#and it probably needs proper structuring

[posletsvet]

Thoughts on Geto Suguru's Psychology Pre-Defection

There's something that I've been meaning to talk about for a while now, and that is Geto's apparent tendency to conceal his negative impulses that allows for, in my view, faulty interpretations stating that he was faking his righteous beliefs all along just because assuming high moral ground gave him a sense of superiority and fed his ego. Meanwhile I would argue that, on contrary, this habit is more indicative of Geto's insecurities and heightened sense of self-awareness.

My thoughts on this underneath the cut, but beware: it's going to be long!

To begin with, I think there are two major factors playing into the misconception that I mentioned. The first one boils down to prejudice forcing people to look upon younger Geto through the lense of a person he would go on to become. The kind of cautious logic that says that a deeply empathetic, caring highschooler couldn't have turned into a murderous cult leader preaching the merits of genocide, and thus seeks ways to dehumanize him from the very beginning (because that's a terrible concept to wrap your mind around, I agree). And the second factor being... well, that Suguru's behaviour really does come off as fake at times.

We experience 'negative' emotions as naturally as 'positive' ones, and despite some of them are conventionally accepted as 'good' whereas others are painted as 'bad', no emotion is inherently harmful or invalid; they all are a part of what makes us human. While it's undoubtedly a chilly and ominous concept for someone to be completely devoid of any positive traits, just as unnatural it is to display positive responses only. Perfection is stored away at museums, no living breathing human being can go through their life without being affected by negative impulses or thinking. But more often than not negative emotions are condemned and stigmatized (in the end, we still refer to them as 'negative'), and self-consciousness can make one ashamed or guilty of experiencing them. The end result of this would be trying to hide your feelings under one more appealing appearance, creating a warp between what's intuitive and what's manifest, an inadequate emotional response.

Gojo (at least in his teenage years) is widely outspoken and doesn't hesitate to outwardly express himself, whether verbally or via body language. It probably takes root in Gojo's upbringing: he was spoilt rotten, revered for being born with a silver spoon in his mouth, his every whim indulged and tended to. There simply wasn't any need for him to try and make a good impression by faking docility and emotions that are more pleasant and easier to digest. Gojo may be boisterous and bratty and obnoxious, but he isn't trying to 'trick' anyone into thinking he's better than he really is, and this paints a more sincere, believable picture to the audience.

On the other hand, Geto's emotions, partly due to his more solemn demeanour, are often toned down or consciously concealed. For instance, when Riko manages to strike a nerve in him, his response is to immediately plaster on mawkish 'customer service' smile to not give away his annoyance. This scene is especially interesting to me because of how Amanai's reaction gives voice to the audience's concerns. Referring to Suguru, she says, 'You look like a liar!' -- and by doing so calls him out on his tendency to mask negative emotions. Intuitively, she can still read his feelings in his body language, in the delay in his expression rearranging itself into a smile, and so can the viewer. We know he's annoyed, and his words about having no intention to harm Riko don't exactly align with how he behaves (even if in a playful manner) a moment after saying them. It creates a tangible contradiction between what he says his intentions are and what his actions speak of, between the appearances and what lies behind them. And this contradiction raises suspicion, in a way that if somebody's making an effort to hide something, then there must be something to hide.

In retrospect this doubt might seem reinforced and justified. I see how it's easy to fall into thinking that Geto, having become a criminal who's done unspeakably cruel things and who backs up his delusional ideals with bigoted reasoning, should've been hiding darker parts of himself behind all those fake smiles and talks about righteousness. But pinning the blame on Geto alone by claiming that he had violent tendencies to begin with is essentially disregarding systematic issues that the story strives so much to convey to the audience. Holding innate individual qualities accountable for the catastrophe is basically the sort of thinking that the higher-ups display, whose main strategy for dealing with problems is public scapegoating and disposing of every single threat to the current order by giving out one death sentence after the other. I don't think we as the viewers are supposed to reach the conclusion that Suguru is at fault for what happened, which is not to say he's faultless, nonetheless the narrative goes to great lengths to make us sympathize with him, not the other way around.

Now, there's really a handful of ways in which Geto's character seems to contradict himself. He shares overspilling empathy for the people around him, that is his character's core trait, but that very empathy spells out his downfall when it degrades into resentment and hate. He displays a largely considerate and sympathetic demeanour, but he's first introduced to the audience as someone who backhandedly bad-mouths Utahime for being weak. He's one half of the strongest duo, but whereas Gojo is a natural-born genius, Geto evidently struggles with his powers. His entire career as a curse user is based on the mentality which justifies the means to an end, but reaching the end goal is impossible for him as he is, Geto himself as much as admits to it during his last conversation with Satoru. He sets on his wild-goose chase for power, but ends up stagnating to the point where his use of Curse Manipulation in the Hidden Inventory Arc is much more inventive and creative than in Jujutsu Kaisen 0. The list goes on, but you got the gist.

To live for the purpose of being yourself. And for that goal, Geto could only continue to pursue his twisted dream, drowning himself in a curse that lies in the gap between ideal and reality.

I believe this to be such a poignant phrase when it comes to Geto's characterization because of how well, in my view, it encapsulates the conflict of his character -- or, if you will, the contradiction of it. It succinctly expresses his outlook on things, where he views the world how it's ideally supposed to be rather than how it realistically is. I've actually somewhat already elaborated on this in my very first rambling on here:

To me, Geto seems to be a type of person who needs something to guide him, some clear-cut ideal to make it possible for him to navigate through his life. He is pedantic in that sense: the sharp outlines of his views define his surroundings, the very way he looks at things and perceives them. He needs everything to fall precisely in line with his own set of ideals, which seems to be quite verified and well-adjusted within his mind, like a strict and refined concept he constructed for himself, like a routine he's used to following out of pure principal. His own belief system being so defined, it's that which makes him indulge in excessive discourse on the subject of morality and responsibility, like he's patiently laying out the basics in front of a disobedient child to help them wrap their mind around some fundamental truth that is so obvious and natural for him.

In a way, Geto concealing his negative emotions is not a false front put up against scrutinizing looks that could reveal his 'true nature'. Quite the opposite, I think it speaks more of his well-meaning intentions. When trying to change the way things are, start at yourself, and I guess this is the principle Geto's trying to apply here. By following through his own ideal, Geto does his best to be an upright person he believes himself obliged to be, whether that means forcing himself to absorb curses or putting on a customary smile. It might be juvenile and wishful thinking on his part, probably akin to 'fake it till you make it', but it's important to keep in mind that at that time he was still but a teenager. Moreover, he was put on par with somebody as praised within jujutsu society as Gojo, he must've felt on top of the world, too entranced by their warm spring of youth to care too much about the occasional slips. With Satoru by his side, I imagine Geto could afford to cut some slack and participate in the mischief. Later we see post-defection Geto drop his frivolous facade only when he's entirely alone -- another hint at how Gojo was really the only person Suguru allowed himself to confide in, that is untill the SPVI put uncrossable distance between them.

While I do say that Geto's intentions are well-meaning, the way he positions himself actually reveals some quite problematic aspects of his mindset. Namely, his attitude towards non-sorcerers, whom he clearly sets into a different category from himself and his fellow sorcerers. Regular people lack crucial understanding, they are weak because they are helpless, therefore they have to be shielded from the source of harm. This is a largely patronizing concept of empathy, since it's based on the notion that the 'weak' are inherently inferior to Geto himself and others involved in jujutsu society. It's interesting how it's reflected in Geto's insistence on the necessity of curtains. The use of curtains furthers the extent of non-sorcerers' ignorance, they never learn how to stay out of harm's way as they are deprived even of as much as their perception of the existing danger. It reminds me of how a parent would brush a child's concerns aside because they're too young and naive and do not need to be aware of adult life's hardships. Just like Geto's paternalistic outlook, it does not come from malice or negligence, it's just an attempt to keep someone less experienced and skilled safe. Nonetheless it's harmful as it puts that person in a position which denies them agency.

In my view, Suguru's fake smiles are an extension of his acute sense of responsibility. In front of those over whom he assumes responsibility, he presents himself as calm, collected and dependable as if it's supposed to reassure them. It's his job to protect them and make them feel safe, so there's no need showing them his own struggle. Even if such thinking is condescending, it's not in any way malicious. Geto's entire character arc would be simply non-existent if he wasn't completely genuine in his sentiments.

So why do I talk about Geto's insecurities when first introducing the topic of this post? Well, I'm about to take a deep dive into the field of speculation and theories and finally get to the point why I'm writing all this in the first place (took me long enough, lmao). There's also a reason why I brought up Gojo's upbringing when talking about his personality and how it contrasts Geto's. You see, like Satoru's way of dealing with his emotions can be linked to his childhood experience, Suguru's behaviour might also give us some clues about the circumstances he grew up in.

The more I look into it, the more convinced I become that Geto was in one way or another exposed to emotional trauma in his childhood. Remember when I mentioned inadequate emotional responses? While being one, smiling in reaction to stress may act as a defense mechanism of sorts, shielding the person from the chronic nature of the unpleasant experience. It also may serve as a way to avoid alienation by others who are not privy to the source of your distress or are not comfortable with it. Affiliative smiles are motivated by social factors, it's a tool used to create and maintain social connections. Human beings are hardwired to connect with others, feeling alienated by the people around us causes us great pain.

The thing us, we must assume that Geto is relatively new to the jujutsu world in the flashback arc. Given his non-sorcerer background, chances are he was the only one in his immediate surroundings with the ability to see and exterminate curses. There couldn't have been a way for him to confide in someone with his concerns and fears born from interacting with something only he could see. So I assume that eventually that resulted in Suguru developing an unhealthy habit of masking his emotions before the ones he cared about. And as over time he grew more aware of his abilities and got a grasp on how his CT works, I imagine Geto committed to exorcising curses in order to protect ordinary people from them -- all by himself. This, in turn, must have solidified that conception in Suguru's head which ultimately othered him from the people around him and put them in a position inferior to him since they were the ones depending on him and his powers.

As Geto should've mostly kept to himself, I also see how he might have grown heavily reliant on his analytical mind. Overthinking is a habit developed early on in life as a way to wade through feeling uncertain or unsafe. It's an attempt to make sense of confusing reality by applying an analytical lense to it and compartmentalizing it into neat, easily understandable categories. And also a way to regain sense of self when you find yourself in a situation you otherwhise have little to no control over. And while over-analyzing can create a sense of security, it may also interfere with a person's emotional responses. I guess it's something that could be applied to Geto, too, because for such a self-reflective character he always struck me as someone with oddly little regard of his own feelings.

As a side note, I like how Geto's tendency to over-analyze things is shown in that one scene when Yaga's briefing him and Gojo on the upcoming mission. Suguru's clearly presented as someone who's very mindful of how the world around him works. Understanding helps him assign meaning to different aspects of life, and he relies upon it heavily. Also, as someone who's been uprooted from his former society and introduced instead to an entirely different world, I guess it's important for Geto to fit in. Him being highly knowledgeable about such essential details is, in my view, indicative of such effort on his part. Whereas Satoru simply does not care about such details, the reality makes sense to him as it is as he was born perfectly fit into it.

Last but not least, Geto's infamously guilty of a dichotomous, or black-and-white, outlook on things. This is the all-or-nothing mentality that leaves little to no room for nuance and does not allow two opposite statements to be true at once. It's a common cognitive distortion that manifests immature thought; a rigid mindset more often than not bordering on extreme. Meanwhile the very foundation of Geto's downfall is the inability to adapt to the complicated reality which doesn't align perfectly with his idealistic vision. He ultimately failed to wrap his head around the world with grey areas, his black-and-white thinking thinking prevented him from doing so.

The development of such maladaptive personality traits has been repeatedly linked to the effects of childhood trauma. If the environment which a person grew up in was traumatic and chaotic, black-and-white thinking might have given them a sense of control through rationalization. That's why a mentality which doesn't allow for nuance and doesn't reflect life in its intricate complexity comes off as childishly simplistic. Seeing the world in all-or-nothing terms in some way means reverting to your inner child. And this is actually something that Shoko accuses Geto of during their brief conversation in Shinjuku. In his thinking Geto doesn't grow past his traumatic experience, whether it was his parents actively abusing his abilities for their own gain or the ache of being alienated at such an early age.

If the nature of Geto's relationship with his parents was abusive, it would also explain his altruism. Suguru goes out of his way to express his concern for well-being of those around him, and he does genuinely care, but all the while it could be a way for him to tend to his own unsatisfied needs by helping others. He seems to be highly attuned to others through his empathy, but also somewhat has trouble advocating for himself, resulting in harmful patterns of self-sacrifice or self-neglect.

It's true, there is a lot of contradictions housed within Geto's character, which are evident in his mindset and his actions. But I don't believe this to be due to sloppy writing, on contrary -- it's the kind of writing that speaks through detail and nuance and invites the reader to ponder why is this or that character the way they are.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk analysis #jjk meta #geto suguru #gojo satoru #might as well tag him #i'm so sorry it's way too long for something so irrelevent considering all the recent events #and it probably needs proper structuring #i guess i'll edit it some time eventually #maybe

[miabrown007]

a minute of silence to my skills to estimate how long a project is ever going to take

#my google calendar and Carl bot (and my friends) have been kind enough to inform me today was the estimated posting date of heist au #suffice to say that is not happening #it would have been rad to make a habit out of the co-occurrence of starting a new job and starting to post a finished WIP but alas #that will not be happening for a while longer #I have no idea when will I find the time for writing between two jobs and the big bang but. we'll work something out. #but hey it's good to give your projects breathing space so your brain can do the work in the background and solve the problems for you #I'll probably need to go back and revamp the whole last chapter I've been working on #but I'm still too sick and jet lagged and sick to be thinking about that so I'll consume some more media in the meantime #and complain about how bad the fic I'm listening to is. like god it's supposed to be so romantic and cute and he's literally #depriving her bodily autonomy and her friends support him I want to leave a strongly worded comment so bad #I will not be doing that but god it's so awful I should have stopped listening to this fic long ago. so that's a lesson learned. #put the fucking fic down there's plenty of stuff that's going to be better #hot take I sure no one saw coming sometimes things that are popular are actually bad #anyway have some stream of fucking consciousness /ref to another fic I'm fighting hard to keep discontinued #I know I won't like it why is this so hard #heist au should have been posted today based on maths btw. maths I did wrong for the first time which means it should have been posted #a year ago really #not like I have the proper structure to do a heist au daily #but it would have been fun to post the first chapter on the exact day it takes place. idk just for flavour #does all this make any sense? hardly. this is a diary entry and my two braincells are firing random thoughts at each other #that's fine though. it's all fine. here have some popcorn to go with all this nonsense 🍿🍿🍿 <3 #(and also all the drama in the new shadow and bone season. ugh it's so good I love Wesper SO. MUCH. or just Waylan. and Nikolai. #he's my blorbo assigned at first relevant information. relavant information: he's my friend's blorbo #but gods he's so my type it's scary. of course I'll have him as my blorbo. of course of course! #*puts him on a shelf next to Adrien Draco and Hunter* #*steps back to think before putting Waylan there too and sitting Zuko on the far end* #war crimes look so good on them :3 #miaing #heist au

[nerice]

oc works priority list methinks is as follows: -finish copying tge into scrivener (+edit to quality again) -fix up minor so screenplay central is DONE ((until i give into tge lullaby but i think that can simmer a while longer)) -main novel is always Active and i want nothing more than to devote all my time 2 it but rly screenplay needs to get handled first -black swan anthology keeps haunting my neurons but i think that's a fun side gig during novel writing (german) to work my way thru evernote pieces (english) and slowly edit it into shape -mute city heaven continues to metastasize on the backburner but 1) its a nano story and i will be in japan this nano so no game 2) needs intense aes detanglement aka A BOARD which again. marks it for when i have the brainspace for it aka next year -WEEBLY MY BELOVED I WILL GET BACK TO U ASAP BUT I HAVE TO RATION MY WRIST USAGE :(

#elia txts #typing is still. an issue. even just this is Not Bueno on my wrist but that's why screenplay fixing is probably the route to go #mostly editing / caps out at 20k words and minor is even less #like as much as i am pining after main book rewrite i had to pause i cannot bang out 5k chapters in an evening currently. accept this #we will find our way back but recovery comes first and that means picking our battles (projects) #anyway this is brought to u by I WISH I WAS WRITING QS ROMANCE NOVEL RN #but black swan anthology will be a good blueprint !! bc i have a lot of early qs written alrdy. but it needs more structure #bc it will be a proper novel and not an anthology. but still huge segments will be evernote reprises so >:3 #if only i had a title.........................;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;

[blujayonthewing]

went thrift shopping specifically hoping for some casual black pants similar to my khaki green cargo joggers because a lot of my graphic tees don't really go with them, and I didn't find any but I did bring home several frog and toad lookin ass items that also do not go with most of my graphic tees

#TWO pairs of BROWN capris. the thrift gods have decreed we're leaning hobbitcore #one of them is particularly Not Cute but it's comfy and maybe I can do some cute like leafy embroidery or something?? #what I want is more pants that are baggy with cinched cuffs #I can probably make my own harem pants pretty easily but anything made of a more structured fabric is gonna need actual tailoring #and I don't know how to tailor around my ass kjgfdhkdfgh pants are HARD and WEIRD #and also I just want... good pants that I don't have to fight my own adhd for. you know? #I'm probably gonna have to go to Actual Stores and do Proper Clothes Shopping at Regular Clothes Prices for better pants ugghh #I also want and need aubree-style like khaki capris/ breeches both for aubree reasons and just cause they'd go with a lot of my tops #uuuUUGGHH the PROBLEM IS I HATE CLOTHES SHOPPING. I DON'T WANNA DO IT NO MO #WEH!!! #about me

[lesenbyan]

There are few things worse, I think, than reading a call to action memoir that is so close to right but really should have been shelved for at least 5yrs before going to print so the author has time to learn enough to see all the false equivalencies that really hinder the point

#personal; #yeah fatphobia is bad but dont you dare act like people aren't asking disabled people to medically alter themselves every day??? #you compare bariatric and gender affirming surgeries in such a way that makes the latter sound easy to get?? #and in fact don't at ALL go into the struggles for transition care except for a nod at FL while comparing us (trans people) #to fat people like our lives are Much Easier instead of /oppressed by the same white colonial structures that enforce fatphobia/ #but go off i guess #i was giving a lot of leeway when i was just side eyeing the comparisons with racism bc i'm not fat and i've not experienced enough racism #to say either way on those #but the MOMENT she started using trans and disabled comparisons i about lost it #and also randomly started calling it antisemitic (sure as much as it's violnt to all poc) in the last chapter with nothing supporting it #like you can tell it was written over the course of the last like 2 maybe 3 years without enough space to breathe #i have listened to a book on writing memoir so often i've got some of it all but memorized #and i agree that if it's more recent than a decade you're probably too close to be writing it #and this author's writing mostly about during pandemic times. this is more a journal and call to action than memoir #but its not polished enough to be a proper call to action bc there's not much it gives you to do other than 'stop dieting & dare to be fat' #which isn't an effective call to action when only those most harmed by fatphobia can act on it you know??? #lots of complaints #3/10 #edit: reiterting that i'm not saying it' #*it's not anti-semitic; just that a good published work of this kind doesn't make last second claims and certainly not ones #they haven't already explicitly supported in the text #i feel the need to clarify with the very very vocal rise of anti semitism esp in the left #like yes there are anti-Semitic ties. she didn't name them. just said 'they exist lol' and this went to print #great study in poor research slipping onto shelves bc topic matter is relevant

[emo-batboy]

Battinson and the JL ft. His Eventual Identity Reveal

(If you’re just here for the cutesy bits, skip to Attempt #2. Otherwise, STRAP IN CUZ IT’S A LOT)

Bruce Wayne of Matt Reeves’ The Batman is not the founder type.

He wouldn’t voluntarily join a book club, much less join a league of super powered vigilantes whom he does not know personally.

So in this universe, you probably wouldn’t call him one of the three Founding members.

But he’s still integral to the formation of the Justice League

It starts out with a friendly visit :)

Bruce is patrolling on a random night in Gotham when he notices a weird thing in the sky. It’s floating just far enough behind him that a less vigilant person wouldn’t have noticed, but Bruce is always watching his own back, and he takes it as a threat.

He strays from his usual path and then heads to a warehouse roof before turning to face the threat.

It’s Superman. All smiley and dressed in primary colors. The strongest, most powerful being on Earth just floating over like he wasn’t stalking Batman a second ago. Bruce does not like that.

“What do you want with Gotham?” He asks. “I don’t,” Superman says. “I wanted to talk to The Batman.” So this is some kind of fight? An intervention? A warning? Then Superman frowns. “You…are The Batman, right?”

Bruce only nods as he considers his options, but he can’t really do that when Superman has super speed, super sight, super strength, super breath, super lots-of-things-that-Batman-probably-doesn’t-know-of.

Then Superman surprises him by landing on the roof and giving him this pitch about a superhero group.

Superman and a few other vigilantes have been bouncing around the idea of teaming up together so they can help one another protect their cities. And The Batman was a “perfect candidate.”

“I’m not joining your club.” “It’s not a club. It’s a league.” “What’s your mission statement, then?” “A what?” Bruce fights the urge to roll his eyes. He still doesn’t trust this guy. “Take your league idea back to the drawing board then we can talk.” He does not intend on talking.

But two months later, Superman is back. This time, he brings another super powered vigilante named Wonder Woman.

She smiles, politely approaches him, and says “Superman tells me you want to learn more about our league.” That is not what he said, but he doesn’t bite.

Bruce can’t decide which they remind him of more: college recruiters or cult leaders. But because Wonder Woman genuinely seems to care about seeing this project through, and the roster she has of current like-minded vigilantes is impressive, he lets her talk.

And to give her credit, she definitely thought out the logistics more. It almost makes up for the time they’re wasting.

Okay, fine. They’re still way behind on concept, and it’s pitiful. He actually feels bad.

They obviously care! They just have no idea how to run a business like he does. Is it a bit cynical to think of this league of Justice as a business? Yes, but that’s the only way he can even conceive this happening and working.

Bruce asks about their organization’s leadership structure, and that’s when Wonder Woman falters a bit. “We want to work with each other, not for.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks about their scope of work. “We want to help as many people as we can, but that can be ironed out later.” Bruce bites his tongue on that subject.

He asks “Who’s funding this?” She answers, “We have a few members willing to pitch in, but the majority will have to come from generous citizens.” And that’s when he just stops asking questions. Because what?

If he could cry the grease paint off, he would.

They can’t just think every super-powered vigilante is going to sing Kumbaya and braid each other’s hair. There needs to be checks and balances within the organization to avoid tyranny and corruption. They need a reliable source of donations (that doesn’t immediately out Bruce.) They need a proper chain of command. They need to map out their area of responsibility. They need to design a VERY strict vetting process. It’s not sunshine and rainbows. It’s hard work!

So he says he’ll think about it again and complains to Alfred about the weird super stalkers.

But for SOME reason, Alfred doesn’t see the problem

Alfred encourages him to join so he can “make some friends.” But how can he trust these people if they can’t even make a half-decent pitch? It’s like a bad episode of Shark Tank.

And “make friends?” They’re all masked

But after a week of gentle nudging (read: very firm lectures), Bruce agrees. ONLY to keep tabs on the rest of the vigilante world and possible threats to Gotham

(And without his help, they’ll probably butt-dial Lex Luthor the nuclear codes or something)

And he is damn well going to figure out who these people really are before he helps them make a Super Organization.

Alfred figures out about half of their secret identities purely as a brain exercise while Bruce is out fighting crime and collecting head injuries like Pokémon cards. They figure out the rest together.

They also develop contingency plans for every single member. Just in case.

And after months of Batman being visited by random vigilantes, whom he has several choice words for about personal space—“This is my city. Go away.”—he accepts. On several conditions.

Not all of them are appreciated.

Attempt #1: “Making Friends”

After several scheduling conflicts, a lot of prep work, and a really good hype session in front of the mirror, Bruce heads on over to the first official meeting.

Batman arrives with a long list of things they need to do before going public. The first thing on the list?

Write A Mission Statement

What the fuck are they actually trying to do? Bruce thinks this is a great starting point.

And you’d think (you’d think) this Justice League thing would be easier to tolerate than the drawn-out exec meetings he has to sit through with boring, old businessmen who keep delaying things so they can hash out every little detail.

To Bruce’s absolute horror, he BECOMES the boring businessman who’s delaying things so they can hash out every little detail. He misses the boring, old businessmen. At least they knew what they were doing.

Every turn, he is argued with.

“Why do we need a mission statement?” “‘Power Structure’ feels authoritarian. Can’t we just share leadership duties?” “Do we really need this much paperwork?”

Bruce has the audacity to say, “We need to develop some sort of protocol that helps us analyze any possible threat.” But no. “Why can’t I just jump in? I have eyes.” “Jumping in without studying an opponent’s behavior could cause more harm than good,” he insists. “So what? I’m going to watch an alien monster go on a rampage through my city instead of fighting it?” “Yes. You don’t know what it’s capable of.”

Bruce already regrets joining.

All he hears is the others gossiping. “Is this guy really telling us how to be heroes?” “He’s got a major stick up his ass.” “I knew we shouldn’t have let him join.” And if that doesn’t dissuade him, he doesn’t know what will.

“How was the first meeting?” Alfred asks. Bruce scowls. “I’m not making friends.”

Nonetheless, Bruce sticks it out for weeks until they have some semblance of an organization. And, to his shock and amazement, it…kind of works.

The Justice League makes its debut, and Wayne Enterprises generously donates some money “out of spite” after Lex Luthor publicly denounces the league. (Honestly, Bruce would too if he hadn’t personally duct-taped it together himself.)

But the league starts small, just like he told them, they respond to natural disasters and public safety threats first (as per the outreach initiative) and focus on protecting communities in need (as per the mission statement.)

Yes, they still think Batman has a stick up his ass because he’s a stickler for writing incident reports, but no one else reads them so he has the right to be pissed.

He’s almost kind of sort of content with how it’s going. Even his reputation as a vigilante is improving.

That’s when another glaring difference between him and the other members appears.

Despite looking the same age as the rest of the team, Bruce is actually much younger?? Even excluding the aliens, gods, etc.

Most of his teammates are in their late 30’s, early 40’s. Meanwhile, Bruce is at the ripe age of 29 and a half.

He is the youngest by ten years.

Everyone kind of just assumes he’s the same age, though, so they make references to 80’s kids stuff that he only vaguely understands through Alfred and his business partners. He just sits there in silence like a child who snuck over to the adult table and is waiting to get caught.

So on top of the rift he (accidentally) created when they started the organization, it’s even harder to connect through similar interests. Other than punching people together.

And Bruce Wayne has a bad case of imposter syndrome when it comes to their superpowers.

He’s always in the corner brooding, and everyone’s like ummm antisocial much?

But 50% of the time, it’s because he’s thinking “I’ll never amount to the incredible heroic feats everyone else has accomplished. How can I possibly make a difference to the world if I’m already struggling to save Gotham?” Like a little emo freak 🖤

(Meanwhile, you couldn’t pay those mf’s to step foot in Gotham. This Bat guy’s crazy and he’s human apparently?! No way. Nuh uh.)

The OTHER 50% of his “brooding” is Bruce standing to the side with a mixture of concern and judgment because his teammates’ competency in certain areas is…alarmingly low sometimes.

One week, he finds himself thinking, “How do these grown-ass adults not know their way around a digital map? They’re 40, not geriatric.”

Then like a week later, it’s “These fucking war fossils don’t even know Morse code. I gotta do everything around here.”

One of the final straws is when he says, “Did they just break another fucking Keurig? Who does that, Alfred? It’s the fifth one.”

Suffice it to say, he’s not very personable. But is it his fault? Well yeah, a little bit. Like……..65% his fault.

(The remaining 35% is their moaning and groaning whenever Batman calls a meeting.)

Bruce’s irritation is totally justified.

God, he just wants to go home.

Why is he doing this again?

Attempt #2: Actually Making Friends

The first JL member to break through his cold, black exterior is Wonder Woman. She needs help with search and rescue after a sinkhole opens up near an elementary school, but no one’s available until Batman responds to her call.

He’s on the scene in less than an hour and makes quick work in securing the area. Thankfully, she catches him once it’s over. (He always runs off without saying goodbye.)

“Thanks for helping. Everyone else was just so busy. I’m glad you could fly over.” Batman mumbles something that she can’t quite hear. “What was that?” she asks. “I was busy too,” he repeats. She gives him a weird look, and he freezes up for a second as he realizes that probably wasn’t appropriate to say. “I mean…this was more important. There were kids in danger so it didn’t…matter if I was busy.”

Wonder Woman considers how awkward The Batman looks for a moment then smiles. So he really is human. “Well, thank you. The help was very much appreciated.”

Since then, several small acts of kindness and solidarity earn Batman some respect from the rest of the team.

One day, Flash complains about how boring their meetings are so Batman brings a massive bin of fidget toys. After placing them in front of the Flash, he mumbles, “These are for ADHD. They’re useful.” Flash almost cries with relief. He is very touched.

Another day, Green Arrow is severely injured in battle. Without a word, Batman leaves the fight, takes him to a safe location, stops the bleeding, and does it all while repeatedly making sure he’s awake and asking permission to remove certain pieces of clothing.

In another fight, Plastic Man’s mask is thrown off, and Batman sees his face. In a second, Batman tosses a smoke bomb, picks up the mask, and hands it back before anyone else can look. It costs them time and the element of surprise, and Plastic Man knows it, but Batman did it anyway.

A JL member’s stomach grumbles during one too many meetings. Suddenly, their little break room becomes a fully stocked kitchen with shelf-stable meal items and all the basic necessities. There’s a nut-free section, a gluten-free section, everything. The only reason they know it’s him is because anyone else would have admitted to it.

(He renovated the whole fucking thing. In one night. By himself.)

And they all see how gentle he is with children. Countless times, The Batman is spotted prioritizing young civilians at any given moment.

He has lollipops in his belt. And Bluey bandaids too.

It’s the little things that make them feel closer to him :)

And okay maybe his goddamn Mission Statement lecture wasn’t so bad

So they stop moaning and groaning

Okay, now it’s bonding time WOOHOO!!

Attempt #3: Kinda? Friends??

One day, Superman says he isn’t too fond of billionaires (because of Lex, obviously) and goes on a rant about capitalism. Bruce doesn’t dare contribute because 1) he’s the richest man in the world and 2) every other billionaire he’s met is insufferable.

(Including Oliver Queen who Bruce refuses to look at while Green Arrow “defends his city’s billionaire.”)

(And while we’re on the topic of Green Arrow, Bruce cannot forget the disappointing almost-fling two summers ago. He still holds a grudge.)

Green Arrow: “You’re all fashion nightmares. Who wears a cape in the 21st century?” Batman: “At least my facial hair isn’t longer than my dick.” GA: “What was that, Batman?” B: “What?”

Also Bruce is very attracted to Superman.

(He likes older men.)

(Yes, I am referring to Henry Cavill’s Superman.)

(Sue me.)

(But don’t get your hopes up. He does literally nothing about it.)

(Coward.)

One of the JL members complains about how sore they are after a few missions so Bruce cashes in his Monthly Attempt to Socialize and says, “Try yoga. It helps me.” “…Batman, you do yoga?” “Yes. My son got me into it….It’s good for you.” “You have a son?!” He is never socializing again.

They also learn that Batman has the smallest frame on the team. (Like yeah, he’s tall, but he’s also lanky, and everyone else is either an alien or a human dorito.)

One night, they need to sneak through the vents of some building so Bruce offers to do it. Someone says, “It’s a tight squeeze. Are you sure you can fit?” Then he just takes his cape and pauldrons and shoulder pads off and is suddenly like a foot skinnier

“Wait…is this why you’re so good at hiding in the shadows?” Bruce just glares at the Flash for a second before climbing into the vents.

(The answer is yes.)

A betting pool is started over whether or not Batman is part Bat.

In fact, several betting pools begin because no one knows anything about the guy??

Aquaman and Plastic Man go to great lengths to figure out what his hair color is.

They lose their shit once Bruce tells them he’s vegetarian.

Green Lantern: “Every time he opens his mouth, we learn something new. Next, he’s going to tell me he speaks Swahili!” Batman: “I do.” GL: “Oh, come on!”

Superman: “We need someone on the inside for this international operation to work, but that’ll take at least three months undercover.” Batman: “Don’t worry. I have connections.” S: “…In Shanghai?” B: “Yes.”

The Flash adds SHANGHAI?? to his conspiracy board

Bruce needs to stop trying to socialize. It’s better for everyone’s cardiovascular health.

A year or two in, they’re all introduced to Captain Marvel. Bruce is the first and only person to learn his true identity (kid Billy Batson) because Bruce is the only one with a kid. That way, he understands the weird Gen-Alpha humor and references.

Millennia-old deities don’t use the term Flop Era.

And, of course, they play FMK at some point.

(I mean, come on. There are like TWO mature adults on this team, but Martian Manhunter doesn’t know what’s going on until it’s too late, and Wonder Woman is busy at her day job.)

During that particular round, the celebrities are Bruce Wayne, Lex Luthor, and Kylie Jenner. Bruce does, in fact, want to kill himself, but he chooses Fuck instead because of this exact conversation:

Green Lantern: Come on, Bats. It’s just a game! Choose already. Batman: No. I’m against killing. GL: Oh, go fuck yourself. This situation is completely hypothetical, and you know it. B: Fine! Fuck Bruce, Marry Kylie, Kill Lex. GL: See? That wasn’t so hard :) Bruce:

He tried

Attempt #4: Ah shit, FRIEND?

The identity reveal comes about three years after he joins. He’s 32, has three kids, he’s been on hundreds of missions with them, the team’s over twice its original size, and there are domestic terrorists overtaking Manhattan.

Superman, Wonder Woman, The Flash, Green Lantern, Martian Manhunter, and The Batman try to extract as many civilians as possible, but now they’re being hunted. After hiding in a warehouse and considering their options, MM finally suggests that they pose as civilians, which immediately creates uproar.

Bruce, however, realizes this is the only way out.

But it’s not dramatic or badass like that one JL episode. No, instead, he thinks about it, swallows the regret, and just—

Takes off his cowl.

And the whole room falls dead fucking quiet.

Then, “Oh fuck.”

(That was Green Lantern.)

Bruce just shrugs and mumbles, “Martian is right. It’s the only way.” And really fucking hopes the grease paint hides his red face because he is not having a good time right now.

He would rather die, actually, but they need to get somewhere safe and Fast.

The others look him up and down then nod slowly. “Uh yeah.” “Okay, sure.” “This is fine.” “We’ll do that.”

The others begin slowly taking off their suits and changing into something more casual. Bruce takes his off, revealing the skin-tight compression suit underneath, and stuffs his armor in the roll-up duffel bag that’s kept in his belt.

He changes into his drifter outfit, wipes his face clean, and suddenly, The Batman’s just a normal guy. (A very pretty normal guy, mind you. His teammates have eyes.)

“We can head to my place,” Bruce says. “It’s closer, and I know the train system pretty well.” And yes, he’s pretty soft-spoken outside of the suit, but now it feels even more obvious.

Meanwhile, the others are like—

Oh. My. God.

Oh my god, he’s fucking shy. Batman is acting shy in front of us. Dear fucking god. Batman is Bruce Wayne. And Bruce is shy so Batman is fucking shy?? Bruce is pretty too. Holy fuck. He is very pretty.

And he’s so young?? Oh my god, he’s a BABY wtf?! He’s like four inches shorter. Four inches tall! They’re all towering over him without his massive boots and armor, and he just hunches over with the big duffel bag like he wants to sink into the floor, and he’s so small.

Wonder Woman wants to put him in her pocket.

Sue her.

They end up taking the train back. Bruce has on the mask and cap that hides his face (poor Superman, he really likes his jawline) and they all follow Bruce as he gets off and on several trains at seemingly random stops. THEN when they’re finally in Gotham, they head into an abandoned-looking subway station that leads them into a…cave?? WTF

And in the middle of the cave is an elderly man with a cane and a three-piece suit just lounging on a recliner. (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK—)

He looks up from his crossword puzzle and says, “Ah! You’ve finally made friends, I see?” Bruce rolls his eyes. “This is not a sleepover,” he gripes. “Shame. I was about to grab your footie pajamas for you.”

The man smiles at them. “A pleasure to meet Master Wayne’s work friends in person. Would you like some coffee? Tea? If you’re like him, this is going to be a long night.”

No one dares to question why this man recognizes them in their civvies

They also can’t tell if the footie pajamas line was a joke or not. After tonight, nothing is off the table.

(This is a minefield of information. Barry is having flashbacks to his conspiracy board. No one is going to fucking believe him.)

They all settle into one corner of the cave. Bruce leaves to change and comes back looking like this:

(Goddamnit, Clark is having a meltdown. His hair looks so good wet.)

At one point while they’re plotting, Wonder Woman glances over his shoulder to see Bruce checking some sort of security camera. A boy, maybe nine or ten, is sleeping in bed. “Is that your son?” Bruce clearly doesn’t want to answer, but Alfred gives him a look, and Bruce sighs. “One of them. Yes.”

Later, they have to analyze some explosive samples in the cave, and Barry, forensic scientist extraordinaire, has some choice words about the non-sterile environment.

Barry: This doesn’t look safe. Bruce: My lab is perfectly clean and functional. *bat screeches* Don’t worry about that.

For the rest of the night, they use the evidence they have to track down the organization while the rest of the JL suits up and saves NYC.

After a few hours, they’re safe to return to NYC for damage control. But Alfred refuses to let Bruce go with them. “Your sons are worried. Drive them to school, then you’re coming home and sleeping.”

Bruce clearly wants to argue, but the mention of his kids stops him. He sighs and turns to the others who are already changed. “Let me know if you need anything. I can be there in ten minutes.”

They all nod, knowing full well they will not be doing that. The guy clearly needs rest.

(Also, he is a single father of three and still goes out every night to punch robbers and crime bosses? Is he doing okay?)

Then they head back to NYC with so many questions.

But a lot of it makes sense too, actually. Maybe they just weren’t thinking about the man behind the mask enough to see it.

They learned a lot about their friend that night.

And they have a lot of bets to cash in.

FIN

Okay :D that was a lot! If you enjoyed it, please let me know. This has been simmering in the back of my head for months <3 Have a great day and drink some water :)

Hey bestie @bruciemilf

#battinson tries to socialize #Bruce: i never want to be in a meeting room for the rest of my life JL: we will be so bad at running a business Bruce: wait no please #battinson is a shivering little chihuahua in a sweater #he physically cannot let them fail #he's just like me fr #battinson needs a hug #he tries so hard #battinson socializes and actually succeeds #batman #bruce wayne #battinson #the batman 2022 #batman 2022 #the batman #dc universe #gotham #soft bruce wayne #justice league #jl #dc #superman #wonder woman #lex luthor #the flash #green arrow #plastic man #aquaman #green lantern #captain marvel dc #martian manhunter

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Yokai Harem x Reader (I)

This is probably my longest running dysfunctional daydream scenario, so I thought I'd share it here.

As stereotypical as it gets, you've fallen into an old well and found yourself in feudal Japan. Almost immediately, you're attacked by a yokai that calls you by a name you don't recognize. He insists you possess the soul of an ancient priest that would capture demons under a binding contract. Something isn't right, however, so your life is spared until further clues come to light. With two men unwillingly bound to you, you begin to uncover this mess as more 'collection pieces' show up. They might prefer you to their previous owner.

TW: violence, monsters

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Character Guidebook]

You vigorously cough out whatever grass you seemed to have bit into when you hit the ground. Was all this vegetation here just one moment ago? As you get up and dust your knees you're brought back into focus by the loud buzzing of insects. You look above and involuntarily squint your eyes. You didn't expect to see a full, bright sky.

"What the hell?" is all you can mutter.

You and your university friends had planned a quick trip to the neighboring Tokyo, just to visit some trending local cafes and shop around. You somehow wandered into the suburbs and found a very obvious path to a large shrine that was visible from the bottom of the stairs. Now, what's more stereotypical than finding a shrine, approaching it with shy steps, dangling the old rope of the bell and humbly clapping your hands together for a quick prayer that gives you a fake sense of meaningfulness? Then again, you love a good cliché. So you did just that, and then whipped out your phone to snap some artsy photos of the place. In your search for the perfect angle, you spotted a wooden structure among some pillars and zoomed in to realize it's an old well.

Here's where you awkwardly tiptoed away from your friends. You couldn't possibly confess to them that you're one of those anime nerds, and that you immediately thought of a certain classic title, and that this could make a very good impromptu cosplay shoot. You could smell the nostalgia as you carefully swayed your way behind the pillars and under the shade of the tiled roof. You bent over carefully (apparently not carefully enough) to asses how deep the well was. Just as you were about to exclaim its shallowness, you felt the gravity pull you inwards. Within seconds your head made contact with the moist soil and you briefly blacked out as the rest of your body arrived in proper position.

Unpleasant, but you've had migraines worse than this. Though now you're wondering whether you might've damaged some important brain parts, given the sudden change of scenery. Or has your dysfunctional daydreaming finally caught up to you?

You laugh silently and test the walls around you, feeling for some contact point that you can use to pull yourself back out. You finally crawl out, but freeze with your elbows around the frame of the well, looking ahead.

There's no building around, just tall grass and what seems to be the beginning of a forest. You remember to blink, and each time you close your eyes you hope to see the shrine once again, to no avail.

"I thought I'm past the risk age for schizophrenia", you mumble in a humorous attempt. The situation is so absurd that you need to share it with an imaginary audience.

You muster up the courage to step out and onto the ground, with extra caution as if it could vanish at any moment. After brief consideration, you slap a bunch of weeds in front of you to test their consistency. The hard stems hurt your wrist and you nod. This is a little too intense to be just a hallucination.

Alright, so you got trapped in some sort of feudal anime remake. What now? You glance around, almost hoping to see some white haired man sleeping against a tree with an arrow stuck into the chest. You check your phone. No signal, but thankfully it still works. You have a battery and its charger, but the latter is probably useless. Unless this remake comes with electricity. You chuckle at the thought. Who knows, maybe it's one of those isekai otome games instead and some timeline inconsistency or loophole will provide you with an outlet.

After trying the well one last time without success, you decide to at least find another human being. Then you can get some grasp of your whereabouts and situation. You notice a patch of grass that's been bent to the ground, probably from frequent stomping. That's a start. You follow the hints of bipedal movement and hope for the best.

The improvised path slithers downhill and around the mass of trees, and you question whether the fields ahead might have traces of houses on them. You pick up your pace in anticipation.

A sharp swish of an unknown object causes you to flinch and halt, and before you can process it, a thin blade lays inches from your nose. You follow its length and find the source: a tall, horned (???) man with silver hair.

Ironically enough, he seems to be more shocked than you. His facial expression flips from focused anger to unbelievable confusion within seconds. His eyebrows are raised and his lips part.

"Ah!" you yell as the gears begin to turn. "Christ, you almost made me question my sanity!

Now let me tell you, this is some great cosplay. I was about to beg for my life. Hah! How the hell did you pull the whole transition? Is the well a tunnel? I hope I didn't accidentally break into some event."

The man returns his sword into its sheath, still in deep disbelief.

"You're not him, are you? But then again..."

"Huh? Him? I'm sorry, were you expecting someone? If you show me the way out I'll disappear in a moment." you turn around, prepared to be led to the exit. "Who're you cosplaying, anyways? I'm a big fan of historical dramas, but I don't recognize the character design."

"I don't understand what you're saying." the man tilts his head in utter surprise.

"Alright, I get the point" you force a laugh, slightly irritated by the persistence. "You're deep in your acting, I get that. Focus and all the jazz. But my friends are around the corner and I don't have signal, can you please skip the theatre and show me the exit?"

"The exit to...where? You're outside."

You sigh, loudly, and click your tongue. "Enough of this, please. Where's the shrine?"

"Ah, I get it. You're trying to confuse me." he pulls his sword back out. "I've had enough of your tricks. You're in an early stage, aren't you? Not strong enough to fight back. I can sense it."

Oh God, it's one of those maniacs, you think to yourself. You raise your arms as a peace offering and hope you won't be featured in the 5pm news with multiple stab wounds.

"Listen man, I really don't know what you're talking about. I'll leave quietly and won't bother you again, I promise."

You gulp and await a response, but the man's mouth opens and the words are replaced by a foreign, disembodied shriek. There's a rapidly approaching heavy shuffle that sounds like the trample of many limbs. You feel your leg being hooked into something and the ground turns around at a dizzying speed.

Something just grabbed you.

Given the movements of the lips, you're assuming that the mysterious cosplaying maniac is yelling something, but your ears are ringing and throbbing as the adrenalin begins to pump. You're being thrown around by something and you can feel the skin holding your leg together creaking and tearing with every jolt.

You manage to land your eyes on the creature. The teeth are unnaturally sharp and it seems to have many arms and legs arranged in a scattered order along the scaly body. It trashes around in such a fluid, dynamic way, that you doubt it could be the result of any machine. It's a living thing and currently attacking you for whatever reason.

Once the bizarre reality settles in, panic floods your body and you scream for help. If not the maniac, then some godly intervention. You did offer a small donation at the shrine, it has to count for something.

The spectacle doesn't last long, since the silver haired man doesn't hesitate to behead the creature. You can see that he wasn't making empty threats with his sword skills. You'd prefer, however, if you weren't the next one to go under his guillotine. Your body rolls over the dirt, limp from the shock.

You tilt yourself upwards pathetically and let out a groan once you attempt to use your leg to stand. You turn around and notice the aftermath of your little air ballet. There's a deep wound and thick, red blood is oozing out, scrambling to form a protective crust.

"You... really can't fight at all, can you? You weren't lying."

The man is now standing in front of you, the same amount of disbelief he had at the beginning.

"How the hell would I have fought that...that..." you choke and can feel tears forming in your eyes. "I don't understand what's happening. I just want to go back home. I don't know what's happening." you start sobbing and angrily rub your eyes, hoping to trigger some sort of way to wake up. But your eyelids burn and you feel awake. This was never a dream.

Your sudden meltdown startles the man and he awkwardly hovers his hands over you, unsure of how to handle this.

"Sorry, if I had known, I would've stopped it earlier. I genuinely thought you're..." he sighs. "I'm really sorry. You got hurt because of me."

"Can you please tell me where I am? I feel like I'm going crazy. It's year 202X and I was out with my friends and fell into a well. I've never seen a creature like that in my life. I somehow ended up here and I can't go back. Where the hell is this?"

"I... I don't understand what's happening either. I came here because I sensed he's back. I didn't expect to see... well... you." 

You scan his face. His frown is sincere. Which, truth be told, is even less helpful. You're back to square 0, it's getting dark and your ankle is trashed. 

You just want to sleep.

You stare at the ceiling, hands locked together over your chest. The improvised hay mattress isn't exactly comfortable, but it's certainly better than nothing. You sheepishly glance at the horned man. He's sitting by the window, idly looking outside with hooded eyes. He seems to be tired, too. 

"Try to get some rest", he'd told you earlier. Easier said than done. After the monster attack, he carried you on his back until you found an abandoned hut. His way of apologizing for letting you get mauled. As you walked, he narrated his reasoning to you. 

His name is Kiritsubo. When he was a child, a human dressed like an onmyouji took him in for training. Said to be the successor of Abe no Seimei himself, the man was feared throughout the country for his supernatural powers. Most of his strength, however, came from the collection of yokai he'd gathered to work for him. None of them had agreed to it, but no one knew how to break the bond subduing them. Eventually, the old man succumbed into his eternal slumber, yet the yokai were still not freed from the contract.

Some of them suggested he wasn't truly gone. Merely reincarnated. And today, he felt it for the first time. That's how he stumbled upon you. You appear to have part of his soul within you, whether you realize it or not. But if you truly have no knowledge of it, he doesn't have the heart to slaughter an innocent. 

"What about the rest?" you blurt out, quietly.

Kiritsubo turns to you, mildly startled.

"What do you mean?"

"You said the man owned 12 legendary yokai. Are you the only one left?"

"No." He frowns. "They most likely know about you already. Let's try to send you back to your world tomorrow, because they will not be as forgiving."

A shiver runs across your spine. This one is scary enough already. You pray you'll be home before you can meet any other beast.

"This is where I found you, so the well shouldn't be far." 

The silver haired man surveys the horizon and you limp forward. 

"I'll check the area, since you can't walk much."

As soon as he says that, he vanishes. You're left with the heavy buzz of afternoon cicadas. You might as well do your own search. Keep yourself preoccupied. The idea of leaving this behind fills you with excitement and you find enough strength to push ahead. 

A few minutes later, you hear a shuffle behind you. Could it be that Kiritsubo already found the well? Enthusiasm fills your chest and a burning heat spreads out. Although it speedily pools in your left shoulder, and you notice in horror that it wasn't enthusiasm taking over your body. A blade is sticking out of your shoulder, avoiding anything vital as some sort of mockery rather than omission. 

"Found you."

The voice is deep and foreign. You barely manage to tilt your head and meet the glowing red eyes of a black haired man. Dark horns are twisting menacingly from his crown and his expression is that of pure wrath. As fresh blood drips down your chin, you wonder if this is the next yokai in line to seek his revenge.

How will you get out of this?

#female reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #yandere yokai #yandere demon #yandere monster #monster x reader #yokai x reader #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #male yandere x reader #original work

[brain-rot-central]

Unholy Desire

Pairing: spawn!Astarion x female!Tav (the reader is Tav)

Warnings: 18+, religious kink, breeding kink, innuendo, dry humping, mutual pining, reclaiming sexuality through kink, they talk out their feelings

Word count: 2.7k

Summary: Takes place in Act 3, pre-Cazador. You've finally made it to Baldur's Gate. You take time to offer prayers to your God after coming upon a small church on the outskirts of the city. You and your lover have grown closer over these long weeks, healing past wounds within your hearts, minds, and souls. Your desire has grown to become... sinful. You have a choice to consider: your Oath, or your lover?

This is the third camping spot you and your team find on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate. Rotating spots every few days was probably the best course of action, lest the Flaming Fists come to chase you away in the middle of the night.

You find an old abandoned church during your inspection of these latest campgrounds. It has been a while since you had a proper spot to sit and pray. Lathander has been kind in your journey, thus far. You hadn't offered thanks nearly enough for shining light in the darkest depths of the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Despite the challenges you faced, you and your companions arrived safely to Baldur's Gate. You kneel down behind a bench within the church and fold your hands in prayer. You hang your head and close your eyes. The sun begins to warm your skin as it shines through a crack in the church ceiling. A smile tugs at the corner of your mouth; Lathander is receptive to your prayer offering.

You don't recall how long you remain in that position, praying to the Morninglord. When your eyes lift up, you notice that night has fallen. You see a faint glow in the distance, surely that of the campfire. Faint bits of conversation travel along the night air. The conversation sounds jovial; it's probably fine for you to stay here a bit longer.

Astarion stands in the doorway to the small church, eyes fixated on you as you kneel once again in prayer. He'd come searching for you after your companions failed to reveal your whereabouts. He scoffs softly upon entering the abandoned structure. He thanks the tadpole nestled in his skull for affording him the luxury of waltzing straight into a church. Were this a few months ago, he surely would have burst into cinders upon the first step.

You hear a small 'crunch' off to your left; your head shoots up and your eyes settle on Astarion, who is frozen in place. You will your features to soften at the realization it was only your partner, your lover, who came to check on you. "Are you certain you're a rogue?" you speak to him through the darkness.

Moonlight pours through the ceiling and bathes his face as he comes closer to you, now within full view. He looks ethereal in the pale light. The moonlight reflects off his silver hair in a halo. His eyes glint like newly-polished ruby gemstones, his skin glows like the finest cut ivory. You find it challenging at times to believe he is your mate on this journey. Difficult to accept that the two of you had shared a bed on multiple occasions. The thought makes your mouth dry and your head swim. You shake your head slightly, clearing your mind of such perverse thoughts.

"My dear," he begins, his signature posh tone dripping from each word, "if you've truly forgotten just how deft I am with my hands..." Astarion sits next to your knelt form. He drops a hand to cup your chin, gently tilting your face up to meet his, "...then perhaps you need reminding."

You swallow thickly as he holds your face, and watch his eyes begin to hood. A smile graces his lips and he releases your chin. He scans the church briefly, snickering. "What in the hells are you even doing here? It's rather... drab, darling."

You stand up and brush yourself off. You proceed to then sit next to him on the bench. "I'm praying, Astarion." You take a deep breath in and meet his eyes. "Lathander has been most kind on our journey. I haven't given him nearly enough of my thanks."

Astarion audibly scoffs. "Ugh, I can clearly see that. But why, is my question."

"We made it safely to Baldur's Gate," you explain. "That's more than enough to be thankful for."

Astarion suddenly stands up and over you. A scowl graces his visage, "And you didn't think to tell me you'd be here?" He places one hand upon his hip. "No one had any idea where you'd gone!" His face falls and he averts his gaze to the side. "I was... concerned that you were still out in the city."

You chuckle. Astarion has a softer side to him that sometimes slips out of his otherwise gruff facade. It makes your heart sing with delight each time you see it.

"I'm Baldurian, my love. Remember? I know the city streets quite well." You reach out to hold the hand at his side, and his palm wraps around yours. "I also happen to be a Paladin."

You follow his eyes as they fall upon the floor. The grip on your hand tightens. "And it's not exactly a daily occurrence to have a blood-thirsty vampiric master hunting you." He sighs, soft eyes regaining their focus on you, "Please, darling, just give me some warning next time."

Ah, he's worried you may have been snatched by Cazador. You stand to meet him and wrap your arms around his neck. "My apologies, Astarion. It was not my intention to make you worry." You bury your face in his neck and breathe in. Bergamot, rosemary, and brandy; his signature scent. You feel your body slowly mold against his as the smell floods your olfactory receptors. There have been many nights you've fallen asleep dreaming of this scent. It was oddly comforting to you. It makes you feel safe and secure.

Astarion rests his hands upon your hips and leans his cheek against your temple. You stand together in the small ruined church, holding one another, bathed in moonlight from the cracked ceiling above. "Do you have any idea how much you mean to me," a low rumble escapes his chest as he speaks. His hands begin to snake up your back, his palms resting on your shoulder blades, "Any clue what I think about when I'm alone in my tent at night?"

You slide a hand up into his hair, twirling the locks between your fingers. You litter featherlight kisses along his jawline, and he tilts his head back to give you better access. The hand in his hair tightens, holding him in place. A soft groan escapes his lips as you lick a stripe up the center of his neck. "I don't think you've ever told me," you say.

He shivers within your touch. You watch his eyes flit to the back of his head as you suckle at the scars upon his neck, "Hells, Tav, I've told you so many times..." his voice comes as a soft whisper into the night air. Astarion's hands slide down your back and to your waist, gripping your hips.

"Remind me," you insist as you watch a purple mark bloom on his neck. His hips stutter into yours, and you feel the hardening length of him ever so lightly brush across your mound. You tilt his head to gain access to the opposite side of his neck, and your mouth descends once more.

Another moan escapes his lips and he lowers his face to your ear. "I..." You feel his hands sink lower, coming to rest on your backside, "I think of you below me." Astarion’s breath is cool yet heavy in your ear as his hips begin to meet yours in a soft rhythm, "Or, bent over, with my cock splaying your darling little cunt."

Your hands drop to his biceps as a shutter passes over you. Your hips involuntarily grind against his, pleasured groans slipping free from both of your lips at the joint friction. His hands grip your ass and he holds you against him. You feel the outline of him press against your sex; your walls clench around the thought of him buried to the hilt inside you.

You lean back in his hold and he dips his face to your neck, nose tracing the outline of your pulse point. You shiver as Astarion begins placing chilled kisses against your carotid artery, and you once again lace your hands through his hair.

"I think about your greedy pussy milking my cock for as much of my spend as it can…" Astarion takes a hand off your behind and guides it to your clothed mound, pressing his fingers slightly upward as he swipes across the general vicinity of your clit, "...until you’re positively overflowing, and my seed weeps down your folds into a pool under us." You buck into his palm at the pressure of his fingers. Your hips grind down instinctively against his hand, and you mewl into his neck.

"Please," you beg, "what else do you think about?" Your voice is airy and ragged. You notice the door of the church is open, meaning anyone could see your current state, were they to come over. You feel a sensual twist in your abdomen, and your hands begin untying Astarion's trousers. You need this man stripped and bare before you, getting caught be damned.

His hands come to rest upon your own. "Oh dear, whatever could I have possibly said to put you in such a state?" he feigns coyness as he takes over for you, undoing the knots to his pants. “Are you certain you can handle knowing more?” You raise your head to meet his gaze and nod, slowly. Your eyes are hooded over in lust and you feel a warm blush begin to creep across your face. 

Astarion raises a hand to cup the side of your face in his palm. His lips come to grace the shell of your ear, nipping at it softly with his blunted front teeth. The hand on your cheek begins to slide down to your throat and his fingers wrap around the column of your neck. His grip tightens into light pressure against your throat. “Do you truly want to hear…” his tongue traces the curve of your ear down to the lobe, “how I bring myself to completion…” his teeth tug at your earlobe, “...at the thought of you, swollen, with the ultimate consequence of our couplings?” His voice is a whisper in your ear, and you feel your knees threatening to buckle. You groan and extend your neck, a silent offering to the hand on your throat to hold tighter. 

He guides one of your hands between the apex of his thighs and cups his swollen length in your palm. Even clothed, you could feel how hard he is. It sends electric shooting down your spine, resonating as a throb of your sex. He sucks in a breath at the pressure of your hand. A broken moan escapes his lips and he speaks into your ear again, “Have you any idea how terribly my body yearns to breed you?”

Your head swims, slowly losing all connection to this material plane of existence. To carry the child of an undead would be blasphemy; you would lose your Oath and fall out of favor with Lathander. Yet… you breathe heavily at the thought of being pumped so full of cum that your womb no longer has room for it. Your pussy throbs at the thought of falling pregnant from such a situation. You feel wetness gathering at the center of your thighs. 

“Wouldn't that be the epitome of a holy offering to your God of life?” Astarion moves to press his forehead against yours, and kisses the tip of your nose.

“He's…” you try to rasp out a reply, but your voice fails you. Your face is burning and your thoughts are a muddled mess.

“He's what, dear?” You can hear the amusement in Astarion's voice, knowing he has gotten you to the point where your mind can no longer form coherent thoughts.

“He's… also the God of birth,” you force out. You feel his cock twitch against your palm as the words leave your lips. A shiver passes through you at the thought of giving birth to an undead child, Astarion's undead child. Would it even be possible?

“My, my…” You manage to open your eyes and catch the devious smirk gracing his lips, “how entirely sinful that would be. Your holy womb, thoroughly disgraced by the planting of my seed.” Astarion's lips form into a pout, his voice taking on a soft mocking tone, “I wonder if your God would forsake you for such a thing?”

You often forget Astarion is an undead; he played the part of the living so well, would easily blend into any crowd. Yet, during times like these, he relished in his unholy attributes. He'd long teased you about your devotion to Lathander, went on long monologues about how the Gods were graceless and inevitably forsook everyone. He'd told you how he prayed to every God he knew of during the year he was sealed in a tomb by Cazador. None had answered him. He was bitter, you knew this. And yet… he was also enamored by your devotion. Jealous, even, that your attention was divided between him, and a God.

Your arms come to rest upon his shoulders once more, and you move your head slightly back from his. Your eyes find one another; you hadn't noticed before, but your chosen conversation is having an impact on him, as well. Astarion's pupils are blown wide, the reds of his irises becoming thin rings. “...Could we even do that?” you question, “Could we actually… could I… Now?”

A chuckle escapes his chest. The corner of his tips turns upward into a smile. “Now probably isn't the best time, my sweet. Unless you'd like an audience.” He nods his head in the direction of your companions sitting around the campfire.

Suddenly, your periphery vision returns to you. You recall you're in the small abandoned church within camp, with your companions mere feet away from you. You'd almost begged Astarion to take you within earshot of your companions… in a church, after having just finished your prayers. A scowl graces your lips at the thought.

“Oh, don't be so sour,” Astarion says, tucking strands of hair behind your ear, “We can always try to make this a reality later tonight?” 

“Astarion, is it even possible for you to sire a child?” You watch his lips purse into a flat line with your questioning, obviously offended, “I mean, with your… condition.”

Silence stretches long between you. You watch his gaze fall to the laces of his trousers and he begins to retie the knots. The silence is uncomfortable, and you begin to fear you'd said the wrong thing. Yet, you genuinely did not know. Could it happen? You'd not taken precautions during your past encounters. Could it have possibly… already happened? You shift uneasily and remove your arms from his neck.

“...I read a book while out with Gale one afternoon,” he finally says, grasping your wrists before your arms return to your sides. His fingers weave between your own, joining your hands. “He'd been raving about visiting ‘Sorcerous Sundries’ again. Something about an old, dusty tome of some sort,” he scoffs. “I haven't a damned clue what he was talking about.”

Your eyes widen. “You went out shopping, willingly, with Gale?”

“I know,” he sighs, “rather unbecoming of me. Though, I often have reasons for my madness.” He raises one of your joined hands to his lips, kissing the back of your hand, “One being… us. And what our future could be.”

“Astarion…” It dawns on you: he took the afternoon with Gale to research this very topic. To find out if this could ever be a reality for you both.

He unlaces one of your joined hands and brings his palm up to hold the side of your face. “As it turns out, so long as you keep me well-fed, that of which you already do…” a genuine smile graces his lips, “this could very much be a thing between us.”

You smile and raise your hand to cover the one on your cheek, turning your face into his palm. You kiss the inside of his palm, “I think it's best we return to everyone else, lest we get tempted again to start.”

“Of course, dear. I would have to agree,” Astarion turns toward the doorway of the abandoned church, holding out a hand toward you. “Our chosen company of weirdos may turn up with pitchforks should I not return with you in tow rather soon.” 

You place your hand in his and follow his lead toward the doorway. “Another night, then?” you suggest.

“No, my sweet,” he says, kissing the back of your hand once more, “tonight would make a lovely opportunity to start.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x female reader #astarion x female tav #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion/reader #astarion/tav #inspired by ruby #thank you ruby #your writing is always *chef's kiss*

[genderkoolaid]

Words like "cervix" and "uterus" are absolutely inaccessible for ESL people though, and "cervix-haver" and "uterus-haver" even more so, both of which I've seen. These are uniquely English word structures and I would think that they are diseases if I didn't know those words already. Saying this as someone who went to a bilingual gymnasium, I only learned the word cervix thanks to being on r/badwomensanatomy or whatever that subreddit is called. I still don't see the problem behind "biologically female" tbh. If that makes you dysphoric you'll obviously be way too dysphoric to get pap smears or mammograms anyways😐 but the first gen immigrants would probably appreciate knowing that they're offered

I think if people don't know what a uterus (or womb) is there are deeper problems at play than trans people.

"___-haver" is not the only way to phrase that in English; "person with ___" is right there. Which is how its also phrased in other languages. From @anomalousmancunt:

#Not to mention that assuming non-english speaking women are too dumb to understand new terms is fucking disgusting#guess what anon. If you're USAmerican then your feminism is at least partially built on the work of latinoamerican feminists#feminists outside of the anglo bubble can understand new language just fine. we build new language always#like literally. it was hispanic feminists promoting an entire new pronoun IN SPANISH (one of THE gendered languages)#you think we're going to struggle latching onto the term PEOPLE?#as IF latam feminists didn't already use terms like 'gente que menstrua' and 'personas gestantes'#argentina had a gender identity law before the USA legalized gay marriage ffs#we don't need you to defend us against the evils of gender neutral language anon

Also, trans people die when they can't get proper gynecological care, so fuck you for acting like that's a cute thing to snark about.

#m. #ask box

[homunculus-argument]

Imagine living in a mining town on the border of some uninhabited land. One day, you're just about to leave for work, when you notice that there's some guy sitting on the hood of your car. And also that your car appears to have been turned into solid gold. The guy - who was clearly sitting there waiting for you - turns to address you. He states the exact boundaries of a specific area of the land next to the mining site, and tells you to stop fucking mining there.

You tell him that you're not the boss of the company, it's not up to you where the mining is going to go. He says he's aware of it, but he wants you to make it happen. He's willing to exchange gifts for it, the car for one, and also your unborn little niece will be born in perfect health, and never suffer illness for a single day for her entire life until her requested time of death, at the age of 119. You weren't aware that your sister is having a girl - and neither probably do they - but somehow you don't doubt that this creature is speaking the truth.

Yes, creature. Now that you got a proper look, this guy really isn't all that human. The amount of teeth and fingers he has seems to shift and alter, occasionally when he twirls his hands in gestures, they momentarily tilt into angles that human joints shouldn't shift into. And you do see a lot of his teeth and movements of his hands as he keeps talking, gesturing wildly as he does, clearly irate.

He doesn't have the time to start digging into human social structures, or to bother figuring out who are the ones in charge of where the digging goes. He wants you to find them and talk to them. He can't really tell people apart, but what he can do is offer splendid and fabulous gifts in return for the favour. And if that won't work, he can kill people so easily it's not even funny.

All he's asking for is that you stop digging at that specific area. He doesn't want humans there. He can offer gifts to people, individual humans, and tell them to make it happen, one way or another. Or else he'll start killing people. He doesn't want to, but he can, and if his requests aren't met, he will decimate this entire fucking town.

You promise to do your best, and notice a few more golden cars on your way as you walk to work. There's several more people on the way that you pass on foot, some of whom are people you can clearly recall seeing in a wheelchair, or no longer using crutches. You don't need to look them in the eye to know they met the creature, too. You've all just met humanity's version of the guy who would rather use sugar cubes to bribe ants into not spreading their anthill into his living room, than call an exterminator.

[cryptotheism]

Do you know anything on mesopotamian rituals n spells? Specifically on shapeshifting? Ik this sounds like a joke but its not, there is someone in my group claiming that they found a specific ritual that caused a small shift in appearance and I want to see if they are messing with us or if this is something you can actually do

If your friend was able to double check a translation of an Akkadian magical tablet, undergo the proper initatory rites to become an Asipu, and perform a spell that caused a measurable change in their physical body, yes, that would be quite remarkable. We should study them in a lab, and probably start building ziggurats to An.

Listen. Magic isn't real like that. You're not gonna be able to cast fireball in real life. I do not think your friend changed their bone structure, but they have you wondering, which is indicative of some charismatic talent.

I would encourage them to develop an interest in archeology. The library of ashurbanipal needs translators.

[mockerycrow]

“don’t you dare lie. i can see it hurts, so show me.” with gaz or soap

if it's not too much trouble I would like to sob please

also congrats on 400 followers!!!!! :)

400 Follower Celebration

(ENDED JUNE 15TH)

—“Don’t you dare lie. I can see it hurts, so show me.”— With Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Summary: After falling from a great height through an unstable floor, you end up with bruised ribs and a deep gash in your side that needs proper medical attention—but you’re almost at your destination with your team, so you say you’re fine.

A/N: I’m almost at 900 now?? thank you everyone 😭 also, your callsign is “Cinder”.

[WARNINGS: Medical inaccuracies, military inaccuracies, descriptions of wounds, physical hurt/comfort.]

You groaned as your ears rung, your body feeling unnaturally heavy. You blinked slowly and everything felt like it was far away and moving in slow motion, and your body felt unnaturally wet.. and hot. You let out a dry cough as you accidentally inhaled the misty debris, no doubt not doing your lungs any good. You looked around as your mind remained blank, whatever happened shocked you enough into a dazed state for a moment. You lay your head back down and you close your eyes tight for just a moment to try to regain feeling in your face, and pain bloomed from your neck and shoulders. Luckily, your helmet saved you from a major concussion and possibly a head injury. The ringing slowly faded until it became background noise, and you hear a voice talking into a radio and distant gunshots, as well as little parts of the destroyed floor above you falling to your level. “Cinder? Cinder do you copy??” Price. It’s Price’s voice, you vaguely catalogue that, but you don’t understand that you should probably respond. Your try to take a deep breath, but you find your chest being restricted, so you look down.

Oh.

There’s several large pieces of debris on top of you, a big piece of structural wood laying across your chest while pieces of concrete re-enforcement pin the wood down onto you. You should probably move that.

You lift your arms and you distantly feel that your side and your back is wet, your hands getting a good grip on the wood and grunting, you push the debris off yourself, moving your head to the side as some of the concrete rolls off the wood near your head. You let out another dry wheeze, feeling an ache in your ribs. For some reason, every sensation just feels.. so far away right now. You blink slowly as you sit up, glancing around the rubble that you’re sitting in the middle of. You touch your side and your body instinctively flinches, and your mind yells at you for touching your side, even if you don’t feel anything yet. You pull your hand back and your hand is wet with your blood, coating your palm like you just swiped your hand across a puddle on the street.

That isn’t good, now is it?

Oh, you should probably say something on comms. You use your clean hand to reach up and press a button, and your words are slightly slurred. “M’here, all good. Just.. got the wind knocked outta me.”

“We’ll have you checked out when we reach the safehouse. RV with us at the yellow house.”

“..Copy.”

You bend down and pick up your rifle that had been forced out of your hands, wincing as the pain in your muscles and your side is beginning to catch up to your brain. Despite wearing a vest, it seems like something managed to cut through to your side. You can’t help but look around and you press your lips together when you see rebar sticking out of different places; partially above you on the remaining slabs that haven’t fallen down to your level, as well as rebar stuck in large chunks of the concrete. It smelled like pure concrete too, if that makes sense. You hum when you know that your wound must be bad enough to soak through the vest, but you don’t want to stop and wait around just so they can slap an oversized bandaid on your side. You can do that later at the safehouse yourself.

You take a deep breath which leads to a cough, your hand coming up to brush some of the white dust from the infrastructure off of you. You get yourself out of the collapsed building and grip your rifle correctly, pointing it in front of you with your finger near the trigger, scanning your environment. All you see is ruined civilian buildings with dead enemy soldiers lining the streets, and unfortunately a few normal civilians, too. You take another look and you see the yellow house in question, but it’s a ways away. “Eyes on the yellow house, five, maybe six klicks out.”

“Copy, the perimeter is secured. You know the drill. Over and out.”

It admittedly takes you longer than it should’ve to get there. As you made your way to the rendezvous point, part of the adrenaline in your system began to stop pumping, which made you intensely aware of the gash in your side, the bruises forming deep within your muscles, and how heavy your body feels overall. It was not looking good.

After dragging yourself through the eerily quiet and bloody streets—you did have to stop a couple of times—you finally managed to get to the yellow house. ‘You know the drill.’ Find an alternate entrance other the main door, knock in a specific pattern, then wait for the door to open. You get yourself to the entrance of the house and you lift your arm, trying to ignore the way it feels like gravity is pulling on it more than usual, and then you knock the pattern you and the team agreed upon a while ago. It takes a moment before Soap opens the door with his rifle pointed at you, and you raise my hands. Soap lets out a sigh of relief and lowers his rifle, stepping to the side. “Steamin’ Jesus, looks like you’ve been through hell, aye?” He comments as you trudge your way inside. You grumble and wave him off. “Something like that.” You reapond, your voice hoarse. You make your way into the biggest room of the downstairs, which ends up being the living room. You scan the room and see Price, Ghost, and Gaz. “Saw you were in the building that collapsed. You broken?” Price grips his rifle harsher as he walks over to you, and you shake your head. “Nothin’ I can’t handle, Cap’.”

Gaz walks over to you next, his finger pointing at your bloodied side. “You sure ‘bout that? That doesn’t look too good, Cinder.” You avoid looking anyone in the eyes in fear that they will see past your already shaky facade, and you shake your head yes. “I’m.. I’m sure, just a bit tender.” This isn’t good, because the pain is managing to hit you harder and harder now. It’s like your gash is a spot where someone branded you and the burning hot sensation won’t leave for a long time, and when it finally does?—only pure pain will remain. Gaz scoffs and grabs your rifle from you, causing you to furrow your brows. “Hey, what gives?—“

Gaz then leads you over to a chair nearby and forces you to sit down, and he then puts your rifle and his rifle on the dusty table. “Let me see,” He scans your face with hardened puppy eyes, his fingers going for your vest. You shake your head and try to push his hands away. “Kyle, I am fine—“

“Don’t you dare lie. I can see it hurts, so show me.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for you to argue, so you put your arms down. You bite your lip and mutter, “I would’ve survived to the safehouse.”

Gaz wordlessly undoes the straps and clips of your bloody tactical vest, and pulls the weight off of your body. You hiss and close your eyes for a moment, hearing shuffling, probably Gaz putting the vest down. You feel his fingers pull your shirt from being stuffed into your waistband, and you hiss from the shirt dragging against the gash. You open your eyes and beside you is Gaz and Ghost—Ghost, who is setting down a medical kit, and he eyes you before speaking. “You wouldn’t have, Sergeant.”

Everyone goes silent from that, and you’re aware of the heaviness in the air due to Ghost’s observation. You opt to look at Gaz who has worried and troubled eyes as he cleans the gash, and you try to ignore the way you’re bleeding onto him. “Shit, Soap, come over here and help me.” His voice is slightly trembling and you feel guilt bubble in your gut. Gaz should never sound like that, especially not because of you..

Soap jogs over and grabs gauze, helping Gaz to soak up the blood and clean your gash. “It’s going to need stitches..” Gaz mutters, making eye contact with you. You take a deep breath and nod. “Quickly.. please?”

Gaz looks back at your wound, breaking the slight tension, and you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Of course.”

#call of duty #call of duty mwii #cod mw2 #mw2022 #cod #modern warfare ii #mw2 2022 #mw2 fanfic #gaz #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz x you #kyle garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle gaz garrick x you #call of duty mw2 #mw2 x reader #mw2 #mwii #gaz mw2 #mw2 gaz #gaz cod #gaz call of duty #crow��s 400 follower celebration

[trashiiplant]

I don't really ever post my oc stuff here, probably in fear it wont be received that well but ah, here I go anyway.

I finally made a slugcat oc to accompany my iterator oc, Gaze Upon a Borealis HEHE.... they're very good friends

Some notes of both below the cut:

Gaze Upon a Borealis is an iterator located in the arctic region, making her even more isolated than many other iterators. Their communication network isn't all that great. I currently don't have any proper ocs that would be a part of her local group but I DO know that it's small as hell.

She is very gentle and welcoming of any small creatures that find their way to their can. They worry over every single one every time, aware of how cold it must be for them outside. She often times assists starving creatures.

Their puppet is made to be portable in case she needs to fix some outer damage to her structure by herself. (The Beacon likes helping them with this.) There's hardly ever a proper need for that though, so she simply walks around her facility and admires the view. They gaze upon the aurora borealis often. (ayy)

Borealis can even exit their can for a certain period of time with a built in lift. They like to go on walks with Beacon every now and then.

AND OH BOY.. I rambled a bit while working on The Beacon OOPS

Anyway, here's the text if that's a bit hard to read:

-The Beacon is modified by an iterator, Gaze Upon a Borealis

-Also referred to as "Assistant" by GUB

-Specifically modified to survive the harsh climate of the arctic, where Borealis' can is located.

-Very durable and larger than most slugcats. It is awfully slow but much akin to the Gourmand, it's spear throws are quite deadly.

(2,5 dmg at most, maybe. Depends on the throw)

-Tail is designed to keep it warm, along with the thick fur

-The tail acts as a lantern, it's heat and light may lure in dangerous predators in seek of warmth.

-Rather grumpy and strict in personality. It is extremely wise due to it's old age and has acted as a mentor figure to a few slugcats in it's old colony

-Borealis managed to put it's physical aging to a halt... wont die permanently unless ascended. (screw the logic)

-At night, it's colors change to resemble the northern lights. It's tail even leaves a trail akin to one. Borealis simply thought of it as a pretty feature. Beacon finds it bothersome

-◉◉◉|◉◉◉◉◉◉ Easy peasy food pip req due to the lack of food in the arctic.

The rest is just height comparisons.

#lmk if you want more about this duo #trashy art #rain world #rain world downpour #rw #iterator oc #rain world oc #slugcat oc #rw iterator #iterator #slugcat #The Beacon #Gaze Upon a Borealis #tagging them just cause #artificer #she's there SO... #oh yeah quick note #Borealis' can doesnt produce enough heat to melt the snow lol #original character

[actualmermaid]

Since I've spent the last month-plus neck-deep in queer Christian history research, I ended up with some thoughts™️ about "classical" Western homoeroticism vs. Christian homophobia.

Liberal Christian apologetics sometimes do a very annoying thing when asked to explain the homophobia in the New Testament epistles. Because it's real, it's there, and homophobic Christians take it as the Unquestionable Word of God. So obviously we have to do something about it.

The liberal explanation tends to go something like this: "the epistle writer is talking about the abusive and exploitative homosexual acts that were common in ancient Rome, not the loving/egalitarian/mutually respectful relationships that gay people are able to have today." And it's so frustrating because there is SOME truth in this. We and Paul both know that the Greeks and Romans were notorious pederasts and slave-abusers. And that's bad! It's super bad. I do agree that Paul/the epistle writer is condemning abusive behavior using language and frameworks that would have been available to him at the time. Deciphering the social context of the epistles can get messy.

But the annoying thing is this: it is not affirming to suggest that all gay people in the past were either abusers or their victims, and "we're more enlightened now" is a lie. We are not smarter than the Greeks. We are not more civilized than the Romans. We are not more pious than the medievals. (Hello there, Roman Catholic sex abuse scandals.) And there have always been gay people who have defied all odds to have loving, egalitarian, and mutually respectful relationships with each other, even if we do not know their stories or their struggles.

This is kind of the crux of John Boswell's "controversial" thesis: gay people have always existed, even if they had to conceal themselves and their relationships behind various protective structures. (I actually haven't read any of his books yet, so I'm not going to engage too deeply with the nuances of his arguments.) When people try to dismiss him, I suspect it's because they don't notice or appreciate what he probably noticed. I have a hunch that Boswell's arguments are not super intersectional and focus mostly on the privileged sphere of people who left written records in the Middle Ages, but hey, serious LGBTQ Christian history research has to start somewhere. I'll withhold judgment for now. But I do think he was totally right about one thing: Saints Sergius and Bacchus. They were totally a gay couple until somehow proven otherwise, IMO. The reason I think he was right is because he was able to notice the "classical" aesthetics of homoeroticism in their legend even though it might not obvious to people who don't know what they're looking for. Straight people reading the legend are like "there's nothing gay about this" and gay people are like "wow, this story is pretty gay."

If you've ever looked into Western gay history, you've seen two words: erastes and eromenos. This means "lover" and "beloved," the two sides of a classical Greek pederastic relationship. The Greeks did actually recognize an age of consent and had ideals of proper behavior that regulated these relationships, but these were still usually relationships between a teenage boy and an older man, which isn't great. They also had all kinds of weird ideas about the politics of penetration and so forth. The Greeks and Romans didn't really think that two people could really be equal to each other--in any relationship, there was always one who was sort of subordinate to the other. So it was "weird" for two social equals to be in a gay relationship, as opposed to one with one partner who was already "established" and was "showing the ropes" to a younger guy who needed some wholesome manly instruction. We may not be better, smarter, or more enlightened than people in the past, but we do have the ability to critique them and try to identify the harmful behaviors that we've inherited from them, so we can do better. We've come a long way since the days of erastes/eromenos relationships, but one thing has stuck around: the classical aesthetics of a "manly guy" and an "idealized youth" in love with each other.

Apropos of nothing, here's a photo of John Boswell and his longtime partner Jerry Hart. They were within a year of being the same age.

So anyway, this brings us back to the legend of Sergius and Bacchus. The version that Boswell translated takes great pains to show how Sergius and Bacchus were equals in every way. They're both Roman officers, they're about the same age, they sing in unison, and are united in the egalitarian love of Christ. However, they are still just a little bit unequal. Sergius is of a slightly higher rank than Bacchus.

To be clear, this whole legend is a literary creation, and it's got a bunch of Byzantine propaganda in it. It's not history, it's mythology. Whoever wrote it down would have been familiar with erastes/eromenos dynamics, because these were everywhere in classical antiquity. So they made sure to specify all the ways in which Sergius and Bacchus were equals, but took a firm position in ye olde fandom top/bottom discourse.

Throughout the legend, Sergius acts, and Bacchus is acted upon. Bacchus is killed first, and Sergius is temporarily demoralized. Bacchus then appears to Sergius in a vision encouraging him to stay strong. Sergius is so steadfast that they can't torture him enough to make him recant his faith, and he is beheaded. Even straight couples are not usually said to have been reunited in heaven, but Sergius and Bacchus are.

So, knowing that Sergius is the erastes and Bacchus is the eromenos in this story, we can start to notice it in iconography too. It's not always consistent, but sometimes icons will have Sergius' cloak curling protectively over Bacchus' head, or one of them taking a slightly more "authoritative" posture, etc.

Above all, they are always depicted as true equals--sometimes they almost look like twins.

Increasingly, modern icons are being made that explicitly communicate the idea that they were a gay couple. The one on the left was created by Robert Lentz, a Franciscan friar, for Chicago Pride in 1994. The one on the right makes the classical homoerotic aesthetic super explicit, and is by far the most sexually-suggestive "traditional-style" icon I have ever seen lol. Shoutout to this artist.

So to sum up: John Boswell knew what the fuck he was talking about. Also, none of this excuses the homophobia in the Christian scriptures or the homophobia that Christians continue to perpetuate. However, knowing what to look for in art and writing helps us understand that gay people were not magically granted the ability to have egalitarian relationships in the modern world, and THAT leads us away from problematic apologetics.

#christianity #saints #queer #gay #pride #history

[cloudyswritings]

More vessel biology headcanons?

Vessels are actually really, really good at burrowing. It’s probably how so many escaped the abyss after they got sealed. They got it from both parents, and the void. Which per my silly little brain, can old be contained in round glass.

the void basically erodes/decays things in fast forward otherwise?

Vessels all have one major flaw or imperfection the void couldn’t remove, THKs was either a desire for perfection or being able to make familial bonds.

Ghosts flaw is an endless well of willpower. They will never, ever, stop. They inherited from their mothers conceptual side, because their will is the slow burrowing of roots through stone and the deceptively gentle trickle of water on metal. Greenpath vessels was a sense of adventure/desire to explore. And the nosk vessels all had a sense of longing for companionship which led to their deaths.

The vessels also seem to have physical flaws too? Like structurally I mean. The prime example is THKs missing arm, in the pure vessel boss fight that same arm is what they use for the void tendrils attack and by the time we fight them in the egg it’s entirely rotted off. I think it honestly was never as strong or stable as the other arm and was bound to be lost eventually. Broken Vessels flaw would be their third horn(the one that’s broken off).

Vessels actually do still have some of their own light, you can see this in game actually—even without the lantern you give off a subtle glow. I think that some vessels actually retained some of the godly light and status they otherwise would have had, only a little though.

The above idea comes from my headcanon that Wyrms specifically are really resistant to void as far as gods go, because they always dig deep and far and in that sometimes burrow into pockets of void far below the surface. They need to be able to survive contact with it in the short term at least. This nature would explain how some vessels retain minute traces of light, and why the pale king was the one actually standing at the mouth of the abyss waiting for vessels.

given time, soul, and light a vessel can grow to enormous sizes- or eventually metamorphose into a wyrm proper. Albeit one still tarnished by the void

in fact I wonder if any of the seeds/eggs dropped into the abyss hatched young Wyrms instead of vessels? Maybe they escaped or something? I don’t think this is likely but it’s a cool idea.

vessels are deceptively light, as in like hornet could carry THK on her back if she needed to- they’re literally hollow in a way

Void and water don’t mix, it’s like oil and water. That’s why we float in the blue lake.

The void itself might be the remnants of an ancient sea that covered the world beyond Hallownest before the age of bright gods. It would explain the trilobite creature we see in deepnest and the way the abyss and the rest of Hallownest appear to be made of fossilized shells. Plus if it’s the remnants of the sea then it could be something like a microbial mat that’s really toxic to life? Like maybe it’s a magic microbial soup? Magic microbial goop even. Vessels are goop.

Vessels are really really strong compared to other ways of containing things, like THK held the radiance for a long ass time. If a vessel tried to contain a weaker god they’d probably just be able to tbh. Like anything weaker than the nightmare heart if probably fair game for yoinking.

Vessels also sometimes inherit the hunger of Wyrms, and looking into their eyes gives the sensation of falling into the maw of some great beast. Godseaker did call Little Ghost a wielder of nail and eater of soul

Vessels are also really susceptible to outside influences, kinda like evee if they were Pokémon. This is how Ghost can use so many charms at once but also why said charms can change them so easily.

Theoretically a vessel raised by or containing a god could take on some of their traits-either by force or by accident.

Unrelatedly THK has a voice to cry out with…

I think radiance may have eventually tried turning them into something more like Grimm is for the heart, a body for her to use and a mind thoroughly broken to her will.

after-all she shines brightest against the darkness…

If they could eat, Vessels would have a truly remarkable number of tastebuds, because Wyrms will eat anything and I feel like the white lady has ways to “taste” the soil to see if it’s nutrient rich and has fertilizer.

man I’m just realizing, vessels would like some weird food, they’d definitely eat dirt

THK crunching on crystals?? Likely

Finally the horns of vessels are actually their “branches” and will keep growing indefinitely unless trimmed or broken periodically, this comes from both parents. Wyrms need to constantly replace burrowing teeth and Roots are beings of constant growth and pruning.

#wow that was long #hollow knight #hk vessels #speculative biology #headcanon #pure vessel #little ghost #hk pale king #what do you think?

[strawberry-crocodile]

Multiple things can be true at once. Transmisogyny can be a vital term for some of us to communicate the intersection of transphobia and misogyny that we face. But others may experience it more complicatedly or severely, as in the case of transmisogynoir. And for others (e.g., certain nonbinary people, trans male/masculine-spectrum people), misogyny may intersect with transphobia in different ways that aren’t adequately articulated by transmisogyny. This doesn’t necessarily make transmisogyny “wrong”; it may simply mean that we need additional language.

- Julia Serano

I want to be clear, I don't intend to send this as a "gotcha". I'm just curious about how you feel about this quote as someone who is passionate about discussing transmisogyny (as you should be)

it more or less lines up with what i talk about- that Transmisogyny is an important term that is separate from intersexism and how transmasculine people experience transphobia.

as for "additional language", to talk about my thoughts on Transmisandry;

As a teenager (this is something I'm genuinely ashamed of, to be clear) I spent a few years immersed in anti-sjw MRA spaces. I was sucked in by my own unhappiness with manhood (which in hindsight probably had... other causes) as well as a conservative desire for my gut reactions (we don't need more feminism or anti-racism, everything is fine!) to be right, and what privilege i had to be unchallenged.

Part of what brought me into those spaces was that I was choosing to focus on Men's Issues- to single them out, to try and compare them to feminism and "legitimize" Men's Rights as something that needs space, needs a voice, needs focus.

And now, many of the people who use the word Transmisandry and try to talk about Transphobia Against Trans Men without a proper feminist framework get sucked into harmful, conservative ideology, frame women within their community as equally capable of oppressing men- if not moreso- and absolve themselves of the responsibility to question their own biases, prejudices, and privilege.

Transmasculine people experience transphobia- there's no doubt in my mind there- and misogyny can often play a part, because that is the language of a gendered underclass. However, within the queer and trans community, there are biases and trends that benefit trans men over trans women. This is literally what intersectionalism means. This is a big reason why we need to be able to talk about transmisogyny in the specific; and because the reverse is not true, transmisandry lacks that ground.

All this is to say, I don't really care about the semantics of whether or not Trans Misandry is an intersection of misandry and transphobia; rather, that transmisandry just isn't a structural issue within the community that particularly needs to be identified and discussed separate from transphobia in general. Anyone who chooses to single out and focus on it- anyone who isn't content with "transphobia (as it manifests) against transmascs"- is very likely to be falling for the aforementioned MRA pitfalls, and if not, will be in the company of such people soon enough.

#dalucaray #tme ppl #THIS TURNED OUT LONG #and a bit personal #i do not like talking about my past dabbling in the anti-sjw spaces #THANKFULLY i spent my time circlejerking on reddit rather than directly harassing people #but it's still a deeply embarassing and upsetting thing for me to think about