#you cannot help a man who refuses to be helped. who sees his suffering as sacred. who sees his pain as repentance

[hinderr]

you can't help a man who doesn't want to be helped

[gingermintpepper]

In my Zeus bag today so I'm just gonna put it out there that exactly none of the great Ancient Greek warrior-heroes stayed loyal and faithful and completely monogamous and yet none of them have their greatness questioned nor do we question why they had the cultural prominence that they did and still do.

Jason, the brilliant leader of the Argo, got cold feet when it came to Medea - already put off by some of her magic and then exiled from his birthland because of her political ploys, he took Creusa to bed and fully intended on marrying her despite not properly dissolving things with Medea.

Theseus was a fierce warrior and an incredibly talented king but he had a horrible temper and was almost fatally weak to women. This is the man who got imprisoned in the Underworld for trying to get a friend laid, the man who started the whole Attic War because he couldn't keep his legs closed.

And we cannot at all forget Heracles for whom a not inconsiderable amount of his joy in life was loving people then losing the people around him that he loved. Wives, children, serving boys, mentors, Heracles had a list of lovers - male and female - long enough to rival some gods and even after completing his labours and coming down to the end of his life, he did not have one wife but three.

And y'know what, just because he's a cultural darling, I'll put Achilles up here too because that man was a Theseus type where he was fantastic at the thing he was born to do (that is, fight whereas Theseus' was to rule) but that was not enough to eclipse his horrid temper and his weakness to young pretty things. This is the man that killed two of Apollo's sons because they wouldn't let him hit - Tenes because he refused to let Achilles have his sister and Troilus who refused Achilles so vehemently that he ran into Apollo's temple to avoid him and still couldn't escape.

All four of these men are still celebrated as great heroes and men. All four of these men are given the dignity of nuance, of having their flaws treated as just that, flaws which enrich their character and can be used to discuss the wider cultural point of what truly makes a hero heroic. All four of these men still have their legacies respected.

Why can that same mindset not be applied to Zeus? Zeus, who was a warrior-king raised in seclusion apart from his family. Zeus who must have learned to embrace the violence of thunder for every time he cried as a babe, the Corybantes would bang their shields to hide the sound. Zeus learned to be great because being good would not see the universe's affairs in its order.

The wonderful thing about sympathy is that we never run out of it. There's no rule stopping us from being sympathetic to multiple plights at once, there's no law that necessitate things always exist on the good-evil binary. Yes, Zeus sentenced Prometheus to sufferation in Tartarus for what (to us) seems like a cruel reason. Prometheus only wanted to help humans! But when you think about Prometheus' actions from a king's perspective, the narrative is completely different: Prometheus stole divine knowledge and gifted it to humans after Zeus explicitly told him not to. And this was after Prometheus cheated all the gods out of a huge portion of wealth by having humans keep the best part of a sacrifice's meat while the gods must delight themselves with bones, fat and skin. Yes, Zeus gave Persephone away to Hades without consulting Demeter but what king consults a woman who is not his wife about the arrangement of his daughter's marriage to another king? Yes, Zeus breaks the marriage vows he set with Hera despite his love of her but what is the Master of Fate if not its staunchest slave?

The nuance is there. Even in his most bizarre actions, the nuance and logic and reason is there. The Ancient Greeks weren't a daft people, they worshipped Zeus as their primary god for a reason and they did not associate him with half the vices modern audiences take issue with. Zeus was a father, a visitor, a protector, a fair judge of character, a guide for the lost, the arbiter of revenge for those that had been wronged, a pillar of strength for those who needed it and a shield to protect those who made their home among the biting snakes. His children were reflections of him, extensions of his will who acted both as his mercy and as his retribution, his brothers and sisters deferred to him because he was wise as well as powerful. Zeus didn't become king by accident and it is a damn shame he does not get more respect.

[hereforthehitsbaby]

Hoodie | Cooper Adams/Abbott x F!Reader

Gif Credit to @billy-crudup

Synopsis: I can't keep your love / I can't keep your kiss / Gave you everything and all I got was this

Warnings: She’s angsty babe, Mentions of Murder, The Butcher Mentions, Mentions of Suicide, Cheating/Infidelity, SWAT, Guns, Reader 100% is down bad for Cooper even with what he did, It’s giving Stockholm Syndrome but the reader isn’t captured by him

Rating: PG

Word Count: 4.6K

Author’s Note: You know, you can thank my manic episode for this. Also I know the song has a totally different meaning but, my brain took over and who am I to stop her?

If you would like to be tagged, please fill this out

You'd probably think I was psychotic (if you knew) / What I still got in my closet (sad but true) / I slip it on over my shoulders / Something I'll never get over / It makes me feel a little bit closer to you

Loss; the fact or process of losing something or someone. No one knows how to properly process loss – though there are no guidelines on the correct way. It comes in various shapes and sizes – not always as transparent as it is expected to be. That’s what makes the human experience so different across vast networks, everyone processes emotions in ways not one human can comprehend. It’s the equivalent to time, there are so many seconds whirling by, impossible it is to grasp how many different processors truly run for one emotion. Some cry, some wither away to nothing, some lash out, some lose their sobriety. A slim majority does not react, because to them – why would anything good stick around? Why do they deserve it? Abandonment is a fickle bitch, and something you got too used to knowing.

Learning that people weren’t a permanent staple point in life was the worst thing for you, because then you started to expect everyone to leave, at one time or another. Maybe that was the countless times it has happened to you talking but, it’s a feeling that never leaves the back of your mind. It sits there, claws at parts of your brain you’re not supposed to use, sinking deeper and deeper into every soft part of flesh until it blackens. The rot taking over, making you feel helpless until pulling away is the only option. It’s a vicious cycle that you can never seem to break, no matter how hard you try. Which sucks, expecting the worst when you more than deserve the best. And the best came in the form of an amazing, well educated, humble man.

I can't keep your love / I can't keep your kiss / Gave you everything and all I got was this

You never anticipated falling in love with Cooper Adams, or Abbott as he is now known. But sometimes you cannot anticipate destiny, but only let her play out. All it took for you was a kitten stuck in the stone foundation of your home, coming to find out four different litters were calling it home. Cooper was the one to find them, rescue all fifteen of them, and even adopt one for the station. He stayed with you as he helped to clear out the deceased bodies, as you cried holding their little forms for feeding, and as you nursed them back to full health. He was never without you, only living two houses over. Never would he lie about where he was, his wife knew all too well – but refused to get in the way of Logan and Riley seeing the kittens. She suspected, but never could find reason.

All it took for you to realize Cooper was your person, was when you were ready to leave for work and found him under your car, jacked up and tire freshly replaced. You didn’t even realize you had a flat, Cooper saw it before he was about to leave for work. He knew that your car was your lifeline, working over forty minutes away. He wouldn’t let you suffer like that, out in the cold and all, freezing your ass off with cold fingers. No, he tossed on a hoodie and cap, put himself to work and was rewarded with the promise of dinner. He held you to that, to the kitchen table, to the kitchen island, to the couch, the stairs, and lastly the bedroom – all in one night. You both knew it was wrong, but he couldn’t lie to himself; What he and Rachel had was over the second Logan turned four. They were coexisting in the same house, playing their parts to a tee without any hesitation. They kept to themselves, saying goodbyes and I love yous in front of the kids – but they knew it was done. It was you who made Cooper feel alive again – made him feel loved. He had lost that so long ago he wondered if it was real for him anymore. You’d do anything for him; Lie, hide, and even believe.

It was obvious from your fourth month into this affair that Cooper was The Butcher – an accidental slip up of coming back to you smelling of cleaning product. It was only obvious from the slight chemical irritation on his forearms, the small hives a clear reaction. It wasn’t a firehouse cleaning product but more of a hospital type – meaning that he got his hands on heavy duty stuff, which he could’ve only gotten without being suspicious through your account. Working in the medical field was a blessing but, in that moment you thought for a second it was a curse. You could see the glimmer he had for you brighten with the inclusion of tears welling, heartbroken you’d have to be his next victim. But that all changed once you held Cooper’s face in your hands, rubbing back and forth on his cheeks as you smile proudly; “I accept you, my love. We can manage, I won’t tell a soul.” If he had been honest, Cooper didn’t trust you at first. But when days turned into weeks, and those turned into months with no one coming after him, he knew he hit the jackpot.

I'm still rocking your hoodie / And chewing on the strings / It makes me think about you / So I wear it when I sleep / I kept the broken zipper / And cigarette burns / Still rocking your hoodie / Baby, even though it hurts / Still rocking your

Tonight, Cooper was supposed to come home to you after taking Riley to see Lady Raven, something she worked hard for over the course of six months to go. Cooper was so proud of her and the great report card she had gotten, you were proud of her as well. Lady Raven was her idol, someone she found solace in when her preteen angst was acting up. Cooper wanted to do something special for her; A night she would never forget for the rest of her life. You remember Cooper saying he visited the box office at the arena right before they closed, buying the last floor seats – the closest Riley could get to Lady Raven. It was everything he could’ve hoped for and more – though he wished he remembered to remove the receipt from his wallet, hiding it in case Riley found out. You knew he wouldn’t come over automatically, he still needed to keep the façade up, act like he was still a family man even though all he wanted to do once the kids fell asleep, was be with you.

With the concert starting early during the day, you knew Cooper wouldn’t come back to you until later tonight, around ten or eleven depending. But you missed him; The warmth of his body as he hugged you from behind, the weight of his arms against your chest, the soft feel of his stubble scraping along your cheek as he nuzzled your neck. You both were in a completely different world when you were together, at the door was his first life – with you was his second. Cooper was always adamant on the two lives not touching, which you could understand. But sometimes you wished they did, wished you could be involved in his first life without the repercussions, it was a fucked way of thinking but, nothing with Cooper made you feel rational. It made you want to be the only one – though that could never happen. At the end of the day he was coming home to you, not Rachel, and that would have to do.

The brisk October air flowed through the open living room window so quickly you didn’t hesitate to wrap Cooper’s hoodie around your torso, taking in the musky smell of his cologne and the firehouse. Cooper loved seeing you in his clothing, how happy it made you, how the gleam in your eye shone brighter with every second you wore it. When the first feel cold breeze of autumn rolled through your house a few weeks ago, Cooper quickly discarded the hoodie he had recently gotten from the firehouse, marking the eighteenth-year anniversary that he started. No effort was wasted when he came up behind you, sliding it up your arms and zipping it up neatly. For a few seconds he patted the shoulders down over your form, seeing how it hugged you beautifully. In that moment you saw it in his eyes; Love, he was in too deep too. From that day forward, you never stopped wearing it when he wasn’t home, needing to feel closer to him. To be one with him.

I used to put my hand in your pockets (holding on) / The smell of your cologne is still on it (but you're still gone) / I slip it on over my shoulders / Someone I'll never get over / It makes me feel a little bit closer to you

Grabbing at the shoulder of the hoodie, you brought it to your nose for a deep inhale – smiling softly as you smelled Cooper’s cologne, fresh from the other day. Bergamot and pine invaded your nose, causing your eyes to roll back. There was something so intoxicating about his scent, it drove you silently mad in the best way possible – you didn’t want to let that go for anything in the world. It was your way of feeling like he was with you, when he couldn’t be. Your way of grounding yourself in the moment, planning on what you two would do when he came over. Deep into the fantasy you were creating in the moment, you didn’t hear the racing sound of sirens coming down the street – see the bright flashes of red and blue lights flowing through your home, or hear the screaming until it was too late. “Logan, don’t forget to turn in your science project!”

Your ears perked up at the sound of Cooper’s voice, growing giddy at the fact you were going to see him so soon. Opening your eyes you were met with the flashes of police lights coming from the open curtains, your stomach dropping as you heard the garage door close a few houses away. Cooper. Running from the living room to the front door, you slid on your boots quicker than you could have ever guessed, slamming the door open against the wall. With Cooper’s hoodie still wrapped around your body, you walked quickly down the sidewalk where there was a small crowd gathering, seeing a limo, Rachel, Logan, Riley, and even Lady Raven standing outside of the Adams residence, SWAT officers with their guns drawn as they secured the perimeter of the house. You didn’t know what to believe or ask what was going on. But as soon as Riley and Logan ran past you to another woman’s car, you got your answer.

Rachel turned around in slow motion to see Logan and Riley off, in the midst of it all catching your eye in the crowd. Tears were welling in the corners for you, as hers were bloodshot from crying. Her arms wrapped around herself as she let her eyes roam over your torso, seeing the firehouse symbol with the big 18 in yellow font. Her slack face drew up in confusion, then to realization. Your heart was in your throat as you slowly backed away, trying to get a clear angle in the house to see what Cooper was up to. It was only then that everything caught up in your mind. They found out. They all found out Cooper is The Butcher. Your hands grew clammy, starting to shake at what this all meant. If I am ever found out sweetheart, the only way out of it is to kill myself.

I can't keep your love / I can't keep your kiss / Gave you everything and all I got was this / I'm still rocking your hoodie / And chewing on the strings / It makes me think about you / So I wear it when I sleep / I kept the broken zipper / And cigarette burns / Still rocking your hoodie / Baby, even though it hurts

A sob trickled out of your mouth without you realizing, tears falling heavily as you spun around to face your house. No one was giving you any attention as you cried, all probably thinking someone had died. But to you, he was close to it. With shaky fingers you managed to grab your phone out of the hoodie pocket, unlocking it quickly with your passcode. The first number up in your latest calls was Cooper from earlier today; How excited he was to see Riley so happy, how he was going to make her year with this, how did things go so wrong? Clicking on his name, you brought the phone up to your ear, hearing the three rings before it went to voicemail. “Fuck,” you whimpered, sniffling back a sob you could feel at its crest. Swallowing as you clicked his name again, and again, and again, and again, all until your phone screen went black. “Fuck!” You yelled out as you started to make your way back towards your home, but not before someone caught your arm, spinning you around in place.

You could feel how warm your face was from crying, how the salty tears dried against your cheek uncomfortably. You were shivering but not from the cold, from fear of losing Cooper. Blinking the unshed tears from your eyes, you let your pupils focus on who spun you around, being met with the dull eyes of Rachel Adams, her face stoic, yet scared. “How long?” She whispered, afraid to speak up louder. There was only one right answer, yet you couldn’t muster it out of you. Your mouth fell open to respond but, nothing came out. “Please,” Rachel sighed, her lip in a small pout for a moment as she tried to regulate her emotions. A sad smile came across your lips as you reached forth with your empty hand, holding her hand softly. “I think you know, Rachel.” It was better than giving an exact timeline, and enough to where nosy neighbors didn’t have to know either. Rachel let out the breath she was holding, a fresh wave of tears coating her eyes as she tightened her grasp on your hand. It wasn’t out of malice or anger, but closure. Giving you a smile that matched your own, Rachel rubbed your hand in both of hers, nodding before she walked off to the house.

Still rocking your hoodie / And chewing on the strings / It makes me think about you / So I wear it when I sleep / I kept the broken zipper / And cigarette burns / Still rocking your hoodie / Baby, even though it hurts / Still rocking your

It was time for you to do the same; Needing to charge your phone in case Cooper called. You were hoping he didn’t do anything stupid; you were hoping he was okay. “There’s a tunnel to the neighbors yard, he’s not here!” That was the last you heard before stepping back inside.

-----

Nightfall was upon you, the darkened sky matching your mood as you laid on the couch, phone on the coffee table as the news silently drones on in the background. Your eyes were fixated on the TV, fresh tears you had not been aware of were falling, covering the pillow under your head. It had been over two hours since Cooper was found out to be The Butcher. Every new channel was running the story, posting the clips from the venue of Cooper with Riley and Lady Raven. Reporters were outside of the Adams residence, covering every new detail that came up. You were sure that was highly illegal since it was active scene by the FBI, but you couldn’t find yourself to care. Not when your whole life had just been turned upside down. Your boyfriend found out to be a murderer, his wife knowing he was having an affair, everything was a mess.

Any little sound you heard coming from your window you jumped at, hoping it was Cooper. But alas, it was just another reporter staking themselves out on your lawn, wanting a hit of the newest story from this scene. You needed to see the house, everything. You needed to know if this was all real or a bad dream. Laying around on the couch was only going to get you so far – this would give you closure if he was captured, or if something else had happened. Standing up from your position on the couch, you felt yourself getting lightheaded for a moment, shaking off the imbalance for a moment before moving. As you stretched upwards to cracked everything in you, a visceral scream could be heard around the neighborhood – one full of rage and fear, one that made your hairs stand on end. You didn’t think before your feet took off, tripping over your coffee table as you scrambled out of the back door, not caring that it was left wide open. You were taking off quickly down a few houses to where a bigger crowd was starting to form, everyone in their bathrobes and jackets, trying to get in on a piece of the action.

From your angle at Cooper’s house, you couldn’t see what was happening inside but could see multiple SWAT officers going in and out. One of them had long chained handcuffs in their hand, the ones that were attached to the waist and ankles of the prisoner. The clanking of the chains was muted now by the chatter over the radios, quiet enough so not everyone could hear but, if you focused hard enough you could make it out. “The Butcher has been captured. He’s being cuffed now.” In a way you were happy to hear Cooper was just captured, and not dead. You knew how good he was on his word of suicide, not thinking twice about it but, you didn’t want to live without him. The whole life you two wanted to build together, it may not come true now but – that was okay. There was nothing stopping you from visiting him in prison, having conjugal visits – you’d do anything for him.

If you want it back / If you want it back / I'm here waiting / Come take it back / Come take it back / If you want it back / If you want it back / I'm here waiting / Come take it back / Come take it back

The large presence of officers coming out of the house caused you to focus back on the front door, pushing your way to the front of the crowd to see what was going on. Wearing a blue and red flannel, was your Cooper. Not the clean-cut Cooper the forehouse saw, that his family saw – the one always put together and smiling. No, this was your Cooper; Disheveled hair, manic look in his eyes, a smirk that could light the whole world on fire. He was in his true form, not the fake mask he put on for his family. Seeing that gleam of rage in his eyes made you smile softly, knowing exactly what he was capable of. As Cooper walked out of his home and down the front steps, he stopped halfway down the path, turning to face where you were standing. The SWAT officers had AK’s trained on him, threatening to shoot if he tried anything, but you knew they wouldn’t.

Cooper’s gaze fell to Riley’s bike on the lawn, tipped over from all the commotion. Needing to right this wrong, Cooper knelt to pick it back up, running his thick, calloused fingers over the tires, knowing he may never see Riley grow up. It killed him to think about it; He wanted to take this moment in for as long as he could. You saw the trepidation in his eyes as he stared at the bike, running his fingers over the spokes. It’s when his gaze shifted up to you, that you saw the darkness layered – the glimmer of sinister intentions, one that made your lower stomach ignite. “I love you,” Cooper silently said, mouthing to you as your eyes caught his. All you could do was smile, biting your lower lip as the tears sprang free again; Your arms wrapping around your shoulders as you hugged his hoodie tighter to your body. “I love you so fucking much, Cooper,” you whispered back, causing his own eyes to glisten with tears.

I'm still rocking your hoodie / And chewing on the strings / It makes me think about you / So I wear it when I sleep / I kept the broken zipper / And cigarette burns / Still rocking your hoodie / Baby, even though it hurts

Behind you a car pulled up quickly to the scene. Quickly jetting out of the van was a curly, blonde-haired girl – who you knew was Riley. “Daddy!” She sobbed out, running out of the woman’s arms into straight into Cooper’s, his hands chained in front of him. Riley didn’t waste a second to hug Cooper tightly, pressing her tear-stained face into his chest. It was a bittersweet moment; From what Cooper always told you, Riley was his little girl, always valuing his opinion on topics and learning the ways of the world from him. He was wrapped around her finger, and silently it was killing him that this may be the last time he was ever going to see her. Cooper leaned his chin against Riley’s head, kissing the top softly, savoring the moment before it was ripped away. “Riley, come here sweetie,” Rachel called out, causing Riley to pull away as she ran. The SWAT officers hands tightened against Cooper’s arm, he spun around to stare at his family one more time before being loaded into the paddy wagon.

Before that door shut, Cooper held your gaze with a primal glare, causing your heart to quicken. A smirk lined his lips as the door shut, only able to see him through the small window of the wagon. You didn’t feel upset or scared that Cooper was going away, because you knew it was bullshit. That look told you everything you needed to know, and it made you excited. Throwing the hood of Cooper’s jacket over your head, you made your way back to your home, locking the back and front door – closing and locking the windows, heading straight for bed.

I'm still rocking your hoodie / And chewing on the strings / It makes me think about you / So I wear it when I sleep / I kept the broken zipper / And cigarette burns / Still rocking your hoodie / Baby, even though it hurts

-----

Time ticked away as the lights started to die out; The warmth of your salt lamp omitting off cozy energy. Snuggled beneath the comforter, you watched as the last of the police officers and journalists left. The neighborhood had enough craziness for one day, to hear utter silence put you at peace. Everything felt good again; No animosity lingered in the air. But things still felt off, not having Cooper by your side. Watching him get taken away by the police made you sad – but seeing how he said he loved you, made everything so much better. You would wait for him, no matter how long it was going to be. If you had to wait eternity for him, you’d wait two. Cooper was everything to you, and you knew you’d never find love like him again. Even with abandonment heavy on your mind, this time felt different. It wasn’t a slow pullback like everyone else does. No, this was so much less. The look in Cooper’s eyes was a guarantee that he would be with you soon enough, and you’d wait forever to have that.

You felt yourself drifting off to sleep at the thoughts of him, how the previous night he held you close to his chest, playing with your hair as he hummed softly to you. It put you at great ease, feeling so domestic for the first time. The way his right hand boxed you into him, laying right against your stomach. His left was tucked under his head, his chin perched on your shoulder. It was almost as if you could feel the warmth of him now, holding you tightly, peppering kisses along your hairline. His hand snaking its way under your shirt to touch you, rubbing little hearts into your flesh as you sink deeper into him. His broad chest your safe haven, his lips your solace in this dark world, as they move their way down your cheek, to your bare shoulder. “You’re never getting rid of me that easily, princess.” Cooper whispered into your ear, causing your eyes to fling open.

Cooper could feel you tense at the realization he was here, with you, instead of locked up. The excitement vibrating off of you as he helped you turn around. Even with the low light of the lamp next to your bed, you could make out every single feature of Cooper’s face. The lines around his eyes as he smiled at you, the creases of his mouth as his grin grows wider, the softness in his irises as they track a path over your facial features. “I will never leave you, sweet girl. I am with you forever.” Cooper’s voice cracked with emotion as his tears started to fall, the sob slipping from your lips evident enough. Perching against Cooper, you let your lips collide with his in a heated manner, feeling the ever-growing love between the two of you blossomed. The world was gone, silent compared to the beating of two hearts. The autumn light turning into tendrils of golds, browns, and silver cascading through the air, glittering with every touch Cooper laid upon your body. He was your home, he is your safety. He is your world, and nothing could take him from you. “I’m here to stay.” You knew he meant it too. Cooper Adams was a thing of the past, a monster that the media wanted to portray. Cooper Abbott on the other hand was a family man, who was desperately in love with his girl. Philadelphia is where you two made your home, but your true adventure starts with the move to Minnesota. Your future now getting started.

Still rocking your hoodie / And chewing on the strings / It makes me think about you / So I wear it when I sleep / I kept the broken zipper / And cigarette burns / Still rocking your hoodie / Baby, even though it hurts / Still rocking your hoodie

Tagging Taglist: @rubyfruitjungle @cherryinterlude @lilly3434 @amethystblackkchaos @rosaleelovesdilfs @babygorewhore @dirtylittlefairytales @redpillbluepill @strangererotica @minedofmoria @hibiskooks @fore45fore @lustskitty69

Cooper Adams: @lunaluvsu @rplver @kissofdawn666 @rottenangel

[giuliettagaltieri]

Honey, I'm Home

Pairing: Dad!Gojō x Mom!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is home.

Warning: spoilers

Word Count: 889

9 of 9

The fall of the jujutsu society reminded Gojō Satoru of a lot of things.

As honored as he might be, throughout heaven and earth, he is as susceptible as any man.  Maybe even more.

Gojō has too much to lose.  The time when he was fighting for himself and for glory was long forgotten after his heart was held captive by you, and in return, you gave him a home, a family, a reason to win.

Gojō Satoru is a protector, a husband, and a father.

When he was being trapped inside that cube, he could not care for the discomfort of the place, the mortification of seeing his best friend’s body being used and tainted, or the humiliation of having been caught in the enemy’s clutches.

His head was only filled with a picture of you.  How you will be worried sick as Gojō does not think that he will make it home that night.  His son, who refuses to eat his puréed food unless it was his father feeding it to him.

And when he finally made it out.  The first thing he wanted was to have you in his arms.

But that cannot be.  Not yet, as Megumi, the boy he took in and thought of as his own, has his body overcome with Sukuna.

Gojō was careless in that fight.

Or he was just afraid.

He was afraid of hurting Megumi.  Doing damage that cannot be undone. 

No matter how old that boy got, he was still the same brat that asked for chicken nuggets takeout after school.

The price that Gojō paid for such sentiment was great.

Almost too great.

It cost him his life.   

But Gojō was reminded that day that he was not alone.  He no longer has to depend on himself alone.  And for some reason, his soul refused to take that flight to heaven.  His body was dead, but he was never gone.

The thought of you and Satoshi kept him clinging, refusing eternal farewell with every passing second until somebody healed his body enough to become a vessel for his soul once more.

A lot of Gojō’s questions for the metaphysical was answered that day.  Perhaps there really is a greater being up there, looking out for him.

With efforts from hands that were not just Gojō’s, Sukuna was defeated.

But with the loss the jujutsu society suffered from, it was barely called a victory.

Overtime, the school was reestablished.  Multiple young sorcerers in training arrived at the doorstep of the school.  To learn.  To be stronger.  To not suffer from the same helplessness they felt.

But Gojō was done with teaching.

He figured it was time to focus on his clan.  Not that he no longer responds to calls for help.  But most of his days were spent inside his estate house.  Sitting through meetings with the clan elders.  Gojō wanted to smooth out every crease before he passed the title to his son.

Satoshi, his pride and joy, demanded to start his training the day after his sixth naming day.

Gojō oversees his training at times but it is difficult to do when you come waddling with your rounded belly to pinch at his ears for going too far with his strikes.

And there’s your toddler, her wails of wanting to join in on the training was always piercing Gojō’s ears, eventually relenting, he allowed her to join by sitting on his shoulders as she babbled away at her older brother.  It always made her laugh when Satoshi sticks his tongue at her, the sun bouncing off her hair that she got from you as her tiny hands clap messily, her crystal blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

And just as frustration starts to get in the way of Satoshi’s performance, you come with a tray of tea and pastries, your kimono with embroidered blue roses dragging behind you, making you look regal and otherworldly.

This distraction is always welcomed.  Both by father and son.

As Gojō picks up a taiyaki, he watches his son act out his fight, trying to impress you.  Your daughter tries to steal your attention by feeding you with manju and you open your mouth to accept as your hand caresses your stomach.  A smile makes its way to Gojō’s face, his eyes crinkling at the sight.

Had he told himself ten years ago that he would be living this life with you, he was certain that his younger self would believe that the six eyes had finally decayed his mind.

But this is what Gojō wanted him to see.  His childhood home with happy and well-loved children running around, a wife that always had the most lovable of smiles, just sitting under the great oak of your garden to share sweets and stories.

He would love to have blue roses planted there someday too.  And he would task his children to take care of them.  And the children after them.  To see to it that they prosper throughout the years.  Perhaps the Gojō banners could use a bit of redesigning as well, roses would certainly add an appeal to it.

He wanted it known that even Gojō Satoru was only a man.  A man capable of baring his soul to another.  That he loved beyond comprehension and received her love in return.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

[aingeal98]

thinking of the differences in cass and bruce regarding their no-kill rules, and how cass’ rule is better in regards to the batman persona and what it stands for. death and bruce have an awful relationship, to say the least. he has gained nothing from death and murder, in fact it affects him so much that all he can do with death is just sit in its presence forever, without ever working through it (he literally refers to death as ‘a curse constantly hanging over him’ i mean that is not the most accepting mindset). with cass though? she can actively process death and even accept that it has happened. she isn’t like bruce, because she uses others dying to make her intense love and empathy stronger, while bruce just uses it to fuel anger and an onslaught of repressed negative emotions (which we all know can only last you so long before your whole body just gives out). i mean, the second bruces parents died, he separated the concept of murder from his life, (even though that is literally impossible, minhkhoa, ra’s, talia, selina, and basically anyone who has been in a meaningful relationship with bruce has pointed this out. i mean even a ghost martha wayne has told bruce there’s no avoiding death, only going through it). however, with cass? she literally was a murderer. one of the many reasons cass vows to never kill is because she actively sees herself in murderers, and thinks they all have the capacity to be redeemed, while bruce barely has an idea how to even process murder, let alone accept it or the people who do it (thinking of how he straight up denied that cass killed anyone, or was even capable of doing it, even with video evidence shown right in front of him, and im not even gonna get into the whole jason todd thing). cassandra could be a better batman simply because she can look death (specifically murders and murderers) dead in the eye and accept it, something that bruce cant even do. basically what im getting at is that, ironically, cass’ backstory of her being a murderer allows her to use the batman persona to its full unfiltered potential, something that even bruce is aware of. anyways here’s my cass should take up the batman mantle propaganda!!

I'm chewing on this like it's a five course meal thank you so much for this analysis there's so much to go through.

You're so right about their different mentalities like Bruce was ultimately a victim and his drive comes from both never wanting anyone else to suffer like that but also never wanting to be a victim again himself. And if does mean that his various complexes around death and crime can sometimes be very harmful to people he should be trying to save! Batman is a symbol and an ideal and no one, not even Bruce can truly live up to it.

Meanwhile Cass views herself as the perpetrator, the responsible party instead of a fellow victim tricked into killing a man. And her projection while again not in anyway perfect is definitely better for those around her than Bruce's because it's full of empathy and a belief for change. The heartbreaking part is that she's no less fucked up over the concept of death imo, she just directs it all inwards. Every life lost is a tragedy that Bruce and Cass both carry on their shoulders. The difference is Bruce views anyone who takes a life as having sacrificed a part of themselves they can ever get back, of ruining their life regardless of circumstances. And we really do get to see frequently in comics how that standard ends up harming innocents even as he tries to do good. Meanwhile Cass... Does actually hold quite similar views but she also stubbornly refuses to believe it's true for anyone else just because she cannot escape it being her own personal truth. They killed but they can change. They killed but they can turn their life around. They felt bad for a second there, I saw them. I'm going to help them because of that.

Part of it definitely comes down to the thematic cohesiveness of Cass's Batgirl run compared to Bruce's... Everything. But ultimately yeah Cass best Batman for multiple reasons and you can fight me on this.

[odinsblog]

Can we please get something straight here??

Mitch McConnell has supported Donald Trump and will support him again if Trump wins the Republican nomination. I have never supported Trump and I never will.

Mitch McConnell has been a willing tool of the NRA and helped pass countless stand-your-ground laws, he has helped pave the way for laws like permitless carry, and he has helped make guns easier for anyone to get. I have not.

Mitch McConnell has helped pass laws that intentionally suppress the votes of millions and millions Black people. I have not.

Mitch McConnell has helped write or pass laws that deny millions of women access to reproductive health care. I have not.

Mitch McConnell has helped write or pass laws that deny basic healthcare and living wages to millions of poor people. I have not.

I AM NOW AND I WILL ALWAYS BE BETTER than Mitch McConnell and Republicans, because my wishes do not have any material impact on anyone, unlike the myriad of hateful draconian laws that Mitch McConnell has helped to pass.

I could continue, but hopefully I’ve made my point: people sending Mitch McConnell “ill wishes” IS NOT being “just the same” as Mitch McConnell and Republicans, and it doesn’t make anyone “as bad as” McConnell and the GOP.

Are you fucking kidding me??

Saying that my wishes = McConnell’s actions is a false equivalence. It’s false, it’s offensive and it’s gaslighting.

Mitch McConnell is an elected politician who has a very long history of using his political power to actively harm the poor, marginalized communities, women, LGBTQ people, and non-Christian, non-white people. If you cannot differentiate between the words and the unenforceable “wishes” of the oppressed vs. the actions of an oppressor, then you have some serious problems to unpack.

I could ~almost~ see it if there was some chance that a Republican would go, “Oh wow, those progressives are being nice to Mitch McConnell, maybe I’ll stop being a racist and vote for a Democrat now.” But that almost never ever happens, does it??

You are not going to win over a Republican by being kind. Their entire ideology is based on racism, misogyny, homophobia, transphobia, and cruelty.

Look, I’m not tryna write a dissertation here, but please believe me when I say that this neoliberal knee jerk Pollyanna reaction of, “turn the other cheek” and “be kinder to your oppressors” is very much rooted in Christofascism + white supremacy. It’s a weaponization of the “hate breeds hate” trope and the “forgiveness narrative” meant to tame slaves, and I refuse to fall for it.

I absolutely positively do not wish Mitch McConnell well, and HELL NO, I am not being a bad person for hoping that a racist, evil, old white man suffers a fraction of the pain he has inflicted on others for decades and decades.

I am a proud member of the #MitchMcConnellDieChallenge community.

That all said, at the very least, Mitch McConnell has unintentionally provided us with a teachable moment: please learn to spot the warning signs of someone having a stroke

[phantomfallacy]

There’s not nearly enough analyses of Wriothesley and the panopticon that is Meropide.

Like, sure, the connection is there, but are your lines connecting to the right points? Because if you think Wriothesley’s office is the control tower and the Fortress is his all-knowing domain, I think you’re wrong.

Spoilers for his character quest and the Meropide world quest ahead, as well as various tidbits in mini quests:

The Unfinished Comedy reveals that there is a child who had been born in the prison, more or less a decade ago. More than enough time for Wriothesley to “discover” her. But he doesn’t. He is, without a doubt, an advocator of children, and would never allow her to stay in prison if he can help it. No matter what excuse there is, such as being busy with the reformation of the prison, the Fatui invasion, or the Wingalet construction, it doesn’t negate the fact that Wriothesley doesn’t know, or he would’ve acted.

The Beret Society as well, while coming under Wriothesley’s purview, has existed long enough to brainwash and break the spirits of the people who have joined. He had no evidence that Dougier had been breaking rules and infringing on human rights.

So no, Wriothesley, contrary to the Fortress of Meropide description, does not know everything that goes on in the Fortress, and he tells us so.

So then why does the description say otherwise?

The concept of the panopticon is that a single prison warden can maintain order because people will never be able to tell if his eyes are on them. As a result, they will behave, regardless of whether the warden is truly watching or not. Wriothesley tells us that he doesn’t have eyes and ears everywhere because we are not a prisoner. We do not need to be intimidated into behaving. Moreover, the Traveler seems to be an exception to everything like a harem protagonist so let’s discount “our” knowledge of Wriothesley’s claim.

What I think slaps the most though, is that his panopticon isn’t just the Fortress, but the Court of Fontaine as well.

It is mentioned that Wriothesley knows the ongoings of the overworld despite rarely coming up. The citizens of Fontaine see Meropide as this horrible place, even after Wriothesley’s reforms, and it’s not only because of prejudice (though that is most certainly the case), but because of his refusal to be perceived. He refuses Charlotte’s interviews, though being a Duke would most certainly put him in the eye of the public. This is a tentative maintenance of his public persona: that of a cruel and unfathomable man.

“The less people see of me, the happier they will be.”

If people understood that Meropide had welfare meals, stable work hours, and relatively accessible healthcare, why would they be incentivized to follow the law? Especially those of Fleuvre Cendre. But Meropide cannot possibly be that kind of haven. It is a prison, and forever should be—because it is not sustainable.

What humans cannot understand, they fear, and that works to keep the rest of Fontaine in check from committing crimes. No one wants to go to prison, no one wants to suffer, no one wants to see the Duke of Meropide. It’s embedded into the very society, so much that they have pop culture-like phrases for it.

The Duke’s office isn’t the control tower. The whole of Meropide Fortress is, and Fontaine is the “prison.”

There are other interpretations of course, such as the factor of more recent commentary on panopticons and how they bring up the topic of holding those in absolute power accountable. The warden at the center of the panopticon has absolute power, but how is he to be kept accountable?

It could be a hint about how Wriothesley isn’t as in control as he presents himself, and the way he rules is dependent on the people who keep him in check. After all, he says that as Duke, he must set an example of persecuting only after evidence has been found of a wrongdoing, otherwise he could have simply killed Dougier. However, that would certainly bring the Fortress down around him as people questioned his reputation as a fair ruler. (Cough bringing back my sword of Damocles bullshit here//shot).

Alternatively, Wriothesley himself could be a sword of Damocles upon Fontaine, evidenced by Neuvillette’s story quest, but I feel like that would be a Wriolette thread…

Without the source material confirming anything, we’re just playing with Schrödinger’s cat though. Just some food for thought.

Next time on Dragon Ball Z: my TED Talk on why the Fortress of Meropide is not called the Fortress of Atlantis because Wriothesley presents it as communism but it is totalitarian and why that works— (Kidding, I don’t wanna touch this with a ten foot pole pls don’t respond with political philosophies I will perish 🫠🫠🫠😵)

[heeseung-min]

[21:14]

You eyes started to blink when you heard screaming nearby. It's not one. It's like a bunch of girls screaming for help. Slowly, you finally gained consciousness and looked at your surrounding. You realized you were in a basement. Few metres in front of you there was a big cage that can fit few people in there and you recognized every single one in there.

"Y/n, you wake up? HELP US! Someone has abducted all of us and you!

Dami, one of the girls yelled to you. You looked at yourself who were on bed that is perfectly fine and in comfortable clothes while all of them looked miserable. You wondered what makes the treatment towards you and them are different.

"YAH!! WE TOLD YOU TO HELP US OUT!! ARE YOU DEAF, BITCH--"

Everyone and you gasped when the girl who were shouting just now got shot straight to her head. The girls were screaming freaking out when they saw one of their friends die. You turned to the left where the man who shot the girl just now put down his shotgun.

"Damn it, yall can't even shut your mouth for a minute?"

It was Jay. Your classmate.

The girls went silent and sobbing quietly because they don't want to get shoot by him. Jay turned himself to you and started to walk closer.

"How do you feel? Do you want to eat something?"

He asked as he caressed your hair gently. It's like two different people. Just now you saw Jay shot someone and now he was being gentle and soft to you. But you can't deny the scene traumatized you too. Your hands were shaking when he leaned closer.

"Stop....stop it."

"What? What do you mean, sweet?"

"Let ...us go. Why are you doing this, Jay?"

Jay stopped caressing your head and chuckled when you asked him that.

"I did it for you, Y/n. Don't you like it? I made your bullies suffered. They don't deserve to live after what they had done."

You looked at the tray that was moving to the girls. Your eyes widened at the sight of hot wax getting closer to them. Jay watched the scene with wide smile on his face.

"Stop it."

"Why? I know you like it too, Y/n."

"I said stop it, Jay!!!"

He pushed the button to stop the tray from falling to the girls. Jay sighed and looked at you.

"Don't pretend, baby. I know you are happy to see people you hate suffering. Just like what you did to your father."

It's like Jay just dropped a bomb on you. Your hands became shakier after he said that.

_________

_________

"Why I have a daughter when I can have a son. Raising a daughter bring so much burden."

That's what your dad always said every single day. He never teaches you anything but will ask you for many favors. If you refuse, you will heard he complain about it later.

"I can't believe your mother would ask me to keep you alive. Bitch, the doctor should make you die instead. At least if your mother was alive, we can still try for a boy."

Your last straw was when you cooked dinner for him.

"Feed this to a dog. I don't want to eat anything from you."

You watched he throw the food you cooked to the floor. After that, he went to the living room and watched his favourite show. You listened to his laugh while cleaning up the floor. You waited until he fell asleep and rolled your eyes when you heard his loud snoring.

"You wanted to meet mom so bad. Maybe I should do a favor for you."

__________

__________

"And I remember how you cried in front of those people when they said your father died due to carbon monoxide poisoning. Your acting was really impressive."

Your fists clenched while listening to what Jay said.

"But they didn't see you from the side. Your lips were smirking when your dad is finally dead."

"Shut the fuck up."

"Most people feel bad for you but I watched how you laugh after all of them left the funeral."

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!!"

Jay finally stopped talking and stared at your fuming expression. He looked so proud when telling about it. You made sure that no one find out about this.

"All I want is you to stop pretending, Y/N. You cannot lie to me. I know everything about you."

You sighed and tried to relax your body. After few seconds, you opened your eyes and Jay smirked when he saw your eyes changed. It is similar to what he saw when your father died.

"Give me a gun. I want to practice shooting."

The girls started to screaming and begging to you to not let them die.

"Let's play a game, okay? Try to avoid being shot as long as you can."

You said and started to fire the gun while Jay watched you admiringly.

💀💀💀well i hope it come out well, having writer block is no joke...i hope you guys still remember me🙁and hope you guys enjoy this as well.

Taglist: @stacey-stonem @huggyuvita @duolingofanaccount @obsessed1with1straykids @rowretro @eeunoia

[motions1ckn3ss]

'I Cannot Heave My Heart Into My Mouth’: Shakespeare and Alice Winn’s In Memoriam

or, an academic blog post i wrote for an english literature assignment as part of my shakespeare module at uni. a huge thank you to @jovienna for proofreading and providing the most helpful suggestions, i'm very proud of this piece and i just got the mark back for it today and i received a 2:1! enjoy :)

‘But since she pricked thee out for women’s pleasure, / Mine be thy love and thy love’s use their treasure’ (Shakespeare 13-14): a declaration of queer love, not just in Shakespeare’s Sonnet 20, but also in Alice Winn’s debut novel In Memoriam, published in 2023. Throughout the novel, the character of Ellwood quotes various poems with famously homoerotic undertones as a way of professing his love for Gaunt, a fellow student at the boarding school they attend, in an era of repression and illegality concerning homosexuality. The works of Shakespeare become some of the most notable amongst this number.

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 20 depicts desire for a man that he cannot have. The love interest of the poem, being a man, must be for the pleasure of women only, as Nature has decided. As the closing lines express, all Shakespeare can offer the man is his own love. The meaning of these lines are certainly not lost on Ellwood, and to the regret of the poet-speaker who is resigned to Platonic love (Mahony 70), writes them ‘in pencil on the wall above Gaunt’s bed, and Gaunt had hoped they meant something.’ (Winn 42).

Despite this, Gaunt refuses to let himself believe this possibility, though Ellwood assumes that he simply does not reciprocate his feelings – ‘anyway, Gaunt already knew that Ellwood loved him. Because of the sonnets.’ (Winn 113). More than three hundred years after the publication of his sonnets, Shakespeare’s words connect with Ellwood and provide him with an outlet. Ellwood deliberately selects Sonnet 20 to ensure Gaunt knows of his love in a way that stops him ‘going completely mad and confessing wild, undying love for him, which he knew would have made Gaunt extremely uncomfortable.’ (Winn 113). Shakespeare puts pen to paper to write of his own unrequited love for another man, and Ellwood follows in his footsteps.

These closing lines of Sonnet 20 are not the only writings of Shakespeare referenced in In Memoriam, with King Lear arguably creating an even more heartfelt moment between the two men. The First World War, in all its tragedy, does bring Ellwood and Gaunt together, with the two only acting on their desires amidst the ‘hyper-masculine atmosphere of war’ (Winn 120). Following their honourable discharge from the army, the two move to Brazil together to live in relative safety. Ellwood suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder, and as a result of this no longer recites poems as he used to, unable to see the joy and meaning in doing so after seeing what one man can do to another in the name of war. Without his poetry as a means of expression, Ellwood struggles to express his emotions and the love he feels for Gaunt, leaving us with the heart-wrenching lines ‘some long-dead poet must have written the lines with which to answer, but Ellwood no longer knew them.’ (Winn 342).

And yet it is the words of Shakespeare, a long-dead poet, which Ellwood utilises to convey the sincerity and weight of his emotion to Gaunt when he feels a simple ‘I love you’ would not suffice. Frustrated with his own inability, Ellwood evokes the words of Cordelia, Lear’s daughter, so that Gaunt knows it is not a lack of love which prevents him from speaking.

‘Ellwood grimaced and shook his head, clearly frustrated. “No, Henry, I,” he said, “I – I cannot heave my heart into my mouth.” Gaunt stared at him. Ellwood looked just as shocked as he was. “Shakespeare,” said Ellwood. “King Lear.”’ (Winn 375)

‘Can it be that Cordelia’s emotion silences her at a moment when it is vital that she should speak?... Can it be that the quality and weight of her love drives her to understatement and to brusqueness?’ (Morris 141). Ivor Morris’s reasoning for Cordelia’s words ring true not just for the context of King Lear, but also for the final pages of In Memoriam. Much like Cordelia, it is not a lack of love which leaves Ellwood speechless, but an abundance of it. Throughout his adolescence, Ellwood finds solace and comfort in Shakespeare’s sonnets, quoting his words to convey his emotion when his own will not suffice. Following the tragedies the war has brought the pair and the world alike, Ellwood turns from these romantic poems to a tragic play in order to suitably express this shift in his feelings. Witnessing the horrors of war has changed him fundamentally as a person, and yet the works of Shakespeare, alongside his unwavering love for Gaunt, remain a constant in his life.

Works Cited

Mahony, Patrick. “Shakespeare’s Sonnet Number 20: Its Symbolic Gestalt.” American Imago, vol. 36, no. 1, 1979, pp. 69-79.

Morris, Ivor. “Cordelia and Lear.” Shakespeare Quarterly, vol. 8, no. 2, 1957, pp. 141-158.

Shakespeare, William. “Sonnet 20: A woman’s face, with Nature’s own hand painted.” The Sonnets and A Lover’s Complaint, Penguin Classics, 2009, p. 22.

Winn, Alice. In Memoriam. Penguin Books, 2023.

[the-once-ler-in-superjail]

CHAPTER 36: The Asylum - Part 2

Finally here, sorry this one took so long, we both got really busy this time but it's here!

Lineart/cleanup, flats & writing- @wiggybe

Layout/roughs, shading/lighting & writing- @self-made-madman

(TW: Mental illness/health/asylums.)

PART2

Once-ler: *He holds the Warden in his arms, relieved to have another moment alone with him, knowing that they're going to get out of here and that people are following his orders. At least he can have his glasses, they're just glasses, prisoners get to wear their glasses because they're visually impaired, this should be no different. He sniffs and wipes his tears with his hand, whispering.* I love you too. *Kisses the Warden's head and sighs out, hooking his chin over his head and bundling him up in his arms.* You're going to be okay, we- we're going to get you out. *He can't let him down.*

Warden: *His eyes shut, and as he floats in the vague numbness of what's been done to him, he absorbs all of Oncie's love, the feeling of his arms, the scent of his clothes and the way his voice vibrates through his chest. It helps to calm him, more than anything else ever could, but there's an instinctive part of him ready to have it all ripped away.*

Dr. Zazzerzump: *She strides straight into the room and states in a simple, curt voice.* Mr. Once-ler. *She has the air of a headteacher who won't be suffering nonsense, but because she isn't a blustering, loud older man, and hasn't brought the chaos of a crowd with her, she doesn't cause the same flinching reaction in the Warden as everything else. To him, this is just one more thing to trust Oncie to handle for him.*

Once-ler: *Pulls his head back from his boyfriend and looks over to the new doctor walking into the room. He knows this lady to be the woman in charge here. Good, that means he can sort this out properly rather than having to slap drones around. He doesn't get up though; he won't leave Edmund unless it's necessary, and he doesn't care how he looks holding him. If anything it only shows that he means the man no harm and that they do share a relationship.* Hm. *His eyes meet hers and he lets out an acknowledging grunt.* Doctor... *He looks her up and down as for a moment her name escapes him, but he does know all the names in charge of his cities' institutions.* Doctor Zazzerzump. *That's the one. He frowns, glancing around at the other nurses as they follow in behind her as if he's pretending to wonder where the Warden's glasses are, like he's making a point. Two male doctors join also, including Snickberry-Shoo, who all keep their distance.* Thank you. I requested the nurses bring this man’s glasses to me, where are they?

Dr. Zazzerzump: *Her eyes flit to the way the Once-ler is holding the patient only once, to take in the information and judge it. It's inappropriate, maybe, but it is proof that they know each other. Or proof that the patient has been so well-drugged that he doesn't know what's happening. Well, the Once-ler is a sane man, so it's presumably the first one. And yet, policy is policy for a reason.* The patient is in here because he proved to be a danger to himself and others. We can arrange for his glasses to be reconsidered, but he cannot have them back just because you asked... *She searches for a word that isn't rude.* 'nicely'. I will have the administrators put in a request, and he will be re-evaluated for his tendencies.

Warden: *He curls tighter, pushing his bare face against the Once-ler's chest so he doesn't have to see the world without his filter.*

Once-ler: *Feels a spike of adrenaline in his chest when he's refused, the thought of having to wait making his frustration build all over again.* That's not soon enough. Can't you make an exception?! Look at him, he needs them. Even prisoners don't have their own glasses confiscated. What could be so bad about him having his when I can supervise?

Dr. Zazzerzump: They could break - he could break them - and then we have glass shards, sharp wire, and an unpredictable man in the same room. The hospital would be liable if any harm came to either of you, even - *she anticipates the potential solution he might offer* if you were to sign a waiver. I'm afraid your friend must follow the rules like everyone else in the secure wing - no special treatment. But we can have him seen by our resident optician if necessary.

Once-ler: You’re already causing harm to him by treating him like this. *Breathes in a sharp, frustrated breath as he clutches onto Edmund harder. He knew these were the reasons. He doesn't care. Edmund is more dangerous to himself without the glasses. Besides, it’s not like he isn’t already drugged up to his eyeballs, bound in a straight-jacket, and not being watched over by a sensible and powerful man.* Don't you have security cameras here for the same reason? Just keep a closer eye on him for god sake! *He knows that what he's asking is exactly special treatment, but why shouldn't he? Parole exists so that those facing trial can pay to be in a comfortable environment while they wait. He raises an eyebrow.* I'll sign whatever the hell you like, if any harm came to either of us I'd take that responsibility on myself and see to it that no repercussions fall on the hospitals reputation. I can do that. *He tilts his head to the other side, frowning harder.* On the other hand, however, I can't promise the same should my requests be refused. *Hisses as one hand releases Edmund to slip into an inner pocket inside his jacket to fine his cheque book.* Fuck sake, how much do you want for them? *Looks at her like she just personally hurt him* He’s not dangerous, not with me and not right now, look at him. I’ll pay you extra if we could just arrange to have him monitored so that he can have what he really nee-

Dr. Zazzerzump: I cannot be bought, Mr. Once-ler. *As corruptible as the bribe of money can make people, sometimes those with the a more selfish agenda than just greed can be more malicious.* *She doesn’t care for money, she cares for maintaining an old archaic institute that she holds power over. Taking small wins, keeping control over anyone in her immediate vicinity, and insisting on her old fashioned ideals. And it just so happens the vulnerable patients in this place make those objectives a lot easier. She remains totally unmoved, as cold as steel, although she does for a moment feel a skip in her chest at the thought of more money towards their operations here. Still, she will have no preferential treatment for the wealthy or connected, even if the town's founder himself starts writing a check. She doesn’t quite realise that anyone, poor or wealthy, known or noone, would be willing to give up everything in their possession for the people they love. She holds a fundamental belief, a false ‘moral’ virtue about herself, that those of the mentally impaired are a danger to be hidden rather than human beings to be treated, despite having little to no modern research supporting her biases. There is no grey area that could suggest that the pain of others might warrant an empathetic reconsideration of the ���rules’, she just holds onto these old ideas being ‘correct’. It’s as if Thneedville, and the people in it, are a product of a time where mindsets like this were the modern standards.* As I said, we cannot sign our duty of care away.

Warden: *He shifts, yielding as easily as a doe when Oncie's hand releases him to pull out his cheque book, but never stops gripping onto him. It's all going over his head, whoever that voice belongs to. Oncie is fighting a battle above the surface of the water while he sinks down below, and all he can do to avoid going (further) mad with fright is to hold on and make sure he never leaves him by himself. Right now the world is very simple - everything outside of their arms wants to hurt him or worse, abandon him to his own mind. Everything inside their arms is safe and loves him.*

Once-ler: *Sneers at her through his teeth in a low voice.* Ev-ery-thing can be bought. *He lets her speak, and as she does, he removes his thneed from his neck as if he's already made up his mind about something, not needing to hear the rest of it- because one can’t reason with a person who’s already accepted their own world view as fact. One can’t engage debate, even the most civil, with a person who has already made up their mind. The only thing that matters now is protecting his own pack. Something about the way this woman speaks is making it both harder for him to breathe the fire he usually does and at the same time makes him want to burn it all down with even more fury than when he spoke to the previous doctor. It isn't just a bigger dog biting at a smaller yappy dog, it's a fox VS a snake, both fighting for the fallen rabbit, and he's met a snake like this before. Thankfully the two women are nothing alike, but that doesn't stop the vitriolic, rebellious feeling in his gut needing to prove her wrong. He hisses again, almost scoffing at the irony of her words.* Your ‘duty of care’… *He glances to the Warden in sympathy, then back to her with far less.* Why is he so out of his mind?

Dr Zazzerzump: *Adjusts her glasses.* Is that a trick question, Mr Once-ler? All of the patients here are ‘out of their mind’, that’s what this place is for. We haven’t begun analysis or treatment on this particular patient yet, but he’s here for a reason-

Once-ler: That’s not what I meant! *He steams. Treatment of this sort has nothing to do with the rationality of the person involved, they shouldn’t be strapped up, sedated, and left in a cold corner for someone to find them- if someone ever comes to find them- without sympathetic care.* I meant why is he so sedated? Why is he all drugged up out of his mind?

Dr Zazzerzump: He was acting out, Mr Once-ler. a danger to everybody. We sedate all of our patients. It makes them feel better and it makes it easy for us to handle them and treat them. *Of course, she has no understanding of how these patients might truly feel, she’s just trying to come across as caring to hide that all she really cares about is the efficiency of her control here.*

Once-ler: *He almost screams out lout to her; ‘Even when he’s already in a straightjacket?!’ But he doesn’t, it wouldn’t help. He looks down at Edmund who can barely hear this conversation through water, he just knows Oncie is there somewhere and is trying to protect him, but if the man wasn’t here then the confusion would only be making him panic more as he looses an extra layer of stability and understanding.* He’s not comfortable at all, he doesn’t feel better at all, he’s scared. *Maybe he was being a menace, maybe he did deserve to be brought somewhere, but then shouldn’t he have been brought to a jail cell for disorderly conduct? Somewhere he can be held for safety reasons, call someone he knows, speak to a lawyer and at least be reviewed before taken to an asylum? Who authorised that he be brought here? Were they called before the police and just snapped him up to fill one of their patient cells?… He had no idea this sort of conduct was going on here, in his own city. This is old, archaic stuff. For as abstract as Thneedville is, sometimes he does feel that it’s oddly stuck in the 1970’s, as if it’s a product of a mind that’s frame of reference is a world straight out of the late 60’s. Maybe after all of this is over he really should review this place top to bottom officially and write up a report, not just because he’s been personally hurt by it and it’s employees, but because there might be things here he’s not looked at, that could seriously do with reforming.*

Dr Zazzerzump: *Says nothing. She hasn't spared a second glance at Edmund, she's been too busy watching the angry man making his demands and she clearly has no intention of treating these patients like human beings.* If you have no further requirements, I shall leave you two in peace. Visiting hours close at 6.

Once-ler: *Almost hisses at the way she ignores his genuine concerns.* That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?! *He huffs, and in a sweep of his tailcoats, he turns back to the Warden and strides strictly over to him. He glares over his shoulder to the doctor.* I’m not going anywhere, I’m staying here with him.

Dr Zazzerump: *Suddenly spikes. He can’t stay here! That’s an obstacle between herself and the power she holds over everyone in the place.* Visiting hours close at 6 Mr-

Once-ler: I heard you! And I don’t care. If you won’t let me take him out then I have no other option than to stay with him overnight while I make preparations to have him removed.

Dr Zazzerzump: *Sneers* Mr Once-ler if you do not leave, I will have to have you removed by security.

Once-ler: *Turns around and folds his arms.* Who do you think your security is funded by? Who do you think your very institute is funded by? *He squints and tilts his head.* The Thneedville government? *He scoffs at her*. You think your governments have more power than corporations? Where did you hire your security, from the government or from a company?

Dr Zazzerzump: *Remains quiet and clenches her jaw.*

Once-ler: That’s what I thought. *He tilts his head to the door.* Go on, call them, tell them to remove me… If you really think they’ll listen to your orders over mine. *Fine. He’ll play her games of ‘procedure’ and ‘protocol’, she can make this harder for him as much as she wants, that doesn’t mean she’s going to enjoy it.*

Dr Zazzerzump: *Her icy demeanour starting to crack, she tries to hold herself together, keep her composure, refrain from forming shaking fists with her hands at her sides. By the second, the Once-ler is revealing to her what little power she has, despite her doing her best to hold onto it.* Fine. *He hisses under her breath.*

Once-ler: *Turns his back to return to the Warden.* You understand then. Good. I’ll stay here with him for as long as I need. *He won’t leave until Edmund is in his custody, until he can take him out of this dreadful place. Every part of him just wants to drag him our right now, hire his own security, pay theirs off, rip him out of the straight jacket and take him home, but the amount of chaos that that would cause in both the short and long term just isn’t worth the trauma that it’d have on Edmund. For one thing he’d need to leave him to get it all done that fast, and he couldn’t bear to leave him with them- who knows what they would do while he’s unsupervised? The manic of all the action and panic could have a terrible effect on him, while doctors are grabbing at them, large security men are shouting and the Thneedville public are watching him like a spectacle. It’d be cruel to drag him through that. It’d also cause more problems in the long term for them both if if he acted so unofficially. The best thing he can do is be sensible and assertive, plan his escape right by his side, make sure it’s as easy as it can be, and never leave him alone so long as he’s still in here. He’ll need important files and equipment to do it, and that’ll take time to arrange that if he wants to stay with him the whole time, but it can be achieved. Anything can be achieved by the Once-ler. He leans down by his boyfriend and tucks the thneed into Edmund's bound arms across his front so that he can hide his face in it. He leans into his ear.* I'm not going anywhere. *He straightens up and turns to the doctors, standing between them and Edmund and acting as a barrier while looking incredibly tall at his full height and the extra tower of his hat.*

Warden: *He curls up when Oncie gives him the thneed, and the scent of butterfly milk and truffula tufts proves to the animal in the back of his mind that he's still safe. Still, he shivers when he feels Oncie pull away, and buries himself in the fluff, focusing on the gentle way Oncie spoke to him as his sluggish mind tries to hold on to whatever it can through the grey and depressing mire. He doesn't even remember what he did to deserve being locked up in here.*

Once-ler: I didn't get to where I am today, to owning all of your jobs today, under the false idea that 'not everything can be bought'. *His hand forms a fist by his side, the other one pointing a sharp finger.* I've been nice, I’ve played your game, now you're gonna listen to me. This man is leaving this building no later than tomorrow.

Dr Zazzerzump: *Opens her mouth to speak*-

Once-ler *His index finger and thumb pinch together before anyone can interject, as if making a ‘zip it’ gesture.* I don't wanna hear anymore goddamn bullshit recited from ancient documents! You can either make this easier for me or you can make it harder on yourselves, either way I'm getting what I want. I don't care what strings I have to pull, he's leaving tomorrow. You wanna know why? Because if you won't comply, then I can have all of you replaced with people who will by just making three phone calls. So it makes no difference to me other than the fact you're wasting my time!

[The nurses behind the head Dr Zazzersump and take a step back, they straighten up with a spike of adrenaline in their chests, listening to the orders like soldiers. Dr Zazzerzump blinks at him, momentarily surprised and panic setting in at that threat, which quickly turns into cold anger to hide it. She looks around her staff and can feel her own sense of control slowly crumble as the medical teams have their attention stolen away from her by the Once-ler. The man has always been very good at claiming almost anything as his own.]

Once-ler: *Starts to count on his fingers. Without shouting, now sounding more like a very strict, growling army general. Suddenly they all feel like they work for him.* I want his discharge signed. I want his duty of care handed to me. I want his clothes ready. I want him off whatever shit you've been shoving down his throat. I want his goddamn glasses! And I want it all done by 3pm tomorrow because that's how fast it will take me to fuck up your whole system here and make it mine. *If he were an animal, the hackles of his fur would be rising and his teeth would be bearing, the gruffness of his voice growling through with that last word.* Every single one of you is going to be bought because all of these procedures you're following can be bought, so you better not waste any of my goddamn time once I slam that gavel down onto your precious procedures and shove them in my back pocket! *Points a finger towards each of them.* Get it all done by 3pm tomorrow and not a second later, because The Once-ler will not be late.

[The frightened shocked doctors and nurses behind Dr Zazzersump all stare at her with gormless speechlessness. They’re ready to skitter away and do everything he’s asked without question, because, SHIT, they need to get on this fast to have it all ready by tomorrow. Dr Zazzerzump herself is sweating, and every bitter bone in her body wishes she wasn’t. How dare he turn the tables on them and make such unrealistic demands with such a short deadline, they’d have to drop everything to get this done by then.]

Dr. Zazzerzump: *She attempts to straighten up at the same rate that the Once-ler rises, meeting his eyes and paying cold attention but not interrupting him now he’s on a roll. She holds rigid against his threats and swallows, but as she notices her staff becoming more restless at the mention of procedures and paper work, she can’t find a reason to oppose it. What he's asking for is technically reasonable, if unorthodox, so he’s trapped her in a dead end, all her talk of procedures turned back on her, and thrown the threat of a deadline at them all. Thank god that it is reasonable though, in the tightest possible way of tip-toeing around all the orthodox rules, because by this point not even she wants to deal with what wrath he might bring if she refuses him again. At the end of the day, he owns this town more than anyone else, more than she owns this asylum- regrettably.*

Warden: *He hears a man yelling, and like a dreamstate he simultaneously recognises the voice as his Oncie, and expects it to belong to a very different, much more violent man - because that's the man who would normally be in a locked cell like this with him unable to fight back. It’s confusing as his hearts instinct battles his learned neurological instinct. He curls further, clenching his eyes shut even tighter and reminding himself beneath all the numb and rubbery haze that Oncie is protecting him, Oncie will come for him, and that despite the sound of that powerful voice reminding him of things more dangerous, maybe it’s only so powerful because for once it’s actually protecting him. It does sound a lot like his strong Oncie after all. He’s safe.*

Once-ler: *Pulls in a deep breath and grabs the lapels of his jacket, pulling on them to straighten them. Clears his throat.* I will stay with him here overnight, I will keep the button alarm on me should I need to make anymore requests, no-one is to come near him unless it's for very specific medical reasons I'm unqualified to perform. Food, drink, medication, cleaning, anything else will all be handled by myself, and I want him weaned off the medication ASAP. *He raises an eyebrow.* You better hurry up then.

[The nurses scatter like a flock of pigeons, forgetting for a moment that Dr Zazzerzump needed to give an official before they can, but the Once-ler is right, they do need to hurry up if they want it all done on time. They need to turn the place upside down to avoid his wrath if he’s ready to leave tomorrow at 3pm and they’re late for it. How can the man work so fast when there’s only one of him and he can’t leave a cell? They have an entire team of people but they’re the ones frantically panicking for a deadline.)

Dr Zazzerzump: *Behind her, the doctors and nurses have backed off skittishly and darted off to work, trapped between the demands of two different dangerous animals who could both ruin their lives if they make a wrong move, but the bigger one clearly won. After a pause to collect her thoughts, Dr. Zazzerzump clears her throat and raises her hand to them. They’ve already made up their minds who they’re taking orders from now, but she throws out an official instruction, just to maintain a semblance of composure.* *Clears her throat.* Yes!- Mh.. Do as he says. For 3pm tomorrow.

*They scatter out of the door like spilled marbles, leaving the two alone. Then Dr. Zazzerzump continues.*

Dr. Zazzerzump: *Bitterly* The medication is a temporary sedative; it will wear off by morning and I shall make a note that no further doses will be required. There will be a nurse on call to arrange for overnight accommodations. *Grimaces, but tries to maintain professional. The decision has already been made now, all she can do is go along with it and appear as reasonable as she can to avoid receiving that harsh report.* Should you require anything further, the staff will assist you. Is that everything, Mr. Once-ler?

Once-ler: *Finally seems like he might consider withdrawing his claws the moment people start following his orders, especially when the woman confirms it to her staff. The fact that she doesn’t even question his power, influence or ability to have everything done by tomorrow in order to take Edmund out, goes a long way to placating him. He’d have really started ruining lives, he doesn’t care who the head doctor in this place is, if she’d said something like ‘we can’t guarantee, sir, that the changes you claim to make will be completed by then, if at all, and so signing documents and making preparations for rules that aren’t already in place would be a misdirection of time as well as possibly setting us up for illegal- blah blah blah.’ Good thing they all know when they’re in the jaw of the lion.* Yes. You can leave us alone.

*Dr Zazzerzump leaves with a slight twist in her expression, letting out a silent frustrated, but almost relieved that it’s over, sigh of relief. As she and the rest of the staff move away down the corridor and the door swings shut with a heavy thunk, she can be heard issuing clipped commands to everyone else. She tries not to rush too much, because rushing tends to make mistakes, but these things will move quick.*

Once-ler: *When everyone leaves and they’re finally left in private again, he turns back to Edmund, curled up on the floor, and all the anger sighs out of him (at least for now). Drops back down to his knees and leans over him, places his hand on his shoulder.* Edmund…? *His eyebrows knot up.* Edmund it’s me, they’re all gone.

Warden: *He pulls slightly tighter around himself when he feels the pressure of someone's footsteps on the floor beside him. The pressure on his shoulder doesn't make him jump - it can't – but he feels a spike of fear, in automatic self defence he tries to strike like a cornered rat and bite the hand. In reality though, he just manages to turn slowly and gasp. And then Oncie speaks, and he forgets everything except that his knight in shining armour is here.*

Warden: *He cracks open his eyes and looks up at Oncie, his brow creased with worry, desperate to get himself moving enough to talk but unable to force it.* O-okay. *He needs those bright blue eyes so much, but they're so bright he can barely look at them. His pupils visibly shrink against them. He shuts his eyes tight again with distress, hating the grey and how close he is to everything terrible around him.*

*This is so much. The cogs in his brain try to turn, and he thinks that he wants to break the bad feelings with a joke, or a flippant comment - it's not a conscious thought, but it's what the instincts in him tell him to do. He forces himself to speak again, his voice a hushed whisper.* ...I’m s- I'm really... Really scared.

Once-ler: *Sees the way Edmund almost tries to flinch and his eyebrows knot up harder. He can't even protect himself, it's so sad. Then that recognition comes and he swallows, his stomach fluttering with sad little butterflies but fluttering nonetheless.* I- I know, I know you are. *Sighs out and immediately drops down to wrap his arms around him and bundle him up again. He knew he'd get nowhere asking for them to release him from the straight jacket, not if they won’t even let him have his glasses because he's too unpredictable apparently. He was hoping he might be able to fumble with it himself once alone, but as he hugs him and feels around the back of it, he feels the padlocks and realises that not just anyone outside of the wrapped patient himself is free to mess with it. He mentally sighs, but just becomes more kind and gentle in response.* It's okay if you're scared. *His voice becomes thick but he holds himself together.* It's okay, but you don't have to be scared now, because- because I'm here s- so you're safe, and nothing is going to hurt you or scare you anymore. *Cups his hand around the back of his head and pulls him into his shoulder, and plants a long pressed kiss into his head.*

Warden: *His arms shuffle what little they can in an unconscious attempt to reach out and hold onto Oncie, but the best he can do is curl up as close as he can into the hug. Eyes shut, surrounded by his scent, he listens to the words and slowly translates them - he has to wait for each word to pop into meaning like bubbles from the ocean floor. His body relaxes a little bit, unable to protect himself anymore - no powers, no strength, not even his special filter that means nothing is real and nothing really matters. Suddenly everything matters, and it all wants to hurt him. Except Oncie. He's still here, he didn't leave forever. He sniffs, still tearful, and nuzzles into his shoulder and the thneed still tangled up between them. That kiss sends a wave of relief and love through him, and he realises without surprise that he's crying again. He shuffles again against the jacket, not enough to be considered 'a struggle', but miserably testing what it is. In a slightly thicker voice of his own, he asks,* What did I do? *He's obviously in trouble, he obviously did something, because he's in prison. If he wasn't so addled he'd be mad on his own behalf and flailing about it again, but all he can figure right now is that everyone's upset with him except Oncie, and that doesn't feel great.*

Once-ler: *Opens his eyes wide when he's asked what he did wrong, and he doesn't know how to answer. Even if the Warden wasn't sedated and put up a good fight, he'd crack eventually. He might go feral for a bit, but these people are… ‘trained’ to handle a dangerous, damaged psych patient like him. He's the Warden to himself, he's The Once-ler's soulmate to the man holding him, but the reality is that to them he's just another severe case like so many other names on a list and fading faces in the facility rooms. Their treatment of him is completely wrong, but he’s not a stable man, that’s the reality, and right now there's a lot of reality, there isn't a lot of Edmund. A runt might try to put up a good fight with it's teeth and it's ratty snarls, but in the end it'll still drop down under the teeth of a dog bigger and scarier than it, when it’s adrenaline has worn off and it knows it can’t put up a fight, when it's instincts tell it how small it really is and that it should just conserve it's energy and lie down. Edmund, at his heart, is a meek man. The thought of him being lost here, hiding fearfully in the corner of a room away from the dogs that beat the defences out of him, just like his father did, is the worst nightmare he ever could have conjured up.*

Once-ler: *His arms grip around him tighter, tighter than the jacket, and the way he feels him weakly squirm makes his heart break. He pulls back just enough to see his face, hand still cupping the back of his head, so it isn't heavy for Edmund to hold up.* Ohh... *His eyebrows knot.* It was just... *He doesn't even know what to say. He glances down his body and starts to shuffle them so they can rest against the wall in the corner of the room where it's most secluded.* You must be cold, let me help. *He shuffles up into the corner, carrying his boyfriend slowly with him, and takes the thneed back. He lets him rest between his legs against his front while he stretches out the thneed and turns it into a blanket. His heart is pounding and he's trying to swallow down an emotional lump, then he lays the thneed blanket over Edmund and then shuffles out of his own green tailcoat and lays that over him too to create a second, heavier layer to keep the warmth in. Pressed between Oncie's front, then the thneed and Oncie's weighted jacket, he wraps his arms around him and hugs him to his chest.* There. There, that's better.

Warden: *When Oncie cups his face, he looks up into his eyes as best he can and tries to understand what he did. Deep down, beneath all of his delusions, the current sedatives, the self-denial and the fantasies, he knows he's doing bad things. But if he didn't do those bad things, he'd be doing something even worse by letting down the terrible spirit of his father. To be good he has to be a good prison warden, and a good prison warden is vicious, cruel and controlling. But, because he's always been an empathetic baby, he knows that to be vicious, cruel and controlling makes people hate you and makes you a bad person. He can't win. There is no condition where everyone likes him and is pleased with him, so the only conclusion he has ever been able to come to is that he's just an inherently bad human being. But that's okay if he's louder than everyone else, insists to everyone else that he isn’t until he’s *delusional*, and tries to make them happy occasionally by making things fun. That's why he includes the prisoners in his science fairs and vacations and car races – bad, boring wardens wouldn’t do that, right?*

 *His expression breaks, tears filling his eyes as his mouth quivers and devastation spreads across his features. When he was a little boy, the scariest thing in the world was the thought of being abandoned for being bad. Now, here, it feels like reality itself is doing just that - he's been shoved out the way and left behind. He clamps up and tries not to make a sound, in case that's bad too.*

*He's completely pliable as Oncie moves them, trying to help but he can only move his legs and he can't move them much. When they settle, though, and he's covered in layers of warm weight and held all tightly in his protector's arms, reality feels that bit further away and he remembers that he's not been abandoned. Not fully, not by everyone.* *With a little bleat, he nods. It is better. His bare feet push against the cold floor beneath the blankets so that he's pushed against Oncie's front.* *After a moment, he finds the words to say.* Whatever I did... I- I didn't mean to... *That's a lie. But he'd do anything to be kept.*

Once-ler: *Feels his heart break when he sees the tears and tries to catch them with his thumb as he cups his cheek. He hugs him to his front, treasuring him like he's the only teddy-bear his parents have ever been able to afford, and clinging to him like a child hiding from the shadows in a wardrobe. Gasps at his words and whispers.* You didn't- It was an accide- it was a mistake- *He feels distinctly, innocently, devastated and sick to his stomach with guilt and worry, in an almost confused way that a juvenile would. As if he's at fault of doing something so bad to the younger kid living next door, who he often goes out to play with, but it's also his responsibility to take care of. But this time he convinced him to jump into the lake, climb too far up a tree, go too close to a wild animal, and it's his fault now that something terrible happened to him, and he's terrified of being told off by both their mom’s. So he just hides in the woods with him, trying to fix it and not knowing how, and just telling him that he's okay and everything will be fine, but he also feels sick with horror. His voice breaks.* But- but I'm going to fix it- I will! I'll fix it!

*He gasps as tears form in his own eyes and he curls around him. He's letting him down, he can't do anything right, he can't even get him out of this place in a city that be basically owns.* I- I'm so sorry- It's my fault. *His expression breaks down and he pulls him to his front, hooking his head over his shoulder and shaking it with guilt. He's useless. He can't even protect him from his own damn city.* I'm sorry, I'm s- so, so sorry, Edmund. I'm so sorry.

Warden: *He nuzzles against him, drying his tears on Oncie's front and pressing against him for safety until his muscles start to soften - he can't keep the effort up for very long, but he always stays hugged up in his arms. He lets out a soft hiccup when he hears that it was an accident, or a mistake, whatever it was. He can't remember how he ended up here - every memory is fuzzy and indistinct like a dream that fades faster the more he tries to grasp for it - but at least Oncie doesn't blame him. Right now that's the very final thing that matters, like the last star still burning in the sky. Everything else has failed, but Oncie is always there, and he never leaves him.*

*He doesn't quite understand when Oncie says he'll 'fix it'. He doesn't know what there is to fix, because prison is an inevitable force that can't be changed. It's like saying you'll fix a sunset. His eyes crack open again, wet eyelashes fluttering against his boyfriend's neck while his own dears don’t cease.* Hm? *The cogs try to turn again.* W-Why? *His voice is hushed, but it's still his usual loopy, lyrical lisp, with a quiver of sadness.* You're here. *That is the only thing that matters. The only thing.*

Once-ler: *Looks down at him with wet eyelashes too.* Because, well because you're still here too and I think it's my fault you are. *He sniffs and begins wiping the Warden's tears away with his hand, since he can't do it himself.* But- but like I said, I'll fix it. *He makes sure not to talk too quickly, to let the words sink in.* I'm going to take you back home, I'm going to make you feel better. It just- *he hiccups as another tear appears and he wipes it away on his shoulder,* It just won't be right now. But I'm not going anywhere, I'm staying here with you until I can make everything okay again- and then forever after that.

Warden: *He looks up at Oncie with half-lidded eyes, still tight enough in the corners that the middle-aged creases around them are visible, but more relaxed than they have been thus far. He blinks slowly when Oncie wipes his tears away, foggy from the sedatives, believing everything he says because he has no choice but to do so, and trusting him because how could he not? He knows in his heart that nobody should like him enough to be here, but Oncie is because they're in love.*

*His subconscious can't quite believe it when he's told they're going to get out of here, not because he doesn't trust Oncie but because he's never known a reality where a prison wasn't an ultimate and inescapable thing. If he was sober he'd believe him, but he can't right now. However, when he says he'll be with him forever 'after that'... something shifts. To hear that Oncie wants to be with him forever shakes up the foundations he otherwise fully believed in, and the idea that there might be a forever after this suddenly becomes plausible. His eyes widen just a little bit more - even as glassy as they are - and a smile slowly spreads across his face, welling up with hopeful, emotional, grief-stricken tears as raw feeling is able to bleed up through the sedation.* Ye... yeah? *He sounds so hopeful, and with the tone of a soldier wanting someone to keep talking to him as he bleeds out on the battlefield, his chest shuddering with emotional hiccups. Nuzzled up against him, able to feel his heartbeat and bury in his scent, looking up at him and hearing his voice - if he can't have his glasses, he can put a new barrier between himself and the rest of reality.*

Once-ler: *His heart breaks and clutches at the hope in the Warden's voice, seeing him smile makes some ray of hope bloom in him too. Nothing can stop the happiness that the Warden brings to the Once-ler when he smiles, no amount of sedatives or guilt, when the man shows that grin, shows the cute gap in his teeth and has that hope in his eyes, it can’t stop Oncie from smiling back to greet him. As his eyes well up again with painful love at the way the Warden’s overflow, he smiles a little too.* Ye-hes...* He almost sobs out silently, between his quivering, smiling lips. He sniffs, then leans in slowly, gently cups Edmunds cheek to tilt towards him, and presses his lips to his. The kiss lingers in softness, barely any pressure applied but the sentiment still clear. His arms squeeze him tenderly a little bit, and after he pulls away he gazes into his eyes and replies in a low voice.* Yes. I promise.

Warden: *He drinks in Oncie's smile like it's sunlight, fortifying him a little better and feeding that faith that everything is going to be alright. He can't envision what it might look like (which spooks him, because he has a very vivid imagination) but he believes that he'll feel better soon. Like a feedback loop, Oncie's returned smile only makes his bigger too. Then they kiss, and under the sedatives it feels like his stomach has erupted like an underwater volcano, something hot and wild and frantically desperate, dampened by a thick layer of vacuum, but unmistakeably there. It feels like he’s been kissed for the very first time, by the only person he’ll love for the rest of his life. It takes him a second to react before his lips twitch and then he's kissing back too - with a similar light pressure, but still very much a presence. Oncie is here, and Oncie loves him, he’s been saved. They draw back, and he looks up at him with utter trust, wide and glassy-eyed, but believing in him as the most powerful force of nature to exist. His eyes might be foggy, but his smile shines through for him.*

Once-ler: *Pulls away from the kiss and adores the smile on Edmunds face. He desperately needs that belief- because no-one else has ever believed in him. Strokes his thumb over his cheek as he cups his face and he gazes into his eyes, wiping away some more tears for his boyfriend. His eyebrows knot up as he blinks his own away and he sighs out sadly.* My little bunny... *Kisses his forehead again and tilts his head in concern, squinting his own eyes as if trying to stop them from being so bright, because he knows they're bright for the Warden without his glasses.* Do your eyes hurt?

Warden: *The combination of Oncie's gentle handling, the safe weight of the covers and the kind tone of his voice softens the Warden's body until he's a warm, heavy weight against his front. He still squints as he looks up into Oncie's eyes, but he doesn't want to lose him by shutting his own.* *It takes him a moment to translate the question, especially since he's still glowing over the kind and loving pet-name, but then he replies quietly,* Mmhmm... a little. *He doesn't care anymore, though. As long as his world is so small that it's only the two of them, he can survive even if they do ache.* I-it's okay.

Once-ler: *Eyebrows knot up in sympathy.* I can't get your glasses but- *Reaches up above his top hat where his sunglasses rest on his head and takes them, while also removing his hat and placing it down.* You can wear mine if it makes you more comfortable. *He helps him try them on, knowing that they're not yellow lenses so can't make anything warmer, but they are dark and so might helps soothe some of the brightness or overwhelming peripheral vision. The weight of glasses on his face might also just provide something of a placebo effect, who knows?* Does that feel better, or no?

Warden: *He watches with glassy docility as Oncie places the glasses on his face, and as darkness falls over his vision he blinks in curiosity. Then the unseen tension in his shoulders relax and the lines around his eyes soften. That feels much better - even if they still aren't right and don't make him feel like he's in his own little fantasy world, he does at least have the separation and some rest for his weak eyes.*

*He smiles up at him from behind his sunglasses, looking quite the picture in his colourless hospital clothes, restraints, and Oncie's sunglasses.* Much better. *He shuffles against him, unable to inch any closer but just wanting to feel the action of drawing nearer to him anyway.* Thank you... *He thanks him as innocently as a child knowing to be polite, but with all the love they share together.*

Once-ler: *Gently smiles when he sees that it's made him feel somewhat better.* Good~ *Leans down and kisses his forehead.* You're welcome. *His stomach squirms as he feels Edmund shift and for a moment wonders if he's uncomfortable, but then he settles against him.* They suit you. *He says with a quiet chuckle, wanting to ease some tension with a playful compliment.

Warden: *Blinks at Oncie with his own, slightly delirious, giggle. He looks up at him with endless gratitude, even just for the slight attempt at play with the compliment, because any amount of play is a good distraction away from bad feelings for the Warden.*

Once-ler: *He smiles back with depth behind his gaze. His heart then skips a beat as he thinks about saying it again, and maybe hearing it back, although he wouldn't worry if he doesn't because knows now that he's capable of it at least. His arms squeeze around him gently, lovingly and he mumbles by his ear.* I love you.

Warden: *He's so glad he's squeezed back, too. He wants that tangible sense of being as close as possible, so his senses are full with the fact that he's protected - because it's really spooky being unable to do anything to defend himself. When he hears those three words again, his body rises with a deep breath of relief and a rush of giddy - if woozy - happiness. Hearing those words still doesn't feel real, those words never applied to him before this man came along, and on some foggy level he understands that even now in all this bad feeling Oncie still wants him enough to be here and say that. Emotion rises in the back of his throat and for a moment his heart flutters. He loves him too.*

*He wants to say those words back. In the addled and muzzy confusion of the past few hours, he's not sure if he's ever been able to or not, but those are also dangerous words that might mean something very bad happens if he says them out loud. He doesn't want to bring down an axe on Oncie right when they're at their weakest, but at the same time he wants to say it so bad.* I-I... *He swallows, then quickly nods as a lump rises in his throat. Silently, he begs Oncie to understand.*

Once-ler: *His hand rises into the Warden's hair and he strokes his fingers through it. He smiles as he watches him try to reply, and doesn't force him, the fact that he's trying to is proof enough, it always has been. His stomach flutters and he leans down to press his lips against his head. He adds quietly when the Warden stops himself.* I know.

Warden: *He's so relieved to hear that Oncie doesn't need him to say it. If he did, the pressure would be too much, especially right now, and he wouldn't know what to do to make it go away. As it is, rather than struggle with the darkness, he's able to float in his arms, and even though he's far from home and can't move his body and doesn't know what to do, he's still kind of cosy. Even a little bit happy.*

*A few moments ago, he said those words because he wasn't sure if he'd ever see Oncie again, and if Oncie was getting away from him then... he was escaping, so maybe he'd hear them and wouldn't be hurt. That was the thought process, the desperation, that managed to coax those words out of him. As he clings to his soulmate's front as best he can, calmer and more aware that they're both here and both 'in danger', he isn't sure they have that freedom. A big man with an axe might enter at any moment. But somehow he still feels like Oncie might be a bigger man. He tilts his head closer to Oncie's chest and says very quietly, forcing the words forward,* A-are we safe?

Once-ler: *His hand comes round and clutches his head protectively when he feels him tilt towards his chest, and when he asks that question he opens his mouth to reply, but then a quick knock taps against the door and the sound of locks clicking with keys echoes through. His attention flicks to it and his grip tightens around Edmund, not to worry him but to make him aware he's protected. He stares towards the incoming sound like a wolf ready to pounce with sharp eyes, ready to snarl at the threat. But he suddenly remembers to collect himself.*

*The knock isn't so much of a request to enter as it is a warning someone is entering, the kind of half assed knock an aged mother gives on her teenage sons bedroom door before sweeping in to dump a pile of laundry on the bed. It's not so much of a knock and entry as it is two hard taps and the immediate creak of the metal hospital door as it sweeps open and white light floods through. An older, plumper woman enters with a younger nurse by her side. The former has been a carer for forty years, the latter didn't want to come back here alone.*

Older nurse: Evenin' Mr. Once-ler, sorry to disturb, but we've brought the overnight stuff by instruction of Dr. Zazzerzump. *She has bags under her eyes, her voice is nasally and she speaks her words with a slow drawl. She's a chunky, round figure and is the type of old nurse who has changed so many bedpans over the years that nothing disgusts or surprises her anymore. Although some patients occasionally do, including this one, but she's good at brushing it off and getting on with her job.* C'mon Lissie! *She enters further into the room holding a large roll of bedding like a lady Viking shifting a boulder. Lessie, a younger, fairly new nurse shuffles in hesitantly after her with pillows.* Do you want it assem-ba-lin' for you, Sir?

Warden: *Suddenly there's noise and voices and loud rattling, and it hits him all wrong because his brain can't process things properly right now. If he was by himself he'd panic and fear would strike and thrash him at them like a prey animal caught in a net. Flinching at and away from them somewhere between impulsive attempts to snap defensively and simply shriek from fright- or, that's what he'd think he'd be doing. In reality the sedative is too much to let him do anything shake out of fear and try to hiss. But his instincts are different now that there's someone else to take care of him, a bigger predator able to fight for him, and so that panicked, protective aggression doesn't trigger. Instead, he's just terrified and begging for rescue. He yelps at the sudden noise, and instinctively dives further against Oncie as if he were trying to dig himself into the ground. His body can be felt to begin to shake, and his hands tighten under his restraints as he grips onto himself in an automatic attempt to protect his organs. He lets out a small sound of fear and manages to dig his heel into the ground and shove himself as hard as he can into Oncie's arms, trying to hide in him like a deer hiding between the legs of a stag.*

Once-ler: *Is frowning towards the noise, but he blinks at the Warden's sudden rustling and hiding and feels his heart clutch in his chest as the same rate his hands clutch around him. His gaze snaps towards the door, now not so furious because things are more in his control and he has his soulmate back in his arms, but still protective. He assumes it's nurses returning to drop off the overnight accommodations he was promised, but Edmund doesn't have enough comprehension of what's happening to understand that's all this is. He pulls him into his front, hiding his face in his chest as he holds his hand against the back of his head and pulls their makeshift covers up a little more over him. He feels the shaking and hears the sound, and as his stomach clenches he can't help but whisper down to him that he's okay. Then he orders at the women.* No, just drop them down there and go. I'll do them myself.

Warden: *He's tense - really, really tense - as he grits his teeth and tries to block out the fact that reality is once again intruding on his world just when it was starting to arrange itself in a tiny little bubble he could kind of begin to handle. He was okay, for a second when it was just them. But the noise leaves him exposed to the real world again, to people who threaten everything about him. Even them just looking at him means he's not The Warden, which is the only thing his mind can deal with.*

*He's not sure if he'll end up bending his sunglasses with the force he's putting on them as he buries himself in Oncie's front. His arms shove, just once, in a panicked attempt to grab around his boyfriend's waist or flail at oncoming danger, but it's not strong and the jacket prevents anything from really happening. He can hear his breathing squeak, but he does at least calm a little bit when he hears Oncie talk to him. He stops his minute attempts at struggling, though his heart still flutters and he still freezes against him like a rabbit caught in an open field.*

Older Nurse: *Shrugs and drops the things on the floor. Lissie does the same, dropping down the pillows and a bag containing some overnight supplies. She grumbles on her way out barely heard.* A 'thank you' would be nice… Young men these days-

Nurse Lessie: *Nudges the older nurse and points over to the Warden. Whispers to her.* Nurse Julie, is that allowed?

Warden: *He doesn't really follow what they're saying, but he recognises the tones enough to hear when they drop the things on the floor - which makes him jump anyway - and start to leave. He begins to soften, just a little, but then they start talking again and he kicks at the ground beneath the covers and whispers Oncie's name in the smallest voice, begging him to make them go away.*

Once-ler: *He feels the pressure against him and doesn't care if his sunglasses are bent so long as they don't end up hurting the Warden himself. The kicking and the little whisper of his name only makes that anger surge up harder because now he's responding to his soulmates fear and feels anxious to defend his space. He just made a warm nest for him and they're invading it.*

Nurse Julie: *Huffs and looks over with her hand on her hips, adjusting her own glasses when she notices the new ones on the Warden.* Sir, I can't say that won't count as contraband like his own if he's-

Once-ler: *Is currently hooking his chin over the Warden's head and stroking his back with his hand under the coat and thneed. He rolls his eyes and snaps at her, the demand barked and final.* Just get out.

Warden: *Flinches at the sudden loud voice, his common sense even more inhibited with the sedatives and therefore his learned behaviour responds instinctively with a flinch to the shout of the angry man. But a split second later, he recognises the voice as his Oncie, which makes sense because the shout was very close and Oncie is hugging him right now, and that flinch immediately settles because he knows he’s being protected. Oncie is so powerful and has such a presence, he’d recognise that voice of his anywhere, it’s the voice that shows strength and makes demands around Superjail despite everything. Even in the jaws of Superjail, Oncie is still a force to be reckoned with. For some reason, that foggy thought almost makes his throat close up.*

Nurse Julie: *Rolls her eyes and shrugs as she turns and then leads Lessie out of the room.* There, that's your answer. *They close it all back up and leave them in peace.*

The Once-ler: *Once the women are gone, his attention immediately turns back to the man in his arms, even if a part of him is still watching their surroundings so that Edmund knows someone is.* Hey, hey, it's okay, they're gone. *He curls around him and rubs his lips against his head, speaking in a softer voice.* You're safe now.

Warden: *He's shaking like a leaf when the door shuts, eyes clenched shut, and realising beneath everything that he's in a really, really bad place, and that for him to be in this really bad place, something really has gone wrong. A certain existential understanding falls over him, but he doesn't have the processing power to handle it. He's actually in trouble. This is a situation that might not just go away like a sickness or a nightmare, but this might mean his life has really changed permanently. His eyes fly open and he looks up at Oncie like he's desperate to see something other than the terrible world he's landed himself in, and he whispers the word that signals that he wants everything to stop. His white flag, his safe-word, the sign that he wants to be in his bed now, and for the ride to stop so he can get off.* I'm sorry. *His voice is barely audible, but his expression is a mask of anguish. He pants with the appearance of falling into a pain-induced panic.* I'm so sorry.

Once-ler: *The shaking only makes him grip harder, as if it might keep him stable, especially at the way Edmund tries to hug for him but just can't. All he can do is hold him back with more strength, and at the least it keeps him warm so the chill doesn't make the shaking worse. Then he feels him lift his head and so he looks back down to him, and that expression of complete, traumatised surrender breaks his heart so hard that it makes him gasp out loud. Then those words come, and he loses his own. He doesn't know what to say, he feels his tongue go cold with a kind of horrified nausea. He shakes his head, eyes wide with knotted eyebrows as he gazes into his eyes and tries to just understand what he means.*

*Something in his expression, in his eyes, is telling him and he thinks he might just see the existential anguish in them. He just wants it to stop, he knows he's been bad - because he's in a bad place, and that's how he knows it works - but he doesn't quite know or remember what he's done. But he feels it, and he'll just apologise for anything, to anyone, to hope it might make the pain go away, that it might stop the punishment. When has he ever offered that grace to anyone himself? Maybe he doesn't even know it's an option, which makes this even more devastating if it's just a broken last cry for help that he knows is hopeless. Nevertheless, what he begs for is a thing that, in his childhood and world view, has always been nothing but an inconceivable idea that’s as real as the Easter bunny. That thing is mercy.*

*He sighs out a shuddering pained breath and cups his face gently with his hand.* Ohh... Bunny... *He swallows, feeling a small lump in his throat. He can only think of one thing to say, whether or not it's appropriate to come from him. None of this seems personal, none of it seems specific, it's all just highly emotional and much like Edmund will say anything to make the punishment end, Oncie will say whatever he needs to hear to ease him in this moment.* I forgive you. *He pulls him into his shoulder and curls around him, his knees coming up even more to cradle him.* You're forgiven. I can't make the bad things stop right now but I can promise you that you're not in trouble, not with me. You were never in trouble with me. *He kisses the side of his head a few times* And I'm staying here, and as long as I'm here with you, you're in a place where you're not in danger, you're not in trouble and you're not being punished, even if you're upset and hurting.

Warden: *His wide eyes stare up through the sunglasses and lock onto Oncie's, desperate for them. When his hand cups his face, he tilts into it so that his cheek is slightly smushed by his palm, a sliver of his teeth visible between parted lips, and big, terrified eyes filling with tears. When Oncie says those words, for a moment his world stops. His eyes can't pull any wider, but his breath pauses and something settles deep down in him - the little motor that had been driving him to higher and higher panic, telling him that he was in trouble and to run. When he hears that he's forgiven, it starts to very carefully melt down.*

*He's pulled in, and again he tries to hard to hug back but the best he can do is press against him and nuzzle into his warm embrace. His eyes don't shut but they do tighten as tears fall again, and he watches Oncie from the hug like he doesn't dare turn away and find out that he's a figment of a dream. He hears Oncie tell him that he's not in trouble, that he's never been in trouble with Oncie, and that he's going to stay here. That he's not in danger and he's not going to be hurt even though he doesn't feel good. A little bleat splutters out of him as he absorbs those kisses, needing them so badly.*

*'Forgiveness' has never been a word in the Warden's vocabulary. In day-to-day life, sure, he'll forgive a slight. He'll forgive his friends for mistakes and accidents, or deliberately pretend they don't hate him if they do something that hurts, but that's not mercy. Mercy is different. He's never once granted mercy to a prisoner without an ulterior motive. The only other time he ever showed mercy was when he dared to feed that puppy, and they both know what happened after that. Justice and mercy are two sides of the same coin, but he's never flipped his over. His father never flipped it over either - all he's ever known is black-and-white punishment for crimes. Mercy is ‘cheating’, as his Father would think. But he's so scared, and he'd do anything to make the fear go away. He'll cheat if he has to, not realising that he's not 'cheating', but genuinely crying out for help because his mind and sanity are still fighting for a shred of survival and he’s too small and weak to do it himself. His whisper of those words might as well be a scream from a burning building.*

Once-ler: *He doesn't realise that what the Warden’s psychology really reads is him granting him mercy, although that is the truth to what Oncie is offering him. Because as Edmund begs the universe for mercy in his moment of pain, the universe has granted it to him in the form of The Once-ler. Out of everything around him, this is the kind offering, the acceptance of the white flag, the hearing of the safe word and the offer to help cease the pain. That doesn't mean he can change the rest of his situation, but one corner of this situation is merciful. He does consciously know forgiveness however. He knows guilt and he knows how much freedom forgiveness can bring a person, because he knows that he himself would still be in a terrible place had the Lorax not forgiven him for all he'd done.*

Warden: *After a moment, he gives a pitiful nod. With a wet, little laugh he nuzzles his nose into his neck. He's still scared, but as Oncie insists on those promises, the dread begins to lift. He plants a gentle kiss against him.*

The Once-ler: *That lump in his throat grows as he sees the Warden's reaction, but he stays strong, his stomach flutters at the gentle kiss against him and he bundles him up in a little squirm. They couldn't be closer but he still wants him to feel cuddled.* You're safe, Edmund, it's just you and me, and nothing can hurt you when I'm with you. *His voice is low and soft and he kisses his head again.* I love you. *He pulls back just enough to look at him and cup his face, he smiles softly, wiping a tear from his cheek with his thumb.* And in a moment I'm going to wrap us up in that soft blanket, lie us down in the pillows, and we're going to cuddle up together all night. Now that doesn't sound much like punishment, huh?

Warden: *The fear leaves him in layers, each one peeling away or falling to dust, one-by-one as Oncie handles him so tenderly. The existential dread leaves him first, as Oncie promises him that he's not in trouble and reminds him that even if he's uncomfortable, he's not going to be harmed by anyone so long as he's here. Beneath that is an animal tension, ready to spring and try to run or try to defend himself, or cry for help as his instincts prepare for a wolf attack. He's so vulnerable, and he knows it, that he's been flooding himself with adrenaline that's been battling the sedatives in his bloodstream for what must be hours. As he's cuddled up and as Oncie gives him a warm place to curl, as he kisses him and cups his face and says he'll always protect him, that slowly falls away as well.*

*Soon he's left only with the fear at the very bottom of it all, that will probably not go away until they get out of this place. That fear is manageable - it's just an undercurrent of knowledge that he hasn't got his shield and that life is scary and that he's not in Superjail anymore, and that can be carried so long as he's not left by himself. As long as Oncie is handling everything else, he can handle that.*

*It takes him a second for Oncie's words to sink through the fog, but then he nods with a weary, relieved smile, even a little chuckle in his voice.* Mmhmm~ *The smile pushes a final tear down his cheek and over Oncie's thumb, and he blushes ever-so-slightly pink when he's told that he loves him. Soft blankets and a warm bed sound very good right about now.*

Once-ler: *Lets out a soft, loving hum of laughter that's only just audible. His own chest doesn't feel quite as panicked anymore even though he still wants to get Edmund out of here as fast as possible. He's accepted what he can't change and is focusing in what he can control, and now that he can tell his boyfriend's heart rate is calming down, his own is relaxing too and becomes a calm thud against Edmund's front. A hand slides into his hair and he pulls him gently down under his chin and rests his lips against his head as he softly draws his fingertips through his hair in rhythmic circles. He loves him, more than anything in the world, he loves him, so even if Edmund couldn't be released in some ridiculous universe where the Once-ler doesn't get what he wants, he'd stay here in this room with him for an eternity. He whispers.* We'll stay here a moment and then I'll sort the bed out, okay? *He kisses his head, and just so soothe him a little more, he starts to slowly hum a little jingle he once made up about Thneeds and how everybody needs one.*

Warden: *His eyes close as Oncie's hand slides into his hair, his senses still trying to be alert for danger but failing as a sense of comfort, of utter relief, overwhelms him. He curls up under his partner's chin as he's guided, and a few more tears fall down his face - healing tears after a long day fraught with terror, rather than the cry for help they were before. He makes a soft sound that he understands, when Oncie tells him he'll move in a moment to get things sorted, and the softest, most musical little laugh escapes him when he hears that jingle. If he's playing, they really must be okay.*

*The fear fades as his world becomes encapsulated in the Once-ler's arms, and the emotions rush in slowly but surely, like an avalanche of honey. He adores this man. He needs him more than he has ever needed anything else, because he's saving him - not just protecting him like his glasses or his prison. His lips quiver with just how intensely and just how truly those emotions hit, and after a moment he pushes his face into Oncie's neck to whisper words that would normally be so terrifying but right now feel like the only things that matter.* I-I... *His voice is so quiet, not wanting the universe to hear his confession of guilt and weakness, because these words were always treated like that's what they were. But if Oncie has the power to make even mercy exist, then maybe he’s right, maybe his Father was also wrong about those three words. He said them already, in a fit of desperation that he only half-understands, but he says them now like it's a secret he's privileged to keep.* …*He takes a soft, deep breath and pushes himself harder into his arms.* I-I love you...

Once-ler: *He's happily curled around his boyfriend, loving the way he nestles into his neck and starts to calm down. When he starts to speak, he thinks he's about to try and ask or say something else; it's only when he actually says the words that it surprises him.*

*He wasn't expecting to hear the response, but he realises that Edmund finally feels safe enough to say it, because he's here with him. His chest clutches, time slows down again and he feels a lump in his throat that makes emotional, incredulous tears appear in his eyes again. He sniffs and lets out a quiet breath of laughter, grinning from ear to ear. His heart can be felt racing, hammering in his chest with a rush of joy and excitement despite the terrible circumstances they're in. This could be the most happiest he's felt in a long time, despite them both being in the most awful nightmare, all because he adores this man more than life itself and the man has the courage to tell him the same, finally. He sniffs and leans in, nuzzling his nose just under his cheek to gently tilt his face like a kind, larger animal shifting a smaller one.* I love you too, Bunny.

*He meets his lips and they press together, his own parting slightly and softly to linger against his with a few nuzzling smooches, as his arms squeeze around him with the same strength of push that Edmund presses into him. He doesn't overwhelm him, but he does consume his meekness with affection and adoration, surrounding him with his arms and capturing his lips like a flurry of flowers blooming against his skin. He tilts his head into it and lets out a soft sigh as a tear rolls down his cheek. As he pulls away he gazes into the Warden's eyes, the pair of them both tear-filled over their love for each other and he smiles. He grins and whispers* I love you too.

Warden: *It takes a moment, but when Oncie kisses him his lips respond in kind, his heart beating like a fluttering bird in the cage of his ribs, and his cheeks blooming with more colour. They part just a little bit and brush against him, as slow and earnest as a leaf bending for the sun. He bends with the gentle, primal nudge of his face, and dares to crack open his eyes to gaze up at him. The corners of his mouth weakly pull into a broad smile, all the more quavering but all the happier when they're said to him again.*

*He's so happy to hear those words returned, because even though he's certain of their love, he isn't certain about those words, and there's always a chance that they could magically make everything terrible if he's heard to say them out loud. Oncie's voice, however, is bigger than his is, and it's like he drowns out all the threats and dangers that start to clamour for his mind the moment he says the same thing.*

The Once-ler: *The Once-ler closes his eyes and pulls Edmund under his chin again, he begins pressing repeated kisses into his head and around his face, slowly and softly so he's not overwhelmed, but showering him in love still, and holding him like he's the most valuable thing the Once-ler has ever worked so hard to earn. And then, he rests his cheek on his head, safely tucked under his chin, within the warm comfort of his makeshift covers. They rest in the moment, they can face the world again together tomorrow, right now, all that matters is that they’re back together and nothing will pull the Once-ler’s greatest treasure from his greedy, loving hands.*

Warden: *He closes his eyes as he's tucked under Oncie's chin, his whole body melting against him, relying on him entirely to bear his weight. That is, until Oncie starts to push those gentle kisses into his head and face, his drugged senses reading that movement as he would a flurry of kisses if he were at his best. His feet give a very weak and heavy kick of delight as a breathy, lyrical laugh falls from him, delighted at so much fuss and adoration. The Once-ler came back for him, and that’s the only thing that matters. He's loved, and he loves, and even though everything seems to have gone wrong, and even though the whole world seems to hate him right now, and even though the loud, angry, scary voice in his head would disagree, that love is the only thing that matters.*

[detshin]

uhm, how exactly will gosho develop the cousin thing in the manga.

I mean, I wouldn't know, honestly. What goes on in the mind of that man only he knows (and sometimes I doubt even that).

My opinion under the read more...

Personally, I've already stated many times that it's a trope I've liked and headcanoned for a long while now, and it's not like it's COMPLETELY out of the blue. The whole "they look the same" is a big factor, there have been references to them having some sort of "ancestor" in common, the Toichi and Yusaku tease was already there in the childhood case of Shinichi (where Toichi appeared and called Shinichi big bro btw 👀) and there was a time long ago that Gosho said something about it in an interview and that it was going to be talked about.

Anyway, point is, I could see this going in different ways. I would LOVE to see this being explored and dealt with nicely and seriously, but my hopes for that are low. He'll either just have it mentioned and never more explored or talked about (like with akemi and akai), or maybe in the mk manga now to talk about Toichi, I don't know?

Because honestly, I feel like people are getting hung up on the cousins thing and are forgetting about the confirmation of what we all have been fearing and it's that Toichi is indeed alive and both of Kaito's parents suck ass. And what scares me is the possibility of it being comedic or Kaito being okay with it or something when he deserves to have that be explored. He became a criminal because of it! And his parents know and aren't doing ANYTHING!

I've said this before, MK is not as shits and giggles as it seems. Story is pretty darn dark if you think about it. Kaito is one of if not THE most solitary (lonely) character of the dcmk universe. He is not as the fandom tends to represent him sometimes. That's not Kaito. The over the top, flirty, pompous one is Kid. It's a mask. A facade. Kaito is not like that, he is just a teen who is struggling to make real connections with people and who is terrified of being found out as a criminal and cannot for the life of him let people IN because they'll see right through him and whose "dead" dad taught him NOT TO SHOW HIS EMOTIONS.

Kaito NEEDS some support. Jii alone is not enough. His own parents have lied to him his entire life and he's constantly alone, grieving for something that is not real. He has Aoko, but he CAN'T let her in completely for obvious reasons. Hakuba's there, but same thing. And I'm sorry but Akako I don't really think counts either, he actively seems not to really even like her or whatever...

MY POINT IS. If Kaito can get some new family members that could support him... Why refuse it, no? I'm not talking about Yusaku because he's also been keeping him in the dark and all and hasn't really seemed to do anything about it. But Yukiko (yes I'm choosing to believe she's also oblivious to Kaito being put in that situation) and Shinichi? Oh, those two could do wonders for someone like Kaito, in my opinion. Because Yukiko is Yukiko (she was born to be the cool aunt), and Shinichi is... Well... Shinichi. He could understand Kaito and actively show him support and help. They COULD be amazing as family.

Now it's all just a matter of... Does Gosho WANT to go that deep into this? Or is he going to continue to disregard Kaito's suffering and not give him anyone to lean on?

Anyway, cousins Kaito and Shinichi rule!

[osunism]

Daughter of Disgrace

"Is there any place where Heaven's bastard daughters are welcome?"

Rating: Mature to Explicit [for future sexual content and graphic depictions of violence]. Pairing[s]: Satoru + Sundari || Nadja + Sukuna Warning[s]: Smut, graphic depictions of violence, major character death[s], as well as some toxic relationship elements. Spoilers for the manga, so if you only watched the anime, turn back. Sukuna is his own warning but there is cannibalism, abuse, body horror, and mild torture in this fic. Summary: In the aftermath of Satoru Gojo's sealing, Sundari must choose rebellion in order to free him. Lucky for them both, rebellion has always been her preferred modus operandi.

🪧 Be Advised: This is the sequel to Beast of No Nation. It's recommended that you read that fic first to get the context of this one.

𓃰 AO3 || OC Masterpost || Fic Masterpost 𓃰

𓃰 Chapter Seven: Anathema

     For much of his life Satoru knows that destiny’s hand is heavy on his shoulder. It has been so since the moment he opened his eyes, the sea of of his amniotic changes giving way to the miracle of his lineage’s most prized inheritance. He has known that these gifts, bestowed upon him after so long absent from his bloodline, were meant for a greater purpose. It goes beyond merely exorcizing curses. There is a calling in his abilities that as he came into his own as a young man, took shape.

     The Star Plasma Incident, Suguru’s defection and subsequent terrorism.

     Suguru’s death.

     Satoru’s unwillingness to burn his body, not only for the spiritual repercussions, but because it meant setting fire to the only one who had ever loved him and seen him. It had been his only act of cowardice, and the first stage of his rebellion against the higher ups. They had asked him to kill the man he loved. And then they sought to tighten his leash so that he could not become him. The only one who had ever loved him is dead and they expected him to—well, not the only one. Not any longer.

     But fate is not without a sense of irony.

     If anyone had told him six months ago that he would meet and fall in love with Ryōmen Sukuna’s only direct descendant—his daughter—Satoru would have laughed. Loudly. Rudely. Because it was an impossibility so beyond the scope of attainability that even his near-clairvoyant Six Eyes could not see it.

     And yet, here he is, staring at this woman whom history says should not exist. The higher ups want her blood too. They cannot suffer her to live despite her best efforts to prove she is nothing like her father. Satoru’s only thought when he broke free had been to find her. He had known she’d try something bold, but this…

     Sundari stares up at him, her breath still coming in pants, sweat glistening on her skin.

     “Yield.” Satoru’s voice is rough with desire, but solid with authority. Sundari has lost two rounds to him already. But not once has she yielded in their spars. She refuses, staring at him with open defiance in all four of her eyes.

     “Never,” she whispers. “I’ll die first.”

     Satoru can’t deny how hot he finds it when Sundari makes these fierce declarations because he knows her convictions are real. She would rather die than ever yield in battle. His goddess will fight him and anyone else until her body can go no longer. A fearsome creature, a warrior of unyielding and unwavering resolve.

     “You always look so pretty under me,” he whispers instead, and like always, his flirtations take Sundari off-guard. Her brows go up, eyes widening slightly. Suddenly the rise and fall of her chest is slower, more measured, and he feels the slight shiver pass through her body. Before she can respond to him in kind, they hear the chattering of the students. Satoru is off of her in an instant, helping her to her feet as they dust themselves off.

     “I think Hikmat-san’s almost as fast as Gojo-sensei,” Yuji is saying. Maki rolls her eyes. Of course Sundari is nearly as fast as Satoru. She inherited Sukuna’s immense power. Sundari rubs the back of her head, stretching her aching muscles before Satoru gives her a knowing look.

     “Training ground is all yours, kids,” Sundari says as she passes them. “I’m hitting the showers.”

     She and Satoru walk side by side in silence. With the adrenaline and heat dissipated, Sundari becomes aware of the brisk autumn air, shivering. Satoru throws his haori over her shoulders. She smiles up at him, and suddenly they are close, his hand finding hers, lacing their fingers.

     “You’re such a great sparring partner,” he says. “You should spar with Yuta sometime. He could use some of your fast and loose techniques. Help him think outside the box a little.”

     Sundari laughs. “If my mother already trained him then he’s all set. I learned all my dirty tricks from her.”

     Satoru chuckles. “Is that why you kicked up all that dust?”

     Sundari slaps her forehead. “In my defense, I forgot about your freak-vision! That usually works on opponents who just use their eyes to see and not…whatever the fuck your eyes do.”

     Satoru gives her one of his smug grins, and then winks at her with said eyes. Sundari’s cheeks flush with heat and she looks away. Satoru is too pretty for her to look at for too long. Like staring at the sun. Everything about him seems sculpted with terrible beauty and purpose. One would think he’s the asura and not her mother, though Sundari sees the same frightening symmetry in her features, slightly less perfect for want of her father.

     They enter the dorms soon after, and as they make their way to the shower, Sundari wonders about something just as Satoru leans in to nip at her earlobe.

     “Wanna save some water?” He asks. Sundari shoots him an incredulous look.

     “Maybe we should have an emergency meeting in your office,” she says by way of response. “To discuss our upcoming plans.”

     Satoru blinks. “Oooh. You are so right. So, a nice long, hot shower, and then an intense meeting in my office.”

     Sundari stops walking, crossing her arms to stare at him.

     “What?” Satoru asks, grinning. Leering, more like. “I’m just stating the order of the rest of our workday.”

     “Uh huh,” Sundari says. “I’m going to actually shower, and you can—”

     “I’ll be sure to think of you all hot and wet when I’m fucking my fist.”

     “Satoru!”

     He doesn’t give her the opportunity to retaliate, and they retreat to the respective showers, men’s on one side, women’s on the other.

     In the shower, Sundari takes her first true sigh of relaxation. She learned early on from her mother that there is no problem that a long, hot bath or shower won’t lend perspective to, and she’s not been wrong. Sundari lets the steaming water run over her from head to toe and feels all the soreness in her muscles melt into a languid exhaustion that tells her she and Satoru may very well just cuddle on the couch in his office and nap.

     If she is with him, she doesn’t care what they do together.

     After her shower, Sundari checks her phone, finding it annoying that the destruction in Tokyo has led to lack of service or spotty service at best. She doesn’t have anyone she wants to contact, save her mother, and since Sukuna took her, it’s been silent. She wonders if her mother will ever have it in her to do her duty. The longer she shirks it, the more people at risk of falling prey to her father.

     Sundari tries not to hate her mother for her weakness, but in that moment, she understands. If Satoru were in Sukuna’s place, Sundari would at least try to save him before killing him. But somehow, she doesn’t think her father wants to be saved. One might even say it’s impossible.

     Sundari gets dressed, pulling on a pair of loose sweats, a long-sleeved shirt, and piling her braids atop her head. She makes her way to Satoru’s office, finding it empty. He must still be showering. As she waits, it occurs to her she’s never actually been in his office before. She looks around, brow furrowing. It looks like any other comfortable office, but it feels distinctly lacking in personality. There are no knickknacks on his desk, no corkboard of polaroid photos. There is a distinct lack of a person in this office and Sundari finds herself feeling despondent. She knows he works virtually around the clock, but she has never considered what it costs him.

     She feels a pair of strong arms slip around her waist. She smiles as Satoru rests his chin on her shoulder.

     “Snooping?” He asks in a teasing tone. Sundari huffs out a small laugh.

     “Hardly,” she admits. “There’s very little snooping to be done that you’ve not told me yourself.”

     Satoru plants a gentle kiss on her shoulder, traces his lips along the curve up to her neck, relishing in her shiver and then her body pressing back against him. He holds her tighter.

     “Well, what do you want to know?” He asks. “I’m an open book.”

     Sundari’s hands come up, tracing her fingertips over his knuckles. She finds herself loving his hands. She’s never met anyone as strong as her before, and no one strong enough to consider she deserves protection. She smirks.

     “Did you think about me in the shower?” She asks. Satoru, to his credit, replies without missing a beat.

     “I sure did, that’s why it took me a little longer…” He nuzzles her neck, planting a soft kiss behind her ear. “Plus, you know I like to let you finish first.”

     He delights in the flood of heat in Sundari’s cheeks, and she resists the urge to leap out of the nearest window.

     They decide to lay on the plush couch together. Sundari rests on her back, and he lays on top of her as if she is the coziest person he’s ever felt, wrapping his arms around her to rest his head on her chest. Without thinking, her hands come up, threading her fingers through his soft hair, stroking his scalp. Satoru lets out a soft groan of pleasure. Since being touched again, he’s always on her. He can’t get enough of the contact. He hasn’t felt this safe with someone since—

     “Satoru?” Sundari’s voice is soft.

     “Mmn?” Satoru mumbles from between her breasts. Two galactic eyes peer up at her, bleary with oncoming sleep.

     “Never mind,” she whispers with a soft smile, stroking his brow with an unhurried thumb. “Go to sleep.”

     He blinks, slowly. Sundari massages his temples, and his eyes slip closed as the sun sinks behind the hills and trees. Eventually, Sundari’s eyes close too, and at some point, sleep slips around her and takes her into the dreamless dark. Satoru’s weight is a comfort to her, one she is loath to give up, but she has her Divine Vow to consider. Melancholy wears her brain to exhaustion, and she slips deeper into sleep, willing her mind to be silent.

     Satoru wakes up, first.

     The sleep he’s gotten is perhaps the best he’s gotten in over a decade. It is a rare moment of true respite, where he does not feel the prickling need to be constantly aware. For a handful of hours, he is allowed to simply rest. After all, he is in the arms of his goddess. His goddess, whom he stands to lose if he doesn’t figure out how to break a Divine Vow.

     First, he must deal with Sukuna, then he can deal with the gods. One world-altering crisis at a time.

     Slowly, Satoru gets up, and watches as Sundari’s lower eyes open to slits. He gets off her, and then she closes her eyes and continues to sleep. She doesn’t question his motives, and they’ve coexisted enough to learn how to speak without words. Instead, he kneels next to her, pressing a firm kiss to her forehead. For a moment, his expression is pensive, but there is a soft bend to his smile, a dimness to the usual lambency to his gaze, and even a slight slump in his shoulders. He knows he shouldn’t allow himself a moment like this, not when there’s so much to be done. But he has no choice, and even if Sundari won’t let him save her the way she’s saved him, he can at least try.

     Fighting her father seems like a great first step. But there’s other loose ends he must now see to, and he gently brushes a stray curl from her face. A tiny eye narrows at him.

     “Spit it out, Satoru,” she grumbles. Satoru will never get over how cute she is when she’s grouchy. He smiles.

     “There’s something I have to take care of,” he says. “It shouldn’t take long but I don’t want to worry you.”

     Four eyes sharpen and focus on him as Sundari shifts to sit up. She is frighteningly intuitive, can tell there’s something worming around the gray matter of his regenerating brain that he is struggling with. She holds his gaze, fearless and demanding, a goddess demanding answers from her equal. Satoru feels a momentary stab of guilt in his belly. He told her he considered her his equal, and that he wanted her to share in this future he envisioned. It had been a rare moment of vulnerability for him, giving a solid foundation to something that for a few years, had been a source of fear.

     He’s only ever shared his vision for the future with Suguru, and that love is lost to him.

     He doesn’t want to lose another; he didn’t think he’d ever find connection like that again.

     “Satoru!” Sundari reaches up, cups his face, brings him back to himself and the present with his name alone, and those four garnet eyes turning to liquid crimson, soft and concerned. He reaches up to grasp her wrists, rubbing circles with his thumbs in a tender gesture to soothe her. She takes a slow exhale, relaxing. Since rediscovering his love of being touched, Satoru never wants to go a day without touching her, hugging his loved ones, or feeling another living thing against him again.

     “I’m going to Jujutsu Headquarters,” he says quietly; so quiet the soft, velvet shadows around them could steal the words away. Sundari is quiet, and he can see her connecting the constellations in her mind, cross-referencing conversations with her knowledge of Japan’s stringent and conservative jujutsu society. Her main eyes flutter, sooty lashes making them stand out as her pupils shrink and expand. Her lower set of eyes narrow and he knows he’s seeing Sundari when she has decided on a very permanent course of action.

     “I’m coming with you,” she says at last. Something in Satoru’s heart breaks and heals at the same time. In this moment, Sundari reminds her of Yuta. That devotion, that unwavering loyalty, that iron will and determination. Where Yuta gives the appearance of a fragile bloom reinforced by a shocking amount of steel in his soul, Sundari is an unassailable fortress, guarding a generous and loving heart, and a soul that burns as brightly as his own.

     Somewhere between them, where infinity always exists, there’s a balance of their natures. The ruined edges of his soul where Suguru had torn himself away feel like they are struggling to reach toward something.

     Her.

     “Are you sure?” He asks. “Once we go there’s no going back.”

     Sundari does not waver. “I’m sure.”

     In the end, Satoru realizes there’s no need for subterfuge. The higher ups summon him as soon as they receive word of his unsealing. How fortuitous for them that the culprit of what they declared a grievous crime, has decided to accompany him to this summons. They likely think that they have the two betwixt hammer and anvil. Sundari shares a smile with the darkness of the long corridor when she thinks on how wrong they are.

     They come to stand before a large, ornate door. Satoru’s breath has never been steadier, his heartbeat never more consistent.

     “I didn’t want my students to see this,” he says softly, and Sundari looks up at him, her lower eyes trained on the door. She doesn’t reach for his hand, but there is a feeling of warmth that passes between them. The business they are about is ugly, bloody work. There will be time for anything else much later.

     “Are you ready?” He asks, and Sundari knows he’s asking himself as much as her. She turns all four of her eyes toward the door. Without another word, Satoru pushes them open, and they step into the darkness, the doors shutting behind them.

     Sundari doesn’t know what she expected from the inner sanctum of jujutsu society’s most powerful patriarchs, because patriarchs they are. She can immediately see that all the assembled higher-ups are men, hiding behind their rice paper screens in a paltry attempt to be intimidatingly mysterious. She has half a mind to open her domain here and kill them all, but Satoru has a way of doing things.

     “You understand the position you’re in, Gojo Satoru?” A gruff and iron voice says from the velvety darkness as Satoru stands at the center. Sundari doesn’t budge.

     “I understand the position you’ve put me in,” he says. “Regardless, that’s not going to stop what’s coming.”

     “And you brought the abomination here with you!” Another voice, Sundari’s lower eyes cut to her right. She can make out the silhouette of the stooped old bastard behind the illuminated screen.

     “You were tasked with the explicit instructions to gather Sukuna’s Fingers and carry out Itadori Yuji’s execution. You have done neither, and as a result Sukuna caused incalculable destruction and all but collapsed the Japanese government in a state of panic! You no longer have the protections of jujutsu society. You are anathema.”

     Sundari lets out a quiet and derisive snort, rolling her eyes. She wishes they’d get to the good part, already.

     “She’s not an abomination,” Satoru says. “She’s a powerful ally. And for the record: that’s not why I’m here.”

     There is a beat of confused silence. Sundari allows herself a slow, excited grin. Ah, finally.

     It happens so fast she almost forgets to savor it. These old, conservative men. These men who have dared to collar Satoru and want her to bow her head to their yoke as well. She is not one to take pride in her father’s blood, but he is the King of Curses, and she is his daughter, there is no shackle she will accept from anyone, not even the man she’s fallen in love with.

     These men, who have driven so many sorcerers to ruin, come apart like wet tissue paper beneath her hands and his. He wears his infinity like a raincoat, the blood spray never touching him. She wears the blood like war paint, reveling in the slaughter of the people who thought they would ever be able to kill her or Satoru.

     Satoru moves like a deadly crack of a whip, so fast she almost can’t see it. He’s strong enough that his punches crater sternums, much like hers. Bedlam carols into the flickering lantern-light of the room; and Sundari almost wants to sing as she kills, dragging a gasping and gurgling old sorcerer through his screen, fingers digging into his throat until the skin bursts and she forces her way past tough muscle, her fingertips scraping the blood and lymph-slick bones, which she crushes to fragments in her preternatural grip, leaving the body limp and lifeless as she moves away. She is a deadly brushstroke across their lives, and when she’s done, her arms weltering in the blood and gore up to her elbows, blood splattered across her face, she lets herself laugh. In this moment, she is exactly like her father.

     They leave in silence, Satoru and his blood-splattered goddess, and though her hand is covered in blood, he takes it in his, lacing their fingers with a tight squeeze. He pulls her into his arms wordlessly, and they vanish as dawn begins to color the sky.

▶• ılıılıılıılıılıılı. “Good & Plenty” by Alex Isley, Masego, Jack Dine

     It’s been some time since either of them have been in his apartment, but it’s easy to break into when your seals keep everyone else out. Sundari smirks as she looks out over Tokyo which, for the most part, is still intact enough that normal life has not been entirely disrupted in some parts. Still, the dawn spilling into the living room reminds her of the first time she and Satoru met earlier in the year.

     “Just like the first time,” Satoru says, remembering as well. “Uh…only with more blood.”

     Sundari lets out a laugh and they retreat to his bedroom, stripping as they go. Satoru opts to run the shower, and they scrub themselves clean, sharing smiles and laughter without words. And then, they run a bath to soak in to finish off. At some point their utilitarian shower becomes a rare moment of self-care. The tub is large and deep enough for both and she settles between his legs easily, leaning back against him with a satisfied groan.

     They don’t talk about it. There’s not much that can be said. The self-proclaimed leaders of jujutsu society declared them an enemy for crimes neither of them committed. They merely responded in kind.

     “Tell me about him,” Satoru murmurs. “You fought your dad in Shibuya, what can I expect?”

     Sundari blinks. That’s what he wants to know about right now? She supposes she can’t blame him, but if he’s asking her, she knows it can only mean that he’s uncertain he can clinch a decisive victory. And the time of their duel is fast-approaching. She doesn’t understand why she feels conflicted about it.

     “My dad’s as powerful as you are,” she says. “And he fights like an actual demon. You’re the more refined martial artist, but my dad knows how to do hairpin turns with his tactics. I don’t think he was trained in jujutsu conventionally.”

     “Seems to run in your family,” Satoru teases and she elbows him as he laughs.

     “It’s not just that…it’s his domain. When he expanded it in Shibuya, it was open…like mine. What’s worse, is it attacks any and everything until he dismisses it. Oh! Aaaand he can shoot a powerful exorcism arrow made of divine flame.”

     Satoru’s brows go up. “Wait? Fire? How?”

     Sundari shrugs. “I don’t know. I think…I think I used to be able to do it too, but I haven’t been able to remember how to summon it. I think he has a binding vow around his.” It’s not like she could have asked him since he was busy fighting Megumi’s shikigami.

     “If you plan to beat him you have to finish him as quickly as possible,” Sundari warns. Satoru makes a small groan. “Satoru, I’m serious. This is…he only ends jujutsu duels one way. I don’t want to see you sustain any more hurt than is necessary to win.”

     Satoru grins. “Aww, Sundari, are you worried about me?”

     Sundari sighs. “Of course I’m worried about you! My father scares the shit out of me. I’ve never seen anyone with such callous disregard not just for human life, but life in general.”

     Satoru frowns, leaning into to nuzzle her neck, pressing comforting kisses on her skin. It’s rare she admits to fear, he’s learned, and so when she does, he listens. Her father frightens her, he knows, because she fears whatever evil is in him, has been passed to her and will manifest beyond her control. It’s something he was working on with her before Shibuya, and he takes her hands in his, reminding her to remain present. She is not Sukuna, just his daughter. What lurks in him does not lurk in her. Sundari’s breaths even out, and she shuts all four of her eyes, calming her mind. She brings his hands to her lips, kissing his fingers and knuckles.

     “He has nothing to lose because he has nothing,” she whispers, and Satoru wonders if it’s possible to pity Sukuna, evil as he is. Sundari doesn’t seem to, though he can’t tell from how soft her voice gets. “But you have everything to lose, Satoru. And that’s what he will seek to kill before he deigns to kill you.”

     Satoru is quiet in the wake of her grave words. Sukuna’s cruelty sounds not unlike a curse, but Sundari sounds like he has wounded her before. Or maybe her mother finally told her about what her father was really like. Either way, he files it away to parse later.

     They leave the bath, toweling dry and retreating to the bedroom where they both slide into bed without so much as a scrap of clothing between them. He kisses her—really kisses her—and her arms comes around him as he slots himself between her legs. For long minutes it is just them kissing, the heat between them building and building. Satoru’s lips travel along her jawline, tugging her earlobe between his teeth, making her whimper.

     It’s nothing like the first time. It’s everything like the first time.

     Sundari’s hands slide up Satoru’s back, relishing the sleek feel of muscles gliding beneath her touch, and Satoru’s lips trail along her throat, sucking marks into her skin. Sundari lets herself sink into the sensation, lets her sense be overtaken by Satoru. Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.

     “Satoru…” She moans, when his mouth finds one of her nipples, having traced the path of of one of her tattoos. He sucks the dusky bud into his mouth, holding it gently between his teeth while running his tongue over it. Sundari bites her lip to stifle a cry. Satoru pulls away from her breast with a wet pop.

     “Don’t…” he says, his voice slightly hoarse. Sundari shivers as she feels his breath on her damp skin. “Be as loud as you want, baby. I wanna hear you…”

     So, she lets him.

     Satoru takes his time, and beneath the skylight, kisses every inch of Sundari’s body, reveling in the scent of her, the hot satin of her skin, how wet she is for him already. He slides a hand between her thighs, keeping his gaze fixed on hers as his fingertips circling her clit, gathering her slick.

     “Don’t tease…” she whispers, and he grins at her.

     “Why not? I like hearing you whine for me…”

     A warning growl, low in her throat. Satoru feels his cock throb in response. He loves when she gets dangerous in bed, the way her fingers curl into the sheets before her mouth drops open in a strangled moan when he dips two long fingers into her. Her eyes roll back—all four of them—and she rolls her hips into his hand, her head tipping backward onto the pillows as the heel of his palm grinds against her clit, his fingers curling upward inside of her.

     “Gnh…fuck, Satoru…” She moans and Satoru strokes her, fingers gliding in and out until the wet squelching of her pussy nearly overpowers everything else. It’s music to his ears, really. His hand is soaked, and she’s about to come, the rhythm of her hips becoming more frantic and desperate.

     His thumb caresses her clit in gentle circles, scissoring his fingers inside of her. Sundari’s orgasm is close, a glittering edge she is desperate to splinter herself upon, but Satoru keeps it just out of reach. He wants her begging, and Sundari knows it. It chafes at her pride to do so, but she’s missed him—missed their intimacy in a way she didn’t realize until he was in her arms again.

     She begs.

     He rewards her, and she comes all over his hand, whining and moaning his name.

     When the waves of her climax begin to recede, Sundari’s gaze is soft and blurred with pleasure. Satoru licks his fingers clean, savoring her taste, before leaning in and pressing a warm, loving kiss to her glistening cunt. Sundari shivers again, biting her lip on a half-moan half-laugh that only seems to encourage Satoru to continue. Kisses become the gentle exploration of his tongue, and suddenly her swollen clit is sucked into his mouth, and she can’t control the pitch and volume of her cries.

     Suddenly she’s spiraling, her vision sparkling as the sensations seem to rise again and again without stopping. She feels as if she will fly apart, or shatter the skylight if he doesn’t—

     “Oh fuck…” she sobs. “Oh god…”

     Satoru opens his mouth, spreading her lips wide to torment her clit through another orgasm. This one feels more abrupt than the last, and her thighs quiver around his head, her slick spilling onto his chin. He pulls away reluctantly, and when he looks at her, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so soft. The violent black lines of her cursed markings do nothing to hide it, and when she comes back to her own skin and bone, she meets his gaze with a grateful sigh.

     Satoru licks his lips.

     “You are so fucking pretty,” he says, caressing her thighs and squeezing them. She smiles almost shyly, and he can see the heat flooding the apples of her cheeks as her gaze slides away from his. It’s always adorable to him how shameless she is during sex, yet he will call her pretty or beautiful and she blushes like a virgin. He wagers she’s never been able to be this vulnerable with anyone. He’s glad it’s him.

     Satoru leans down, and Sundari welcomes him, letting him kiss her until her thoughts are nothing but fluff in her head, working her hips desperately when she feels the blunt tip of his cock nudging her slick entrance. Satoru props himself up on his elbows to look at her, brushing sweat-slick curls from her face as he thrusts into her. Sundari moans louder than intended as she savors the delicious stretch of his cock inside her. He’s so fucking big, and he fills her perfectly. Satoru hisses when she squeezes his cock with her lust-slick walls.

     “Do that again and this’ll be a short ride,” he murmurs, and she rewards him with a sultry, simmering laugh that ends in him kissing her as his hips begin to move.

     Sundari thinks perhaps she can do this for the rest of her life. And as she thinks that she remembers her divine vow, a promise she cannot break. For a moment, the pleasure is at war with the sadness that she won’t be able to spend the rest of her life with him, but then Satoru brings her back.

     “Hey,” his voice is gentle, a little winded as he moves inside her. “Hey, baby, look at me. Stay here with me.”

     Sundari nods, biting her lip, her heart too full for words. She keeps her eyes on him, and for the first time since they began seeing one another, they make love.

     It’s different. Sundari knows it’s different because when Satoru buries himself inside of her, she doesn’t feel mindless, and when he withdraws, she surges with him, wrapping her arms and legs around him. This closeness is what he loves and craves, and it only serves to goad him, thrusts smooth and languid, but hard enough that the mattress and bedframe groan in protest.

     When Sundari comes, it’s unexpected. She’s so present, pinned by Satoru’s warm gaze, that she cries out, tightening her hold around him as her walls spasm. Satoru lets out a soft swear, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

     And now they’re fucking.

     At some point the want for each other overpowers the need or closeness and Satoru sits up, grasping Sundari’s ankles to press her legs back. She folds in half easily, and he looks down, biting his lip at the sight of his cock buried in her pretty little cunt. His.

     He fucks her like he wants to impress this upon her, and Sundari finds herself baffled by the fierce possession in his eyes, the grip on her ankles that may as well pass for true shackles as he holds her legs open and back, plundering her for his own pleasure.

     She can’t speak, she can barely breathe, and Satoru thrusts as if his aim is through and not inside. Every impact of skin and against skin is accompanied by the wet, erotic sound of her cunt being split on his cock again and again. The tingle at the base of Satoru’s spine is his first warning, and he fights it because he wants to have as much of her as either of them can garner the strength. Sundari can see him fighting his own climax, and she maneuvers them with gentle coaxing. Satoru allows himself to be put on his back, and his goddess mounts him with ease.

     And gods above she rides him. Satoru throws his head back and lets out what can only be described as a whine and a howl as Sundari bounces on his cock, marking him as hers as much as she is his.

     It’s everything like the first time; it’s nothing like the first time.

     Satoru lets himself come once, and then shifts them again, putting Sundari on her hands and knees before forcing her into an obscene arch. He grips her hips, pulling her back against his cock in a punishing and brutal pace that sees her supine, fingers curling into the tangled sheets in a white-knuckled grip, her voice begging and pleading, chanting his name like a mantra.

     “Want me to come inside you, baby?” He demands as he turns her over, forcing her into a mating press, which she welcomes with a truly whorish moan that Satoru is going to think about until the day he dies. She’s babbling, now, even as he attempts to fuck an impression of their bodies into the mattress. Satoru makes her come again, stroking her clit and that tender little plane inside her pussy all at once.

     “Yesyesyes…!” Sundari whines, her breath coming in staccato gasps, eyelids fluttering.

     “You’d look so fucking good full of my come, tell me.”

     Sundari tells him, moaning and whining about how much she wants him to fill her up, wants him to put a goddamn baby in her, and something in Satoru’s mind snaps. All at once the tension in the base of his spine, the tightness in his balls, releases as his thrusts become ragged and desperate, emptying his come inside of her, burying himself deep with a harsh groan.

     Sundari leans up, licks a stripe along Satoru’s throat, tasting his sweat as he releases her legs which fall uselessly around his hips. He lays down on top of her, meeting her lips in tired, sloppy kisses before he buries his face in the crook of her neck, kissing the soft, sweaty skin there.

     “I love you, Sundari,” he mumbles into her skin. “Fuck. Don’t leave me, baby. I just found you.”

     Sundari feels her heart constrict. She can’t even tell him she won’t leave. They both know how this ends. She holds him tighter, stroking his damp hair, blinking away tears.

     “I love you, Satoru,” she whispers, pressing a kiss to his temple. It’s all she can do, for now.

     They sleep for most of the day, reveling in the last few stolen moments they can get away with before they rise to dress. Satoru watches Sundari grab her cursed tools from the ancient trunk her mother gave her. One of the weapons is a long trishula, a faded cloth tied around the base of the trident-like blade. Satoru’s eyes go wide at the sight of the weapon, the cursed energy distinctly powerful. He notes that the inside of the trunk is covered in sealing sutras, ancient and weathered, and written in Sanskrit. It’s why he couldn’t see how powerful Sundari’s arsenal was before. But that trishula…

     “Sundari,” he says as she dresses, and she looks back at him, holding the weapon in her hands, looking at once like a woman out of her own time and something otherworldly. What’s it like, he wonders, being half-celestial in origin? “Is that…?”

     “Hiten?” Sundari finishes with a smile. “Nah, mom said she could never figure out how to steal dad’s cursed tools. This is Lalita, named for the goddess who ironically, I was named after.”

     Satoru’s confusion makes her giggle. “It’s a lot. Come on, we’re burning daylight, we heading back to the school?”

     Satoru allows himself his characteristic grin and Sundari tries not to be worried about it.

     “Nah, we are making a stop in Kyoto,” he says and it’s Sundari’s turn to look puzzled. Satoru closes the distance between them and holds her close.

     “Ready to meet my parents?”

˚⊱🪷⊰˚ Masterpost || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter ⤳

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[pupmkincake2000]

Some thoughts.

Okay, Halsin, what the hell?

When I was playing Gale origin, I didn't know what lines to choose so I pushed any friendly dialogue button I saw so it felt okay when Halsin offered me to be his lover. Everything I had to do was to refuse his offer. This time (playing Astarion origin) I was extremely careful and didn't choose a single line that could trigger such a dialogur, even friendship ones. I did not ask him about his past (lovers) or whether he has potential partners, I only talked about helping to save Thaniel, but Halsin still offers me a polyamorous relationship and sex! Hinting that he went to Baldur's Gate with us because of... us, right after a fight with Ketheric. With Gale it felt normal because, again, I didn't know what lines to pick. But with Astarion it feels at least strange.

I mean, why? I didn't cross the line when talking to him this time. When I played Gale origin, I wasn't sure what lines would trigger his proposal, but now I've carefully avoided anything undesirable and yet he still offers me sex! God, I do love this bear, he is the walking embodiment of everything I could love in a man, both his appearance and personality is a masterpiece, except for polyamory, because it is not my cup of tea, not in this case at least, but now it is his behavior that makes me feel disapointed in him. And what infuriates me most is the confidence with which he says I also feel attracted to him, although - again! - I carefully avoided any potentially dangerous lines that could trigger his confession. What's going on with this character? So to be just friendly with him is enough to get these scenes?

Since my Astarion is in a relationship with Gale, I decided to look at his (Gale's ) reaction if he was offered such an open relationship. I decided to try different lines and it really made me smile that Gale’s first thought about adding a third person to the relationship was a child.

Also, as I thought, Gale is monogamous in a relationship and is not ready to share. I like that he speaks openly about it and to some extent even with anger that he does not agree to this, in fact, that’s why I like him.

And it was really painful to choose a line about breaking up, even if it was just to see his reaction. I never want to see that pain on his face again. This only lasts a few moments, but his disappointment in love, in the very concept of relationships, is very palpable.

I think that after such a “betrayal” he wouldn't soon decide to open his heart to someone or would not dare at all. I think that's why I like him so much. And that's why I like their relationship with Astarion. Gale is ready to give his all for someone he loves, and Astarion (at least this is very much in his character after so many years of hardship and suffering) will tightly hold on to what he considers his.

Of course, Gale can be persuaded to have sex with the drow twins (I checked this too), but I consider this a flaw on the part of the developers. You may not agree with me, but I think it isn't in his character.

Because a person who so vehemently argued that two lovers should be dedicated only to each other would hardly agree to such a thing. Same story with Astarion. People say he agrees to have sex with the twins once he's completely free of Cazador, but the narrator's words make it abundantly clear that he's still not into it: "his mind is miles away."

And the fact that Gale has to be persuaded… his first reactions tell a lot. This is clearly not in his character too. I would never believe that a person who kicks the cat out of the bedroom while changing clothes would easily agree to such a thing.

Most likely, the opportunity to persuade him to do something like this is necessary for the variability of the game, no more. In addition, Gale leaves his copy in a room that just watches this makingout, he takes no part in it. People might assume, of course, that he shouldn't/cannot have sex because of the orb, but there was nothing stopping him from sleeping with Astarion before they reached Baldur's Gate. However, it seems strange to me that after this he does not break up with Astarion/Tav/whoever or at least discusses the thing. It’s probably still a flaw on the part of the developers, because Gale doesn’t react to the situation at all. And this despite the fact that he only recently screamed about how he categorically does not accept such things.

Therefore, I believe that in order not to mislead people, the developers need to stick to the character's personality as they were intended. If a character is meant to be monogamous, then why do they need lines that suit polyamorous characters only? I understand that the game is variable, but this is not about the plot, but about the characters, whose personality has already been developed and established.

Just saying.

[avelera]

Some slightly more coherent thoughts about Spider-Man: Across the Spider-Verse (ATSV) now that I've had a little time to process and long to return to the theater to see it again and again and again:

1 ) Go see it. Holy shit, go see it. Re-watch Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (ITSV) before you go if you have the chance but you don't have to, they recap it well enough and I promise anyway, the first thing you're gonna do when you get home after is turn ITSV on and then scream a bunch because it is all so tightly connected from the very beginning.

2 ) ITSV is a masterpiece. ATSV is more of a masterpiece in the same way that 11 is bigger than 10. They took everything in ITSV, which is a perfect 10/10 and made it 11/10 for this film. I shit you not. It cannot be otherwise expressed with words. Everything is just bigger, faster, bolder, more.

Ok, now getting into some of the more spoiler-y thoughts:

3 ) Loved me those themes of connection and loneliness. When you go back to ITSV, you see it's right there from the start. All of the version of Spider-Man are lonely. They are tired. They're isolated and unsupported and they are all suffering. Miles makes their lives better. They make Miles' life better. This becomes such a huge, huge theme in ATSV as Miles literally breaks the canon, he is the ultimate fix-it fanfic character, every Spider-Man he interacts with gets some element of their tragic backstory fixed. Peter B. reunites with MJ and has a child that brings joy back into his life. Gwen gets a friend again. Pavitr doesn't have to watch his girlfriend's father die. They are no longer doomed by the narrative.

4) Another post commented on how tired Peni looks when we finally see her, but she's not the only one. All of the Spider-People in the Spider-Verse look tired and it is, in fact I'd argue, Miguel's fault. He appealed to their sense of martyrdom to put together an organization that helps people and saves the world(s). BUT he made "maintaining the canon" an aspect of this (a wonderful meta commentary on Miles himself, btw, and all the comic book nerds who want to rehash the same story over and over instead of transforming it into something new and hopeful). Because they had all suffered so much, it followed logically for all the Spider-People that all of their parallel universe selves must also suffer.

This is the crab bucket mentality. Miguel dragged all the Spider-People into the crab bucket with him. He taught them learned helplessness. They're all tired and worn down because they have to keep reliving their own trauma by standing by and making sure these awful things that happened to them continue to happen, over and over. It's the mirror too for any marginalized community where the past generation believes the next one must suffer as they did. But it's exhausting for them to see the misery and do nothing. That's why they're all so tired. It makes sense to them that to be Spider-People, the next generation must suffer as they did but they are also, all of them, heroes and so it wears them down to watch this happen over and over. Miles brings back their energy and joy and their hope by refusing to be doomed by the narrative.

It's wonderful fanfic but it's also fantastic storytelling and it works on so many layers of the story, Doylist and Watsonian, all the way down.

5 ) THIS is a tightly knit story. Every. Single. Element. Ties back to the central story, the central themes. Every line either reveals plot, character, setting, or themes. It is so, so tight as a writer I was gaping. In necessary, if brief, moments of exposition they make sure to keep the screen busy and moving. There's no time for boredom. It is literally so fast that even as someone with ADHD I was sometimes overwhelmed as much as riveted. The few scenes that slowed down to simply fast movie pace felt achingly slow as a result and I bet you they were maybe 30 seconds long.

6 ) I AM. SO HYPED. FOR THE ENDING AND THE SEQUEL IT SETS UP? The perfect dark mirror story, not rushed but simply introduced so we can see that the final boss for Miles is himself. Unless they subvert that expectation, which they might! But it is so ominous to see Prowler Miles, it makes so much sense, it is perfect and deep and rich. Literally every time you think, "Maybe they'll rehash old material?" they don't they just keep introducing cool new characters and concepts and themes it's mindblowing.

7 ) They never leave you with one thread. Miles is going to face himself and fight to save his dad from the Spot and fight Miguel, presumably, in the next one. No single line only does one thing. No frame does one thing. And yet everything ties back to the core story of Miles and the Spider-People both on the Watsonian and Doylist level. I want to study every frame under a microscope. It's insane.

8 ) THE ART IT'S JUST. I'm not an artist so I'll leave it at this but THE ART.

9 ) I love Pavitr and Hobie. So much. I gasped when we saw Pavitr's world.

10 ) The Spot's animation was insane just insane and I think he's foreshadowed in the ITSV and it blew my mind on the re-watch.

I need to see it again. I could talk about any single element for hours. But I just can't stop thinking about the mastery embodied in this film. I know a sequel to a superhero movie that's animated will never win Best Picture but I do not exaggerate when I say that in itself might be an indictment of Best Picture. This film deserves Best Picture. It is the best movie I've seen in an unfathomably long time including ITSV.

[feyhunter78]

Thank you so much lovely! My Gil Galad story is that yn is Erlronds sister, so like her brother she’s half human, and for that she suffers a bit from other elves. Gil Galad has been in love with her from the moment he laid his eyes on her and wants nothing more than to love and cherish her. But she doesn’t think she’s worth it of the King, until he proves her wrong. What do you think?

Of course!!!! This was a great prompt, and I had such a good time writing it!!!

The High-King's Love

You know it’s foolish. You’ve told yourself a million times, and others have chastened you as well for your lofty feelings, but you cannot rid yourself of your love for Gil-Galad any more than you stem the flow of blood from your heart. So, you suffer in silence, knowing that you will never be worthy of him, never be accepted as High-Queen.

How could you be? You are half-mortal, too human for the elves and too elvish for the humans. Your younger brother, Elrond, urges you not to think in such a way, to confess your feelings for Gil-galad and see if he returns them.

The High-King has never married, never been seen with a lover, so reason stands that you may have a chance. But you’re too afraid to take the shot. To pull back the drawstring and let your arrow fly, hoping desperately that it will hit its mark and not fly off into the weeds.

So, you ignore the man, flee conversations with him, hide in your chambers when he calls upon you, and take your meals in solitude. This is partially due to your own fear, and partially in order to cease the cruel whispers.

The others of the court had begun to turn on you, speaking harshly of you behind your back. Whispering that you would attempt to seduce the king with your scandalous half-mortal ways, or that your diluted blood would taint his own pure and royal bloodline and put an end to the great Elven kings.

But it is the rumors of your inadequacy that sting the most. That you cannot cook, or clean, that you have no skill in weaving or battle. That your singing voice is a frog’s croak, your dancing like that of a lumbering bear. All untrue, and you know that in your heart. But when Gil-galad goes out of his way to help you through the steps of a newer dance, or calls for a servant to clean the spilled wine, you feel as if he thinks you a failure as well.

You’re walking in the garden, attempting to get some fresh air and quiet your mind before bed, when you hear them. Lady Aria and Lord Arannis, a married pair who have taken a particular dislike to you and your brother.

“I hear the High-King has called upon her many times, and she refuses to appear.” Lady Aria said, a disbelieving tone to her voice.

“You think that is bad, my love? I was told that he wished to replant all the flowers outside her quarters to be those of her favorite flower.”

“She surely has enthralled him with some strand of mortal lust, a pity her kind is allowed to roam free.”

You bit your lip to muffle your sob, and stumbled backwards, tears blurring your vision as you fled in the opposite direction of their cruel words.

And as luck would have it, you ran right into Gil-galad.

He catches you, his warm hands on your shoulders, his eyes filled with concern. “Lady y/n, what ails you?”

The dam breaks, and you tell him everything, the cruel words, the whispers, your feelings of inadequacy, and most importantly your affections for him. It all comes tumbling out as you sob into his robe.

He cups your face gently, raising your head, your eyes forced to meet his, and he kisses you. It’s soft and sweet and fills you with a steady warmth that dries your tears.

“I love you, y/n, I have longed to speak those words, but have held myself back in fear you would not return them.” He admitted, his forehead resting against yours.

“But I am not fit to be your queen, our people will never accept me.” You whispered, knowing you should pull away but finding yourself unable to.

“Why do you think such things? Because those who are jealous, whisper them in the dark? Leave their darkened hearts in the shadows and join me. Step forward into the light, y/n, I wish for no queen but you.”

You wanted to believe him, truly you were believing him. His calm and steady voice, rich and deep, vibrating through your bones, calming your worrying heart.

His hands gripped yours, and he brought them to his lips. “I will put an end to their words, whether you accept my plea to rule by my side or not. Even if you reject me, it still wounds my heart to see you suffer.”

“You love me?” You asked, looking up at him nervously.

“Yes, you are intelligent and beautiful, kind, and charming. You care for our people even when they are cruel to you, and you have been a loyal heart. I could ask for no better queen.” His words are full of sincerity, and you feel a surge of bravery.

Going up on your toes, you press your lips to his. “I will marry you; I will be your queen.”

He smiles into the kiss and brushes his lips across your forehead before offering you, his arm.

You take it hesitantly, and he leads you back down the path.

“Lady Aria, Lord Arannis, good evening.” He calls to them.

They look surprised to see you on the High-King’s arm but make no comment, simply greeting you both.

“It seems you two will be the first to hear our good tidings.”

“Good tidings, my king?” Lord Arannis asks.

“We are to be married; Lady y/n has finally accepted my proposal.” He smiles down at you.

You smile shyly up at him, biting back a laugh at the shocked looks on the pair’s faces.

“That is—well…very exciting, my king.” Lady Aria stutters, taking her husband’s arm and beginning to pull him away. “We shall spread the good tidings to all we see.”

“Please do. I shall make an official announcement on the morrow.” He calls after the retreating pair.

You giggle and lean into him, “That will certainly change the tide of whispers.”

He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer.

 You sigh in relief, feeling content, nuzzled into your soon-to-be husband’s side.

Tag list: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @elronds-pointy-ears, @elrondscalaquendi, @dilf-superiority, @jesticace

[calypso707]

Did you get a request? It's an one shot for Astarion to react to gn crush who would always help him if they can but always refuse to repayed in any way whether it's money or anything else. Thanks!

For this request, I decided to simply make a part 2 of my OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin (pt 1). I thought it was a good fit for this idea! Enjoy! ♥

OS - Astarion x Gn druid reader : On your skin (Pt 2).

You and your companions had been at Baldur's Gate for a few days now. You'd never really enjoyed life in the city, and certainly not here, where you could feel the poison spreading through the ground and into every living creature around you. Trees were dying, wild animals were fleeing, birds were silent.

During a seemingly routine patrol along the banks of the Chionthar River, you were ambushed by some disciples of Bhaal, the Lord of Murder. They outnumbered your group and seemed more dangerous every time. Since the death of Ketheric Thorm, Orin the Red had been tracking you like a predator watching and playing with its prey. The disciples under her command would do anything to spill your blood. Just as one of Bhaal's assassins dashed towards Astarion, dagger raised, you lifted your arm to imprison him with vines that you conjured up from the ground with your magic.

"Astarion, look out!" you cried.

You couldn't see if the enemy had managed to hit Astarion, for your attention was immediately diverted by another one who threw himself at you. You barely had time to drop ice spikes on him, which pierced his body from all sides, his knife merely grazing your cheek. As his lifeless body collapsed heavily at your feet, you looked towards Astarion, who had just thrust his blade into the heart of the man you had imprisoned earlier in your vines. Karlach and Lae'zel slaughtered the last ones who resisted them. Silence fell around you, it was finally over. You drew a breath and made the climbing plants disappear with a wave of your hand.

"'Is everyone alright?" you asked, wiping the blood from your cheek.

"Affirmative, soldier," Karlach replied.

"Tsk. Orin's tracking us like wild fowl, I cannot wait to give her a taste of my blade." added Lae'zel.

"Let's get back to camp" you announced.

Astarion seemed far too quiet for you. You still had enough strength left to open a portal leading directly to camp. Lae'zel and Karlach stepped through, soon followed by Astarion and you. A step through and you found yourself facing the campfire in the center of the old barn. Your eyes hovered over your three companions standing beside you. Karlach had a few scratches but didn't seem to be suffering, Lae'zel had superficial wounds that still merited some treatment, and Astarion seemed to be fine - well, he seemed elsewhere.

You thanked Halsin and Shadowheart, who had come to treat the wounded. You chose to treat your wounds alone with your own ointments and elixirs. As you headed for your tent, footsteps behind you made you turn around. It was Astarion.

"Are you wounded?" you asked, worried.

"Well.. Yes," he sighed, pouting.

"Why didn't you say something?"

"For nothing in the world would I miss an opportunity to be healed by my favorite druid." he grinned, winking.

You sighed at his words. Despite his smile, you noticed his discomfort, you tried to examine him carefully and found the source of his pain, a cut on the inside of his arm. The blood dripping from it blended in with the dark fabric of his outfit. You let him into your tent, your little sanctuary had become very familiar to him. This time, however, he didn't sit, he stood. You approached him and started undoing the buttons on his jacket, then on the shirt underneath. You could feel his gaze scrutinizing your every move, but you remained focused. You were imperturbable, especially when it came to treating wounds. You slid your hands under the fabric and against his skin, the contrast of his icy skin against yours always surprised you. You slid the garment as gently as possible.

"This is getting ridiculous,' finally said Astarion.

"What's that?" you asked without understanding and without taking your eyes off his wound. The blade had ripped his skin, but if care was taken, it would heal properly.

"This. You keep helping me, at the risk of getting yourself hurt. This is ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous, the situation was under control," you replied. It wasn't totally true, though; you'd just been lucky and had a good reflex.

You grabbed a wooden bowl containing a mixture of weavemoss and mugwort bundle that would stop the bleeding. Your touch and the coolness of the mixture made him shiver, its effect was immediate, the blood stopped. You wrapped the wound in a clean bandage then you finally looked at him. His scarlet eyes never left your face.

"Your compulsive kindness sickens me," continued Astarion. "I am forever in your debt, and I do not know how to repay it. Tell me what you want. Tell me what to do."

You kept staring at him, completely stunned by his words, and you bit the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from smiling. For him, pure altruism didn't exist. Life was just a succession of exchanges or debts that absolutely had to be repaid. You wanted him to see beyond that.

"I don't want anything in return, Astarion. Why is it so hard for you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you?" you replied. "I simply don't want to lose you"

Astarion seemed genuinely troubled by your words. You'd never been false to him. You cared about this vampire spawn. You'd shared many moments together, but the ones you preferred, apart from the nights spent by his side, were when you treated his scars or healed his wounds. These were intimate moments, that you cherished because they allowed you to discover his vulnerability. The same vulnerability you were seeing at that very moment. He allowed himself to emerge from the darkness of his past that threatened to envelop him to stand in the light beside you.

"It is even more annoying." he sighed. He moved his hand over your cheek, sliding his thumb over the dried blood that had drained from your cut. "But I rather like that idea, that you care about me."

.。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜・。..。・゜

i'm not totally satisfied with what I've written but thank you for reading it, feel free to check out my other writings on Astarion! ♥︎♥︎

Astarion x gn reader : On your skin (pt 1)

Astarion x gn reader : A thousand thanks

Astarion x gn reader : No place for love

Fic : Astarion x Fem! bard Tav : Fruit of the Poisonned Tree