#no hate upon me it's a good solid choice

[coolattas]

thinking about lucretia adventurezone and grinding my teeth down to the gums because holy fuck dude. holy shit. she was impossibly, horribly young on the starblaster. three hops and a jump from being a fucking baby. the two-sunned planet is devoured by the hunger in the same year that she graduates from high school. she is easily the youngest of the birds, even considering the differing rates of aging amongst the rest of the crew. teenaged astrophysicist, wizard, author, artist, without ties solid enough back home to keep her from the starblaster's maiden voyage. she writes and rewrites every moment she can wring from her memories into enough notebooks that it's damn near arthritis-inducing to step within 50 feet of the stacks upon stacks of field notes, of detailed accounts and gentle, domestic benignity. she loves and she loses and it still can't ever prepare her for the next decade. a century dwarfs the time she spends alone running the bureau, but the sheer magnitude of her loss is incomparable. lucretia learns to live in the stolen century, learns to rely on others, learns to trust and care and laugh and build, create, sacrifice, indulge. she pries these things away from herself in the name of a greater good, to what she believes to be their only hope. she sees the agony they're in, and she inadvertently compounds that anguish when she tries to fix it. she is 18 and 118 when she feeds fisher her journals. she is 30 and 130 and 50 and 150 when taako holds a staff to her chest and counts down like it means anything to her anymore that she dies. maybe it's atonement, but even that sounds far too holy a word to describe it. her brother grips her life in his hands, and she thinks it's only fair that he is the one to soundly smother it at last. the lonely journal-keeper is so young and so impossibly old and she is so, so tired. her family will outlive her by centuries. she will be a fine powder, dust beneath the crust of the planet, long before she believes their forgiveness will ever be known. if that day comes at all. everything she has ever done is soured by a guilt so weighty that she spends every day trying to play damage control with the havoc she feels solely responsible for having wrought. she lives within the confines of dichotomy, of red and blue and good and bad, even when she knows she's lying through her teeth, because its easier to live with herself (it's not) when she justifies it, when everyone else lives and dies by the idea that she got it right. she spends 12 years alone, sitting in the thick of her own grief. she mourns men who are right in front of her face. she sees the way they have changed, so fundamentally, sees the ways her choices have ruined them. 12 years is such a long time to be alone. 12 fucking years. she ages 32 in the same span, shedding decades in wonderland in the blink of an eye, and she knows she's running out of time. she's willing to give up whatever she has left, without question. lucretia loves so fiercely and so unquestionably and still she believes herself to be irredeemably cruel when really she was just so scared, tethered to any sense of hope only by the idea that she was doing right by her family. in a position that no one should have to be in, a situation that virtually no one else could truly understand. she was so young and she suffered so, so much. more than any person should. she is flawed but she is not the monster she convinces herself she has become. lucretia adventurezone they could never make me hate you lets kiss on the mouth ok?

[akazuki7]

Talk To Me

Gojo Satoru x Therapy

Contents: satoru being stupid, reader is a therapist, reader is sugurus sister, didn't adress it that much because my hands hurt and I'm lazy, mention of character death, I honestly don't think this is very romantic probably more platonic, I hate this actually for some reason, this is the longest shit I've written in a while

Note: Satoru doesn't know reader is sugurus sister because she has a different last name, and while she was studying at the same school suguru never knew he had an older sister reader knew she has a younger brother but she never approached him or said anything to him what she regrets the most

And do not attack me yall I don't know how therapy works okay? I've never been there even tho some people tell me I should go to therapy

"Suguru geto is dead."

Your hand froze, the pen you were holding punched a jagged hole through the paper, which became surrounded by a spreading pool of ink. You stared blankly at the damaged sheet, the room falling silent around you in a suffocating hush.

Your gaze slowly met the somber expression of the man seated across from you. "Why are you telling me this, Principal Yaga?" you asked, your voice laced with a veneer of mournful softness.

The man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "He was your younger brother-"

"No," you interjected firmly, cutting him off. "I do not know such a man, so please do not speak of him to me here." The harshness in your tone was palpable as you released your grip on the pen, crumpling the ruined paper into an uneven ball and tossing it into the nearby wastebasket.

"You were always a terrible liar, you know," Yaga remarked, reaching a hand out to gently wipe the tears that had carved burning paths down your cheeks. "I would have believed you if your eyes weren't betraying so much grief."

"I'm not crying because of him," you protested desperately, though your futile attempts to stem the flow of tears proved fruitless.

"Child..." Yaga murmured, pulling you from your seat and enveloping you in a comforting embrace. You clung to him tightly, burying your face into the reassuring solidity of his chest as you surrendered to your sorrowful outpouring.

After some time, you finally managed to regain your composure. Yaga handed you a stack of files, and your eyes immediately fell upon a photograph of a white-haired man.

"There is someone I need you to help," the dark-haired man began. "Satoru Gojo." You uttered the name of the renowned child prodigy, staring at Yaga with a look of confusion.

"Satoru and Suguru were close friends, with a deep connection to one another..." Yaga trailed off, his expression heavy with concern. "The one who ended up killing Suguru... was Satoru himself. And he is not in a good mental state."

"I know I'm asking a great deal of you, to help the person who took your brother's life, but-"

"I'll help him," you interrupted, offering Yaga a weak, but resolute smile.

The man's eyes widened with surprise, but his gaze remained clouded with worry. "Are you sure you'll be alright?"

You simply nodded in response, steeling your resolve to assist the one who had taken your beloved sibling from you.

___________________________________________

It's absolutely preposterous. No, wait - it's downright hilarious. Satoru Gojo, of all people, being forced into therapy? What a cruel twist of fate. He never wanted this, never needed this. Yet, for some unfathomable reason, he's been strongarmed into it, all thanks to Principal Yaga's meddling.

Surely, this has to be some sort of twisted joke. But alas, he has no choice in the matter. It's either submit to this ludicrous therapy session or risk losing his teaching position - a job he cherishes, as it allows him to continue molding his students, pushing them to heights greater than even his own.

And so, here he sits, in this cozy little room, across from a woman armed with a pad and pen, scrutinizing him through his thick black shades. How is he, a sorcerer tasked with the mastery of curses, supposed to confide in this simple human about the intricacies of his life? She likely doesn't even have the faintest idea what "cursed energy" is, let alone the trials and tribulations he faces on a daily basis.

But he can't ignore the neatly maintained amount of cursed energy emerging from her.

Of course, he has no intention of revealing anything of substance. If he so much as mentions the nature of his work, she'd probably have him committed to a mental institution faster than he can blink.

"So what brings you here today, Mr. Gojo?" the woman asks, her voice dripping with false sweetness, a saccharine smile plastered across her face.

Satoru huffs heavily, the irritation seeping into his tone. "I'm not here by choice. Principal Yaga forced me to come here."

"I know," she responds, and Gojo raises a brow, surprised by her candor. "And I can see that this is your first time here."

"I'm asking you why do you think you're here," the therapist probes, her brows furrowing as Satoru satoru shifts in his seat, crossing his legs defiantly.

"Because I was forced to be here-" he begins, only to be swiftly interrupted.

"Why?" she presses, her tone infuriatingly calm and measured.

Satoru falls silent, staring at her blankly, his irritation palpable. This is supposed to be his time to vent, and yet she keeps interjecting, undermining his attempts at explanation. He already finds her immensely grating.

"Mr. Gojo?" the therapist gingerly tilts her head, awaiting his answer. Satoru sighs heavily, the frustration clear in his voice.

"Because Principal Yaga thinks I'm in desperate need of therapy," he spits through gritted teeth, the mere recollection of that argument making his blood boil.

"What about you? What do you think?" she probes further, her expression maddeningly serene.

"That all of this is stupid. I'm not in need of therapy - I'm perfectly fucking fine," satoru retorts, turning his head away to gaze out the window, where the rain has now begun to fall. He's the strongest sorcerer, for God's sake - he doesn't require aid from anyone.

"You wouldn't be here if you didn't need it," she calmly asserts, and satoru can feel his nails digging into the flesh of his biceps through his clothes, crescent-shaped indentations surely imprinting his skin.

His gaze snaps back to her, a scowl etched upon his features. "The hell you mean?" he spits, his tone dripping with venom. "I just told you I was forced to be here. Why the hell don't you understand that?"

"If you were actually fine, Mr. Gojo, you wouldn't be here," the therapist repeats, her saccharine smile infuriating him to no end.

"Since it's your first time here, I'll explain to you how therapy works-" the therapist begins, only to be swiftly cut off by satoru's acerbic retort.

"I know how it works. I spill my guts out to you, you give me some useless advice, write some bullshit on your pad, diagnose that I'm somehow mentally ill - blah, blah, blah," he interjects mockingly, rolling his eyes with palpable annoyance.

The therapist pauses, staring at him for a moment before chuckling softly. "Therapists aren't actually supposed to give advice, as we know that it won't help our clients in any meaningful way or may even make them feel worse. So we avoid doing that. Rather than giving you advice, we guide you to see how your feelings, thoughts, choices, and actions affect one another. And we teach you about emotions, thoughts, coping skills, facing fears, and more."

Satoru scoffs in return, unimpressed. It doesn't matter to him what her job description entails. How the hell is he supposed to feel comfortable when he's paying a person to listen to him? She doesn't genuinely want to hear his problems (not that he has any, of course). And who knows, she'll probably gossip about the shit he says with her friends.

"Now, how about you start telling me about your day?" she inquires, switching the subject, having likely noticed his lingering irritation. Satoru scoffs, as though that were a mind-numbingly dull question.

"My day? Same as any other day," Satoru shrugs. "What do you want to know? The weather? I took a very interesting dump in the morning? Got myself some food, did whatever the hell teachers do - the usual."

The therapist sighs, seemingly ready to give up on that line of questioning, or perhaps regretting having asked it in the first place. Even so, she jots something down on her pad, and Satoru isn't sure if what he said was actually so worthy of being noted.

"Do you seriously have to take notes? What was so important in my answer to write down?" he questions, his tone mocking.

"Everything you say is important, Mr. Gojo," she replies with a hum.

"Really? Is it really that important that I took a dump this morning?" Satoru laughs derisively. Therapy is a joke, as far as he's concerned.

The therapist looks at him with those eerily calm eyes once more, her irritatingly artificial smile still plastered on her face. "You're a teacher - what did you teach your students today?"

What.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me what subjects I teach?" Satoru looked at her suspiciously, wondering if Yaga had somehow explained to her that he is a sorcerer.

"You're a jujutsu sorcerer. There's no need for me to ask what subjects you teach," she replied calmly.

Satoru leaned in, his elbow resting on his thigh as he held his chin in his palm. "You seem to know a lot about me, doc. Just who are you exactly?" A grin appeared on his face, as he considered the possibility that she might also be a sorcerer like him. Outside of the jujutsu domain, humans don't typically know who Gojo Satoru is.

"I'm your therapist," she simply replied, and his brow twitched slightly. "You know what I'm asking, miss."

"What do you think?" She tilted her head, smiling at him. Of course, she would turn the question back to him - it always has to be about his feelings and thoughts in therapy.

"You are a sorceress," he muttered, no longer doubting the amount of cursed energy he felt in the room. She must be a skilled sorceress, able to maintain her cursed energy at a small, unnoticed level surrounding her.

But why would Principal Yaga assign a sorceress to him? Was this some kind of trick? The woman before him is probably not even a real therapist. Still, he's never heard of her name before - perhaps she's a sorceress from another nation?

"Close. I was a sorceress," she revealed.

Satoru's brow furrowed. Why did she quit? And why did she become a therapist? Just who is she exactly?

"Now, why don't we get back on track?" she inquired, smoothly switching the subject and ending his train of thought.

The rest of the session was simply her attempting to get to know him better, or rather, analyze him. However, satoru did not give her that opportunity. Why should he? Yaga had only instructed him to attend therapy, not that it had to be effective. Honestly, satoru did not particularly care about this endeavor.

Why should he divulge information about himself to someone he barely even knows? Not to mention, she is being paid to listen to him - she is not doing this out of her own volition or good-hearted intentions.

She likely does not truly care about his problems (not that he has any, in his opinion). So why should his feelings and thoughts matter to her? She is merely performing her job, nothing more, nothing less.

Satoru has no intention of pouring his heart out to a complete stranger he knows little about. He understands that therapy is meant to provide him with a safe space to be vulnerable and open about everything. But he does not feel comfortable in this room.

___________________________________________

Satoru sighs, leaning his cheek against his fist as he relaxes in the chair in front of her.

"You worry too much," he says casually. "Why don't we ever talk about your feelings? We only ever talk about me."

Satoru is aware that she only wants the best for him. He simply does not care. He is here because it is mandatory, not because he wants to be. He does not believe he needs therapy, despite her claims otherwise. As his therapist, of course she would tell him he requires this treatment.

It has been a month since their therapy sessions began, and satoru has not been the least bit cooperative. The only aspect he has enjoyed is the freedom to freely criticize the higher-ups without anyone chastising him or telling him it is inappropriate.

She would always listen intently to every word that came out of his mouth, diligently noting things down in her little pad. Honestly, not even his own students gave him the same level of attention that she bestowed upon him. He couldn't help but appreciate the fact that his feelings mattered in this space, that what he said truly held significance. He liked that. And he couldn't deny that he enjoyed her undivided attention on him.

"Because I'm your therapist, and I'm supposed to listen to you. Not the other way around." She sighed softly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "How many times do we have to go through this conversation?" She looked utterly exhausted, and he almost felt a tinge of guilt for making this so difficult for her. Keyword: almost.

He knew that she was simply doing her job. But he didn't care - he would make her tired of him until she gave up on him.

Yet, at the same time, the thought of her giving up on him left a bitter taste in his mouth. He didn't really want that.

He shrugged, smirking. "As many times as you want to," he said, with his ever-present sense of humor. "I can keep dodging questions all day, if you like. I'm perfectly fine just existing in this room while you try to wrangle me into being vulnerable."

"However, I can't say the same about you, doctor." He taunted.

"I am not trying to make you vulnerable, I'm trying to help you understand your feelings and maybe find solutions for your problems, Mr. Gojo," she said calmly, as she crossed her legs and leaned back into her chair.

Satoru rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he said, waving his hand dismissively as he slumped against the back of his chair. "Help me understand my problems. Solve them. Figure out why I am the way I am. Heard it all before."

He knew he had to be here, in therapy, every week. However, that didn't mean he had to be vulnerable or cooperate with all this touchy-feely stuff. He simply didn't like that kind of thing.

"What makes you the happiest, Mr. Gojo?" She began asking him again. Seriously, how many questions did she prepare for him every time? He couldn't deny that he didn't dislike the fact that she worked so hard, just for him.

Hm.

It was a question he had genuinely considered. What made him the happiest?

"Fighting," he said after a pause. He gave a casual shrug. "I enjoy fights. They're fun. And when they get hard, it makes me want to try even harder. So... I guess that's what makes me the happiest - winning a difficult fight."

"The rush of adrenaline makes me feel... I don't know, excited? You know," he muttered, finding it somewhat challenging to articulate.

She scribbled some more notes in her pad. "Is there any fight that made you especially happy?" she then asked, her gaze shifting back to him from her pad.

"Mhm," he hummed, a small smirk forming on his face. This was a fun question for him. "Well... there was the time I got to fight a special grade," he said, the smile widening as he recalled the memory. "And that time I beat Toji. That's a really good memory."

"I would've died. But he didn't use a cursed tool, and didn't cut my head off," he chuckled, as if it were something to be happy about. "You should've seen the look on his face when he saw me, the one he supposedly killed, still alive and kicking."

"But I can't say I'm not grateful to him. Because I got to finally learn how reverse cursed technique works," he said with a wide grin on his face, and she followed suit by taking more notes in her pad.

He noticed her actions and stared at her with an exaggerated eyebrow raise. "Go ahead, make your notes about me being a sadist and liking to inflict pain or something. Then go back and analyze it with all your other therapist friends."

"I already said this before, whatever happens in this room will stay in this room, Mr. Gojo," she replied. "So be not afraid to spill anything to me."

"Yeah, yeah," he smirked, amused.

"What's my diagnosis, doc?" He tilted his head, staring at her as she lifted her head up from her pad to meet his gaze. "I'm a very bad person, don't you think? I love the pain I inflict on curses, I love the way they fear me, the fear in their eyes makes me feel so fucking excited," he laughed loudly.

"And when their blood taints my skin and clothes, it's such a disgusting texture yet it makes me want to be covered more with their blood. It feels so fucking amazing," he stared at her, awaiting a visible reaction, but he was met with nothing but an empty smile and empty eyes.

He hates this. He hates her. She's just an empty shell.

"You're just as crazy as I am, doc. Aren't ya?"

___________________________________________

But before she could say anything, the session had already ended, and Satoru was quick on his feet to get out of there.

Satoru rolls his eyes at her words and sighs. He leans back into the chair and spreads his legs, getting comfortable.

"This is such a pain," he mutters. "Do we really have to talk today? There's nothing to discuss. I'm peachy keen."

"Mr. Gojo, I need you to be a little more cooperative," she uttered gently.

"Do you, now?" Satoru's tone was dry, like sandpaper, his expression unchanging. He tilted his head slightly to the side. He could tell she was running out of patience, but that didn't stop him from being intentionally difficult. In fact, it made it more fun for him. "Yes, it's for your own good."

Satoru chuckles a little bit. "Aaaand here's the old 'it's for your own good' trope again, huh?" He shook his head, feigning mock disappointment. "I thought we were done with that by now, honestly."

"I do think that you really need this," she said seriously. "Look, Mr. Gojo, you might show your playful and cheerful side to everyone around you, but that is only a way to make them feel safe around you. I don't know what it's like to be the strongest, but I know that it can get pretty lonely standing on your own on top."

"You make it sound like I'm unhappy or something," he replied, shaking his head again. "Is it really so crazy for you to think that I'm perfectly fine being by myself? That I prefer being alone?" A small smile appeared on his face again. "I'm not lonely, doctor. I get more attention than I want, actually."

"That's not it," she sighed, shaking her head. "I know you have friends, you're a pretty talkative person and also a person who's approachable." She gave him a small smile. "Still, being surrounded by people doesn't mean that you feel the warmth of comfort. You keep them around you but still hold a certain distance between you and them that you never let them cross. You never let people get too close to you, which is a problem because you're isolating yourself from the world even if you think you're doing the opposite."

His small smile faded, and he rolled his eyes as he began to look agitated. He sat up, leaning forward towards her, his elbows on his knees. "What's with the armchair psychology? Where are you even getting all of this? You don't know me. You can't just assume these kinds of things based on just a few therapy sessions."

"I'm sorry if this is making you uncomfortable, and please do correct me if I'm wrong. But there are a lot of people who feel lonely even while being surrounded by people," she sighed.

"Regrettably, I struggle to forge meaningful connections with others," he murmured, running his fingers through his hair. "They fail to comprehend me. They do not know the true me. They would be unable to accept me as I truly am, so I ceased exerting the effort. I stopped attempting to force something that was simply never going to materialize. Therefore, I shall keep everyone at a distance, for that is what they deserve. I do not grapple with the kinds of issues you presume I do, so desist in your efforts to analyze me."

She replied softly, "They are unaware of your authentic self because that is the outcome you desire, Mr. Gojo. If you are unwilling to be truthful about your personality and emotions with another individual, can you genuinely call that a connection? A relationship? It is all constructed upon walls of deception, intended to keep them at bay."

Satoru's response was tinged with bitterness. "So you are asserting that the fault lies with me for people's rejection, correct?" He leaned forward, his arms crossed defensively over his knees. A sardonic smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "I have made attempts to be honest with others. I have exerted the effort before, yet all I ever received in return was judgment and fear. I shall not place myself in that position again."

"The fault does not lie with you that they do not like you. However, the fault lies with you in presenting a false persona to them daily. Allow me to pose a question - from all the individuals surrounding you, can you name a single person who truly knows you?" she inquired.

Satoru's expression darkened at her words, the façade he maintained for others striking a chord. How could she discern this about him? It irritated him, albeit slightly. His gaze hardened with annoyance.

"No," he admitted in defeat. "I am surrounded by those I call friends, yet not a single soul among them truly knows me."

"Why not try opening up to them?" she suggested. "I will not ask you to confide in me, for I understand you do not particularly enjoy conversing with me, and that is perfectly acceptable. However, I am certain that at least one person would be willing to listen. Believe it or not, if they truly care for you, they will accept you with all your vulnerabilities and flaws."

A scoff escaped his lips at her proposal. "I'd rather not," he stated firmly. There was a sense of finality in his tone, and he was resolute in his decision. He had no desire to open up to anyone. That struck him as a waste of time.

"Even were I to open up to someone, there is a zero percent chance they would genuinely accept me for who I am. It is merely wishful thinking on your part, and you know it," he added.

"I would be truly delighted if you felt inclined to open up, Mr. Gojo. I sincerely implore you to believe me when I say I am fully attentive and receptive to whatever you wish to share," she sighed.

"Yeah, yeah..." he responded dismissively.

Satoru maintained his smirk, genuinely impressed by her unwavering conviction. He leaned back in his chair, stroking his chin pensively. "Why are you being so uncharacteristically kind?" he inquired. "Most therapists I've encountered are arrogant, know-it-all types. You, on the other hand, seem far too amiable. I'm not entirely convinced."

His expression suddenly hardened as he leaned forward, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "You're deceiving me," he declared. "You must have some ulterior motive. Therapists do not pose those ostensibly benevolent questions out of pure kindness. You must be attempting to extract something from me - perhaps a salacious story to sell to the press, or you may have a reporter willing to pay handsomely for such information. Or, it could be that you are merely trying to bolster your own image, and I am the unfortunate individual you intend to 'utilize.' Well, let me inform you of something, my dear."

He seized the arms of her chair, pulling it forcefully towards him until their faces were mere inches apart. Satoru could hear the subtle hitch in her breath, a sign of her surprise at his sudden, assertive action. Maintaining unwavering eye contact, he leaned in closer, a smirk playing on his lips.

"You should understand," he whispered, "that I am no stranger to individuals who believe they have me all figured out. So no matter how genuine you may seem, my dear, I am not so easily cracked." With that, he reclined back in his chair, releasing his grip on her seat. "You'll have to try something else."

For a moment, she remained silent, before letting out a soft sigh and offering him a gentle smile. "Thank you for your honesty, Mr. Gojo." Her words, rather than indignant, carried a sense of empathy.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise. He had expected her to refute his accusations, to insist that she harbored no ulterior motives. But instead, she had responded with gratitude for his candor.

He stared at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for her facade of kindness to crumble. Yet, it never did. This woman, it seemed, was genuine in her compassion.

"If you feel uncomfortable in my presence, please do not hesitate to request a different therapist," she suggested, her tone measured and understanding. "I would be more than happy to make the necessary arrangements."

Satoru's expression darkened at her offer. "No," he said, his voice harsher than he had intended. He paused, taking a breath to regain his composure. "No, I want you," he stated firmly. "I'm cooperating, aren't I? If I wanted someone else, I would have requested a change long ago."

Satoru took a deep breath, his expression softening slightly at her gentle suggestion.

"You were more cooperative than before. And I appreciate that," she said, offering him a warm smile.

Satoru blinked in surprise. He had not expected such a genuine acknowledgment of his progress.

"So... what?" he asked, tilting his head as he considered her words. "You're saying you're proud of me?"

"I am. You're doing great," she hummed softly.

To both her and his own surprise, Satoru suddenly burst out laughing – a loud, unrestrained sound that filled the small space as he leaned back in his chair, clutching his stomach in an attempt to catch his breath.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he managed after a moment, taking a deep breath as he looked at her. "That... that just took me by surprise."

"No, please don't apologize," she quickly reassured him. "I must say, this is the most expressive I've seen you in this room." She chuckled lightly.

Satoru couldn't deny the truth in her words. His laughter finally subsiding, he smirked, crossing his arms. "Expressive? I guess if you count 'laughing like a maniac' as being expressive, I can agree."

He paused, a touch of amusement still in his tone. "I guess I'm improving, if I'm entertaining you."

"So, got something else to ask me, doc?" he inquired, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"Tell me, do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?" she asked, her gaze steady and her tone sincere.

Satoru's features twisted into an expression of annoyance at the question. "Of course I know who I am," he retorted, the defensiveness evident in his tone. "What is this, a therapy session?"

"I'm not asking you about the position you've been forced into, and definitely not the personality made up," she said, shaking her head. "I'm asking you – do you really know who you are?"

He let out a dry laugh, the irritation seeping through. "Who I really am? What kind of question is that? Are you seriously going to ask me to define my entire existence right now? Are you expecting me to have some groundbreaking revelation or something? Because I hate to break it to you, doctor, but I'm tired of all this self-reflecting nonsense."

"Tell me the first thing that comes to mind when you think about yourself," she sighed, her patience unwavering.

Satoru tilted his head back with a sigh, closing his eyes. He was doing this not because he genuinely wanted to, but to get her off his back.

After a few moments of contemplation, he responded, "The strongest. I'm unreachable, untouchable."

"If you ask someone else the same question," she trailed off, "what's the first thing that comes to mind when they think of Gojo Satoru? They'll reply with the same thing. But is it really what you want?"

He opened his eyes, looking at her with a furrowed brow. "What I want?" he said, his voice filled with disbelief. "What I want is for you to not ask me weird questions that have no point or answer. I'm perfectly fine with being unreachable and untouchable. That's how I's always been. It's the natural order of things."

"Is strength really what defines you?" she asked. He raised a brow. "What's your point?"

"Do you know who you are?"

"Tell me, will you be Gojo Satoru without your powers?"

This question - it struck a chord within him. He remembers the day Suguru left, and the question that had remained unanswered until now. He had chosen to ignore it, but now it was haunting him once more.

Without his powers? His powers had been such a central focus in his life; he'd never truly considered his life without them. He... didn't even know who he would be. He was Gojo Satoru, the strongest of the strong. Take that away, and who was left?

He couldn't answer that. He simply remained silent, looking down at his hands, his grip tightening on his knees as he felt a sense of defensiveness.

But then, he stopped himself, his grip loosening as he looked at her, still frowning but with slightly less irritation in his expression.

"The therapy session is over," she said softly. "I want you to think about this question and try to find an answer to it."

Satoru let out a sigh of relief. Thank goodness, the session was finally over. Despite being overjoyed that he no longer had to continue, his expression darkened a little, his brow furrowing in thought. He knew he would be thinking about this, whether he wanted to or not. She didn't even have to ask.

He stood up from the chair and left the room without giving her a last glance. He heard her say something about how he should take care of himself.

The drive back to the Gojo Clan's compound was spent in relative silence. Ijichi kept a watchful eye on Satoru, who remained uncharacteristically quiet. His thoughts were consumed by the question posed to him during the therapy session.

As the car pulled up to the gates of the compound, Satoru suddenly spoke. "Ijichi," he said, his voice carrying a hint of uncertainty, "if I weren't the strongest, would I still be Gojo Satoru?"

Ijichi's gaze shifted to Satoru, surprise flickering across his features at the unexpected question.

"Of course," he replied without hesitation. "Your strength is a significant aspect of who you are, but it is not the essence of your identity." He watched Satoru for a moment, noting the expression on his face. "May I ask why you're asking this, Gojo?"

"Just something that I thought about," he said dismissively.

The rest of the evening was spent in a haze of thought for Satoru, tossing and turning in bed as he wrestled with his questions, doubts, and insecurities. They swirled in his mind, keeping him from finding respite. He had never felt so uncertain, so lost before. Who was he without the mantle of the strongest? What did he even have left?

He tried to shake off these thoughts, to push them to the back of his mind, but the questions persisted, gnawing at him like a relentless ache.

Gojo's thoughts returned to the question she had asked, "Do you know who you are?" He couldn't help but scowl at the recollection. He had taken offense to the question then, but now, alone with his thoughts in the quiet of the night, he found himself truly grappling with the magnitude of that question.

Who was he? This question had never posed a challenge before. He had always known who he was - the strongest. That had been his identity for as long as he could remember.

___________________________________________

The days that followed were restless, as her questions flooded his mind at all times - while teaching, on a mission, or at home. Her question occupied his mind constantly.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. There was no point in lying here, unable to sleep. He needed air.

Satoru grabbed his jacket and threw it over his shoulders before quietly making his way out of the room, the floor creaking under his feet in the otherwise silent compound.

As he walked, the echoes of his footsteps reverberating down the hallway, he couldn't shake off the persistent questions that had been plaguing his mind all night.

He reached the entrance of the compound and stepped outside into the cool night air. The stars twinkled above him, a blanket of sparkling lights against the inky sky. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, savoring the quiet and the solitude.

But even in the silence of the night, the questions stayed with him, refusing to give him peace. He found himself facing an identity crisis that gnawed at him like never before.

Satoru walked, the snow crunching beneath every step his feet took. He walked with no destination in mind, hoping that maybe the movement and the fresh air would help clear his mind. Yet, no matter how far he walked, he couldn't escape the questions that haunted him.

Suddenly, the thought struck him - perhaps he needed guidance. But who could he turn to? His mind flitted through the people in his life - Nanamin, Ieiri, Ijichi, but ultimately he dismissed each one. They would never understand what he was going through.

But the thought persisted. He couldn't shake off the idea of her help. She had already managed to get under his skin, planting this seed of doubt that had grown into this existential crisis. Perhaps she was exactly the person he needed right now.

Satoru clenched his fists, silently cursing to himself. He had always prided himself on being in control, but now, here he was, considering seeking help from the very person who had caused his turmoil in the first place.

But it was late at night, would she even help him if he called her right now? Would she help him without getting paid, without being in that stuffy room?

As the dial tone rang through the line, anxiety began to creep into his mind. What if she didn't answer? What if she hung up once she realized it was him? He had never called her outside of their sessions before. Why would she answer now?

After what felt like an eternity, the line clicked open, breaking the silence. Satoru's heart pounded in his chest. She had actually answered.

"Hello? How may I help you?" Her voice was sleepy and confused at the late call.

Satoru hesitated for a moment, the sound of her tired, confused voice sending prickles of guilt through him. Should he really be doing this? But he had already come this far; he couldn't back down now.

"It's me," he finally said, his voice low and a little apologetic. "Gojo Satoru. I - I need help."

"Mr. Gojo?" She was suddenly wide awake, she didn't expect him of all people to call. "Of course, where are you right now?"

"I'm... I'm outside," he replied, a hint of shame in his voice. He didn't know how to explain where he was or what he was doing out so late. "I was walking. But I can't stop thinking about that question you asked me in the session that day. And it's driving me insane. I - I need answers."

"Can you be more specific? I'm on my way— ah, shit!" She cursed as she hit her foot with something she wasn't able to see in the dark, she quickly put on her jacket and her scarf and went downstairs.

Gojo heard the clatter and curse from her end of the line, making him flinch slightly. He felt oddly guilty for waking her and even making her come out at this late hour.

"Be more specific?" he repeated, his irritation seeping into his voice. "Isn't it enough that you threw my whole world off-balance? Now you need more specifics...?" But his tone softened as he mumbled, "I guess it'd be better if you were here."

"No. Where are you right now exactly?" She asked, putting her shoes on and finally going outside as it had begun snowing. She quickly got into her car.

Gojo huffed out a sigh, glancing around to get his bearings, "I'm about three miles north of Jujutsu High."

He was still outside the compound, which meant he had walked a considerable distance in his thoughts. The snowflakes were slowly falling from the sky, each one descending gently to the ground. Gojo stood there, watching them fall, waiting for her to arrive and, hopefully, provide some clarity to his chaotic thoughts.

"Okay, stay where you are. I'll be there in 10 minutes." She said as she started driving. "Tell me how you've been feeling today?"

Satoru rolled his eyes slightly as he heard her questioning. This woman just didn't know when to quit. But he was here for an answer, so he might as well satisfy her with some small talk beforehand.

"I've been feeling lost," he admitted after a moment, his voice tinged with vulnerability. "Like everything I've ever known about myself has been turned upside down." He paused, a hint of resentment in his voice. "All because of what you said during the session."

"I see. It's good that you've thought about it, Mr. Gojo," she muttered softly.

"Is it?" he snapped. "Because right now, I feel like you've thrown my whole world off-balance. And for what? Because you wanted me to 'think about it'?" Satoru let out a bitter chuckle. "You're cruel, you know that? Or perhaps you just find pleasure in messing with my mind."

"A person needs to know themselves before trying to help themselves." She said. "You don't know who you are."

"And whose fault is that?" He muttered under his breath, his frustration growing. "I had this issue before, but I had somehow gotten rid of it. But now that you've planted this seed of doubt again, all I can think about is questioning who I am. It's maddening!"

He let out a bitter chuckle again. "Are you happy now, that I'm having this crisis?"

"Thank you for sharing your feelings." She said, as if trying to comfort him.

"Don't act so sweet, like you actually care about how I feel," he snapped. He was tired, irritated, and at the end of his rope. "You have no idea what this revelation is doing to me. My whole identity was built upon being the strongest. If you take that away, what's left of me? Who am I without that identity?"

She parked near Jujutsu High, getting outside of her car. "I do know what you're feeling right now, believe it or not I was in the same state that you were in." The snow crunched beneath her shoes as she started searching for him.

Satoru scoffed slightly, disbelief clear in his voice. "You know what it's like to have your entire identity shattered like this? Please. As if you could ever understand my struggle. I've dedicated my whole life, my very existence to be the strongest."

He shook his head, his expression a mix of bitterness and desperation. "But now, all I have are questions. Why am I here? Who am I, if not the strongest? It's like a never-ending abyss of uncertainty."

Here is the expanded version of the dialogue with more descriptive language:

She strode towards him, her eyes finally landing on his familiar form. "Turn around," she instructed gently.

Satoru's brow furrowed slightly, confusion etching across his features at her sudden command. After a moment's hesitation, he slowly pivoted to face her, his expression guarded, eyes wary.

"Where's your blindfold?" she asked, her voice tinged with concern.

He blinked, surprised by her question. In the whirlwind of emotions, he had nearly forgotten about the blindfold when he left the compound. But what did his lack of the customary covering have to do with anything?

"I don't have it," he responded slowly, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Why do you ask?"

"I don't want you to have a headache." She spoke softly, aware of his unique situation - the six eyes that made him perceive the world differently, often leading to painful migraines. Reaching up, she untied her own scarf. "Here, put this on."

Satoru stared at her, a mix of surprise and wariness evident in his gaze. He was unaccustomed to anyone showing him such genuine concern. She had already managed to see through his carefully crafted bravado and delve into the depths of his mind, and now she was extending this empathy? It was unsettling.

Still, he hesitated for a moment, torn between his reluctance and the throbbing ache pulsing at his temples. Finally, he reached out and gently took the scarf from her outstretched hand.

Satoru carefully wrapped the soft fabric around his eyes, tying it securely in place. It felt unusual, a stark contrast to his familiar blindfold, yet it offered a surprising sense of relief. The gentle pressure against his eyes was soothing, and the plush material was a comforting contrast to the chill of the night air.

He took a shallow breath, feeling a slight easing of the headache. He couldn't deny the scarf was helping, but it felt peculiar to be seen and cared for in this way.

"I want you to think about the moments in your life that didn't involve your powers," she said gently, her words a gentle nudge.

Satoru's expression darkened slightly at her prompting. His life had always revolved around his abilities, especially after discovering the rarity of his Six Eyes.

But the thought did pose an intriguing question. He had never truly considered the times when he wasn't constantly using or contemplating his powers.

After a moment, he spoke, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. "What if there are no such moments?"

"Right now, right here. You aren't using your powers," she pointed out. "I'm sure there have been many instances in your life where your abilities weren't the primary focus - going out with your students, spending time with friends, studying, taking walks, even just everyday tasks like eating or running errands."

Satoru's frown deepened slightly as her words sank in. She was right. In that very moment, he wasn't relying on his Six Eyes to protect himself or perceive the world around him.

He couldn't deny the existence of those more mundane, seemingly insignificant moments in his life that didn't revolve around his powers. Simple joys like laughing with his students, or the solace he found in the company of his friends - times when his abilities weren't at the forefront of his mind.

"You're human, Mr. Gojo," she said, her tone gentle yet firm. "So, please, don't treat yourself as if you're not. Your power is a part of your identity, but is it really everything about you? That's the question you need to ask yourself."

Satoru's breath caught slightly as her words sank in. He had spent so many years defining himself by his power, by his role as the strongest, that it was difficult to imagine there was anything else to him.

But she was correct. His abilities were a part of him, but they did not encompass his entire existence. He was more than just his powers. He was a jujutsu sorcerer, a teacher, a friend, a human with emotions and a complex inner world.

"Now let me ask you again," she trailed off. "Do you know who you are, Mr. Gojo?"

Satoru exhaled slowly, feeling a sense of clarity wash over him. He understood now what she was trying to convey. His identity was not solely tied to his powers. There was so much more to him than that.

He lifted his head, the scarf over his eyes lifting slightly. His voice was quiet but sure.

"I am Satoru Gojo. Jujutsu sorcerer. Teacher. Friend. Human. And so much more."

"Exactly." She chuckled. "I'm proud of you."

Satoru felt a flicker of something unfamiliar stir within him at her words. He had never heard someone express pride in him, at least not on an emotional level. Usually, it was about his prowess or his accomplishments in battle.

He gave a small snort, trying to downplay how her praise affected him. "You make me sound like a child, Miss Therapist," he muttered, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Oh..sorry, I didn't mean to come across that way," She quickly apologized.

Satoru waved her apology away with a dismissive hand gesture. "No, no. I wasn't offended or anything like that," he reassured her. "It's just..a little surprising, that's all."

He gave a small laugh, shaking his head slightly. "People usually praise me for being the strongest, not for being...human. But it's not a bad feeling, to know that someone is proud of me as a person. So thank you."

"No. Thank you for being truthful with me, Mr. Gojo," She hummed softly.

A small chuckle escaped Gojo's lips, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know, I'm not sure why you're thanking me for doing the bare minimum," he teased. "Being truthful should be expected, shouldn't it?"

"I'm thanking you because I know how difficult it is to be truthful about yourself with someone and to be truthful with yourself," She chuckled.

Satoru's smile widened slightly. Her words carried a sincerity that resonated deeply within him.

"You're right," he agreed, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's not easy. In fact, it's damn near impossible sometimes." He took a deep breath, letting out a small sigh.

"Being honest with yourself, and with others...it requires a certain level of vulnerability and courage, and frankly, I'm not always very good at it."

Here is the response with more detailed and descriptive wording:

"That's perfectly understandable, you are only human and thus not impervious to imperfections. We all have our flaws, fears, and moments of fallibility at times. But that is what makes us distinctly human, what sets us apart from the animal kingdom. We have the capacity to learn and grow from our mistakes, to confront and overcome our fears, and to refine our shortcomings. " She spoke softly, her voice tinged with a gentle empathy. "You should never forget that you are just as human as anyone else—" Her words were suddenly interrupted by a delicate sneeze.

Satoru flinched slightly as the unexpected sound pierced the crisp, cold night air. On some level, he was somewhat relieved that her soothing words had been cut short, as they had started to hit a little too close to home for his comfort.

"Bless you," he murmured, his tone a curious blend of playful teasing and genuine concern. "It seems the frigid weather has gotten the better of you."

"Sorry about that...I'm just not terribly well-suited for cold climates," she admitted, rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to generate warmth.

Satoru couldn't resist the temptation of a mischievous smirk. Here he had been feeling vulnerable and exposed, and now the tables had turned, with her appearing to be the one struggling against the biting chill.

"That's not something one usually hears from someone who was living in the northern regions," he teased, unable to resist the opportunity to poke a bit of fun. "I thought the hardy folk up there were practically immune to the cold."

"Well, you see, I wasn't actually born and raised in these parts, i just lived some years there." she chuckled.

"Ah, I see," satoru nodded, a playful glint sparkling in his eyes. "So you're not a true northerner. That certainly explains a lot."

He paused for a moment, a mischievous thought crossing his mind. "But you'll never truly adapt if you don't embrace the cold," he declared dramatically. "And what better way to do that than by engaging in a good old-fashioned snowball fight?"

Without warning, she hurled a tightly packed snowball directly at him, the frozen projectile striking him with surprising force.

"You should be more careful!" She laughed as she scurried away.

Satoru was momentarily caught off-guard by her sudden attack. He blinked, stunned for a moment, before a wide grin spread across his face.

"Oh, it's on now," he declared, his eyes twinkling with competitive delight.

He swiftly leaned down, scooping up a handful of snow and shaping it into a compact, aerodynamic ball, before launching it towards her with remarkable precision.

"Agh!" She groaned as the snowball hit its mark, but her laughter quickly followed. "Cheater!"

Satoru chuckled, not holding back a hint of smug satisfaction. "Cheat? Perish the thought, my dear," he declared, his tone dripping with feigned innocence. "I'm merely making use of my natural talents."

He quickly formed another snowball, his movements quick and elegant, and with a flick of his wrist, he released it, aiming straight for her. "I am, after all, the reigning champion of snowball warfare," he boasted.

"Hey! Go easy on me!" She laughed again, retaliating with a well-aimed snowball of her own.

"Easy? What is this, a snowball fight for beginners?" Satoru teased, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. He dodged her projectile with effortless grace, his steps light and fleeting like a shadow.

He swiftly countered with his own snowball, a perfect shot that struck its target, causing her to stumble slightly. "Come on, you can do better than that," he taunted, reveling in the adrenaline of their playful conflict.

"No fair!" She whined as she threw another snowball, this time finally hitting him squarely. "Ha!"

Satoru let out a theatrical groan, pretending to be wounded by her snowball. "Oh, the agony," he clutched at his heart dramatically, a grin betraying his amusement. "I've been hit! What a catastrophic defeat this is."

Not one to be outdone, he swiftly retaliated, launching a flurry of snowballs in her direction with deadly accuracy. "You can't stop the king of snowballs!"

She deftly dodged his barrage of snowballs, her movements agile and nimble. "The rightful queen of snowballs will reclaim her throne!" She chuckled as she threw another well-aimed projectile.

Satoru raised an eyebrow at her declaration, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Oh, is that so? The rightful queen of snowballs, you claim to be?"

He evaded her snowball easily, his laughter echoing through the night. "Well, let's see how rightful you truly are!" He retaliated with a series of perfectly aimed snowballs, each one a testament to his skill and precision.

Some snowballs found their mark, but she quickly retreated behind the shelter of a nearby tree, emerging to launch her own volley of icy projectiles in his direction. "You're cheating!" She accused playfully.

Satoru laughed heartily, his eyes glinting with a competitive spark. "Cheating? Or simply better at this than you?" he teased.

He ducked, weaved, and dodged her snowballs with a casual ease that made it appear as though he were dancing rather than engaging in a fierce snowball battle. "Admit it, darling. I'm just naturally gifted at the art of snowy warfare!"

"Nuh uh!" She laughed, her voice filled with playful defiance as the relentless snowball fight continued.

As the intense battle of wits and wintry wonders wore on, their laughter filled the night air, echoing through the trees. Satoru's competitive spirit was fully ignited, and he wasn't holding back. His movements were swift and precise, each snowball hitting its mark with remarkable accuracy.

"Admit it, admit it!" he called out, his voice teeming with playful taunting. "You can't defeat the Snowball King!"

"The queen will reclaim her rightful place!" She said playfully as she suddenly ran up to him and tackled him, sending them both tumbling into the soft, powdery snow. "The king has fallen!" She laughed triumphantly.

Satoru's eyes widened in surprise as he felt himself falling, his balance thrown off by her unexpected attack. He landed on his back with a thump, sinking slightly into the snow, a look of mock indignation on his face.

"Oh, so that's how it's going to be, queen?" he chuckled, his tone filled with playful defiance. "You really think you can take down the king with a sneak attack like that?"

"Yeah!" She laughed as she straddled him, triumphantly launching a handful of snow directly into his face. "Payback!"

Satoru sputtered and spluttered as the cold, powdery snow landed on his face, momentarily obscuring his vision. But the unexpected sensation of her sitting atop him, coupled with the icy touch of the snow, sent a shiver of exhilaration down his spine.

He blinked, his eyes glinting with a mischievous sparkle as he grinned up at her. "Oh, you think that's payback? That won't do. I have a reputation to uphold, you know."

And in a sudden, swift motion, he flipped them over, now pinning her down to the snow, a triumphant smirk spreading across his face. He took a handful of the icy powder and gently placed it in her mouth before she could react. "How does snow taste, my queen?"

She quickly spat out the snow, coughing and sputtering, but he merely laughed in response as he collapsed down beside her, both of them lying in the snow, their breathing heavy from the exertion of their playful battle.

After a moment of catching their breath, satoru turned his head towards her, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, a result of the cold. He couldn't help but find her endearing in that moment.

"I would like to know more about you, miss therapist," Satoru murmured, his curiosity piqued. She was silent for a moment, contemplating his request. "What would you like to know?"

"I don't know... perhaps you could start by telling me why you decided to quit being a sorcerer?" Satoru's expression sobered slightly.

Here is the response with more detailed wording:

She paused for a moment before speaking. "I was previously involved in a perilous mission and perished back then, but I still clung desperately to life. So I made a binding vow, offering my cursed technique in exchange for the preservation of my life, I suppose." She shrugged, as if the matter was trivial. "I'm sorry to hear about your experience," I responded sympathetically.

"It's alright, the practice of sorcery simply was not meant for me. Instead, I have decided to become a therapist, helping people who are part of the jujutsu community, as I understand the daily realities they face as sorcerers."

He hummed thoughtfully as he looked back up at the sky. "That explains why I have never heard of you before," he mused. "Do you have any surviving family members?" he inquired.

"They have all passed away," she replied solemnly.

"I see," he said quietly.

"I apologize for-" he began.

"No need to apologize," she assured him. "I understand your curiosity."

[summercourtship]

Hiii, I love your work!

Could I request something like prompt 96 (“You look a bit tied up, want me to come back later?”) and expanding on Jonathan being very excited about the reader being his patient at the asylum 😳

Thank you!  Okay, so what I imagine happened here was that Jonathan managed to get her committed to the asylum after the whole ‘helping Edward escape and keeping him in her apartment and also stealing medical records’. Does it make sense that she’d be committed? Not really, but this is also Gotham and he’s also very persuasive (see: Batman Begins). This backstory doesn’t matter but I like to have it. Tbh might have to expand this bc I’m obsessed with this (not me thinking about writing an AU of my own gd fic)

Warnings: dubcon, obvious power imbalance, restraints, possessive behavior, a solid mature rating. minimal proofreading.

stbotdi anniversary special

 Jonathan watched from outside of the cell, his face carefully composed and expressionless as he looked through the small window into the derelict room. Any passing nurse or orderly would think he was just observing the patient inside, doing his duty before deciding on her treatment. After all, her transition into the asylum had been shaky and he was her doctor. Not that any nurses or orderelies would be passing by her room, anyway.

Bracing himself, he entered the cell. 

At the slow metal creak of the door opening, her head lifted up off the bed, taking in his appearance for a second before her expression twisted into a snarl, her teeth bared. 

“Get me out of here.” She was carefully still now, though he knew her mind was almost entirely preoccupied with the restraints on her wrists and ankles keeping her virtually immobile. But she was being a good girl, staying still and trying to show that she could be trusted enough to be untied. He sighed her name, looking down towards the thin folder he had clasped in his arms which was labeled with her name and patient number.

“You committed some pretty heinous crimes-”

“Heinous, my ass.” She spat, dropping her head back on the flat mattress with a dull thud. “You know I don’t belong here, Jon-”

“Dr. Crane.” 

“Fuck you.” 

She’s lashing out like a fox with its foot caught in a trap. 

Jonathan blinked once at her, letting silence fall over the tiny cell again until the only sound was the slight hissing from the rusty pipes that ran along the ceiling. With his eyes, he traced the lines of the pipes around the room, his head tilted back so he wasn’t looking at her when he spoke. A perfected imitation of distraction, one that worked all too well on her. 

“You look a bit tied up right now, I’ll come back later-” He turned, lingering at the door handle and counting down the seconds until-

“Wait!” He looked back over her shoulder at her, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of completely turning around. She was struggling against her restraints again. He preened at the fact that even though she hated him- but only in that moment, she’d come back around to her infatuation- she was desperate to keep him in the room with her. Afraid of being alone. “Can you-” She fell back against the bed, exhausted. The sedative they’d administered upon her arrival must still be in her system, though it was clearly working its way out if her earlier viciousness was anything to go by. “Can you at least untie me?”

She’d put an affectation over her voice, something she’d used a few times when they’d been intimate before. Pitiful, pouting, pleading. Jonathan weighed his choices carefully, torn between the trust he would gain by releasing her with the control he would maintain by keeping her tied up. 

But then again, he had her here indefinitely. He had plenty of time to try both options, and more. No one wanted to be the one to defend the girl who helped the Riddler escape. Not even the Batman was coming to save her from the shackles she’d forged herself. 

Deciding then and there, he spun around. 

Jonathan could practically feel her sigh of relief as he sat at the edge of her bed, placing her file on the floor next to it, even though she was pointedly not looking at him. He reached down to her leg, running his hand down her bare calf. He could feel her shiver beneath his touch, though she was barely acknowledging his presence. 

He fiddled with the ankle restraint, moving his eyes from the leather strap up her body. She was staring at him now, her chest rising and falling steadily like she was carefully regulating her breath. Deftly, he undid the restraint before he could change his mind. But instead of letting her leg go, he kept it in his hand. He brought her ankle to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the tender skin before finally placing it onto the bed. 

Turning his attention to the other restraint, he repeated the process. Caressing her leg, undoing her binding, bending to place a kiss on her skin. She watched, the entire time, lips parted. 

He shifted, moving so he lay halfway on top of her, slotting one of his legs between hers.

“What about my arms?” She said, once his face was close enough to hers that she could get away with whispering.   

“I think I’ll leave them bound.” Jonathan whispered back, watching as her face turned from confusion to dread. “I thought about this months ago, before I even took you home that first time. Locking you away, where only I could get to you.” He brushed a stray lock of her hair away from her sweaty face, her eyes bewildered as she looked up at him. He pressed a kiss to her forehead, to the tip of her nose, to the corner of her lips. 

His hand moved down her body, briefly lingering on her breast before venturing to the hem of the hospital gown they had her wearing. He much preferred the gown on her than Arkham’s typical uniform, especially since it made it so easy to slip his hand underneath and find her clothed cunt, already damp from her arousal. 

Her legs, no longer bound, fell apart at his touch. Jonathan pushed the fabric of her underwear aside, exposing her wet folds to his touch. She gasped, a loud inhale, when he finally ran his fingers over her with no barriers to soften his touch. 

“Jon-” She stopped speaking at the sharp look he gave her, quickly correcting herself. “Dr. Crane.” 

He wondered if she could feel his hard length pressing against her thigh, if she could feel the way it twitched when she called him by his earned title. 

“Fuck me, please.”

Oh, he was glad to oblige her request. 

And he was even more glad that she had been put at the end of a seldom-used hallway in the asylum, so that when he fucked her so that the bed creaked against the screws it was secured to the floor with, that when her gasps became shouts, that when his possessive whispers turned into low growls, no one would be around to hear it. 

[xenonmoon]

I accidentally stumbled upon some Spider-man 2099 comics and since I can't watch across the spiderverse in theatres (photosensitivity sucks) and Miguel O'Hara has become a constant presence on my dash/home in almost literally every social I have I decided to give it a go and see who this guy is and why is the internet so obsessed with him all of a sudden I wrote down some notes while I was reading so here we go. Xenon reacts to Spider-man 2099

It's giving me a loooot of cyberpunk and blade runner vibes from here and ngl I dig it

I already notice the suit is a little different but not too much? The spikes in the forearms here are less noticeable at least. And I didn't remember ever seeing the webbing

I love this pose

Oh my god this is so me fr fr

PFFTDHFS I MADE A LOUD SNORT ok I like this guy

He seems like that type of 90s savage-edgy-I-hate-everyone guy, so far considering the context he's kinda funny

I don't know how much they've changed about his backstory in atsv so I'm writing it all down as it's told in the comics

So his father was a scientist working for this Alchemax and the corporation kinda groomed both since they were children to become their top tier geneticists and work for them. They've invested a lot on Miguel and they use it to have a hold on him, since he's the only guy not addicted to the Rapture which is a very nasty and genetically bound (?) drug only Alchemax is allowed to distribute.

The corporations is running genetic experiments to enhance human abilities and all of that using animals as source, the latest project was an attempt to replicate what happened to Spider-Man in ma marketable way

Except they've become pretty savage with it and started doing experiments on humans (starting with criminals) BEFORE it's confirmed to be safe. And the last one miserably failed (or grandiosely succeeded, depending on the point of view - the guy actually came back with super strength and all of that but he was a heavily disfigured mutant who tired to strangle O'Hara and died short after).

So Miguel said fuck this shit I'm out

(cw: drugs from there on)

... Except they poisoned his drink with a dose of Rapture and how he's screwed. "oh no worries Miguel we're not forcing you to stay" my ass.

fucking bastardssssssssss

FUCKING BASTARDSSSS

honestly though "rapture" as a name choice is sooooo 90s. I remember reading Infinity Crusade (1993) a few months ago and there too they made a big deal about something they called "the rapture". And goddess and holiness and penitence and sinners and REPENTTTT and other overly Christian stuff like demons that was littering everything I've read from that time (which is just all the Moon Knight stuff that got out in that period but-)

the satanic panic hit hard huh

So anyway if Miguel doesn't do anything to fight this rapture thing he's royally screwed and forced to keep working on them

So he remembers that for lab tests he was using his own genetic material so he's got a full backup of it pre-rapture and he's planning to use the machines at the lab to overwrite the changes the drug made

sound good to me, quite a solid plan

Except this guy, who Miguel insults regularly on daily basis, decides to take his petty vengeance switching the "clean" O'Hara backup with the one they're experimenting with for the spider project.

Well this is fine

AND ON TOP OF THAT HE'S TRYING TO SHIFT THE BLAME ON HIM

also naked Miguel O'Hara gents, you're welcome

Uh-oh

IT'S MORBING TIME

honestly I know vampires were massively popular in the 90s and it's kinda obvious they wanted to ride that wave and use the aesthetics to appeal to vampire fans and-

works for me

also how do those claws work? It feels a bit weird to see both nails AND claws, sort of like when you realise centaurs have 2 ribcages. Bit more redundant though, would've made more sense if he'd lost his original nails. Oh well.

He's me when I'm at my parents' house and my mother throws me out of my bed on Sunday morning at 8ish because THE EARLY BIRD CATCHES THE WORM DON'T YOU THINK YOU'VE SLEPT ENOUGH and I'm just left there confused af trying to figure out where I am, when I am, what day and year this is and what's exactly happening in my life

MOOD

big eh for the sexualised hologram house assistant, ok it's the 90s and it's a thing of the genre and all of that but I've read too many papers about sociological consequences of female-coded robots or assistants (in short: encourages closely associating the slave/servant role to women and it ends up affecting real women too. it's bad bad) to not be judging this very hard

His first thoughts about them claws was going to the bathroom and picking his nose, so valid of him

honest to god if I had claws I'd be constantly fidgeting with them pressing the fingertip to make them come out like you do with cats.

That's it for part 1, I will probably make a part 2 when I continue reading them

Honestly they suffer a bit from being born in the 90s but I'm enjoying them so far and I like the character. If he hasn't changed too much in the movie then ok I get it now

[freetobeeyouandme]

Chapter 4: Maybe I Didn't Want to Know About the Circle After All

Chapter 4 of my Byler Isekai AU is now up on Ao3! Things get very serious very quickly as El has the worst family reunion ever. This is also the chapter that had me go 'Oh, well, at least I don't have to worry about what to rate this one' but...we're all here because Stranger Things is a horror show, right?

Tags: M, Graphic Descriptions of Violence, Fantasy AU, Canon Typical Violence, Canon Typical Horror, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn

Summary:

Mike Wheeler hates High School, so when he almost dies and falls through a portal to another world, he’s not going to complain. Especially not when that world does not only have swords and magic but seems to work exactly according to the rules of his favorite tabletop role-playing game. But his euphoria might be short lived because the party of adventurers he falls in with turns out to be the target of an evil god and the fate of the world might rest on their shoulders. So, exactly like his games of D&D. Except the wanna-be Paladin soon realizes that being a hero is much harder in real life than it is in-game. - Or, Mike gets isekai’d into a world where D&D is real.

An excerpt and taglist below the cut:

Excerpt:

The Monk laughs bitterly. Before she can reply, the front door flies open and Lucas storms out, alone.

Max growls.

“Put the wagon in idle and get out,” Lucas says. “El wants to try to talk to him, so we’re gonna have to fight.”

“She can’t be fucking serious,” Max hisses, but does as she’s told.

Mike follows her out, not understanding and not liking what is happening, but without another choice. He pulls his sword from its scabbard, but it feels heavy and useless in his hands.

Before he can ask what they’re fighting, he sees the first tendril of darkness spill over the edge of the island, solid and evil, anchored in the stone and earth that make up the top of Mount Arden by something that looks like vines. It feels malicious, feels, to Mike’s new found sense for the magic of this world, like grating fingernails over a chalkboard. And as the Circle descends only more of it spills over, new tendrils of smokey, vine-like darkness forming and writhing downward.

As the first of them touches the ground, it goes taut for a moment before its connection to the platform rips and it falls to the ground, amassing on the spot it touched. When all of it has descended, it begins rising, like dough in an oven, solidifying and then evolving. First it’s a coil of darkness, then a slimy blob, shuffling, moving, and as it goes along growing arms and legs to propel itself forward. And then it grows a head. It’s a terrible, bulbous thing, and at first Mike can’t even place it as a head, until it opens like the maw of a vicious, starving, flesh eating plant. It’s segmented into five parts, each of them covered in rows upon rows of sharp teeth, which look jagged, uneven, as if made out of shards of bone that have been randomly selected and planted in the soft flesh of its mouth.

The thing – it almost looks like a dog in a perverse sort of way – takes a couple steps away from the spot it grew from, then lifts its blind head. The petals of its face open a little at the tip of the bulb, moving as if it’s sniffing the air, and then it turns towards them. It’s still a good quarter mile away from them, but Mike doesn’t think for a second that this thing is slow.

“So, that’s a problem,” he announces dumbly.

Neither Max nor Lucas justify that with a response. The Monk simply growls at the dog-thing, claws flashing out from her splayed paws. The Ranger pulls his bow from his back and readies an arrow. Besides them, Mews crouches, ready to pounce.

Another dog forms on the ground behind the first, then another. They watch the three of them for a tense moment, more dark vines reaching for the ground around the dogs. And then they pounce.

His stomach sinking, Mike takes a step forward, then another. He stops when he has put enough distance between himself and the car that he won’t immediately crash into it when the dogs inevitably push him back and plants his feet firmly on the ground. His grip on his sword tightens, while the other hangs uselessly at his side. He wishes he had a shield or something, if only so he could hide behind it.

Instead he has to watch his enemies advance with his heart pounding loudly, almost painfully in his chest.

Max and Lucas flank him on either side, probably meaning to protect him as much as the car and the house – at least he hopes so – but Mike has no pretensions that he is a line they can hold. Not as even more and more dark vines turn into flesh colored blobs and then grow arms, or legs, or whatever one wants to call their gross, raw appendages.

He takes a steadying breath, then another, and then the dogs are on them. He tries to be ready and only almost succeeds. The dog in the middle jumps clear past the actually combat experienced members of their defense band, and Mike can only lift his sword, slashing downward, somehow catching the creature as it tries to descend on him. It’s just enough to repel the dog.

It stumbles to the ground, growls at him and turns to attack again.

This time Mike slices open a small part of its side. Black liquid – blood, although it looks congealed and old – slowly seeps out, covering its dark red, fleshy hind.

The dog howls in pain and jumps again.

Two hits is as lucky as Mike gets. He brings the sword up in a wrong angle and barely dances out of the way of the dog he missed.

Except its claw rakes his side anyway.

He grits his teeth against the pain, not wanting to give the monster the satisfaction of hearing him cry out. Behind his enemy more are fast approaching.

He whirls around, trying to meet the dog’s next attack, but he thinks the only thing that saves his eye is the arrow that hits the thing’s side and pushes it away from Mike. Then a red blur streaks past him and before he can understand what is happening Max has wrestled the dog into submission – and then sinks her claws into its neck and rips its head from its body with her bare hands. Black blood sprays, barely visible on her dark robes.

She holds the severed head out to the next wave of dogs approaching. “You want to end like this keep coming,” she growls.

Unofficial Tag List (aka you interacted with my snippet posts, please tell me if you want me to not tag you in the future (or want to be added)): @smalltownwheeler @wheelerpilled @wrong-energy @willthelies @foodiewithdahoodie @doggo9 @gardenfairie @beelikesbyler @beverlysclown @yickarus @sourdough-el @hessolivagant @hesquietoday @oldfashionedmorphine @total-serene560 @bylersrise @hawkinsunderground @longtallglasses @generalstorecashier @usnaavi @camel-casing @bylersbear01 @turningsoft @casatoan

[tealfling]

1) Amaranth Purpleheart (she/her), (currently) Tiefling (born: Half/Elf), Cleric of the Raven Queen, Chaotic Good

Background: Amaranth has a Noble background by birth. She was born to a human father and an Elven mother that ran a huge merchant empire outside the Gate. As her father's first child, she was the apple of his eye, her mother had 3 older adult children from previous relationships, and was pregnant at the time of Amaranth's disappearance and presumed death. It's Amaranth's father that couldn't handle the death of his child and squandered his human life looking for a way to bring her back. He eventually found someone capable of Reincarnation and had a lock of her hair, and thus Amaranth the tiefling came to be. She's deeply bothered by the parallels between her death and Isobel's and is hugely thankful her father wasn't a dick like Ketheric.

2) Amaranth was in Rivington working in the service of a family that was preparing for the death of their father when she was taken by the Nautiloid. She worried about them constantly until she got to the city to explain things, she feels horrible for abandoning them, and like she's failed them, but is so thankful the kept her stuff. She can't wait to show the group her bag of Memento Mori. A vampire boyfriend and a necromancy book wrapped in human skin is not even on the list of strangest undead things in her collection.

3) She romanced Astarion. It's all fun and games until the player gets played. Especially when they're both too stupid to see it. She immediately saw through his lines, however she mental gymnastics their train of "got to get the other person to trust me" until they were getting a green gown. She also really likes his sense of humor and thinks his bratty side is kind of cute. She doesn't drink tea, but they both spill it, server it hot and fresh as they gossip about everyone. The both like to read, and sew. At first, of course he hated how she had to stop and help every gods forsaken soul that asked for it and she didn't like his selfish overly violent ways. The arguing gave way to bantering, and clap backs and eventfully turned into the "you want to fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid game." And considering how all the others kept propositioning her at camp, Astarion was the safer choice, right? He didn't actually have feelings for her, so there was no risk in breaking his heart like there was with the others. She liked him enough, so it'd be better to break one heart instead of two, right?

4) Camp bestie? Karlach. Hands down. We're talking instant friends. No relationship building here. Immediate Ride or Die. If Amaranth isn't with Astarion, she's with Karlach. Probably causing trouble. Oh, yeah they're workshopping a nickname: Chaos Tieflings, Tiefling Trouble, Demonic Duo, Fiendships. For someone so eager to name things, they can't seem to get Wyll on board with this one. (That's why he's not invited). The only hiccup in their relationship was the night Karlach thought she wanted something more. Amaranth hadn't been expecting that, and it flustered her in a way Lae'zel's proposition hadn't. Amaranth came really close to saying yes, like really close just to make Karlach happy, she deserved to have something go her way for once, but Amaranth just couldn't lead Karlach on like that, when she wasn't sure. Not when Karlach's heart was already so broken. Amaranth almost died of embarrassment later when Astarion popped in for their previously agreed upon feeding she had completely forgotten about, and admitted he saw what happened. Speaking of hearts, Amaranth takes every opportunity to get Karlach to Dammon's forge.

Amaranth: "Kar~lach, let's go flirt with Dammon. Let's go flirt with Dammon. Come on, he's so dreamy. And almost as hot as you. Com'on. He want's to fix you're heart, that's so fucking romantic, please, let's go flirt with Dammon. My gold is burning a hole in my pocket faster than your heart is your chest. Please." Karlach: ugh, I don't know solider, he probably doesn't see me that way. Astarion make her stop. Astarion: Oh, no Darling. I'm completely on board. Let's go flirt with Dammon.

5) Admittedly I haven't finished a playthrough (I'm so close too), but so far everyone has lived (The Doctor would be proud).

6) She plans on continuing to Adventure, hopefully staying with Astarion, because her goal is to cure his vampirism, which she'll be able to do when she can cast True Res. In the mean time, she'll hunt down something that allows him to walk in the sunlight, even if she has to hunt down her mother to do it.

7) Amaranth's father's human life, though longer than it should have been, ended long ago. Though technically, she knows her elven mother and siblings still live, she doesn't consider them family in a close sense since her mother didn't want anything to do with her after her resurrection as a tiefling.

8) [whispering so Astarion doesn't hear] Destroy Undead.

[no-face-no-shame]

Finished watching Game of Thrones. Yeah, the final season sucks ass, we all know that. But there is one thing that I think the show did well, which is the dynamic between Sandor and Arya. Sandor's ending truly moved me, so here are some thoughts.

First off, I think that Sandor is a great example of a background character who is necessary for the story. He's linked to many characters, but especially in case of Arya, you can't talk about her character arc without him. Arya goes from hating Sandor due to seeing him as an embodiment of Lannisters' violence to feeling bad for him. I think that's because she understood that he was yet another person who didn't have a choice in his life. He was horribly harmed and traumatised as a child, leading to changes in personality and what he (and others) believed him to be. I could write a whole huge post about Sandor's story and how tragic it is. The point is that Arya learnt to identify with him - she grew up believing that she had no saying in her own fate too. For a different reason (being a girl in a misogynistic world), still she saw what happened to someone who failed to find their own way. Sandor has no meaning in life. Nothing makes him happy. He's unable to love, to believe in good things. He did many horrible things because he was told to and gave up on trying to be something else than what people expected from him. Sandor accepted the role of a monster because he hoped that the pain would go away then. Well, it didn't. Arya didn't want to be like that. Over and over again, she chose her own, unique way. And at the same time learnt empathy towards Sandor - she stopped despising him, even though she wanted to. She lied to the faceless man during their game of truth and lies. She said that she hated the Hound, that she wanted him to die. But the truth was that she didn't. I believe that Arya didn't kill Sandor when he broke his leg not out of cruelty. She just couldn't do it. Not after all they've been through together.

Now, the scene where they see each other for the last time. Arya wanted to go with him, but Sandor stopped her. The way he put his hand at the back of her head was so gentle, so fatherly. He felt that connection too. And he didn't want Arya to die, because he himself arrived at King's Landing to do just that. To finally die. I thought a lot about this ending and I believe it was fair. I don't see any other fate for Sandor - he wasn't able to live normally. As I've mentioned, he had no solid purpose in life. He hated himself, he was suffering, he was rejected no matter where he went. But even in such a tragic situation, he still was thinking about Arya's safety. He wanted her to be well, to not end up like him. To find a new meaning other than revenge, because life based on revenge is no life. And then Arya thanked him. Thanked him for everything - for watching over her, for saving her during the battle of Winterfell, for showing her what she shouldn't be. I think it was the only time anyone has ever thanked Sandor simply for the fact that he was there. For everything.

When it comes to his death scene, I think it was beautiful that he ended up in fire. Breaking the cycle of fear, getting his revenge by throwing his abuser into flames. And he jumped into those flames too, willingly. All his life he'd hysterically avoided fire, but now it was over. The fear was over because Gregor's tyranny was over too. There was no more avoiding. The fact that the producers gave him this death, instead of getting stabbed or something like that, means a lot to me. Fire destroyed him, fire freed him.

There are a few more things I'd touch upon but the post is already long. Anyway, Sandor remains my favourite character and his relationship with Arya was one of the best elements of Game of Thrones. Something about a bond between a broken man and a girl who needs to learn to be strong just gets me

[raayllum]

Gosh yes, your tags on that last post. Like, I don’t blame people for liking Viren, for enjoying his character, for finding him sympathetic (or attractive, even if I personally don’t). He’s a compellingly written character! But don’t be offended if people hate him or find him evil… he’s the villain, that’s literally his role in the story

"How dare this villainous character do villainous things" / "how dare the protagonist get narratively rewarded for making good choices" like do y'all even hear yourselves sometimes, y'know?

especially when - and i cannot stress this enough - tdp is for children and will ultimately have a happy ending. this isn't a grown up drama or tragedy or even a grimdark fantasy by any means. it's a hopepunk high fantasy story. people who further retaliation and violence and push people into inherently defensive positions are the 'bad guys'

like i love viren! i think he's very well written and interesting. he's a great examination of how we can lie to and martyr ourselves in a search for security that is also about status & wanting to feel special, about the harm done when trying to win a rigged system rather than solidarity in tearing a system down and making a new one. i appreciate his dry/deadpan sense of humour. he's also one of two primary antagonists in the first 3 seasons. and like, all that can coexist? it's multifaceted character writing? we all presumably passed grade 10 english class?

i also cannot emphasize the importance of being able to separate audience reaction or response from what a piece of art is actually doing or saying enough. "this story is bad because it was personally upsetting to me" without examples given or analyzed it is not well, analysis, it's just a currently very unfounded opinion. and sometimes stories are supposed to be personally upsetting, so like. you also gotta know your lanes

it's why subjective analysis is very useful but learning structural (objective) analysis is arguably more important. something can be structurally pretty weak but very enjoyable (frozen). something can be abysmal enjoyment wise but very structurally solid (1984, which i'd argue isn't meant to be enjoyed, either). and it's important to know the difference if you want to write actual analysis rather than opinion based stuff. analysis isn't necessarily better than opinion based pieces but analysis is more expansive because it can cover the subjectivity and the objectivity and more. which is precisely why i can read "the iliad" and think "wow that was good" but if i wanted to write an essay on it i'd have to do a lot more thinking because i'm demanding something greater of that artistic experience by virtue of wanting to expand on it

a lot of people take "art for art's sake" as a statement regarding the fact that art - which is inherently symbolic in its construction, even in what meaning we construe to words themselves - doesn't have to mean anything and fighting back claims that art should mean something. but i think of "art for art's sake" is more worthwhile to examine under the lens of "this art doesn't exist for the sake of capitalist consumption, but amid it, or sometimes precisely in spite of it" and like. very few things artistically have zero meaning precisely because meaning is also "what was the reasoning behind this" and if there is none (think a tattoo you got "just because") that's typically a subjective reflection of the creator and still indicative of their personality. sometimes the meaning is meaninglessness (nihilism is still a creation in response to us searching for meaning, after all)

i'm getting into the weeds now but the point is that there's definitely been an upswing in recent years of people thinking opinions = analysis and while that often is the case (particularly if that opinion is expanded upon enough to be grounded in the text and the text's context) it absolutely is not as often actual analysis as people think it is

[jq37]

It was a good first episode. There's always some growing pains before they lock down the dynamic, but this was a solid introduction to what's coming down the pipeline. Murph and Emily successfully broke my heart the most. One's marriage is crumbling and the other's just a really traumatized child. Lou and Ally character's are pretty great and seem to have the most plot going on ATM. That voice Lou's doing is such a choice. Zac and Siobhan need more time before we can fully sink our teeth in. PIB is entertaining, but that's all we got so far. And while I'm desperately trying to block out Siobhan's intro, beyond the stressful horror, Rosamund didn't give us a lot character wise. Looking forward to getting stressed out by the rest of the season.

I was a big fan of this first episode! There was a lot of interesting stuff intro'd with all the new PCs (and I really got a sense of like...Once Upon a Time but competent lol). I already went through my thoughts a bit in the recap for the week but here are some more casual thoughts on everyone.

(1) Rosamund: Roz seems to have retained a lot of her princess niceties and demeanor which is honestly impressive considering her entire Situation. I'm wondering if this is going to be a Ruby style arc where she turns jaded eventually or if she's just going be Like This the whole time. A sunshine-y character in a crapsack world is always an interesting contrast. Also, we kind of started and ended with her since Pinocchio was warned that someone was coming for her. I'm curious if the fairy who cursed her is the same fairy that Pinocchio met.

(2) Ger: Brennan does this really cool thing where the end of the world is happening but you're like, "Oh no! This character cheated on this other character!" The human drama stuff feels just as weighty and often more weighty than the life or death stuff. That's how I feel about Ger's whole situation. He's really a dude in need of some serious self-reflection and I'm charmed by how pathetic he is. The issues he's having with his wife are so grounded in reality, even though they involve conversations that start, "Remember who we started dating when I was a frog?" Can't wait to see more of him--and hopefully Elodie at some point too. Where is she Brennan???

(3) Tim: Once again, everything with the Gander is totally messed up. I really hate the idea of accidentally stumbling into a kind of eldritch pact. You're right that there's a very clear plot hook with him and his mission with the book. From the way it was framed, it almost seems like the book has the "correct" or at least more wholesome versions of the tales in it somehow. Or is a gateway to where those versions exist? Because Brennan said it was their town but without the flooding and Jack looked like how he "was meant to be" or something like that. A lot to think about.

(Sidenote: Me and my friend were joking about whether the bad guy this season was going to be capitalism, or the church and my halfway joking answer is capitalism in the form of some version of the Disney Corporation lol.)

(4) Puss: I don't have a lot to say about Puss that I haven't already said in my recap but I love Zac putting his all into his cat mannerisms and I really love this grounded look at what would actually happen after the Puss in Boots story. Looking forward to getting more info.

(5) Red: Yikesssssssssssssssssssss. Emily just went for the jugular right away, huh? As usual, no notes Ms. Axford. I think it's super cool they mixed the Red story and the Big Bad Wolf story. I wonder if/when we're going to get details on how it went down with her grandma because we never got that. I feel like Emily might steal the emotional killshot crown from Siobhan for me this season.

(6) Pinocchio: OK first of all, no one can say Lou doesn't commit to the bit. Second of all, as I said in my recap and at the top in Roz's section, there's clearly something afoot here. Why does Pinocchio’s stepmom want Roz kept safe? And who even is she? My pet theory (based on very little info to be fair) is that she's Cinderella herself somehow but she could very easily be lots of other people (one of the stepsisters is a guess I didn't mention in my recap). Clearly, we're missing a ton of puzzle pieces here so I'm eager to get more. Also, I’m gonna be so mad when Lou is having a super emotional scene and he’s talking Like That. You monster.

One last thing: I'm curious about the timeline here. Since Roz has been asleep for 100 years it seems, how does that slot in with everything else? How long has this plan involving her been in motion. If Sleeping Beauty happened 100 years ago, when did—for instance--the Cinderella story happen (if it happened)?

OK, that’s what I got. Looking forward to the next ep on Wed!

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/17/23

this was written under some duress bc my cat refused the sacrificial animal cracker and wanted The Whole Box. no, these are mine, go eat your camel on the coffee table. i have always hated the "pet parent" stuff but mother DOES want a cocktail and some benzos, run along now

listening

peel me a grape, anita o'day's version. this popped up on a premade jazz standards spotify playlist

this is going to pop up on my spotify wrapped bc i am trying to memorize the lyrics, which include

Send out for scotch, boil me a crab Cut me a rose, make my tea with the petals Just hang around to pick up the tab Never out think me, just mink me Polar bear rug me, don't bug me New Thunderbird me, you heard me I'm getting hungry, peel me a grape

MWAH. love it. ideal.

-

reading

Dreamships by Melissa Scott. i don't like ragging on an alive, queer author, but this one did not grab me. let's talk about why!

the premise:

now, i'm not in the publishing industry. but maybe consider. if the jacket copy tells you "and this is the issue upon which the novel turns!" and then tells you the next two twists. maybe don't include that in the jacket copy. i have a bad habit of only reading the first half of jacket copy and didn't see this until i took these photos but i am retroactively annoyed on scott's behalf.

character work: i bought this bc i was very excited for a grouchy misanthropic lady pilot. reverdy jian isn't that. i still don’t know much about her from reading a third of the book. she is remarkably incurious and while this is an excellent trait if you are a freelancer or doing any sort of client work, it would have been nice to care about the protagonist of the book or feel like she has emotional or monetary stakes in taking/not taking this job.

pacing/structure: this book is like looking out over top of a layer of fog and i’m making it sound more exciting or appealing than it is. it’s very even in both pacing and emotion. the first hundred pages take places over about thirty six hours, bc there’s a rush pilot job, but it’s very laid back and relaxed. there’s no real sense of urgency or mystery, despite the author trying her hardest to set up a mystery about the almost complete lack of information about this ship. when the characters can’t find any info they just kind of shrug and move on. it’s also just a little obtuse, despite being very polished in all its tenses and word choices. i wonder if it maybe needed one more clarity pass. i had a lot of trouble figuring out who a whole extra character was bc there were too many men in one room.

where the pacing/structure/character work collide: this book reads like a travelogue, and i do not mean that as a compliment. again, we don't get much of reverdy's perspective--things simply happen to her or she sees things and just kind of absorbs them without much commentary. things happen one by one like beads on a string without really tying into a bigger picture of the city or her goals. the main premise (huge mostly underground city on a planet being stripmined) was not presented interestingly enough to make up for the lack of character work. for me. in my opinion. i'm not a writer (or at least not a serious/professional/one who puts a great deal of thought and planning into her writing)

i have a limited amount of time on this earth, i gave it a solid hundred pages, this does not earn a place on my shelf. back to the thrift store it goes. sorry ms scott i hope you're having a good day anyway

-

watching

still rewatching adventure time. s3 is full of solid bangers, i think this is the season i remember best bc it was one of the first Appointment Television things with my siblings the year we got cable. this is when they start drip-feeding you more of the stuff about the great mushroom war

i really really love when a post-post apoc setting thinks about the impact of a nuclear war on playground culture, like this hide and seek variant you see in s3e21:Marceline's Closet.

Over the mountain, the ominous cloud Coming to cover the land in a shroud Hide in a bushel, a basement, a cave But when cloud comes a-huntin No one's a save… no, safe!

how i found this: this show ran from 2010-2018, and was absolutely impossible to escape as a cultural juggernaut, especially during the peak le epic bacon style times when i was in high school. it also had a limited series in 2020-2021 and a spinoff is supposed to happen next year, which i am cautiously optimistic about.

-

playing

there will be light spoilers for the first two acts of wolfenstein the new order, a game that came out in 2014. i do not feel the need to rot13 early spoilers for an nine year old game.

despite enjoying the soundtrack for many years, i have never previously made into the castle in the first level of wolfenstein: the new order bc i always got bored and wandered off irl. i do want to get to a part (again not sure which one) where it will let me dual wield shotguns. why can't i find a second shotgun. i'm out of the asylum, they made me give the chainsaw back, and im about to murk some 1960s fascists at this checkpoint. one of these fuckers better have another shotgun.

blazkowicz is an enormous slab of unseasoned american beef. this man is SO large holy shit. i wish i cared about this big man. something about a dead female love interest? this nurse i kidnapped is going catch a bad case of the plot and be dead at the end of this level i think.

as previously mentioned this game was released in 2014 and boy does it look it, right down to the stupid macho gamer difficulty and exit screens. it's a pretty competent shooter. do wish ppl would stop shooting at me for five seconds so i can wander around and read all the propaganda and signage. why put it all up if you don't want me to look at it????

this was recently free on the epic store and the soundtrack came up on my walk today, which made me go "let me try this again". stay tuned.

-

making

made some quiche and fucked it up in a different way from last jan's quiche fuckup. still looking for hearty vegetarian soups, made some soup, which is very good but very texture. aash-e jow, a persian rice/bean/lentil/barley soup, is a soup you gotta chew. "kay isn't that a stew-" no. come to my house and eat this soup and i will show you.

other notable notes: doesn't really taste like much which could be continuing post-covid weirdness, and i think i should at minimum triple the amount of spices. fuck of a lot of prep. lot of chopping. hands hurty. called for a bunch of things i do not normally keep as pantry staples. i think it would be far easier to buy a block of frozen chopped spinach and refloof it in a saucepan like i did for the quiche, but i had some arugula/spinach mix that was about to go.

the caramelized onions really make this soup imo but i do not always have the fortitude to caramelize onions. i don't think this soup will stay an acceptable texture when frozen, so next weekend i have to make another giant batch of the red lentil soup to freeze for lunches.

you're correct i really don't want to do dishes

[lesbian-in-leather]

For the fandom ships ask; Merlin, and Once upon a time?

Oooh thank you!!

Merlin

OTP: This is not going to be the popular choice but honestly,,, Merlin/Morgana. I think they had such a facinating dynamic and I would have loved to see the writers follow through with it, especially in the later series. Doomed from the start and intrinsically linked, everyone telling him it's a bad idea for different reasons, everyone telling her she couldn't possibly be with him........ yeah, that's the good shit

Favourite canon pairing: Arthur and Gwen were SO cute and I'm happy for them (and their third, Merlin)

Worst pairing ever: Gwen/Lancelot, specifically when he got back because obviously. He wasn't him, she was spelled, and worst of all, there was never any resolution. Still haunted by the fact that everyone expect Merlin (including Gwen herself) really thinks she just. Cheated on Arthur. Heartbreaking

Guilty pleasure pairing: Morgana and Gwen <3 They're so cute and also the HEARTBREAK,,, when Morgana comes back and Gwen pretends to still be her friend and,,,,,,,,, THEM. The guilty part comes from the fact that I know a lot of this ship comes form the "get the women out of the way for mlm ship" mentality, but that's obviously not why I like it soooooo

A pairing you want to see more: Honestly both Morgana/Gwen and Merlin/Morgana. I know everyone loves Arthur/Merlin and they ARE fuckin valid and cute, but I really feel more people should multi-ship because Merlin has SUCH good dynamics with other people, and despite people *saying* they ship Morgana/Gwen there is a suspicious lack of content for them

That pairing everyone likes but you’re like “lol no”: Honestly I feel like I haven't spent enough time in the fandom for this?? I can't think of any, but that might just be because, again, I am a shameless multi-shipper and polyam enjoyer

Favourite non-romantic pair: Gwen and Merlin! I know they had a lil fling early on, but they became such a solid platonic duo and also I think it'd be really funny when they just casually mention that one time they kissed. Everyone would be scandalous (Arthur especially. "What do you mean you kissed Merlin before me??")

Once Upon a Time

OTP: Swanqueen!!!!! Obviously. They were in LOVE and I will DIE on this hill

Favourite canon pairing: Okay okay okay I know this is controversial BUT. For the reasons of "I enjoy fucked up people and their fucked up dynamics" ........Rumple/Evil Queen

Worst pairing ever: Robin/Regina. I liked that she was happy and that's about the only good thing I have to say about it like,,, come on. I just. Why

Guilty pleasure pairing: Okay okay hear me out. Captain Hook/Evil Queen. I just feel like, in the enchanted forest,,,,,,,, some shit happened. And I also think it makes their dynamic funnier when they meet again in Storybrook (see the non-romantic pair)

A pairing you want to see more: Ruby/Belle! Ruby was obviously fruity af and I always thought they'd be a cute couple but there is. not much support there lmao

That pairing everyone likes but you’re like “lol no”: Honestly? Belle/Rumple. She deserved better! Girlie was NOT down with the atrocities and they were wayyyy too much a part of him. Every time he tried to twist himself in knots to be a Good Person (especially when he was the Dark One?? Like, we saw with Emma, it was such a strong compulsion warping their minds, he very much tried to resist it but he also. Literally couldn't. The fuckin saviour couldn't like why are you blaming him) and failed, she'd get so mad and leave and then,,,, the writers would throw them back together again. Like lads. Let them go. Please

Favourite non-romantic pair: Regina/Killian. I think their interactions were SO fucking funny and she hated him so much. The bullying. The nicknames. Him sitting there like a wet cat. His best scenes were when he was alone with her and wish we'd lent into that instead of pushing his ~relationship~ with Emma

Send me a fandom and I'll answer these questions!

[aphroditesacolyte]

Meryl and Diosia

Ch 10. // Nurse // Read on AO3

Masterpost

Summary: A brief explanation of the ensuing consequences.

Content warnings: Sort of the comfort to the prior hurt? profanity as always, please read at your own discretion, thank you!

~Approx word count: 2,584 words

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The day was of dullness and boredom, and its choice in being so was to exasperate already strong feelings of discontent. The sky itself seemed to frown with the clouds’ dark-grey underlines who swallowed up light, a sort of depressing filter that ruined the sunshine. The water was equally disagreeable today, and worst of all, Meryl was alone. His whole family was off tending to their own habits and hobbies and jobs, his friends were all the same, and Diosia was more likely than not asleep. Probably.

He knew he should only bother Bondi when he isn’t busy, or for more important things, but this sad feeling in his chest was important. He could bother Bondi today, just for a little bit. By now if he had to guess, Bondi was finishing up his lunch in his favourite spot to do so, and the thought slowly bubbled into an invitation and became a mere enabler to him as he drifted along the sand; he hoped to sneak up on Bondi. Keeping low, he trailed along until spotting the base of the rock, which informed him that he was quite close. Surely, Bondi would be resting upon this rock as he always would be. However, something caught his eye: out its corner he could see something shimmering against the plain sand, something sharp and pointy.

Uh oh.

It was Bondi’s claws, or at least one half of the pair. Hurriedly, he scooped it up into his hand, and sought out his friend with an overwhelming worry that replaced any melancholy who had its permissions in his heart before. His head poked out of the water and scanned over the rock.

It was empty with all but a broken net holding shells both fragmented and whole. A panic grasped hold of him wickedly, and his searching became more frantic. He practically cried out as water lapped up at the rock and stole away with droplets of blood he hadn’t even realized were there before.

He cried out again, “Bondi!”

His hand tightened around the claw he held as he called out again, frightfully.

“Meryl.” A familiar voice answered from behind him.

He threw himself over to Bondi, quickly trapping him in a hug, while just as quick to pull away when he heard a wince in return.

“A bit late to the party but,” Bondi settled himself alongside Meryl, far enough away for Meryl to see he was splattered with fresh, burning bruises all over. “at least you showed up.”

Meryl tilted his head confusedly, then swiftly dismissed the comment in favour of worrying over his friend.

“Are you alright?”

“Ehhh, I’ve been better,”—Bondi smiled at him—“but at least I’m alive.”

He softly agreed, “That’s good.”

A few moments passed where the conversation went more casually (as he didn’t want to upset him nor pressure Bondi to talk about something he didn’t want to), but eventually Bondi broke the pleasantries that revolved around questionings and studying of the wounds.

“Do you want to know what happened or?”  

He nodded worriedly, finding it difficult to move on from the visual of Bondi so beaten and hurting.

“Alright—” Bondi’s smile was passive-aggressive. “—I will tell you. I HATE that fucker and I was entirely right, and I have SOLID proof that I am.” He gestured to himself grandly. “Diosia tried to kill me.”

Meryl tossed himself back with something between a whimper and a moan.

He groaned, “Why can’t he just stay asleep? He’s not even supposed to be awake right now—"

Bondi’s tone carried the sort of unbothered confidence and calmness that it always did, even though only a half an hour ago he was about to be murdered. “It seems he woke up from his nap for some mid-afternoon homicide. I bet he does it pretty often.”

Meryl’s hands and fingers dug into his forehead, pressing the stress and frustration onto his brow. Why couldn’t Diosia just be normal? And why did he have to like Diosia even a little bit? The next moment hit him harshly however, realizing it was selfish to lament over Diosia when a hurting Bondi was right in front of him. Achingly, he rose and studied Bondi carefully, formulating a plan to care for him. Bondi stared back at him, somewhere between expectant and confused.

He forced himself to speak, by nature with a sweet tone, “Okay—“ he exhaled all the stress locked up in his lungs, only to inhale it once more. “—I think it would be best if you went back home and started to rest. I’ll get you some food.”

“Meryl you don’t have t—"

Swiftly he placed a finger to Bondi’s lips. In reply, Bondi looked down at Meryl’s hand, cross-eyed.

Bondi tried to speak again, “Rea—"

“Shhhh. Go.” Meryl said kindly as he placed the other claw in Bondi’s hand. He then added with a stinging in his throat and eyes, “I’m so sorry, Bondi.”

Both unfortunately and luckily, Bondi was in far too much pain to differ, and so disappeared into the water in a slow, easy manner, likely so as to not hurt himself more. Meryl allowed himself to linger not a second as otherwise he might’ve started crying; he hastily cleaned up the net and then dipped into the water as well. The clams, he figured, would take too long to collect under his self-imposed timeframe, and although it would be harder for Somone like him, fish would work best. He took along the net, whose minor holes would only release a pathetic catch, and began to move.

He stalked through waters, attentive and reverent to his task. His eyes caught sight of scales glittering, and he focused in on a decently sized rockfish, something that would work—as long as he could catch it. He tensed to pounce, clutching the net tightly as he opened it up to prepare it all the same. He had to force himself to not laugh at his own ‘predatory’ stance, and waited a moment more. Then he felt the water whizz against himself, and though his eyes were now pathetically closed, he felt a weight in the net. His heart thudded and pounded from the sudden change in pace and the spike of adrenaline from trying—and succeeding—to catch it. He almost lost it, too, but he managed to keep the fish locked in tight regardless. He peered at it for a moment, wondering if he should… well… or if it should be left up to Bondi.

Decidedly setting off with the live fish, he’d leave it to Bondi. He couldn’t take the idea of accidentally causing it more pain than need be, and Bondi was much more capable than he was. It wasn’t all that likely he was capable of sparing it the pain.

Soon after he found himself brushing against kelp and coming up to Bondi’s home. As he did, it was admittedly awkward to see all the gifts strewn about Bondi’s resting place, and it prodded him with a feeling of guilt. He should’ve never let Bondi get involved with Diosia, not even slightly. He should’ve lied to Bondi about who Diosia was, what he knew about Diosia, where or how he met him, and just happily called it over. He shouldn’t have told Bondi when gifts started showing up, and he should’ve just thrown them all away. Or at the very least, he should’ve listened to Bondi and not dragged him along to visit Diosia.

Now Bondi was hurt, and it was his fault, and he felt idiotic.

Of course, though, Bondi didn’t hold it against him.; Bondi acted like Meryl was an angel just for getting him some food and staying with him to keep him safe—like that wasn’t just the bare minimum. Still, with how stressed he now felt, he appreciated the gentleness.

Eventually, it even turned into something a bit bright between them as they got lost in conversation and jokes. Escaping the trouble felt good for them both. However, he didn’t want to ignore it forever. Diosia attacked him, and he needed to know why.

So, he asked in a tone as clement as he could manage, “Would you mind telling me what happened?”

The story was frightening—and though yes, Bondi could often get loud and intense, he never lied. This was the truth. Diosia wanted his best friend dead. Diosia didn’t mind leaving him grieving and aching… and Diosia sounded injured, too. It made his heart all twisted and upset, though he couldn’t place what sort of attachment it made ache inside of him, he simply knew the pain was there.

It was sort of like feeling betrayed. Was that this feeling? A sinking compression in his chest and the sensation he was hardly getting oxygen, and that he hadn’t eaten a thing as his stomach rolled around?

Whatever the feeling was, he knew one thing: it hurt. And even so, when the sky turned to night and the clouds began to clear as everyone, Bondi included, went off to sleep, he knew he wouldn’t be going home to rest. As a matter of fact, maybe he had a bone to pick.

“Diosia!” He called out amongst the unforgiving shadows and wreckage.

He called again and again to no avail. Diosia was nowhere to be seen in his home, perhaps because he was afraid to talk to Meryl? To place a precise reason would be like hitting a bullseye with one’s eyes closed, there was no true way to tell, only luck and guesses. But still, he searched and searched through the inauspicious black of rock and other things, hopeful that maybe he could still find him.

He called out again, “I’m not mad! I just want to talk, Diosia!”

If Diosia were even listening, he must’ve been unconvinced, as Meryl heard no reply. It seemed as though the lifeless and yet living—the menacing undead of the shore—creatures of Diosia’s home also wondered why he was here. Their judgmental eyes spiritlessly stared into him as he trailed deeper and deeper into danger.By all means and logic he should’ve been running away, however, in his mind that wasn’t logical. An external source told him no, but something nestled deep inside of him told him he had to. Diosia wasn’t a problem that would be disappearing any time soon, not even a little bit, so why bother with an attempt to outrun him?

Maybe if worse came to worse, tonight he’d be taken and his family or friends would no longer be in Diosia’s scope.

Even the clearing sky above him gave no clues, although it at least gave some light at certain patches where it was permissible by the cliffs. The water cleared itself in its new lack of depth, and in this lack of depth the light flourished, highlighting the sand below; it invited an escape from the shadow, and a better watch of what may be above him, for if a mischievous raven chose to fly overhead, he would take note of the silhouette.

But there were no silhouettes. Emptiness filled the whole space in a strangely dead way. He couldn’t even feel the sensation of being watched anymore… it was all just… gone.

He wouldn’t be deterred by Diosia playing hide-and-seek with him though, and so naturally, when he came the little hide-out where Diosia put all his strange things, he sat down stubbornly in wait.

Diosia couldn’t ignore him forever.

 As he sat in wait, the shimmer of a collector’s pride mocked his foolish choice to stay—watches and silver, glass bottles and foreign coins, sweet bronze slightly bitten with rust, and gold of a well acclaimed care made up the piles of which he was surrounded with. A grim thought came to his mind as his head tilted down towards the band along his tail, and his fingers traced the earrings and necklet he wore.

Would his pieces of jewelry be here someday, lying amongst all the beautiful items Diosia hardly cared to prop up or stage? He couldn’t eat the things Meryl wore… but, he didn’t seem like the kind to return things. Were these… trophies?

He tried to shake the thought, and moved onto the next one. It was just as bad, for his eyes set on his own ‘gift’ to Diosia, his claws.

Sh-should I take them back?

He questioned himself. If he were to take them back, he’d be much safer. He’d have at least some sort of defense, and after today, he’d likely need it sometime soon. Diosia was agonizingly scary to him now, in a way he wasn’t before. Diosia hadn’t claimed such a title of horror prior, for words consumed far less space in Meryl’s mind than experiences, and to now experience even just a taste of what Diosia boasted was to have his fantasies shattered. A particular veil of innocence had cloaked Meryl’s vision through teasing and toying with him, but now his face was crested with its ashes. Vague threats were no longer but words. Now, he knew he must’ve been delirious to think that it was something to be amended—that Diosia liked him, and that Diosia would change his heart.

If he could rewind time, he would, but perhaps that would only keep him more oblivious to the nature of who he was dealing with—the person he sat in wait for, the person who a deep dread was caused by, and a sinking hope if not longing for the presence of.

Yet, his fears became irrelevant to his moral compass, to be armed was to be able to hurt. How could he hurt someone? He simply couldn’t. All he could do was wait, stubbornly. Wait for the arrival, for the confrontation... for the strike to be properly dealt.  In the way of the moon, his hopes began to fall as the sun rose and graced the sky with subtle hues of orange and yellow, all the while his question lingered unanswered.

Where was Diosia?

It would haunt him for days as he cared for Bondi, but never cared to ask Bondi himself for the information. Diosia didn’t matter enough to him to bother his best friend, at least that’s what he told himself. But the thought of Diosia bothered him. Was Diosia out there scheming and plotting to kill him, or was he struggling, bound, and trapped somewhere by his own weakened body? Was he sick? Was he well? No answer would come to him.

Now Meryl spent all his time and energy tending to Bondi, keeping him well, doing the chores and tasks Bondi would normally take care of, and keeping Bondi busy with talks, his company, his presence, and his familial love for someone so close to him. He hadn’t uttered a word of Diosia beyond what Bondi felt necessary to discuss, and so his new haunting secret was to know that Dioisa’s home was unoccupied every night as he checked with no one ever being there.

He couldn’t have Bondi believe that he wasn’t ‘over’ the monster who tried to kill them both, and so he kept quiet, and watched Bondi get better and better, deep purple and blue bashes slowly lightening, and eventually disappearing. He was relieved that his friend was alive and well, but he just couldn’t stop wondering where in the world Diosia could’ve possibly gone.

…Would Meryl see him again?

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<- <- <- Last Part | Next Part -> -> ->

[duvithemook]

I keep seeing on my dash this one post that pushes the idea that "literally any aspect of the self is invented, you have nothing that you couldn't live without, your personality is invented" and I just. Fucking hate it. It's a sense of nihilism taken to the nth degree masquerading as an optimistic sentiment.

The poem it cites, "The Flinch", is mostly responsible for what enrages me, but the pseudo-intellectual comic about "just change your personality, it's not hard" is also infuriating. Let's remove some nuance from the argument, like relapsing into old habits, necessity due to environmental factors, and lamenting beneficial behaviors because they don't reflect the self, and just focus down on the main argument: "you are the way you are exclusively because you have decided to be, and that can change at any moment". Let's really examine it.

Firstly, on an entirely and EXCLUSIVELY scientific level, the argument of "nature vs nurture" being foremost in human development of brain structure is STILL HOTLY DEBATED. To tell the truth, we know shockingly little about the human mind and habit development that can't be disproven on an individual basis! On top of that, many things cited in the poem, like the way someone tastes food, are PURELY biological and not even based slightly in choice. You can't CHOOSE to like a flavor or texture you hate, and while it's good to see if that changes over time, it's not something you can make an active choice to enjoy.

Secondly, from a non-scientific standpoint, the false equivalences are through the roof. To put "learning an instrument" on the same difficulty level as "quitting an addiction" on the same necessity level as "reforming your personality to spice things up" reads as at the very least tactless and thoughtless, and at the very worst nihilistic waffle about how lack of flexibility is cowardice, that everything a person chooses is inherently wrong if not constantly under scrutiny, and that we're all basically mindless non-individuals following habits except for the real chads who constantly change everything about themselves and never commit to a solid set of personality traits.

Third and finally, the most infuriating part of the whole thing: the final part, to insist upon completely discarding the self, is an actively harmful sentiment for people who struggle to find their sense of self, people who tend to depersonalize or dissociate, and people who might use it as an excuse to exhibit harmful behaviors. People like that, like myself in the first and second categories, would feel as though the sand we had finally collected a handful of was smacked from our hands, only to be told to collect some elsewhere. What am I to do when I don't have a personality as much as a set of things I try to achieve? IS that a personality? Do you believe I should change my goals and ideals because Breaking Habits Is Good, or should I stick to my guns on some undefined, unspecified, arbitrary set of rules? I know that writer doesn't have an answer for any of this, but I do: the individual is TANGIBLE. It can be FELT when it is HAD, and those without it feel the bloody gape it's missing from like a bullethole.

TL;DR you are not immune to pseudointellectualism and smug self-assured nihilists can find a purpose to life by eating shit. Try it, I hear it's a great habit breaker.

[animehouse-moe]

Akane Banashi Volume 1: On That Day

I'm both surprised and almost a little saddened that Akane Banashi is the first Rakugo manga I'm reading officially in English. Now, that doesn't mean I hate Akane Banashi, but my heart was stolen by a story about a girl(s) performing Rakugo a decade or so ago now with Joshiraku. Seriously, you should check it out (as well as Shouwa Genroku Rakugo Shinjuu, the anime is outstanding. I'm yet to read the manga, which is available in English print). In spite of that immutable number one (and two) spot, Akane Banashi breaks into the English market as a first-time experience for many readers with Rakugo. Because of that, I feel like there's a lot to discuss, both as a story, and a manga that attempts to depict the very idiosyncratic practice of Rakugo.

So, what's Akane Banashi about? Well, as the name denotes, it's a story about Akane, our main character. Just to offer a quick aside with a question first: what's the difference between 'Banashi' and 'Monogatari'?

Great thing to ask! Banashi is typically reserved for Rakugo stories, while Monogatari is used for general purpose storytelling. It's a nice little nod to the purpose of this manga.

Anyways, we're following Akane on her journey to become a Shunichi, the highest level of Rakugoka (a person that performs Rakugo) after her father was expelled from his school six years prior. It's a solid idea that builds upon feels of frustration, regret, and comeuppance, but one that I think may suffer from nearsightedness. Only time will tell however, so let me get into the details!

The story is established quite well, as we plant the seeds of Akane in her childhood to allow them to grow. It tackles her nature as someone that refuses to stand for mistreatment or twisting of the truth, and will confidently stand her ground in those moments. While some might not be all ears for this prologue aspect, it sets up the justification for Akane's actions quite well as she enters the Rakugo world to effectively clear her father's name. Do I think it could have been handled better? Definitely, yes. However, for a first-time author and second-time artist, I think the choice in brevity was a good idea.

Moving into the present, we breeze through characters and performances rather quickly here and there, and get introduced to a whole host of characters along the way. I really like that they establish the scope and scale of Rakugo early on so that we're not stuck in a vacuum in regards to it. Other performers and schools are shown, how their relationships and the business of it works, so on and so forth. The breadth of Rakugo on display is solid in that sense, and is nicely complimented by a handful of characters that exist adjacent to that world.

However, if there's a complaint to be levied with the characters, then there's actually two (I lied about there being one). The first, Shinta/Tooru is not present active in the present tense of this first volume. The second, the existence of any long term female cast members is not apparent. The latter isn't as bad as the former since it's just the first volume, but the first issue feels like an oversight in regards to Akane's character. She mentions her frustration in regards to her father's expulsion in flashbacks, and her mentor/teacher Shiguma expresses his regret in the present, but despite that Shinta is not a sore spot for Akane in the present. His name doesn't dance upon her lips, nor does his past give her pause. For someone driven to do this because of her father, it feels odd to have such a vacancy in his daughter's foray into Rakugo.

Let's take a closer look at Akane as the leader character. I really like her energy, that tenacious disposition is a great angle to view Rakugo and her journey through, and you might even argue it's almost a necessity to really sell her story. But I also think bringing so much heat makes it easy for things to boil over. Her frustration and dedication end up finding ways to hold her back, not in the moment or the experience where she needs to be (that's well done), but rather after the fact where everything should be clear. The best example is when her senior under Shiguma, Kyouji, gives her feedback on how to cater to her audience. She doesn't really grasp the significance of his words, and makes the same mistake when working under an Izakaya (essentially a pub). Making mistakes isn't bad, and both pieces as isolated instances are well done. It's just that the bridge between them doesn't match up. Akane's response to Kyouji's feedback doesn't match up with where she ends up in the Izakaya.

Well, I think I've talked about the more drab broad strokes of the story well, lets talk about the very act of storytelling, that is, Rakugo. As I said earlier it's really well thought out from a technical point. The nature of Rakugo is established, the details in terms of business, practice, and the greater world of Rakugo are fleshed out as well. The biggest thing I feel that it's missing in terms of Rakugo is the experience. The feel of it, the flow, the vibe, the very core of it. The expressions (really good) and some of the visuals reflect that, but it's always interrupted. It's hard to fully grasp the nature of Rakugo and how it appears to viewers of it. Just what that experirence is like when it's a single person sitting on an otherwise empty stage telling a story involving countless characters and settings. Just for reference, I highly recommend this documentary/performance uploaded by The Japan Foundation to understand what Rakugo really is.

And now, into the home stretch: the art. The artist is somewhat experienced with middle of the ground results. I don't expect anything out of this world from them. The character designs are solid and creative, and the art is expressive enough to get some of the key points across.

One thing I just don't like however is the use of white/negative space around the characters to make their placement/layering easier. I just really dislike how it impacts the overall art and the feel of it since it separates characters from their environments.

The biggest challenge with the art though is that it can really sell this story short sometimes. It can find the right character expressions and what not to wear, and has pretty alright character acting in that regard, but it's missing the most important piece: fluidity. Much in the way that Rakugoka must fluctuate between several characters and a narrator, the art should reflect that. But it doesn't. The art style, the line weight, the shading and hatching, even the paneling. None of these pieces reflect the differences and idiosyncrasies of the Rakugoka (aside from Kaisei in one instance), and I think even worse is the potential for a rut in terms of the limited expression we have. The overlay/superimposition certainly has its places, but when used as the only way to interact with the story being told it will find a way to stagnate very quickly.

So, from the top. I think there's potential. I mean, it's a female lead shounen series about Rakugo. Obviously it's good enough to have lasted as long as it has and to get an English release. It's just whether or not it has the ability to live up to the potential that rests within the series. The story shows immediate promise (if not with a fork in the road in the further future), the characters are well established and varied, but the art and expression of the series places a firm limiter on these aspects. I'm hopeful to see the chains slowly loosen as the series goes on though, so that we can see the full potential of Akane Banashi.

[beatriceeverytuesday-old]

ok hi three ships! buffy + angel tara + willow and giles + jenny!!

Buffy + Angel

Why don't you ship it?

I'm really nervous to answer this because I don't want to make people mad haha so if you're a Bangel fan, scroll past, this isn't for you. Personally I don't like when people argue in fandom I think people are entitled to their own shipping opinions but I'm always worried I'm gonna start a fight so I don't say much against loved characters but since you asked haha... I have multiple reasons but to name a couple: I'm not a huge Angel fan, I don't like the start of Angel's redemption arc being tied to a (very young) Buffy that he fell in love with at first sight, I feel that Angel is the one with age and experience and knows them being together is a bad idea and still lets it happen, and I feel that Angel treats Buffy like a child and is always making decisions for her rather than with her.

What would have made you like it?

If they weren't trying to get together randomly throughout season 3 when they knew it couldn't work, Angel's one moment of true happiness not being tied to sex with Buffy (personally I think she deserves better than someone who is only ever truly happy with her when they're sleeping together), if they could interact in later seasons without arguing or kissing even though they know it's a bad choice and they're involved/in love with other people, and honestly just...I'm not the biggest Angel fan so changing parts of his character haha??

Despite not shipping it, do you have anything positive to say about it?

So whenever I do a rewatch, in seasons 1-2 I do enjoy the Buffy/Angel plot line and I wish it could have worked for them, but beyond that I don't ship them. What I really want is for Buffy to be happy and if she could manage that with Angel, that's good enough for me. I think they're a sweet first love story but beyond that, they're not my favorite. No hate to anyone who likes them it's just not my thing!

Tara + Willow

What made you ship it?

So I started watching Buffy for stage combat class, got hooked on the plot, and happened upon Tillow completely by accident. As a closeted genderfluid lesbian who had been raised by religious parents who sent me to Catholic school for 13 years, this was the first time I stumbled across something queer without having to actively seek it out in secret. I'd seen other sapphic couples in media before, but I'd had to look for them. I wasn't expecting to discover it being treated as normal in a 90's show about vampires. I was so pleasantly surprised and very quickly became obsessed.

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I love the way the show handles the relationship in seasons 4-5 (ignoring season 6 haha...) I love that despite a slight learning curve when Willow comes out, she's met with pretty solid support from the rest of the Scoobies. And I love that their first onscreen kiss was placed in The Body, so it wasn't the focus of the episode or treated like a crazy big deal. They got to be as natural and normal as the straight couples :)

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

So when I first watched the show, Willow was one of my favorite characters. Recently, however, on my latest rewatch I'm having trouble stomaching her treatment of Tara through her magic addiction with the memory wipe spells. I really wish more time had been taken onscreen for Willow to actually have to own up to the harm she had inflicted on Tara, and I wish they hadn't gotten back together so quickly. So I guess my opinion is that I wish they had spent longer apart, so Willow could get over that magic addiction plot line, Tara had time to heal, and so Tara weren't in the house in Seeing Red and could've survived. Not sure if that's unpopular but I haven't seen it said much before haha. My other unpopular opinion I guess is while I was obsessed with them when I first watched the show, they're no longer one of my favorite ships. I still love them, but I rarely seek out Tillow content anymore.

Giles + Jenny

What made you ship it?

Basically the first time they interacted I was into it. I love them both!

What are your favorite things about the ship?

I haven't spent a ton of time thinking about this ship so pls don't hate me if this is an incorrect read but to me they're a straight couple that flips gender roles on its head. Jenny very much wears the pants in the relationship so to speak and I love that. I also love how easily and joyfully she messes with Giles, and how flustered he gets. They're so smitten with each other!

Is there an unpopular opinion you have on your ship?

I don't think so!

[themattress]

Damn it, this movie just won’t leave me alone!

This is sort of a follow-up to this post, where I analyzed that the primary reason critics of the film hated it, beyond getting overtly invested in the culture war surrounding TLJ, was due to them realizing that Disney/Lucasfilm never had a solid plan for the trilogy (not that George Lucas did for his movies either, but still) and no overarching creative vision other than one that was tragically sabotaged by life (make Carrie Fisher / Leia the star of Episode IX and the one who holds the key to resolving the trilogy and whole saga). That’s what leads to them accentuating the negative qualities of the movie while downplaying or flat-out ignoring the positive qualities (and sometimes turning positives into negatives due to their willful lack of understanding or imagination). And they’re entitled to their opinions, though I wish they’d fully own it rather than hold any pretense of objectivity, but what I am coming to realize more and more is that I don’t just disagree; I am the diametric opposite in how I see the whole situation.

Critics and fans were so invested in this idea of a super cohesive trilogy following a planned story, but I wasn't because I knew almost immediately that this wasn't the case. There were different directors attached to each movie and no single screenwriter attached to all of them, plus Kathleen Kennedy was not in a creative oversight position nor did she have anyone else like, say, Dave Filoni filling one. Obviously they were making it up as they went along, so my main concern was on the films individually and whether they created a good Star Wars experience. And TROS is the purest of Star Wars experiences: no quasi-remaking of a previous film or pushing an eccentric auteur-driven agenda, it just has fun and revels in its cheesy goofiness and wholesomeness; it’s what the franchise was literally founded upon.

Critics and fans were invested in the internal lore lining up and making sense; in the usage, behavior and outcomes of certain characters; in the culture war and social ramifications following TLJ, and I was absolutely not. I knew that the lore is Play-Doh prone to being remolded on a whim and that all the finer details in the movies rarely make sense until supplementary material is made to do so; I knew that finding the characters interesting and enjoyable was more of a priority to me than holding firm to any pre-conceived notions; and I fucking hated the culture war and felt like for the most part both sides were making mountains out of molehills. Freed from those burdens, TROS’ creative choices didn’t bother me much.

Critics and fans HATED Palpatine being brought back since he wasn’t anywhere to be found in the previous movies, he brought the trilogy’s conflict back to familiar ground after TLJ started breaking new ground, and he was used as a key puzzle piece to elements such as Rey’s lineage and Kylo Ren’s redemption. But I concur with this post; Palpatine is one of the greatest fictional villains of all time and I am 100% OK with any means of getting to see him and Ian McDiarmid’s pitch-perfect performance as him on screen, and if Disney/Lucasfilm wanted me to buy this new trilogy as the final third of a nine-part “Skywalker Saga”, there was no better way to do it than having its Big Bad be the same one from the previous trilogies. 

Critics and fans just adored TFA and TLJ and I just didn't get it. Not that I don't also like them or think they're bad movies; far from it! But a modern remake of A New Hope and a deliberate attempt to make a new The Empire Strikes Back (in a different way than literally remaking it) just don't strike me as cinematic masterpieces. TROS certainly isn't one either, but it's not trying to be, it's just trying to be a good time. And while critics and fans deem TROS to be a disappointing ending because it didn't meet their expectations, my expectations were low. Barring a complete perversion of Star Wars' core morality come straight out of a bad fanfic or old EU project (so, what Colin Trevorrow's plan was), I was willing to accept any ending, and I was pleasantly surprised I enjoyed the one we got as much as I did. It helps that, like J.J Abrams and Chris Terrio, I did my homework on the creation of Star Wars and all the junk it borrowed for inspiration with reckless abandon, so I caught on to what TROS was up to right away; from a purely out-of-universe perspective it’s the perfect way for Star Wars to end!

It really is exactly what this post said, except that I didn’t have to “unlearn what I have learned” because I never let myself learn it to begin with. I just looked at Star Wars with unclouded eyes and took it for all that it is, the good and the bad. That’s why I love TROS.