We barely have a moment to react, the door crashes open, knocked off its hinges by an incredible force as an ogre charges through, it roars and takes a clumsy swing at us, but the monster clearly favours power over accuracy and we barely had to move to avoid it. You send a blast of fire at it, the ogres thick leathery skin protects it but it still startles it back, long enough for me to draw my sword and leap forward, plunging the blade into its side, I make another swing but the beast catches my blade and shatters the metal in its strong grip. You launch a volley of magical blasts, trying various elements and techniques trying to figure out what will be effective against its defence, an arc of lightning against the wound I opened sent the ogre reeling in pain, you call out the strategy to me, if I can open a bigger wound you can fry the ogre, but without a sword that seems impossible. My armour responds to my concerns right away, extending claw like blades out from my gauntlet, becoming similar to the tiger form it once took, I dash forwards once again, raking my claws across the ogres chest, I dive past and call out a signal. You unleash a bolt of lightning, the ogre screams before collapsing to the ground, dead.

We take a moment to look at it, surprised that we succeeded at slaying a monster without having to fuck it, then we notice a presence beside us, the shadow examining our kill. "This one wasn't under my command, I suppose I should reward you for helping to evict this nuisance" they wave a hand and a segment of the wall opens up, inside is a beautiful bath house. "Take all the rest you can, you'll need it" then the shadow was gone.

We walk towards the water, warm and smelling of sweet flowers. My armour unfolds and completely detaches from my body landing as a bronze cat, it walks over to you and makes a metallic groan at your hat, which slides sadly off of your head and allows the cat to carry it towards a fire, helping dry it off after our slime encounter. We take a seat in the enormous bath, mimics in the form of sponges, soaps, perfumes and water hoses scurry towards us.

Will these mimics pamper and clean us? Or does the shadow just want to watch mimics against our bodies again?

~🗡🐈

Our fears are brushed away as the mimics politely wait for approval to perform their talents, washing and rinsing what is presented to them. The sponges gently rub the soap into our skin, the water becoming discolored briefly with the thick layer of dust and dirt and other substances sticking to our bodies from our adventure so far. It quickly dissipates in the magical water and it is once again clean.

I let out laughs and moans because of my traitorously sensitive skin, but the service is also heavenly and may have elicited such reactions regardless. We are both lost in the moment, dreamily soaking in the hot water and relaxing fragrances, eyes closed allowing ourselves a nap.

I glance over at you and notice a sponge taking extra long cleaning your nethers, you look like you're daydreaming about sex. I feel a little sore and wave a sponge away when it seems to ask if I want the same. Instead I settle for wondering what would've happened if we couldn't stop the ogre as quickly as we did. Would it have impaled the both of us on its fingers? They were large enough to be a painful stretch. Maybe it would throw us over its shoulders and bring us to it's dwelling, having us wash and massage it like the mimics in the bathhouse, and then worship it's body with our tongues. I shake the thought away and instead reminisce our encounter with the minotaur and horsemen, more manageable in size, as I drift off to sleep.

The hat chirps up eventually as the water and slime is dried up and brushed off. It gets a deep cleaning of its own, while the bronze cat languishes by the fireplace and allows a mimic to polish the metal shiny. Once satisfied with the cleaning the hat transforms into a velvety red bunny, sitting next to the cat.

A bell wakes all of us up from the peaceful respite, it seems our time is up in the bathhouse and the mimics look determined to chase us out themselves if we don't leave voluntarily. We take a moment to dry up before reuniting with our friends by the fireplace who transform into their original form, good as new. As ready as we will be for what's coming we continue our adventure.

The math just adds up!

my gf made me a lobster bath

y’know. i think im to dry for the pathetic wetcat that i am. imma go change that rq

Laios Finnish phenotype real

Not even Alastor can get away with leaving blood stains on the rug for the third time that week.

Headcanon: Niffty and Rosie are the only ones who can get on Alastor’s case and he’ll actually listen

After a mission…

Dick: I can’t wait to go home, have a bowl of cereal, and go to sleep.

Duke: Lucky, I have patrol in like, two hours. No sleep for me. What’re you going to do when you get home, Jason?

Dick: Wait! Let me guess. Crack open a beer, order in Chinese food, and fall asleep on the couch watching a gritty action movie.

Jason, fully planning on having a lavender scented bubble bath while drinking vanilla earl grey tea and watching Pride and Prejudice: … Something like that.

"knight posting" this and "guard posting" that. i'm the princess's trusted handmaid who provides her advice and comfort in my soothing, low-class style. i am saying things like "if you don't mind me speaking out of turn, my lady..." and sharing fairy tales and lullabies my sad mother taught me. also i am fucking the jester.

I think something a lot of other people can relate to is the way that you get so conditioned to discomfort that you stop registering it.

I remember sitting at the table with my family, eating dinner as a child. I’d try to eat, because of course I was hungry. But sometimes the flavor or texture was so repugnant that it moved into a category of Not Food.

“Two more bites before you can leave the table.”

“I can’t,” I’d say, trying to explain the impossibility.

But because I was a child they heard, “I won’t,” and made me sit at the table. I’d sit in dull agonized silence, bored and hungry for hours until bedtime when they’d give up. I’d hate myself for not eating and my parents for forcing me to sit there. The few forcefeeding moments ended in vomit.

They’d say, “If you don’t eat this you can’t eat a snack later,” and I moved past trying to communicate my discomfort into accepting that I’d just be hungry.

That state of affairs didn’t last, because my parents realized nothing could force me to eat so they catered to my palate, worrying they’d starve me. But the message stuck. If you can’t do anything about a situation, just accept the suffering.

A few years later my mother called me off the playground to ask, “Are you limping?”

I shrugged. My feet had hurt for a long time, but that was just the way things were now. My mom pulled my socks and shoes off and gasped. The soles of my feet were covered in huge painful planters warts.

“Why didn’t you say anything?!” She demanded but I could only shrug at her. I’d learned a long time ago that saying things about my discomfort didn’t matter, so now I had no words. Sometimes things hurt and sometimes they don’t. I simply accepted and did my best.

Now as an adult trying to learn to improve my own conditions can be hard. If I make food that I can’t eat I’ll force myself to sit at the counter still, full of guilt and self loathing, trying to will myself to eat it.

At first I needed my betrothed to gently take it away to present me with something I could eat. Now on my own I can usually admit that it’s not happening before too long and get something else, but I still feel guilty.

Laying in bed at night waiting for my betrothed to finish getting ready I let out a huge sigh of relief when they turned the lights off.

“Why didn’t you turn them off if they bothered you?” they asked the first time it happened.

“I didn’t even know it was bothering me until it was gone.”

Assessing my physical state now to see if I can improve it is something I’m still relearning but I’m relieved to finally have the space and support to do it.

bathtub in château laurens, france

The Bath of Venus (1898-1904, oil on canvas) | Charles Shannon

it's about the small acts of intimacy... forehead kisses, putting jewelry on you, rubbing your hand with their thumb, putting a jacket on you, touching your necklace, running your hands through their hair, wiping away their tears, peeling them an orange, un/zipping their dress, tying their shoelaces, holding hands, removing an eyelash from their cheek, washing their hair, putting an anklet on them, tucking their hair behind their ear, sorting out their collar, untangling their necklaces, drinking out of a cup in their hands

Mhmmm !!! Come here you ...

Bath time, 1897 Virgilio Tojetti