#sort of. the general state of the world at present

[treemaidengeek]

what did I do last night instead of sleep? oh, nothing much. an anxiety beast emerged from the void to knaw on my sanity for a while. also I ate a sandwich. how about you?

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP fanfic idea: Big Fish in Gotham Pond

Based off of @saphushia art found here. . I just loved the idea of Tucker not knowing his skill level because he grew up in the boonies

Tucker gets scouted by Wayne Enterprises after he fixes a kid's computer game while in Gotham visiting Danny.

See, Tucker always known he is passable at tech- one has to be when a technology theme ghost is consistently harassing one's best friend- but to be good at something in a small town like Amity Park didn't mean much .

It's a big fish in a small pound sort of deal. That's why he's never put much thought into it. If Tucker were ever to rank himself in terms of school grades, he would say his computer skills were about a C-.

B+ if it was just coding.

His parents also don't think much of his obsession with his PDA or phones. They thought he waste too many hours on them like the rest of his generation.

It didn't matter that Tucker's technology was about five or more years behind his classmates.

The Foley were hard-working people who barely scraped enough for bills. They were never below the property line, but they danced on it often enough that Tucker knew never to ask for unnecessary purchases.

For as long as he could remember, his parents have always worked long and hard hours. He never blamed them for missing so much of his childhood, in fact he was grateful that they worked so hard to keep the roof over his head, but he did miss them.

That's why Danny's house became a haven for him. He was always at the Fenton's place because the loud, wacky family was much better company than the home silence.

Tucker knew that his family's financial situation didn't change how Danny or Sam viewed him. They had his back through tick and thin just as he did for them, but as they got closer to graduation the difference between them became jarring.

Sam had easy picking of what she wanted to do and where she wanted to go. Her parents were so overjoyed that she wanted to go to a university that they didn't even argue about her wishing to major in botanical biochemistry.

She had started house hunting in Star City midway through senior year. Her parents would gift it to her as a graduation present. Sam would live there for the next eight years to finish her degree.

Danny's parents, while somewhat eccentric, were also certified geniuses. Between the two of them, they had five PHDs and were often freelancing for companies when not doing ghost research. They too could send their two kids to college States away with housing not being a issue.

Jazz went to Metropolis to study Physiology. She lived in a small apartment but was doing well off her scholarships and parent's funding. Last he heard, she had a part-time job at the Daily Planet as a research assistant to gain some independence.

Danny wanted to go to Gotham for their engineering program. He, too, had an apartment of his own, with scholarships and equal funding from his parents. He also worked at Wayne Enterprises, but he was a receptionist. He hoped that once he graduated, he could apply for their engineering program

Not Tucker. His family could only help him get into Community College near Amity. He also couldn't afford to move out so he stayed with them, picking up a part time job to help out when he could.

Tucker is a first-generation college student so even though it wasn't much, he loved to see how his parents glowed when telling others their boy was futhering his education. He wanted to do something that paid well- and after years of patching up Danny- he figured nursing would do the trick.

Tucker would do all his basics in the community College, take a break to save up some money and then move on to the bigger schools.

The day of the graduation felt bittersweet. Team Phantom was finally adults, finally starting out in the real world, but while Danny and Sam moved on to bigger and better things, Tucker knew he would be left behind in little no-where Amity Park.

He never brought it up, but he felt a small dosage of envy the last day of summer before his friends finished packing and left.

Despite both being gone, Tucker had little to no social life even though they called, texted, and emailed often. His days blurred between class, work, and home. Even then, classes were long and tedious, work often ending with one or more customers screaming in his face to try and get free food.

His parents quickly started to nag that he should find a wife as they had married young. They couldn't figure out why he didn't want the same, even though he had no social life again.

Life became dull.

Tucker's only sparks of joy were playing online with Danny and Sam - when they found the time to log in or re-coding his old tech to try and salvage it whenever it broke down.

Soon, it became apparent that Tucker was slowly lacking motivation when he started skipping classes to sleep in and started feeling anxious when he needed to clock in for shifts.

It leads to him barely getting out of bed.

He felt horrible about it, thinking his parents sacrificed so much for him only to have him throw away the opportunities they gave him, and the cycle of not being able to get out of bed would start all over again.

It was Danny who caught on, and all but begged Tucker to come to Gotham for a weekend. He even sent money over for the plane ticket.

Tucker couldn't have gotten on that plane fast enough. He arrived early on Friday since the tickets were cheaper- and Uber over to WE headquarters to pick up Danny's keys as they agreed.

That way, Tucker could sleep and rest in the apartment while Danny worked.

Danny would finish his shift and have the weekend plus Monday and Tuesday off to spend with Tucker. When he arrived, Danny was helping a school check in for a field trip, so Tucker sat down to wait.

Next to him, a kid was growling at his laptop, frankly typing and moving his fingers over the computer's touch mouse. Tucker accidentally glimpsed his screen when the kid started swearing in a different language.

It looked like a shooting game but his lag was bad. By the time the boy pressed the buttons to have his little drone move the other flying things he was chasing were flipping though the air and out of his shooting rage.

It sucked when that happened, and since he was using WE free wifi for guests, it was probably the game. The graphics were badass, though. Seemed almost real.

"Hey try updating the system" He tells the kid after seeing the boy once again lag so bad he missed his shot.

Green eyes swing to him drenched in rage. Which yeah, Tucker knows how frustrating that could be.

"Did I ask for your help!?" The boy snaps, his words lined with an upper-class accent. Made sense since he was wearing a Gotham Academy uniform like the rest of the large school group. "Why are you even looking this way, peasant?"

"No, sorry. I just noticed the lag." Tucker raised his hand, slightly amused at the peasant insult. "I thought I could fix it for you."

The boy's face spams, "You believe you have the ability?"

"Ugh sure? I can try?"

"Here. Be quick. The fate of this city's air defenses depend on it" the boy turns his lap top to him and Tucker blinks.

Okay. So fix the game. He can do that.

And he does, quickly opening the code, analyzing the control and commands , he gets it running properly in less then twenty minutes. The boy seems utterly shock but he quickly takes control of the game and shoots down all the escaping ninjas from the sky.

"Thank you." The boy says with no more tense in his shoulders. Then he closes his laptop and dissappears with the crowd of students.

Tucker thought the kid was a cute.

Danny hands him the keys not long after and he leaves.

Never was he aware of the Boy being Damian Wayne and that the game was not a game but a actual defensive drone system that was fighting off the League of Assassins.

He only finds out how important those two facts are when Danny gets a call from Tim Drake asking if he could pass along Tucker's information because the CEO wanted him on staff as soon as possible..

Both nineteen-year-olds lost their minds after getting the call, screaming at each other in ghost shrieks of glee. They called Sam to let her know- and have her lawyers look over the contact Tim Drake sent just to make sure it wasn't a big-time company trying to screw him over.

He went to an interview three days later. He faced Tim Drake, the current seventeen-year-old CEO, Leo Noir, the current head of HR, and Jessica War, the current head of computer services. They asked him many questions about himself- some of which he felt he had answered terribly- then had him take a computer test.

Tucker thought it was busy work, so he quickly breezed through it. He fixed the problem in many of the coding for various programs, adding his flare to the final product, and after thanking them for their time, went out into the lobby.

He hadn't even reached the door before Jesssica ran after him, offering him the job. Apparently, the first two problems they had him do was the busy work. Tucker had thought they were the ones to let him get comfortable with the coding program.

Like a tutorial in video games.

The other seven were actual issues; many of their latest cellphone products failed. Tucker had solved them in an hour, which had taken the actual team of coders about a month.

"Nitey one dollar and thirty-five cents an hour," Tim tells him tapping the hiring contact. "It would be eighty hours every paycheck. You can work here or at home. Full Benefits. What do you say?"

Tucker's jaw drops. "When do I start!?"

He calls his parents to tell them he will be staying in Gotham with Danny. He tries to explain what had happened but it was all so fast that he can only babble about certain parts.

They tell him not to worry about explaining because they understand how much this means to him.

His parents help pack everything for him and when he flies back for it they, offer him hugs and support. Tucker is so glad they aren't mad.

"I sort of knew it was coming," His dad laughs. "You and that Fenton boy have always been inseparable."

"I did the same thing, you know," His mom says, wiping tears from her eyes but smiling all the same. "I moved with your father states away with little to no plan when I turned twenty too. Drove your grandfather mad."

He loves them both so much. He promises to send money- disregarding their denials- and flies back to Gotham, where Danny has opened his apartment until he gets enough for his own place.

He plans on renting a house with three bedrooms, one for him, one for his office, and another for Danny, as soon as he can. He wants to pay his friend back for everything he did and Danny deserves a bigger living space.

And for once, he'll not have to worry about money!

For once, life is looking up!

(What Tucker is unaware of, is that his parents think he moved to the big city to be with his childhood best friend turned recent lover. They don't know that the money he is sending home is from his own payroll and not Danny's. They think he's a stay-at-home husband.

Tucker is also unaware that the Bats are closely watching him in case he goes rogue. They have been slowly "causally" running into him in the city and breaking into his place to check for supervillain activity.)

[theworldgate]

I have to explain what is going on in the UK, because it is absurd.

So, this is Gary Lineker:

He's known for a fair few things over here. He was a very good (association) footballer, playing for England in the 1986 and 1990 World Cups, winning the Golden Boot in 1986, and managing to never get a single yellow card in his playing career. He played for Leicester City, Everton, Barcelona, and Tottenham, before finishing his career in Japan. But if you aren't in your mid 30s, you probably know actually know him him for a couple of other things. The first is the role of spokesman for another Leicester icon, Walkers Crisps (which are sort of equivalent to Lays, but hit different), as pictured above. Despite being a notably clean player, he used to play a cheeky serial crisp thief. I don't think he's done that for well over a decade, but his ads were on the telly a lot when I was a kid and it's a bit like learning that the hamburglar was an incredibly clean (American) football player or something.

The second thing Gary is widely known for is having presented Match of the Day, the big football program on the BBC, the sort-of state broadcaster, since 1999. He is, incidentally, very well paid for this (though with a consensus that he could get even more if he went to one of the non-free-to-view broadcasters because he is very good at the job). He also has a twitter account. And political opinions. So, the UK government has got itself dead set upon doing heinous stuff that will totally somehow work to prevent people who want to come to the UK making the perilous crossing of the Channel (between England and France). By heinous, I mean "openly advertise that they won't attempt to protect victims of modern slavery" stuff. It's very obviously using a legal hammer to victimise a marginalised group of people in order to win votes. And, uh, I should clarify that by "legal" I mean "using the passage of laws" - the policy is, in addition to all the other ways it's awful, probably incompatible with the Human Rights Act and the UK's international law obligations. Gary, top lad that he is, objected to this. On Tuesday 7th March, he made a quote Tweet of a video of the Home Secretary, Suella Braverman, bigging up the policy, he wrote "Good heavens, this is beyond awful.". This got a bunch of backlash from extremely right-wingers, and then he made the tweet that really got him in trouble (with right-wingers): "There is no huge influx. We take far fewer refugees than other major European countries. This is just an immeasurably cruel policy directed at the most vulnerable people in language that is not dissimilar to that used by Germany in the 30s, and I’m out of order?".

Now, I am not actually subjecting myself to watching a video of Suella Braverman bigging up a cruel policy to say whether the specific comparison of the language to 1930s Germany is accurate. But needless to say, Ms Braverman was amongst the many figures on the right of UK politics objecting to Gary's rhetoric. And here's the part where a fact about the BBC comes in: it is nominally neutral and impartial (and so, of course, is routinely accused of bias from all sides but particularly the right-wing), and has something of a code for its contributors to this effect. Now, that code has previously been applied to Gary Lineker, over a comment about whether governing Conservative Party would hand back donations from figures linked to the Russian regime. But it generally hasn't been applied too strongly to people like Gary, whose roles have nothing to do with politics (such as presenting a "here's what happened on the footie today" show), on the basis that, well, their roles have nothing to do with politics. However, when directly asked about whether the BBC should punish Gary Lineker for his tweets, government figures basically went "well, that's a them problem". But a couple of days passed, and it seemed like Gary's approach of "standing his ground because he did nothing wrong" was working and everything would die down. He was set to get 'a talking to' but not much more than that. The Conservative right, after all their fire and fury earlier, had gotten bored and moved onto something else. And then, on Friday 10th March, the BBC announced that he would be suspended from hosting Match of the Day this weekend. But it could still go ahead, because there are, like, other hosts! Except, well, funnily enough, when you take a beloved figure off air, for making a fairly anodyne tweet, no one wants to be the scab who actually takes up the role of replacing him. Gary's two co-hosts, Alan Shearer and Ian Wright, said that they would not appear without him. People who (co-)host Match of the Day on other days followed suit. The net result is that Match of the Day is currently set to air without hosts, BBC commentary, or global feed commentary. And the solidarity shown to Gary Lineker, over what is very flagrantly actual cancel culture and an attack on freedom of speech (the logic implied is that institutional impartiality requires that no one say anything too critical of the government ever), has continued to grow. The BBC has pretty much been unable to run pretty much any live sports content today, and has resorted to raiding the BBC Sounds archive to fill the sports radio channel. And, as of 17:30 on Saturday 11th March, the situation shows no signs of improvement, though some are calling for the Chairman Richard Sharp, who is separately facing corruption allegations, to resign (yes I linked to the BBC itself there, there is nothing, nothing, the BBC loves more than going into great detail about how much the BBC sucks).

[serpentface]

Come On Man.

(Extensive linguistic notes for this 'balls in my mouth' comic under the cut)

The extensive linguistic notes for this "balls in my mouth" comic:

Brakul's first language is the West Rivers dialect of the broader Highlands language, which is part of the Finnic language family. It first split from the Proto-Finnic spoken north of the Viper about a millennia ago with migrants traveling south overseas, and further split into what are now the two native Finnic language groups in Wardin (the Highlands and North Wardi tongues). The Highlands language is a dialect continuum- most neighboring dialects are mutually intelligible, but people from opposite ends of the language's home region would have troubles communicating clearly (though the continuum is not wide enough for any to be fully incomprehensible).

Brakul knew some very, very basic Wardi from occasional contact with Ephenni traders as a teenager, and would later become fluent in the South Wardi dialect as a second language. Wardi is from a wholly separate language family than the Finnic languages with EXTREMELY distant common ancestry, and very different in form and function. Wardi is in many ways less specified and direct, having a smaller variety of individual words to communicate emotional/sensory states and instead imparting many layers of meaning to the same words in different contexts, which Brakul sometimes finds difficult and irritating to navigate. This is one of a number of reasons he often expresses himself more fully in his mother tongue.

Janeys is a native Wardi speaker (South Wardi dialect), fluent in 'Seaway Burri' (which is a lingua franca of the Mouth sea powers, many people along the coastal cities know it as a second language), and semi-fluent in 'High Burri' (state language of the Burri Republic), and in the present day has a modest comprehension of the West Rivers Highlands dialect. This takes place 4.5 years after he and Brakul met, and he mostly just knows basic utilitarian conversational terms and parts of speech, and has a decent understanding of the grammar and how to conjugate verbs. After 13 years of exposure to Brakul talking at him and occasionally deigning to explain what he's saying, Janeys can Sort Of hold a conversation.

---

NOTES ON THE POST ITSELF:

I = Sí

My= Sig

You= Mí (casual) Mís (formal)

---

Mí vírim is “I love you”.

The unconjugated form of the verb is vírir. The dead literal translation is “to need”, but "mí vírim" translates more accurately as "I love you" than "I need you". It DOES have connotations of need, it expresses love as a sense of wholeness and natural dependency- you say it to express affection towards someone to whom you owe your existence, to a line of ancestors, to your descendants, to the people you create or provide for your descendants with. It says "you are part of my sense of place in this world, you connect me to something greater than myself that sustains me". It will mostly be spoken between immediate kin (parents, children, siblings), husbands and wives, and in practice of venerating your ancestors. This is a gay as fuck thing to say to an unrelated man.

There's at least three other ways to directly say "I love ___" one of which is an affectionate expression of camaraderie, one of which communicates strong aesthetic appreciation, and one that is used in practice specifically to express affection/gratitude towards livestock (though can be used more broadly).

Janeys comprehends the phrase "Mí vírim" as “(I) [UNKNOWN VERB] you” and he's able to discern from Subtle Context Clues that it's something like 'I love you'.

He guesses the unconjugated verb inaccurately as (v)írer, as -Er and -Ur verb endings are more common than -Ir endings, and -Er/-Ir verbs share all the same conjugated forms.

Wardi languages have no ‘v’ sound to begin with, and the ‘v’ here is very soft, between a ‘vuh’ and ‘fuh’. This doesn’t come naturally to Janeys (or most Wardi speakers in general) and comes out as a 'wuh' on first impulse and a hard ‘fuh’ when he tries to replicate it.

This is something he never gets good at and Brakul is grateful that it’s his brother who was named ‘Vrailedh’ (Vrai-lehd-hh)) and not him so he doesn’t have to hear ‘Wrai-lehd’ or ‘Frai-lehd’ all the damn time by his Wardi compatriots. (Many of them don't even get his actual name right, but it's a lesser sin of not rolling the R and under-emphasizing the -ul)

---

"Sí brūlmim fágh filshíbe" is “I am very gullible”. The use here is not particularly cruel and is more just that his first impulse upon realizing Janeys will repeat anything he says right now is to make a "someone wrote gullible on the ceiling" level joke at his expense.

Fágh is a word used to emphasize an adjective and some nouns, functionally close to 'very' but used specifically for non-physical/non-sensory qualities (emotion, personality, etc). You could use fágh in the sentence “I’m so sorry” "he's such an asshole".

Brūlmim is "I am" in present tense. The unconjugated form is brūlmur, meaning 'to be' in a permanent sense, as a matter of nature. Other verbs are used for ‘to be’ in a purely transitory sense (“I am tired”) or describing a prolonged but impermanent state, usually past tense (“I was a stupid teenager”).

Filshíbe straightforwardly means 'gullible'.

The 'h' at the end of fágh is vocalized as an exhale, sounds a little like 'fog-uh' with a VERY soft and breathy 'uh'. The '-e' at the end filshíbe is also exhaled, coming out as a quick, soft 'eh'. Neither of these sounds are natural to a Wardi speaker (especially the breathy 'eh', most -e ending words are pronounced with a strong '-ey').

Janeys is comprehending “I’m (very/so) [UNKNOWN WORD]” here, and his face is being touched so softly so [UNKNOWN WORD] is very compelling and he's learning new things and is kind of in the zone so might as well say it back.

---

"Mísig uns drótes vísti sig bahrég, s'vaige do mi?" means "Your balls in my mouth, please?". What makes the sentence Particularly funny to Brakul here is that it's Excessively polite (using a formal and deferential 'your' and very gracious 'please') and jarringly accompanied with lowbrow slang for testicles. A more tonally accurate english translation would be "Sir, may I please perchance take your fat fucking sack in my mouth?"

Mísig means 'your', but specifically implies deference- it's a word you would use to address an elder or authority figure, or to use while being very, very polite. (Mís is the equivalent deferential 'you').

Uns drótes is one of several slang terms for testicles. This one uses the word 'boulders', and is thus Specifically implying 'big balls'. It's lowbrow and a very mild expletive (in the same degree 'ass' is in English).

Vísti means 'in' or 'inside', as a physical state of something being inside of another thing- you would use it for 'there's a bird in that cage' but not 'there's fear in my heart'.

Bahrég means 'mouth', which is almost always used in the purely anatomical sense. The other word for 'mouth' in the language more commonly refers to the mouths of animals (might be better translated as 'maw') and also gets applied to non-anatomical objects (ie 'the mouth of the cave').

S'vaige do mi means 'thank you' (dead literally 'my gratitude to you', the S in S'vaige is a contracted sig/'my') but is translated here as 'please' for clarity. There isn't actually a word that directly correlates to 'please' in the Highlands language, a polite request is accompanied with a 'thank you' instead (IE: "Could you pass the salt, thank you?"). This is one of two direct ways to say 'thank you' and this is the more intensely polite of the two.

Janeys will have understood this sentence as "(polite 'Your') [UNKNOWN WORD] (in? inside? within?) my [UNKNOWN WORD], please." This one throws him off, but he's pretty sure he's about to be kissed on the mouth for the first time in his life so he's willing to go with it.

[nopanamaman]

How do mutants in the Facility live?

Patreon Loredump. August 2023

One of the most frequent types of questions I get are about life in the Facility. So it seems like a good topic to start my loredumping series with! 

Apologies in advance for all the photo examples, I hope they work fine for getting the vibes across.

Overview

The facility dome is visible in the distance.

The facility in general – or, as it’s officially known, the Zh. I. Alferov National Institute of Anomalous Research – is a large structure located on the border of the Zone. Its most notable feature is the massive dome surrounded by an outside wall.

The wall. In real life, the famous building of НИЦЭВТ.

The latter is a building in itself, containing offices, lecture halls, resting and dining quarters for researchers, as well as minor labs. All entrances are supervised, though not totally closed off to the public. Excursions, official meetings, TV reports – all of those happen within the wall.

But you will not find any mutants here. As you may have already guessed, all the major laboratories, anomalous artefacts, and, of course, mutants are housed in the dome. The entrances to the dome are monitored and equipped with anomaly scanners, allowing only authorised personnel and mutants to travel between its sectors.

Mutants cannot traverse the facility unsupervised.

What is the mutant classification system?

Depending on their anomalous characteristics, cooperability and method of containment, mutants are sorted into types and numbered groups. Individual mutant numbers usually look like XT000-000.

Let’s use Dmitry as an example.

Dima’s serial number is DT001-319.

The type constitutes the first part of the mutant’s number. Dima’s mutation is Directional Type, hence the letters DT at the start (for the record, KT stands for Kernel Type).

Next we have the 00X number. Mutants are assigned a 001, 002, 003 or 004 class depending on the potency and containability of their mutation – kinda like SCPs, yeah. Dima has a very powerful mutation he has good control over, plus he is sound of mind, making him suitable for 001 containment.

The last three digits are the overall number of the mutant within their type. So if Dima’s are 319, the facility has had 318 directional-type mutants on record prior to his arrival. This does not mean they were as powerful or had the same level of control over their telekinesis, just that they possessed a similar mutation to some extent.

How do different mutant classes live?

001

001 quarters example. Not too different from a hospital or sanatorium

Subjects ranked as 001 are extremely powerful, have good control over their powers and are, most importantly, docile. Since their mutations are very potent and difficult to forcefully contain, the go-to approach is making them not want to leave.

001s spend most (if not all) of their conscious lives surrounded by doctors. The latter foster a particular mindset in their subjects, where the world outside is presented as a place that is unanimously hostile to mutants. This is done by means of propaganda, reminders about their family’s supposed mistreatment and, in case a mutant has some favourable recollections of their childhood, gaslighting. Additionally, subjects are never left alone with each other.

001s get very luxurious treatment by facility's standards, with much bigger, more comfortable rooms than other mutant types. They're even allowed to have gaming consoles, TVs with VHS and video players, and their own bookshelves. Each mutant has their own separate room, which is kept under constant camera surveillance with the toilet being the only blind spot.

Special folders are issued to 001s before experiments with lower-ranked mutants.

Experiments held on 001s are relatively humane so as not to discourage them from staying at the facility. They do undergo daily checkups mostly designed to monitor their mental state. 001s are also active participants in experimentation on lower-ranked mutants, who they are taught and encouraged to treat as lesser beings.

001s are a high-risk investment, so their numbers are far smaller than those of 002 and 003-class mutants. Additionally, because of the potential danger they present, the institute is quick to dispose of 001 subjects by either termination or reclassification to 004. Though, if a 001 manages to stay cooperative long-term, they can become a very valuable asset for the facility.

002 and 003

002 and 003 quarters example. Though, they’re typically not as well-kept

002 and 003 mutant classes can be grouped together, since their treatment is largely the same. Both of these types’ mutations are easy to forcibly contain. The difference is their danger levels. 003s require close monitoring to not be harmful to others, while 002s are borderline harmless. Both types are characterised by general cooperability.

002s live in wards for 2 to 4 people, while 003s are more commonly placed in single-person wards to prevent accidents. A standard room includes a bed, a desk and a small bathroom (multiple beds and two desks in bigger wards).

KT got to take a dinosaur plushie to her room for good behaviour.

Mutants are allowed to borrow books from the library, as well as get drawing and writing materials. If they behave well, they can get a toy or even be lent a handheld console for a few days. 

002s and 003s have breakfasts, lunches and dinners together, and can spend some time in the playroom with other mutants (that’s also where they can play computer games and watch TV) – all under very strict surveillance, of course.

In some ways, their treatment is much less cruel than that of the elite 001 subjects.

KT before the DT experiment.

Though, not when it comes to experiments. 002s and 003s are very common, and are thus treated as disposable material in a scientific sense. The people holding experiments on them are a lot less concerned with minimising the subject’s pain or discomfort. Consequently, it’s not uncommon for mutants of these classes to sustain serious injuries or die as a result of experimentation.

That said, 002s have the highest likelihood of getting released from the facility, given they meet the conditions for it (more on that below).

004

004 quarters example. Basically a prison bunker

004 is a special category reserved for powerful mutants that refuse or physically cannot cooperate. This number can also be issued as a temporary or permanent punishment to misbehaving mutants. The 004 quarters are located underground and have the highest level of security, acting as a sort of bunker for the most dangerous subjects the facility has.

004 rooms are even more barebones than those of 002 and 003s. They have no access to entertainment (unless it is somehow required to contain their mutation) and cannot leave their room under any circumstances. They are more weapons than test subjects.

Do mutants receive education?

All mutants from class 003 and above receive basic education, learning to read, write and count. They additionally get curated history and sociology lessons. Some mutants, namely 001s, attend mandatory classes in certain disciplines to better apply their mutation. For example, Dmitry studied anatomy to know the precise positioning of internal organs.

Mutants are also free to study whatever sciences interest them in their free time by asking for educational materials at the library. Needless to say, most kids aren’t too interested in that, and are very uneducated compared to their outside peers.

Is there censorship in the facility?

All the media mutants are exposed to at the facility is strictly controlled.

6 y.o. Dima and his politically correct PSP.

The only movies, cartoons, comics, books and games allowed are those that either don't feature the Zone or mutants at all, those that show the discrimination mutants face outside, or those that are very obvious anti-mutant propaganda.

In essence, there are no positive depictions of human-to-mutant interaction, aside from ones between mutants and noble scientists. And, of course, nothing that goes against the general government ideology.

Can mutants be released from the facility?

It is generally assumed that mutants that go into the dome do not come out.

While they are largely dehumanised, the facility is still publicly presented as a sort of scientific sanatorium and hospice for those that cannot safely exist in society. Releasing mutants that know the truth behind the institute’s experiments into the wild is simply of no benefit to the government. So the majority are terminated once their scientific potential is exhausted or if they become too expensive to contain. As a result, few mutants live to adulthood.

Though, there are exceptions to the rule. Occasionally, mutants deemed non-hazardous can be released back into society. This is applicable to mutants that have not experienced significant mistreatment from the facility, lack the ability to talk about their experiences and optimally have been brainwashed by an appropriate 001 subject.

Have other mutants before DT and KT ever escaped?

The funny thing is, escapes aren’t a particularly rare occurrence.

Dmitry and Katya’s escape in KT’s Official Guide to Coolness.

Despite getting a lot of funding, the facility itself is very disorganised. Most of the money is blatantly pocketed by the higher-ups, so a lot of its structures and equipment are subpar – this includes its outdated safety systems. To top it all off, the security staff isn’t especially well-paid, so their diligence is highly questionable.

With all that piling up, there are around 3 cases of low-level escapes every year. Because of tight budgets and plenty of work to do as is, these escapes are generally brushed under the rug. The institute still keeps tabs on the escapees in case they happen to show up on the radar, but it rarely organises active searches or alerts the public for that matter.

DT and KT’s escape stood out because it was anything but low-level, and pretty bombastic at that. But even that didn’t warrant a public announcement for fear of panic and reputational damage. So if you’re an 003 mutant looking for an opportunity to sneak out… Hell, man, just go for it.

Wrap-up

That’s about all I can say about mutants’ life in the research centre, scratch some small factoids here and there. I tried to answer the most common questions regarding the topic, so I hope your curiosity was satisfied!

[bongosinferno]

A devastating and confusing thing about the Fallout setting, when you explore the pre-war aspects, is what the creators think about pre-war America. In the first games we only get hints of the pre-war world, but they seem to be some sort of wild fascist nation invading Canada. In Fallout 1, the first thing we're introduced to of the pre-war society is seeing a soldier shoot civilians and laughing.

Now, for the first 2 games and New Vegas we don't really know much. What we know is that there's a fascist military group known as the enclave who were a sort of US deep state even before the war, and that the government teamed up with corporate interests to preform vaguely MKULTRA-ish experiments with the Vaults. Basically, the government was an extreme version of the 50s American jingoism and McCarthyism.

This is well and dandy, I guess issues come up more when we get to the later games, especially 4, where it seems like none of this extreme plotting and societal civil unrest which would exist is seen. The society as presented in 4 also seems quite progressive, gay people are featured in the opening, and none of the baggage of say, civil rights not existing are included. Now on a baseline, I don't want settings to be more conservative, homophobic and sexist etc., but it becomes a very confusing setting when it's displayed both as this jingoist extreme thing with fascist tendencies aswell as a progressive place where everyone is seemingly equal. If you're focusing on the 50s as your setting, and American nationalism in the 50s, then you can't have McCarthyism spoofs and anti-communism as a societal paranoia norm while also general equality is the norm without misunderstanding why McCarthyism and nationalist jingoism is bad. A massive harm done in anti-communist paranoia is how it degrades and vilifies any progressive movements (women's rights, civil rights, homosexuality) as being morally un-American and therefore connected to communism. To ignore this just makes any critique of MacCarthyism and jingoism weird!

Basically, pre-war America in Fallout 4 becomes this both sides thing where America is both pure and equal and white fences in every instance that we see as the player (the intro), while also supposedly being this dystopic MacCarthyist hellscape that's broadcasting gladly about their war crimes in Canada, and wants to root out communism. I guess the only fix for this issue without getting into the fine print like they had to do is just not to focus too much on the pre-war world.

[elumish]

I know everyone has different views on both worldbuilding and characterization, and especially on the idea of consistency in both, but I wanted to share my feelings on both of them (which are kind of the same! people and places are sort of the same thing sometimes).

Consistency, to me, is about three things: rules, guidelines, and lies.

Rules are things that (whether they've been told explicitly or not) are immutable. They are the law of the land, and you don't break them. You don't actually need to tell the reader what they are, but you should know what they are. They can be simple or they can be extremely complex, but they are things that you stick with. Unless stated otherwise, readers will generally assume that the rules of the real world apply to your story.

For the world, that might be "water is H2O" or "mountains will not stand up and turn into giant creatures and walk away" or "vampires and werewolves can cross-breed but only if they have sex during a new moon" or whatever. For a character, that might be "this character will not kill under any circumstances, no matter what" or "this character won't every tell their parents about that one time they committed arson." It's easier to do never rules for characters than always rules, but you can do both.

Guidelines are things that generally happen but aren't a requirement. This is where people tend to get caught up in character/worldbuilding consistency. Most character traits are going to be guidelines, not rules, because most people do have exceptions or things that change their mind or just character growth. Most things in the world don't work exactly the same way 100% of the time. But there generally needs to be an implicit or explicit explanation for the guideline not being followed, or it just feels like the author screwed up.

For the world, these might be "water isn't flammable--except in those cases where it is" or "vampires and children can't have kids, except in those super rare cases where they can" or "that one time, a mountain stood up and walked five feet and sat back down, but other than that it's never happened so we're pretty sure it'll never happen again". For a character, that might be "this character's instinct is to run away from things that scare them, but this one time they will overcome that instinct to protect someone else" or "this character is generally happy-go-lucky but right now they are deeply sad because something tragic has happened".

Lies are where it gets fun. Lies are things that you have presented as rules that are actually not. Somtimes this is because a character is literally lying to the reader or to other characters, sometimes it's because characters don't have full information, and sometimes it's because some other factor has changed.

For the world, this might be "only people from the royal family can bond with dragons because they have been genetically modified to bond with dragons--oh, actually, that was a lie perpetrated by the government to keep people from trying to bond with dragons" or "there is no eighth continent on Earth--actually there is, it was just hidden from view by magic". For a charcter, this might be "this character would never under any circumstances kill someone--except they just did."

The thing about lies is that they need to have a good in-universe reason behind them, and they can't conflict with other rules you have. I always go back to Stephenie Meyer when I think about this. Early in the series, she set up two rules that she told the reader explicitly: 1) all of vampires' fluids are venom and 2) vampires have 25 chromosome pairs, werewolves have 24 chromosome pairs, and humans have 23 chromosome pairs. The lie that vampires can't have children with humans runs into the issue that it's in direct conflict with those two rules above--but those two rules are never rescinded. So it doesn't feel like a lie so much as it feels like an inconsistency. It feels like she messed something up.

When you're thinking about internal consistency, consider:

Is something a rule, a guideline, or a lie?

If a guideline isn't being followed, is it clear why (e.g., is it an exception? character growth?)

Why was the lie a lie?

Does the lie conflict with other rules in the world?

What does the lie or the exception to the guideline accomplish?

[zith-ipeth]

Therianthropy and the future

What does this look like in the future? The first step, in all good revolutionary world building, is the ability to envision a future. If you cannot imagine what a future looks like without prisons, without police, without capital, without states and without borders, how do you intend to ever see that world come to life? Someone asked what therianthropy looks like in the future on a forum I was on, and most critters said that it looks like it always has, it looks like something you hide away, something you don’t tell anyone, something you don’t explain. You don’t “come out” as therian because we live in a world where you cannot

6 months ago, I told my friends I was an animal, I had yet to identify it as therianthropy, simply rather that I am a dog, that I wear ears where my ears should be and a tail where my tail should be. By “coming out” I committed the taboo, I let people in. Since then I wore my gear (ears tail gloves and a collar) through the rest of my highschool life, I had a 3.25 gpa, I got pets from my friends on occasions and walked off stage with a diploma. One of my peers, not even a friend, said genuinely she thought I would wear white ears “to match your dress, of course, like a snow fox of some sort”. I had been understood as someone who has ears, who has a tail, it was simply part of who I was. 

I’m two weeks into college, I’ve been presenting and explaining myself as an animal pretty much always when asked, I talked to my anthropology professor and he suggested a feminist cultural anthropologist manifesto about the personhood of dogs, I’ve howled with friends at the night sky in the humid air that comes with the end of summer. It is understood that I am a dog, that I am a therian. To be honest classes are kicking me in the tail end, the food is weird, I’m breaking out for the first time in a long while.

Now I’m privileged, my animality doesn’t come in waves, I exist in a more constant state, without shifts and the like, I can control my vocal stims, I’m quite social and generally likable, I’m white, middle class, pretty. I’m trans but mostly binary, I have minimal species dysphoria, and what I do have can be alleviated by means available to me. I’m a dog, one of the most easy to explain theriotypes there is, but…

I did it! I’m living in the future, I’m living in the world that so many therians said could not happen, I’m barking, snarling growling proof that we CAN have a future, that maybe just maybe we can jam our paw in the door and let the zoo full of animals I call my friends through. Maybe if people can adjust to a dog then they can get used to a cat, a snake, a leopard, a fish, a bird, a dragon, whatever else! Maybe the way that I am lucky enough to live won’t be something we can all have in our lives, but maybe, just maybe, if we can show our pups and kits that this is a life they can demand, maybe they will get to have it too.

Run fast, bite hard, bark loud

Peace, love, and gratitude

-Zith Ipeth

[etheries1015]

I'm not sure if requests are open or not but can I have more content on Twisted Wonderland x Obey Me. No preferences really, it can be anything like the demon boys reactions or even the reactions of our Twisted Wonderland acquaintances.

Maybe the reader could successfully summon one of the boys?

If requests are not open please ignore this.

Requests are always open, because I kinda pick and choose what I like to write and what I don't...so no worries! Thank you for submitting this request! I had a lot of people ask me to write another part about twst x obey me so...

click here for: Pt 1

Twisted wonderland X Obey me crossover where MC goes to twisted wonderland from obey me but has their full range of magical powers.

Only problem is, you finally figured out how to use it to summon the brothers, but now you had a whole other issue upon your hands.

TW: None

General warnings: Gender neutral reader, probably a lot of OOC moments, but I tried!

The day you managed to get in contact with Lucifer was well deserved. You had read and practiced all sorts of magic in your free time, Endless sleepless nights studying, and practicing. And it all has to do with...that mirror. You had managed to contact Micky through the mirror who lived in another world, so why not try contacting the brothers the same way? With a few sigils and a couple other magic tools given to you over time at NRC, you chanted your summoning ritual and the mirror glowed brightly. Next thing you knew, Lucifer was standing in the mirror in front of you.

"Lucif-"

"(Y/NNNNN)!!!" A bunch of voices cried out. Your magic worked a little...too well, because the next thing you knew you were being tackled by a hug. Err...many hugs. They had actually stepped out of the mirror, Asmodeus chocking you in a hug and twirling you around with tears streaming down his face.

"Asmo- Asmo stop! You guys can't-" you tried to warn them to go back through the mirror, however it was too late. The mirror returned to its normal state, and you now stood in your dorm room with 7 demons all in tow. Stuck there.

This can't possibly be good.

But luckily, with you somehow managing to break the laws of magic in Twisted Wonderland, all of the brothers were able to use their full range of magic. Including you.

Their reactions:

Lucifer

"Let me talk to the manager." After he finally sees that you are safe and sound feeling a wave of relief, he is immediately on the mission. He wants to speak to Crowley, which you tried to explain was...difficult. But this is Lucifer we are talking about, anything is possible with him around.

The moment he sees Crowley, he internally groans. The things you had said about him were indeed true, he was avoidant of your issues and was trying his best to downplay the problem at hand.

"How were they able to summon such magical beings...According to the dark mirror, (y/n) should be absolutely powerless, an average human with no merits." Crowley had said.

Lucifer was startled at this accusation, so what you had said about them not taking you seriously due to your lack of magical aptitude in this world...was correct as well. This made his blood boil, however he didn't feel the need to defend you. He knew you would have shown your worth regardless of this hiccup, he had full faith in your abilities in personality, despite what they believed to be "useless" or not.

Easily threatens Crowley. He demands you be given a proper living space with accommodations without treating you as some sort of slave to his issues, despite being under the impression that you had no way of using magic to assist you in your endeavors. You had dealt with him and his brothers enough, why must you be burdened with NRC students issues?

Crowley almost shit his pants bro. When lucifer went into his demon form, Crowley shrunk down in his shoes. The other teachers were the same honestly, they were also present during this meeting. They couldn't bring themselves to fight against the large wingged and horned man that emmited such power before them.

"You dare allow my little sheep to live with such horrible conditions and treated them with such avoidance... I suggest figure out a way to make up for what you have done. I also highly suggest you find a way for all of us to return, it is indeed your fault or whatever "magic mirror" that called upon (Y/N) that had made this mistake. I presume you will work with us to fix this issue?"

"Of course!" Crowley exasperated with a laugh of nervousness, "I promise! However, it is no small expense to-" No. Lucifer was not playing around. He was easily able to keep any big emotions in check, however when it comes to you...

"you WILL assist us. Or you can say goodbye to this school you call 'Night Raven College'- " A ball of light of immense magic began to swirl around his hand and his eyes glowed with deadly intent.

He left the building with a smile of success, leaving behind the teachers almost shitting themselves.

after settling business with Crowley, he ran to you. He had to make up for the lost time of course! You wouldn't be able to leave his grasp for a long while afterwards.

When you tried to ask what he spoke to Crowley about, he simply smiled and told you not to worry, he had it all handled. For now, he wanted to hold you in his arms, it's been a while since he had seen you after all, he needed to recharge.

Mammon

"Mannn, is there anything to do in this run down place?" He put up his feet on the table of the ramshackle dorm lounge, you were caught in his grasp. He had been holding onto you ever since he went through the mirror.

"Please don't cause me trouble here, too." You groaned, bags underneath your eyes, "This situation is bad as is, it's probably best you-"

There was a knock on the door. You sighed and got up, opening the door before revealing Azul. Your eyes widened, you totally forgot you offered to help at the Monstro lounge today!

"Hah? Who's this?" Mammon stood behind you looking down at Azul, who was equally as shocked to see him. But he quickly got over it, shaking his head before returning his gaze towards you.

"I believe we had a deal (y/n)..." Azul said with a glint in his glasses, "You had promised to help out today. Our prefect wouldn't flake out on their duties, would they?" Azul went to grab your hand to drag you out, however Mammon quickly grasped his wrists roughly with eyes slitted in annoyance.

"Who are ya and what do ya think you're doing putting your hands on what's mine?" He growled. You rolled your eyes and slapped your face. Here he goes. You can already tell where this is going.

"yours?" Azul shook his head in shock, "Huh? And you don't look like a student here," Azul pointed out, pulling his hand back from mammon, "Anyhow. Are you saying you will take the Prefects place instead? What would you have to offer me? Prefect is rather popular here despite their lack of magical abilities, and having them would really boost our sales for the week-"

"lack of magical abilities? what are ya on about? My (y/n) is super powerful!" Azul stared blankly before looking at you with doubt in his eyes. You turned your gaze away and sighed in defeat, you knew there was no way he would believe what Mammon had said.

"Well. Magic or no magic, I need somebody to take the job (y/n) had promised. I have a business to run, after all-"

"Oh so you're a business man, huh? Well look no further! I'm the Great Mammon, I have a lot of experience in these things. I'm a total cash grab, a model-"

Mammon went on about his accomplishments and proudly declared he was willing to make a deal with Azul, something you tried to talk him out of, but it was too late. He was already signing the scroll.

"Mammon!" You growled, "You are not listening to a single thing i'm- you know what, whatever. You do what you wanna do. Good luck."

Que Mammon being dragged off to do his manual labor...he will learn the hard way like he always does. Oh well. Leave it to Mammon to run off as soon as he arrived to try and make a deal with the worst person possible!

Leviathan

Hugging you so tightly. He missed you so much! But boredom soon took over. He had no idea what to do, you have no video games, not even a T.V In the lounge! How could you have possibly lived this way?!

"Here, I can call up Idia. He's probably the best person who-"

"You found a gaming replacement?!" Levi whined, "I thought you were my player two! But now you're staying up all night playing games and watching anime with someone else..."

You lightly punched the top of his head. "I didn't, you idiot!" You laughed, "We play games, sure, but you'll always be my player 1. I just don't want you to get bored while you're here."

You called Idia and he was so so so so so reluctant to do it. But it's you, of course. How could he say no? Ortho also did some convincing, saying it's good to find another recluse like Idia. But the trade off was you had to be there too.

Dude. They played games for HOURS in the Ignyhide dorm lounge, and you probably forgot something pretty important...

Idia was a gamer unmatched. Not even Levi could beat him at a lot of these pvp games, and began to become unnerved.

"Bro lol you're such a noob, hey (y/n) I thought you said this guy was good at games, why'd you send this guy? He's practically a normie-"

No way he just said that. THAT was Levis breaking point.

He summoned Lotan

He flooded the entire lounge

You had forced him to submit, and Idia was just staring....wide eyed...what the hell just happened...?

"You can use magic this entire time?!" Idia called out in shock after witnessing you submitting Lotan and Leviathan to your call. Levi did make note of this, however was far too upset and preoccupied by cleaning up his mess before he could mention anything about it.

He was banned very quickly, but now thanks to the giant sea monster, he really piqued the Leech twins curiosity (who happened to be in the mirror chamber at the time, when Lotan escaped Ignyhide and also flooded the chamber of mirrors.) Jade asked Levi to study Lotan and Floyd started admiring Levis Demon form. He's never seen such a cool tail from any creature before!

Levi was on house arrest. You wouldn't permit him to leave ramshackle, but he surprisingly made good and quick friends with the brothers. They were all quickly learning how to sew little outfits, which jade really enjoyed. Floyd was occupied by asking Levi all sorts of questions about Lotan and begging to touch Levis tail, before falling asleep out of boredom on the couch.

They managed to stay entertained with each others company somehow, but it worked out.

Satan

You knew he would be best occupied in the Library, where there was an entire pile of books he had never seen before. He was in heaven. How you managed to get him into the building without him being an authorized student? Crowley gave them temporary access, thanks to Lucifers (threats) negotiations.

He began going through each shelf and picking a bunch of books that looked interesting. He was mainly interested in the magic of this world

He emptied an entire book shelf and huddled into a corner surrounded by a mess of books.

Riddle came in to witness this, and was NOT happy.

"What do you think you are doing?" He confronted Satan. Satan glanced up and was at first upset he was interrupted, however seeing riddle...

"Cat..." Satans mouth dropped open

"Cat? excuse me? What is that supposed to mean?" Riddle folded his arms, "No matter. You are supposed to check out these books before utilizing them, and you do not look like a student here. As house warden of Heartslabyul I demand you put these back, or it's off with your head!"

Satan TRIED to explain to him in a civilized way that he was a special guest of the prefect and was given access to as many books as he desired, but Riddle did not believe him. and demanded some form of proof. Satan did not take well to this.

"I'm not going to take demands from a small cat such as yourself. I suggest you find someone else to bother," Satan returned to his book now ignoring Riddle.

"W-wha...EXCUSE ME?!" Riddle yelled, his face turned a bright red and pulled out his wand, "OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!" Next thing Satan knew he had a heart shaped lock around his neck.

He REALLYYY did not like that. The green aura that surrounded him startled Riddle as Satan stood up towering over him, demon form and all.

"I swear I-" He bared his teeth and raised his hand, before someone yelling "SATAN, SIT!" Caused him to gasp in shock and fall to the ground with a heavy 'thud', something that surprised Riddle.

You ran over and sighed shaking your head. You apologized to Riddle and explained the situation, to which Riddle took off the collar he had given Satan.

"Don't worry, Riddle. I will make sure I check out every one of these books and return them accordingly, I will take them to ramshackle for now as to not cause another...scene and disturb the other students."

Riddle was mildly satisfied with this answer and allowed you to do so, not without mumbling about being called a small cat...but no matter.

"how were you able to do that, Prefect? You made him submit," Riddle pointed out, "Without any magical power," He began to say. Satan quickly interrupted with a tilt of his head and a "Huhh??"

"(y/n) Is one of the most powerful human sorcerers," He pointed out, "Solomon is teaching them himself. They have plenty of magical aptitude," He told Riddle, much to his dismay.

You sighed and ignored the topic and Riddles confusion, dragging the pile of books to check out and leaving the library as fast as possible.

Satan spent the rest of the time in ramshackle sitting in a dorm room he found himself, and read to his hearts content. Not without asking you many questions about this world and the contents of some of these books

Asmodeus

The first one to hug you and twirl you around, and had a very hard time letting go.

When he finally did let go, he was nitpicking about everything.

"Oh my dear just look at those bags underneath your eyes! And that uniform...you just look horrible,"

"Yeah. not the first I've heard that," You sighed. When Asmodeus asked you to elaborate, you explained to him about Vil, the super star of NRC, and the person who liked to remind you how to care for your appearance.

Asmo was upset at first, until he met Vil. Annnddd fell in love. Until Vil pointed out Asmos "strange" choice of outfit, being his school uniform from devildom.

Asmo scowled at this and gave Vil a run down of every flaw Vil had, in the end, Vil actually began to see he was similar to Rook in a way, very observant in a persons design and look. Although Asmo did not have much tact about it.

"(y/n), how did you manage to become friends with such a magical person? He's practically oozing with magical charm," Vil pointed out. Not without Asmos confusion.

"What do you mean?" Asmo asked, "We have a pact! They are rather powerful, one of the many things I absolute love about our (y/n)~" Before you could explain further to Vil what Asmo meant, Rook had walked into the room.

ROOK. FELL. IN. LOVE. WITH. ASMO. Bro was enamored, he was shocked, jaw dropping, and eyes widening. He made it almost his life's mission to discover EVERYTHING about Asmodeus.

"Monsieur! I beg of you, let me study you!" he cried out, "I've never seen someone as mangnifique as you!"

Bruh. Right in front of Vil? Vil was kind of offended to be honest, but Asmo... he was loving this. Finally, somebody here that could appreciate true beauty!

Rook started listing everything he loved about Asmo, and when he asked Asmo where he was from and Asmo mentioned he was a demon, Rook lost. His. Mind.

Asmo went into his demon form, ironically this is when Epel walked in.

"What in tarnation is THAT?!" He cried out in his thick southern accent. Asmo did not like that.

"What do you mean THAT?" He scoffed, going up to Epel.

"Who's this sparkly lookin' guy with the horns? ya don't look like a fae to me..." vil scolded him for using such words, but Epel couldn't help it! He was beyond surprised at this being standing before him in his dorms lounge!

Asmodeus was pretty close to using his charm upon Epel, probably to convince Epel that he was as amazing as Rook pointed him out to be, but you quickly got involved and forced Asmo to stop.

"It's not that big of a deal," You sighed, "We all know how amazing our Asmo is..."

Anyway a little bit of back and forth, and all of the sudden Vil Rook and Asmo were all sitting in a circle like a bunch of little girls at a sleepover talking about Musical theatre, Beauty, and everything else that involved Asmo talking about himself. you and Epel were quickly used as their own little dress up dolls, they managed to find a way to occupy the time by having competitions on which party could make you and Epel look the best with what techniques.

Beelzebub

Coming through that Mirror on an empty stomach was such a bad idea. But not to fear! You knew the perfect person to help!

Trey. you had to beg Trey to make as many desserts as he could and that Beel would be probably the best person to taste test all sorts of things he baked. Trey honestly took you up on this, and whipped up a bunch of things he had been itching to try.

"They are really good, but Lukes treats are the best," Beel said with his mouth full of tart. He began to pick apart what was good and what was bad about every dessert he tried, however that did not satiate his hunger. He was so excited to try every single new thing that this world had to offer.

You guys ended up going to Scarabia, where Kalim was more than happy to share his culture and their food. Jamil ended up cooking a meal fit for a king as asked by Kalim. Kalim and Beel got along so well it was kind of sweet to watch....but eventually the food was all out in a matter of minutes, and Jamil had to talk some sense into Kalim.

"He has a healthy appetite! It's amazing, isn't it Jamil? Haha!"

Jamil was not very amused. It was obvious he was exhausted, so you all parted and said your goodbyes.

Ace Deuce Grim and you ended up going into town and stopping at the most popular restaurants.

"this guy is real beefed up, how did you manage to get so much muscle with an appetite like that?" Ace pointed out. Deuce agreed enthusiastically.

They spent probably two hours asking about all sorts of sports in Devildom and exercises, until Jack walked in and walked over.

"Jack!" You smiled. He walked over and greeted everyone with a gentle "hello," Before introducing him to Beel.

"I wonder who would win in an athletic battle between you guys," Grim pointed out. Their bets were on Jack, but of course you knew better than that. You knew Beel would win by a landslide.

they headed to Savanawclaw, and even Leona ended up getting involved after seeing Beel standing next to you.

"Whos this guy?" He pointed at Beel. You guys introduced each other, and Jack explained that they were about to have an athletic competition. They were going to do runs, hurdles, push ups, pull ups...honestly everything.

"What about a Spell drive competition?" Jack suggested. Leona pointed out that it would not be evenly matched, as you were magicless and Beel wasn't even from here.

"Huh? (Y/N) isn't magicless," Beel defended you, "They are actually really powerful. I mean, enough to have pacts with all of my brothers, even Lucifer" He smiled at you and patted your head. Leona began to laugh at you two, not truly understanding what Beel meant by that. Beels friendly demeanor faltered and he frowned.

He was confident in your abilities, so Leona finally agreed to a spell drive contest. They explained the rules, and began. Leona started out so confident, but was quickly humbled the second Beel turned into his demon form and went all out.

You two walked out victorious, leaving an absolutely shell shocked Leona and Jack behind. You and Beel had perfect teamwork, and won by a landslide. You were even able to showcase some of your magical abilities, something else that was unprecedented by the two NRC students.

"Thank you for sticking up for me," You smiled at Beel, "It's been a while since somebody did that to me.. Even though I had to make you sit because you were using too much of your power. You were gonna destroy the disk!." Beel gave you a warm wide smile before picking you up and holding you into a up into a tight hug.

"I missed you, (y/n). And Nobody should talk bad about you like that!

Belphie

Joined you, Ace, Deuce, Grim, and Beel on your outing to eat. Although when you guys ended up splitting ways at the point when you guys left with Jack. Belphie quickly departed to find a good place to sleep at ramshackle. He found a perfect tree for this!

He ran into Malleus. Tall guy, big horns...

'Who're you?" Belphie asked, looking down at the tall Fae from the tree he found to sleep in. Malleus looked up in shock, his green eyes staring at Belphie.

"Are you a new student here?" Malleus inquired, "I wasn't aware that child of man was taking in new students at Ramshackle," He pointed out, folding his arms. Belphie had an unnerved feeling about this guy.

"What do you mean 'child of man'?" Belphie yawned, "Are you talking about (y/n)?"

"Yes, I am," Malleus said, "And you might be?"

"Belphegor, Avatar of Sloth. Why'd you call (y/n) that?" he frowned.

"Well (y/n) is a human," Malleus pointed out, "I suppose I grew up in a more traditional Fae household, so many of the humans we tend to call "child of man"..." Belphie had no clue what this guy was going on about, but decided it wasn't worth his time. He started to doze off again until Malleus pestered him with another question.

"I came here looking for (y/n), He called up to Belphie, "Might you know where they are?" Belphie began to become slightly irritated at this point. He jumped down from the tree and looked at Malleus in annoyance.

"Why do you wanna know where they are? they'll be back soon," he pointed out.

A little bit of back and forth and passive aggressiveness not gonna lie...it escalated to the point where Belphie became so agitated at this guy and his "fancy" way of talking and the fact malleus kept calling you "child of man" or whatever, he turned into his demon form.

"Oh? A duel?" Malleus chuckled, levitating slightly with his arm lifting up and magic swirling around his hand, "Shall I take it you-"

"Belphie, sit!" Belphie gasped and was suddenly dropped down to the ground, you and Beel walking up to them.

"Oh, hey Malleus. I'm sorry if he was bothering you...what was-"

"ugh. This is so annoying," Belphie growled, "this guy here was calling you weird nicknames, and said you were a magicless human," He pointed out. Malleus looked at you with slight surprise at witnessing you drop Belphie to his knees.

"you...can use magic?" He asked, "How come I was not aware of this?"

"Of course they can use magic, idiot!" Belphie hissed, standing back up and protectively moving to hug you from behind. His head lay upon the crook of your neck, glancing up at Malleus with a light smirk upon his features. He was trying to test him.

With his lips forming into a thin line of frustration, Malleus took a step forward, not without Belphie using his tail protectively in front of you as if warning him to stay back.

"I don't like this guy," He pouted to you. Your tired eyes rolled to the back of your head, giving another apology to Malleus.

~

The commotion soon got the attention of the other demons, who then gathered in the courtyard and demanding to know why everyone around them was trying to say you were magicless. After a little explaining, each of the brothers were less than forgiving. This entire time you were powerless, and the students had treated you differently for it? Malleus was kind enough to recount a lot of the things the headmaster had put on your shoulders, while you were trying your best to downplay it. A bunch of the other students had ended up gathering around ramshackle as well, witnessing Each and every one of the brothers now in their demon forms, the immense amount of magic traces had caused quite a stir among the students. Even the housewardens had shown up, hearing down the grapevine of the events that were unfolding. If you hadn't done something and done something fast, things could easily go south. So, you did what you thought was all you could do.

"SIT!" You yelled as loud as possible, each of the brothers dropping to the ground with a yelp. The magic power that was gathering around was now coming from...you. Murmurs were heard between the students, eyes of shock filling their eyes and unbelievable amount of students actually had pulled out their wands, obviously feeling threatened by your sudden showcase of strange magic they had never seen before.

"I'm afraid, my dear students, this has gone too far!" A voice cried out in the middle of the chaos. Crowley had walked between his students until he made it to you, staring down upon your figure with a look of annoyance and sigh.

Crowley declared there was a way for you to return home, and summoned the mirror in which you used to get them back in the first place. Lucifer couldn't help but scoff and sneer at the headmaster.

"Now, please explain, why have you suddenly found a way for us to return when you haven't been able to sort a way out in the year our (y/n) has been in this dreadful place?" He roared in anger. Crowley shrunk down and tried to laugh it off, playing it to be nothing short of a coincidence.

"Enough..." you sighed, annoyed, "Let's just get this over with and go back home."

"Indeed! what our prefect said! Although, you will be strongly missed, (y/n). You were incredibly helpful in dealing with- I mean- supporting our students! With you gone, I'm not sure what we will do! Oh Woe is me!"

Ignoring his obvious attempts to keep you there to handle his students, you said your final goodbyes to everyone you had made friendships with. However attached you may have gotten with these students, it was inevitable that you had to return to the Devildom, where you truly belong.

Thus ends your journey with Twisted Wonderland!

----

I'm sorry that ending was a little bit rushed, I was having a hard time figuring out how exactly to go about it! But, despite this, I hope you all enjoyed this despite it's length. If you have any more suggestions or ideas for a crossover, please let me know! I'd love to hear your thoughts and opinions.

i'm also so bad at writing belphie lol he's my least favorite brother ngl so i'm not that good at embodying his personality. L.

Check out my masterlist for more of my works!

[prettyboykatsuki]

HOW TO BE A DOG. | S. GOJO | PART 2

⊹ general tags ; fem + afab!reader, reader presents femininely and has some specific character traits (i.e. personality traits, nothing physical), reader is shorter / smaller than gojo but nothing specified, reader is a teacher, gojo carries reader at some point (but he is canonly able to do very insane things physically so)

⊹ content warnings ; dead dove. do not eat, yandere gojo satoru, manipulation, stalking, obsessive behavior, delusional behavior, workplace harassment (not from gojo), victim blaming, canon typical violence, graphic depictions of murder, minor character death, excessive religious imagery, coercion, gaslighting, abuse of power, something akin to stockholm syndrome, graphic depiction of noncon / sexual content, forced intimacy, fingering, hickies / bruises, begging, edging, loss of virginity, size kink, 18+.

all sexual content present in this part.

MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING FOR GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF NONCON, COERCION, AND SEXUAL VIOLENCE.

⊹ wc ; 18.4k / 36.1k

link to extended authors note | ao3 | how to be a dog, by andrew kane.

LINK TO PART ONE.

⊹ a/n ; here's part two!! miss ame has read it so im all good to post. i will upload to ao3 as soon as im awake i promise lol. hope you enjoy the fic and please heed the tags. likes and rbs always appreciated. also the last part is, relatively tame. the crazy gets amped up to ten so be careful.

⊹ synopsis ; with six eyes to see it becomes clear, you are being watched.

"You must learn, once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain, that it is better to return and be chained again. Or you may learn that it is not—a fugitive is also a kind of dog." - andrew kane, how to be a dog.

⊹ PART TWO : SOMETHING TAKEN IS BORROWED. SOMETHING RUINED IS YOURS. 

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. 

Gojo Satoru sits on his hands and watches the blizzard outside from his window. His apartment is dark and there’s frost on his window. He can hear the wind from inside, and can feel the cold chill of glass as he stands close to it.  

Snow is falling outside. The world is covered in white. Spring feels like an innocent century ago. 

Nothing’s changed, but everything is different. It’s starting to feel comedic. It’s so cyclical. He has two states of being. Being with you, and not. It dictates his internal world. He functions the same as usual. Repetition. Working, coming home, and waiting. 

Gojo feels like he’s waiting. Perpetually waiting for time to set again so he can see you. There’s something in him only you can fulfill - an itch only you can scratch. Gojo is drawn to irreplaceable people, so perhaps it’s no surprise that he’s latched onto you this way. 

There’s nothing to call it other than greed. Sometimes love, but mostly greed. A habit he can’t break free from. Gojo wants to see you. He doesn’t know why either. There’s not any particular reason. Or if there is, he hasn’t examined it too deeply. Gojo has always known in some innate way that he’s lonely. That his loneliness makes him untouchable - but not in the same way it might make a God. 

The thought of doing anything without you makes paranoia creep up in his throat like bile. Gojo is that sort of lonely. Is it too much to ask to be next to someone, who never goes anywhere he can’t see? Monopolizing your time and all the ways to do it best take up most of his energy. 

When was the last time anyone made him feel warm, in the cold white of winter? He thinks maybe he realized it too late, that he cares about you this much. 

The reality is that Jujutsu Sorcerers are better off learning how to cut their losses. You love people and they die. You like people and they die. Gojo doesn’t think he can accept that from you so easily. He doesn’t think he should have too.

Does he need a good reason to want to keep you?

Gojo doesn’t want to make you hate him. He just wants to make sure you’re alive even if it means you might hate him. You might never understand either. Because you are still foolish, naive and human. Is that really asking for so much?

It makes him hesitate from the call to action. That instinct in his bones. He sees having met you as a blessing from the Heavens who’ve banished him. Gojo Satoru is not god. He understands God, but he’s not God.

No matter how much Gojo reaches for omnipotence, his long fingers can’t stretch towards it. Godliness is uninhabitable, an abandoned house. If Gojo casts his eyes on you for more than one second, he can do nothing but long. How can God long? Perhaps if he were more godlike, he could treat your inevitable death like a sacrifice. A martyrdom, or proof of your undying love for him.

Despite that, he understands how God's love can reach. Inciting violence to bring you closer to him is merciful. It’s only then you’ll come to understand it to the highest extent. That Gojo loves you after all, more than anything mortal in his world. He can hold all of you in his hands, keep you safe for the rest of your life. It’s what he wants so badly. If you just give him the chance to protect you - he could do it so easily. 

Religion can be so much like a dog and its master. Maybe, you could understand Gojo’s feelings if you saw it as an animal instinct to protect you. Even if it’s a falsity, a fictitious tale, detached from what's true. 

He doesn’t want you to hate him. He’s your watch dog, your keeper, your divine love. He needs you all to himself and he needs you to understand that you’re his reprieve. That in a universe decided by fate, the two of you are also red strings knotted together perversely. 

He needs you. He needs you. He needs you. 

Snow is falling. 

__

Come Saturday, Gojo receives a knock on his door. 

He’s usually sleeping in on the weekends, so he’s startled by it. School doesn’t start till later and if it was an emergency relating to sorcery - Yagi would’ve dialed him personally. He answers the door with sleep still in his, rubbing his eyelids as he yawns. He’s dressed in his P.J.’s with his hair messy and mind jumbled. 

He’s not unhappy though, when he opens the door up to see you. You’ve got something in your arms, a bag it looks like and a look on your face that Gojo can’t decipher. 

“Oh,” He says after registering who he’s talking to you “What’re you doing here so early?” 

You sigh, deeply, rubbing your arm. That anxious little habit again, your eyes darting every which way.

“A pipe broke in my apartment. Like, flooded the whole thing. Spent the whole morning scrounging my stuff together a-and I called maintenance but they won’t be here for a while and.” You stutter as you explain yourself and Gojo stares at you in confusion “I need a place to stay but going back to my parents right now is gonna be so hard and plus there’s work,” 

Gojo soothes you silently, putting a hand up. 

“Hey, calm down,” He says first, smiling up at you. He reaches out to pat your head “I’m here. It’s okay. Slow down and tell me what's wrong?” 

You sigh, closing your eyes and bracing yourself. 

“Would it be alright if I stayed with you? Just for a few days, until I figure this all out?” 

If God exists, maybe this is his way of giving Gojo grace. Gojo takes a minute to pretend, leans against his door frame and watches you fidget anxiously. He blinks at you, the way your teeth are pressing into your lip. You fold underneath the pressure of his gaze easily. He hums and haws.

“Hm,” He says, leaving you uncertain for as long as he can before you try to react. He’s memorized all your tells by heart “Well, there’s no reason not to, right? You’ll have to sleep in my bed though.” 

He half-jokes, but not really. He waits on your reaction. 

“Oh, uhm, then,” 

He interrupts just then, raising his voice. You jump back. 

“Just kidding! Of course you can stay with me. I’ll take the couch for a few days so don’t worry your pretty little head about it, okay? Stay as long as you like.” 

You look relieved. It makes Gojo smile a bit watching you take a deep breath, leaning on the door frame as he stares. 

“What?” You ask when you notice. He shakes his head. 

“It’s cute when you get nervous,” He says, inhibitions lowered. You pout at him and Gojo has to stop himself from reaching forward to grab your face in his hands. 

“You’re so mean,” You say with a sigh, arms crossed over your chest “I was really freaking out just now,” 

“I know, I know - but it’s kinda fun watching you fuss. Dunno. Maybe it’s cause I’m sleepy,” 

“You're wide awake right now!” You point out. He snorts. 

“Noo, what? I’m half-asleep right now,” 

“Gojo,” You whine, and he has to stop the blood rushing through his body “Let me in? Please?” 

“Try Satoru. Sa-to-ru,” He says. You frown at him, sighing as you rub your face. 

“Satoru,” You say, hardly getting the syllables out “L-let me in,” 

He pats your head one more time as your frown deepens. 

“Good girl,” He purrs, before switching his tone to a more lax one as he welcomes you “Come on in!” 

Another sigh of relief. Gojo finds it fascinating that you can find relief in his presence. It speaks to how well he’s been doing to make sure he’s acting in accordance to expectations. Despite how easy the opportunity has fallen into him, he doesn’t think it’s time yet. You’re still skittish.

Still, he should get something out of your stay here. And he will, but he should let you settle in first. He gives you a hum as you shuffle inside, standing awkwardly in his living room. He shuts the door behind you and locks it up. 

“Don’t be so stiff,” He says, waving a hand in the air before yawning “My home is your home. Be comfortable. Is there anything you need or wanna do?” 

“Could I borrow your shower?” 

Gojo feels something pressing into his ribs at the idea of you using his things  - sharp and sinful. 

“I was gonna shower this morning but, y’know.” You gesture vaguely. He’s quick to agree of course, nodding his head as he points in the general direction of the bathroom.

“Pretty sure our places are built the same so you should know where it is. The towels on the rack are all clean. Feel free to use anything in there and uhhh,” He scratches his head unsure of what else he needs to add. Though he’s certain he’s missing something “Oh, and I’ll give you some clothes,” 

You flush at the sentiment. So maybe you do know what this seems like, at least on the surface. Gojo peers at you as you turn his words over, interjecting before you have a chance to refuse. 

“Don’t say no,” He says, voice sing-songy. watching your expression morph into something nervous again. Maybe you caught it, because you certainly jump in your skin, but he switches into himself with ease.  Over and over and over - startling you never gets less fun “Let me play out my domestic fantasies a bit as compensation,” 

“That’s a bad joke,” You say, throat thick.

 You want to trust him don’t you? He wants to praise you for that. 

“Aw, c’mon. It’s lonely. Let me indulge a little,” He begs with enough lightheartedness that you don’t run away. 

“Geez. I thought you were popular with the ladies,” You try and joke back, though it’s stilted and awkward. He can tell you’re getting prepared to squeeze to the  bathroom before the conversation is too much. 

“Old ladies do love me,” He says contemplative. You elbow him lightly. 

“Stupid.”

He gives you a soft smile as you pass by him.

“Is there anything else that you need while you’re in there?” 

“I don’t think so,” You reply back. Gojo watches you disappear into the hall, trailing after you silently. He waits, listening carefully for the sound of the shower to turn on. 

When the water rushes, he follows you. 

He almost has a conscious standing in front of the closed door. The water pressure in his apartment is a little higher than it’s supposed to be. The closed walls keep all the noise inside them, making it almost impossible to hear what’s going on outside. Even with heightened senses like him. 

For someone like you, it’s probably impossible. 

It’s knowing that he follows behind you, lying in wait. He counts up to 5  minutes as he waits, letting you settle into it before he puts his hand on the door knob. He finds it unlocked. He’s pleased with that. 

You trust him, or you try too. 

When he feels certain you’re relaxed, he opens the door. He could teleport in but it’s noisy. Steam plumes outward as the door opens. He looks around the bathroom. Your clothes are folded neatly, with your pants hanging on the rack next to you. 

He stares at the fabric for a long time, contemplating what he has time for. 

Ultimately, he suppresses whatever urges come up to do what he came for. Too many to count and even more that are risky to act on. Instead, he checks the tags of each piece, committing it to memory. After, he stares at the shower curtain until he’s sure he overstayed his welcome. 

He leaves right after though, shutting the door just as quietly as he opened it. 

The less you know the better. Gojo makes his way back into the living room. 

He sits on his couch when he’s back. The sun hasn’t come up yet and he’s only turned on a single lamp for light. It’s hard for him to describe how he’s feeling. Things have been different for weeks now, but proceeding normally hasn’t caused him too many issues. Strangely the sense of routine has been grounding. 

He’s been dealing with it better than he expected. For all of that restraint to unravel so quickly is funny.

 But, Gojo thinks, that everything leading up to now must’ve been a sign. There are so many instances that befall him that feel aligned with fate. He’s naive in thinking you're different. He’s the only heir of the Gojo clan, the only one with the Six Eyes for nearly 400 years. He hears the water rush faintly through the walls of his apartment, picturing you trapped in those four walls. He thinks of how you met. Your proximity to each other.

It’s only now and in such circumstances does he think that you’re the due that the universe is paying back to him. Robbed of everything, of every joy he’s ever had - it’s both righteous and fair to take you. Gojo doesn’t want you to hate him. Not necessarily. 

But they always say in sickness and in health. Through the best of times and the worst. If you were made for him like he suspects (like he knows, believes deep down) then he thinks it’ll be fine. As long as it's you. As long as it’s yours. Even if you cry or scream, what matters to Gojo is that it’s yours. That he’s yours. 

Holding back is starting to be too much. Gojo’s never been the type to sit on his hands and wait. Being scared is so much like starving. Deprivation like that always threatens to turn Gojo to ruin. 

But like anything he does though, he can’t take the easy way out. There’s a method to the madness. An order even among his most disorderly actions, there’s things that need to be done the right way for the best possible outcome. On less of a whim than it seems, Gojo decides that he’ll do his best to make that reality happen. 

The thought settles in his body and suddenly he’s present again. He feels a pang of hunger in his stomach, causing him to stand to his feet. He feels lighter as he waltzes into the kitchen, whistling to himself on what he should make. Maybe crepes? He’s not a skilled cook but he’s pretty good at making those. 

At the very least, he thinks you’ll like them too. He proceeds into a normal-ish routine. He follows the motions of making breakfast as he hums to himself silently. Grabs a bowl from the cupboard, eggs and milk from the fridge, and flour from the pantry. 

He thinks to himself, immersing himself in the practical ritual. His comment from earlier about domestic fantasies was a half-joke at best. Gojo really does want to do this kind of thing with you, and he doesn’t want to miss the opportunity to play the part either. Even if it’s temporary. He’s giddy at the thought of doing this with you everyday, a warm fluttery feeling spreading through his body. 

He grabs a whisk off of the wall as he dumps everything into an empty bowl, turning the heat of a non-stick low. He whistles a song he can’t remember the name of, cracking an egg on the metal edge. 

Despite living in a nicer part of Tokyo, Gojo has yet to have an induction stove top. It’s not uncommon to have gas for smaller, cheaper apartments. Most of the stovetops in the Jujutsu Tech dorms are gas and Gojo has no issue using them. He doesn’t cook for himself often in the first place, so he’s never thought to complain about it or get it changed. 

Maybe he should. Once you live here, it might get inconvenient. The thing about gas stoves is that they never heat evenly. It’s not impossible to work with, and the heat is easier to control - but induction lets every inch of the pan get hot the same way.

( He often thinks of the analogy for boiling a frog. If you put anything living in heat too directly, it’ll jump to save itself. But if you keep the heat tepid, gently raising the heat till it boils - it’ll let itself stay in the treacherous waters until the very end. It’s best to keep the heat even. It’s best to fix it sometime soon. )

The whisk makes a pleasant sound as it hits the bowl, metallic scratch softened by the presence of batter. He picks the whisk up and watches the yellow liquid drip off the edge, a hand over the pan. Still too cool to the touch, he clicks his teeth. 

He waits, idly. The shower turns off, he hears, and feels his breath hitch. He has to steel himself, curb his enthusiasm. 

Too much heat, and you’ll jump to save yourself. 

Once the pan is hot enough, Gojo busies himself with cooking.  It helps him distract himself, the monotony of pouring and flipping and waiting. He gets through almost 6 before he hears your feet pad gently across his hardwood floor, slipping into the kitchen with a towel wrapped around your neck.

You’re wearing what seems like the only clothes you managed to bring. Gojo wonders how long it’ll last you. Despite it, he notices the way you smell. How you smell like all of his fancy bath products and soaps. There’s a twitch in his sweats that he barely gets under control. He lowers the heat and turns to you. 

“Morning,” He says. You giggle a little. 

“Morning. Are you making breakfast?” 

“Yes ma'am. The only thing I know how to make but,” He puffs his chest up “Pretty good, I’m told.” 

You roll your eyes at him, but smile anyway

“Guess I’ll be the judge of that,” 

“The audacity,” He says, full of theatrics “I’ll knock your socks off,” 

“Oh, I’m sure you will,” You say, flippant and giggly. Gojo decides then, maybe, in its entirety. That he’ll have all of you and soon “Can I help with anything?”

“Get started on some coffee maybe,” 

You nod your head and yawn. 

“Sounds good to me,” 

__ 

You decide to stay for a week. 

More precisely, Gojo convinces you to stay for a  week. That’s how long it will take for your apartment to get fixed completely. Concerned about inconveniencing him, you initially suggested 3 days - insisted you could find somewhere else or pay for a hotel for the rest of the time.

But Gojo insisted too. A week is more than fine (even longer would be better) and there’s no reason for you to go out of your way. Hotels are expensive, your parents live out in the countryside, and it’s not like you can’t board with a friend for a few days right? 

But won’t that trouble you? Of course not. Gojo doesn’t mind at all. It’s like having a week-long sleep-over. 

I don’t have the stuff I need. That’s fine. Gojo can take care of it. He already bought some clothes for you, an act of kindness. He can get the rest too. You can consider it a favor, if you really want to be sure. 

Are you sure? Of course he’s sure. More than sure. You’re doing him a big favor, he assures with nothing but affection. Being alone at home is pretty boring, anyways. What’s sleeping in the same room when we’re neighbors? 

Even with your unease, you agree to stay the whole week. You’re weak to being convinced, and hard-pressed on not fighting about things Gojo is adamant on. 

(He’d be stupid not to notice how your earnesty makes you easy to exploit. It’s a good thing it’s only Gojo who knows.) 

The first day passes quietly. You and Gojo go to your respective jobs and greet each other when you get home. At home, things are simple. Domestic. There’s no other way to view it. You graded papers and looked over lesson plans in the living room while Gojo got in his daily sets - TV playing in the background with neither of you particularly tuned in. Gojo sleeps on the couch. 

(He doesn’t make it a day without touching himself. The proximity is too much, too stimulating, and even with all of the restraint in the universe - it’s hard for him to stave it off.  What you don’t know can’t hurt you. Alone under the moon, he thinks of what you look like when you’re embarrassed and spills into his hand. 

Eventually, he’ll graduate to watching over you. You leave the door unlocked because you’re naive and Gojo stands with his cock in his fist, watching intently. You squirm in your sleep but you sleep deeply - because despite all the noise, you don’t stir one even once. He stops it from touching you, so close to your mouth, to your skin. ) 

On the second day of living together, the clothes Gojo bought you come to his door. You’re not home when it arrives, so he waits until you are home to open it with you. You come home a little later than usual (parent-teacher conferences, apparently). 

(“I have a surprise for you!” Gojo says, as finally comes back into the living room. You’ve returned from your shower, on  your last pair of PJ’s. You blink at him softly, tilting your head to one side as he hands you a package. 

“For me?” You ask. Gojo nods, grinning. 

“For you,” He confirms. He walks with you as you set the box onto the coffee table. You stare at it for a minute, glancing up at Gojo. Your eyes search for your keys. Once you find them, you take the sharpest key and rip through the tape on the top of its sides. An unceremonious krrk sounds through the room, echoing in the dimly lit living room. 

The clothes are wrapped in white, plastic packaging. You pick them individually, examining them closely. You look at Gojo again, more uncertain than before.

But Gojo shakes his head, nudging you towards opening the packages themselves. A promise to explain afterwards, silent in the air. You nod, confused, but do as he suggests. You rip the top open, dropping the thin plastic onto the table. More bags, this time clear. You repeat the action until the material flounces in your hands. You undo the careful folding for a minute, then stare at it. 

“...Clothes?” You repeat. 

“Surprise!” He says with his usual silly cadence “For you, free of charge.” 

A lot of things pass over your expression. Gojo watches each of them carefully, amused. He wonders what you’ll do. What you’re thinking, it’s a shame Gojo can’t read your mind.

“How’d you know my size?” You say first, inquisitive but not accusatory. Gojo shrugs. 

“Guessed. We’ve spent enough time together,” He says noncommittally. Your face changes, like you don’t quite believe him. But there’s not enough there for you to question him either. He can almost hear you narrate it in your head. The heart you wear on your sleeve, tender red and bleeding, thumps anxiously as you try to get a read on him. It’s not a sound he dislikes. 

He’s been good to you. He’s just being nice. You shake your head, regretful of your own doubt for a minute. You force a smile, and Gojo doesn’t hate it even though he knows where it comes from. 

The power of love, he thinks almost whimsically. 

“This is a big box. How much stuff did you even get?” You repeat, noticing the contents are up to the top. He feigns indifference. Pretends not to know that he spent countless hours looking over it. 

“Mm, dunno. Just whatever I thought you’d need.” 

“I’m only here for a week, Gojo.” You mutter, hands grazing over the cardboard edge.

“So? Maybe you need a lot of stuff. I don’t know what women go through.” He says with a pout, lips together. Joking with you to lighten the mood, which makes you huff through your nose. 

“You’re so dumb. It’s too much stuff,”

“I already bought it and I don’t feel like returning it,” He tells you, making it clear he’s not going to negotiate “Just think of it as a gift from Santa Claus.”

You snort. 

“You even have the hair,” You reply. Trying to make yourself feel better in the process, Gojo gives you a half smile “Still. I feel like I’m really indebted to you, lately.” 

“Yeah? You can count this week as one big favor, if that makes it easier.” 

“I don’t remember Santa doing favors for people,” You quip. Gojo laughs. 

“Change in management,” 

You laugh a real laugh at that, and Gojo watches you turn the situation over again and again. 

“Well. Thank you. Might as well look through the rest of it, huh?” 

“Take your time,” Gojo says, before checking the digital clock on his wall “I need to go get something from the store. Just leave the empty stuff next to the trash and I’ll take it out tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, okay. Yeah. I’ll start on dinner. See you, Gojo.” 

“Yeah. See you” ) 

If you notice all the clothes come in shades of blue, you’re smart enough not to say anything. 

The third day passes in a blur. Nothing notable, but he’s content. You wear the clothes Gojo bought you and he’s careful not to stare while you know. He takes it upon himself only to do it when he knows you’re asleep, his nightly routine staring over the bare inches of your body in a dark room being a reprieve of his other desires. 

On the fourth day, he doesn’t have the restraint not to touch you. Too many days in the same room and he wants access to everything already. He hates being patient more than he thought, but there’s a method to this - he has to remind himself. 

Like taking out his aggression, he decides he needs more relief. Something to scratch the itch. With his infinity, you can’t feel his fingers ghosting over your legs. He checks if you’re wearing the other stuff he bought, settled at the bottom of the box. Not lingerie, but panties. Plain and cottony - white over your cunt as you sleep with your leg hiked up. Gojo knows you can’t feel him now, but part of him wants you too. He wants to know why you’re wearing them despite yourself. Gojo realizes too late that he’s interested in your misery just as much as he is everything else, and so far - that discovery has made everything all the more difficult. 

On the fifth day, things proceed the same. There’s a routine you’ve settled into together despite the time limit on it. That night over dinner, you and Gojo spend time together. There’s not really much to do - it’s a Friday. It’s the first time neither of you are completely occupied with any one task. 

You get to talking like that. On the fifth day, Gojo gets as close to opening up as he’s ever gotten in his life. Part of him isn’t sure why he does it. He thinks he’s seeking confirmation for something, but what that could be is lost on him. 

(“So, you’re the only person left in your clan?” You ask, half-way through a glass of tea he’s sure has gone cold by now. The T.V. is on but muted. Gojo looks at you in the low lights, fighting his own sleep.

“Mhm. Technically, I’m the sole heir.” He replies.

“...Is it okay to ask what happened?” 

Gojo laughs at you. You really can’t help your curiosity, but he still finds it amusing.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Gojo says honestly. 

“That’s okay,” You say, voice filled with an air of innocence that Gojo has a hard time wrapping his head around. 

“Most of them were wiped out. We had a lot of enemies, me included. A lot of them are dead, the remaining are somewhere far-away and have no combat abilities.” 

“You included?” You pick up on, naturally. Gojo nods and smiles a little. 

“Once I inherited my technique it was pretty commonplace. I went through a lot of assassination attempts,” He yawns in between, because this is an old, boring story “It took a lot of time for me to get strong enough to where I am now. But I got there eventually.” 

“You say that so easily,” 

Gojo peers at the frown on your face and laughs quietly to himself. 

“It was a long time ago, now. I never really had a lot to mourn, except for when I was a teenager. I’m used to it.” 

For a long time, you remain completely silent. Gojo almost thinks you’re going to cry. He doesn’t know how to feel about that. It’s proof of something. Of his ambivalence towards the idea of sympathy. Sure, it’s meaningless now for someone to feel bad for him. It’s a pointless endeavor, because Gojo is a selfish dick and the strongest - and he knows both of those things intimately. He accepts them as part of himself in the same way, he doesn’t know what he’s like without being frivolous. Without being the strongest. The line between misery and character is paper thin and Gojo hasn’t known it since he was born. 

It’s especially pointless for you to feel bad for him, because he’s going to ruin that very innocence you hold in your heart before the week is over. He’s going to do it with purpose and conviction. He won’t feel remorseful about it at all. 

There’s an irony to it. A dramatic irony that brings him closer to Godliness than he’s ever really been. Because Gojo knows that this conversation is confirmation that he needs you, just as much as he knows he’ll do anything to have you even if it means you can no longer look at him like this. 

He wonders how long you’ll hold sympathy for him. He decides for now, there’s no reason to not lean into it. It makes him happy that you care enough to feel sad. Even if it’s pointless. He doesn’t remember the last time someone did. 

Maybe when he was 17.

“You look like you’re gonna cry.” He says lightheartedly. Sincere in a way he hasn’t been in very well over 10 years. You sniffle. 

“How are you not crying?” 

“I never cry.” Gojo says smoothly, not blinking “I’m a heartless bastard.” 

“That’s not true.” You say, almost exclaim, turning yourself to look at him so seriously. It’s cute, he must admit, that you’re so sure on his character “You’re not heartless,” 

“But I am a bastard,” He clarifies, mischievous. And you pout, less eager to correct him on that 

“...You’re not heartless. Clearly.” You say again. Gojo laughs, a real laugh. He can feel it preemptively, how much he’ll cherish every minute of this conversation. He hums. 

“Oho, you almost sound like you’re defending me.” 

“From yourself, I guess. I know you’re not heartless,” You say, with some kind of clarity that you have him figured out. Maybe you do. It’s a little shocking. It’s not usually how this goes “You’re…weird. But you care” 

“That’s true,” Because it is, and Gojo has no reason to lie to you right now. “More than that, I’m hung up on the idea of the future.” 

“Isn’t it usually being hung-up on the past?” 

“Right? Usually, that’d be the case,” Gojo says, unsure of what to express “But the past is the past. I can’t go back to it. My technique is infinity. It means I can see infinite realities.” 

You sound like the winds been knocked out of you “That’s terrifying,” 

“It is. But you know, even in those realities, the past is the past. There are places where the past hasn’t happened. But it can’t be changed. It becomes part of infinity, when events occur. The only thing that can be changed is the future,” Gojo explains, though he leaves out so many intricacies “There’s a future I want to see. I’d like if my students could see it too,” 

“Because of your friend, right?” 

Gojo smiles. 

“Because of my friend. And for less selfless reasons.” 

“Like?” You ask, curious. 

“I like being able to do whatever I want, without consequences. Being strong lets me do that. For now it’s up to me, but eventually, I can raise strong comrades.” 

You’re silent for a while, again. 

“Seems lonely,” You say, simply. Easily. It’s true, and he knows that. It’s the most obvious thing in the world, and you’ve said it with little regard for anything. Almost mindlessly, a natural response to such a sad story. 

Gojo feels it again. Those stifling, pesky emotions that linger in the cavity of his ribs. He can’t bring himself to be honest, because when does he ever? But he does smile again, a little more melancholy than usual. You notice, certainly, but you have the courtesy not to say a word. 

“You think so?” Gojo says, passive and wilfully ignorant “Does it make you wanna hug and console me?”

He offers it sarcastically, but you don’t tear your eyes away from him. It’s almost enough to shake him. Almost. 

“...A little? You feel like a sad dog in the rain.” You say, too honestly.

“Jeez. Maybe you just miss Pokupan. Thinking about another man right in front of me. I can’t believe I’m the other woman,” He says, with a faux pout. 

You laugh, though it’s laced with sympathy. Gojo can tell you want to fuss. That you want to admonish him for being the way he is, and he’s almost willing to let you. That’s just the thing.

 You see Gojo as human, still. 

Gojo Satoru isn’t God. But he isn’t human either. If you want to know how God lives, asking Gojo is always viable. But you shouldn’t mistake false omnipotence for forgiveness, like you are now. You see Gojo for all of his humanity, but you're blind to his divinely violent tendencies. You will be until it’s too late. 

So, Gojo doesn’t think you need to comfort him how you’re thinking you should. Gojo wants you to depend on him. Because coveting you is an affair distinctly inhuman and crueler than even the heavens could be and he believes that you’re owed to him. 

 Gojo wants to protect this version of you, even at the sake of corrupting it. He doesn’t want to let you go ever, for any reason. And he wont. 

He turns the heat up gently. You’re none-the-wiser. The night swallows you both, but Gojo will remain untouched. He’ll hold you when it inevitably spits you back out. When reality washes into you, you should’ve trusted your gut after all. 

For now, he smiles at you. 

“If it’s any consolation, I’d be very sad if you disappeared.” Which Gojo hopes you can interpret without his interference. It seems like you do, because you smile to yourself. 

“Me too,” You reply. Gojo knows he’s going to ruin you. “I’d be really sad if you disappeared, Gojo. So, don’t, okay?” 

And if Gojo were an honest person, or a good one - he’d tell you you’re the last person who should worry about missing him. That you’ll be seeing him for a long time. 

But he’s neither, just like he’s not god or man. He lightens his tone and holds out his pinky, which you link with his. 

“Scouts honor,”

When he’s ready to look away, you pull a bare thread from Gojo’s clothes. Frowning at him, as you dust away the fabric with your hand. He stares at you. 

“What was that?” 

“You had a thread loose,” You say simply, unconcerned with anything “I just pulled it off.” 

Gojo stares. 

“Yeah. Thanks.”) 

The sixth day passes quickly. Gojo doesn’t think there’s anything worthy of saying. By then the routine is so practiced and so constant. The sixth day passes like a shadow in the night, disappearing through the woods before morning comes. A stepping stone. 

Today is the 7th day. 

On the 7th day, things are different. The same but different as they so often are. You don’t have work today, so you do what you’ve been doing. You and Gojo work in proximity to each other, share meals, and idly watch T.V.  

Night falls on the 7th day.

Gojo wants to take part in the act of creation, as the sun dips below the horizon. He’d set this in motion when the week started and now that it’s here - the anticipation is too much to bear. When Gojo Satoru sets himself out to be conqueror, the universe trembles at the sight of him. There’s no sound at all. The night reeks of death, in Gojo’s presence it trembles. Too fearsome to speak. 

Night falls today. Gojo starts his usual routine with less caution than he’s had the previous six. Where he usually bides his time and enters the room carefully - today he merely enters. He places his hand on the silver handle and pushes it open. A breath rushes from his lungs, adrenaline entering his system as he steps inside. His room has felt so unfamiliar to him lately, but like this - a sense of serenity washes over him. 

He stares at you. With his Six Eyes, with vision clear as ever, Gojo looks onto you as you are now. You can never reconstruct a flower crushed under steel boots. You’re not mud or earth, not adaptable like the sea. From the moment he’s met you - Gojo has known you to be so much like a flower. Gojo has never wanted to take the petals off of something so much in his life. 

And Gojo is in this instance, a natural disaster ready to pluck the root of you up from the ground. He’ll pick you up in a storm but return you to his feet. There’s a method to this. Gojo stares at your silhouette wrapped and tangled in his sheets, body so loosely dressed. Your visible figure rests easy. 

The night is glorious and silent. Gojo watches on in some cross of indifference and utter starvation. He blinks, leans on the wall. 

Like a call from fate, you start to stir awake.

Gojo moves towards you. He decides it might be easier just to join you in bed,  so he gently works himself into the sheets.. He creeps towards you slowly, and re-familiarizes himself with the feeling of his bed. It’d be lost on him for a week, but your presence in it makes it feel especially brand new. The bed dips under his weight, creaking. You shift lethargically, turning your head to look at Gojo. 

You look startled once you realize. For the first time in your entire relationship, it seems to dawn on you that something is wrong. Just a minute too late. He gives you a second to wake up. Your breath hitches, a stifled gasp as you greet Gojo’s expression. 

The hunger in his stomach is gnawing. Gojo feels like he’s starving. He thinks doing this will only half-way relieve the urge. This part of Gojo is inhuman as the rest of him. 

Gojo’s presence suffocates you so much in the moment, you can only barely open your lips to say your next words. 

“What are you doing here?” You sound still innocent. Gojo smiles briefly, under the glow of the moon. He can see your expression clearly. Sleep in your vision. A sheerness to your skin that comes with rest. Your bags are packed, and your things are cleared from his bathroom. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought. 

He knows he shouldn’t think it, but some part of him is vindicated. You’re leaving him today and Gojo finds abandonment to be the highest betrayal of them all. So, he’s vindicated. He licks his teeth, usual mirth coming back to him. 

Then he talks, his voice tender. 

“Getting my debts repaid,” And he means it, more than he’s ever meant anything he’s said “You owe me one, remember?” 

It dawns on you. Realization flickers in your eyes before it twists into fear. Gojo wants to encourage it. A curse starts to form, like tendrils around you. You’ll leave it here when you’re gone in the morning and Gojo will have a piece of you left with him. 

“W-what are you…? What do you mean?” 

He’s shrill, almost, leaning close to you. His sudden proximity makes you freeze. You know better, know so clearly it stops you from running. Gojo is tempted to see if you’ll do it. If you’ll run or if you’ll thrash or if you’ll fight. He’s not particularly sadistic, but he likes you - and he’s curious to know what your reaction will be to something like this. 

He eases you into it, He brushes his knuckles over your cheek as your heart sky-rockets like you’re being hunted. Gojo thinks he ought to be gentle with you. Regardless of how this is happening, it’s your first time together. Your fingers tremble as you reach up to grab his wrist. It seems like you’re trying hard to pull him off, and wiggle away from his grip. You ready yourself to give him push back and Gojo times it so that it seems like you’ll be able to break free. 

But Gojo is strong. Stronger than you by a lot, and you know that by now. When he finds that you’re trying to escape him, he’s quick to grab your wrists with his hands. They both fit perfectly in his palms. He pulls them up over your head and your eyes widen as you feel his grip - near bruising (though he is trying so hard to be gentle) on your body. He stares down at you. 

You look so frightened.

“Wh-what are you..?” 

“You owe me one for letting you stay here, right?” He asks enthusiastically, licking his teeth. Your eyes widen “I’ll take this as compensation, okay? It’s a good deal for us both I think,” 

“I don’t,” You squirm underneath him “I don’t—I,” 

“Shh,” He quiets you, humming softly “Don’t overcomplicate it. Just wanna see you,”

Gojo watches you turn it over in your head. He was wondering about this. What’d you do in these circumstances. If you’d act like you always do, pleasant and pliable trying to do what's best. Damage control for what's coming. 

Gojo pulls his hands away to undress you and yours fly to his shoulder blades. You heave as you push, mumbling something about how he doesn’t need to do this. Your expression is grief-stricken. Gojo soothes you. 

“You can bite, scratch, kick, scream - whatever works,” Gojo says, communicating his affection as best he can. He drives his hands under your shirt, laying his palm flat over the skin of your stomach. He runs his thumbs over your sides, committing every inch of you to memory. Without his infinity, Gojo feels every part of you “It’s not gonna hurt me,” 

You look like you’re at a loss for words. He gives you a warm grin. 

“Maybe we’re going about this all wrong,” Gojo says after some thought “Is this your first time?” 

You whimper, nodding meekly. Gojo  groans against your skin. You flinch. 

“Fuck, course it is. Shoulda known. Such a sheltered girl like you,” He adds the last part with a hint of condescension, watching your face curl up into a frown. 

“Didn’t say it was a bad thing you know,” Gojo is careful as he pulls your shirt higher and higher. Your breath is being held, afraid of what’ll happen if you let g.o “We’re tied together like this. Isn’t that nice?” 

“Gojo,” You say, swallowing something. Words that threaten to bubble up that you can’t find the strength to say. You’re not wearing anything underneath and Gojo feels a chill in his spine “Please,” 

“Not wearing a thing even though you’ve been sleeping at a man's house all week,” He reprimands. He lets the material sit over the swell of your chest, just under your neck where it stays. He can see the outline of your tits clearly now, just enough light from the open window to illuminate your skin. Your nipples are hard, heaving. Gojo can hear your little heartbeat thump against your ribs “I’m not telling you off you know? I’m glad you trust me. Great job, on that really. But you really should be more careful.” 

“Gojo,” You plead again, throaty. The sound goes through his system, sends blood rushing to his cock.  

“Satoru,” He insists on, knowing it will take more than that to convince him “I’ll try and listen to your requests if you say Satoru,” 

He doesn’t promise to stop, because he doesn’t think he’d be able to follow up on it. Still, with the level of desperation you show - Gojo thinks it’s worth it to gain something out of. You follow up his request almost instantly, lips wrapping around the syllables with a weak breath. 

“S-Satoru,” 

He gestures to take your shirt off. You’ve become more pliable, if only a little, letting Gojo see all of you completely bare as he tosses his clothes somewhere onto the floor. Shameless in viewing you, your instincts kick in to cover your chest. He clicks his teeth, pushing your wrists together again over your head. 

“That won’t do,” He coos at you softly “I wanna see you. All of you,” 

You hiccup, sobbing, Gojo reaches his palms towards your breasts, cupping them gently. Your nipples rub against his palms and he groans feeling how soft you are. 

“So pretty,” He admires you. Means it. Gojo lets his gaze catch on the edges and curves of you with enthusiasm. Your chest is sensitive to his touch, thumb and forefinger tweaking and teasing your nipples as you remain underneath him obediently. Your eyes look so watery, soft like lilies in freshwater “So cute,” 

“Satoru, please, I don’t—don’t want—” 

“So ungrateful,” He tsks. He smacks your chest lightly, enough to make you squeal “That’s the only request I can’t listen to,” 

You hiccup, looking away. Gojo hums as he hovers over you, seated over your figure. He pulls his mask off from his eyes, material falling into his fingers. Grabbing your wrists with his palms, he wraps the material around them - tight enough to keep you but with enough room so it doesn’t hurt. He places your hands over your head gently, kissing your covered wrists. 

“Don’t squirm too much, ‘kay? Stay like that. I’ll make you feel good.” 

“I don’t,” 

“Hey,” This time he’s stern, and you slink back into yourself. It’s the first time he’s had to use this tone on you and hopefully the last “What’d I say? You owe me this much, don’t you think? After everything I’ve done for you, the least you can do is not turn me away. It’s not like I wanna do anything bad with you, y’know” 

A pang of guilt passes through you. You stop squirming. Gojo keens, baring his teeth as he smiles. 

“Good girl.” He dips his head to kiss the place under your ear, where your neck meets your jaw. He scrapes his teeth on the skin so you can feel his teeth over your pulse “You learn quick.” 

You keep your arms over your head like he’s asked, hesitant and stiff. Gojo can work with that at least. He leans towards you, tipping your jaw so you’re forced to look at him. Tear-eyed and whimpering, a shudder passes through him. 

“So pretty,” He mumbles. He leans forward, presses his lips to yours - hand resting on the base of your neck. You make a noise of indignance but Gojo keeps you there. He eases you into obedience, forcing his tongue in your mouth, grazing the inside of your mouth. 

He swallows every sound you make. Distress and frustration and reluctance lend themselves to giving in  easily. Your body is sensitive to touch, a trail of goosebumps where his hands touch you. On your waist, trying to ease you into it. 

He pulls away from you, a string of saliva connecting you. 

“First kiss?” He asks. You shy away, clamping your mouth shut. Gojo chuckles, teeth nipping at you “Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”

You remain silent, so Gojo fills the space. 

“Mm,” Gojo presses kisses down the curve of your jaw, all the way down your neck where he stops and bites - hard enough for something to be there tomorrow. He undresses the rest of you. You try to resist this time too, but Gojo doesn’t bother putting up a show. It’s easy to overpower you. He tugs your shorts off with your panties and tosses them somewhere. Unceremonious and uncharacteristically impatient. 

He takes his time now that you’re all naked. It’s thrilling to watch distress fill your lungs, a ballooned breath and muffled protest. Gojo sucks hickies into your bare skin. It’s only fair to give you something to look at while you’re departed. Your blood rushes, capillaries breaking under the hardness of his incisors  - ridges pushed against your delicate skin. He licks the bruises afterwards, kisses them tenderly. 

“Gonna be a little sore for a while,” He says warmly. You’ve hit the stage of grief where you’re angry and resilient again but one look from Gojo is enough to make you slink back “Might as well enjoy yourself.” 

Despair flashes in your expression. 

“I mean it, you know.” He offers, stating it like he’s trying to appease you “You should relax a little, let it roll off your shoulders.” 

It seems like you register that Gojo is teasing you. He does mean it, about thinking you should enjoy it. Everything else is deliberate and you know as much. It’s good you’re starting to understand him a little better. 

“Why are you doing this to me?” You ask hoarsely. Gojo is surprised by your question. 

“Ah, it’s a secret, so you can’t tell,” He starts. He squeezes the fat of your chest in his palms, silver tongued and playful “I like things that I can keep.” 

A flash of true horror washes over you and you almost go ragged in realization. Weakened in your resolve once glimmering so brightly, Gojo takes the opportunity to please. He kisses down your sternum, runs his hands across the sides of your chest. He presses this thumb against your hardened nipples, rubbing lightly. Gojo takes them into his mouth. He bites then licks like he licks a wound

It pleases him immensely when you respond. When you gasp in a helpless sort of way and go to cover your mouth in shame. A sense of delight washes over his body and he does it again and again. He teases, changes from sucking harshly to lapping oh-so gently on the skin. Over and over until your voice can longer be contained no matter how hard you try - sharp gasps and cries of desire filling the air. 

When he thinks you’re worked up enough, he slots himself against you and nudges your legs apart. He can feel the heat from your bare skin against his body, clothed. How you tremble underneath him. He eases his hand down gently, fingers trailing down to your pussy. 

You hiccup. A sob of defiance stifled with obvious arousal, forced from you so easily. Gojo laughs. 

“You don’t wanna?” He pricks, intentionally. Gojo lets his middle finger ease along your slit, dragging his digits up and through - catching on your achy clit “Are you sure?” 

It’s torture for you. Of course it is. A pretty, sheltered little thing. It’s your first time with something like this and he’s sure all this is too much for you. Even if you tell yourself you don’t want it, your body can’t refuse him. You can’t either, try as you might. That’s why your legs are spread and why you’re practically dripping for him. Gojo thinks of it as admission. Your clit is hard underneath the pad of his middle finger, as he rubs too light and too gently. 

You cry out, pitchy and broken. Gojo laughs. 

“You need it here,” He punctuates, adding enough pressure that you gasp “Need me to touch you here, hm?” 

You shake your head at first. Gojo tucks himself against your chest, sucking the skin gently. 

“Be more honest.” He encourages a mockery as he so barely presses his finger inside of you - threatening to touch but never doing it “What do you want?” 

“Don’t, I don’t.” You say, or you try. 

“Liar,” He snips playfully against your clavicle “Your pretty little pussy is dripping wet and you want me to believe that?” 

Gojo smacks your cunt softly. Once, then twice, then three times for good measure as you cry. 

“C’mon,” He encourages meanly “Tell me what you really want.”

It’s a sick little mind game that Gojo is having too much fun playing with you. 

“P-please,” You stutter, so unbelievably broken with so little done to you at all. Gojo will take all of you at a later time. When you’re thoroughly pliable and broken and so beautiful all for him “Please.” 

So dependent like Gojo always thinks you should be. 

“Please what, hm? What are you asking for?” 

You swallow thickly. All your dread and doubt and disbelief gone as a sense of real and true need ignites within you. Of course this is too much for you. Gojo overwhelmed you like this on purpose. The resentment of wanting despite it all, despite how miserable you are makes for something so tragically Gojo’s. Whatever you have in your heart will always be for him. Good or bad, ugly or beautiful - like this you are all his and so perfectly too. It’s titillating, the sensation of control that wisps around him. It strikes him like a hammer on hot iron.

Gojo wants you to say it. Wants your selfless  little heart to beg for his mercy this once. You’ll understand some time later, that this is how Gojo loves. Selfish and twisted. Cruel. Intimate beyond mortal comprehension. All of him just for you, just like this. 

Strangely, it's perfect. Gojo teases you some more. Toys with your clit and feels a pool of arousal rush and drip from your sore cunt. He hits it with the palm of his hands as you try to form the words. You tremble in his arms, a vestige of your will to resist. 

You want to resist so badly, he can tell. But it hurts now to leave it alone and you want it despite yourself. It makes you so frustrated you cry. Limp, crystal tears down your face that Gojo licks up nearly immediately. Salty and bitter. Gojo kisses the apples of your cheek, nose nudging your skin. 

“So cute when you give up.” Gojo praises sincerely. You sob somewhere deep inside of your “Be good and be honest. I’ll reward you, hm? How’s that?” 

Gojo can feel the moment you give in completely. When acceptance settles over your hazy and contorted mind. You let the tides take you, curling into yourself.  A sound like you’re in pain even though you’re not hurt. 

“Please touch me.” You whisper, hoarse and defeated. Gojo laughs airy, peppering your face with kisses. You wince. 

“Good girl.” He coos, dipping his fingers down lower and lower. Heel of his palms pressed into your swollen, needy clit “That’s all you had to do. Easy, right?” 

You scowl at him (you try too).

“Open your legs, baby,” 

You listen this time, opening your legs wide enough for him to touch. Your pussy is so wet for him. Sticky and soft like you’ll fall apart, Gojo thinks it feels divine, wants to squeeze and grope and touch until you’re disintegrated. He likes feeling you like this. Vocal chords strung tight, all the noises throaty and gone. You throb against him like you’re begging. Gojo doesn’t stand to let you acclimate, flipping between three fingers in a gentle rub to a soft and well-practiced spank. 

Only when your words start to come out t0gether, like you’re spitting them out because they fill your mouth  too quick - does Gojo bless you with any mercy. He lets his hands sink lower, deeper - until his middle finger brushes your twitching hole. Your breath hitches, and the hands once stuck to your side, reach for Gojo’s hard to hold. 

He licks his teeth, some unspoken feeling sending an bullet through him as he feels your body resist. Needy thing you are and so untouched that even the point of your middle finger makes your breath slower. You’re wet enough he doesn’t need anything else to aid him. He pushes in slow, slow, slow - painstakingly carefully as your wetness envelops you. 

Because he intends to cherish you in his own way, he resists the urge he feels to flip you right over and take you. He’s being kind, and you’ll realize it later - when you’ve adjusted to him a bit more and know when to pick your fights. If he didn’t think it’d ruin the set-up, he’d have flipped you on your back just feeling. Fucked you without any consideration, just to feel your pussy around him in a vice grip. 

It’s all he can picture, but he shows restraint. He’ll fuck himself off on you when you’re sleeping maybe, just to scratch the urge. You might pass out before then. 

He comes back to you like that, a promise to himself to give the relief he needs with the body he finds oh-so tempting. He pushes his perversion aside to touch you. You let out a little sound every time he fucks himself deeper, gets his middle finger down to the first bend the all the way to the knuckle. 

When he thinks you’re adjusted - ready for more, he gives it to you without making you plead. He uses his ring finger this time - his longest ones and feels you stretch around. He groans, deep and appreciative, as he feels how tight you are. You preen, squeeze your thighs together and call his name 

“Oh, Satoru, its.” 

He shushes you before busying himself with tasting your skin. Closes his mouth around one of your tits as he repeats the process. In, in, in until he’s all the way to his knuckles. Fucks you till it’s easy, till you’re wanting more. 

If he were more merciful, a good man or a better one - he’d stop here. He doesn’t though. A third finger has your eyes widening. You gasp. Gojo kisses your face again and again. 

“Easy, easy,” He coos, voice coarse but encouraging “It’s a good exercise for the future.” 

You don’t register the words and Gojo doesn’t expect you to. Even still, he thinks giving you the heads up is quite nice. 

Three fingers proves to be more than enough. It pushes you to an edge he has seen before. He fucks you with three. Your mouth falls open, slack jawed. Gojo curls his fingers. He rubs up like he’s motioning for you to come here, deep enough until he feels it. That spongy spot inside of you, apparent through the sounds you start to make as he touches it. 

He hits something of a stride like that, finger fucking you with pressure on your clit and his mouth on your skin. Gojo takes to watching you once he knows he’s getting you to that edge. Your body stiffens underneath him, breathing going noticeably shallow. Mouth wobbly, lower lip trembling. He can tell you’re feeling it, just as much as you’re resisting it. Gojo coaxes you by whispering against your skin. 

“C’mon,” He hums, nudging his nose to your neck “You wanna cum don’t you? I can tell you. You too scared? Need me to help you.” 

You whimper “Aah, aah,” Gojo can feel you pulse. Can feel your insides tighten. He’s doing it on purpose, tipping you just over the edge. He wants to hear you beg. Wants to know what it sounds like when you beg for him. He fucks into you slowly, until you’re no longer able to put on a show of being composed. 

“S-sato—oh, please, oh—please m-make me,” 

“Want me to making you cum? Say it. Say, ‘Satoru, please make me cum,’ can you do that?” 

A bitter sob leaves your lips and Gojo can’t think straight. It strains you. 

“S-satoru, pleasemakemecum—please.” 

Gojo grins. “Of course I can,” He quickens his pace enough to make you feel it. Your eyes shoot open before screwing closed again “All you had to do was ask me.” 

He watches you intently. How you fall apart under his fingers, delirious whimpers of no, no, no - even though you begged so sweetly a minute ago. He hums as he feels the walls of your pussy start to tremble, a soft squelching sound hastened now. You say something he can’t decipher, words too jumbled for him to make sense. Gojo stares hard. Lets the infinity bleed away so he can feel you just like this, feel you cum on his fingers despite everything. 

He feels giddy to the point he’s sick with it, moaning as your hands grip at the roots of his hair. He kisses your breast tenderly, just over the latest lovemark. 

“Don’t hate me too much, kay,” Gojo says, whispering, means it so you carry it with you because he can feel the resentment nudged so deep into your heart by now “Come on. Cum for me, sweet girl. Want you to feel so good.” 

And so you do. You cry, scream - but the noise amounts to nothing. A cosmic thing, like you’ve been struck by a comet. Gojo fingers you through it, absolutely delighted at the hot rush of liquid that comes pouring out of you. Your first orgasm from him and you’re squirting all over his fucking wrists, soaking his sheets and his arms and his PJ’s with your back curved in a beautiful arch. You break apart in an almost violent way, like the pleasure’s vicious. It tears into you and you succumb with a whimper. 

Gojo shushes you as you break down finally into a teeny, tiny sob. You must be exhausted because you don’t pull away when he comforts you, despite the little angry why, why, why that you whisper. You hit his chest softly. He kisses your forehead and listens as your breathing goes still and you fall asleep in a heart-beart, still curled up into his bed and too tired to run away or go anywhere. 

He stays with you like that, relishing in the warmth of your body until you’re deep asleep. He flips you onto the side of the bed that isn’t wet, and presses a kiss to your forehead before moving out of the sheets. . 

When he stands to his feet, it’s to collect the curse that’s gathered itself on the foot of the bed. It manifests as a white snake with blue-eyes. Gojo finds himself amused. Of course the curse you’ve made is pretty. Gojo grabs it by the neck, watching it as it pries its mouth open and bares his fangs at him. He grins, pricking himself on the teeth to see if it makes him bleed. 

It hisses loudly before wrapping itself around Gojo’s arm. It doesn’t take any effort to subjugate it, sensing his power it stills with some effort. Gojo tilts his head as he walks out of the room, glancing at you before turning his head back at the snake. 

“Better warm up to me,” He whispers in the dark, a contentment to his words “You won’t be seeing your mama for a while,” 

—

Communication stills. 

Radio silence, more like - a busy bunch of messages deftly still. Suddenly, a raging storm of grief and anger disappears. The morning after Gojo assaults you, he wakes up to see you off like nothings happened. 

He mostly does this because he wants to see what you’ll do.

You spend the morning perplexed and confused. You eat breakfast with him. You sit at the table, contemplative and silent and Gojo chats away at you idly. About the news and the weather and the classes he has today. You chew your food but don’t taste. You listen but your replies are short and stilted - out of touch. 

Gojo learns that when something bad happens to you, you respond to it by detaching yourself. Though yesterday you were hot and fiery, the day after you seem to be mourning. Your grieving process starts early, and Gojo thinks rather amused—that you remind him a lot of himself.

He thinks you’re a little closer now that you understand the apathy of losing something that can never come back. And once this whole thing is over, once you find yourself back here - he’ll tell you all about it. You get it now right? It’s painful to feel like you can never be the same. 

They say that mankind was fashioned from their Lord. Gojo supposes he’s made you in his image. You look a little empty, and though you’re both so different - you can become close by having the same wound. You can understand him a little more this way, all while retaining your sense of resilience.

What is mankind not known for if not perseverance? Of course he knows, once you recover from your grief, you’ll return to your usual spitfire. He’s counting on it, counting on you to fight and run. Escape from him and never come back. 

But that cat and mouse game is more than okay. Gojo isn’t looking for your obedience, really. You’re too defiant of a character. Gojo thinks it’d be pointless if you’d just stayed the same.

You need to have hope to stay the way you are. Thus, Gojo doesn’t plan to rob you of it. He figures it’s best to give you breathing room. After all, he has full confidence in his ability to find you. He could hear the rhythm of your heart a continent away and chase it down without thinking twice. But it’s better if you’re able to show him some resistance. He thinks of it like a compromise. That sort of thing is typical for married folks, he thinks. He gives and you take. 

Eventually, you might realize that the endeavor of running away is fruitless. Maybe you’ll be clever enough to recognize that it’s not that you’re succeeding, but that Gojo is letting you. You’re definitely smart enough to do so early, but just stubborn enough to believe that there’s hope in spite of that. If you try hard enough, persevere a little more, etc. 

Gojo likes this part of you. Always will. You always put your best in everything and this is his own way of nurturing it. 

It’d be a shame to take that from you. Gojo has remained out of your sight for the time being to try and reinstate it. While he raises the curse up in his apartment, he watches you through windows and flitters into your bedroom to peer at you before disappearing again. He makes sure that you can’t sense him or that he’s gone before you can. The more ease you feel, the easier everything else will go. 

Feeding the curse you’ve left behind in his house has been taking most of its time. It’s obedient to him since he’s strong, and it’s big now. Longer and wider and more sinister looking (he feels a weird affection for it, maybe just because it’s from you), more hostile. He’s been careful to maintain it. Too much feeding will make it overgrown. 

It’s currently on Gojo’s floor, on a dog bed like a disobedient pet - all in a single coil. He has to be careful not to endanger you by making it too strong or giving it too much range. It’s just meant to be a showpiece - a prop at best and a scraped knee at worst.

He’s been building it up for a long time. Then, though, it wasn’t such a clear desire. He figured sewing seeds of fear in you would benefit you in a different way. But that’s fine. The means don’t matter as much as the ends and in doing so - he’s made this all sort of seamless. 

It’s not a complicated plan, ultimately. He’ll tell the curse to let loose, freak you out a little, and eventually - you’ll call the only person you know who knows how to handle it. Gojo will save you, and when you’re finally caught in his arms, you’ll have a little reunion amongst yourselves. He’ll reprimand you (but only lightly) and you’ll thrash (but only for a little while) and then he’ll keep you by his side again. 

Except this time he won’t be so quick to let go. He’s sure you’ll protest (and be all gung-ho about it). He’ll feign cruelty and push you to the edge. Whatever response you do have, he’s thought of a way to reply. 

A way to tend to it. 

Like any relationship, things take time. He’s not expecting this to settle right away - but he’s confident eventually it’ll work out how he wants too. Gojo can make that happen as long as you’re within view. 

He watches you through the window as you come in from your classes. You’re dressed up today despite the chilly weather - a blouse and nice pants with bangles on your wrist. He wonders what the occasion is given the time of year. Your bag is hanging loosely off of your shoulder - having only just returned. 

A sense of warmth spreads through him as he peers at you, a smile on his face. He really does like looking at you quite a bit. 

The curse hisses at the sense of your presence and Gojo waves a hand at it to keep it quiet. 

“Calm down or I’ll exercise you right away,” Gojo says coldly. It retracts itself. “I’m getting impatient, too, you know? It’s been a long time.” He says wistfully. 

He keeps looking until you’ve effectively disappeared from his sight. He listens for you outside of his door. The sound of the building buzzer, soft footsteps, and the slight jiggle and turn of keys before you’ve gone in - sound by a dull thump. 

He leans against the wall near his door where he was listening, eyes up at the ceiling as he turns over his options. He should wait it out a little longer. Giving everything enough room to mellow out before it picks up again is an important part of the process. 

But he doesn’t know how much longer he can wait. Plus, keeping this curse around is starting to be troublesome. He’d much prefer you back in his arms, in his bed - all back to that kind domestic fantasy that he’d been thinking about again for weeks. 

He supposes there’s no right decision, in this case. Just what he wants to do, versus what he should do, and some kind of middle ground he’s been spending too long looking for. 

He stands to his feet, no longer leaning on the wall before glancing at the curse from the corner of his eyes. 

“Today seems like it’s too soon yet too far,” Gojo pauses between sentences, scratching his head woefully “But it should be okay, right?” 

__ 

At 7pm, the curse slips underneath the door of his apartment into the hallway. Gojo sits comfortably in his living room, one leg crossed over the other with his phone in hand, a warm mug of tea cooling on his coffee table. 

The news is playing. A general and loose sense of anticipation fills him as he pays attention to the newscaster. Another storm is going to hit and the temperatures are dropping to an impossible low. Officials recommend buying bottled water and keeping warm as it continues to blow out. 

There’s a soft hiss as the muscled curse squeezes itself underneath the tight crack of his door. It’s unfortunate he can’t monitor it directly. Though the instructions ( and subsequently the consequences of disobedience) were made clear - curses are greedy as they are stupid. This one in particular seems to be self-aware enough not to try to go against Gojo’s word. 

So, when the time comes he sits patiently and waits. Watches the news. His ears itch and his skin pricks as he listens for the first whisper of your voice. He wonders if you’ll scream. You didn’t when he thought you should’ve but maybe there's a reason for you to do so now. 

The clock ticks away. It’s unceremonious. Gojo thinks to himself that maybe this entire thing is esoteric. Capturing you is a tragedy that he writes to himself and he’ll re-tell it to you all the time in different ways. 

The clock ticks. Again and again, the monotony is starting to settle in. Time moves slower than you could imagine. Like trying to pipe honey into straw, thick and impossible. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

Tick. Tick. Tick. 

At 7:02, a dog barks outside. It sounds cagey, and it’s not Pokupan because Gojo knows what that mutt sounds like. Nor is it cosmic. It does sound desperate, though - like asking someone to be let in. And if Gojo didn’t have such a pressing matter to attend to, he’d go outside and do it himself. After all the wind is frosty and the air is unforgiving and winter devours things so slowly it's painful. 

Gojo can’t abandon his task. It’s too important for him to stick his neck out for a being he doesn’t even know. He hopes briefly that it survives. That someone lets it in before it gets anymore violent (or desperate or willing) 

At 7:03, he reaches for the tea on his coffee table to drink it. It’s still piping hot, but Gojo can swallow it with his infinity. He does for a reason he can’t name. It’s just a compulsion, inspired by the fact it will probably be too cold when he comes back for it. He thinks, instinctively, that he should cherish the warmth in the glass despite the barrier that prevents him from feeling it. Ultimately it’s still milk tea. It will still fill his stomach and taste vaguely sweet where he permits. He ought to drink it when it’s warm even if it’s just an illusion. 

The clock ticks again, this time to 7:04 and Gojo regains a sense of bravado that’s riveting. There’s a commercial airing now for a new type of kitchen gadget, an airfryer with more settings than any one person knows what to do with. The advertiser is enthusiastic and loud. He wonders what happens when it switches to the next one. Do actors on set feel awkward when the cameras turn off? He knows a thing or two about performing, which is why he finds himself so curious. 

At 7:05, the first whisper of your pleading filters through the hallways. Though Gojo figures he’s not meant to be able to hear it - because however vague it is, the sense of shame that it holds is hard to ignore. Despite his urge to run to you, Gojo is reminded of the fact he is teaching you a lesson and this is all a show for you and in a way for him too. There’s timings and cues and calls, so Gojo lets your first prayer get passed through the winter winds. He’s sure it gets dropped off somewhere in the snow. 

The dog outside bares its teeth and barks louder than before. 

At 7:06, the feelings of fear and negativity start to weasel their way into his apartment. Through cracks in the floorboards and the aeration in the spackle - he can feel it come through his door and penetrate his being like waves of wind. With no barrier and no filter, your fear is a familiar presence in his life. It comes to a crescendo as he leans his head back on the couch and blinks up at the ceiling. He’s pleased with it so far. It’s proving to be just right. All the months of delicate orchestration have culminated into such a lovely overture. A symphony of sobs. It enchants him like a bird song, or maybe the whistle of a blizzard. 

He waits for it to die down. He waits for it to start back up again. He waits for the sniffling to become sobs and for the sobs to become demands and for the demands to go back to sniffles. He waits for the dog outside to be let in because he can hear the buzz of the gates all the way from his apartment. 

When Gojo has had enough of waiting, it’s 7:15 sharp. 

He stands to his feet and walks through his door with not so much as a look back. The T.V. is still playing where he fazes out and he leaves it because this will be quick and easy. 

You’re right across the hall. The walk is short. The building moans like it’s dead. 

He stands in front of your door and presses his ears to it and there’s some semblance of an altercation. Mostly the sounds of shattered glass. 

If you were any more familiar with this world, you’d know the thing is stalling. It has harmful intent but Gojo’s presence is too risky. If you knew anything about anything, then you’d know you were never in any real danger and even calling Gojo’s name when you hate it so much now would be pointless. 

But Gojo has done his due diligence in keeping you in the fateful dark. 

So this part is easy. He reaches for the door but it’s locked, so he teleports. 

When he enters, your apartment is in terrible shape. The curse itself notices his presence but does not stop to act. He stops to take a look around. He figures you’re cornered and holed up in your bedroom. A trembling figure in the corner praying for God to save you. 

Your house is effectively thrashed like there’s been a robbery. He’ll have to make up something in the report. Officials will come, but they won’t question his word. All the glass is broken and scattered and everything is torn up. Papers ripped and fabric shredded. 

(The stuff Gojo demanded not to be touched has remained that way. Even he’s not so much of a monster to ruin your students' keepsakes. He’s sure you’ll look relieved when he returns them to you later. How kind he is.) 

He prepares himself like an actor might for a role. He thinks of the lines he’s practiced and the way things will play out. This simple, choreographed tragedy. A manifestation of your fears. Gojo thinks that he is probably good at becoming the thing people love yet resent. 

He’s sure you and Suguru would have a lot to talk about in another life. 

He checks the time on your digital clock, left unscatched in all the destruction. 

At 7:18, Gojo phases himself into your bedroom like he’s only just arrived. He hears you gasp in a sharp fear that quickly breaks into a sob of relief. He glances at you where he stands. He’s never been in your room. Kind of a waste it’s happening like this. 

The first thing he does is check if the door is locked. When he finds that it is, he laughs to himself but covers his face before he turns to you. You are exactly how he predicts. Something curled tightly into your fists, fearful and backed into a corner. He coos internally. At what he's done to you. How this has played out. 

It wasn’t enough to break you a little. This part is necessary. 

Like he starts most interrogations off, he asks you question.

“Are you okay?”

“Oh, Satoru.” Your voice sounds shattered in such a way he finds it almost hard to stomach “Oh, it’s—Oh it’s you.” 

“Happy to see me, huh?” He says, tilting his head. You close your eyes instead of replying. 

“H-how’d you…?” 

“I can feel cursed energy,” He says, and it’s not untrue “I felt something very strange in your apartment. It’s been a while.” 

You still can’t find it in yourself to say anything. Maybe desperate, maybe afraid, maybe exhausted by your own paranoia - you relent. 

“Yeah.” You say. Gojo can feel the curse grow impatient. It lets out a loud hiss and you gasp in fear.

“Hey, you didn’t answer. Are you okay?” 

You stare at Gojo for a long time. 

“I’m not hurt but,” You swallow thickly. Upon looking at you closely, you look exhausted. He feels a little sorry for you. He’ll let you rest for a while when you’re home “I’m s-scared.” 

“You’re right to be scared,” Gojo says, and he means it a little. Not about the curse, but in general “It’s a pretty powerful class. A special grade, probably. You share cursed energy.” 

You look agape as he relays this to you. 

“Share…?” 

Gojo gives you a look. He can feel the creature coming towards you door down, slinking across the wood slowly. A coy, soft smile appears on his expression as he reaches down for you. You flinch from his hands but Gojo doesn’t falter. He strokes his thumb across your cheeks, peering at your eyes and how they reflect light from the outside. 

“It was made with your cursed energy,” Gojo explains very gently to you. You look at him in disbelief “Curses are negative emotions. So something like this isn’t uncommon. No idea how it got so strong, though. But that’s all your.” 

He watches you closely as a wave of horror settles over you. A nauseous feeling that has you cupping your hand over your mouth like you’re ready to throw-up. He masks a smile, but he doesn’t condescend you. Not openly, at least. Not to the extent he would like too. He reprimands you like a teacher - a sensei and his beloved mentee. 

“I told you didn’t I,” Gojo says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders as you quell your own disgust at the thought “You have to be careful. And you can’t fight all by yourself, so you’re kind of helpless. What were you gonna do if I wasn’t around?” 

You look like you’re going to cry. Gojo keeps going. 

“You can’t call the police, you know. They can’t help you at all. Good for nothing bunch, really.” Gojo states, gesturing vaguely. He tugs his masks off of his eyes so you can get a better look at him “But you can rely on me if you need to. I’ll always protect you. Next time just give me a call, okay?” 

It must dawn on you, just then, what exactly Gojo is doing. Or some extent of this is hitting you for the very first time. The look on your face is picture perfect. It’s exactly what he wanted. An understanding he’d be hoping for for so long it’s unbelievable. 

“I’m the only one who can keep you safe, understand?” But he’s not really asking. You know that too “Can you nod your head and agree?” He pricks. You don’t hold back your tears but you don’t cry them either. You break down  silently nd you nod. 

Gojo reaches down and wipes them off for you. 

“Don’t be so sad,” He says to you, and he means it because what a shame it would be to wallow too much on such a nice day. Winter is for warming up next to your loved ones, isn’t it? “I’ll protect you now.” 

Left with no choice, you nod again slowly and clutch your pillow. Gojo kisses the crown of your head and leaves you to untangle your feelings. 

Then, almost on cue, the curse itself bursts through the door. The wood breaks off with the hinges. 

It’s really a weak thing. If Gojo was trying to keep his powers contained, he might’ve put up more of a fight as it lunges at him in your bedroom. It knocks over your things left and right but he’s mostly busy trying to muffle the noises so he doesn’t disturb the neighbors.

 It’s as fast as a gust of wind as he strikes out, neck elongated and jaw as unhinged as far as it can go. This time, Gojo can feel the weight of its desire to kill. A rampant sense of bloodlust in it’s every action, Gojo dodges each attempt and swipe at him. He leaves a barrier over you temporarily so that it can do you no harm.

It doesn’t go for you either. He figures maybe it has some understanding of its own predicament. Desperate animals can be clever too. Perhaps those things have always been linked together. 

But he figures a fair-ish fight is as much as Gojo can do to stave the thing off before he sends it off officially. Plus, he can feel you watching his back - like you’re trying to measure how strong he is. It’s a smart thing to do. You’re learning. It’s probably better to show you now, since there’s not much left to hide. 

So this time, when the snake comes flying towards him - Gojo reaches his hands out. He uses his infinity to stop it in its place. A noise of anger leaves its mouth, a low hiss as it hits the wall in front of him. Wide blue eyes stare at Gojo, a predator with its fangs bared. 

Gojo stares back, a predator with its fangs bared.

He uses a reversal of his Limitless, the infinite blue. The creature is pulled into him closely, crashing first into the space he’s created before disappearing into nothing but smoke and ash. It’s gone just as quickly as it happened. A curse so inferior, it can’t have been more than ten minutes to fight even with all the purposeful delays Gojo set in place to finish it off. 

It’s gone now, the product of you and him. A weird part of him is sad. But now he has you, so he cuts his losses. Now there is only you and Gojo, and a ruined bedroom and broken apartment. 

Gojo, who has no intention of enlightening you, turns his back to look at you. 

“Don’t know how long it’ll be gone but,” He shrugs, rolling his shoulder and cracking his spine “But it’s gone for now. Some officials will be here in the morning but with the way this place is, you might wanna come back to stay with me for a while.” 

This is all a formality. He’s sure you know too, but instead of turning away - you’re shivering figure wavers in the dark. You’re terrified enough to reach for his hand and hold it. You know what’s coming, but that knowing does nothing to save you. You were a victim to fate from the moment you met. Yet, you still look to him for comfort in safety because even knowing better, there isn’t anything you can do. 

And it’s just like you, to want to trust and forgive him. To reach your hand out hesitantly and try. Everything is tangled up and you are terrified and Gojo Satoru loves you. 

“Come on,” He says, encouraging you to get closer. He reaches over your bed to scoop you into his arms and you don’t do so much as protest “Let’s go home.” 

__

Gojo brings you home quietly. 

When he enters, the T.V. is still on. You are curled up in his arms. He has no idea how long you’ve been crying and about what in particular - but that’s okay. Tonight, to him, is something like an anniversary. Like any time before, he has no intentions to treat you roughly. 

It’s a good night, he thinks. Even in the state you’re in, Gojo can only think of making it even more memorable. You’re an injured thing in his arms. A delicate bird with clipped wings, or a butterfly with a missing antenna. Without Gojo there to pick you up in all your broken pieces, you might’ve really fallen apart. 

It’s reasonable enough. For someone like you, he’s sure tonight has been so scary. It makes him feel a little sorry for you. It makes him want to make it all worse before he makes it all better. 

He can’t describe it, but there is something so right about seeing you like this. 

All angry and resentful and volatile. All lonely and scared and saddened and somber. All Gojo’s forever, permanently through everything. He’s made you so completely in his image, something he’s always wanted to do. Maybe you’re a trial run, in its own right, of all the things Gojo will be able to do in the future. What he’s capable of creating with enough effort. 

Gojo is gentle to you. Tender, as he carries you into the apartment. You help him turn off the T.V. and put the mug into the sink. He carries you too afterwards, rewarding you with a kiss to your temple, before pulling through the threshold of his bedroom. 

Just like that, you find yourself again in Gojo’s bedroom like you were so many weeks prior. You’re weakened and exhausted, so willing that he is endeared. Like this, he hovers over you. Looks at your tearstained face and smiles so lovingly. 

Regardless of everything that’s transpired, above all - this is a reunion of two lovers to Gojo Satoru. So in the midst of it, he wipes your tears and kisses your cheek and you don’t pull away. Now you’re so ruined you relish his comfort if only a little, and this time it’s perfect. It’s everything he’s always imagined. 

He’ll give you hope and freedom and let you be. Eventually, you’ll come to realize you’ll always need him a little. And it doesn’t matter, does it? That he’s made it that way on his own. Because it’s true. It’s righteous and religious and godly. Gojo Satoru is not god, but he does understand the urge to make something that listens. 

He kisses your soft cheeks and hums at you, nose nudging your skin. 

“Still feel like crying?” He asks you. You blink up at him like you’re only just now realizing where you are. Some emotion overwhelms you, but ultimately you shake your head no. Gojo grins impishly. 

“That’s good,” He says tenderly. He kisses your lips this time, and you kiss back. It catches him off guard but he doesn’t dislike it “You didn’t get hurt did you? And now we’re together again.” 

This does seem to incite waterworks in you but you don’t look like you have the energy to cry. He doesn’t push you too much. Though it is fun seeing you like this, Gojo is grateful he has some time to cherish you. 

“Scary world out there, y’know?” Gojo says between kisses. He adjusts you, your arms around his shoulders loosely “Hold onto me okay? I’ll make it all better.” 

You whimper under your voice but don’t go to thrash. There’s something about you that feels limp. A spirit softened and dampened, like wet soil. Gojo is okay with anything as long as it’s you, and there is some part of this he likes too. How pliant you become under the weight of your fear, so tantalizing to Gojo he can’t help himself but kiss you.  Riper than the fruit of Eden. Just as sweet.

He kisses you for longer than necessary. It’s intimate and hopeful. All tangled hands and pulling different parts of you up to his lips.The occasional press of his teeth in your skin, with his senses so high he can practically feel the blood rush through them. Your mouth is soft and warm, the breadth of mint on your tongue. He pushes his tongue past your lips but this time around, you don’t do anything to refuse it. 

So accepting like this. Gojo thinks life with you will prove to be exciting. 

He rests his hands on your waist and you don’t pull away from him. Such soft skin covered in a sheer layer of sweat. It’s making him dizzy to have you like this, to kiss you in his bed. Again, again, again. You belong here with him and nothing has ever been so true. The euphoria of everything is overwhelming. He can’t get enough of you. Even if in the moment he carved a spot into you forever and buried himself there, he cannot help but want to be spoiled by your lenience and affection. He can’t help himself but to possess all of you so even time cannot spoil iit. 

Despite yourself, you touch Gojo back gently. Knowing you, it is a way to deal with the pain. You want to forgive him as much as you want him to save you. You hate him as much as you love him. 

From the beginning, everything has been exactly like this. This was the end of all ends. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

You’ve made Gojo this way as much as he’s made you. If Gojo Satoru is to play as God, then he supposes you are much like an owner. Some part of you has made him love you unconditionally. A dog and his master. An animal with a love so violent it shakes windows. Gojo Satoru makes you love him through violent means, and like a dog left abandoned in the snow - your own empathy for his unconditional but broken love makes you protect him. It’s cyclical. It can never change because the universe has ordained it. Because everything Gojo touches is a divination from the heavens. 

Where Suguru proves to be a lesson, you are the dues he is owed. 

This is a lesson in divine truth. 

More simply, Gojo Satoru loves you in his own way. Any loyal dog will chase its owner no matter how far they run. He lives for you, after all. He’s made you in his image. The difference between god and dog is nothing more than a matter of positioning. 

You love him back in your own way. Because his character and his tragedy makes it so difficult to abandon him  and your disposition will never allow you. You’ll hate and resent him. You’ll grieve and you’ll cry. You will want to turn your back but he will always come to save you. And who can love you so loyally as a dog undisciplined? Who can keep your sheltered being protected like a wild hound?

Spring was an innocent century ago. Winter is here. Gojo loves you. 

“My birthday passed recently,” He tells you. You blink at him. 

“Oh?” 

“Can you guess what I want?” 

You don’t do much more than nod. It’s not permissive. You just know better by now, and that too is not something Gojo finds himself pleased with. 

“You don’t have to do any work,” He offers you as a reprieve, busying himself once again with undressing you. You’re still wearing the clothes he bought you all those weeks ago “Just don’t run away from me.” 

If you notice how heavy the words are, you’re smart enough not to do anything. Even still, Gojo can’t tell if there's a purpose behind it. Perhaps you just know it instinctively not to. 

He takes you apart carefully. Careful, thick fingers unbuttoning the front of your shirt. You’re wearing nothing underneath, and the sight of your bare skin is almost too much for him. The hickies have yet to heal, though now they’re yellow and softened by time. Gojo will have to leave more to bring back all the color to you. 

He starts at your jaw this time, teeth against your earlobe. Heart in your hands, he knows your body a little better now. 

And he takes his time with it this time too. Even slower than before. Even more consuming, even more adoring. 

He laps his tongue against your soft skin and eats. Your skin is salty and sweet and Gojo can’t contain himself. He gropes you lightly, planing his palms over your shoulders and squeezing your breasts tight. He’s missed touching you more than he knows what to do with. 

Even in being gentle, there’s little he can stop himself from trying to devour. You lay about him squirming as he undoes each and every part of you. He can’t pick which place to go and what thing to do first because he wants so wholly. It’s making his head spin to listen to your sweet and short whimpers. You spread yourself as you lay under him, hands pinned to your sides - demure and needy. 

How different it is but the same. Something about how you’re clinging to him so desperately is making him feel sick with lust. 

Instead of going any further, he pulls away from you momentarily. He puts his arms on your sides and flips you over till you’re on top of him

The sudden change in position leaves you gasping for air. Gojo gives you an amused grin as you fall forward - as he props himself up on pillows while you try and steady himself. He holds you close to him once you’re all set, face to face like this.

“Don’t run away from me,” He says, more seriously. You swallow. Gojo lets you up until you’re half-way over him. You’re so much weaker than him, moved and manhandled so easily. There’s a target on your back so often and Gojo loves being an arrow. 

He kisses the side of your body as you stand on your knees beside him. His fingers hook into your shorts and panties, sliding them off of your body all in a fell swoop. He squeezes your ass slightly, spreading you apart.

“Look at you all bent over for me,” He coos, hands reaching underneath you to toy with your pussy. You whine, shuddering, clinging to his shoulders. “So pretty, baby. Prettiest girl.” 

A hiccup bobs in your throat. Gojo moves his fingers lower and lower, familiar now with the feel of you. Your cunt is just as welcoming as he remembers. The idea of making love sends a shiver through his whole body. Blood rushes to his cock like a bolt of lightning in his veins. He pushes his middle finger into your twitching, needy hole. 

Another sound, cut off by a garbled word of surprise, falls out of your mouth. You’re soaking. Ripe for taking. Gojo wants to fuck you more than anything.

He takes a deep breath, whispering to your skin. 

“Fuck,” He laughs, giggling at the thought of it “I’m gonna break you, huh? Gotta be—shit, need to be extra careful with you, right my love?” 

“Please be gentle.” You say at his request.

“Of course, of course but—” He squeezes your hip as he feels his middle finger go into you down to the knuckle. You roll your hips against him involuntarily  “You just—you’d look so good so full of my cock, y’know? Been thinkin’ about it for weeks.” 

And he has, means every word. You shudder at the confession. He quirks his lips as he fucks into you, relishing in those pretty little sounds that fall out of your lips. 

“You like that?” He grunts, another finger to stretch you out a little more for him “You like when I tell you about all the dirty things you make me think about?” 

Shame fills you, like Gojo’s lit a match under you. He can feel your heartbeat pick up. Is it the being so wanted or is it the crassness and humiliation? Maybe both. Sometime later he’ll pick it apart more closely. He lets himself talk you through it, so close to your skin as he whispers all the filth to you that he can. Confesses it to you. 

“Weeks and weeks, baby. Couldn’t stop thinking about how perfect and wet you would feel when I finally took you like this. Gonna make it so good for you, you won’t have to think about anything else again.” 

The promise sends you limp. When Gojo finally feels both of his fingers slide in and out of you with no resistance at all, he sighs lightly and pulls away. The loss of contact makes you whine, but he brings you back to his lap now, sitting with your legs on either side of his. 

His cock, clothed and restrained in his sweats, swells against your wet cunt. He watches your eyes widen as you stare at it, lucid enough this time to realize what it looks like. He looks up at you, kissing the corner of your mouth. 

“C’mon. You can look.” 

He guides you to the waistband of his sweatpants. You pull his pants down slowly, looking up for permission (which Gojo gives in a loving nod) before taking his boxers off too. His cock is so hard it’s almost painful. The tip is a flush red, white hairs trimmed neat at the base and feeling so fucking heavy Gojo can’t stand it. He hisses as your hands reach for him instinctively, and you try to pull away before he stops you. 

“Touch it, sweetheart” He encourages, wrapping your hand around it for you “Feel it? That’s all you.” 

A flush graces your features. For a minute, it’s all love and nothing more. Nothing less. Too briefly for it to mean anything, but enough for Gojo to know it. You wrap your hands around his shaft and stroke tentatively and Gojo groans shamelessly into you, rutting his hips into the round part of your palms. 

“Fuck that’s it,”

He looks at your expression, examining the concentration before chuckling. Your lip is poked out, eyes dazed. He pulls away from you, securing you close to him. 

With the new proximity, he holds his cock close to you. Measure it up against your skin, against your tummy. He feels you against him, Around him, folds nudging apart for him, The skin on skin alone has him so breathless. A dizzy sort of feeling as he presses the tip of his cock hard against your clit. You feel like silk around him. 

Looking at you like this, all helpless and needy, he can’t help but think about how easily he can overpower you. He’s stronger and bigger. His cock would be enough to split you in half. How he’s gonna make himself fit inside of you spins in his mind over and over. Maybe like always, your pretty little pussy will yield just for him. You’ll open and endure and take him so deep. 

He can’t help appreciating it. Can’t keep his thoughts quiet from telling you. 

“See that? How deep I’m gonna go?” He measures up to you. A hand on the bottom of your stomach, stroking his thumb “Gonna feel me right in here. You ready?” 

You close your eyes and look away. Gojo grabs your chin and tuts at you. 

“Nuh-uh. Want you to see. Don’t close your eyes.”  

It’s not a question or a request. 

So, you watch. Gojo lifts you up just enough to line up with your entrance and sinks you down so, so slowly on his cock. It’s agonizing how slow. It’s incredible how fucking good you feel. How perfect one sensation could possibly fucking be - Gojo could die here in complete bliss. He can feel the stretch of your pussy trying to accommodate. That sensation of resistance that sends him reeling, spine tingling and skin prickling with a heat so intense he feels like he’s going to pass out just sitting there. 

And then there’s looking at you, which proves to be an entirely new animal. You have this pinched expression, a shocked little gasp as Gojo pushes through. A whimper leaves your lips. Gojo rubs his thumb on your lower lip as he eases you down. 

“Hurt too much?” 

“N-no. Just… feels weird.” 

He laughs a little at your honesty, before fucking himself into you even deeper. Another inch and he really starts to feel you. Your walls feel like they’re sucking him and Gojo wouldn’t leave if it killed him. He groans, deep in his chest as you shake. Your grip on his shoulders gets tighter and tighter. 

With one more smooth thrust, Gojo sits you down on his cock completely. He feels so complete like this. Everything in him is at ease feeling your insides spasm and melt around him. He sighs contentedly.

“Still okay?” 

You nod weakly. 

“Can I move?” 

Your reply is nothing more than a whimper.

So he does, but he does so slowly. Just to get into the rhythm. He thrusts up slowly. 

‘O-oh. Oh, oh it’s,” 

He chuckles against the crook of your neck, hugging you close to him. He loves the way you feel against his body, the way your frame fits so perfectly into him. He rolls his hips up into you so there’s no effort on you to move. You whine that time, and he does again and again until your voice is a mess. 

“Starting to feel good?” 

“S-satoru.” 

He swears. 

“Fuck, stop that,” He swears “Gonna—shit, gonna cum right away. Moving so hold onto me tight, baby.” 

You take his words for it. Gojo feels your soft tits pressed into his chest as he pulls your hips up and starts fucking up into you. Each time he does, he feels like he can feel all the way to the back of you. None of his fantasies could compare to the feeling of being this deep inside, cock nudging against that sweet spot that keeps making you fucking mewl into his ear. He can hardly take it as it is now, focusing hard on not cumming until you do.

Making it good for you is his priority. Always has been, but you make it hard for him like you do most things. 

“Touch yourself for me, okay?” 

You look at him surprised but listen to his request regardless. Gojo takes to fucking you steadily. He builds an even rhythm as he keeps you up, hands firm on your hips as he pistons you from underneath. The pleasure comes in waves, undulates as blood continues to rush to his cock. He’s so hard he can’t think straight but he keeps each of his thrusts consistent, lines them with the pace you play with your clit so he can encourage you to cum for him. 

He can tell you’re starting to feel good when your mouth falls agape. He drags on your walls with each punctuated movement and your thighs shake and tense. Everything comes together so slowly but the pleasure comes at once. It’s a force that’s nearly earth shattering. All the planets aligned, everything in the same plane. Everything for him and for you. For the togetherness he’s created and chased after so long.

Now this part of you is all his too. 

“Sa—Satoru,” You warn, your hands trembling and fingers cramped up with need. He grunts as he stares up at you through thrusts “G-gonna…” 

“Gonna cum for me? Gonna cum on my cock? Go on. Know you can do it, baby. So good for me. Perfect for me.” 

It’s all babbling for him now, the sensation hitting him in waves. Your mouth falls agape and you cum so hard Gojo can feel every fucking pulse. Squeezing his cock hard enough he wants to grit his teeth. He presses his mouth to yours instead as you moan out, unable to hold it in. He swallows every noise like he’s trying to embed them into himself.

You cum hard and fast and Gojo is so quick to follow you. Only seconds after you fall limp into his arms does he feel it - no longer able to stave off the urge to cum so deep in you it stays forever. To mark you deeply you never think of anything. It’s almost animalistic for him. Every nerve on his body is on fire as he shoots his cum deep into you, sitting you on his dick with nowhere for you to go. 

Panting, he pulls back to gaze on you. He’s still hard as he’s twitching. He can’t hold off tonight, he doesn’t think. But he’ll give you a minute to collect yourself. He presses a kiss to your hairline. 

He whispers softly as the night comes to a quiet, quiet still. 

“I’m yours and you’re mine baby. Forever and always.” 

You shake. And Gojo knows you well enough to know that it’s the resentment coming back in waves. But that’s okay, because Gojo loves you. 

And with this, he’s taken everything.

EPILOGUE / OVERTURE : 

Your senses are accustomed to Gojo by now. 

You never thought such a day would come. You spent the first year of this relationship (if you can call it that, to begin with) in trenches so deep you couldn’t really tell left from right. So many things persisted as normal, but nothing was ever the same. 

In that, though, Gojo stayed by your side till the bitter end. He nursed you back into health and sometimes treated you so kindly that you could almost forget who you were dealing with. Sometimes the weight of everything became too heavy. You think you love Gojo almost as much as you hate him.

But it doesn’t particularly matter what your feelings are. Has it ever, in any of this? You always knew that something was strange but you didn’t think you were so clueless. Blindly following wherever his voice took you. 

The first time you try to escape Gojo feels like so long ago. That time, he let you go quite far. You made it out of the house and even went out of the country during summer. But you were sloppy and inexperienced. When he found you and brought you back home, you figured it had been a fluke. You’d learn from it. You’d do it again and that time you would succeed. 

That’s what you told yourself anyway. It’s how this all started. Where you would run, and Gojo would let you before he started to miss you. He’d come and he’d discipline but it was never too cruel. 

(You wished it were. You wished it were sickly and sadistic and tortuous. You think it’s so much worse to beg for mercy when you are sobbing from pleasure. For Gojo to coddle and sedate you and never yield. You think you’d prefer if he were just out of it. Just cruel instead of what he is. Which is knowing but certain. Justified.) 

This has been the farthest you’ve ever gotten. You don’t think you’ve ever been this far away from home. A cabin in the woods where you lived peacefully for days. You don’t know how Gojo found you. 

You had been so sure. This was it. It had to be it. 

Your heart shatters as you hear him. Feel him in your bones so much it frightens you. The world is covered in a sheet of white, and your ankles are bruised  and bleeding from where you’ve fallen. You’re cold and your heart is beating so loud - but no matter how much you run you can’t find any heartbeat to motivate you.

Gojo pulls through the thickets with a frown on his face. Blue eyes and black coat, his feet crunch the snow as he comes towards you. You crawl away. You try too, anyways. 

Gojo leans down to your level, looking at you closely. He reaches out to brush snow away from your skin. 

“My birthdays soon, you know?” He hums, not angry today. Not even wanting to discipline you “It’s not a bad place, y’know? The cabin. We can spend some time there before we go home. Might be nice. But we should get going so we can check on your foot.” 

He reaches his hand out to you this time. Too injured to run, you take it and he smiles before offering to carry you on his back. You hop on, arms around his neck and don’t even cry. A numbness settles. 

It is not the cold. 

“Oh, look,” Gojo says, reaching his hands out “Snow’s falling.” 

You suppose it is. Another Winter will pass just like this. 

A dog howls somewhere far off in the distance.

[danieyells]

Ambition Theorizing

So the Weighing of Souls examines the ambition you have in your head when you touch the mannequin and assigns you a house. Obscuary isn't assigned that way--Obscuary is assigned based on deemed absence of humanity while being a ghoul--but every other house is. Starting from your second year you can change houses but your first year you're stuck wherever the Weighing placed you.

Hyde gives a small general overview of the values of each house which kind of gives you a hint at what the nature of the ambitions could be.

So here's some ideas of mine for what everyone's ambitions are, and what the general ambition of each house is. (Haru and Rui are briefly mentioned at the end included due to their original houses not being stated. Yuri is under both Frostheim and Mortkranken due to speculation.)

I'm curious about what you all think as well, if you have thoughts of your own regarding the general ambition of each house and the ghouls in them! And where you place your OCs and self inserts based on their ambitions lol

Also if i forgot anybody let me know because i feel like i did

Frostheim - Success By Any Means Necessary

Jin - revenge for his mother. The power to overcome or escape his father and perhaps gain some control over his own life.

Kaito - to be somebody and make something of himself. Popularity, companionship, never being alone.

Lucas - to subjugate demons and get his twin back. To protect his loved ones at any cost.

Haku - control over his own life and future. The ability to escape his family and their pressure?

Yuri - success and acclaim. Influence within the field of anomalous medicine. There's something to do with his mother as well, although we aren't sure what yet.

Vagastrom - Ideals, Reform, Innovation

Alan - reform for himself. The opportunity to protect others, rather than harm others like he had once done. He can't live without regret, but maybe he can make up for his past instead.

Tohma - change for the world or the Institue or Darkwick? Tohma seems to be focused on preparing Jin to inherit his father's position as President of the Institute and make changes that will better Darkwick and the Institute. However we don't know to what end he wants to see things change or for what purpose--but we know he wants to make some sort of difference and is presently using Jin and Darkwick and whoever else he can for that.

Leo - hostile reform, for an ideal world. The opportunity to make the people who make life suck suffer and pay for doing so, so he can live without struggle.

Shohei - an ideal world? Sho's ambition is hard to pin down, but it seems like he'll use others to get ahead--but also be used in turn. Sho strikes me as someone who values freedom and wants to go where he wants and do what he wants, able to pursue whatever interest or whim strikes his fancy without restraint.

Jabberwock - Trust, Care, Loyalty

Towa - to love and be loved in turn. Perhaps to find his soulmate. I would say 'to protect those weaker than him' but learning that love is what changed him and he was once more cruel than he is now makes me question is he would have an ambition like that when he got there. In fact, I suspect that love wasn't his ambition at all(though he still loved romance and soulmates and the like, he just wasn't driven by love) when he arrived, but until we have hints that he was, in fact, not in Jabberwock from the start, I'll leave him here.

Ren - to find somewhere he can feel safe and valued despite how he is. To find people he can trust.

Sinostra - Power, Coming Out On Top

Taiga - strength and power. To be unstoppable. In the past, Taiga was one of the most successful ghouls as far as missions and anomaly capture and such went, but eventually he pivoted to just destruction. He no longer seems to care about the outcomes that he used to--although who knows how that'll change when Sinostra's probation gets lifted, with the Laurel Crown on the line, since he does seem interested in profit.

Romeo - replacing what he's lost. Regaining wealth and maintaining what's his. Building up something and keeping that. Once upon a time Romeo's family lost everything. He won't let that happen again and he won't let anyone destroy what he's built.

Ritsu - gaining the Laurel Crown. Acquisition of clients that will skyrocket his career and put him on top as a lawyer. Victory.

Hotarubi - Individuality, Creativity

Subaru - the opportunity to find himself. Freedom from the judgement of others. While I'm sure he loves acting, he has been doing it since he was four years old. The eyes on him make him afraid of their opinions and he feels like he has to live to meet others' expectations. But he'd like to be able to find out what he wants to do, if not be given the opportunity to live how he wants to.

Zenji - the opportunity to make masterpieces. Finding inspiration.

Mortkranken - Knowledge, Intelligence

Yuri - mastery of anomalous medicine. To be able to back up his talk with actual genius.

Jiro - understanding his illness? Learning more about anomalies in general? Jiro's ambition is hard to pin down due to his poor memory and general indifference towards most things. However between that he said he woke up with knowledge of anomalous infectious disease one day and just decided to keep studying it, and that his response to hearing about the anomaly that cursed the PC was that he would study every inch of it if it were in front of him suggests that he's interested in learning things and studying anomalies a great deal. His max affinity line is that your curse may be related to his field of study so your death would be inconvenient. Despite how impassive he is, he is passionate about study, so it seems like it would be a fitting ambition for him--he came to school, he wants to study.

(additional speculation on defunct house ambitions:

Dionysia - Freedom, Happiness, Embracing Life

Dionysus is the god of wine and festivity, among other things. I imagine Dionysia's general ambition is "live life to the fullest." I think Rui was from here before he was cursed and transferred to Obscuary.

Clementia - Mercy, Salvation, Peace

Clementia is the goddess of clemency, mercy, forgiveness, salvation, etc. The house is in a cathedral and they historically would perform exorcisms. I imagine their general ambitions are protecting others and keeping the peace with anomalies, keeping balance in the world. I speculate that Haru was here before he transferred to Jabberwock when it was dissolved, as Haru expresses the desire to protect the lives of the people and anomalies in Jabberwock and regrets being unable to save anyone or anything dear to him when chosen in the pre-prologue. He also says Calamari and its mother should be allowed to escape, lest the balance of nature in the ocean be disrupted, suggesting that maintaining the balance is something he prioritizes.

Ultio - Judgement, Structure, Law

Ultio is a goddess of vengeance and revenge. The house of Ultio housed a prison for anomalies deemed too dangerous for human exposure, which Darkwick took over themselves when Ultio was dissolved. I imagine the general ambition of the house is control of anomalies and power over others in a more "lawful" way than Sinostra exhibits. I headcanon that Towa was in Ultio due to his historic hostility/indifference towards the small and weak and his existing tendency to bully anomalies, as well as their tendency to obey and fear him. I imagine, if Ultio were still around, Ritsu could have been sorted into it if his ambitions leaned towards law and order over his own power, influence, and victory. However Ritsu, as a defense attorney, could have also been placed into Clementia if his desires leaned towards granting clemency to the guilty if you use similar logic. . . .

If not for Obscuary, I imagine Lyca would have been assigned Jabberwock or Clementia due to his desire to live peacefully with humans, and Ed would have been assigned Dionysia due to his relaxed nature, or maybe even Ultio as an inversion of his belief that humans will lose their dominance as a species and have to submit to anomalies someday.)

But, yeah! Those are my speculations. What do you all think.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

In the modern publishing landscape, these days, I think like we do not have many (if any) point-of-view characters with low social motivation for whatever reason.

Sure, there are lots of characters with social anxiety or other perceived or legitimate foibles to overcome, there are many YA villain origin stories, and there are many unpalatable, traditionally "unlikable" men in classics, but disregarding those, who else do we have?

Can the state of openly being alone (and content) rarely be presented as morally-neutral or as the end result of a narrative? Must it always be that either being alone is the starting point, so there's room for "personal growth," or that being alone is seen as "undesirable" and/or an indication that the person alone has a "problem" or something otherwise wrong with them, like a deficit or moral failing that in some kind of karmic way gives them "what they deserve," which is being alone and discontent with it?

Characters with society anxiety, any differences in communication, or other reasons that interfere with forging connections "don't count" because they may still be motivated. Traits such as these only stand in the way of gaining relationships, as plot obstacles. They aren't intrinsically tied to indifference or to low motivation. So, these characters clearly are not experiencing a lack of interest. And they are not the ones rejecting others. Thus, they "don't count" as far as the archetype that I'm looking for goes.

Characters who undergo villain arcs or otherwise negative arcs may want to maintain their relationships or gain them, so some examples are immediately disqualified (hence not having low social motivation), even if they are the type of character most likely to alienate themselves by a story's end, conflicting with what they wanted.

(Unfortunately, Coriolanus Snow, who is quite close to the type of protagonist I'm searching for "doesn't count" because he has some drive to keep people in his life.

Rafal Mistral partially "counts," and is satisfying as a character, but also doesn't count because he temporarily makes "friends" or allies, depending on how you look at his exploits. Yet, despite all this, not having friends isn't exactly framed as a morally-neutral state either, so he is also disqualified by the end. Basically, he does have low social motivation, but his narrative lacks the conditions that would make the natural consequences of that low motivation play out for themselves. He is always surrounded by people, even if he hates every last one of them.

And, generally speaking, the usual, moody-broody, "misunderstood" YA love-interests very easily "don't count" because they have a desire to get closer to their object of affection.

Even Katniss Everdeen, an overall good person, who usually views herself as "unlikable," befriends others, originally for pragmatic, survival purposes. However, she does start with low social motivation, so that's something in her favor.

And yes, I'm aware that we need other people in this world—I would just like to see someone prove that supposed truth wrong once. And perhaps succeed in their world, if that's not too much to ask for.)

Also, are there any instances of characters who progressively alienate themselves from others, in which that progression is not inherently seen as negative? Like, what about non-corrupt misanthropes? Are there few of those in literature? (Maybe—Eleanor Oliphant from literary fiction counts, but something about that book did not appeal me and I didn't finish it.)

Classics guys sort of "count," but I haven't really seen examples of any comparable protagonists today since many authors and readers write and look for "relatability" in blank slate everyman figures oftentimes.

(I'm not done with Crime and Punishment yet, but Raskolnikov is very tentatively looking like a safe bet for a character who may end up alone and who may not be completely malcontent over such a fate, even if I'm expecting tragedy. I'm that not far along, but I also wouldn't mind it too greatly if he died, I suppose.

And even Sherlock Holmes has Watson as his constant, even if he's notoriously asocial! So he "doesn't count" either.

Carol from Main Street also comes close, but still ultimately desires approval from others.

Maybe no one is truly immune to humanity and I should give up on this notion?)

How many pov characters out there are 1) apathetic toward the masses and 2a) either alienate themselves as the plot progresses or 2b) do not make any friends? (I will allow them making friends and consequently losing them though because that still ends in net zero!)

Indeed, this "gap" in protagonists I've been running into lately, especially with coming-of-age arcs and protagonists whose arc is some form of "getting out of their shell," is: why do we (almost?) never see protagonists who just flat-out don't progress in terms of connecting with fellow humans?

Wouldn't having even a handful of those types be reflective of reality? (We as a society are more disconnected than ever, to be fair, despite constantly having access to one another via technology.)

Or I would completely understand it, if it were narratively impractical to have a plot in which a protagonist makes zero friends. Maybe, it's a near-unwritable form for a story?

So, my question is: does anyone have book recommendations, which present a character whose end goal is not to make friends or forge connections (any other ambitions or motivations are fine) and whose state of being friendless both lasts and is regarded as morally-neutral or as not outright evil? Any genre is fine. High fantasy is preferable. I am stumped.

(I also wouldn't mind recommendations of books in which the protagonist is vilified due to being alone, even if that is not my primary query here.)

[iamnmbr3]

Originally put this in a message to someone but I'm still salty so I'm posting it here too.

I just keep thinking about how Dumbledore is presented as this great advocate for equality and justice in the Wizarding World but what does he actually do? For example, it's said he "opposed" the killing of the last giants in Britain (implying there was a state sanctioned genocide btw) but like...how did he oppose it? Dumbledore does not care about respecting the Ministry or following the law when it doesn't suit him ad he is also tremendously powerful and essentially has his own private army. (Not to mention that until Voldemort's second reign it seems he was generally respected and influential in the Ministry and held a lot of sway there). So if he really wanted to stop it, he could've done a lot but it sort of seems as though he was more like 'oh no...don't do that...oh well...'

And there are so many other instances like this. He says Sirius was wrong to mistreat Kreacher but did he even once try to intervene? Does he ever make a rule saying that using slurs like "Mudblood" is against the rules? He has full control of the Hogwarts curriculum until 5th year but does he make Muggle Studies mandatory to expose Purebloods to information that could prevent their radicalization into anti-Muggle organizations? Does he try to get legislation passed to prevent the wanton use of spells on Muggles to modify or wipe their memories despite the risks of such magic? No! He does none of these things.

He seems pretty happy to let the status quo be and focuses mainly on Tom Riddle - who he has been bizarrely fixated on in a kind of disturbing way since the first time they met - while ignoring the larger, systemic problems in wizarding society and doing little to aid the groups he claims to represent.

[inlandempir]

post on one of the dev forums for disco elysium, titled "THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD". text version beneath the cut

There's been a lot of art and tech talk so far, it's all kinda dry or saccharine. I think it's time to juice it up by throwing in a proper essay.

THE BENEFITS OF A MODERN FANTASY WORLD

The world of No Truce! (we do have a proper name for it, but we’re shy) is not what you’d call “a generic genre world”. It is not pseudo-medieval stasis, as Forgotten Realms was, nor is it Fallout’s campy barbarism with guns. It is also not a Harry Potter/Batman/vampire fantasy world, which is basically “our world with a secret/special world within it”. Neither is it the tech-obsessed ‘punks’ of steam and cyber. It’s a modern fantasy world, a fantasy world in its modernity, which roughly corresponds to the middle part of our XXth century. Now that kind of thing opens up an array of new possibilities. It is a world with a promise of non-staticness, meaning, things appear undecided — they could go one way or the other. It is close enough to our own world for things to have meaning in it, it is a proper frame in which to explore themes relevant to our own society such as bigotry, power relations, politics, bureaucratic apparati, geopolitical relations, philosophy, ideology, religion et cetera. A pseudo-medieval world is not a proper frame for truly exploring themes of, for example, sexuality, for it lacks 1) a proper concept of sexuality, 2) an actual idea of societal progress and 3) a clear ideological dominant, which would be the place where values come from. All you can do in a static, societally unstructured world is give out-of-place shoutouts to present day communities for cheap popularity (“this is exactly my sexual orientation, how did they know?!”).

We find the ideological dominant missing because the western world is traditionally culturally critical of ideological dominants – critical of both state and religion. Anyhow, a classic fantasy world would feature two main ideologies – the “good” and the “evil”, of which the former is selfless and compassionate, but the other one is selfish and cruel. The attempts to overcome that have given us the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is an asshole and pessimism rules the day. Unsurprisingly, Grittywelt is also static as hell and meaningful change is foreclosed from it. It is a “protection from false hopes”. As such, it is heavily unrealistic. Much more realistic would be people living in super gritty conditions, but not looking the part, that is, not really noticing the abnormal harshness of their conditions, because they don’t have much to compare them to, and being hopeful towards the next day, because surprise! This is how you do it. Survive, I mean. Being depressed is a luxury. In a way, I’d say we’re trying to create the obverse of the Grittywelt – a world in which everyone is empathizable, sort of a hero of their own story.

The modern era is also a fitting vessel for anachronisms – do we not have actual cyborg limbs and donkey-pulled carts operating in the same world at the modern era? Capitalism can also contain little feudalisms in a way, in which a single man or single family controls the entire economy of a town or a village and profits from it. And at the same time, it can also contain little socialist utopias, scientist villages, in which everything is provided by the State. Aside from being a basic feature of reality (anachronism is nothing more than time failing to fit the stereotype about it), it is also a lovable creative tool, allowing for a plethora of what-if-scenarios. Imagine a modern world, only without television; imagine a modern world in which there never was a global war, imagine a world in which fossil fuels are less available. Now, if you will, imagine one which has forgotten its antiquity, and one, in which there is not just water between the continents, but something worse as well — an anti-reality mass we call “pale” (also more on that later). Now imagine one, which has a legitimate and operative “religion of history” in place, which seeks for people it deems special enough to be the “vessel of progress”. (This is not an alternate history thing, by the way. An alternate history takes place in our world quite recognizably and has no more than one divergence point from history as it happened.)

One might ask, why would we not create an even more modern world, if we wanted to maximise our possibilities? Well one of the answers is that it would have destroyed the necessary element of escapism, another is that we cannot create a good alternate Information Era because we ourselves fail to understand the Information Era (More precicely, we have the information era in its infancy and it works via radio relays). We are too close to it and it is too new to understand it, it is “in progress”. The third reason would be that technology is not a fascinating subject for modern science fiction. It’s become a natural part of our reality. We don’t believe it’s going to save us anymore – it has failed to deliver for too long. I am of the belief that the themes of science fiction today are societal, political and psychological (one could maybe add aesthetical to it, for we also love the world for its beauty). All fantastic or sci-fi elements are means for best exploring those themes.

I have filled my page. That’s all for the time being. Thank you for reading.

Martin Luiga Writer

[dailyanarchistposts]

When the world ends, people come out of their apartments and meet their neighbors for the first time; they share food, stories, companionship. No one has to go to work or the laundromat; nobody remembers to check the mirror or scale or email account before leaving the house. Graffiti artists surge into the streets; strangers embrace, sobbing and laughing. Every moment possesses an immediacy formerly spread out across months. Burdens fall away, people confess secrets and grant forgiveness, the stars come out over New York City...and nine months later, a new generation is born.

CrimethInc. Collective

We’re going to die?

The Earth is not dying, it is being killed, and those who are killing it have names and addresses.[1] But us – me, you, even those who are killing the earth? We’re going to die.

In the worst case scenario, you drown, you starve, or you succumb to heat stroke. Not figuratively. You will drown, you will starve, you will succumb to heat stroke. Perhaps there’s the small chance that you will survive the mass migration to the last reaches of habitable land in and around the poles.

Perhaps.

But let’s be realistic here: In all likelihood, you’re going to die. A slow, horrible, excruciating death at that. We would like to say this is the future we’re hurtling towards at an ever-increasing rate. But it isn’t: it’s the present, the material, graspable present. Islands are sinking into the ocean. The poverty-stricken are freezing to death on the streets. People are burning to death in gigantic wildfires.

The collapse is not to be a single event. It’s a process, and it’s currently underway.

In the best case scenario, death is liberation. Perhaps the real “you” – your body, your consciousness, your soul, what have you – won’t die, per se: instead, the abstract “you” – your way of life, your social relationships under capitalism, your system of meaning that’s been drilled into your head since day one – will die.

Can’t we reform the system?

No. We can’t. The system is the problem, and the system runs deep. The problem isn’t just capitalism. It’s also the state, but it also isn’t just the state. It’s the ideology of consumption itself: that beings – plants, animals (including humans deemed to be *sub*human), fungi, even inanimate natural “resources” – are objects to be bought, sold, and eventually, consumed. This ideology is perhaps the deepest ideology we have. It permeates every form of knowledge: from science, to art, to politics. It seeps through our language (one must think how often we refer to feeling, living beings – ones with the capacity to suffer – as “it.”) It permeates our relationships. It is the very basis of our societies, if it cannot be deemed our “society” itself – the group of capital-h Humans deemed to be worthy enough to be circumscribed by the abstract Community, that constructs itself in opposition to literally everything else.

Your favorite pet politician isn’t immune to this. Not Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, not Bernie Sanders, not Jill Stein. Not the Democratic Socialists, not the Green Party, not the CPUSA, and not anyone else, either.

Perhaps their hearts are in the right place – but sadly, that isn’t enough.

To quote the amazing piece Anarchy Works by Peter Gelderloos:

Some people oppose capitalism on environmental grounds, but think some sort of state is necessary to prevent ecocide. But the state is itself a tool for the exploitation of nature. Socialist states such as the Soviet Union and People’s Republic of China have been among the most ecocidal regimes imaginable. That these two societies never escaped the dynamics of capitalism is itself a feature of the state structure — it necessitates hierarchical, exploitative economic relationships of control and command, and once you start playing that game nothing beats capitalism.

What about nonviolence?

Concerning nonviolence: it is criminal to teach a man not to defend himself when he is the constant victim of brutal attacks.

Malcolm X

The struggle against ecocide was never nonviolent, and it never will be, because it cannot be. That’s because ecocide is violence: violence against me and you, against animals (wild and domestic,) against the trees and the grass and the water and the mountains.

Climate insurrection is self-defense.

Strict adherence to nonviolence – that is, the rejection of violence – is complicity in the face of ecological destruction. It is not “offensive,” it is not “rebellion,” and it’s not a “strike” at climate change.

Many of us do not have the privilege of being nonviolent – namely, those of us who already marginalized. We will be the first to go. We’re the rural farm workers and their families being sprayed with pesticides. We’re the houseless freezing to death in polar vortices. We’re the indigenous peoples whose homes are being swallowed by the sea. We’re the poor who will not have the capital necessary to complete the long trek north to the last remaining habitable lands.

If we aren’t violent – if we don’t rebel against the system that oppresses us – we will be crushed. Don’t be complicit in our death, in your death.

What’s climate insurrection?

Perhaps the only hope me or you have. It’s destroying that which destroys us — by any means possible.

Wouldn’t that hurt the movement?

No. A better question would be: what has “nonviolent” protest won us in the long run? The answer: absolutely nothing. Many supposedly “nonviolent” movements, such as the Civil Rights Movement, were incredibly violent. There were hundreds of riots throughout the United States, and of course, the existence of armed paramilitary groups such as the Black Panthers, or the Brown Berets. One could make the argument that this narrative of nonviolence is pushed by the very people whose power would be threatened by violence, because violence means (perhaps immediate) change. Hence: why those in the US celebrate Martin Luther King Day, a federally recognized holiday; but not Malcolm X Day.

Even the most-oft example of nonviolent resistance, the Indian independence movement, was not so. Bhagat Singh, who after his execution became a folk hero of the cause, was inspired by French anarchist Auguste Vaillant to bomb the British Raj’s Central Legislative Assembly. Less than a year before, he had assassinated a British police officer in retaliation for the death of the nationalist leader Lala Lajpat Rai.

Wouldn’t it be counterproductive?

Counterproductive to what? Getting meaningless reforms passed? Getting empty pyrrhic victories in the legal circuit? Performing impotent marches through major cities that don’t achieve anything other than receiving lukewarm press from second-rate newspapers?

Ask the battery hen liberated from cramped cages by animal activists, or the old-growth forest protected indefinitely by logging saboteurs (and all the animals who call those forest home): is direct action productive?

Anarchist action — patient, hidden, tenacious, involving individuals, eating away at institutions like a worm eats away at fruit, as termites undermine majestic trees — such action does not lend itself to the theatrical effects of those who wish to draw attention to themselves.

Anonymous (in Desert)

To quote the great illusionist Georges Méliès, “I must say, to my great regret, the cheapest tricks have the greatest impact.”

If insurrection is so great, how come people aren’t doing it now?

They are. You just haven’t heard of it because the media is smart enough to hide it. Hearing about the heroic stories of those who fight back would be too dangerous for most to hear – it runs the risk of radicalizing them. Movements like the Animal and Earth Liberation Fronts, have been waging war against ecocide since the 1970s.

I don’t want to go to prison.

We dream of a world without prisons.

I’m scared.

We’re scared too, friend. We should be, but we should be strong, too.

What can we do?

We’ll let the great animal activist Keith Mann speak for us.

Labs raided, locks glued, products spiked, depots ransacked, windows smashed, construction halted, mink set free, fences torn down, cabs burnt out, offices in flames, car tires slashed, cages emptied, phone lines severed, slogans daubed, muck spread, damage done, electrics cut, site flooded, hunt dogs stolen, fur coats slashed, buildings destroyed, foxes freed, kennels attacked, businesses burgled, uproar, anger, outrage, balaclava clad thugs.

What if I don’t have the ability to fight?

You do, even if you can’t physically. Despite the tone of this letter, we aren’t totally opposed to above-ground action. In fact, in some cases, we think it’s necessary.

Groups like the Earth Liberation Prisoners Support Group and the Animal Liberation Front Supporters Group are active in representing and advocating for operatives. As Sinn Féin, the Irish political party once associated with the militant IRA has been described:

Both Sinn Féin and the IRA play different but converging roles in the war of national liberation. The Irish Republican Army wages an armed campaign... Sinn Féin maintains the propaganda war and is the public and political voice of the movement.

What happens next?

We don’t know. But with any luck, we’ve laid out our options.

[1] A faumous quote from Utah Philips

[2stepadmiral]

Maybe sort of a hot take? Satine Kryze was a terrible leader and kind of a petty tyrant. Like, look at what she actually did and how she did it and what the consequences were:

She committed effective cultural genocide against her own people by eviscerating a millennia-old culture/creed/tradition/religion, removing the at least 80% of it that she didn’t like and demanded that everyone else adapt it

Those who refused to relinquish their ancestral ways were exiled from their homeworld and even robbed of their cultural identity when she claimed that anyone who still practiced the warrior ways were not true Mandalorians

By enforcing this ‘my way or the highway’ policy, she created the environment where Pre Vizsla could form Death Watch and recruit all the followers he had out of the disillusioned she had branded as outcasts

By enforcing her strict pacifism, she disarmed her people and even her security forces, leaving the planet defenseless against both Death Watch and the Shadow Collective (imagine if the Yuuzhan Vong had invaded during this period)

Publicly belittled and insulted a high profile General in the Grand Army of the Republic/ Master and Council member of the Jedi Order in front of a number of Senators and her courtiers because he dared to point out that the Separatists might not let her remain neutral

Publicly stated that she didn’t want Jedi security present when traveling with a retinue of Republic Senators in the midst of a terrorism crisis that she was the main target of, in front of a number of people who would have been put at risk had she gotten her way

When Obi Wan pointed out that the Senators and likely her courtiers had requested Jedi security due to concerns for their own safety that she had disregarded, rather than acknowledging her thoughtlessness, she again insulted Obi-Wan and provoked an argument that she aggravated into a bickering session while Obi Wan tried and gradually failed at keeping civil

She seceded her world from the Republic rather than allow the slightest impression that she endorsed the Clone War (never mind that Alderaan and Naboo were prominent members of the Senate that opposed war and actively worked to end it peacefully and quickly without seceding), which forfeited the government aid Mandalore needed to survive in its damaged state and led directly to Prime Minister Almec having to use the black market just to keep the people fed

And in the end, all she accomplished was a maybe fifteen-twenty year period of relative peace before civil war broke out again, Maul took charge, the Empire forced fifteen years of relative obedience, and ultimately the planet was bombed and the Mandalorian people were decimated. The role of a good ruler or leader is to do what is best for your people, even if it’s contrary to your own preferences or interests, and Satine consistently made her own beliefs the order of the day, enforced from the top down. Had she moderated her approach, maybe tried to redirect the warrior tendencies into galactic peacekeeping, or advocated for a warrior second, hardworking builder/farmer/pilot/tradesmen helping to rebuild Mandalore first (sort of what Boba Fett did as Mand’a’lor in the EU), despite her personal disdain for violence and warfare, she could have been one of the greatest Mandalorian leaders who affected real change. Instead, she allowed her personal priorities to be the priorities of her regime and the guiding principle of her tyranny.