyll, Karlach, Zevlor-”  

“In that case I must go.” The tiefling wrinkles his nose, cutting you off. For a moment you second guessed how real his annoyance might be. “With all the praise you showered on him after your last little adventure I would have thought him capable of taking down the goblins all by himself.” 

 “My word, is the great master of Ramazith’s Tower jealous of a paladin?” you tease. 

“No.” Rolan snapped quickly. He stood, reaching across the sprawling paper to scribble some notes towards the top. “And could you get off my desk now?”  

 You didn’t move, rather regarded the wizard and the knit in his brow. It was no secret that he wasn’t the warmest man you’ve known and the signals of his true feelings were sometimes hard to read. Suddenly missing the mild affection he gave you from time to time, you leaned your head against his shoulder causing him to freeze completely. 

 “Obviously you don’t have to go.” You sighed. “But, I just thought it would be nice. I do like having you around. For some reason.” 

He snorted out a small laugh and you could have sworn he shifted closed to you. Even the slight contact brought a smile to your lips.

“Good. The feeling is… mutual.” He paused, his eyes darted about not knowing where to look.“ And I suppose that wizard of yours is still busy boring his students to death?”

 “He’s not my wizard. I haven’t got one, unless you’ve suddenly had a change of heart in the last two seconds.” You glance up at him coyly and could have sworn he took a sharp intake of breath.  

 “Well, it still sounds like a horrible time and I have no real interest in it. However, it would be irresponsible of me to let you lot go on your little adventure without the skills of a wizard. So- to save myself from losing sleep- yes I will-” 

 You let out a squeal and flung your arms around him causing his words to catch in his throat. Thanking him profusely and you let out a flood of words assuring him his worries were unfounded. Rolan kept still, hardly even breathing, in your embrace. Cautiously,  he slid his arms around you and lightly ran his hand up and down your back. 

 “Now, now, there’s no need for such thanks.” he let out a nervous laugh. “ Not yet anyway. I’m sure I’ll end up pulling you out of some mess before too long.” 

 The spring in your step as you walked home that evening quickly turned back into worry. It was true that Rolan tagging along would be helpful and- of course- you desperately wanted him around. As the tiefling had advanced in his magical mastery you had seen less and less of him. It made you question if he’d lost some of the little affection he may have held for you. Not that it mattered in the end. You very much doubted you’d have the chance to come clean about your feelings. 

 You had always taken your time with love affairs, trying to gauge the situation before laying your heart bare. You had a heart overflowing with a care that was more than happy to give to however many people you loved. Of course taking multiple partners wasn’t for everyone and as careful as you were to be honest with potential lovers you had been burned horribly in the past. Rejection was a fear you carried with you now more than ever. 

 There was no point in lying to yourself anymore. You had never been so in love with two people than you were at the moment. Perhaps serendipity, perhaps a curse, both Rolan and Zevlor had taken your heart utterly. The cleanup and rebuilding of the city would have been impossible without them. They had both spent countless hours at your side ready to aid you in any way you needed. As time pressed on your bonds had deepened and the idea of not having your favourite wizard and paladin in your life  broke your heart. 

 How could you tell either of them the truth when it may mean losing one of your closest friends? Would you have to choose one of them? And if your greatest hope was true and they shared your affection you couldn’t bring yourself to break one of their hearts.  

 Neither of them had ever indicated how they might feel about having partners. It had never come up in conversation and every time you considered breaching the subject you backed out at the last minute, too afraid of what they may say. As much as you had learned of tiefling culture, you hadn't found anything that may give you a hint. For now the only decision was to try and stay sane while your desire ate you alive.  

*** 

 At a glance the journey was off to an excellent start; the weather had been fair and after only a week of travel you had stumbled across a strong lead. The comfortable routine of traveling with your companions was a welcomed change. Rolan seemed in good spirits despite his playful jabs and endless complaints. It was mid way through the second week when everything went south. 

 The path chosen turned out to be far longer and harder to traverse than you hoped. One with twisting slopes and leaden with brambles and jagged, uneven rocks. After taking a deeply embarrassing tumble, Zevlor had taken to staying at side, ready to offer his hand or an arm to cling to for balance. More than once, perhaps subconsciously, you allowed the contact to pass the need for stability. For a moment you could revel in the dream of having such a kind and gentle man on your arm. Again, you hadn’t meant to over step. The two of you never shied away from physical contact- you’d had plenty of sparring sessions with the man- but there was still an unspoken tension no matter how comfortable you had become. Unlike with Rolan, it was easy to slip over the line- the one you had given yourself- with Zevlor and not even realize it had happened. In the end it always made you feel just as foolish as the night you had invited Rolan. .            

   To make matters worse the late summer weather had turned uncharacteristically cool and wet. Ending days chilled and soaked to the bone did nothing for morale. As much as you tried to stay optimistic after a few days of truely unpleasant conditions, something in Rolan’s demeanor shifted. His witty remarks turned to a cold silence. He did his duties thoroughly and without complaint all the while seeming a million yards away. You had become certain he was actively avoiding you. Time and again he would distance himself from you however possible. Even when you attempted to assist him he was determined to work alone. 

 While huddled around a fire for supper with your companions, you found yourself across from Rolan and couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes fell everywhere but forward. As if you weren’t even there. To your surprise Wyll, ever the charismatic one, was able to jump back into a conservation the two had started earlier. The wizard sounded weary but friendly nonetheless. Your gut might as well have sunken into the abyss as you mulled over the past few days. Rolan had become quiet but you had yet to seem in distance himself from Wyll or Karlach. Not as he had done with you and Zevlor. A cold fear ran through your bones at the thought of it being more than bad weather to sour his mood. 

 The prospects left you dizzy. You couldn’t completely mask the distress in your voice as you made an excuse to retire to your tent. Zevlor followed you, checking if you required any help or healing he could provide. As you reassured him your eyes drifted to the glint of gold shining past his shoulder. You have caught Rolan’s eyes fixed on the two of you before turning back to Wyll.  

         Most of the night was spent tossing and turning in your bedroll as you tried to quell the endless scenarios in your brain. Tried to swallow down all the tears you’d been holding back for far too long. It felt practically indulgent to imagine Rolan was actually jealous of Zevlor or that he did in fact harbor feelings for you. They both felt out of character for him, or was he just better at hiding it than you had been? Whatever the case, you had awoken early ready to throw yourself into anything that wasn’t thinking about what a fool you’ve been. 

 Zevlor, as usual, was the only one awake at such an hour. Not wanting to waste the time you had together you decided on a sparring session and settled in a clearing not too far from camp. As skilled a fighter as you were you didn't come close to his mastery of the sword and still had much to learn. As if sensing your need for a distraction Zevlor kept you on your toes, moving with all the grace and ferocity he displayed in a real battle. You were unsure if the stress of your worries had shaken your hand or if Zevlor had finally stopped going easy on you, either way he was subduing you with ease. Frustrations hot in your chest you were becoming more clumsy and frantic with every swing. In a misguided attempt to break the deadlock your shaking arms could barely hold, you tried hooking your foot around Zevlor’s ankle to throw off his balance. However it worked a bit too well, sending the two of you down hard, the tiefling crashing directly on top of you.

 You laughed with what little air wasn’t knocked out of your lungs. At the stupid idea, at the befuddled look on Zevlor’s face. You were certain he was about to scold you, but no sound passed his lips. Still breathing hard against you, he studied your face as if trying to solve a riddle. Helpless, you could only gaze up at him. He was a vision, with his hair loose and clinging to his sweat laden brow. A smile bloomed wide across your face. How long had you dreamed of feeling his weight on you? Of looking up into those flaming eyes? Instinctively your hands rose to his shoulders keeping him there. You could feel his breath on your face, the hammering of your heart flooding every vein. Your mind screamed to stop before you only made things worse but you both lingered like this for too long not to act.

 Zevlor's whole body tensed as you pressed your lips to his with an aggression he had not been prepared for. Soon he matched your passion and welcomed your curious tongue into his mouth. He moaned your name and you had to fight the urge to wrap your legs around him along with your arms. The worry and uncertainty fell to the back of your mind as your hands found their way across his chest. Dressed down in a tonic, you were able to delight in the pattern of ridges he bore. Your hands roamed everywhere as the paladin’s lips sought to devour you. He moved from mouth to jaw, to neck and back again, kissing and sucking every inch of skin he could find. Drunk on the taste of him, your fingers dipped past his shirt to caress the warm tight muscle of his stomach. Also lost in the sensation he rolled his hips against you causing you both to groan into each other's mouth. 

“Stop!” Zevlor tore himself away from you as if burned. Sitting up on his knees he bowed head, red faced and clearly frustrated. “Stop. Please, I don’t want to-to-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“No, don’t worry.” you move to his side. “I should apologize. I was rash and I haven’t slept and I just-” 

“I didn’t want this to happen this way.” His soft eyes meet yours. 

You want to ask what he means yet it seems a better solution to leave and blame your actions on the lack of sleep. But the warmth radiating from his weathered face held you like a spell. 

 “I- the time never felt quite right. And you deserve nothing less than a proper courting, to be adorned with lovely things and beautiful words. However, you know-you must know-” the former commander cups your face with a shocking amount of gentleness for such rough hands. “That I adore you.” 

Zevlor’s searched your face. As hard as you tried to steal yourself you couldn’t push down the rush of joy; the pleading in your eyes that invited him into another kiss.

 This time his mouth moved slowly, tenderly; it held a sort of honesty that made you shiver. You tried not to get ahead of yourself but you swear you can feel his longing in every movement, as if he had been holding back just as you had. You could feel the  grin on those perfectly full lips when he pulled away. Everything you’re about to say leaves your mind as Zevlor's eyes darted suddenly to something behind you. A chill runs down your spine as you whip around to see Rolan standing in the tree line. His look of genuine shock melted into a disdainful grimace. 

“There’s breakfast ready. If you’re so inclined.” Rolan spat out before turning on his heel to hastily march back to camp. 

Panicked, you jumped to your feet. Calling after the wizard repeatedly only made him move quicker leaving you standing there face hot, pushing down the lump in your throat. You were rooted to the spot, breathing hard. Zevlor’s eyes were on you- you were sure of it- but you didn’t dare look at him. 

 “I don’t mean to pry,” the tiefling spoke softly. “Have I, perhaps, misjudged the situation?” 

 “No, Zevlor. I- Gods I'm mad for you. It’s just- I just-it’s hard to-” you fought to keep your voice steady.

 “It’s complicated.” His lips held a smile that could not mask the disappointment in his eyes. “I understand. I’ve had my fair share of complications when it comes to romance. And Rolan is a quite accomplished young man.”  

“I don’t know what I'm doing. I’m sorry.” you breathed. 

“You’ve done nothing wrong. I have heard it said that the course of true love never did run smooth. Should you need to talk or anything really, don’t hesitate to find me.” He affirmed and kissed your hand. 

 As the two of you made your way back, Zevlor chuckled to himself. 

 “I must say I am relieved to know that all my worries of you not having an interest in tieflings were unfounded.” He grinned.

 Despite your tempest of emotions you couldn’t help but laugh.        

[irontragedyreview]

I was waiting for the official translation of this chapter because I wanted to know what meaning they were going to give to this phrase and since I don't know Japanese the most accurate thing I will get is the official translation.

At first I was going to take just Shoto's panel but in the end I decided to also take the previous one because the phrase "there's sure to be a period of chaos the books don't talk about", this phrase plus the way Shoto talks about the lack of a symbol and how a person like Afo born or emerges from them, it’s something that left me thinking and a little uneasy, because while I understand what Shoto says, it makes me wonder how much these kids know about their history.

What I'm trying to get is that the concept of Horikoshi's pre-Quirk society isn’t original, in fact it can be found literally in the X-Men comics, I would even say that you don't even have to go to the comics, The X-Men movies of the early 2000s showed us the pre-quirk society of bnha, the first scene of that movie is Jean Gray speaking in front of Congress against the anti-mutant registry, throughout this debate the question that makes Jean's words lose power is "Are mutants dangerous?", the question itself is unfair because Jean answers is that everything has the potential to be dangerous, even a teenager driving a car, the reply is that those cases can be regulated but mutants are an unknown and therefore a danger as they can’t be controlled. The original trilogy has this presentation to a society fearful of mutants, the end of the trilogy is the invention of a cure against the X gene, which is discovered through the experimentation of a mutant child (Chisaki arc). This is later taken up in the films that focus on being prequels, in X-Men days of future past where we meet Dr. Trask whose introduction is him explaining how the evolutionary chain of the human being was, how those more evolved ended exterminated their less evolved ancestors, the mutants here are the next evolutionary step and all those born without the X gene are the least evolved, who in Trask's words will only follow the same path as their ancestors before.

Now, whoever reads this will say "why is this story important and what does it have to do with Shoto's words?" Well, it's that Shoto's words, plus the panel that refers to those events that are outside the books, they make me wonder how the UA students know history, because they live in a society where the supremacy of the quirk is what is imposed, they didn’t live in first stages and we know little or nothing about how this stage is told to the generations that followed. Afo, Yoichi, Kudo and Bruce were born in the first glimpses of quirk society, however there is something that is interesting and that is that Kudo doesn’t represent a front against discrimination to people with quirks, they were a revolutionary army againts Afo, Yoichi himself never thinks about the discrimination and mistreatment of quirk people in the society in which he grew up, which is incredibly strange considering that he witnessed his brother killing a group that planned to kill them for recognizing that Afo belonged to that new generation of people. The pre-Quirk society carried out practices of discrimination and perhaps even death of people they considered dangerous, the majority of quirkless people in the old society were terrified of the quirks and their response was to attack the unknown. Ofc, we can only talk about Japan since we don't know what happened throughout the world, from what we can see the glowing baby was not considered dangerous in China, or perhaps there were certain quirks that were less inconvenient than others but in Japan we can see that there were groups against people with quirks.

Now, returning to Shoto's words, the big problem of the society in which Afo was born is not the lack of symbols, the chaos of pre-Quirk society was based on fear and discrimination of an unknown other. The times after the first stages are unknown to all readers, we only know what Horikoshi said, we also know that the society where Toshinori grew up and decided to become a symbol of peace was also very different. All Might is presented to us in the manga as the first symbol not only of peace but also as the first symbol of society, although Banjo is one of the first group of heroes who aren’t what we know as vigilantes (please correct me if I'm wrong). ), it isn’t until All Might and his long career that the society of heroes as we know it now is consolidated. All Might is the symbol and only pillar where this society stands and that explains how weak a symbol that shapes society can be, because once AM can no longer act as such, that is when society breaks down. In the movie Catching Fire there is a very interesting conversation between Snow and Katniss, where Snow tells her that Katniss' behavior cannot be ignored, because if people thought they could face the Capitol without fear, eventually the system would collapse and Katniss responds "what a fragile system if it collapses because of a few berries"

With all this I’m trying to say that having a symbol or not does not end up being a factor of true stability, AM or rather Toshinori renounced every aspect of his personal life to become the symbol of peace and bear the weight of society, but his figure was the only thing that kept society in order, the symbol of peace was fragile and only hid a broken and corrupt society, this isn’t AM's fault, the problem is that when Shoto talks about the lack of a symbol doesn’t finish internalizing that society with a symbol didn’t work either, because the symbol was only represented in a man and when he could no longer take his place, Endevor could have been the number one hero but he isn’t a symbol at the level of AM, no hero could fill that place.

So, is it the lack of symbol that allows chaos to be generated? Or is the function of a symbol to create stability? What happens when the symbol is more revolutionary and generates chaos or confrontation? This is where I may sound controversial but Afo could have been a symbol for the people he "helped", in a twisted way he was a symbol of refuge for people who were rejected and found with him a place to belong or even a solution to be found, someone that could take away the quirk that made them different in that society, Tomura is a symbol for those who didn’tt fit into society, we saw that when in the previous chapters he said that he wanted to be the hero of the villains, when we saw panels of people who said "Yes, Shigaraki destroys everything", Spinner is a symbol for the discrimination of heteromorphs even though Horikoshi neglected the issue.

So, in bnha there are symbols, the problem is that the heroes lost the symbol that gave stability to the society that they know, the society was sustained by covering its problems and creating its villains through the rejection and indifference of those who didn’t fit. The society of pre-quirks didn’t become chaos due to the lack of symbols but due to the systematic mistreatment of a minority where fear led to violence, Afo knew how to take advantage of those expelled at the time. It’s for all this that I wonder how much the UA students know about history and the formation of society, of course there could have been sides represented, for example like Charles Xavier and Erik Lehnsherr, who could be symbols in that pre-quirk society but these wouldn’t have avoided chaos, since it’s formed by the discrimination of others considered different. The society of heroes in bnha doesn’tt need a symbol embodied in a person, it isn’t the lack of a symbol that generates chaos but the system, symbols can often be functional to the perpetuation of the same, instead of corrections to their shortcomings.

[leafiion]

some incomplete thoughts on This Guy who turned out really small when i put his image here for some reason

This isn’t like anything special or a rebuff on people’s opinions I’ve just been thinking about him because he’s one of my favorite characters.

I saw a lot of thoughts on Elias a while back that were all somewhat in the same vein & I think something that these thoughts (what little I saw of them. I rarely check the tag, I’ve just been thinking on some forum opinions I saw) doesn’t take into account that Elias was blind.

Like, that’s a high-intensity disability, ESPECIALLY since it’s presented as him being Completely Blind, not just legally, which is very rare.

And he was like this for, what, I’m estimating around thirty, thirty-five years (Assuming Taka is ~23-26, that Solaris is roughly twice that, and that Elias is, quote, “some ten years” older than Solaris, and assuming that Solaris’ parents died when Elias was 20, 25?). So he’s blind until let’s say his thirties, when Phoenix confronts him about his lack of faith, and then suddenly he just isn’t anymore. And this wasn’t. Consensual.

Like, this wasn’t a conscious choice or an operation he went through. It just happened. And Elias says, quoting his diary, “…I was born blind. Growing up as a boy with no sight […] is no easy task, but of course, I learned to take care of myself. For some time, that was the only thing I could be proud of.” Even when he refers to himself as “…me, a defective blind child,” and laments his disability, it’s still part of him.

Removing that part of him out of nowhere, no warning, no consent? Probably not good for a person. I’m going to say that actually, that likely fucked up his entire previous sense of self. Completely. It basically canonically ruined his life. How old is he in postgame? 65, 70? With my estimates here, 58 at worst? Definitely old enough that he’s been seeing for half or more than half his life. Longer than he’d been blind.

This and the circumstances of this I’d say basically ruined his ability to exist outside of the cult. Completely destroyed his identity. Clearly, it somewhat indoctrinated him through Phoenix’s traumatic event, and then drove him to fanaticism when he gained sight, making him unable to properly raise Luna or take care of his own interests.

And postgame he still doesn’t realize that. it’s pretty fucked up? Getting his sight basically proved to him that not worshipping is punishable, and that worshipping is rewardable.

He was actively discriminated against by his family for being blind, but he was actively trying to be his own person. And when Phoenix’s parents died & he got his sight, it proved to him that he was wrong for doing that. Ex: “The Lord will punish those who lack faith.” “The Lord will reward those with true faith.”

(For the sake of the other side of the argument, let’s ignore this inference you can logically make here, later into Elias’ life when he becomes faithful to Arceus: Elias, who could “understand [Phoenix’s] feelings”, who was one of two “lordless, lawless men” can easily come to the conclusion that Arceus saw his future unfaithfulness and pre-emptively punished him by making him be born blind.)

And yeah he does genuinely bad things. Of course he does, are you kidding. But like. This is such an incredibly fucked up scenario. Basically his entire life past his ~20s, or ~30s (depending on if the dread set in post-Alcantara death or post-sight), is built around this expected punishment and gratefulness for this reward he never asked for.

(Again, even ignoring the easy inference that he might’ve been afraid of losing his new sight.)

Imagine Elias with only a few years of sight being able to watch his daughter make the same mistakes as he and Phoenix did. He literally, canonly believes that she’s inviting the kind of punishment that Phoenix received. “I do not wish them to receive any such punishment as my friend did.” Which was Phoenix’s parents being murdered, so I’m unsure if he’s fearing for his & Phoenix’s life too???

And I don’t think Elias was a good dad. Hell no & obviously not, are you crazy. But I’m saying that I believe with 90% certainty that he was a bad dad because he cared about her. He’s just incredibly compromised. The main issue I think is that he cared infinitely more about her safety than her happiness (still really bad).

all I’m saying is that while Elias did bad shit, was a bad parent, and let team meteor do. all of that. I don’t think it was out of any resentment, anger or etc (even if he doesn’t like the people of Reborn, but that’s not the point of the argument). He was a horrible parent because he was also in a horrible mental state. No I’m not excusing any of his crimes, bc I really like his moral failings, but I do think the context is necessary.

But anyway if I was Elias I would’ve jumped Celestinine day two. This is so miserable. Whole life destroyed. Stronger man than me & I worry about him. He should really get therapy for all of this. I do like when he fuels my god complex though.

[foxglovewritesstuff]

your magic in my heart // Chapter 1: tell me your name

Read on AO3 [chapter 1] Chapter 2

Summary:

Sirius Black is the crown prince of Astrera, a kingdom that heavily discriminates against magic-users. He has a lot of problems: his parents are less-than-great, his brother is hurting and closing Sirius off, and the kingdom he's set to inherit might be crumbling from the inside. But his new personal servant is fascinating(ly disrespectful towards the crown) servant might make things more interesting.

Remus Lupin is a magic-user, which prevents him from doing anything safely, including hiding his magic to work at the castle. He has a lot of problems: his kind are being attacked in the streets, he desperately needs this job, and he's fighting himself to survive. But the prince he works for doesn't quite seem to be what he assumed.

or

The amber-eyed man put his hand on the doorknob when Sirius blurted out, “Wait.”

The servant eyed him stonily. “Yes?”

“Tell me your name.”

“I’m sure the prince doesn’t need to know a mere servant’s name-”

“It’s an order.”

“Remus,” the servant said, and then he was gone and the door was swinging shut.

Sirius Black was dreading the past, present, and the future. His family, none other than the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, otherwise known as the royal family of the kingdom of Astrera, was a mess. That wasn’t anything new, but it was still a problem. The kingdom was showing signs of crumbling from the inside as much as the royal family ignored it. Magic-users were causing trouble, as expected. What else could be expected from creatures with wild, unnatural blood?

Sirius’s parents hated magic-users. At first people had hated the trouble they caused, but now preventative precautions had been put in place, and the distaste seemed to extend to anyone unusual. Sirius didn’t hate magic-users per se, but he didn’t need them causing trouble. His view on magic-users, while not completely positive, was still more positive than most, making him a bit of a rebel. He hadn’t had much of a chance to be a rebel externally, at least not yet. After all, the King and Queen would force the Crown Prince to be their ideal successor in any way they could. His younger brother, however, was favoured by their parents.

Sirius rolled over to face the window from his position on his bed. He wondered, now staring at the night sky instead of the stone ceiling, if he leaped out of the window and fell to his death, would his parents be happier? Regulus would then be the next in line, and they wouldn’t have to worry about the messy eldest prince anymore.

The soft, subtle moonlight entered the room through his windows, on the wall across from the door. There was a dressing room and bathroom across from the bed, where the headboard was pushed up against the wall. The chandelier in the centre of the room had all of its candles lit, casting a warm glow over the room. There was also a lit candle at Sirius’s bedside.

Sometimes he would turn over and stare into the flickering flame, the red and white and blue at the centre, hoping the brightness would burn itself into his eyes, into his mind and white everything out. Sometimes he wanted to touch it, to feel it burn on his skin, but he always resisted. What would he tell his mother if she saw burn marks on his skin? He could almost her tight grip twisting his skin as he thought, her nails digging into his arm. What did you do? she would ask, not out of care of his wellbeing but out of concern for their image.

His stomach rumbled uncomfortably. He was used to not showing up at dinner, normally he would just call for it so he could continue to feel sorry for himself in his lonely bedroom. Maybe he should talk to James to distract himself. His loyal knight and best friend.

Sirius wanted to sleep everything away, but he wasn’t ready for bed yet. Not like he had the resolve to do it anyway.

A knock shattered the haze of negative thoughts that were filling his head like a noxious gas. Sirius didn’t bother to sit up; it was probably James. From his position splayed out on his bed, back facing the door, he boredly called out, “Come in!”

The door swung open and the warm light from the well-lit corridor spilled into the room. His room was dimmer, he could’ve lit the torches, but he preferred it the way it was. “Will you shut the door?”

He heard the door close softly. “I’ve brought you some food,” someone said. Someone that was not James.

Sirius rolled over and made eye contact with a handsome stranger. “Who are you, exactly?” Servants were supposed to announce themselves as so.

“I’m the new personal servant. I’ll carry your stuff, bring you food, whatever you tell me to do, I guess…” the man said. He looked about Sirius’s age, with amber eyes and light brown, almost blonde hair. He had a few scars littering his face, and a poorly-masked stony expression. He was awfully rude for a servant. Not that Sirius cared, he just hoped this guy wouldn’t act like this to any of the other members of the royal family, since they definitely would care.

“Thanks,” Sirius mumbled, glancing at the tray the servant held. It had only pastries, as if the man knew Sirius was wallowing in dread.

“Well?” the servant asked bluntly.

“Well what?” Sirius responded.

“Where does Your Highness want me to put this tray?”

Sirius’s eyebrows raised in shock. No servant had ever said your highness with such conviction. No servant would dare speak to him that way, but again, it wasn’t like he was going to report him or something. Too bad someone so hot was so rude. “The bedside table is fine.”

The servant placed the tray down, holding eye contact with the prince the whole time. “You like staring into my eyes?” Sirius said without thinking. Immediately he cursed himself. He could not start flirting with his new personal servant not even five minutes after they had met.

“Ew. As handsome as you may think you are, not everyone is going to willingly wrap themselves around your finger.”

The servant had actually just said ew to him . Now Sirius was intrigued. Who was this guy, and why did he go around insulting people? “Guess I’ll just have to do it myself,” he muttered.

The servant rolled his eyes. “May I go? Or do you have a task for me?”

“Do you want you want,” Sirius told him. “You certainly say what you want.”

The amber-eyed man put his hand on the doorknob when Sirius blurted out, “Wait.”

The servant eyed him stonily. “Yes?”

“Tell me your name.”

“I’m sure the prince doesn’t need to know a mere servant’s name-”

“It’s an order.”

“Remus,” the servant said, and then he was gone and the door was swinging shut.

Sirius stared at the closed door for several seconds before turning his attention to the pastries.

At least something has gotten interesting.

[line-of-fire]

Incident Report

Mys Taran, Kaliningrad Oblast, RUS 54.95966° N, 19.98114° E 14 November 2021 0200 LT

All information that follows is sourced from the operative in question. Due to the nature of the assignment, we have no way to confirm nor deny the truth of her claims.

Operative PIXIE had listened in on a conversation taking place between deceased senior operative BRIAR and local asset ‘BAILEY’ alluding to deals made with a foreign intelligence service and their intent to neutralize PIXIE. PIXIE then proceeded to neutralize both BRIAR and BAILEY, with no reported witnesses. All intel and equipment was recovered from their persons, and the bodies were disposed of.

After returning to the safe house, HQ was contacted and informed of the course of events as previously described. Excess equipment was recovered and an investigation has been launched to verify the information we have been given and gauge the scale of damage that has been done, if any, by the supposed intelligence link. As of the time of this writing, PIXIE is carrying on with her assignment in order to complete the original objectives.

[thedreamlessnights]

Liability - pt. 1

Astarion x NB!Tav

Synopsis: Two hundred years after being sentenced to prison by a corrupt magistrate, Arden is abducted by a nautiloid and subjected to a tadpole insertion. Little do they know, that very magistrate is on the same ship - and shares their uncomfortable affliction.

Warnings and tags: Brief mentions of violence and death. This fic follows the events of Baldur’s Gate 3, so there will be spoilers. Enemies to Lovers, Barbarian!Tav, Drow!Tav, Multi-Chapter, Upcoming NSFW.

Word Count: 2k

It all starts with burning sand and a mouthful of salt water. 

Arden hasn’t seen the beach before, but the taste of it on their tongue is not a welcome one. It’s rancid. Raw. Stinging at the cut on the inside of their cheek. Long after they’ve spit it out, it lingers. 

Everything does. 

The throbbing of their head, the persistent squirming of that thing behind their eye. Even the grit of sand won’t seem to come off of them. It’s like every terrible sensation has been taken in and amplified by ten. 

Everything aches as they move, stumbling to their feet, taking in the sights around them. The flaming remains of the ship. The deep, clear water. The distant greenery.

Well, Arden thinks, giving a bitter, half-smile that no one is around to see. At least I’ve learned something new about myself. 

They give one last glance toward the shore then set off, a mantra echoing through their thoughts.

I fucking hate the beach.

If things were different, joining with a worshipper of Shar would be insanity. 

Shadowheart may act as though it’s private information, but her loyalties are as clear as day. A follower of darkness. A pawn for the lady of loss. The presence of Shar is like a shadow that never fades - a wound that never heals - and Arden knows it. 

Still, they’ve never been in less of a place to discriminate. The two of them have tadpoles in their brains, after all. They know each other from the ship. Shadowheart seems to trust them after being freed from that horrific pod. 

Given the circumstances, this is the best either of them can manage, and Arden is certainly not about to complain.

So here they are. Wandering through the landscape together, a quiet but implicit trust placed between them. A common goal, intertwining their fates. 

Are there more? Arden finds themself thinking. Are there more like us?

If the number of pods on the ship was any indicator, then there must be. The gith might be out there somewhere. Others, too. How many souls are wandering about, counting down the time until they’ll be changed into monsters? 

Arden doesn’t even want to know. The further they get from this place, the better, but the circumstances aren’t making it easy. It’s blazing hot, and the headache that’s been there for hours is only getting worse. 

Splitting. Throbbing.

It’s the reason they nearly miss the disembodied arm coming out of the rock, waving around in the midst of swirling purple light as if that’s a perfectly normal thing to do.

“Hello?” a voice says, accompanying the arm. “A hand? Anyone?”

It’s likely not a good idea to touch a random hand in a magical rock, but, with the day they’re having, Arden is long past that. They let out a sigh and reach out, taking hold of the hand and giving a sharp pull. 

It doesn’t work. 

For one, their palms are embarrassingly sweaty, and the voice on the other side isn’t exactly helping. Then there’s the matter that whoever is in there is almost… held back. As if he’s being continually sucked in while they’re trying to get him out.

“Harder! Come on, put your back into it!” the voice calls. 

Arden has half a mind to let him go and walk away, but they don’t. Instead, they grit their teeth, tighten their grip, and yank. The arm loosens but still doesn’t give.

“Ow!” the voice says. “Careful!”

“Here,” comes Shadowheart’s voice, somewhere behind Arden. “I’ll help.” She steps closer, grabs onto their arm, and nods.

“On three,” Arden says. “One, two…”

Three. 

The two of them give a heave, and the next thing Arden knows, they’re on their back in the dirt, and their ribs are being crushed by whoever was in that rock.

“Hells,” they mutter, squirming, lungs increasingly aching for air. “Get off!”

The weight above them shifts, then lessens. “Ah - apologies,” the man says, quickly getting to his feet. “As is likely obvious, that didn’t go as expected.”

He offers them a hand up, and they take it. Their ribs only ache a little now, but they scowl at him all the same. 

The man simply smiles in response, taking in a breath as he briefly surveys the surroundings. “Gale of Waterdeep,” he finally greets, holding out a hand again. 

He’s handsome, which isn’t something Arden ought to be noticing in times like this. Long brown hair, grey streaks, dark eyes. 

A bad idea, they think.

Which, unfortunately, has never stopped them before.

“Arden.” They quickly shake his hand, and he has the decency to avoid grimacing at the sweat on their palm. If only it wasn’t so bloody hot out.

“Arden,” he says, his smile widening. “Pleased to meet you. Thank you, by the way. For a moment there, I thought that place might be the end of me.” 

He pauses, and something flickers in his eyes for a moment. “Say - but I know you, don’t I? You were on the nautiloid as well.”

Arden thinks, for a moment, back to the horror of the ship. The pods, and the terrified faces trapped inside of them. The fear. The smell of rot and blood in the air. There had been so many of them, and it had all gone by so quickly…

“I was there,” they manage to reply, grimacing. “Shadowheart, too. We both received the, er, insertion.”

Gale frowns. “As did I. A rather unwelcome procedure, if I may say so. I take it you know what this ‘insertion’ will do to us, left untreated?”

Arden huffs. “That it’ll turn us into mind flayers, you mean? We’re aware. We were looking for a healer before we found you.”

“Were you?” Gale asks. “A strong course of action, and… perhaps the only one, in our case.” He hesitates. “What would you say to us working together? We could lend each other a hand again, so to speak.” 

Arden shares a glance with Shadowheart, fighting the urge to chew on the inside of their cheek. Shadowheart simply raises her brows, looking neither opposed nor in favor of Gale’s proposition.

“Alright,” Arden answers, shifting from one foot to the other. “I don’t see why not. If I’m honest, we need all the allies we can get.”

“Excellent,” Gale says. “You won’t regret it, if I can help it. Shall we proceed?”

And just like that, they’ve become a group of three.

Arden is just thinking that the day might turn out alright when everything falls apart.

Gale is a chatterbox, but his words are a welcome distraction from the horrific spiral of their thoughts. Shadowheart’s snark has them smiling, and even the sun’s brutality has let up.

They’ve all agreed to end one another should one of them begin to turn, but it’s clear none of them want to resort to that if they can avoid it. Who would? 

Aside from the occasional squirming, the tadpole is silent. Arden isn’t sure whether or not that’s a good sign, but they don’t feel like a monster. Not yet, at least.

And then Arden sees him.

It doesn’t come together at first - the sight of him. It’s like a word out of reach on their tongue, a riddle they can’t quite solve. Their strained mind can’t put the picture together, even though all of the pieces lay at their feet.

White hair. Pale skin. Something is off, not quite right. Something is familiar, but it’s not what it was. He looks them in the eye without a hint of recognition and waves them closer. 

“Hurry,” he says, his voice pressing, almost frantic. He looks out toward the nearby field, then points into the distance. “There, in the grass. I’ve got one of those brain things cornered. You can kill it, can’t you?”

And it finally clicks. 

His face. His voice.

It can’t be, they think, dizzy with something that’s somewhere between blinding fury and complete elation. The man responsible for the life they’ve lived for the last two hundred years is standing right in front of them. For a moment, they’re searching for his name, and then - it’s there.

Astarion.

“Well?” he asks impatiently. “Can you kill it or not?”

There’s a beat of stunned silence. Then they lunge at him.

Everything becomes oh so loud in the chaos, the blissfully rageful animal that Arden has become. Ears ringing, their heart pounding in their chest, the impact as the two of them hit the ground. The scrape of the dirt against their knees. They manage to get in one good punch to his face, and he yelps.

“Gods damn it!” he exclaims, fighting to get a dagger out of its sheath on his belt.

“Arden!” someone is yelling. “Arden, what in the hells are you doing?”

There’s a swift, sharp tug - a yank around their waist that knocks the wind straight out of them. Then they’re on their knees in the dirt, and a mace is at their throat.

“I don’t want to use this,” Shadowheart says, her voice trembling with something that might be anger. “But I will. If you’re turning.”

Arden finds themself trembling, bleeding and furious, barely able to think. “I…” 

Their voice breaks, and they ball their hands into fists, sucking in a breath to calm themself. How the hells are they meant to explain? 

“Gods,” Astarion hisses, stumbling to his feet, smoothing out his wrinkled clothes. “What in the hells is wrong with you?”

If Gale and Shadowheart didn’t look two seconds away from killing them, Arden would attack him again. “I’m not turning,” they insist as calmly as they can, keeping their gaze on Shadowheart. “I swear.”

For a moment, Shadowheart just studies them, internally debating. Then, finally, she lowers the mace. 

“Tell me,” Astarion snipes, stepping a little closer. “Do you always do that to people in need?

His words are too much. Too ironic. Arden stares up at him, fuming, digging their fingers into the dirt so they don’t do something stupid. “And how do you treat people in need, Astarion Ancunín?” 

Their words take him off guard. His eyes widen and he steps back, his gaze turning analytical as he looks them over.

“I… Do we know each other?” 

They grit their teeth. “Yes. We do.”

But his face is blank. As they stare at him, they swear they can see fear in his eyes, but... nothing else. No recognition.

Gods. His eyes. 

Arden is absolutely, positively certain that they’d been blue before. Blue. But they’re a dark, glimmering red now. If they didn’t know better, they’d say he was a vampire. But he’s in the sun. If he’s truly a vampire, he’d be burnt to a crisp now.

“Really?” he asks. “My deepest apologies, but it seems I’ve, erm… forgotten?” 

They stare at him in sheer disbelief. Gods. He doesn’t even remember?

“Forgotten?” they ask sharply. “Interesting. And here I was, wondering how you’d managed to live with yourself after what you’d done. Do you forget everyone you’ve hurt, Astarion?” 

Something flashes in his eyes. “Tell me who you are,” he spits.

Arden pushes to their feet, shaking, towering over him. “You were the magistrate for my case. Ten years in prison. I was innocent, but you didn’t care. Don’t you remember?”

They’re looking for their words to spark more anxiety in him, but - rather strangely - they seem to do the exact opposite of that. All of the tension bleeds out of his face, and he lets out a small, surprised laugh.

“Gods,” he says, relief palpable in his voice. “You’re angry over that?” 

Arden doesn’t have any time to feel rage. Their tadpole squirms in their brain with a vicious intensity and a sharp, blinding pain, buckling them over.

Something flashes through their vision. Something that does not belong to them, forced unwillingly into their mind. Dark, familiar streets of the Lower City, but their limbs are not their own. Their actions, even their thoughts, all belong to the man in front of them.

There, he’s thinking. If I could just-

And then the memory is gone.

In the aftermath of the fading image, Arden suddenly feels as though they’ve lost something they’ll never quite get back. They stare at Astarion: similarly wide-eyed, two fingers pressed to his temple - and suddenly understand.

He has the tadpole, too.

[elysisticism]

Dear Queer Kids: It Doesn’t Get Better

The news cycle from the past few months could break your heart, over and over and over again. It consistently spits out stories of our community’s most painful incidents of directed hate, in violent and gory detail. And there’s a new one every time you turn around.

Lately, the theme has been transphobic fear mongering and increased restriction on an even more vulnerable subset: trans youth. The vitriol has always been there, it just wasn’t always so blatantly acted upon, especially so close to home. The hate speech has moved from whispers behind closed doors to shouts in the street, to the mouths of our politicians, to the ink spilled out on our legislation. The consequences are dire: suicide, assault, murder.

This pride month, as I reflect on the past year, I remember the tragic assault and subsequent death of Nex Benedict, a 15-year-old non-binary student just trying to use the school bathroom. I am reminded of my days as a queer and trans kid. It has been over a decade since I was stuck attending public school, but I vividly remember the uncertainty, the fear, and the hopelessness. When my carefully built scaffolding of adult queer life is stripped away, these are the emotions that remain.

At that time, there was a popular campaign, mostly by out gay celebrities like Ellen DeGeneres (we didn’t have a lot of visible trans adults back then) featuring them assuring queer kids, from their mansions, sports cars, or Hollywood sets, that it gets better. I remember the sentiment ringing quite hollow. When you are so immensely vulnerable and in pain in the very present moment, it doesn’t help hearing that it will get better in some far-off imaginary future. We didn’t know if we’d survive until then.

Now, reflecting on the last ten years from a vantage point above the chaos of teenage life, it would still ring hollow. You need to know that it doesn’t get better – it gets different.

As a non-binary teenager, one of my biggest hurdles wasn’t hate, it was invisibility. It may be because of my privilege as a less feminine, middle-class white kid, or my propensity to people-please, stay quiet, and focus on academics, but I was rarely a victim of deliberate and directed transphobia or discrimination. This doesn’t mean that those teenage years were easy for me. Invisibility comes with its own set of hardships: constant misgendering, gaslighted excuses for why it was ‘too difficult to understand,’ and a reputation as the ‘weird kid’ ate at me each day, nibble by nibble. Illegibility shielded me from targeted violence, but it also shielded my true self from the world. From underneath the covers, I could peak out at a world that was barely beginning to accept cisgender gay couples, and pretend to be asleep (deny my truth and project myself as girl) when the wrong type of attention was drawn, dreaming of a time when it would get better, and I would be recognized for who I am.

Slowly, the transgender community has gained societal awareness through campaigns, media attention, and the hard work of queer activists. However, not all attention is good attention. With an increase in general dialogue surrounding the transgender community has come an increase in hateful dialogue, misinformation, bigoted rhetoric, and violent actions. To be clear, the hate is not new: gender non-conformity has been seen as unacceptable for generations of Western society. However, the hate has evolved and gained traction amongst those who can use it for their own gain.

In the present moment, hate against such a miniscule but exposed minority of the general population is a rallying point, a dog-whistle, and a distraction. Fueled by disinformation, purposeful misunderstandings, and exaggerated or blatantly false claims, transgender people have become a common enemy. To the loudest of our critics, we never were individual humans with unique actions, aspirations, and lives we are attempting to live free of violence. Instead, we symbolize an attack on the status quo and everyone who belongs to it or benefits from it. Truly, I do not believe that most people have an ingrained motive to hate our community; what they hate is the feelings of vulnerability that emerge within themselves as a reaction to societal changes beyond their control. Spurred on by certain faith leaders, politicians, and influencers, they have turned this fear into anger and have directed it those more marginalized than themselves.

The consequences of this movement are now beginning to come to fruition. Transgender youth looking to participate in sports, get an education, or merely go to the bathroom face a barrage of restrictions, discrimination, and violence. The most vulnerable members of our community who do not experience outright beatings will absorb the environment of hate that has seeped into our institutions and transform it into self-loathing. At best, self-loathing shuts tight and locks the closet door, preventing queer kids from ever experiencing and sharing their true selves. At worst, self-loathing turns to careless risk-taking, self-harm, and suicide. Simply put, transphobia on the societal level leads to trans death again and again and again.

Perhaps this age-old song of hate will decrescendo, but it will always be audible in the background of our lives. The privileged fearful will find a new victim-enemy, re-concentrate on another vulnerable group, and begin to ignore us once again. Then, just as we did after the second world war, after the government purge, and after the HIV/AIDS crisis we will quietly emerge from the shadows, take stock of our circumstances, mourn our dead, and continue to live. We will learn their new rhetoric, we will educate a new generation, and we will advocate for the most vulnerable amongst us. We will survive again and again and again.

It doesn’t get better - it gets different. Yet we adapt to this difference every time and every time we continue to survive.

But if it doesn’t get better, if the hate continues to circulate, evolving and reforming each time, why must we endure? Why should our community, and our youth, continue to subject themselves to the same violence experienced by our queer ancestors?

Queer youth of today, you must know that there is more to life than perpetual hate. The storm may rage around us, but there will be moments where you find yourself in the eye. When you finally put on that item of clothing and the mirror reflects back the true essence of who you are; when you find the group of friends and chosen family that stick with you, no matter what; when you look your partner in the eye and spark that feeling of belonging, feeling of home.

These islands of queer joy sustain us, nurture us, and remind us of why we fight again and again and again.

You don’t need to listen to those privileged celebrities in their mansions, sports cars, and Hollywood sets telling you it gets better in some distant future. You also don’t need to listen to the hate-mongering faith-leaders, politicians, and influencers. What you need, and what I know is out there for you, is a community of allies, peers, and queer elders that will assure you that you are welcome, just the way you are.

This is how we continue in the face of hate, violence, and death. We gather – in secret, in public, online, in person, covertly, in colourful displays, at protests, at memorials, out loud, and in whispers. We find each other and we hold fast to one another, we support each other, we care for each other, and we ensure our own survival.

I must tell you that it doesn’t get better. The hate never goes away. But you will grow into a community of resilience, a community of hope, and a community fueled by moments of your very own queer joy.

[pigeonwhumps]

Introduction and masterlist

Hi! I'm Ruth, they/them pronouns, 26, and I enjoy most types of whump! I do art, graphic design and writing.

I try my best to tag, but if I miss a content warning you'd like added, please just shoot me an ask! I won't tag lady whump as a content warning, but anything else I will if you ask.

Whump 2024 advent calendar

Favourite tropes:

RECOVERY WHUMP!!!

Found family

Gagging

Muzzles

Pet whump

Whumper pressing down on whumpee's back to keep them from getting up

Branding

Whipping

Caretaker turned whumpee/whumpee turned caretaker

Hero/villain whump

Tall whumpee/small caretaker (or vice versa)

Tall whumpee/small whumper

G/t whump

Whumpee thinks caretaker is their new whumper

Incompetent/clueless caretaker (they're trying their best but they have no idea they're doing)

Non-human whumpee

Immortal whumpee

Human weapon

Picky:

Major character death

Mouth whump

Pregnancy whump

Squicks:

Graphic tooth whump

Everything taglist: @painful-pooch @i-eat-worlds @a-funeral-romance @rainydaywhump

Other taglists part 1 / part 2

Masterlist

↓ under cut ↓

BBU masterlist

General contents: pet whump, dehumanisation, amnesia, PTSD

Sam and Lucan 'verse

In a world where non-humans are enslaved, our characters are just trying to live out their lives in peace. And failing, mostly.

General contents: non-human characters, institutionalised slavery, fantasy racism, dehumanisation, PTSD

A Death in the Family

When his estranged father dies, Tristam, against his better judgement, attends the will reading, and ends up leaving with long-term bloodbag Sunday Afolayan and Eldrida, his father's former employee (and a terribly mistreated one at that, it turns out).

Even with Aileen and Evelyn's expert advice and friendship, it's tricky to bring Sunday back from the depths of his enthrallment, and Eldrida's struggling too. Six years under the cruel fist of Barnabas Sharpe was hard to survive.

It's a difficult recovery for both of them. But surely, things can't get worse now.

Contains: vampire whumper, non-human whumpee (vampire), lady whump, conditioned whumpee, disabled characters (Tristam has ADHD, Eldrida has anophthalmia, and Sunday has joint problems, a badly-healed arm, and an absence epilepsy-like condition), recovery whump, multiple whumpees

Botanist Whumpee

When the rich and powerful Sebastian Beaumont offers Alyssa a place to stay, she doesn’t expect to become his captive for three years. And when Silver rescues her at a party… well, the only thing she’s absolutely sure is better is that they don’t have a basement. They don’t have much of anything, actually. And she doesn’t know whether she can trust them or not, but she stays anyway. With no-one left to care about her, and Beaumont using all his money and connections to search for the pair of them, where else is she supposed to go?

Contains: recovery whump, captivity, lady whump, somewhat defiant whumpee, found family, intimate whumper

Cian and Row

In a world where superpowers are real, heroes and villains exist, and there's a large black market in powered people, Rowan's been enslaved for as long as they can remember. They're befriended when they're three by Cian Sinclair, a local empathic five year old, and at the age of eleven is rescued and adopted by the Sinclairs. Years later they become a supervillain, disappear for five years and reappear to reunite with their family, and attract another enemy, one far more powerful than their previous captors and obsessed with their healing powers.

Contains: slavery, PTSD, minor whump, past minor whump, immortal whumpee, discrimination, villain whump

Immortal Cannon Fodder

Phoenix, an immortal hero, joins a team that hurts them and uses them as cannon fodder. But their teammates are only doing what's necessary to help them all survive. Phoenix's regular sacrifices are necessary. And it's not like they've got anywhere else to go anyway.

It takes the arrival of Kai, a wolf-shifter and telekinetic, to help them see what's going on. But a friendship and a promised eventual transfer can't fix everything.

Contains: hero whump, abuse, past abuse, immortal whumpee

MD-264N

When MD-264N, the government's best weapon, runs to avoid being decommissioned and collapses on the doorstep of a small ragtag team of rebels, it's a surprise to everyone. But despite resistance, the weapon, now known as Morgan, starts to find their place, and the rebels soon find that they'll do anything to keep them free.

Contains: living weapon, found family, dehumanisation/self dehumanisation, team dynamics, reluctant caretaker (not the main caretaker), recovery whump, caretaker whump, disabled caretaker (forearm amputee)

Operation Badger

In the year 2037, Earth is invaded by the Stex. 14 years later, superpowers start appearing in teenagers, and are apparently humanity's best defence against the aliens. What is Earth Security to do but train these people up as weapons?

Contains: sci-fi, living weapons, team whump, multiple whumpees, minor whump, aliens, disabled character

Out of the Frying Pan

Five years ago Elis, former bodyguard and weapon of Lord Wulfric, was rescued from a fiery death by Col and Sæwin. He now lives in relative peace with them in Sorestan, a peace that's abruptly disrupted after an unwelcome visitor brings his past colliding with the present.

Contains: medieval whump, fantasy elements, living weapon

Out of the Water

Túathal, a merman, is captured and kept prisoner by pirates for his valuable scales. While Robyn, the youngest of the crew and not very popular, takes care of him, the others only bother with his scales (and anything that makes their extraction easier). Especially James. And once the rest of the pirates discover that Robyn and Túathal have become fond of each other, things only get worse.

Contains: merwhump, pirate whump, mutual caretaking, language barrier, outcast whumpee, defiant whumpee

Survival Skills

Whumpee is captured by a Whumper who wants to teach them survival skills. Painfully.

Contains: survival skills whump, sadistic whumper

The Greatest Show on Earth

Damon and Pythias are an unwilling two-person sideshow act in The Greatest Show on Earth, Pythias forced to kill Damon multiple times a day for the entertainment of paying circus patrons. Damon has been in captivity since birth, Pythias not quite so long (although certainly long enough), and they're both ready to get out.

But the outside world is even trickier to navigate than they imagined.

Contains: non-human whumpees, multiple whumpees, immortal whumpee, lady whump, circus whump, public whump, captivity, recovery whump, temporary character death (both implied and shown at times), guilty whumpee, whumpee as caretaker

Other writing:

Non-series whump masterlist

Miscellaneous writing, art and graphics

Fanfic/fanart (AO3)

BBC Merlin, Good Omens, Doctor Who, The Sandman, The Murderbot Diaries

Other stuff:

Whumpmas in July 2022 masterlist

Prompts

Ask games

Bad Things Happen Bingo

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Michelangelo Signorile at The Signorile Report:

The infamous beauty queen turned religious crusader, Anita Bryant, died last month at the age of 84. Her dubious distinction was in tying homosexuality to child predation in the first years of what would become the modern LGBTQ rights movement, accusing “homosexuals” of “recruiting” children. Though Bryant saw her entertainment career crash and burn as she led her anti-queer movement—founding a group called “Save Our Children”— there’s been much discussion in recent days about how her legacy lives on. There's an implication, in some of the pieces at least, that even after her death, her brand of demagoguery is successful. The far right, after all, has once again weaponized the “groomer” lie, as the “Don’t Say Gay” bill sprouted out of Florida and across the states—and to the U.S. Congress—in the past few years, and trans people are under vicious attack by Republicans in Congress and across America, accused of endangering girls in public restrooms. But I don’t think it’s so black and white. It is just plain wrong and self-defeating to suggest that no matter what was done to take down the Anita Bryants of the world, they were ultimately successful and always will be, implying that change doesn’t really happen.

There's been enormous progress in the years since Bryant came on the scene, even as her argument is still used again and again by bigots, who’ve been able to strip some hard-fought rights. That paradox underscores that LGBTQ rights are not on an even march toward progress—reaching some kind of finality—automatically gaining more and more acceptance. Rather, it's a movement that makes strides and continually faces attack and backlash.

Like civil rights for people of color and women, LGBTQ rights are in constant tension. The moment people believe they’ve arrived—letting their guard down—the enemies of equality snatch what they can. I wrote all about this in my 2015 book, “It’s Not Over: Getting Beyond Tolerance, Defeating Homophobia, and Winning True Equality.” I’d become aware that many queer people and our allies were swept up in what I called “victory blindness” after winning marriage equality. Looking at recent and not-so-recent history, it was clear to me that the anti-equality forces were gathering to hit with a vengeance. I didn’t know Donald Trump would become president the following year with the Christian nationalist movement in his base, but I could see, covering the gatherings of Christian nationalists as a journalist, that something was about to happen. The point is that when people stay engaged in the fight, they win. And things roll back when they're not focused.

Back in the 1970s, Bryant shocked the post-Stonewall gay movement, which was following in the footsteps of the civil rights and feminist movements. She was a Miss Oklahoma and a runner-up for Miss America in 1959. She became a popular singer and entertainer, including going on Bob Hope’s USO tours. But she also was a hardcore Christian conservative, eventually leading a “Rally for Decency” in 1969 in Miami, where she’d settled, in response to the counterculture youth movement. And then came her crusade against homosexuality in Dade County, Florida, and beyond. When the Dade County Commission voted to protect gay people from discrimination in 1977, the gay community was caught off guard by the backlash whipped up by Bryant and Save Our Children. She led a successful campaign to repeal it and then took the message on the road, having success elsewhere. But activists soon became energized, and there were protests wherever she went. One of the most high-profile actions was when activist Thom Higgins threw a banana cream pie in Bryant’s face at a Christian conference in Iowa. It was front-page news and played all over television again and again, becoming an iconic video in queer history. She prayed with cream dripping down from her face and then just cried. It was pretty pathetic.

By the time Bryant’s crusade reached California, activists had successfully painted her—or banana-cream-pied her—as a bigot who was attacking a group of people and using grotesque and slanderous claims about child endangerment. Activists successfully galvanized the public—including Republicans—against an initiative in California to ban gay and lesbian teachers that was inspired by Bryant’s Save Our Children campaign. Even then-former Republican Governor Ronald Reagan came out against it and helped defeat it. That was the end of the line—in that moment—for the Save Our Children campaign and Bryant. She saw her singing and entertainment engagements canceled within the next two years, and the Florida Citrus Commission killed her lucrative contract as their national spokesperson. And it was all because of activists. Marches, petitions, protests, and the rallying of allies brought pressure to bear.

And it was also because of high-profile events like the pie in the face. According to Q Voice News, Thom Higgins, who engaged in that action, grew up in Wisconsin, Minnesota, and North Dakota and moved to the Twin Cities in Minnesota.

[...] So progress is not a straight line, so to speak. And to say Bryant may have died but had success in the end, as if she and her ideology weren’t vanquished again and again, is incorrect. What Bryant teaches us, and what we should learn after her death and looking back, is that we can’t think we’ve ever won. The moment you think you’ve won, they’ll come back with the same tired arguments. The battle is ongoing, and that should give hope to trans people, all LGBTQ people and many others now under attack. It’s about being engaged in it and being out there organizing the protests, the marches, the sit-ins, and doing whatever is today’s version of smashing a banana cream pie in their faces.

The man behind the famous pie throw on October 14th, 1977 at the late anti-LGBTQ+ bully Anita Bryant’s face is Thom Higgins.

It’s high time we bring back pieing of such odious anti-LGBTQ+/anti-trans folks, such as Riley Gaines, Nancy Mace, Chaya Raichik, and Marjorie Taylor Greene.

[clit-licker420]

But the thing is that a 25 year old man was not born over 50 years ago lmao. Which would seem like common sense, but I guess not. Modern men are not the men that committed crimes against your great-great-grandmothers. Which also means modern women did not suffer under your great-great-great-grandfathers. You literally cannot weaponize the past if both you and the person you’re mad at DID NOT EXIST when it happened. Hate men if you want but you have a lot of other reasons to pick from than “men who are dead now were mean 1000 years ago 😔”

let’s put it in a way you’ll understand. my grandfather was one of seven, my grandmother one of nine (both irish). but they only had two children. why is that? because when women have the social and material power to not be pregnant back to back for a decade, they generally do, as pregnancy and childbirth are incredibly dangerous for women. my grandparents were only born due to the reproductive abuse - whether intentional or not - of their mothers; and by extension, i am only alive because of it. just because you and i personally may not suffer this kind of abuse doesn’t mean it does not shape us or our society. that is why we do not forget.

but also, by your own logic, nobody can ever be mad about things that happened in the past. the transatlantic slave trade, the holocaust, the genocide of indigenous americans; the people who committed these horrific crimes are dead, as are those who endured them, so we cannot continue to be angry about it? maybe you do think that, but i don’t. if you do, and youre simply a conservative coming finto my ask because you hate feminism and any semblance of a civil justice movement, then you’re likely a lost cause anyway. but if you consider yourself progressive, its likely you think the listed crimes are different and the anger at them is justified, but not for misogyny.

then i would ask you to tell me how many women, from the dawn of sexual oppression up until now, have died as a result of sexism. how many husbands unintentionally killed their wives through continuous pregnancy? how many went for the direct route of beating them to death? how many women have been raped in wars, or taken as slaves to be raped at their captor’s pleasure, how many died from backalley abortions, how many daughters left to die for not being sons, how many pushed into brothels and died from stis, or forced into the street when they were no longer attractive to johns, how many killed themselves out of despair for the abuse they had suffered, how many women lived lives drenched in trauma purely because they were born women? and then, if you could even find that number, because hundreds of scholars worldwide can’t, i would ask you whether that truly cannot be called an atrocity.

do you truly and honestly believe that 10,000 years of brutalisation, dehumanisation, and oppression can be fully undone in 50 years? the echoes of human atrocities like genocide and industrial slavery, as with millennia of sexual, domestic, and reproductive abuse of women, continue to shape our societies and feed into systemic discrimination, injustice, and oppression. the criminals are dead, but the crime lives on like nuclear half life, continuing to poison the descendants. that is why we are angry.

or how about we try it another way. sure, men alive today are not responsible for their grandfather’s actions, but what about their own? then what accounts for men like wayne couzens, a police officer who kidnapped, raped and murdered sarah everard; or elliot rodgers, who killed six people because he couldnt get laid, or marc lepine, who shot up a university and killed fourteen women. who are their female equivalents, mass murdering men for whatever reason? more crucially, how do we account for the men who did not commit these crimes, but tacitly endorsed the more subtle misogyny that led to them. couzens was nicknamed ‘the rapist’ by his police colleagues. several complaints were filed against hime by women prior to sarah’s death. none led to meaningful action. rodgers has become an idol for online incel communities who praise his actions as necessary to putting women ‘in their place’. incels and their online spaces are largely young men, who were not born 50 years ago and so are not responsible for their grandfathers actions. marc lepine entered a mechanical engineering class and told the male students to leave before he shot the women. why didn’t they try to stop him? how do we account for dominic pellicot, who arranged for over 50 men to rape his drugged wife over several years, and how do we account for the men who agreed, as well as those who declined but crucially, did not report it to the police?

all of these crimes occurred within the last 50 years, and all of them stem from the same foundational idea of misogyny; that women should be property of men to treat as they wish, and women who disobey must be punished. that is why we are angry. the idea never went away, and it wants to come back. we are angry because we know what the societal implementation of this ideology looks like - it looks like dead women.