#so if you try to use this as a target on my back

[blathersthecat]

AU where Ford is a paranormal investigator who's specifically obsessed with the ghost side of things. He'd seen plenty of the average ghost but he wanted to know how their plane works and if there's a way to bridge the gap.

Ford at some point finds the writings in the cave as usual and doesn't know he summoned a straight up demon. Bill actually died with the rest of his people in his dimension, but while the others either moved on or became ghosts (that dwell inside Bill's mind), Bill became a demon instead.

Ford of course, eventually tries to stop making the bridge and gets stuck in the other plane and Stan (with Fiddleford in this) tries to bring him back to the land of the living.

Important context for the next line: Fiddleford's gun is different in this AU. It isn't much of a memory gun but makes the target be more inclined to ignore or become straight up blind to paranormal activity. So it's instead just called the Paranormal Eraser.

The Eraser, when used on Stan's mind, erased the paranormal activity in it, which Bill was, entirely. It was not made to be used at such a high power though (enough power to erase a literal demon) so this is what caused the memory loss because of all it erased.

Fiddleford has a lot changed in this AU so it's all below with some other lore:

- Fiddleford saw Bill in his demon form and heard screams of the dead when he saw across the bridge.

- Besides what happened to Stan, no one ever had the memory side effect like in the show. In this AU, Fiddleford stays fairly sane and doesn't ever start a cult since he regrets what he did pretty quickly after he realizes the paranormal can still mess with him but now he just won't know when they are and that terrifies him.

It's like seeing a ton of roaches in your room and putting on a blindfold so they won't stress you out, but obviously, you know they're still there and it makes it worse - IDK HOW ELSE TO EXPLAIN IT LMAO

- Fiddleford goes back to the shack to try to tell Ford frantically about his grave mistake. But he meets Stan instead. He starts to help Stan with the bridge out of guilt that Ford got taken by this awful stuff in his absence. He blames himself and thinks that Ford would've been okay if only if he stayed.

- Fiddleford has soo much anxiety when it comes to this stuff. He also regrets heavily how he can't help the family much whenever they need him because of his paranormal blindness. Fiddleford can't even see or hear Bill at all at first.

- During weirdmageddon, his head hurts constantly and he feels incredibly disoriented from all the paranormal stuff going on everywhere. But since it's so overwhelming, the effects of the gun start to wane and he actually starts to be able to see the paranormal again.

- Fiddleford was in on the lies with Stan (knows he's called Stanford, tries to tell the kids that Gravity Falls is completely normal, and goes to work with Stan every night)

- Gravity falls doesn't have tons of random anomalies but only has tons of paranormal/ghostly activity.

- The mystery shack is more spooky themed. Stan has a pretty funny blue and green van instead too. He definitely didn't do that to reference anything - the colors are also mixed up for 'copyright reasons')

- Ford was not able to be killed in the other plane since he was technically dead but it was perfectly possible to feel pain and be tortured so he definitely wanted to avoid that.

- Ford has to get used to having to eat, drink, and sleep again now that he's back alive.

- Ford is less upset with Fiddleford than with Stan which seems unfair to Fiddleford who gets very frustrated with Ford because of it since he has gathered a ton of respect for Stan over all these years.

- Bill's goons are other evil spirits.

- The zodiac circle is replaced with an exorcism circle.

- Fiddleford, Stan, and Ford all become ghost hunters together after the kids leave.

Feel free to send any asks about this AU. This is my pride and joy now, oh my god

[pastshadows]

Shadows of the Past

Chapter 21: Scars Shine White in the Light

Summary: After a year of blissful cohabitation, Astarion disappears without a trace, leaving behind a heartfelt letter explaining his departure. Determined to find him, you traverse Faerûn in search of your lost love, only to realize that some absences are meant to be permanent.

Returning to Waterdeep, you find solace in the company of Gale as you come to terms with Astarion's absence. But just as you begin to heal, Astarion reappears, begging for a second chance at love.

The question looms: can you forgive his abandonment and trust him once more? As you grapple with your emotions and trauma, a sinister force lurks in the shadows, targeting you for unknown reasons.

With danger closing in, you must navigate the treacherous waters of trust, love, and betrayal to uncover the truth behind the mysterious entity's motives. Will you be able to reunite with Astarion while facing the demons of your past? Can you unravel the secrets that threaten your very existence?

Setting: Post End-Game. Mostly canon compliant.

Word Count: 7K

Content: Explicit 18+ - intended for mature audiences.

Warnings: [Additional tags will be added, but expect mature content / read at your own risk.]

Spoilers. Mentions of in-game missable content. Violence. Sexual Assault [Implied/attempted sexual assault: Chapter 7]. Past Trauma. Murder. Death. Longing. Sexual themes. Smut. Blood drinking. Angst. Innuendos. High use of sarcasm. Completely fabricated camp interactions. Panic attacks. Anxiety.

Unlike before, time seems to fast forward, seemingly leaping ahead with every blink as Aldous approaches. The dagger quakes in your grip, and chastise your body for being so wimpish.

A golden beam of light splits the tenebrosity, akin to the sun crowning over the horizon at the break of dawn, and you reflexively throw yourself over Astarion to shield him from it. The sheer brightness makes your eyes clamp closed.

When you open them again, darkness shrouds you like a thick cloak, but this darkness is not natural. It’s teeming with the vitality of the Weave. Somewhere, you can hear the metallic clashing of blades. Your fingers curl into Astarion’s armour, terrified that if you let go, you will lose him in this rayless depth.

Your ears twitch as you catch the quick patter of footsteps, and you bring the dagger back up. It’s difficult to discern which direction the sounds are coming from, and your eyes dart around in an attempt to catch any movement.

The slightest flicker of light is all the forewarning you get before a figure breaks through the fog. The dagger is poised and ready to strike when the icy blue aura of healing magic scintillates within the penumbra, and Shadowheart drops down on one knee beside you.

Her hand nearly touches you before you drop the dagger, catch her wrist, and plant her hand on Astarion. The magic bathes him, flowing over his skin like a wave stroking the beach and fading out as it sinks into him.

Shadowheart’s hand searches through the gloom, finding your forearm. She fumbles around, shuffling on her feet until she can see you more clearly, and wraps her arms around you in a gentle, quick hug.

“Is he?” She gestures toward Astarion, trying once more to heal him. 

“I don’t know.”

The spell is dismissed and diminishes within a split second to reveal Gale and Hecat. Gale breathes heavily, his eyes still glowing with the Weave, and Hecat’s sword is still poised in a defensive position. A thick river of blood drips from a wound in her bicep, off her elbow, and to the ground. You scan the area, but Aldous is nowhere to be seen.

“He’s gone, my friend.” Gale confirms with more spite in his voice than you can recall he ever had, even when he was talking about Mystra. “His master must have tugged his leash.”

Gale and Hecat’s eyes sink to Astarion’s body, which still lies at rest in your arms, and you follow their line of sight with your head hung low over him.

“I tried,” you mutter. “He can’t be. He can’t… He…” You trail off, unable to even think of the word, or you’re positive that you will fall apart and never get up.

Hecat’s sword slumps down, the tip burying itself in the ground, and it strikes you that the woman is crying.

“We should go,” Gale says, kneeling and placing his hand on your shoulder gently. “There is no telling when he might return with greater forces.”

“I won’t leave him here,” you choke out between sobs. “I won’t.”

“Nor will I.” Hecat adds with a sombre intonation, her voice shaking.

Her stalwart loyalty to someone she doesn’t truly know strikes you as strange, but in this moment, you’re thankful for it.

“Of course we won’t leave him.” Shadowheart assures, wrapping her arms around you once more.

“He was our friend, too,” Gale weeps, rubbing the tears that are starting to form in the corners of his eyes.

Was our friend.

Was.

“Was your friend?” Astarion coughs hard, his eyes cracking open slightly. “So lovely to know what you’ve written me off already, my friends,” he groans satirically.

Your arms wrap around him, and for whatever reason, you cry harder with the overwhelming relief. Shadowheart’s arms encircle him as well, her tears leaving tracks down her rosy cheeks. Then Gale and Hecat join.

Astarion bemoans it. You worry it’s making him uncomfortable, but when your eyes meet his, there’s a small smile on his face. You think he’s finally realizing that he has people who truly care about him — much more than he thought.

“Let’s get you two back to camp,” Gale says, hooking his arm around Astarion and helping him to his feet. “Dinner should be ready when we return.”

You groan out loud even though you didn’t mean to, and Shadowheart stifles her giggling. “Kamena is quite injured,” she offers as an excuse to Gale.

“Yes, I’m sure that was it.” Gale scoffs.

“Good Gods,” Astarion barks. “Is no one going to tell him?”

“Tell me what?” Gale asks, brows arched curiously.

Astarion, ever truthful, ignores all of your frantically shaking heads and states the truth that everyone else is too nice to say. “They all hate your cooking, Gale.”

Gale shakes his head with a genial laugh and a Cheshire smile. “Oh, I’ve known that for quite some time. Yet they continue to eat it without complaint, too afraid to hurt my feelings. I wanted to see how long it would go on.”

“So, you’ve been feeding us food we don’t like on purpose?” Shadowheart’s eyes are wide, and her expression is stunned.

“Oh-yes,” Gale chuckles.

You lay with Astarion in the tent, but once he’s deep in his trance, you sneak away to sit by the fire. You’re exhausted, but your mind refuses to oblige your command to trance. It seems the others are in the same predicament, and one by one, Shadowheart comes to join you, then Hecat, and then Gale.

The three of you sit around the fire in silence for a while, each of you contesting with your own inward thoughts on the days events.

“How did you know to come?” You finally ask, staring at your fingers.

“It was Hecat, actually,” Shadowheart answers, and there is a lilt of surprise in her voice. “She said that you had been gone too long, and she was going to look for you.”

“Naturally, we couldn’t leave her to do it on her own,” Gale adds. “So, we joined.”

“And it was a godsdamned good thing we did!” Shadowheart’s voice borders on scolding. “You nearly got yourself killed, Kamena! What the Hells happened?!”

“Aldous happened.” You don’t have the energy to recite the entire story right now.

Hecat? She is the one who prompted them to come to look for you and possibly saved both of you and Astarion’s lives. Guilt sinks into your bones. You have not treated the woman very well. When you glance at her, she shrugs and offers you a warm smile.

Getting up, you awkwardly make your way over to where she sits and wrap your arms around her. “Thank you, Hecat. By the Gods. Thank you.”

“Don’t sweat it, Kamena!” She says warmly. “Did you find what you’re looking for or just trouble?”

“Just trouble.” You sigh and drop back onto the ground, rubbing your tired eyes.

“You seem to be a magnet for it,” Hecat assesses.

“She is.” Shadowheart and Gale confirm unanimously.

They snicker, and you narrow your eyes at the pair. “It was your great misfortunate that I ended up in your prison cell.”

“I would say the opposite.” Hecat retorts, her flame-filled eyes cast to the ground. “I’ve been an outcast most of my life, and friends were a foreign concept to me until I met all of you. I know you don’t like me much, but you still have my gratitude, even if being here has put my life in mortal danger.”

“I…” You trail off while the guilt makes your heart squeeze in your chest. “It’s not that I don’t like you…”

Hecat waves her hand flippantly with a small, sad smile. “You don’t have to lie. I know I say stupid things. I’m aware that I have a hard time filtering my thoughts before speaking and only realize I shouldn’t have said something or worded it differently when it’s much too late.”

You’re usually a master with responses. You can twist letters and syllables into a tidy little package to persuade, intimidate, deceive, or placate at your whim, but your silver tongue stalls, and you cannot think of a response to save your life.

Shadowheart clasps your shoulder, interjecting to rescue you. “You should get some rest.”

You swallow hard, eyes pouring over the little camp. “Aldous might return—”

“Shadowheart and I will stay up to keep watch.” Hecat reassures, grabbing her sword and laying it across her lap to polish. “You look worse than I did when I escaped the Hells. Get some sleep, or whatever you elves do.”

You look to Gale in hopes that he might come to your aid and tell the others that you don’t need babysitting, but his bourbon brown eyes gaze at you with a hint of melancholy you were not expecting to see.

“They are correct, my friend. You require rest. We can regroup after and determine what our next move will be,” he says cajolingly, as if he were trying to persuade a rebellious child.

Being spoken to in such a way makes you cringe, and the voices in your head chant, broken, broken, broken. Much like a wilful youth, your first reaction is to be obstinate, to berate them for treating you in such a way that makes you feel small, but their intentions are good and they are not wrong.

You offer them a curt nod, not trusting your tongue to keep its remarks to itself, and shuffle toward the tent. Once you’re safely inside, you nearly collapse onto the furs and bring your knees to your chest while resting your head on them. How could you possibly sleep when every time you close your eyes you hear the clattering of boots, see the flash of chrome, and hear Astarion tell you he would have liked to marry you?

“So, you fly now?” Astarion’s groggy timbre surprises you, and your head jerks up to see flashes of crimson eyes peeking from behind thick lashes. “You have wings? Literal wings? I am not easily impressed by people, but you are quite a good person to know should I be thrown from a building... again.”

Before you can think better of it, you’re an ungainly mess of arms tangling around his neck with your hands twisting into his hair and grabbing handfuls of the silver-spun silk.

Astarion wraps his arms around you, pressing you into himself with an almost bruising strength. “I’m okay,” he soothes, his fingers stroking your hair. “I’m here.”

“You should be resting,” you murmur, still angling your body so that every part of you is pressed against some part of him.

“I can rest when I’m dead.”

You jerk upwards and glare at him with narrow eyes. “Not. Funny,” you scold in a sotto voice.

He smiles, brushing your hair back and taking your face in his hands. “Come now. It’s a little funny.”

You try to wrangle enough residual anger to chastise him for his ill-timed jokes, but as you just learned, time is a precious commodity. You never know when the last tick of a second marks the end, and you will not spend such a priceless asset on anger.

“You’re insufferable.” It’s a struggle to keep your expression serious.

“Aren’t I just?” He snickers, using his thumbs to pull your lips up in the smile they wish to curl into anyway. It breaks your composure, and you smile, silly and girlish. “There’s my girl.”

He pulls you back down to lay on his chest, curling his fingers into your hair. It’s quiet for a spell as you revel in the embrace you nearly lost.

“When did you learn that?” He asks in a low rumbling voice.

“Learn what?”

He pulls away only a little to arch a brow at you as if you’ve asked an immensely stupid question. “To fly?”

“When I jumped off the tower, I felt a weird feeling, like instinct, and—”

“I’m sorry, but hold that thought for just a moment. What?!” He cuts you off with a snap of cold in his voice. “You didn’t know you could do that before you jumped off the damn tower?”

“Well, no, but—“

“Have you lost your godsdamned mind, Kamena?” You can’t quite make out if it’s anger you hear in his voice, chastisement, or astonishment. Perhaps it’s an amalgamation of all three. “What in the Hells were you thinking? Jumping off like that! What a bloody stupid thing to do!”

His anger is similar to that of when you accidentally dropped a building on him, and although you probably shouldn’t, you’ve always found it humorous.

“Stop giggling!” Astarion scolds with a huff. “Can you not see that I’m angry with you?”

You cover your mouth to try and stifle your ill-timed laughter. “I’m sorry,” you manage to choke out. Clearing your throat, you steel yourself back into some semblance of poise, though you cannot wipe the smile from your face. “Sorry. Of course, I can see you’re angry.”

Astarion’s brows furrow while he searches your face. He rolls his eyes exasperatedly. “You still want to giggle like a merry school girl, don't you?”

You curl your lips inward, pressing them together, and nod.

“Hells below,” Astarion groans, racking a hand over his face. “You’re terrible. You know that?”

You nod again, not trusting your mouth to open lest you continue your undignified and improper laughter.

“Well, what are you waiting for, darling? Astarion tosses the furs back. “Get in here before I drag you in here.”

The red gash and dark bruising around it stand out garishly against the rest of Astarion’s pristine alabaster skin, and you suck in a sharp breath, poising your hands over the wound as if you might be able to heal it through sheer willpower alone.

“I’m fine, love.” He coos, slipping his fingers under your chin and guiding your eyes to his. “I’m fine, thanks to you.”

“You should feed,” you murmur, already pulling your hair away from your neck.

“As much as I do appreciate the offer,” he pokes your bruised forehead to bring attention to the fact that you are wounded as well, making you mouth “ouch” to him silently. “I will have to decline for tonight.”

“Fine,” you concede with a pout. “Tomorrow then. You know you always heal faster when you’re full.”

“Remember that, do you?” Astarion muses with a canted head, wrapping an arm around you as you sidle up next to him. “I’m not sure how much I liked this being known thing. It takes away from my intriguing mysteriousness.”

“Pardon me,” you quip, gesturing to yourself as if scandalized. “Allow me a moment to forget all things vampire so you can continue to bewitch me with your enigmatic charms.”

Astarion shakes his head, smiling boyishly, but it transforms into something more sombre and serious. “You could have died today, Kamena. If you hadn’t been able to fly...” he trails off, shaking his head. “Gods. I dare not think about it. Do not throw your life away so readily for me.”

“Don’t jump off any more buildings, and I won’t have to.”

“Kamena,” he starts with a sigh.

“No!” You shout a little louder than you had meant to, cutting him off and glaring at him with enough intensity to make him swallow thickly. “No.” You repeat more hushed. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do with my life, Astarion. It’s my choice. Do not take that from me. Please.”

Astarion nods, though you can tell he’s a little vexed, and you’ve likely not heard the last of his objections.

“I would also like to point out that I did not jump; I fell.” Astarion huffs dramatically in an attempt to ease the overbearing tension.

You lean in close to him and press a lingering kiss to his cheek. When your lips ghost his ear, Astarion shudders with a breathy whimper, and you whisper, “If I were you, I would go with the jumping story. Falling off a building is incredibly embarrassing, don’t you think?”

“Bloody Hells, darling,” Astarion groans, twisting his head to catch your lips. “Get some rest.”

Astarion wakes to a familiar smell, though not one he wishes to be reminded of, and a discordance of gruff voices that are trying to stay hushed. He glances at Kamena, who is still pressed up against him with her eyes closed, seemingly deep in her trance. An amalgamation of purple, blue, and yellow bruises extends down her forehead around a laceration that glares at him like he’s the guilty party.

He shifts Kamena slowly and carefully until she lays on the pillow and pulls the fur blankets up around her. She murmurs in her sleep, hands incoherently grasping for him, but soon settles. He tugs on his clothes, grabs his weapons, and marches out of the tent, prepared to see Aldous invading their camp.

When his eyes fall onto Aurelia and Leon, he nearly drops his dagger in numbed shock. Leon, he spent countless years with. The man was always striving to be Cazador’s favourite, and oh, how Astarion loathed it. Looking at Leon now, he pities the poor foul. He appears emaciated, hungry, and covered in filth from head to toe.

Aurelia is in much the same condition. Her clothes are darkly stained from sleeping in the dirt, her red skin appears sallow and wan from hunger, and one of her horns is broken off near her skull.

It’s clear that the Underdark has not been kind to his siblings, but anything is better than living in Cazador’s primitive hell.

Gale, Shadowheart, and Hecat are already speaking to them in low tones, but as soon as Astarion is visible, all eyes snap to him.

“Astarion?” Leon says. “Is it truly you, brother?”

Astarion nearly cringes at being called “brother,” but schools his expression into one of near indifference.

“Leon, Aurelia,” Astarion says levelly. “A pleasure.”

“You have siblings, Astarion?” Hecat asks, and he only nods his affirmation.

“You’re… alive.” Aurelia says almost as if confused. “They haven’t caught you yet.”

“Are you truly surprised, sister?” Leon remarks. “He always was the wiliest out of all of us, to his own determinant. It’s the reason Cazador favoured his pain over ours.”

“Cazador preferred my screams because they were far more becoming than all of your croaking,” Astarion quips to hide his discomfort at the mention of his old master’s preoccupation with him.

His siblings do not know the truth, of course. He may have given up trying to escape, but he instigated Cazador to save the rest of them from his torments. Well, that and because it was dreadful fun to piss him off even if it did get him flayed.

“Why have you come, brother?” Aurelia asks.

“We came looking for you.” He states indifferently. “It seems you may have landed yourself in a spot of trouble.”

“That’s an understatement.” Leon says, glancing at Aurelia. “Someone has been hunting us and the spawn you released. We know not who they are—”

Astarion puts a hand up and shakes his head. “Yes, we are aware of the situation. It appears another vampire lord has caught wind of the Black Mass. They need our scars to complete the contract.”

“Can another vampire lord do that?” Aurelia asks, fear permeating her eyes. “Complete the rite?”

“It makes sense,” Leon sighs, coasting his fingers through his dirty hair. “They’ve been rounding up the feral spawn and our brother’s and sisters.”

“And Cazador was not exactly subtle,” Astarion adds quickly. “When Kamena and I were there, we found correspondence between him and other lords boasting about the power he was about to acquire.”

Leon and Aurelia sigh at the same time, obviously bone-weary and at their wits end. Astarion holds little love for his “siblings.” Cazador called them a family but did not refrain from pitting them against each other to create animosity between their ranks. It’s far safer to pit the spawn against each other over who gets to stay in the lavish, preferred spawn quarters, then run the risk of them conspiring against their master.

Astarion had caught onto that little plan straight away, but his siblings were too embroiled in their competition against one another to give a damn what he said.

Imbeciles.

“Where are the other spawn?” Shadowheart asks. “The feral ones.”

“Gone,” Leon answers immediately. “Those of them that were not killed by the dangers lurking in the Underdark were swiftly rounded up.”

“I told you to take care of them,” Astarion nearly snarls, but he manages to keep most of the animosity from his tone.

“We tried, Astarion!” Aurelia fumes with her fists balling up at her sides. “They were too far gone. Many of them had been starved and rotting down there for centuries!”

A flush of guilt labours through him. He had feared as much when he saw them, but he thought they deserved a chance like he had.

Then again, they did not have someone like Kamena at their side to love them through their bloodlust, pain, and misery.

“I should have killed them,” Astarion states with his eyes cast down at his shoes. “Selfishly, I did not want anymore blood on my hands than I was already drowning in.”

“You couldn’t have known, my friend.” Gale reassured quickly, his expressions sullen.

A placation, at best. Astarion had known. He had been lucky to come back from the year he spent in solitude, starved and alone with only silence and darkness as his company. When he had been released, he had long abandoned the abilities for speech and reason. If it had not been for Cazador’s compulsion, he would have tore through Baldur's Gate like a rabid animal.

“None of us did.” Leon acknowledges and offers Astarion a small smile. “What you did was admirable. It is a shame it turned out this way.”

“So, do you have a plan? Aurelia’s voice is high with anxiety, and her eyes run amok over the land.

Astarion observes her demeanour. She had never been the most courageous of the bunch of them, but this level of restlessness was rare even when Cazador was hunting her through the hallways.

“Find the vampire. Stop the vampire. Kill the vampire.” Astarion drawls in a devil-may-care fashion. “We are workshopping the details as we go.”

“They won’t stop, Astarion.” Aurelia sputters. “We’ve just spent Gods know how long hiding with fish.”

Astarion nearly chuckles. “Ah, the Kuo-Toa, yes? Fascinating creatures, are they not?”

“You could say that,” Leon groans. “So another vampire lord is looking to complete the Black Mass. Where does that leave us?”

“Targets obviously,” Astarion concludes briskly.

“Yes, we get that, Astarion. Thank you.” Leon remarks vexed. It makes Astarion smirk that he’s still able to get under their skin. “But where do we go from here?”

“We’ll take you to our home.” Kamena’s voice is flat, weighed down by the lingering traces of her trance.

All eyes jerk to her as she rubs her eyes and yawns. Kamena winces, and her fingers prod the bruises and cut on her forehead, testing the tenderness. She moves stiffly toward them, and though she manages to hide it well, he can tell she’s still in pain.

How could she not be? She leapt off a fucking building.

For him.

Him.

Try as Astarion might, he cannot fathom why anyone would put themselves in harm's way for him.

“It’s nice to see you again, Kamena.” Leon says with an awkward smile. “I’m happy to see you recovered.”

Kamena smiles politely, but it does not reach her eyes, and she refuses to look at him. He’s still not quite sure what happened down here. All his attempts to get her to open up are met with reluctance. He is trying, in the only way he knows how, and he knows he shouldn’t resent her for the problems he caused partially, but a small part of him does all the same.

She just has it so easy. Kamena can pick and choose when and what to open up about at her whim, but it’s clear that she doesn’t fully trust him. He will admit, he’s made mistakes—more than a few at that, but he has been trying, hasn’t he? He forces himself to open up to her even when it feels like he’s tearing apart his ribs to show her his heart and stitching himself back up.

But his openness is met with reserve, and it hurts him—a constant, blunt ache in his chest where his heart should beat.

In spite of the pain, Astarion sweeps the festering wounds to the wayside once more. What is pain to him anyway? After centuries under Cazador, pain is an old friend, although this pain is new to him.

Physical pain he can handle. It is known. It is predictable. This pain, though, he’s not quite sure how to traverse.

He can see that she is trying. He just wishes it was faster, so that they can luxuriate in the warmth of it for as long as possible before Kamena leaves him alone to forget how to love once again.

“What do you mean, take us to your house?” Aurelia asks uncertainly.

“It’s somewhere you will be safe.” Kamena morphs her tenor into something resembling a summer breeze — soft, warm, and welcome. She must have recognized his sister's unease. “You don’t have to go. The choice remains yours. If you want to stay with the Kuo-Toa, you’re welcome to.”

Astarion is still not very delighted with the idea of having his siblings in his home, using their bed, hunting in his woods, but leaving them here is a worse option.

“Does it have things to eat?” Leon asks hopefully, the pang of starvation in his tone.

He watches his brother and sister carefully. They should be nearly as practiced at controlling their bloodlust as he is, but he would be a fool to trust them completely. That kind of hunger can drive even the sanest souls mad.

“Animals,” Astarion confirms, and gives them both a pointed look. “Only animals. Is that clear?”

Both the spawn nod their acknowledgment.

“Lovely,” Astarion exclaims with terribly mimicked mirth. “Now, do any of you know Prestidigitation by any chance? They smell rank.”

Astarion and Kamena jog toward the Elfsong, with dawn threatening the horizon. Escorting his siblings to his house had taken longer than they had estimated, and staying the night there was out of the godsdamned question.

“Hurry up, Astarion!” Kamena urges him, placing her hands on his back and pushing him to run quicker. Panic infects her voice like a pathogen. “You can run much quicker than me. Go. I’ll catch up.”

He glances at the sky. They are pushing it close, but there is a little room to be had. Astarion has to choke back a scant chuckle. Kamena is more terrified of the sun touching him than he is, and it baffles him. She has seen the sun touch him on several occasions. It hurts like a bitch, but it’s not a death sentence.

“We’re fine, love.” He tries to reassure, but it’s of little use to calm her. “We’re nearly there.”

Kamena gives him a firm swat on the ass, but her face is adorned with the most ambrosial, angelic smile. “I wasn’t asking, Astarion. Get this very charming ass moving!”

“Well, when you put it that way,” he purrs carnally, and then switches his demeanour on a dime. “It’s still a no, I’m afraid.”

"Corellon, grant me patience,” Kamena groans.

Kamena darts into the Elfsong, pushing the sweaty strands of her hair behind her ears, and placing a bag of coin on the counter. “We need a room for two nights.”

The barkeep meanders over slowly, and Kamena shifts on her feet, her eyes darting to the windows that are beginning to brighten. He remains unconcerned about the sun. His concern is for her. Fear has a musky, sour aroma that numbs his tongue. Then there is terror, and it smells like absinthal, burning metals that numb his entire body.

Kamena smells like terror.

“Sure thing,” The man dumps the bag of coins out onto the counter to count them.

“You can have the whole bag if you tell me the room number right now,” Kamena blurts out.

Astarion’s eyes bulge. That pouch held far more coin than what was necessary for a room. He takes a deep breath to calm himself. No matter. He will just steal it back for her later.

“Room three,” the man says, cupping his hand at the counter's lip and sweeping the excess coin into it.

She grabs him by the wrist and tugs him upstairs. Unfortunately for him, the upper-floor windows are not shielded from the sun by the other buildings, and he has to dodge through it quickly to get across the hallway. A hiss of pain whispers through his lips when the rays dawdle over his arm.

Kamena bursts into the room, pulling all the drapery closed in a rush while he stands off to the side in a shaded corner until the room is cloaked in darkness. She snaps her fingers, and he watches little orbs, like infant suns, float through the air and land on the candle wicks.

She rushes over to him, grabbing his arm gently to get a look at the burn. “Are you okay?”

Astarion glances at the small patch of cracked, matte skin. “It’s a piddling injury, darling.”

Her brows pinch, and her eyes squeeze closed as she takes a deep breath. Astarion cocks his head, trying to read her. Sometimes he finds that he actually misses the worms in their heads that allowed them to link minds.

“Okay. If you’re sure.”

“I am,” he reassures, his hands finding her upper arms and squeezing while his thumbs gently rub. “A little sun is not going to be my end.”

“I know. It’s just…” She trails off, looking askance.

Astarion’s heart feels like it leaps, even though he knows it remains gripped by death. Is she finally going to open up to him? Is she finally going to let him in?

“Nevermind,” she sighs, and his heart stings with yet another dismissal.

They are both tired, dirty, and wounded. Astarion knows this conversation needs to be had, but he cannot bring himself to inflict any further pain right now.

“You forgot the fire, sweetheart.”

Kamena’s fingers snap once more, and the fire crackles and pops, flames gnawing at the kindling. They settle in, each having a bath and shedding the Underdark’s grime.

Kamena towels off and runs a comb through her hair. “Are you tired?”

“No,” he admits. “The last couple of days have been a lot.”

“Good. I’m going to go downstairs and fetch us some wine.” Kamena rummages through their bag, finding a pair of clean trousers and a shirt to toss on. “Any particular vintage I should ask for, snob?”

“Snob!” Astarion huffs false indignation, puffing his chest out. “It is not my fault you lack a refined palate.”

“Says the vampire,” she smirks. “I’ll ask them for their most expensive bottles.”

“It’ll likely still be plonk.”

“Probably, but not to worry. You can make merry with my vintage wine later,” she winks.

Just before she’s about to shut the door, he calls out to her. “Do make sure to get yourself some food as well.”

Kamena pokes her head back in to shoot him a pointed look and sticks her tongue out at him petulantly, shutting the door behind her.

Astarion settles in front of the fire and gets lost in the dance of the leaping flames. What will it take for her to start unwrapping the fragile, broken parts of her and trust that he will hold even the smallest slivers with care? Vulnerability does not come to him easily; not after emotions had been systematically squeezed out of him, but he swallowed his pride, fear, and bitterness for her.

It hadn’t been easy. Giving her access to his heart and having to trust that she would hold it gently had been the most difficult thing he’s ever done. Day after day, he’s placing his heart in her hands, but she’s unable or unwilling to put that same trust in him.

She loves him; he has no doubts about that, but he still feels like he’s swimming in a lake, and she’s standing on the sidelines, picking and choosing when to dip her toes in. Is that what their relationship has been reduced to?

He was her sanctuary once, where she ran to find peace when the pandemonium of their tribulation got a little too loud. Now she retreats. Less often these days, but still often enough for it to pain him.

What else can he do?

The creak of the door breaks him from his rumination, and he blinks, his eyes dry from staring off into the void of his mind. Kamena uncorks a bottle and sits with him. To his great delight, she carries a plate of food, which she nibbles on slowly. They speak idly about nothing in particular, passing the wine back and forth between them. A permanent blush stains her cheeks pink from the wine, and Astarion drinks in sight of her with a tipsy grin.

“Do you remember...” Astarion stops, trying to recall the name, and takes another sip of wine. “Gods. What was his name? Ah, yes! Kar’niss.”

Kamena visibly shudders. “The Drider? Gods. Why would you bring that up, Astarion?” She giggles unreserved. “I still have nightmares about him.”

“You threw the Lyre at him as soon as he popped up from the shadows, and do you remember what you did, darling?”

Kamena snorts out a small laugh. “I ran behind you. You make a very good shield.”

“Ran? Darling,” Astarion chuckles, shaking his head, “you yelped, scrambled behind me all flailing limbs, and forced me to talk to the damn abomination!”

She shrugs. “It was time you started pulling your damn weight!”

“All the locks I picked and traps I stopped you from barrelling into were not enough? You would have blown yourself up in that godsdamned ruined temple had I not been there to stop you from pressing buttons and walking over pressure plates.”

“My morally questionable, very pale hero!” She simpers and giggles delightfully.

“Don’t forget beautiful,” he quips.

Kamena places her wine down and approaches him. He grabs her waist and pulls her into his lap to straddle him.

“My morally questionable, very pale, devastatingly beautiful hero,” she amends, kissing his face between every word. He gathers her hair, sweeping it away from her neck to press unhurried kisses down the column. His fingers ruck up the hem of her shirt, and she takes it off, throwing it off to the side unceremoniously. Astarion takes a moment to take her in, his hand cradling her face and his thumb stroking her cheek. He dips his head to catch her lips. Astarion groans with the heat of her breath in his mouth, and he allows himself to get lost in his love for her.

Kamena undoes the buttons of his chemise with clumsy fingers. Once it’s undone, she smooths her hands with her palms slightly heated from her magic up his abdomen and chest, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, almost as if the sun’s rays were warming him.

His cock is already throbbing. “I want to lead,” he says huskily. “Like we used to.”

If he can get her to trust him in this, maybe, just maybe, she can start to trust him outside of intimacy. She requested he stop being so gentle with her, and maybe that is part of the problem. He’s too gentle, too affable, too meek, scared that one wrong move will send her spiralling — running.

It’s a long shot, but he’s running out of ideas. It does idly cross his mind if this is a manipulation tactic, but he doesn’t mean it to be so. He just needs to gain her trust, and this is as good a place as any to start.

There’s a small flicker of uncertainty before she nods. “Okay. You lead.”

“Do you remember what word you use if you need to stop?”

“…Astarion,” she says warily.

“I shan’t push too far, my love.” He comforts, lowering his voice into warmed honey so that its timbre sticks to her skin. “And you have only but to say the word if you want to stop.”

The look of wariness slowly ebbs and is replaced with determination. “Orchid.”

“Correct. Good girl.” Astarion pats her leg, picking at her trousers. “Stand and take these off.”

While she does that, he slips out of his pants, his cock finally relieved of that too tight hug of his leather trousers. He settles back on the chair, legs spread wide, and grabs her hips.

“Come.” He turns her around. “Sit. Yes. Like that.”

Kamena settles herself on his lap, her back pressed against his chest. His cock is stiff and yearning against her heated sex, and it takes him considerable effort to thwart the temptation to sink into her.

Astarion draws her in close, wrapping his arm around her waist and kissing down the back of her neck to the base of her spine. He settles his chin on her shoulder, making sure to position himself in a way that he can see down her body, and his breath fans her ear.

He trails the backs of his fingers down, lightly brushing them against the hardened peaks of her nipples, and she sucks in a sharp breath at the stimulation. He proceeds and feels her tremble in anticipation, but he stops short and traces his fingertips featherlight around her belly.

“Tell me what you want me to do,” he whispers into her ear. “Tell me exactly what you want, when you want it, how you want it. Where. Harder. Faster. Slower. Tell me everything.”

Kamena leans back into him. “I thought you wanted to lead?”

“I am. Just not in the way you were expecting.” He grins mischievously. “I await my instructions, my dear.”

“Touch me,” she mutters under her breath.

“Where?” Astarion plays stupid, bringing his finger to rest on the tip of her nose. “Here?”

She laughs, grabbing his hand and placing it exactly where she wants it. Her clit pulses against his fingertips.

“Okay, now what?” He asks.

“Play with my clit, gently at first.” Kamena’s legs jitter when he starts swirling circles around the border, and to his delight, she gets a little more brazen. “Faster with more pressure.”

Her cheek presses into him, her back arching, and she whimpers. Astarion slides his fingers down, parting her folds, spreading her open for him to admire.

“So wet for me, aren’t you, my sweet?” He nips her ear, a graze of his fang along it, and then he sucks gently. Kamena whimpers, and her fingers grasp any part of him available as her hips buck. “So needy.”

“Fuck.” She groans. “Fuck me with your fingers.”

A low, delighted growl rumbles in Astarion’s chest. There is his Kamena, unashamed to tell him exactly what she wants from him. His fingers skate around her entrance, veiling them in her silky desire, before he pushes his cock to the side slightly and slips them in. He starts slow, dipping in and out in the smallest increments to tease out her pleasure.

“Open your eyes, love.” Astarion instructs smooth as velvet. “Watch me fuck your pretty little pussy. You look positively divine with my fingers inside you.”

He smirks when he sees her face flush red, with an amalgamation of desire and embarrassment. Though she likes it, Kamena does not have much experience with vulgar dirty talk, despite the fact that he’s heard some downright obscene things drop off her tongue.

With his fingers sliding against his shaft on every pump, groans escape him unbidden. Kamena clenches around his fingers at the sound, answering him with whimpers. The fact that Kamena is aroused further by the sound of his need exhilarates him.

“My clit,” she pants with her eyes anchored on his fingers. “You can do both at the same damn time. Don’t be so lazy.”

He growls into her ear approvingly. “As you wish.”

His thumb presses against her clit, sweeping across in a regular rhythm, and her hips jerk and roll thoughtlessly. He increases his pace, driving his fingers deep and fast, curling them up with every pass. Kamena’s fingernails dig into the meat of his thighs as she gasps and jerks, sweat starting to coat both of their bodies.

Precum dribbles from his cock, and his hips start to buck involuntarily as it begs him for the attention he so desperately craves.

“A- Gods! Astarion,” she sputters. “Fuck me. Please. Fuck me.”

He would have liked to make her cum like this, but he cannot deny that he much prefers to feel her walls spasming around his cock, begging him to fill her with his spend.

“Lean in me,” he barks, and she relaxes into him straight away. He hooks his forearms under her knees, spreading her wider for him. “A hand, if you would be so kind, love.”

Kamena grasps his cock, swirling her thumb over his precum soaked tip and giving it a slow stroke before she aligns him at her entrance.

“Hard or soft tonight?”

“Bite me and fuck me hard,” she growls at him, sweeping her hair to the side and exposing her neck.

A shot of pure, unmitigated desire shoots straight through him at the words, and he buries himself to the hilt with one smooth snap of his hips. His eyes fall shut, revelling in the sensation of being sheathed in her — so tight, so wet, so warm, so perfect.

Astarion opens his eyes, watching himself pull out almost all the way and slamming back into her again and again.

He kisses her neck, moaning against her. “Gods above. You look magnificent on my cock. Do you like to watch me fuck you, Kamena?”

A desperate whine comes from her. “Gods, yes.”

“Good girl,” he purrs. “Play with your clit.”

Kamena’s hand reaches down shakily, skimming across her tender flesh. Astarion moans once more at the divine sight before he bites, quick and accurate, knowing exactly where and how to illicit the correct response. His fangs sink into her tender flesh, and her blood surges into his mouth.

His eyes roll back as the sanguine nectar skips across his tongue. If heaven has a taste, he’s positive that this is it. Astarion centres his attention on the push and pull of her walls, the ridges dragging against his hard length.

He can feel every squeeze of that slick, warm grip sending him reeling into mind-numbing pleasure. Kamena’s hips undulate in time to meet his hard thrusts, her fingers working her clit at a frantic pace.

Astarion drives into her, harder and deeper, making her take all of him with every thrust. Kamena whimpers and moans his name in an almost prayer-like chant, and every time it sends another wave of affection coursing through him.

She cries out, her cunt spasming and clamping down on him. The tightness, the way her walls squeeze him, makes it too hard for him to stave off his orgasm. He has to withdraw his fangs from her neck when he comes, the pleasure so intense that his toes curl and a sonorous whine erupts from his throat.

Astarion’s fingers dig into the meat of her thighs, holding on for dear life. His hips stutter, dipping his cock into her again and again and again, coaxing out every bit of his release and flooding her. His being narrows down into nothing but an impossibly compressed point of white-hot bliss as his hips buck, riding out his own shockwaves until they finally abate.

Kamena sags into him once he unhooks his arms from her legs and lets them relax. He presses a kiss to her temple, burying his nose in her hair with his own satisfied sigh.

“We might have ruined this chair.” Kamena shifts to look down at the evidence of their enjoyment. “We definitely ruined this chair.”

Astarion barks out an abrupt laugh in response. “Possibly,” he concurs with a rakish grin. “To Hells with them. You gave them enough bloody coin to furnish this room twice over.”

She turns to face him, draping herself over him with her arms around his neck. “You’re just going to steal it back for me anyhow.”

He grins at that, his chest feeling lighter. It feels good to be seen, known. “You know me too well.”

Kamena rests her head in the crook of his neck, her eyelashes fluttering against his skin as her eyes fall shut. “That was... fun. We haven’t done that in a while. You are okay?”

A typical question after they make love, but he finds it hard to answer this time. It’s not the physical intimacy that troubles him, but her lack of emotional intimacy is another matter entirely.

“Yes, my love,” he purrs. There will be a time and place for that discussion, but this isn’t it. “I’m fine. I would tell you if I wasn’t. Shall we clean up and go to bed? We have a long night ahead of us.”

She leans back, quirking her brow at him. “A long night?”

“Oh yes,” he smiles cunningly. “I believe I owe you a hot date, and I intend to deliver before we leave the city.”

Thank you to all those who read/like/comment/follow/reblog/etc. I'm forever thankful for the support. I love reading your comments ❤️

Chapters Master List - Shadows of the Past

AO3: Crossposted

If you're interested, I also write fanfic for Ascended Astarion x Spawn Tav - Fangs and Fractured Hearts

Small Notes:

😮‍💨 Some complicated feelings going on for poor Astarion.

Date night is nigh!

🥵 (this is all I've got)

[4dkellysworld]

How To Stay Trapped

This is not from my own conversations with ChatGPT but someone else's that I saw on IG and thought it was so good that I had to share it here. Except it being Satan, it's you thinking you're ego.. The comments were saying 'that's society' and 'that's life' but no, it's you buying into the mind's beliefs, own it! Take responsibility so you can actually do something about it. I wanted to highlight most of the text. It can also be used as a progress check of sorts, to check in with yourself and see where you can let go of more ego concepts and identification (healing is essentially this too).

Question: If you were Satan and you wanted to stop a young woman from meeting her potential and fulfilling her life's purpose, how would you do it?

Answer: If I were Satan and wanted to stop a young woman from meeting her potential and fulfilling her life's purpose, I would target her mind, emotions, and surroundings to create a sense of self-doubt, confusion and discouragement. My goal would be to keep her stuck, distracted, and disconnected from her true path. Here's how I'd do it:

Undermine Her Self-Worth: I'd plant seeds of insecurity, making her constantly question her value. She'd focus on her perceived flaws and weaknesses rather than her strengths and potential. By keeping her self-esteem low, she would struggle to believe she deserves success or happiness.

Create Toxic Relationships: I'd encourage her to surround herself with negative, toxic, or manipulative people who drain her energy, undermine her dreams, and discourage her from growing. Whether through unhealthy friendships, romantic relationships, or even family dynamics, these people would keep her from focusing on her goals

Fuel the Fear of Failure: I'd amplify her fear of failure, making her terrified of taking risks or trying new things. She'd stay in her comfort zone, avoiding the challenges that would lead to growth. The fear of embarrassment or rejection would keep her from pursuing her purpose.

Distract Her with Superficial Goals: I'd shift her focus away from her true calling by making her prioritize materialism, popularity, or external validation. She would chase after short-term rewards-money, status, appearance - while neglecting her inner development and long-term purpose.

Instill a Victim Mentality: I'd encourage her to feel like life is happening to her rather than for her. By convincing her that she's powerless in the face of her circumstances, I'd keep her from taking control of her destiny. She'd blame external factors instead of seeing the power she has within herself to change her life.

Create Constant Comparisons: I'd ensure that she constantly compares herself to others, feeling inferior or jealous of their achievements. Social media would become a tool for self-criticism, where she believes everyone else is doing better than her. This would sap her motivation and make her feel like she's never enough

Promote Perfectionism: I'd make her believe that anything less than perfect isn't worth doing. She'd become paralyzed by the idea that she has to be flawless in every aspect of her life-whether it's her career, relationships, or appearance-leading to procrastination and stagnation

Discourage Emotional Healing: I'd make her avoid addressing her emotional wounds or past trauma convincing her that healing is unnecessary or too painful. By keeping her unhealed, I'd ensure that old wounds and unresolved pain continue to hold her back and sabotage her future relationships and decisions.

Foster Burnout and Overwhelm: I'd encourage her to take on too many responsibilities, causing her to spread herself thin and eventually burn out. By overwhelming her with stress, I'd keep her from focusing on her true purpose or making meaningful progress in any one area

Normalize Settling for Less: I'd convince her that it's easier and safer to settle for mediocrity, whether in her career, relationships, or personal growth. She'd believe that pursuing her dreams is too risky or unrealistic, so she'd settle for a life of comfort and conformity rather than pushing toward her potential.

Fuel lmposter Syndrome: I'd make her feel like a fraud whenever she achieves success, convincing her that she doesn't really deserve it. No matter how much progress she makes, she'd always feel like she's faking it and fear being "found out," which would hold her back from fully stepping into her power.

Block Her Connection to Intuition or Faith: I'd weaken her connection to her inner wisdom, intuition, or any spiritual guidance she might rely on. By creating doubt in her own instincts or in a higher purpose, I'd keep her disconnected from the inner clarity she needs to make aligned decisions

Through these tactics, I'd aim to keep her in a cycle of self-sabotage, fear, and confusion, making it incredibly difficult for her to rise to her potential and fulfill her life's purpose.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Archery Nemesis.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[toytulini]

Thank you for your tags on the baeddalism post. As someone who is aroace (formerly biace) and a nb transmasc I've literally watched every identity I have be dragged into discourse time and time again and it's always the exact same rhetoric to a nauseating degree. People are so terminally online that they constantly invent new nonexistent stereotypes of other queer identities to get mad at or just pick a queer identity to be the monster of the week, and it's excruciating to see it repeat the same way everytime.

I wanted to try to respond to this more eloquently after i had some caffeine, but if we wait for eloquence itll go unanswered for years. but lmao yea of course. Im also aroace and enby. I was here since like 2014, I suffered through reading all these same stupid arguments about a-specs and my tolerance for it is so fried. The queer infighting and gatekeeping bullshit is so rotting. I hope we learn one of these days. My disillusion that this keeps fucking happening is at least tempered by the fact that all the blogs who I followed for good takes on inclusionism and queer solidarity during the acecourse are also not tolerating this shit, and they are recognizing it as the same old bullshit its been the whole time.

[snekdood]

Quite honestly, i think people just dont like to acknowledge how many times i have been victimized bc it doesnt work for their narrative of the Scary Bad Trans Guy With No Regard For Others And Likes To Kick Puppies And Doesnt Know Real Pain Or Trauma

[hesquietoday]

I feel so so so sad that I completely changed my theme but I love this picture of mike so much and I had to change everything to match it

[ravenwolfie97]

i can't sleep and i want to fight youtube

[artisanalpeanutbutter]

Trying to build muscle is so frustrating bc it's hard enough to motivate myself to eat as it is but now I have to eat more protein and my stomach is too liddol for the amount of food I need in a day

Can I get an f in the chat?

[gigagasp]

God is putting me through trials LMAO

[airenyah]

i completely understand the ohm obsession and i cannot thank you enough for all your insights on acting (his and also in general) too! i LOVE reading what you have to say and learning from you at the same time! watching series (i also just watched the latest 10yt ep) feels like an even more involved experience now because i can actively analyse the acting (i keep coming back to your post to see how ohm does such and such) too! thank you x1000000 and please know that i am consensually kissing your ginormous brain <3

anon, ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh thank you so much for your lovely message, it delights me greatly!!!!!!!!!! I read your ask earlier and I was sitting in my bed at the time and once I’d finished reading I kind of just fell forward, burying my head into my blanket and squealing like a little child for like a minute, that’s how happy your words made me 💕

I’m so glad to hear that I managed to explain things clearly enough that others (in this case you specifically) can get something out of it!! honestly, I’ve been so shy when it comes to talking about acting here on tumblr because I feel like I can’t express what I mean very well. And the problem is what I’ve mentioned so far really is just a quick overview, there are many concepts I definitely forgot about (obviously I don’t have a list in my head, I just notice things as I’m watching) and those that I did talk about, well, I really didn’t go into a lot of detail there, it was more of a quick summary (there is SO. MUCH. You really can’t sum up 3 years of drama school into one single tumblr post hahaha)

and also, unfortunately I can’t just go and analyze a clip second by second while you listen. I mean okay yeah, in some cases and for some specific concepts gifs will do the trick (like in my bbs ep 3 sniffing scene analysis) but with a lot of things it’s just easier when you have the entire clip with sound and all, where you can also jump back and forth and then maybe go find another example for comparison to make things a little clearer

because often a performing concept or performing technique will be easier to understand when you’ve seen someone do it “wrong”. I’m saying “wrong” here in quotation marks because I’m only putting it that way for the sake of simplicity. There isn’t really a right or wrong here, it’s usually much more about “if you perform it this way then you’ll likely have this effect on the audience, if you perform it that way then you’ll likely have that effect on the audience. Which one do you wanna achieve as an actor?” Though, one can definitely say that performing a certain way will touch the audience more or they will have an easier time following the story and the emotions compared to performing it a different way. Again, it’s a lot like food: put sugar in one recipe and it’ll taste amazing and people can’t stop eating, put sugar in another and people will refuse to eat it because it tastes so bad to them, put sugar in yet another recipe and it might be perfectly edible but would probably be a whole lot more enjoyable without the sugar

what I mean by that is: it might come to situations where I’ll be like “this actor has this aggressive undertone 90% of the time and we’re half-way through the drama and it’s starting to annoy me and make me dislike the character and the relationship” or “this actor has no thoughts behind their actions and so watching them just bores me” (yes these are real-life opinions that I’ve recently had. No I will not be revealing said dramas publicly, but if anyone reading this is curious then feel free to come into my dms and I might spill the tea)

comparing various scenes of an actors using a technique well with actors using that technique not so well really helps with learning how to analyze acting because you’ll see the different effects it’ll have on you as a viewer when someone uses a technique well vs someone who’s bad at it

I do have some “bad” examples that I could tell you about and fun fact: that even includes แค่เพื่อนครับเพื่อน BAD BUDDY SERIES (my most beloved <3). but as I’ve said before, I just don’t feel comfortable sharing the negativity publicly, because I don’t wanna hurt anyone’s feelings. And I don’t like getting into arguments, especially public ones, so I don’t want to get any stupid comments on my posts or in my ask box. However, if you’re curious my dearest anon, you’re very welcome to come right into my dms for some deeper discussion on that. And you don’t have to be nervous about revealing your identity, because sharing my observations with you in even more detail would definitely bring me great joy💕 (this goes for anyone reading this, btw, feel free to slide into my dms fsjksd)

in fact, I wish I could do this one acting analysis project with you that I did with my friend!! quick backstory: back in november 2021 I watched this old korean drama and I ended up getting super obsessed with it because I realized there were remakes from other countries which I then also ended up watching and comparing all these version was a suuuuper eye opening experience for me when it comes to “well used technique” vs “badly used technique” (I learned A LOT from this when in regard to acting) And then half-way through the semester something came up in the uni course my friend and I attend together and I ended up mentioning some acting concept and realized that said kdrama & remakes were a perfect example of that and I wanted to show her

And this turned into this month long project throughout november 2022, in which I selected a sequence that had the exact same plot and context in both versions and I showed them to her in several rounds and let her do the analyzing first without me telling her a thing. So the first time around she got absolutely zero info from me, she knew absolutely nothing about the plot, or the characters or anything. I turned off the subtitles as well as the sound and let take a look at ONLY the visuals. For the 2nd round the only thing she got in addition was the sound but I still didn’t tell her anything about the plot or the characters. In the 3rd round I finally told her about the plot and had her watch everything with the context in mind. And only in the final round did I turn on the subtitles. After every round we spent at least an hour discussing everything that she saw or noticed or how she felt watching it but I didn’t tell her any of my own thoughts. I wanted her to make up her own mind first and discover things for herself. It was a quite interesting project, both for me and for her! And yeah, I wish I could do this with you because I’m sure it would be eye-opening for you! (you don’t happen to live in austria, do you? 😂 well, maybe we could figure out a remote solution with screensharing or something...)

also thank you for calling my brain ginormous 🥰 i'll accept the compliment, but let me tell you, it really isn't that big yet!! i wish you could hear what my fave monologue teacher and my camera acting teacher always had to say in class!!! and also, you should really hear what my mom has to say on performing, i feel like such a baby next to her. seriously, the THINGS she SEES?????

story time (sorry i know this is super long already): we were watching the eclipse together, right, and at some point after weeks, towards the end of the series when akkayan start dating, we were just watching this episode, right? and suddenly my mom goes: *pointing at khaotung* "he seems tense, his inner balance seems off"

and i'm just sitting there like "???????? what are you talking about???? they're literally just lying down in bed, HOW can you tell???????"

she tried to explain it to me but i was just left super confused. i think it was an episode later (or maybe the same episode but some scenes later?? i don't remember) there was another scene where they were standing upright and my mom hit pause and went "here, do you see how [insert explanation]" and i was like "oh. okay yeah. yeah that makes sense. i think i know what you mean". and then during the finale (i think?) there was another moment where i even noticed something before my mom said it and then she pointed it out and i was like "yeah i caught that too!!!!"

i also showed her the only friends trailer and there's this one shot where khaotung is sitting on the bed with book, right? and my mom paused the video and went "huh? that's funny. half of his body looks tense while the other half looks completely relaxed" (half meaning left/right, not upper half and lower half). again i was just sitting there like "HOW?????? HOW DO YOU EVEN SEE THIS?????"

(admittedly, my mother works in the medical field and she's close to finishing a 2(?) year training program as a massage therapist, so i guess she'd know about tense bodies from having first hand experience hahaha)

well, i'll stop it here bc i'm sure this is already over 1000 words long again oops. if you've made it all the way down here, then i really appreciated that and give you forehead kiss (if you like that, of course. if not then i'll give you a hug or a highfive or a wave or whatever else you're comfortable with). then again, you've also read my 3.7k analysis on ohm's acting so…

[zorthania]

A piece about survivors guilt.

This comic isn't perfect. I started it back in October 2023, and every time I picked up my pen, I wept.

I bring this to you today, on 9/11, in hopes that you reflect on this day a little differently than how most Americans would. Let it move you to continue to boycott, protest and challenge your family, friends and colleagues. You have a bigger impact than you would believe.

Thank you for reading this with an open heart.

From the river to the sea...

I'd like to bring to attention the fact that the figures depicted above are a gross undercount of the actual number of deaths. I scoured the internet high and low to source my findings and not a single one could break down the devastation that befell an individual ethnicity. Instead, they lumped a bunch of ethnicities together, provided a general timeline, and called it a day, reinforcing the sheer scale of dehumanization propagated in the west. The only consistency between all the articles I looked up was the 4.5 to 4.7 million figure I've included above, and even then, they were all published by western media news outlets... the very same that have been so unreliable and complicit in the genocide of Palestinians today. So I have to take everything they say with a grain of salt.

We are not just numbers.

All of us have ambitions and desires and lives worth living.

With that said, this is your friendly reminder to:

Donate an e-sim

Donate to PCRF to provide Palestinian children aid

Donate to Pious Projects to provide woman with feminine hygiene kits

Donate to CareForGaza to provide food to displaced families in Gaza either through their Gofundme or their paypal

Donate to any of the vetted gofundme campaigns on GazaFunds to help Palestinians trying to flee Gaza.

And if you or someone you know sees or experiences a hate crime and can afford it, SUE. This is a more effective use of your money than most realise. The reason zionists act with impunity is because of the normalization of white supremacy and oppression of ethnic minorities. Challenging that in any capacity tells them that there are consequences to their actions and makes them think twice before engaging in hate crimes and helps raise all of us up against the systems currently in place that let them get away with it.

If you can't donate or spend any money, you can:

Do your daily clicks.

Boycott targeted companies on the BDS list (if you're like me and you don't want a single dollar to go towards anything supporting Israel right now, you can use Bdnaash to double check what products are okay to buy, but the BDS list is sufficient as it is a strategic attack and proven very effective thus far)

Flood your representatives emails and voicemails with how you won't be voting for them unless their politics align with an immediate ceasefire in Gaza.

Attend a protest, be LOUD.

Challenge your circle of friends, family and colleagues with conversations about Palestine. (THIS IS THE MOST UNDERRATED AND MOST EFFECTIVE THING YOU CAN DO)

and if you're really up to, be disruptive in any capacity that you can think of towards major corporations benefiting from this onslaught. (i.e. halting military manufacturers from production + shipments, sticking boycott stickers on products at your market etc)

And finally, if your country wasn't mentioned in the above excerpt, it was no deliberate omission on my part and I encourage you to come forward and tell your story about the suffering of your people so that this may be a learning opportunity for everyone.

You are seen.

You are not alone.

Thank you again if you've read this far.

From the river to the sea...

[cosmocove]

this is petty n most likely an issue of ive just been exposed to entirely different shit but those posts about how people complaining about redemption arcs is bad bc its important message that people can change is just completely ignoring why people are actually complaining cause the big two examples i can think of for why people complain about redemptions are 1. the redemption is poorly written n ignores and/or retcons the previous seriousness of their wrongdoings just because the writer(s) want them to be good now n its kind of hard to do that if (for example) we take the lives they intentionally n mercilessly killed into account and 2. this character is an abuser but instead of taking accountability n bare minimum apologizing n letting their victim(s) choose whether they wish to still have them in their life the writer(s) choose a narrative where the abuser doesnt really have to change as a person they just dont abuse anyone anymore n the framing is weirdly unsympathetic to their victim(s)

[fingertipsmp3]

Another thing that’s happening is my ankle decided to grow a bone spur. So that’s fun

[chuluoyi]

✎ all of me

- gojo satoru x reader

you understand that some things in marriage just needs compromise. and he soon understands too, when you're at your most vulnerable and he fails to be by your side when you need him the most

genre: angst, hurt/comfort, established relationship (you're married & have a son!) argument, feral gojo, mentions of injury & blood, fluff

note: if it isn't obvious by now i'm in the mood of angst-hurt/comfort this week HEHE :)) this is longer than the usual love entry, so i hope you'll enjoy it!

a part of gojo's love entries

general masterlist

Bantering with your husband is not uncommon―in fact, it happens on daily basis.

"Satoru― I'm talking to you!"

But having serious arguments with him is another matter entirely.

Your fists tightening at your sides, facing his unamused expression. How insufferable is he? You told him that everyday, but right now, he's truly surpassed previous levels of infuriating behavior.

"And I can hear you, sweetheart," he retorted, casting a glance your way. The term of endearment he used for you sounding almost like a sneer to your ears and you felt offended.

"I don't think you're taking this seriously," you griped, trying to calm your emotions, still balling your hands. "Someone is following our son on his way back from school―how can you be this... flippant?!"

Numerous photograph of your son exiting the school building from different angles had arrived in your mailbox, and if it wasn't a creepy warning from those who placed a target on his back, then you didn't know what it was.

Satoru let out an exasperated grunt. "I'm telling you, I'll pick him up for the rest of the week. No one will lay a hand on him."

You gritted your teeth. "And I'm telling you, they're trying to make you do just that. Even morons know not to mess with you― they're leaving hints, and you're taking the bait!"

Contrary to what you believed, Satoru felt just as worried as you upon knowing that someone might have marked his precious son, who was now six years old and had recently started attending preschool.

But this is where your approaches differ. You are always the cautious one, overanalyzing each detail, while he leans towards being impulsive, often resorting to brute force.

"Who do you think can stand a chance against me?" Satoru challenged with a real sneer this time. "Remember my words, wife, no one is going to hurt me, you or our baby. I'll end them where they stand."

"That's not the point!" you threw your hands in the air, irate. "Satoru, they're going to take advantage of―"

"Look, I don't want to argue with you." Satoru's gaze was hard on you, his tone clipped, and it made you stiffen. "His safety comes first— and you, of all people, should know I'd never let anything happen to him. You need to quit nitpicking and have a little faith in me."

"I know you are more than capable, but you are not―!"

And then he said it, and his words piercing through you like a knife―

"Don't compare me to you," your husband remarked a little too coldly. "I can do things you can't. Just rest your pretty head, I'll take care of the rest."

Nevermind that he blatantly dismissed your skills as a jujutsu sorcerer, nevermind that he totally didn't listen to you at all―he just went and made himself look like some sort unparalleled god, forgetting how much his hubris could actually take him.

And all these thoughts only made you angrier.

"So be it then." You tried desperately to hold yourself from shaking because you'd be damned if you showed it to him. "A word of advice, Satoru: beware of your arrogance."

With those words, you spun around, marching off toward your son's room, because no way in hell was you going to sleep with that obnoxious prick tonight.

But when you caught the sight of your baby scuttling away from the gap in the door, a fragment of your heart crumbled. Oh. He has seen it all.

In Gojo Satoru's mind, he is made of two things: a powerful jujutsu sorcerer and a family man.

With his immense strength, comes a certain responsibility. And with that responsibility, certain habits have formed. If you just took a few seconds to breathe and looked back throughout the past decade he'd spent with you, you'd know that in fact―

It was also his way to shield you. Satoru stands by the principle that you and his little boy must be protected at all cost, and he most certainly would pull all stops to do just that.

But frankly, he couldn't deny that he felt insulted by how defiant you were. Did you really think he would let anyone ever touch your―his―son? He wouldn't, they'd meet his wrath first and you should've known that.

Still, something akin to guilt nudged at his conscience as he lay alone in your shared bed that night. It felt strange not having you cuddling him. He felt empty.

. . .

None of your shampoo-scented pillow, none of your nightdresses, all of it replaced by a single photo hanging in the wall and the urn of ashes—

Abruptly, he jerked his eyes open, shaken from the most dreadful nightmare he had experienced—

Of you no longer by his side.

“Mama.” Your little boy looked up to you with his doe-blue eyes in the next day, his hand gripping yours. “I’ll be fine.”

You were accompanying him to the preschool. While Satoru had requested Ichiji to drive him, you insisted on tagging along to keep a watchful eye as well. You'd leave your husband to pick him up later just as he wanted.

“Huh?” you turned to him, tilting your head.

“I'll stick by Uncle Ichiji's side the entire time,” he replied in a murmur. “And papa will be picking me up too later. If there are bad guys, they'll get him first.”

You bit your lip, feeling a wave of guilt wash over you. Your boy witnessed your outburst last night and hadn't inquired about it until now, and even then, he was trying to reassure you.

“So… don’t fight.” His round, cerulean eyes then darted towards you, blinking hesitantly, causing you to catch your breath.

He looks so much like Satoru. At six years old, he was the spitting image of him, except his personality—he took after you in that area. It was as if your son was a softer, more innocent version of him. And your heart twisted, remembering your argument last night.

Don't compare me to you.

With a sigh, you bent down to be eye-level with him and managed a smile, holding both of his little hands. “I’m sorry… it was just misunderstanding last night, okay? Don’t worry.”

“…really?”

“Really. Mama and papa were just tired,” you tried to reason, a thin smile on your face. "It's going to be okay, just like you said, yeah? Papa will beat the bad guys out there."

“Will he pull through...? If they bring a knife, and he's just there laughing, they can cut him.”

A giggle escaped your lips at your baby's innocent wonderings, easing the ache in your heart as you recalled how Satoru humored him in so many ways.

You gently poked your son in the cheek. "Nah, do you remember what he always goes on about?"

He puffed up his cheeks in response, his expression turning sour as if combing through memories of hundreds of shenanigans Satoru had instigated to recall his words. You let out a hearty chuckle, finding him so adorable.

"He's strong, he's going to win. He always does."

"Oh. Mmm." Your son scrunched up his nose cutely, before looking away and squeezing your hand. A sincerer smile bloomed in your lips, heart melting at the sight of your growing munchkin.

You will protect him. And maybe you could patch things up with Satoru later that night. Maybe yesterday you were just too paranoid.

That was the plan... at least until your son suddenly screamed—someone wrenching him from your grasp. Without a second thought, you reacted, flipping the attacker away from you and him.

. . . and that was the beginning of how everything started to unravel so terribly that day.

"Gojo-san...! There's been an incident!"

He got that call right after he finished some things with Yaga. Satoru teleported to the preschool right away, only to be greeted by a scene of utter chaos.

Several teachers stood outside the building, and police officers were present at the scene. It was all a blur of cursed energy until his eyes caught sight of—

His little boy, red-faced and obviously in fear, was clinging to Ichiji, who was frantically making calls. Some teachers gathered around him were seemingly trying to coax him to speak.

He didn't waste a second to dash towards him, tearing through the crowd.

"Are you okay? Hey, buddy, what happened?" Satoru pulled him away from Ichiji and turned him over, crouching to his level to check for any signs of injury or harm.

And upon seeing him actually here, his son's eyes immediately welled up with tears, and Satoru felt a chill run through his veins as he broke into sobs, which quickly turned into heart-wrenching wails.

"Mama—! F-find mama—!" the little boy choked out through his tears, clutching onto his shirt tightly and crumbling in his embrace, thoroughly inconsolable.

Satoru's sharp gaze quickly swept over the scene, seeking any clues, while he tightened his hold over him. It was then he noticed traces of your cursed energy mingled with blood.

They hurt you.

"Hey, kiddo—listen to me, it's going to be alright, yeah?" Satoru said, gently pulling away to wipe away his tears, holding the boy's face tenderly in his hands. "Go with Ichiji for now, okay? I'm going to bring mama back, I promise."

He didn't need to be told twice. Your son is always obedient when it matters the most. He gave him a small nod, still shaking with tears.

"Don't worry," he flashed a reassuring smile and ruffled his hair. "I'm the strongest, remember? I'll get her back," he vowed once again. "She'll be fine. Wait for me until then, yeah?"

Ichiji was ready to leave as he had called for those in headquarters as backup in case anything were to happen again. Trusting him to keep his son safe, Satoru took off as soon as he could no longer see the sight of his son's tear-streaked face trying to watch him as the car pulled away.

"I won't repeat myself— where is my wife?"

Satoru wasn't playing this time. He skipped past taunts and just plain threats. These little fries, he thought.

The man he held by the throat was in a lot of distress. "Hyaaa! It's him! Please, please, let me go! I'm acting under orders!"

He then flung him across the wall— might have added more cursed energy than necessary.

At the moment, his entire focus was on trying to locate you. He couldn't let his mind wander to anything else; in fact, he didn't permit himself to.

It didn't take him long to piece together the general location of where you were through the residual of your cursed energy. They stationed several hooligans in this abandoned warehouse to stall him, but he got rid of them quickly and he could sense that you were close by.

"It's Gojo Satoru!"

"Run! Ruuuun!"

What a pain. They picked the wrong person to mess with, and Satoru's lips curled into a manic grin as he opened his palm, pulling them in—

"Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue."

Chaos erupted as the building collapsed around him. He hoped you would realize he was here and manage to avoid getting caught in the wreckage. He was sure you'd know though.

And true to his thoughts, soon he found you— blasting your attacker away with a powerful kick.

Satoru thought that you were a sight to behold, really. And he was about to call out to you when he felt it.

It happened almost in an instant. The way his heart dropped to his stomach, and how his body reacted, barely whispering the incantation for Red as he shot it at something lurking behind you—

At that moment, the only thing you were aware of was the foul stench of a curse. Time seemed to stop before the overwhelming force of Red expelled it away from you.

But before then, you experienced a searing, white-hot pain that scorched through your flesh and pierced your abdomen—

"Y/N―fuck―!" The voice that came from Satoru's throat was raw and laden with panic.

He pulled you against him protectively as you collapsed, blinded by pain. He immediately felt warmth spreading across his lower body—your blood was rapidly drenching his shirt, and he felt a shiver down his spine.

You held onto him tightly while suppressing your scream, feeling every bit of your strength drain away along with the dark crimson blood that poured out of you.

"―toru―" you managed to croak amidst the scalding pain, curling and whimpering in his hold.

"Hey― sweetheart, please―" his voice rang in your ears, as he pressed down on your wound. His hands were shaking, and you clawed at him and groaned in agony. "I-I'm taking you back now― You're going to be alright, yeah?"

The wound was beyond anything you had experienced before, causing you to cry out and gasp for air. It was almost as if something fried your insides. It was hard to stay conscious.

"I've got you now. You're going to be okay." His voice was coarse, as he hurriedly carried you out. And he tried not to let the full-blown panic take over him when your body went limp in his arms, your breaths slowing, head lolling in his chest.

"You're going to be alright! You hear me, sweetheart? You're going to make it. Our baby― he's waiting for you. I promise you, you're going to be fine―"

Perhaps he was trying to tell that to himself, because despite the excruciating pain, a wave of reassurance washed over you.

You were in the arms of the strongest sorcerer alive, what more could you possibly afraid of?

A special grade curse. They had actually unleashed a potent curse and likely aimed at him as their final card—until it veered off course and struck you, leaving a searing gash across your abdomen.

Satoru felt numb as he sat in the waiting room in his bloodied uniform. You got hurt so terribly right in front of his eyes, and all he could feel was this profound void that seemed to bore through him and pierced his soul.

He was supposed to protect you. He said it to your face that nothing and no one would touch your son, and it was in his wedding vows that he'd protect you with his life too.

And yet what happened?

If only he was faster. If only he was able to pull you to him and protect you with his infinity—none of this shit would have happened.

Seeing your face twisted in agony and smeared with blood made him feel sick to his stomach. Inside that OR, you hovered on the brink of life and death, and he was here, unable to do anything.

Satoru rested his head against the wall, feeling a sharp pain surge through his chest. He remembered waking up to your face every morning, the way your touches felt, and how you had brightened his world for the past decade. If he lost you now... he wouldn't survive it. He would wreck anything, everything—

"Papa!" and came his voice of reason. Satoru immediately discarded his bloodstained jacket by instinct, throwing it away before his boy could see it, with Ichiji and Megumi closely trailing behind.

His son crashed himself into him and threw his little arms around his torso, crying—and in that very second, the thump of his heart sounded louder in his ears. Somehow it felt like a knife that twisted his insides.

"Hey, kiddo." Satoru repositioned him so that he would sit on his lap and hugged him, patting him in the back. "There, there... it's alright, yeah? Mama is inside, she'll get better soon."

Your little boy pulled away and wiped his eyes, and Satoru chuckled as he helped him blow his nose. His child was incredibly adorable, and his actions mirrored yours to such an extent that it made Satoru's heart soften.

"Mama g-got hurt trying to... tell me to g-go..." the boy suddenly said amidst his quieter sniffles. "And... she s-said... papa— i-is strong and g-going to win..."

You believe in him. Ignoring the ache in his chest, only able to reply him with a "Yeah..."

Not long after, Shoko emerged from the operating room and informed him that the surgery had been successful, though you would likely need to have a one-week stay in the hospital for observation. He intended to move you to the VIP suite and stay the night there, but then he remembered his son, who was holding his hand.

Satoru crouched down and patted him in the head, fixing him a smile. "See? Mama is okay, but she needs to sleep here to get even better. Now you go home first with big brother Megumi, yeah?"

Your son adored Megumi and often begged you to let him stay over at his place, but this time he looked hesitant, fiddling with his little fingers. "Really? Mama will be home... soon?"

"Mm-hmm, the more she sleeps here, the faster she'll go back home, alright?"

And with that, his baby nodded and Satoru turned to Megumi with a nod. "Thank you for this, Megumi."

The boy whose life he had once saved on some sort of a whim, now grown up and shared the same concern he had for you, Fushiguro Megumi had never before witnessed his benefactor expressing such sincere gratitude for anything before.

When you came to, your body felt as heavy as lead.

The discomfort in your abdomen made you flinch, and you almost let out a groan until you turned to your side and saw him.

Satoru was asleep while sitting in the sofa next to your bed, dark circles evident under his eyes. It might have been your imagination, but his cheeks appeared to be slightly red too.

You tried to recall what had happened to you when it came back—you urging your son to run away as you let yourself being taken away, almost escaping from that warehouse, the flash of excruciating pain, and Satoru's stricken voice.

So he must've been here since last night. Any remnants of your disagreement seemed to have vanished, seeing him there with you, barely covering himself with the blanket, with a frown still marking his forehead even in his sleep.

You wanted to reach out to him until the movement sent a sharp jab to your stomach and you cried out a bit.

In that split second, Satoru's eyes jerked open, and realizing you were awake, his gaze locked onto yours. "Y/N—" But your strained whimper and expression told him everything. "Does it hurt? I-I'll get Shoko, wait—"

And then he hit the call button. Throughout it all, he kept a firm grip on your hand for reassurance. A few minutes later, Shoko arrived and examined your wound, subsequently administering painkillers to alleviate your discomfort.

"It's going to leave a scar," she explained grimly, showing the mangled skin where the curse had made its mark on you, and seeing that, Satoru clenched his fists.

Shoko sighed, empathizing with her friend's frustration. "It's going to fade with time, don't worry. You did well, Gojo. You brought her here quickly. Had you been even slightly later, there could have been an irreversible damage to her organs."

But your husband remained quiet, unable to bring himself to look at you. And after she left, you tried to finally voice your question to him.

"O-our—"

"He's fine," Satoru immediately answered, squeezing your hand. "Our boy is fine. I'll tell Megumi to visit later—he's with him."

A sigh of relief came out of you. "Thank... goodness."

But his expression seemed to fall even further after hearing your response. Satoru settled himself on the seat next to you and lowered the rail on your bed, allowing you to be even closer to each other.

"Do you not feel any pain anymore?" he asked then, gently tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. He looked so sad, a stark contrast of how he usually was, and it bugged you.

"No... I feel fine now."

"Then, can I hug you?"

Of course you nodded without a second thought, and carefully, he wrapped his arms around your body, pulling you close and resting his face on the crook of your neck.

You knew what it was. Satoru was still visibly shaken by what had happened to you, and he wasn't great at expressing himself, so he tried to find consolation through this physical closeness instead.

"I'm okay..." you patted his back, trying to convince him. "I'm alright now, yeah?" But to your surprise, suddenly his whole body started to shake. "Satoru...?"

“…’m sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper as he nuzzled you. “I shouldn't... have let you get this hurt...”

It always amazes you how Satoru always gets this distressed whenever you sustain any injury. You had seen him cry precisely two times now—once after you gave birth to your son and experienced severe bleeding, and now.

"It's not your fault..." you whispered in response. "You... have protected me well."

He held you tighter, his tone faltering. "I didn't."

"You have..." you stroked his hair, trying to convince him. "I'm still here, aren't I?"

Hearing you say that made Satoru's chest ache. The thought of something like this happening to you was unimaginable, and now that it had, he couldn't come to terms with seeing you hurt right in front of him.

"Don't—" he choked on his voice, his breath trembled against your neck. "Don't ever put yourself in danger again. If something happened to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself..."

You couldn't make that promise. Despite the pleading in his voice, you knew deep down that your son's life—and his—meant more, and given the chance, you would obviously save theirs for yours.

“Satoru... I love you, you know that, right?”

So you simply embraced him close, hoping that in this life, you would live long enough that he would never have to see you like this again.

Epilogue

"Papa, how do I become stronger?"

Satoru blinked when his son asked him that so innocently and curiously, taken aback as he led him to your private room later that afternoon. "Oh? What brought this on?"

His first and only son, a perfect miniature of himself, pursed his lips. "I don't want Mama to get hurt again..."

Satoru's heart warmed at his baby’s sincere words, and despite himself, he chuckled.

"What's funny?" his son leveled a glare at him. "I'm being serious."

"Well, aren't you such a good boy? Don't worry, kiddo, I'll teach you my ways~"

"What ways?"

"Well, no need to rush, pumpkin. First of all, you will have to harness your skills and then you have to be more like me—"

"Do I have to be like you…? Is there no other way?"

"—? What's wrong with being more like me?"

"Everything...?"

[comicaurora]

I've been reading some stuff on punitive justice, and it made something click for me that I've observed a lot online but haven't been able to put into words before.

When someone does something wrong, that's bad, and the damage it does needs to be repaired while the person needs to try to do better in future to minimize repeating harm. We learn it in preschool - say sorry, don't do it again. If they keep at it, remove them from the situation where they can do the harm until they prove they're responsible enough to go back in.

So if it turns out someone DIDN'T do anything wrong, that should be a relief! There's no damage to fix, no internal errors to correct. Less work for everybody, literally no harm done. False alarm, all good.

The thing I've observed is, lots of people want them to have done something wrong. There's almost disappointment when it turns out there's no harm done. And I think that's because of this general undercurrent of punitive justice as morally righteous and desirable: someone does something wrong, you get to punish them. Turns out they're innocent? That's disappointing. Find another reason you get to punish them, or find another bad person you get to punish. But at the core of it is that desire to punish someone. Someone you can hurt in a way that makes you a better person for hurting them.

This particular brand of almost cannibalistic pseudo-justice is super common in tumblr, one of the most ostensibly liberal spaces on the internet; I see more borderline savagery in online discourse here than in the actually toxic parts of the internet that are just openly cruel for cruelty's sake. It's always thrown me for a loop, and has frankly also hurt me, because on the rare occasions I get personally dogpiled, it only actually stings when it makes me worry that I've legitimately hurt someone. If I did something wrong, or more realistically when I inevitably do something wrong, that would make it good and right for people to give me shit about it every day until I'm dead.

The thing that clicked for me most recently was this bit in Ijeoma Oluo's Be A Revolution:

Punitive justice is specifically, uniquely appealing to people who have suffered injustices. Of course it's the Tumblr zeitgeist. Everyone here is a marginalized person failed by at least one system. Punishing someone for perceived injustice is how someone the system has deemed worthless proves their value in blood, even if the person being punished hasn't harmed you directly - even if they haven't harmed anyone. "Righteous" anger isn't about the target in these cases, it's about the inflicter. This is how much my pain is worth.

And that kind of violent validation is so alluring and so very dangerous. It seeks an outlet, wearing the justification of justice. Who's in reach? Who's an acceptable target this week? What's a good reason to use?

Is there anything they could do that would make me stop?