#a story without fuck ups just isn't worth reading

[maxwell-grant]

So is Worm good from what you have read

"Yes" doesn't begin to cover it but yes. Worm is a brain-rewiring mobius strip disguised as a bible disguised as a superhero web serial that either cured your cancer or shot your dog or both depending on who you ask, and it has many extremely dedicated, brilliant scholar priest surgeons publicly dissecting it on this platform on the regular to the point I don't think I have much to add to the conversations surrounding it, even if I do have some The Thoughts about it. I had never even really seriously thought about superhero prose before and Worm isn't a thing I go back and reread frequently but it did a complete and total 180 on the way I think about superheroes and even fiction, and I've never stopped thinking about it since I've read it.

It is a monumentally impressive story with completely absolutely incredible characters that I cannot stop thinking about. No matter where it was going, even past stretches that were less interesting or more of a slog to read or worse, I could not put the story of Taylor Hebert down for one minute. Tattletale fascinated me every step of the way, I had to keep up with her. Rachel Lindt was a character I feel like I'd been waiting my whole life for. What was I gonna do, not see them through? I feel like Worm easily loses you if you don't particularly connect with the characters enough to justify to yourself the amount of time you'll spend with them, but man, I could not unglue my eyeballs from these people enough (I love all the core Undersiders, to be clear, I'd say it's Rachel > Taylor > Tattletale > Aisha and Alec and Brian, there are very small gaps between these, I just don't go berserk for the last three like I do for the first three, I'm taking Bitch and Skitter to the grave I'm dead serious)

Everybody who read it has one or several gripes with it with some major dealbreakers in the mix. Tumblr's kinda the only place online where you can really talk about them at length without the spectre of John Wildbow hanging over the discussion, which enables discussion to the point where yes, maybe it does look like to outsiders that nobody can agree on whether Worm is good or what is it even about or whether it even has worms in it (it has at least one, although it's a very big one).

And it is good, it has the Undersiders in it and the Undersiders are one of the greatest groups of characters ever put together, but everyone has at least one major point of contention with Worm whether it's the timeskip or the length or the racism or the gross fatphobia or aspects surrounding the Dallon-Pelham Torment Nexus and etc. I'd say it has maybe the most racist vision of Latin America I've ever seen in a superhero text a hair short of pro-colonial tracts in Golden Age comics and that is a tall fucking order by any metric. It is Complicated, and that winds up making it so fascinating to talk about.

Worm has self-sustaining ecological systems of posts up here, far away from the Spacebattles and Reddit battlegrounds where it has different ones and that's not getting into Weaverdice or the sequel or Wildbow's larger body of work, which I haven't gotten to and probably will not any time soon because Worm was enough of a commitment as is. Do I recommend Worm to everyone? It is certainly not to everyone's tastes and I personally find it difficult to describe it simply enough to make it sound appealing or not like a pyramid scheme. But yes I do think it's good, in fact great, in fact, amazing, except when it isn't, and except it Plainly Sucks, but then something like Taylor vs Mannequin or Kevin Norton's interlude or "You needed worthy opponents" happens and it fucks harder than anything has ever fucked before and you don't walk away from it the same, so yes I guess "good" will have to do now.

It's certainly a lot but I definitely found it worth my time to read and then read the texts written about it here. You'll have to take my endorsement of Worm as proof of it's quality and proof of how deranged it makes it's readerbase, they're not mutually exclusive. If you can make it, Worm and the wormosphere has layers and layers to wade through and talk about and enjoy, despite how we're all so very small in the end *gunshot*.

[angel-fruitcake]

SPN S16 DESTIEL THEORY 🏳️‍🌈

ok please here me out- IF the spn revival is in the works, i believe it will include fully canon, romantically requited destiel. here's why:

the supernatural finale was fucked up, for many reasons. they know that. Misha knows it, Jensen knows it. everyone knows it. if they get the chance to redo the ending and fix things--a real shot at redemption--they won't make the same mistakes again.

yes, i'm fully aware that destiel is not the only thing that spn is about, not even the main storyline. but the moment they decided to let Cas confess his romantic love for Dean, they made it clear that that was a huge piece of the whole story. so if they write a revival that either doesn't acknowledge Cas' feelings (like with the finale), or worse, has Dean reject Cas' confession under the guise of being straight or only viewing Cas as family, they would be officially crowning themselves as The Most Homophobic and Most Hated Series To Ever Exist.

knowing Misha, if he's involved in the revival at all, he will make damn sure Cas gets justice. he wasn't satisfied with the way things ended either, and there is zero possibility that he will allow a revival to include Cas without going all the way with destiel this time. Castiel's love for Dean is apart of his story now, full stop. if they can't give him the ending he deserves, then there is absolutely no point in him even being in the revival.

and if for some godforsaken reason we learn that Cas isn't apart of it, it'll be obvious that Misha couldn't get destiel to happen, so he stepped back (at that point they will likely lose so much fandom interest in it that it'll be questionable if it's even worth making).

but i have a very hard time believing that Jensen would allow a rebirth to happen without Castiel/Misha being in it. he just wouldn't do that, it's too important for the story.

lastly, they won't be restricted by any network that's too cowardly or bigoted to allow the lead characters to be in a queer-presenting relationship. Jensen (or whoever buys/bought the rights to supernatural from WB) has the freedom to choose the company that picks up this project, because there is no actual pressure to make it. they don't have to do a revival; the show is over. if they give spn a rebirth, it will be a labor of love, created with the sole purpose of doing right by the fanbase and by the series itself. so if certain networks shoot down their ideas, they can find one that will be on board.

this is ofc just a theory and i know i shouldn't get my hopes up, but in my mind this is pretty solid.

if you read all that, thank you and i love you 💙💚💙💚

[lastoneout]

Honestly, I don't say it often bcs I know how this site is but I really do think for a lot of survivors of abuse, especially abuse that went on for years and years, sometimes the message "it's not your fault, you didn't do anything wrong/to deserve this" while ABSOLUTELY TRUE* isn't actually super helpful. For a lot of us there's a LOT of guilt tied into it, and even if things were truly out of our hands we will not be able to accept that we are truly blameless, at least not at first, and maybe for some of us not ever. So being told "no dw you didn't do anything wrong <3 <3 you're innocent" feels...idk like some toxic positivity style lies. It doesn't make me feel better, because I still do feel like there were things that happened that were my fault, that were in my control, even an ethicist or god or whoever could look me dead in the eyes, weigh all the facts, and assure me of my complete innocence, and I still wouldn't believe it. (Tbh, you have to be ready to forgive yourself and trying to force it early does more harm than good.)

And I occasionally see movies and shows and stuff get roasted all to hell for having the audacity to go with a different message, to offer abused characters not a platitude about how they are innocent and should forgive themselves asap, but instead say "so what if it was your fault? so what if you fucked up? you're still alive, you still have time, your mistakes(or perceived mistakes) don't make you irredeemable scum who deserves to suffer, it's okay that you fucked up, what matters is what you do next, and even if the horrible thing was your fault in one way or another or you did actually hurt people, you still did NOT deserve to be hurt in turn" because people think that is like, admitting that the person in question is at fault when they almost always aren't....but as an actual survior, I'm sorry, you can tell me I'm innocent till the cows come home and I won't believe it. What I need to hear is that even if it was my fault I didn't deserve to be treated that way. I still deserve help. I deserve to keep going. I am not forever stained by my mistakes. I deserve a future free from this pain.

I think before we look at things in this like...grand moral way where we try to make sure we're sending the most Correct and Healthy Message Possible, sometimes it's worth asking if that message is actually the one the people it's about need to hear. I'm sure for some people it is very freeing to be told it's not their fault, but that kind of message does not resonate with me. And I, as well as people like me, deserve to expirience stories about us that are cathartic, that resonate, that make us feel seen, and to not have to see everyone and their mom throw a fit because what helps us is "problematic".

Anyway this has been mulling around in my head for a while and I def have a lot more to say about the way guilt manifests in trauma born of abuse, but yeah I just feel like this is something that should be talked about when we bring up abuse narratives and how well written they are and if they send the Correct Message, because the "Correct Message" is never going to be the same for everyone. And that's true of ANY demographic you could choose to represent!

Like some disabled people might enjoy the "magically healed" trope while others find it offensive. Some trans people like stories where transitioning is easy as drinking a potion or getting a fancy futuristic surgery and some find that that trivializes their struggles. Some queer people want stories where there's just no homophobia at all, others find that a world without it feels fake and patronizing. Some women do want to read stories about how keeping hearth and home is noble and empowering and others want read about women who have other jobs and never have kids or get married. For some of us "you're beautiful no matter what" is lovely and some of us just want to be told being fat and hairy and having acne and scars and shit is normal and fine. Or, like the last post I reblogged says, sometimes "you're not a burden" doesn't hit as well as "being a burden isn't a bad thing". No one type of representation is ever going to work for everyone, and that doesn't mean one type of rep is objectively wrong and the other is objectively right.

So yeah, the next time you find yourself angry because you think a story is sending the wrong message about a marginalized or harmed group, maybe stop for a second to ask yourself if it's actually harmful...or if you're not the person who the story is speaking to, and if there's someone it is talking to who desperately needs to hear what it has to say.

(*Getting ahead of this now: Do not put words in my mouth. I am not saying that any abused person in any way deserved their abuse or was at fault for it happening, that is not up for debate. The fault is always in the hands of the person who chose to hurt them. I'm just saying it's nuanced and complicated and guilt is a huge fucking issue that survivors have to deal with all the time and it's not wrong to acknowledge that some of us are always going to feel like we did something wrong and not be eased by being told otherwise even if the person saying it is 100% correct and/or means well. I do not have time for people who are going to willfully misinterpret me. You will be blocked.)

[damneddamsy]

hiiiii, everyone! I hope you're feeling great after that TLOU S2 episode godddamnnn ✨🦋 So, I just want to address this real quick. This may also go out to all the other wonderful, fantastic writers and bloggers on this website.

I have noticed that some of you might feel like my (or any other writer's) chapters are a bit too long, too wordy, or “too much” at times, and I get it. I don't know what prompts me to say this, but I need to put this out there for anyone else who relates.

Writing for me is such an unrestrained experience. I get off work, I eat, I turn the valve on my pressures, and I just... write. It's the best part of my day (sans writer's block nights?) I pour a good maybe four, five hours straight, and I know it isn't healthy, but I can't go on without it, you know? It's my way of taking every single fucked up thing in my mind and rushing it out on a page.

Look, I don’t just want to tell a story—I want YOU to feel it, to explore every layer of my characters and push myself to dig deeper into their own little arcs. We writers do it because we feel, and there’s beauty in letting that uninhibited journey of your favourite characters outside the bracket of their fictional world take its time.

And that’s why sometimes I tend to get a bit carried away with expressions and depictions.

But here’s the deal: if you ever find yourself halfway through and thinking, “aw, mate, this is a lot of fucking stuff for just a fic,” don’t you worry! Just take a breather, maybe grab a bite, scream into an abyss, and come back.

Trust me, the extra time you spend will be totally worth it. When you’re done, come on over and hit me with your thoughts—good, bad, worse, whatever transpired, or anything in between! Honestly, just seeing your thoughts spill out, whether in a comment or a reblog, is everything. I love hearing your reflections, even if it’s just a “this fucking killed meeeee omggggg i died dead xx” or a few creative emojis. Anything. I love it all.

It’s what keeps us writers going, right? We write because we want to share, and your feedback? It fuels us more than you know.

And for those of us on this crazy writing journey together—let’s keep supporting one another and sharing the stories we really want to tell, no matter how long they take to unfold.

It's not about the time, it's about the effort. We put so much effort, you guys. We put so much heart into this. Give them a chance. Don’t let your writers go uninspired. Don't let them fall off.

Support your writers. Share with them. Be kind. Become friends, they are all so nice! And even if they don’t always respond (they are a forgetful, shy, edgy bunch of cuties), just know they’re reading every word.

They're smiling, kicking their feet, doing it for you.

[jecook]

Dabihawks Fanfic Recs #4

(In no particular order)

Fic Rec List #1 Fic Rec List #2 Fic Rec List #3 LoV Found Family List

it is what it is (until it isn't) Starship_Phoenix @starship--phoenix Complete Rating: T Words: 7,811 Chapters: 1/1 Summary: Dabi hates Hawks. Hawks hates Dabi. But then Hawks surprises Dabi with a trip to the mountains. With the captive audience he's always been waiting for, Dabi lets Hawks know just how he feels about the HPSC's new "Buddy Program;" society's new alternative to life-sentences. He also discovers just how he feels about Hawks.

Notes: Everyone loves an unreliable narrator, and Dabi has no clue what is going on. Soft story, bitter Dabi, and overall lovely winter read. Star weaves a tightly written narrative absolutely worth reading.

hit and run DrAphra @draphrawrites Incomplete Rating: T Words: 11,740 Chapters: 3/? Summary: A hit and run, of all things, is what changes the course of Dabi’s life.

Notes: I have reread this fic more times than I can count. I am an enjoyer of some serious hurt + comfort in the form of amateur first aid, so Dabi struck by a vehicle and left with only Hawks to care for him is the best meal in the world, to me. Aphra writes injuries and tending to them with precision that might make some squirm but truly brings a wrecked character to life. A must-read for lovers of sad, wet rat, injured blorbos. 

Kintsugi Stormysilverfox Complete Rating: T Words: 47,976 Chapters: 9/9 Summary: Dabi, person-roasting, hero-hating, A-ranked villain, is an omega.

It’s not necessarily a problem, only Hawks is fairly—hm, positively—certain that the pyro has no idea. It’s obvious what the HPSC would say. You’re an alpha Hawks, extort him, use a command on him. That was an unspoken order to honeytrap him then, since a command would only be as effective as Dabi’s affection was strong. Better not to tell them, better to pretend he hadn’t realised.

All his plans disintegrate around him when Dabi starts nesting in his apartment. Ironically enough, his biggest concern is dislodging him before he settles permanently, not exploiting him. He’s well aware that an omega will not give up their nest once it’s started, enemy apartment or no. And all without alerting Dabi to the fact that he’s even nesting at all, because Hawks has no desire to be cremated along with the other evidence once he realises.

Accidentally falling in love with him wasn’t supposed to be in the cards. Hawks fucking honeytrapped himself, like a moron. This was exactly what they taught you not to do.

Losing him to the Commission isn’t supposed to happen either.

Notes: Listen to me: are you nervous to read A/B/O? Open your mind to Safe For Work Omegaverse. This fic is soft, comforting, and honestly? I’m due for a reread. Like the title suggests, this fic is healing. A story to put you back together again, Kintsugi is a comfort read.

as we lay among the forsythias Goldtinted Incomplete Rating: M Words: 92,961 Chapters: 4/5 Summary:

“You used to love blabbering on and on. What happened to you, Keigo?” It’s the second time Touya has ever used his real name. He’s not as startled as he was the first time he heard it. The element of surprise is gone, but Hawks still feels something small and sharp stab at his chest. He wonders what Touya’s endgame is here. “I fought in a war.” He says simply, shrugging. Touya laughs again, louder this time, a cold, harsh sound that reverberates across the barrier and around the room. The guards behind Touya start to move forward, and Hawks can sense shuffling beyond the door behind him. “Well guess what, birdbrain? I did too.”

As the dust settles after the war, amidst social turmoil and societal reform, between three centimetres, seventy-eight square kilometres, and a dance of thirty odd steps, Hawks and Touya slowly recover. In the process, they find themselves falling in love again.

Notes: I totally thought this fic was complete until I started writing this rec. I’m shocked - I felt so fulfilled by this story that I just… imagined it must have ended. Well, still go read and support this fic and give the author lots of love for a wonderful post-canon that lives in my heart forever. Also, the narrative structure is so cleverly crafted and worth reading for that alone, not to mention the arc Dabi and Hawks take in this fic.

One more time (and maybe you’ll get it right this time) juurensha @juurensha Complete Rating: M Words: 19,677 Chapters: 3/3 Summary: “…sure,” Dabi says finally, “Do you think the answer is still with you joining the League of Villains?”

“Of course it is! Or else why do I keep rewinding to this moment here?” Hawks spits out, flinging his arms around. “But you know what? This time I need a break. I’m just going to go on vacation, and both you and the Hero Commission can go to hell, and maybe this time I’ll be able to tell what resets everything. Or who knows, this is what solves everything.”

Notes: More than just moving, this fic is a technical achievement. Not a spoiler–this is a time loop fic told from the POV of Dabi, despite Hawks being the one looping. I’m a fan of interesting story structure, and this one certainly delivers.

Minutes to Midnight Bacchant @transhawks Complete Rating: T Words: 51,645 Chapters: 7/7 Summary: "Something’s wrong," Hawks thinks again. "And this isn’t the right place to figure it out."

An unknown quirk that only shows itself as a mysterious tattoo on his arm sends Hawks careening into different worlds, all seemingly designed to make him ask himself what if he'd made different choices in his life. In each life, he learns a bit more about himself, and who he could have been, and gets closer to answering the biggest question of all: just who is Takami Keigo?

Or

Takami Keigo will travel to different dimensions, break out of simulations, challenge the established rules of quirk science, and bring a man back to life before going to therapy.

Notes: I tricked you! This one isn’t dabihawks! I’ve lured you in with sweet, sweet dabihawks only to show you this fantastic Hawks-centric fic. I know. Detestable. Well, if you’re reading this list, I assume you enjoy dissecting Hawks like a frog in a middle-school science class, and this fic does just that. Bacchant is a master of writing meta about our favorite murder bird and does so here through a collection of alternate lives he could’ve lived. The journey winds in ways you might not expect, and the ending those twists deliver will stick with you. For fans of Hawks, definitely give this fic a read.

-

Lastly, after fives rec lists, a shameless self-plug: I'm Haslenoot on ao3, if you'd like to take a glance at my work, as well <3

-

Don't forget to leave those kudos, comments, and subscribe where applicable! And if you feel so inspired, fic recs are a great way to engage with fandom, support your peers, and preserve fandom. While I love searching ao3, it can be a lot for people new to a big fandom! Many of readers enjoy rec lists, but often they can be hard to find or locked within Discord servers. Fic rec lists are findable through search engines. I've read fics off lists that are years old, which is, in a way, an archive of the fandom at that time. So make lists! Post them publicly! Hype up your friends!

And as always, happy reading!

[depravitycentral]

Partnership

Yandere! Uvogin x fem! reader

Tw: kidnapping, stalking, theft, threats of violence, implied non-con, if your name is Stacy pretend it isn't, Stockholm Syndrome, brief mention of vomiting, Nobunaga is featured a bit in this but don't worry he doesn't want you, fem reader, MDNI

This is dedicated to @ramwrites, who is amazing and wonderful and offered to write me a welcome back gift, and I couldn't not give something back in return! Thanks for letting me write this for you; your writing is so good and makes me all giggly and inspired. For those interested, please check out her Shalnark piece - I haven't read it yet, but I'm sure it's just as good as everything else Ram produces.

WC: 10K

I do not condone any of the actions described in this post - this is fiction and should be treated as such. If you or a loved one is in a similar situation to anything contained in this post or my blog in general, please seek help. You're in charge of your internet consumption; please make responsible choices. With that, enjoy! 

“So you went and got yourself kidnapped, huh?” Uvogin asks, cocking a brow at you.

               You, who’s tied to a metal chair, gagged and blindfolded, very clearly having no fucking clue what is going on.

               You squirm, sitting up straight at the sound of a new, unfamiliar voice. Your cute little sleeping shorts had ridden up a bit, exposing more of your thigh than you were probably comfortable with, and Uvo notices with a distant sense of enjoyment that the thin nightshirt you’re sporting is doing very little to hide the way the cold air is affecting your chest.

               You’re weak, really; a pathetic little thing that has him scoffing and crossing his arms.

               “Listen up, I’m only gonna tell you this once. A friend of yours – Stacy, was it? Anyway, this friend of yours got herself noticed by the wrong type of guy.” He starts, plopping down and sitting in his own identical metal chair, just without the restraints.

               You stop struggling when he mentions her name, and he takes this as a sign to continue.

               “See, Nobuanga’s not a bad guy. He’s a little rough around the edges, sure, but any guy who isn’t is hardly worth knowing.” He chuckles at his own assessment of his closest friend, though you don’t seem to share the sentiment. “Stacy works at that shitty little restaurant he loves – the one with the sticky, greasy booths and the fries that come drenched with salt and are so limp they literally drip oil.”

               He shivers at the mere memory, the hamburger he’d ordered barely worth eating.

               “Don’t know what she did, exactly, but somehow he’s smitten – she’s got him all fucked up, ranting and raving about how beautiful she is and how she smiles at him all the time and flirts with him on the clock. Real annoying, if you ask me.” He sighs heavily, letting his thumb sit at his chin as he loses himself in the story of his best friend falling in love – with your best friend, no less.

               “And then she quit her job, I’m sure you know. Started working up at that movie theater – more shitty, oily food, just popcorn instead of fries this time.” He laughs again. “Nobunaga went crazy over that, you know, thinking that maybe she wanted to work in a more intimate setting like that so that he could sneak her off into some abandoned theater and get some one-on-one quality time, if you know what I mean.”

               You grimace, at both the implications of his last statement and the mention of Stacy quitting. You know exactly why she’d quit – it was the whole reason you’d been staying at her place, really. She was convinced she had a stalker, that there was this crazy man who used to bother her at the diner and follow her home. It’d scared her, obviously, and she’d requested – with a guilty look and fiddling thumbs – if you’d be willing to spend the next few nights are her place with her, because maybe if there was more than one person home he wouldn’t get gutsy and break in. Of course you’d agreed, believing her fully and not wanting to leave her alone to deal with this crazed freak.

               Although now, you’re starting to regret that decision just a bit.

               “As I’m sure you know, it didn’t change much. Pretty stupid, to be honest – if a stalker’s that dedicated, how the hell is a change of occupation going to change anything? Chick’s pretty dumb, if you ask me.” He shrugs, and although you can’t see it through your blindfold, you’re sure his face is awfully apathetic about the whole situation. “She was ignoring him, refusing to serve him at the theater, reporting him to her manager, even calling the police and getting a description of him circulating. She was going to get a restraining order against him, even – again, like that’d do shit.”

               He snorts, and you bite into the gag harder.

               Sighing, he looks up at the ceiling. “See, that’s the thing about Nobunaga. He might seem a little lazy sometimes, but he’s got a heart of gold when it comes to the ones he cares about. He’d do anything for that woman – steal for her, kill for her, anything at all. He’s a sap, totally obsessed with the chick, but it’s kind of sweet in a way, I guess. Means he really cares about her. Isn’t that funny? Her stalker really is in love with her.”

               You don’t find it particularly funny, but you can’t say much.

               “Anyways, the police finally got a sighting of him last night. Went through the system pretty fast – I’m a little impressed, to be honest. Normally takes those bastards much longer to process things. Regardless, a few too many sirens were going last night, even a few cars parked outside the apartment he’s been squatting in, yelling his name in those big, gaudy megaphones of theirs. Caused a real stir, and sent the guy into a panic.”

               He takes a moment to breath, tapping his foot lightly on the ground. “So what does he do? He calls me, in the middle of the night, talking so fast that I can’t even understand the guy. All I’m hearing is Stacy this, Stacy that, police and blah blah blah recognized. I had to force the words out of him before it made any sense, the idiot.” That same laugh rattles in your ears.

               “Eventually I got him to be coherent, and he told me that he had to ‘make his move’, whatever the hell that meant. Said he couldn’t wait anymore, that he had to take Stacy and run – the police were coming, and even though it’s not hard to take out a couple of poorly trained guys, it’s still a pain in the ass and Shizuku’s not here to clean up his mess.

               “Anyways, he starts begging me – literally, actually pleading with me, imagine that – to come and help him out. He told me there’s this other chick at her place – some girl she’s been keeping around for some unknown reason, and he needs someone to take care of the body.” Your blood goes cold, fear suddenly creeping back up your throat.

               Was he going to kill you? Why was he bothering to tell you all this if he was just planning on slicing open your neck? Did he find some sick pleasure in prolonging your death?

               He notices your discomfort, it seems, because soon he’s rolling his eyes, scoffing at you. “Calm down. You’re such a bad actor – can’t even see your face, really, and I know you’re scared shitless now. I’m not going to kill you, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

               You calm slightly, but not much.

               “As I was saying, there’s this girl he needs me to take care of – a quick death, nothing too flashy, which makes me immediately ask why the hell he’d request me of all people, when every time I kill it’s messy. It’s kind of my trademark, you know?”

               You didn’t, and you hoped it’d stay that way.

               He sighs again. “Anyways, I head on over to Stacy’s apartment, meeting Nobunaga outside and listening to him run down the plan. He’s going to run inside and knock her out, pulling her out of bed and running off to God knows where he’s got all set up for the two of them. And while he’s busy doing that, I’m supposed to head in and eliminate the friend. Seemed easy enough, if not a bit tedious, so I agree and we head inside, keeping mind of the sirens still in the distance.

               “Everything’s going smoothly, except once we get the front door open, it becomes very clear that Nobunaga was stupid and panicked and didn’t bother to doublecheck if Stacy was actually asleep.” He pauses to sigh dramatically, like it’s some big annoyance. “She’s fully awake, standing about ten feet away from the door, and then she starts fucking screaming.”

               You remember that bit – the screaming, that is, because it had woken you up from your slumber on Stacy’s couch. Everything is still blurry after that, disorientation fogging your brain from being so abruptly woken up.

               “She’s yelling and screeching, and if Nobunaga hadn’t been there I probably would’ve killed her myself just to get her to shut the fuck up. She’s got one of those high, shrill, shrieky voices, you know? The kind that really drive me up the wall - it’s damn annoying.” He pauses, looking at you skeptically. “Hope you haven’t got one of those, things’ll get messy real quick if you do.”

               You hope you don’t, either.

               “He rushes forward and tries to grab her, but she swats at him and, get this, manages to punch him in the dick.” He laughs aloud at that, slapping his knee and throwing his head back. “This weak-ass girl manages to get him on the ground flat, stupid ass’s hands clutching at his dick, and what does she do in the meantime? She runs over to the couch, grabbing this girl and staring back at me like I’m some monster.”

               You make a noise through the gag, but Uvogin ignores it.

               “I’ve gotta hand it to Stacy, though, she’s got guts. She starts yellin’ at us about how she won’t let us kill the girl, how she’ll kill herself before she lets us get our hands on her, and immediately Nobunaga crumbles. I don’t know why the idiot didn’t think of the possibility earlier, but he totally freezes up when she threatens that, just gaping like a fish. It was pretty awkward for me, to be honest, because watching him get so thoroughly rejected was giving me serious second hand embarrassment. I mean, the chick literally said she’d rather kill herself than let Nobuanga take her – pretty harsh if you ask me.”

               He looks back at your covered face, letting his gaze linger on the edges of the blindfold. “So he panics and gives into her demand, telling her he won’t kill her friend – says that he’ll just take her too, so that way everyone’s happy.”

               He frowns a bit at you, scratching the back of his neck. “Well, everyone except you, probably. And except Stacy, too, probably. And except me. So really, Nobunaga’s the only happy one.”

               Your face would sour if it was able to.

               “Anyways, it wasn’t hard to knock them both out and bring ‘em to their respective holding places. I’ve got no clue where the hell Nobunaga’s keeping his chick, but I’m sure you’ve figured out that you’re Stacy’s little friend.”

               You nod, slowly, the movement limited by your restraints. Your wrists have gone numb and your ankles feel bruised and sore, the ropes keeping them pinned the legs of the chair making blood flow difficult.

               “So, what to do with you now.” His voice is wistful, like he’s actually contemplating, and that same familiar fear washes over you again.

               He groans, the chair skidding out behind him as he stands to his full height. “Would you quit it with the fear? I already told you I’m not killing you, are you even listening to me?”

               You nod again, faster this time.

               Uvogin sighs, shuffling forward towards you. You can hear him approaching, and although your shoulders stiffen up, you try not to look as terrified as you feel. It doesn’t seem to work all that well, but he spares you another comment about it.

               Soon the blindfold is ripped off your head, leaving your hair messy and out of place, your eyes squinting and blinking rapidly to adjust to the rather bright white light hanging over you and what you can now see is an absolute behemoth of a man.

               He’s fucking huge – towering over you in every sense of the word, muscles practically bulging out of his body with how defined and massive they are. Black hairs cover every inch of his body you can see, even his arms and especially the bits of chest peeking out of his white top. Ragged, unruly hair sweeps down to his shoulders, making the muscles of his neck look even firmer, and you gulp. Any chance of escaping has basically left you now – there’s no way in hell you could ever beat that, especially if he’d already managed to kidnap you once.

               He clears his throat and your gaze is brought up to his face, a small, strange wave of embarrassment flooding through you as you realize you’ve been caught staring. He’s smirking, though, and you take in the sharp line of his jaw, the thick, dark eyebrows that frame equally dark eyes. He’s attractive, in a strange, rugged sort of way, and you immediately feel sick at the thought.

               “You like what you’re seein’?” He teases, and you immediately look away, still unable to reply with the gag covering your mouth.

               He laughs, and sets his hands on his lips. “Well, looks like you’re stuck with me. Before you freak out, I can’t kill you because that damn Stacy really seems to care about you, and she’s told Nobunaga she’ll kill herself if she doesn’t get regular proof that you’re still alive.”

               A flame of hope ignites in your chest, and internally you thank Stacy, even if this whole situation is less than ideal.

               He seems to sense your sudden upturn in mood, chuckling with a condescending lilt. “Oh no, princess, that doesn’t mean I’m letting you go. No, you’ve gotta stay put, because now that you know what I look like, you’ll go to the cops and report me as fast as those little legs of yours can manage.”

               You shake your head at that, eyes glistening with tears as he shuts down your last hope of escaping. Please, you internally beg him, hoping he’ll somehow be able to sense this too. I won’t, I promise!

               His gaze narrows at you, before that same smirk is back. “I’m sure if you could talk you’d be telling me how you’ll never tell a soul, but you and I both know that’s bullshit. So I’ll save us both some time and keep you here, so that I don’t have to track you down again and lock you back up once you’ve just gotten free.”

               You visibly deflate, and if Uvogin had been a kinder man, he would’ve almost felt bad for you. But instead, he just hums, crouching down in front of you. Even squatting he’s still taller than you, and it does nothing to make you feel less scared.

               “Now listen up, here are the rules. I’m a pretty nice guy, all things considered, so don’t break my rules and I won’t break your bones.”

               Your eyes get wide, but you nod along. He smiles, patting your knee.

               “That’s good, see? You’re already doing better than that Stacy girl, at least you’re not fighting me every step of the way.” Something about his statement makes guilt eat away at your chest – are you supposed to be fighting more? There doesn’t really seem to be a point – this man is massive, and you’re all bound and unable to move. You’re doing the best you can, right?

               “First,” He holds up a finger, “don’t even bother trying to escape. I’m bigger than you, faster than you, stronger than you, and smarter than you. There’s nothing you can try that I won’t see through, and you’ll end up regretting it more than you can imagine.

               “Second, no trying to hurt yourself. Nobunaga will kill me if I let you die, and it’d be a pain to deal with him.” He fixes you a stern look, and you nod.

               “Third, don’t go digging through my shit. I’m doing my buddy a favor by keeping you here, and if I find you snooping around… He didn’t say anything about roughing you up a bit, and it might be good for Stacy to see you with some bruises or a cast or two.” His threat doesn’t go unheard, and you nod again, throat bobbing as you swallow.

               He stares at you for a moment more, gaze calculating and judging whether you’ve really accepted his conditions, before strong fingers come up to untie the knot keeping your gag in place.

               “Don’t you scream, I’ll have to shut you up if you do.” He warns, before pulling the fabric away. Immediately you’re flexing your jaw, the muscle aching as you move it, and he watches with a neutral expression. You’re still tied up, unable to move really, and Uvogin gets a fleeting thought of how pitiful you look.

               “Um,” You start, your voice a bit hoarse from being so dry and unused for the last few hours. “What’s your name?”

               He blinks, before laughing a bit. “Of all the questions you could’ve asked, all the things you could’ve said and done as soon as you woke up from learning you’ve been kidnapped, and that’s what you chose? Shit, you wouldn’t survive in the wild, would you?”

               Shame creeps up your neck at his belittlement, but before you can defend yourself he’s answering. “It’s Uvogin.”

               You nod, not willing to look at him. It’s silent for a few moments, before he sighs again and reaches forward to untie the rope shackling your ankles and wrists. As soon as you’re free, you try to stretch out your limbs, keeping a weary eye on the man – Uvogin.

               What a stupid name.

               “Well, the fact that you’re not screaming your head off is a promising sign. Get up, I’ll show you where you’ll be sleeping.” He orders, already taking off towards the door in the corner of the small room. You try to follow him, but your legs aren’t moving right, and it takes you a while to make your way over there. He looks irritated at your lack of speed, but says nothing, only holding open the door until you make your way through.

               You’re led down into a rather sparse apartment, only furnished with a single gray couch against one wall (with a few stains on it that make you wince a bit), a TV and some cabinets, a wooden table and two chairs, and a beat-up fridge in the adjoining kitchen. Everything’s clean, but the space lacks any sort of personality, and it makes you uncomfortable.

               “That’s your bed, extra blankets are in the closet. If you need anything tell me, and I might snag it for you next time I’m out on a job.” Something about the way he says ‘snag’ makes you nervous, so you just mutter a small affirmation.

               He gives you one last glance over, his eyes once again lingering on your chest, before stepping through the doorway.

               “Wait, Uvogin!” Your voice, a bit wobbly and unsure, makes him turn back, his brow cocked and curiosity dancing on his features. (And a bit of surprise, too, because he hadn’t expected you to say anything to him, or even use his name. Maybe you weren’t as skittish and weak as you seemed – though, he doubted that.)

               “Um, is it possible for me to see Stacy soon?” You asked, voice growing smaller with every word. He blinks, before standing up a bit straighter.

               “Actually, you’re in luck. Nobunaga called me about an hour ago and let me know we’re meeting up in a few days – he said it would be good for Stacy to have a ‘playdate’ with you. Whatever the fuck that means.” Uvogin shrugs, looking entirely uninterested, and you bristle at Nobunaga’s choice of words. Poor Stacy.

               Excitement brews in your chest; at least you’ll have a familiar face, and hopefully the stranger hasn’t done anything too terrible to your friend. Nodding, you glance back to the floor, wishing the hulking man staring at you would just leave. He does, a few moments later, and only then do you allow yourself to slump onto the bed he’s assigned you. The bedroom is bare like the rest of the home, with a twin bed set in the corner and a small set of drawers sitting nearby. It makes you laugh humorlessly – were you supposed to fill that chest? With what? You hadn’t brought anything with you, and you seriously doubted Uvogin would let you return home to grab some of your clothes.

               Sighing, you sat onto the bed, the mattress firm under you. Distantly, some part of you was pleased – at least the bed would be comfortable enough.

               Time passes slowly as you sit on the bed – not your bed, not yet. You stare at the wall ahead of you, the fear slowly seeping out of your system until only exhaustion remains. Sleep eventually takes over, and although you try to fight it, you’re slipping into a dreamless slumber before long.

               Uvogin’s tolerable, you’ve found. He’s certainly not nice, nor is he an especially great person to be around, but he could be much worse, you suppose. He’s fed you twice daily for however long you’ve been stuck here (it feels like a week, so you’re assuming it is, if only to stave off any self-doubt that’s creeping into the corners of your mind), and the food’s not terrible. It’s clearly takeout, the packaging sometimes even having Chinese characters on it or restaurant logos, and you’ve been mostly satisfied with his choices so far. He’ll sometimes ask you what you want, and while you were too scared to answer the first few times (which only makes him scowl and roll his eyes, muttering a small damn, Nobunaga owes me one), eventually you’d felt safe enough to be honest.

               He hasn’t hurt you, either. At least, not yet. You’re aware he could, if he wanted to – those muscles make it hard to forget, and you’d seen him crush his phone in his hand like a bug when a phone call with someone named Franklinwent poorly.

               He’s scary, still, but you’ve reached the point now where you aren’t practically hyperventilating every time he enters the room. You still keep him in your field of vision, weary for any sudden changes in his behavior, but every day that passes has you growing more complacent with your position. The constant threat of Stacy potentially facing consequences for your actions doesn’t deter you from being on your best behavior, either.

               Besides, sometimes he’s even a little bit funny – not that you’d ever laugh at his jokes, but he has this weird sense of humor that you think you’d like, if the situation had been different. If you’d met him on the street you definitely would’ve tried to cross to the other side, but you would’ve found him oddly charming, his snide remarks and cocky air a bit entertaining.

               You try not to think about that, though, because the mere presence of these thoughts means the Stockholm Syndrome is starting to kick in. And while you aren’t the most resilient person on the planet, even you have to admit it’s a bit early for that.

               Sighing, you take another bite of the curry he’d brought you, pleasantly surprised that the spice level was perfect. Uvogin didn’t have many rules, it was true, but he did have a few unspoken ones – one of which being that meals, particularly take-out meals, were to be eaten at the small, rickety table. Together, which wasn’t ideal.

               “I’ve gotta make sure you don’t try to starve yourself or choke.” He’d told you the first time, grabbing your shoulders and forcing you into the seat across from his, the noodles sitting in front of you still packaged neatly in their container. At first you’d been nervous he would try to poison you, but eventually hunger got the best of you and you were slurping the noodles down, still keeping a nervous eye on the hulking man in front of you.

               “So, big news.” He starts, taking a bite out of his chicken. He always took big bites, you’d noticed, but he ordered enough food that even if his pace was twice as fast as yours, he never finished before you.

               You glance up at him, trying not to let toomuch curiosity show on your face, but he seems to realize anyway.

               “I know you haven’t been up to much, but don’t make your excitement so obvious. Hurts my feelings to know you think I’m so boring.” He’s joking, you think, and to sate him you attempt to smile.

               “Nobunaga called me again this morning; today’s the day.”

               You practically choke on your food, eyes blowing wide and your hands beginning to shake. Finally, finally you’d be able to see Stacy – you’d been worried sick about her the last week or so, terrified that her transition to the life of being a captive hadn’t gone as smoothly as your own. (You snorted bitterly at that – smooth probably wasn’t the best word for how you’d been feeling, but at least you hadn’t been hit yet, or assaulted or any number of things. Hopefully Nobunaga wasn’t any worse of a person than your own captor.)

               Uvogin is watching you, you realize, with a strange look in his eye. As soon as you glance up at him you look away again, clearing your throat and trying to keep your voice even as you ask, “That’s good, it’ll be nice to see her again.”

               It’s silent for a moment, before his booming laugh makes you wince a bit. “Yeah, I’m sure you are. Finish up, I don’t like wasting food. Once you’re done we’ll head out - try to not to choke.”

               He says that right as you start shoveling the food into your mouth, hoping that eating quicker will mean you can see Stacy quicker. He chuckles at you, but you follow his orders and slow down a bit. He throws you one more glance, that cocky smile on his lips, before digging into his own food again.

               He’s eating a bit faster than normal, too, you notice.

               He apologizes with an insincere tone as he ties the blindfold back on you (he’d told you that you can’t know where you are just in case you decide to get rebellious and run away), and soon you’re stuffed into a car. Everything’s hard to keep track of when you can’t see, but Uvogin’s talking (like normal), so you try to tune into the sound of his voice to help the time pass.

               “Now listen, you might not wanna touch her too much, Nobunaga’s a bit…” He trails off, and you can hear his hand tightening on the steering wheel. “Possessive. You’re her friend and all, and I’m sure he won’t hurt you, especially not in front of her, but be careful.”

               You nod, absentmindedly.

               “Also, don’t be too surprised if she doesn’t look the way she used to. He was always going on about how she was dressed too inappropriately in her day-to-day life, so she might be a little underdressed.”

               He’d hesitated to say underdressed, and you tried not to think about what that could mean.

               It’s quiet for a few moments, and you shift in the car seat. He’d let you sit in the front, an unexpected luxury, but you didn’t like that he could see you while you couldn’t see him. He wouldn’t hurt you, you were mostly confident of that now, but who knew what he had planned.

               “We’re almost there. If things go badly, I’ll get you out of there. You’re pretty damn weak, a broken bone would probably take a few weeks for you to heal. I don’t want to deal with you being injured, and I’m sure you don’t, either.”

               Your lips must’ve given away your fear, because a moment later he’s sighing. “Did you know that you practically reek your emotions? I feel like I can smell ‘em, even when I can’t even see half your damn face.”

               You don’t have anything to say to that, but you force yourself to speak anyway, not wanting to dignify his last comment. “Do you think – well, do you think Nobunaga will want to hurt me?”

               Uvogin ponders your question for a moment, surprised that you’d spoken up. You hadn’t done much talking in the time he’d had you – he was sure it was because you were scared, but it was nice to hear you talking to him like you weren’t scared shitless of him. Even if you had every reason to be so terrified.

               “Honestly, probably. Especially if you touch her.”

               You suck in a breath, and Uvogin hums. “But it’s not going to happen.”

               “What do you mean?”

               You could practically hear his toothy grin.

               “It’s my job to protect you, right? So I will. Even if the one you need protecting from is the same guy who wants you to be protected.”

               Something in his tone gives you the impression he means those words more than he’s letting on, and you shiver as you imagine just who this Nobunaga guy could possibly be.

               “Oh my god, oh my god – you’re alive! Thank god!” Stacy sobs, arms wrapping around you like a vice before you can even respond. You clutch her back just as tightly, burying your face into her brown curls, a few tears pricking at your eyes. You’d been nervous that Nobunaga would’ve hurt her, with the way Uvogin was describing him, but after a thorough look-over, you find no bruises or marks marring her olive skin.

               Eventually she pulls back, but keeps her hands firmly grasping your shoulders. Her eyes are red with tears, and her lower lip is wobbling. She’s not hurt, but she looks bad – there’s heavy bags under eyes and her hair is frazzled, her lips look swollen and she’s clutching onto you hard. Really hard.

               “Stacy, are you hurt?” You ask, letting your hands cup her cheeks. You see Nobunaga – who Uvogin had pointed out with a small that’s the guy when you’d walked in – stiffen up at that, and Uvogin’s warning flashes through your mind. You might not want to touch her. Right.

               Stacy glances over at her captor, and you follow her gaze, only to see Uvogin give you a small nod and drag his friend out the door by the collar of his purple kimono, calling over his shoulder that they’ll be back in exactly five minutes, and that they’ll know if you try to escape.

               As soon as the door closes, Stacy pulls you in for another hug, the words flying out of her mouth so quickly you can barely understand her. “He’s – Nobunaga, he’s horrible. He never leaves me alone, and he treats me like I’m some incompetent little baby, and he’s always touching me and I just – I can’t –“

               You cut her off by pressing her face into your neck again, rubbing the back of her head and letting her cry. You’re crying too, now, but your tears fall silently compared to her sobbing.

               You don’t say much, because what can you say? It would be a lie to tell her that everything’s going to be okay, and every other reassurance that dances on the tip of your tongue just feels wrong, like you’d be pointedly lying to her. Instead, you let her get it out, her grip on you never loosening. You’d known Nobunaga had been the root of all her anxieties the last few months, long before he’d gotten the gall to kidnap her. And while you were happy that she wasn’t hurt, it still pained you to see her like this.

               Eventually she’d calmed down, and you feel her pull back and wipe at her sniffling nose. “I’m so sorry.” She whispers to you, looking like she’s on the verge of crying again. “I didn’t mean to drag you into this mess, I should’ve just gone quietly and left you alone. I shouldn’t have asked you to stay with me for a few weeks, now you’re really stuck with that monster.”

               You don’t tell her that it’s okay, because it’s not. Some part of you is still bitter and resentful towards her for involving you, because she’s right. You could be still living your life if she hadn’t requested you to help deter her stalker from making a move. But despite your anger, you can’t find it in yourself to hate her. Not when she’s like this – not when she’s probably experiencing something even worse than you.

               “It doesn’t matter now, all that matters is that we’re both alive, and we’re both okay. Or, at least, okay as we can be, given the situation.” You tell her, smiling softly. She blinks at you, eyes wide and vulnerable, before nodding and swallowing.

               “Yeah, I was worried that you wouldn’t be, with the way Nobunaga was talking about Uvogin.” Her voice was hoarse still, and you laughed humorlessly at that.

               “Yeah, well, he hasn’t hurt me yet, so I think I’ll be okay. He mostly just ignores me, honestly, so I guess I’m lucky.” Your attempt at optimism doesn’t make Stacy smile like you’d hoped. Rather, her lips pull into a frown and her eyebrows furrow.

               “He ignores you? That doesn’t make sense.”

               You expression mirrors hers. “What? I mean, the only reason I got kidnapped too was insurance so that you wouldn’t kill yourself –“

               Stacy’s face morphs into one of horror, and her grip on your shoulders goes slack.

               Quickly you’re backpedaling, worried the mention of her self-imposed death might’ve triggered something you wanted to avoid. “I’m not saying it’s your fault, I totally understand why you –“

               “Alright, time’s up.” Nobunaga’s voice interrupts, and knuckly hands are suddenly on your shoulders, pushing you aside so that Nobunaga can stand in front of Stacy. You stumble back, falling backwards against Uvogin’s hard chest, immediately standing up straight.

               Nobunaga’s cupping Stacy’s chin, and you can see from this angle the way he smiles, a slight pink color flooding his cheeks. It makes you sick, and the pained look on Stacy’s face only makes your gut sink more. She’s looking at you still, and something about the way her brows are cocked inward that makes you feel like she’s almost pitying you.  

               “Did you miss me, baby?” Nobunaga’s cooing down at her, and it makes your skin crawl. Uvogin sighs from behind you and grabs your wrist, dragging you out of the room. His grip is surprisingly gentle, and as you watch Stacy slowly fade from your view, you can’t help but be slightly grateful that at least your captor isn’t leaning down for a kiss like hers.

               The car ride home is mostly quiet, and it’s not until you’re nearing the end of your time in the vehicle that Uvogin breaks the silence.

               “So, what did you talk about while we were gone? Girly shit?” You think he’s attempting a joke, but you can’t even pretend to laugh at it.

               “She’s not happy.” You comment, voice slightly flat, and Uvogin snorts at your words.

               “Of course she’s not happy, she’s just been kidnapped. And by her stalker, no less – would anyone be happy? Hell, are you happy?” He asks you, and you blanch at his question. Somehow, though, it feels like some sort of trap, so you stay quiet.

               He doesn’t say anything more until he’s pulling you out of the car, your footsteps hesitant and clumsy because he’d put that damn blindfold on you again. He guides you up to the apartment, and soon you’re standing in the living room area, the fabric falling from your eyes.

               “I’ve got some errands to run today, so I’ll be gone for a while. Do you want anything while I’m out?” He asks, standing in front of the door with his arms crossed. You’re a bit touched that he’s offering to get you something, but you try not to focus on it. Of course you’re feeling grateful for him – he may be holding you captive, yes, but at least he hasn’t tried to kiss you or touch you. Poor Stacy didn’t share your luck.

               “Um, maybe some chips? I don’t care what flavor, just something crunchy…” You trail off, looking at him nervously. You’d never requested anything before, and some part of you is convinced he’d only asked you the question to laugh in your face and deny you.

               He cracks a smile and nods, hand already on the doorknob. “Okay. Okay, but you’d better be prepared to share, because I happen to be a big chip fan myself. So don’t get greedy, yeah?”

               You half-smile, rubbing at your arm. “Yeah, I won’t be.”

               He steps out the door, and once again the apartment is silent, his presence gone and all movement within the room gone, too.

               The TV won’t work for you, you know that, but you’re still trying to get it to behave. Uvogin had to type in some password every time he turned it on, and it was too long and encoded for you to ever be able to decipher it. Still, you were clicking the power button of the remote over and over, hoping against hope that it would somehow short circuit and bypass that password screen. When it didn’t, you only sighed, rising to your feet and wandering towards the monitor.

               Uvogin, you’d learned, was surprisingly meticulous – surprisingly organized, really. Meaning there was a chance he’d written down the password to the TV and had it stored somewhere. He’d only been gone for about a half hour, if the clock was any indication, and you had a lot of time to kill before he returned home. Not that he was your only source of entertainment – though, you’d read the single book he owned three times already.

               Your knees crack as you kneel down in front of the cupboard the TV was sitting on, the wooden doors creaking as they open. The shelves are mostly empty – a few older remotes, and a cable channel guide.

               Frustrated, you huff and let your shoulders slump, trying to decide what to do next. The TV obviously wasn’t planning on cooperating, though there was a cupboard right next to the one you’re searching through that could potentially hold the answer.

               Uvogin’s rules distantly float through your mind, his gruff voice replaying in perfect clarity. Third, don’t go digging through my shit. Glancing back up the clock, you bite your lip. You had time, because while he was massive and huge and scary, there was no way he could get all his errands done in just thirty minutes.

               With a deep breath, you move over to the other cabinet, letting your fingers curl around the knob. The doors don’t creak when they open, and immediately you’re scanning the shelves. These ones are full – with boxes, each labeled with a date on them. Cocking a brow, you examine the dates. January 4th – January 25th, April 29th – May 7th, and so on.

               Intrigued, you slowly slide out one of the boxes, noticing not a single bit of dust is sitting on the cover. He must use this cabinet much more often than the one you’d been searching through previously, as a thick layer of dust had sprung up in your face the moment you opened the cabinet door.

               The box itself is light, but you still set it down in front of you, your fingers delicate and careful, too worried that you’ll break something if you press too hard. And then Uvogin would know, surely, especially if he truly used this cabinet that often.

               Slowly, you take off the box’s cover, and immediately your brows are scrunching together. What the hell?

               When you’d imagined the kind of ‘shit’ Uvogin didn’t want you to snoop through, you hadn’t pegged it to be this. Whatever this was, that is.

               It looked like a box full of receipts – tons of pieces of paper, all in weird sizes or shapes that looked like they were ripped out of some sort of notebook. The handwriting is messy, the letters all crammed together and difficult to decipher. You pick the paper on top up, turning it this way and that, trying to read the text.

               Her: Sorry, I know it’s late, but I need to ask you a quick question.

               Them: Yeah? What’s up?

               Her: Do you think he’s alright? Chris, I mean – he hasn’t called me back for a few days, and I’m worried about him.

               Them: You know Chris, it always takes him a while to respond. I wouldn’t worry, he’s just unpredictable.

               Her: Yeah, I guess…

               [6 second pause]

               Them: Go to sleep, it’s late. You’ve got work in the morning, right?

               Her: Yeah, I do. Okay, okay, I’m getting into bed now. Goodnight.

               Them: Goodnight, call me when you hear back from him.

               Her: Okay.

               What was this? The ambiguity of it all confused you – who was her? Them? Chris?

               You furrowed your brows, confusion sitting in your gut alongside a strange feeling. The hairs at the back of your neck prickled up, and a small pang of unease bolted through you.

               Setting the piece of paper back into the bin, you picked up another one. This one was shorter, more to the point.

               Her: Are we still on for Friday night?

               Them: Yeah! Freddy’s, nine o’clock sharp. I’m buying, remember.

               Her: You always say that, and you always get too shit faced to pay. Liar!

               Them: Hey, I just know how to have fun! You could learn how to do that, you know.

               Her: Yeah yeah, okay, I’ll see you later.

               Your fingers are shaking as you finish reading the small, triangular slip of paper. Your lips are slightly parted, brows still crunched together. Something about the interaction between Her and Them felt oddly familiar – like something you’d heard before.

               And the mention of Freddy’s. That’d been the name of a bar you frequented often with your friends, back before everything had gone to shit with Stacy.

               Unnerved, you set the piece of paper back in the box and slide the box into its place on the shelf, running your eyes back over the listed date. August 28th – September 16th. One of your best friend’s birthdays was in that range.

               Wiping your palms on your thighs, you try to calm the pounding of your heart. Something feels off, wrong in a way you can’t quite place. Surely, Freddy’s is a common enough name; it doesn’t necessarily mean your favorite bar. Plus, even if it does mean that particular bar, who knew who these people were. You surely don’t - who the hell is Chris?

               Wanting to put some distance between you and the cabinet, you get to your feet again and close it, wandering away into the little hallway connecting the living space, bathroom and two bedrooms. Cupping some water in your hands from the bathroom sink, you splash your face, letting the cold wash over your skin. Closing your eyes, you try to calm down. It doesn’t mean anything – how could it? You’re probably just all shaken up after seeing Stacy and her freaky captor. Nobunaga disturbed you, you can’t deny it.

               Sighing, you open your eyes, wiping your face with your towel. (Uvogin had been kind enough to give you one designated as your own, saving you from the horrible fate of having you dry your body with a towel that he’d already used.) Though you notice with a small start that the towel is wet, despite you not having showered recently. Odd.

               As you turn to leave the room, you notice a shirt sitting piled up in the corner. It was black, and surely not your own – holding it up, it looked big enough to dwarf you. Must be Uvogin’s, then.

               His bedroom is across from your own, and while you haven’t been inside it yet, it feels wrong to just leave his shirt on the floor, where it could get dirty and maybe even moldy. Besides, doing a little cleaning would keep you occupied – both from boredom, and from contemplating those weird slips of paper further.

               You slowly open the door, immediately getting hit with a wave of musk. Uvogin normally smelled decent, but the scent in here is strong enough to make you wince a bit, the overwhelming stench of sweat, mint, and male making you a bit nauseous. To your surprise, the room is spotless – a very, very large bed sits floated in the middle, a navy and black flannel comforter covering the top while a few large, puffy pillows sit at attention at the head. A few pairs of boots are lined up in the corner, and a single picture looks to be taped up on the wall above them. Curiously, you step forward, moving towards the photo.

               Uvogin had told you very little about himself – only that he worked as a contractor, of sorts, and that he didn’t have too many friends, so you wouldn’t have to worry about visitors. But now that you’re looking at the photo, you’re wondering if maybe that last statement hadn’t been so true – the photo is of a dozen or so people, all posing for the camera with various degrees of a smile on their face. Uvogin’s in the back, on the left side, his arm wrapped around the shoulders of a shorter blond man, his blue eyes in a wink and holding up his thumb. Uvogin’s smiling, and as you scan the photo, you stop when you hit Nobunaga, who’s seated in the front row next to a woman with big glasses and a modified cross necklace. Everyone looks happy, and briefly you wonder whether Uvogin considers these people friends. He must, if Nobunaga’s present – an odd sort of satisfaction worms its way into your chest at the thought. You don’t like Uvogin, surely not – but still, everyone needs friends, right? Even kidnappers.

               God, you really are starting to develop Stockholm Syndrome.

               Shaking your head to try and clear the thoughts, you approach his closet and snag a hanger, trying to hang up the shirt you’re holding in your arms. The thing is tall, and as you try to get the hanger’s hook to wrap over the metal bar, your eyes fall to the side, noticing something out of the corner of your vision.

               It’s a soft pink, and you cock a brow. Uvogin? Owning something pink?

               Eventually, and with a soft grunt, you get the hanger to successfully sit onto the bar, and immediately you’re investigating the pink thing. This goes directly against his rules, you know – you’re quite literally snooping, but hopefully he’d still be out for longer. Besides, even if he comes back, you could just tell him you’re putting away his shirt, and maybe he wouldn’t call you on your half-lie.

               Whatever the thing is, it’s wedged pretty far back in the closet – you’d only managed to catch a brief glimpse of it, and for good reason. There’s a storage container in the back of the closet, an organizer of sorts with some compartments that all seem to be stuffed full. It’s hard to see, the overhead light dim to begin with and not penetrating too deeply into the dark closet, but you’re able to fish out the pink fabric soon enough.

               It's lace, you realize, your curiosity only doubling. That same pin-prickly feeling is back, and as you slowly flatten out the cloth, your breath catches.

               It’s a thong. Pink and lacy, with a bow decorating the back, right over the tailbone.

               But more than that, the thong looks familiar. There’s a thread pulled on the front right side, and a stain on the fabric at the very bottom, looking awfully similar to the color your own discharge makes once it’s been washed.

               Your fingers are shaking again, and you stumble back a bit, the back of your knees catching onto the bed so that you fall back and land on your ass, too busy staring at the cloth in your hands to bother trying to situate yourself.

               These panties are yours.

               You’re sure of it – you know because Stacy bought them for you a few months ago. She’d cheekily handed them to you with a big, gaudy bow on top, a wink sent your way and a demure because I know you’ve got a date tonight, and I also know you haven’t gotten laid in way too long. That was the night you’d been set up on a blind date with a friend’s coworker. He’d been nice, though you hadn’t slept with him, and you hadn’t gone out again after that. He didn’t seem all that interested in you as a romantic pursuit, but he was funny, and you’d hoped you could become friends, at least.

               And his name was Chris. And he’d gone missing a few days after.

               You drop the panties, a hand coming up to cover your mouth.

               You don’t want to, and you know you shouldn’t, but before you can stop yourself you’re rushing forward to the closet, digging back to that storage compartment and rooting around for anything else you can find. It must be a coincidence; it has to be a coincidence. These can’t be your panties, you must be mistaken – why would Uvogin have these? How could he have these? You’d lost them in the laundry a while back.

               At least, that’s what you’d assumed.

               Pulling your hand back, you see you’ve grabbed a few items. They’re smaller, not clothing, but nonetheless incriminating. There’s a chapstick container, with a strange flavor on it that you’ve only seen once, back when you won it in some weird fundraising fair you’d been at for your job. Kiwi banana grape, it said in curling black lettering, and when you pop open the top, you notice it’s almost completely empty.

               There’s also a button; it’s black with a strange shape, one you recognize as being from your favorite jacket. It’d fallen off one day, but you’d been too busy walking around the city to have realized. It was a real bummer, because it’d rendered the jacket unwearable because too big a draft would sneak through it.

               And lastly, there’s a bandaid – it’s old, you can tell, with a kiddy pattern of some fairies and a dinosaur on it that the nurse had apologized for having to use, telling you it was all they had available at the time. You remembered it – it’d made you laugh that you’d gotten your flu shot and she’d patched it up with a bandaid designed for six year olds, even going so far as to snap a photo and send it in the group chat you kept with your friends.

               You feel sick.

               Throwing the small items back into the compartment, you rush to the bathroom, barely making it before you’re heaving, all the curry you’d forced down your throat earlier coming right back up.

               What the fuck?

               Who was Uvogin? Why did he have all of this? How did he have all of this? What did it mean? Your head’s rushing, too many thoughts and implications swimming through your oversaturated mind, and you have just barely enough strength to flush the toilet and stand up, staring at yourself in the mirror.

               Stacy’s words rush back to you as you examine your face, seeing your wide eyes and the way your chest is rising and falling with each harsh breath slipping through your lips. He ignores you? That doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense – none of it at all. Why would your by-association captor have any of your personal items? Especially personal items you’d lost or thrown away literal months ago, long before you’d ever started staying over at Stacy’s?

               You know why, you just don’t want to admit it, and as you stare at yourself in the mirror, you try to come up with any other possible explanation. No. It can’t be. Stacy’s the one with the creepy stalker, not me.

               Suddenly, the sound of the front door’s lock clicking open makes you snap up, adrenaline suddenly coursing through your veins. Uvogin’s home.

               Immediately you’re running to your bed, jumping under the covers and shutting your eyes tightly, praying that Uvogin will think you’re asleep and won’t bother you. You need more time to figure this out – it’s all too much, and while it probably won’t be any easier the longer you wait, you need something.

               You can’t look at him yet. You won’t.

               “I got your chips! Didn’t know which flavor to choose, so I got three I think you might like. I’m serious, though, you have to share. I’m an animal, and I will steal your food.” He laughs at that, and you hear him set down the grocery bags on the kitchen counter. Your eyes are still closed so tightly that it hurts, and you ball your fists up in the blankets as hard as you can. You’d curled up into a fetal position, and you force yourself to stay still as you hear his loud footsteps coming down the hall.

               He calls your name, peeking his head into every room he passes. Soon he sees you in your bed, and although you look a little stiff, his shoulders immediately lose their tension. A smile flits across his lips, and he slowly, quietly shuts the door, retreating back to his own room.

               You sigh, peeling open your eyes and trying to get your breathing under control. You’d been holding your breath, and now that he’s actually home in the apartment, it’s difficult to not let yourself panic.

               It becomes much, much more difficult when you hear a noise come from his bedroom, though. What the hell’s this?

               There’s a muffled curse, and your blood runs cold as quick, heavy footsteps lead right up to your door. He swings it open and your eyes fly shut, trying desperately in vain to appear like you’re still sleeping.

               “Wake the fuck up.” He says, and immediately you open your eyes, your fear too strong to ignore. He’s holding the pink panties in his hands, and you realize with a small burst of terror that in your haste to get to the bathroom, you’d left them on the floor. In his room. Right where he can see that they’ve been moved.

               Fuck fuck fuck.

               "I only have three rules. What are they?” He barks, and you’re trying to curl up even smaller, hoping his promise of not hurting you will still ring true. Though, he’s lied about pretty much everything else – how do you know if that part wasn’t all a lie, too?

               “No hurting myself, no escaping, and no – no snooping.” You whisper, and Uvogin bares his teeth.

               “I’ve been good to you – patient, something that takes a hell of a lot of effort for me. And what do you do in return? You go and do one of the very few things I’ve forbidden.” He looks impossibly tall right now, towering over you with those muscles, the panties looking downright tiny between his monstrous fingers. “Tell me why. Explain to me why the hell you were snooping through my closet.”

               You shut your eyes again, too scared to look at him. “I was putting away a shirt you left in the bathroom. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know why I did it, please don’t hurt me, please –“

               He interrupts you with a huff, and you tense up, waiting for some blow to land. It doesn’t, though, and after a good thirty seconds, you finally peel an eye open, almost too scared to see what he’s doing.

               You don’t expect the small smile that’s sitting on his lips, nor the hand on his hip. He locks his eyes with yours, then sighs. “Well, this is most definitely not the way I wanted you to find out. See, I had this whole plan – Nobunaga came up with it, one of the very few things he’s ever thought of that actually impressed me.”

               You’re confused again, but that sick feeling still hasn’t gone away. All you can seem to look at are your panties, wedged in his fist.

               “He told me that since you and Stacy were so close, we could cut a deal – kidnap you both at once, get more bang for our buck. There was no way to hide Nobunaga’s feelings for Stacy, sure, but you? Well, you haven’t noticed anyone following you, have you?” Uvogin asks, cocking his head at you and letting his smile get a bit wider.

               You quickly shake your head no.

               “I’m better at this stuff than he is. He always gets too excited to talk to her, wants to interact and have her lookin’ at him. I get it, I really do. Even now, even with you scared shitless and looking at me like I’m about to kill you, just you acknowledging me is getting me hard as a fucking rock.”

               Involuntarily, your eyes dart down to his navel, and with a small, strangled sound of fear, you notice the way there’s a prominent bulge forming in those shorts of his.

               He laughs at your change in focus, and steps forward. Hooking a finger under your chin, he smirks down at you. “I’m better at hiding myself, and I was willing to play the long game, content with watching you until the right time came to snatch you up. But when Nobunaga offered, telling me there was a way to get you all to myself and make sure you grew to want me organically? Well, I couldn’t resist, could I?”

               You want to tell him he absolutely could’ve, or that you wouldn’t have ‘wanted him organically’, whatever the hell that meant, but your tongue doesn’t seem to be working.

               He leans down, face coming closer and closer to yours. “You had no idea, did you? How do you think I knew what kind of mattress to get you? How do you think I knew exactly what to order for you for takeout, even when you were too scared to tell me? How do you think I know what shampoo and conditioner to buy you, or even what kind of fucking cologne you like? Believe me, I’m only wearing this shit for you.”

               You’re frozen, unable to move, unable to do anything but stare at him.

               “Do you get it now, princess? See, Nobunaga doesn’t give two shits about whether you live or die – he’ll get Stacy to do what he wants no matter what. But me? I give a shit.” He’s so close to you that you can smell his breath. It’s minty, like he’s just recently brushed his teeth. The cold smell only makes you shiver, fear still tingling up your spine.

               “Why?” You whisper, overwhelmed at his sudden confession.

               He pauses at that, smirk falling away as he genuinely considers your words. He’s quiet for a moment, before he smiles again, but this time it’s not as predatory – there’s something oddly soft about it, and it makes you feel worse.

               “Because you’re perfect. That’s all.” He answers like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and before you can say anything he’s clambering on the bed next to you. You want to fight him off, to jump up off the bed and run, but you can’t seem to find the energy to. Besides, you’re not delusional enough to think you could beat Uvogin in any sort of physical altercation or chase. And while he still seemed to be adhering to his promise of not hurting you, you didn’t feel like testing the waters.

               “So I guess the jig’s up. I was hoping you wouldn’t find out, but I can work with this, too. At least now I don’t have to act like I don’t know you. And now, I don’t have to do all that respectful distance shit – you’re mine now, babe, and now I don’t have to hide it.” He’s grinning again, his teeth looking too sharp, and before you can blink he’s above you, your wrists pinned above your head and his lips inches away from yours.

               “So why don’t I show you just how much your attention the last week’s been affecting me?” His voice is low, sultry, and makes you gulp. He presses his face into your neck, deeply inhaling and groaning. “I promise I can make you feel good… I’ll tell you my last rule, okay?”

               You’re frozen, but when he pulls back to glare at you, you shakily mutter out an ‘okay’.

               His grin is wolfish, predatory, scary. “Rule number four is no running away from me, even if that cute little body of yours can’t take anymore. Got it?”

               You nod.

[familyvideostevie]

HI! Can you do a grumpy!reader x sunshine!sirius black one shot😫

absolutely. i am a grumpy!reader stan, let me tell you, because i am her. okay, here we have kind of grumpy!reader and sunshine!sirius going on their first date | 1.1k <3

You're not nervous. You're not.

It's not like it's a blind date, anyway. You know Sirius Black. Kinda. Lily's the one who set you up, coordinated it all and assured you he's keen to go on a date. You're pretty sure you've spoken to him a few times at parties, been at the pub at the same time. You know what he looks like, at least. Hair that never gets brushed, rings in his ears and nose, a smile that seems mischievous and genuinely carefree at the same time.

He's not as measured as Remus, a bit less puppy dog than James. If you'd been asked in a silly gossipy way which of the trio you'd pick, it would be him.

You just don't want to hope too hard.

Though it's taken a while, you are perfectly aware of and secure in your value and personality. You are "a fucking catch," as Marlene often says, and even if she and your other friends didn't assure you of it, you'd think so. You're prickly, sure. You're quiet in most situations, preferring to observe and go home when you've had enough. You don't laugh much, don't tell jokes. You stand at the edge of the group because that's where you prefer to be.

It's okay that you're not everyone's cup of tea. People have told you before that you should talk more, you should be more present, you should do more things. You're fine as you are and anyone who thinks otherwise isn't worth your time.

So the fact that Sirius is a few minutes late doesn't bother you that much. The bar isn't super crowded and you're sat a pretty comfortable stool snacking on the olives the bartender put out when you arrived. If he doesn't show you'll just get a drink and read the book in your bag and go home and call Lily and you know she'll lay into him.

But just as you consider it, there's a warm hand on your shoulder and you turn to find the man in question grinning at you sheepishly. His name rolls off your tongue.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "Had to take the bus and obviously it wasn't on time. Can I hug you hello?"

You appreciate him asking. Something about you tends to put people off of touch, though you don't usually mind it. "Hi, Sirius," you say, standing to give him a squeeze. He's warm and smells like tobacco and mint, like he popped one on his way over.

"Have you been here before?" He peels off his leather jacket and sits next to you, signaling for the bartender. "Do you want a drink?"

"Yes, and yes," you say. "The Sex on the Beach is quite good."

His eyebrows rise to his hairline and he grins. You keep your face neutral. "Not what I would have picked for you," he muses. "But I trust you." He asks the bartender for two.

"What would you have picked for me?" You pop an olive into your mouth.

Sirius thinks on it. "Stout pint," he says. "Or whiskey." His gaze very quickly travels the length of you as much as he can, sitting so close. "You look lovely, by the way."

That almost gets you to smile. "You do, too," you say instead. "Is that a new earring?" You reach for it without thinking but he doesn't flinch away. A gold star dangles from his right ear instead of the hoop you remember him having last time you saw him.

His grin gets impossibly bigger. How is that he can smile every second of every day? "So glad you noticed, love," he says. "It sure is. It's got a story, too. Something you might not know about me is --"

He talks and talks and talks. Your drinks come and he tells you the story and then another one and you find that you don't mind listening. It feels like Sirius is talking to you, not at you, even though it's clear he could charm a brick wall. He doesn't seem to mind that you only nod or make affirmative noises rather than chime in or laugh, answering his questions for you in just a few words. He just seems to want your attention, which he certainly has.

"And then James genuinely looked at me and said I thought they were the same thing."

The story is funny, sure, but Sirius's own laughter at his joke makes you smile. You feel it happen, feel the corners of your mouth lift and a chuckle make its way out of you.

"You have a pretty smile," Sirius says. He looks about two seconds away from poking it to see if it's real.

"Are you telling me to smile more?" you ask.

That seems to fluster him. You don't think you've seen him flustered before. He runs a hand through his unruly curls, ties them up into a half-up half-down bun thing with the hairband on his wrist. You wonder if his hair is soft.

"I, no," he stumbles. Who knew Sirius Black could stumble over his words? "I wouldn't. That's not something you say to a girl --"

You put a hand on his arm. His skin is warm, the ink that covers it smoother than you expected under your fingers. "I'm teasing, Sirius," you say.

His grin returns twice as strong. How can he flip between emotions so quickly? "You are? Oh, thank fuck."

His profanity makes your lips tug up. You take a sip of your drink and knock your knee with his.

"Hang on," he says. "If you're teasing me that means you must like me."

"What do you mean?" You genuinely want to know.

"Well," he says. "We don't really know each other, even though I've been trying to work up speaking to you at every one of Lily's parties this year, which is why she agreed to set us up, by the way, so I'd stop bothering her about it."

You want to interrupt because, what? but he keeps talking. His gaze is steady, eyes fixed on yours.

"But I get the impression that you don't let just anyone see how many sides you have."

Something in your chest is tight and warm. Is that your heart?

"Sides?" you mutter. "A cube, am I?"

He laughs. Loudly and genuinely. You don't fight the smile this time. Sirius puts his hand on your knee and leans in a little. "I'm not great with words, love," he says. "That's Remus."

"You're plenty great," you say bluntly. "And I guess you're right."

"Hmm?" He blinks a few times and you realize how long his lashes are, his eyeliner making his irises look impossibly big.

"I must like you."

Not a bad first date after all.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

[grenade-maid]

there's a lot of reasons more people aren't into yuri that are troubling to consider, but equally, I genuinely think it cannot be understated how much of it comes down to most yuri being boring as hell. Like truly. I've been reading the front page of Dynasty Scans like it was the newspaper for 15 years I am not exaggerating I can show you the download file data 15 years.

You know what the complaint about yuri by yuri readers was back in 2009?

"wow that really was just 5 volumes of them blushing at each other and then they don't even kiss"

You know what the complaint about yuri by yuri readers is today in 2023?

"wow that really was just 5 volumes of them blushing at each other and then they don't even kiss"

Don't get me wrong, Yuri has grown a LOT in that time, to the point that most people today wouldn't even understand a Maria-sama reference if it were dropped in front of them (thank God). It's expanded and evolved to encompass more stories about adult women, wider varieties of scenarios, a greater acknowledgement of real life lesbianism, and is more comfortable showing girls kissing with tongue and having sex.

Yuri Manga is maybe the best is it's ever been, and it's also getting the widest readership it's ever had in the English speaking world. The titles we carry at work are always on back order with long queues, and, when I've asked them, most weebs of all gender or sexualities report keeping up with at least a few Yuri series.

At large though? Most of it is still really boring. That's not a bad thing necessarily. I like it because it goes down easy. For the most part any series you pick is gonna be pretty chill. Even shit from Sal Jiang which is PRETTY EDGY for yuri is a pretty breezy read. More serious ones like How Do We Relationship? cover some pretty real subjects about how intimacy is actually quite difficult even when both of you love each other, but it's not like... Exciting. Yuri isn't where you go to pump your fist or get perched on the edge of your seat.

So when the comparison is made to yaoi, well, I mean, have you READ any yaoi? Even in some of the more restrained titles those boys are likely to be sucking and fucking balls and all within the first volume or two. There's gonna be drama, intrigue, shit is gonna get messy, passions are gonna get heated, clothes are gonna be ripped off, people are gonna get sold to One Direction, it's stuff you can sit down with a bowl of popcorn with you know? Stuff you can message your friend and gush Hey Can You BELIEVE? A lot of it is pretty trashy, but that's the appeal. The generic state of yaoi is torrid and exciting and sexy. Ultimately, as a species many of us like to see pretty people fuck. In yaoi you'll get that. In yuri you won't. Nothing wrong with that, but it is gonna be a major contributing factor to their relative popularity.

It's also worth making the comparison to hetero romance manga, which has undergone a renaissance of it's own in recent years. There's now a whole meta around crafting a handful of mean shitty grouchy dysfunctional bully women and flinging them at the protagonist of the day who, unlike in years past, may actually have a face and personality. Most of these are also very trashy and truly scrape the bottom of the bucket in terms of writing.

AND YET?

I would bet money on the fact that you'll have heard of these women and probably even have a good idea what they're like without ever having touched a page of their manga.

I'm sorry but the straights are whipping donuts around the yuri girls in terms of delivering a wide variety of weird compelling fucked up women. How many yuri leading ladies by comparison can you point to as standout recognizable characters even divorced from their story? There's definitely a few, but not many. I'm not talking quality or depth of writing, I'm talking straight up pure recognizability. There are many beautifully written women in yuri, now more than ever. I can't think of many who'd like, get a figure made or have their face splashed on merch, though.

I don't really have a conclusion here. I love Yuri a lot, but at the end of the day this is just kinda the state of things right now.

[wheredidhiseyebrowsgo]

Do you know any fics similar to The Mating Privilege or I Don’t Like the Way She’s Looking at You? Just some stories where Derek isn’t the *best* mate/bf/husband etc or they have to pretend to not be together and ends up with stiles feeling neglected or ignored.

I’ve also read “how I long for yesterday” and “worth it” for those that want something similar but not quite what I’m looking for!

First of all. "How I Long for Yesterday" is my fic. So this made my day.

How I Long For Yesterday by sweetbutterbliss

(1/1 I 6,017 I Mature I Sterek)

Stiles blinks, his throat going dry, and he moves his thumb without thinking - liking the post. He feels a surge of petty satisfaction. At least the fucker will know he knows now. He stands up, his body feeling too heavy, and he blows out the already guttering candles. He lets out a sob of frustration when the last one won’t fucking blow out. But he sucks it back in and bites down on his tongue, using his thumb and forefinger instead. He throws himself into their empty bed without undressing. He lies there repeating the words ‘Derek blew me off for Isaac’ over and over. He tells himself to shut up while rearranging his pillow violently, but he goes to sleep with the refrain continuing its painful loop.

Worth It by dragneels

(1/1 I 1,670 I General I Sterek)

He hadn’t thought even for a second, instincts roaring, and jumped in front of Derek, taking the blow. And then he got lost in the darkness. also known as the "stiles telling derek that he's worth everything" fic no one asked for

***

As the seconds tick by by Halevetica

(1/1 I 3,972 I Not Rated)

When Derek picks up a new contract, he starts showing up late and missing important dates making Stiles feel unimportant. Derek is sure the contract is worth it, but Stiles doesn't understand why.

I'm Torn Do I Stay Do I Go by Adaline_Stilinski

(2/2 I 6,963 I General)

Derek had been focusing on making alliances with other packs around Beacon Hills to protect his pack but in doing so he started to neglect Stiles and there relationship. Stiles get's sick of it and decided to leave for some time apart is it going to help be like the stories Stiles reads and write about how distance makes love grow or will they both realise that there better apart. Will tragedy bring them together

Aberration by JackalPinesOfHouseEvergreen

(11/? I 29,415 I Teen)

Derek is a hot-shot lawyer who is very focused on his work. Stiles is his loving husband who does his best to fit into Derek's high-class family. He's hit some major roadblocks though. He feels neglected and unloved, and worse when Derek ditches him at his own family's parties which leave him humiliated as he tries to appear like their marriage isn't failing.

As an old member comes during some important werewolf ceremony to stir the pot, Derek's relationship with his family and Stiles is tested more than ever. Derek's world has been rocked and turned upside down.

And Stiles? Stiles is trying to find out who he is in the absence of the one he loves. As much as he believes in Derek and in their relationship, Stiles needs to find his self-worth that got lost along the way. Remember the fire he had inside of him as he got in the face of those that looked down at him, the fierceness of his intelligence that made others fear and respect him. Remember how fun life was...

Derek and Stiles drift a bit as Derek realizes he has to woo Stiles again, because he will not risk losing the love of his life. Not again.

The Mating Privilege by Kikileduc

(12/12 I 35,380 I Mature)

Stiles and Derek have been happily mated. The pack is doing well, but in hopes of creating alliances for it to do better, Derek accepts a neighboring pack's request to allow two wolves to join the Hale-McCall pack for a full moon cycle. They hope to form a blood-tie, or at least a long term friendship between the two packs. The issue is Kohona, the tribal leader's daughter, has her eyes set on an unavailable alpha wolf. This could have drastic consequences for their young emissary, however...

Til We Ain't Strangers Anymore by WriteByNight

(7/7 I 35,994 I Explicit)

Stiles should've expected Derek to suddenly disappear since the werewolf was in the habit of taking off without notice. However, Derek always showed up when they needed him.

As the weeks pass by, Stiles is no longer confused and a little hurt. What started as heartache begins to get worse the longer Stiles goes without seeing Derek. Eventually, his body begins to shut down and his only hope seems to be Derek...but nobody can find him.

There's no cure for a broken heart. Except, maybe, the cause for the broken heart himself.

- - -

Or the one where Derek takes off without warning and Stiles finds out he could be Derek's mate and the distance between Derek and Stiles, along with Derek's refusal to develop the bond, is slowly killing Stiles. Without Derek, Stiles will die, but no one knows where he is or how to contact him. And Stiles is barely keeping it together.

[anistarrose]

I want to talk about the way aromantic experiences can be represented in very meaningful and validating ways without characters being written as intentionally aro, and also I want to talk about aro-spec Magnus Burnsides headcanons. Luckily, I can do both those things in one post!

During the events of the podcast, Magnus is disinterested in and often straight-up uncomfortable with romance, because of the fate that befell his last relationship, with Julia. I've seen a reading (that I don't think is objectively wrong, though I do not personally share it) that interprets this trait of his as some kind of "sacrifice" he's making on Julia's behalf, being a choice to stay out of other relationships to carry on her memory better. It's a reading that seems pretty reasonable at first glance, but not especially aromantic.

(Because if anything, it almost seems at risk of turning into something like "there is no sacrifice more tragic than not having a romantic partner," right? Or worse, "this is a trauma response that needs to be healed for Magnus to have a happy ending, because being able to enjoy romance is vital to his happiness and self-fulfillment." Both of which are... varying levels of uncomfortable, to me as an aro person. Like, I'm not in the business of telling people how to interpret fictional characters, but I personally can't engage with these without a bad feeling in my stomach.)

However! Back to the various potential readings of Magnus's character! It's worth noting that so much of Magnus's arc revolves around unpacking his trauma, from the destruction of Raven's Roost and Julia's death — and that healing process doesn't change how he feels about romance! The Eleventh Hour is the turning point when he starts to seriously re-evaluate what the trauma and loss made him want, versus what Julia would want for him, and what would let him live in the moment instead of in the past... yet in the Heart Attack segment of Wonderland? Magnus still expresses disinterest in dating.

In Arms Outstretched, then Story and Song, he further internalizes and chooses to let himself be saved and ask for help, instead of punishing himself with martyrdom — and no romantic relationships come up in the epilogue! When he passes away after a long, happy life, it's Carey, — his best friend! — who holds his hand while they wait for the end!

Magnus's reasons for not wanting another relationship are obviously complex — not just a conclusion about himself that he came to lightly, regardless of whether he's on the aromantic spectrum, not on it at all, or deliberately not choosing a label. What makes his arc so unique and special to me, in contrast with almost every other story about traumatized characters finding a happy ending, is that his happy ending isn't contingent on romance! Whenever he says that he's that not into dating, no one doubts him or tries to undermine him (other than Lydia, who's literally trying to feed on his suffering) — and to me, an aro listener...

Well, the way the narrative takes Magnus's wants and lack thereof seriously is just so refreshing.

Ninety percent of characters in fiction who repeatedly stress that they don't want romance or marriage are only shown doing so to set up for the narrative later proving them wrong. It's to contrast with that later point in the story where they "find the right person," or "understand when they're older." Or "stop being so cold," or "stop acting like they're too fucked-up and 'damaged'." Or "overcome their trauma."

It has an air of "wow, isn't this character so ridiculous, for thinking they won't change their mind later?" Or occasionally, "isn't it so tragic, that they can't envision themselves being loved?"

For protagonist-y characters, for heroic characters like Magnus — for any type of character in which "happily ever after" is considered a plausible, fair-game, genre-acceptable outcome — we see the genre conventions also dictate that "settling down in a romance" and the "happy ending" are intertwined. I've seen TAZ posts from back in the era of The Suffering Game/The Stolen Century airing, expressing sentiments like "Magnus not finding someone to love again would be so tragic and mean-spirited, I hate grim and edgy endings like that." While I can appreciate people trying to subvert tropes like "you can only have one 'true love' in all your life," the incredibly non-subversive and ultra-amatonormative belief that "romance is a prerequisite for a happy ending, or even healing arc" is such a deeply unfortunate one to tag on.

I am aromantic. I don't want a romantic relationship. And I find joy in that! I refuse to accept that I need to be "fixed" or "healed" to live a long, happy life, because I'm not broken! What brings me the most joy beyond just living as an aro is seeing stories actually acknowledge that people can find this happiness without romance — like how Magnus's story does! Like how casually and matter-of-factly it subverts expectations — how Magnus says he doesn't want another relationship, and no one comes along to prove him wrong! He doesn't "find the right person" because at this particular phase of his life, and of how he wants to live, there isn't one in a romantic context!

He heals from his trauma enough to find all kinds of joy — doing things he loves, surrounded by people he loves — and not because of, or in service of pursuing, a romantic relationship!

I almost never see fantasy stories where one of the heroes gets to have an arc like that. An arc where they get to live out an ending that I would want. A happy ending that would be happy for me! For people like me!

Magnus Burnsides gives me so much Aromantic Hope. That this is a kind of happy ending that I am not the only one to idealize, and that I could attain, no matter what horrors are being thrown at me in the present. Magnus dies peacefully, after years of assuming that he wouldn't, and he does so surrounded by his dearest friends and family. Who are all so proud of the life that he lived. Magnus was true to himself, to what he felt would bring him healing and fulfillment — instead of what cliché and expectation dictated to him — and he was completely at peace in the end. Ready to rush in one final time.

I immensely doubt that Travis intended for Magnus's story to be an aromantic story in those words, if at all. But Magnus's story resonates so, so much with so many common aromantic experiences. And that means so much to me. I'm so grateful for that. In this day and age, in this world, I needed that.

I needed to have a good long cry about Magnus Burnsides. Aromantic icon, intentional or not.

...

...Of course, because this is tumblr, I want to make a clarification. This isn't some kind of claim like "shipping Magnus with people other than Julia is problematic." It is, however, a thesis statement that "no such ship becoming canon makes Magnus's arc so much more unique." It's an explanation giving full context to how I'm biased, not objective, but willing to argue that it makes his arc so much more meaningful, too.

And most of all, it's a desire to shine a light on a side of Magnus's character and growth that I think goes underdiscussed. Especially underdiscussed through an aro-spec lens. And speaking of which:

Sure, I said I don't think Magnus was intended as an aro-spec character, or that he can only be interpreted as such — but if you made it this far, you know I think this ruff boi's just chock full of aro-spec subtext! So just for fun — and because the world is always deserving of more aro-spec headcanons — let's end this post playing with some different readings of him as aro-spec!

Gray-Aro or Demiromantic Magnus who rarely falls for people to begin with. Why would it be some tragic heroic sacrifice to remain "chaste" and wait for Julia, when not being into romance is just Magnus's default state of being? He's so confused about why people think he's making some tragic sacrifice! So confused, guys! I even wrote a fic about the gray-aro HC a few months ago (link)!

Gray-Aro or Demi Magnus who thought he was just aromantic, no attraction whatsoever, for over a century — until he met Julia, and fell for her (perhaps very, very slowly). But that doesn't change those years gaining perspective as a platonically, familialy loving aro who values those bonds immensely, and always wanted them to remain a prominent part of his life.

Losing Julia devastates him, of course it does — but especially once he remembers the Stolen Century, he knows he has a long-term support system no matter what, and it won't revolve around chasing that unlikely possibility of feeling romantic love again. Why would it? Why would he need to chase something so fickle just to heal?

Aromantic Magnus who feels no romantic attraction, but in the era of Raven's Roost, doesn't not want a romantic relationship. Except, he doesn't after all. Except wait, he kinda does, it's just complicated. Maybe something queerplatonic? Well, he really likes the idea of a wedding, and that's not necessarily mutually exclusive with a QPR, but there's no guarantee his partner would feel that way too, and...

There's just these expectations that go with dating or marriage, of partners expecting him to love them in such a specific way that he knows he can't... and then he meets Julia, who's a romance-seeking aromantic too, with heavily overlapping feelings. Bonding over their similarities leads to dating, and eventually marrying, over a deep platonic love that may or may not still involve cuddles or kisses, or a desire to start a family. They don't panic too much over the labels — they're just so delighted to be with someone on the same wavelength!

When Julia dies, so much goes through Magnus's head. After a while, he can't help but start thinking again about how rare it is for people to want the same things out of a relationship that he does. Or to consider the way he feels for them to be enough. But as time passes, Magnus comes to terms with it more and more. He's happy to wait for Julia again. After all, he's longing, but not lonely. Mourning, but not incomplete.

Aromantic Magnus who is aromantic specifically because of his trauma, but no less aromantic for it. He just can't bear the thought of getting into a relationship again. Ironically, there's a point in time where he thought of himself as a romantic — back while he and Julia were courting each other — that now feels simultaneously so close and so distant. Magnus who has so much to grieve, and grieves this romantic side of him too — at first. Who thinks that there's only two options, for a folk hero in a story like his — settling down to live happily ever after, or dying in battle. And if there's nothing more upsetting, more uncomfortable, than getting married again — then living happily ever after has got to be off the table, right?

Magnus who slowly realizes that doesn't have to be the case. That no, barring seeing Julia again, he certainly doesn't have reason to believe that even time will change this new, alienating part of him — but maybe, it's not so alien after all. Maybe he knows people who won't even question it. Maybe he doesn't have to change it or overcome it to be happy again.

Why is romance some singular thing he has to chase, in order to settle down peacefully again? Why can't he do it with his friends? With his dogs?

And last, Questioning Magnus who might be aro, who might not be aro, and is maybe most likely to be something in between. But it's hard to tell; he's honestly not sure if he'll ever crack it, and.. ultimately, he's okay with that. Because all that matters to him is knowing he doesn't need a relationship to be complete, to take full advantage of his well-earned happy ending — and he's got a great grasp on that one, surrounded by people who never make him doubt it.

Aromantic Magnus Burnsides. Aro-Spec Magnus Burnsides. My aromantically beloved. Thanks, bud, for all the hope when I needed it.

[bunnakit]

last twilight episode 6 thoughts, feelings, etc.

it's that time again and i've decided to be very extra for this episode because, well, it deserves it. what a ride that was. fair warning i was feeling fucking romantic and wistful for this.

we have August showing up, trying to integrate himself into their daily routine, and then disrupting that routine entirely. and when he suggests running with Day Mhok seems defensive, jealous and probably concerned that August has seemed unreliable before - and currently is operating with more information than Day, leaving them on unequal footing. August knows about Day's feelings for him, but Day has no idea August knows, and that's not really fair. but Mhok doesn't want to say anything because maybe, just maybe, August could make Day happy. maybe Day could finally get what he wants for the first time in a long while.

so Mhok watches. because Mhok will never put himself first, it's not who he is.

Day clings to these broken and battered shoes, a connection to a past life he thought he had to leave behind. he clings to familiarity and comfort. all things Mhok has become to him.

and so maybe Mhok sees himself in these battered, rough around the edges shoes. maybe Mhok believes he can be fixed, just like the splitting sole. maybe Day is fixing him every day, not in a stupid fucking 'he saved me' bullshit like the crying guy at the interview, but in a genuine, he's changed my outlook on life, my perspective, my everything, and made me a better person. maybe these scuffed shoes can be better if someone helps them.

and so he fixes the shoes, just as he's been fixing himself ever since he walked through Day's front door, and he gives Day the sunflower he couldn't give him before. Day asks him what it is but again Mhok doesn't have the heart to say. he doesn't elaborate, doesn't explain, only moves past the moment because this isn't for him, isn't about him, this is about Day reclaiming something he thought he lost.

How can I throw them away? I love them so much.

Maybe if he loves these broken and scuffed shoes he could love me too.

and here's where we have a story narrating for us again, my absolute favorite thing about this entire series. i love the narration from the books they read - and i love that the boys are both simultaneously the character represented. the words always have a way of applying to both of them and it's fucking gorgeous.

and with this narration we've been so seamlessly slotted into Mhok's POV. everything up until now has focused pretty strongly on Day's struggles and adjustments, we've seen everything from the lens of Day and what he's facing, but suddenly we're so perfectly slotted into Mhok's body, something we haven't focused too hard on yet. sure, we've seen his pain and his grief, but we're seeing so much more now, so many little intricacies and inner thoughts. i absolutely love how this was done.

Do you think I fell in love with him without realizing it?

and as he has this love blooming in his chest, this realization of the magnitude of his feelings - that he doesn't just want Day to be happy but wants to be the source of that happiness - Mhok begins to become invisible again. it's a place he's familiar with and it doesn't come as a surprise. just with a mournful resignation. this is how it always is, and how it was always going to be.

and just like with Porjai he decides to step back. it's worth it as long as the people he loves are happy; even if that means he's not by their side.

like the scuffed shoes, Mhok is replaced with something better. Day put in his eye drops and no longer looks to Mhok but to August instead.

and as Mee and Day's fear grows smaller Mhok's grows larger. the fear of being left behind and the fear of being forgotten. the fear that Day no longer needs him, will no longer look to him for help or seek him out. the fear that he's lost his place as Day's friend, slid back into the role of only a caretaker, and perhaps even further back still into a stranger.

Mhok's shirt reads: IF LOST, DROP IN ANY MAILBOX. Return Postage Guaranteed.

because Mhok is lost. he doesn't know where he stands anymore, where he fits into Day's life. but he knows he'll always return to Day's side for as long as he needs him.

the scuffed shoes are left on the shelf, just as Mhok has tucked away his feelings for Day. they'll always be there, familiar and reliable, and maybe someday Day will need them again. maybe someday.

and then we learn that Night smokes, and maybe Day never hated the smell of cigarettes.

I think his voice is like the scent of cigarettes.

maybe Day just hated the way the smell reminded him of Night.

and we learn Day had fully resigned himself to spending his birthday alone.

his mother would be out of town, spending it with Night is out of the question, August has practice, and it's Mhok's day off. as if Mhok would rather be anywhere else. Day is used to not being a priority.

as Day peers at Mhok's chest maybe it feels like he can see into him. Mhok has always felt invisible, but somehow Day saw him in spite of all of that. maybe he wonders if Day can see into his chest, see that his heart is made of sunflowers, tucked away and kept in secret as to not inconvenience Day. and maybe Mhok wonders: can you see them? can you see the way they bloom and turn towards your light?

and for a moment Mhok is weak. he takes Day's hand and places it back on his chest as if to say: my heart is here and it belongs to you, can't you feel it?

and here is where i will begin to cry and not stop crying until the end of the episode - so if you're crying don't worry, i'm here with you.

because Day sprays Mhok with Tiwa cologne. fucking Tiwa cologne.

Tiwa means day time. the cologne was created to mimic the atmosphere of the Thai countryside during the day.

suddenly, Mhok is bathed in the scent of Day. both the concept and the man.

it's Day's favorite scent.

It smells both like toughness and aggression.

At first, you want to flee from it.

But after you scent it for a while, it makes you feel warm.

and Mhok's face falls at first because is that how Day sees him? he thought Day saw him, he thought Day understood that he's not all the things people say he is and - oh.

oh.

you can see the palpable relief across Mhok's face because Day does see him, does understand him.

(the cologne also shows us once again Day's privilege. Tiwa costs $140 a bottle, or ฿‎4884)

again Day asks what Mhok is going to this dinner as, and then asks why Mhok is so secretive.

and maybe for a moment, for just those fleeting few minutes they spent getting ready together, Mhok was able to pretend this was real. he was able to pretend Day was going to dinner with him, would stay by his side and enjoy his birthday with him, create new memories with him.

but that's not for him. it's just another sunflower he tucks away in his chest.

they arrive at the party and there's no place for Mhok; not at Day's side, not at the table, not anywhere. he's never acknowledged again by anyone there, no one offers him a spot because he's an outsider, this place isn't for him. when the sun no longer shines on Mhok he is invisible once again.

suddenly, Mhok is back in his own fish tank - because it's not only Little Day that freed himself of the cloying miasma of his environment but Big Mhok had as well. his tank was clean, he could breathe and see clearly again.

but now he's back there, as smoke fills his lungs and regret tastes like ash on his tongue. he can't smell the jasmine blooms anymore.

Day still looks for him, still seeks him out because Mhok has always stayed, has always been around even when Day didn't know he needed him. Mhok's been there at every step of this journey and now suddenly Day is adrift on his own. what do you do when the person that has always been there is suddenly gone?

it probably feels as if Day has been robbed of yet another one of his senses.

and we see Day get overwhelmed again, the narrative has shifted away from Mhok now and we're nestled back in Day's body where things are so loud and so much, too much, and he doesn't have the one person he can find comfort in there. everyone is trying too hard, treating him like glass, and he's still a fucking human being, he's still an adult man, he's not a fucking child -

and so he escapes. he finds a moment of peace and collects himself. he hears someone approach and who else could it be but Mhok? it's always Mhok, it's always been Mhok.

but Mhok's not here.

August is.

and suddenly August is kissing him but it's not right, it doesn't feel like he thought it would, and maybe he realizes he liked the idea of August more than August himself. maybe he clung to memories made fond and soft with time.

because this? this is not the kiss of a man full of hope and love. if Bad Buddy taught me anything, this is a kiss goodbye.

the hero is coming and it's time for the villain to go.

Mhok knows better than anyone that the one thing Day doesn't want from anyone, the one thing he fears the most in all of this, is receiving pity. he's never wanted to be pitied for any of this, but August has just pitied him in the worst possible way. and of course Mhok is here to see it.

of course Mhok would come back, now of all times.

and we see Mhok speak in a way we haven't before. his rage becomes incandescent, beyond the limits of just shouting, and it's the quiet of his rage that becomes far more terrifying. it's the quiet calm before the storm. Day has never seen Mhok enraged, not really, he's never been there when Mhok has hit someone, but he must hear the control slipping from Mhok's voice.

because August held everything Mhok had ever wanted in his hands and played with it, pitied it, and tossed it away. how can he be anything but full of bitter fury?

but as Day holds Mhok's hand he stops. he reluctantly releases his hold and curls his fingers around Day's hand. he'd do anything for Day, now more than ever.

Mhok speaks softly to Day and holds him close, the hug as much for Day as it is for him. they're both broken, both trying to hold on to the withered petals of their hearts. if they hold on tight enough maybe they can hold each other together.

and now we're to my absolute favorite recurring thing Mhok does.

Mhok takes Day away, he doesn't let him retreat into that tiny fish tank. Mhok brings Day out into the world, to breathe the fresh air.

and each time he's brought Day somewhere he can enjoy without his sight - yes, even this rooftop.

on the porch, Day could smell the jasmine blossoms.

Day could smell the flowers at the market, was surrounded by their scent.

now he's bathed in the light of the rising sun, in the warmth it has to offer.

the world feels different in the early hours of the morning. the air is a little colder, a little thinner, everything is more quiet and subdued. you can feel the sun start to thaw out the Earth, can feel as it glides over your face and warms your cheeks.

this place is special to Mhok, a small sanctuary he's tucked away for himself, and now he's sharing it - and a shard of his past - with Day. in exchange, Day opens up. he explains that no one really liked him before, that each person (Gee not withstanding) at that party pitied him and were only there as some sort of act of charity.

I'm just so damn lucky to be blind.

because people are looking at him now, right? he has everyone's attention now. he got to kiss his crush. people would fall at his feet to help him.

but it's all wrong, tainted with pity and charity. he has their pity but not their affection.

Is there anyone else in this world who doesn't feel pity for me?

Do you still think I feel pity for you? Mhok asks after kissing Day in the light of the rising sun, because Mhok has never pitied Day, not for a single moment in time. it's not pity that he feels housed in his chest but love, overwhelming and all consuming.

just as the moon represented the hearts of Moonlight Chicken so does the sun represent the hearts of Last Twilight. this is the dawn of something new for both of them, fragile but hopeful.

I'M JUST FEELING SO FUCKING MUCH. do you think p'aof will be my best friend? if you've read this far i'm smooching you and also here's a dumb little surprise.

tag loves: @benkaaoi @callipigio @lookwhatihave

[moongothic]

(Frankenstein'd two asks together for the sake of previty)

I've been pretty torn between answering this ask and just doing a deep dive re-analysis post about Marineford as a whole (from Crocodile's perspective) because I feel like rereading it now as a Crocodad Truther, I could probably make a whole lot of new observations and/or read into things differently than I did last time I read it (when I was rereading for the purpose of studying the viability of Crocodad) Like there's so much to say about the whole arc and I'd include this line of thought in there anyways... But also, do I really feel like writing a giant essay like that........

I am going to start this by refering to this mini-essay I wrote like a month ago, about how Crocodile seems to have this attitude of "no crying over spilt milk". What's happened has happened, what's done is done, it's your own fault things turned out the way they did, there's no undoing any of it and you just have to continue on. And I do think that attitude would be key here to understanding Crocodile's actions in Marineford re:Crocodad

(Sidenote because this is not relevant to the rest of the post, but the reason this is about Crocodad and not CrocoUncle etc is because if Crocodile was only loosely related to Luffy it would not have the same kind of impact emotionally (for Crocodile; like there is a difference between a nephew and a son). Additionally a part of Crocodad is that it ties into Crocodile's connection with Ivankov in a really important way. If Crocodile was only loosely related to Luffy, him also being trans would kind of be like a random sidenote without being relevant to the two being family, but suddenly if Crocodile is Luffy's other biological parent, him being trans matters a lot more. Also if he's not Luffy's other dad then we'd be still stuck asking who the fuck birthed Luffy to begin with)

While Sengoku's announcement here would make for a horrific revelation to Crocodile in this situation (a revelation we never see his immidiate reaction to, which continues to be deeply sus), what would it change, really?

The little idiot child who Crocodile had attempted to murder multiple times was his own son. Sure, he might've insantly lost whatever grudge he might've held against Luffy, then what? That feeling would be one-sided, because at this point in the story Luffy hated Crocodile's guts and he knew that too. Luffy has no idea about them being related, and even if Crocodile literally walked up the kid right that second and told him the truth, what would it change? He'd still be the man who nearly nuked a million people off the face of the earth, took over a country and killed Luffy and his friends while laughing about it. Being Luffy's other dad wouldn't make him any less of a horrible asshole (if anything it might make it slightly worse 'cause you get to add shit like "child abandonment" onto his list of crimes).

Luffy came to Marineford to save Ace. Crocodile came to Marineford to kill Whitebeard. He had no reason to interfere with Luffy's quest, and with the help Luffy already was recieving from the prison escapees, the Newkama and the Whitebeard Pirates, what would Crocodile's assistance add to the mix? Would Luffy even welcome him in helping save his brother?

Luffy had his own life, a life Crocodile had not been a part of. He had no right to try to insert himself into it at this point, after all he had done to Luffy. There's no crying over spilled milk. What's done is done, you just have to move on. He should just focus on what he came to do; get his revenge and take Whitebeard's head, as planned.

Deep breaths

...Only to realize that Whitebeard is a dying old man and not worth even killing anymore, because he's not the same Primebeard whom once beat Crocodile and crushed all his dreams. Defeating Whitebeard would not give him the catharsis he came for.

And at that point, the fuck was Crocodile going to do? The revenge he wants isn't there anymore 'cause it went bad a few decades ago. And between the raging war and Doflamingo on his ass it's not like he could just sneak out without anybody noticing. He doesn't have allies (aside from Daz under him) to worry about. He only has his hatred to the World Government.

At that point, he might as well be a nuisance to the Government and assist Luffy. Even if the help wasn't welcomed, even if Luffy hated him and regardless if he knew the truth or not, helping Luffy right then and there would still be better than letting the Government have their way and kill his son right in front of him

[michaela-o]

Hello guys.❤️

I just wanted to update you on why i'm not really active anywhere, discord, tumblr nowhere, is because i'm going through a very hard and toxic break-up right now..

WARNING: Toxicity, Attempt of se**al a**ult, gaslighting ( if you feel uncomfortable reading about this please don't read )

Sadly, to realize all of this toxicity, took me 2 years because i was too blinded by love and the desire to feel loved, apreciated and i was blinded by trying so hard to see the best in that one person...

Only NOW i realized what everything i let him do to me without me even knowing about it...i was letting him get control over me, i was letting him guilt trip me, i was letting him gaslight me, i was letting him make me feel like my body wasn't even mine, i was letting him make me believe that having emotions is bad, i fucking letting him make me believe that everything THIS was okay..that i deserve to be treated that way...that i deserve to be left alone when i cry too much..

He would always get upset if i told him i was going out with friends through the weekend when i came back from the dorms, he would get upset and leave to go home if i cried for a little longer than he liked, he would get upset when i told him that i would like to change stuff in our releationship, he really had no friends ( which i felt bad for but was not my problem but i was willing to help him out ) to go out with and when i told him i'd like to go for a walk when was pretty outside he'd say he thought we would be together and not wasting time outside..

Even after all this HE told ME that I'M the toxic one..that when i expressed what i think is wrong, when i told him what bothered me about him, he said that i was using my emotions to controll him..

But now i will set my foot down and i will no longer tolerate ANY of this and i will stand on my spot. I told him that if his behaviour continued things won't be looking okay with our releationship. He started to cry and tell me that i'm scaring him, that i know where his weak spots are, that this isn't me, asking me if he's really that bad to deserve those words..he tried to force me to take it back..that we would stay together forever..(god that fucking stings..)

But not anymore..

BIG thank you goes to my dear roommates at dorms and friends Lea, Silvia, Emma, Adrian and another Lea. These are people that have stayed by my side the WHOLE time even if i cried a bit too much. Even when i talked a lot. I owe them so so much. These people have helped me to finally open my eyes and to finally see my own worth...i'm very hurting right now because i really loved him and i know he loved me aswell but he was NOT self aware and was not going to admit and acknowledge his mistakes..and saying sorry for only the sake of peace? And then doing it again?.. it is not my responsibility to explain that to him..i think i was doing that for long enough..

Thank you if you made it all the way down here❤️ and lissening to my story. I apologize for the inactivity but i'm feeling very stressed, scared and lost right now..he wants to meet eith me today but i just don't want to..i need time..this wound is very fresh and bloody and i think it's going to be healing for a long time..

Thank you again❤️

- Michaela-o

(P.S. sorry for the tags)

[papenathys]

Mahashweta Devi and Sharankumar Limbale low key changed my life and the way I look at "aesthetics" of literature and palatability politics. I remember how when we were really young, growing up in Bengal, a pretty popular consensus among the upper and upper-middle classes (even among some lower middle classes of savarna Hindu Bengalis) was that Ashapurna Devi is the go-to author for Bengali feminism and feminist themes, while Mahashweta Devi, outside of selective circles of academic and scholarly vested interests was seen more in an "inappropriate"/"controversial" or grimdark sense. Her novels and short stories always raised eyebrows among the cushy Kolkata babus, who felt "uncomfortable" with the coarse language and explicitly gratuitous details she provided in her work. When I read Shekhar's The Adivasi Will Not Dance when I was 17, I also thought, was it necessary to portray these brutalities so graphically? I was in high school, I did not know about palatability as a concept, and how it plays into dominant-group narratives back then.

And then I grew up, and read Limbale's text, and it was pretty much an eye-opener when he noted that savarnas judge all literature, including the literature of marginality, relative to their own specific lived contexts. This is not just for literature, but all aspects of Indian identity in practice, and it's not, to me, simply an indictment of the alt right, but the left too. Note that even the most self-congratulating Bengali (or Indian in general) leftism is imbued with respectability politics– no wonder, you wouldn't catch your average Kolkata babu mentioning Marichjhapi without crying about how it was all some intentional plot to deface Jyoti Basu.

What I'm trying to say is, if Mahashweta Devi made any "respectable" Bengali uncomfortable, wasn't that the point? Why must she depend on dominant-group aesthetics and mainstream ideas of "literary fiction" to depict military violence against Adivasi people or the Kolkata police brutalities during Naxalbari? Why must her dialogue be "polished"- aka a dialect comprehensible to majority groups? Why should she shy away from depicting abuse, rape and violence when the mainstream Indian media and the govt are doing their utmost best to erase such accounts when it concerns Adivasi or Dalit people?

And here's a twist: Mahashweta Devi was herself a Brahmin, she wasn't an Adivasi or a Dalit voice. So the whole Left condemning her works + BJP removing her writing alongside Dalit authors from university curriculum is just a testament to how fucked our literary scene is. No matter how much we are torn by party politics, two very different political ideologies came together to condemn one writer because God forbid she chose to portray Dalit and Adivasi resistance and rage. You can only imagine how India treats its Dalit authors too.

Anyway, this rant was brought to you by a recent literary discussion with some Bengali elders who were hellbent on convincing me that Mahashweta Devi isn't worth my time and I should pick up an Ashapurna Devi novel instead. So much for playing comrade comrade. No matter how much theory you can spout, it doesn't change that most Indian mainstream savarna politicians, writers and political ideologies are extremely hostile to anything that might remotely posit that they are not perfect in their victimhood. It is true, we do see everything in India from a point of "how does this oppress/marginalize me specifically" rather than "from what privileged perspective am I speaking on identities that my dominant group oppresses". The same is true for literature, and art. This is why we keep yapping on about the British Raj and reclaiming our lost jewels from the Museums but lose our heads when it comes to realising they are not the only Big Bad in Indian history.

Texts mentioned for anybody interested:

Sharankumar Limbale, Towards an Aesthetic of Dalit Literature: Histories, Controversies and Considerations, 2004

Hansda Sowvendra Shekhar, The Adivasi will Not Dance, 2015

Mahashweta Devi, various works including The Mother of 1084 and Draupadi

[aihoshiino]

The babygirlification if Hikaru is crazy in this fandom... I can't believe that people seem to believe he did zero bad things when ch109 literally showed him standing over Yura and saying that she died so he could feel something...? Just because he's not the one who pushed her, doesn't mean he wasn't an accomplice! (I don't see how Nino would've known about the hiking trip without his help. Also don't see why he would be there monologuing unless he's also a hiking enthusiast who just happened to be there.) He could be both! He could be someone Ai loved but also be a person who became lost without her! Look at Aqua who literally went on a maniacal journey of revenge that saved literally no one & killed 2/3 people whom Ai loved. Because she's gone. The way I see Hikaru's character is that, he loved Ai and understood her as a person instead of the persona she presented. Yet her passing made that persona the only legacy she left behind (in his eyes). She was seen as "the idol closest to the Dome" even though she didn't care! That title wasn't given to any of the other Bkoma members, just her. And, he wasn't really allowed into their children's life because she said so. The only thing he's got left were the "lies" and despite knowing that killing people for her legacy is not what she would've wanted, she's not around to stop him anymore. I think he was a man driven to desperation and doing terrible things because his love was genuine yet no one taught him how to love properly. And her final "rejection" made him believe that being a terrible person was the only thing he could be. Which was why Ai's video became such a huge blow to him: he could've lived without her knowing that her as a person didn't let go of him, yet he went down this path thinking that the true her rejected him & the "lies" was the only thing he could take.

I don't think Ai's rejection broke Hikaru, per se. I think she made him believe that he was worthy of love and not broken (like he thought). And the way things unfold drove him into a spiral that was planted long ago. Humans don't need to be innocent to be worthy of love. The HKAI relationship was two traumatised children finding comfort in eachother. And Hikaru's crimes were about someone letting intrusive thoughts get to them. I don't like how Akasaka handled it at all, but I think erasing Hikaru's grief and the destruction it brought isn't a good way to read his character.

SO, for what it's worth, I do think the way you've analyzed Hikaru here is how he was intended to be read by Akasaka, at least by the end of the story, I don't blame anyone at all who went into this final stretch of OnK legit thinking we were going to get a reveal that Hikaru was not just a straight up villain or at least sympathizing with him and interpreting him as a slightly softer character, because the story basically spends the entirety of the Movie Arc beating you over the head with Extremely Sympathetic Hikaru Characterization.

Hell, it starts asking you to sympathize with him basically from the word go. The first concrete fact we learn about him outside of Aqua's insanely (understandably!) biased POV immediately throws every explicit and implicit assumption we have about him out the window. Not only does his age mean that he was one of Ai's peers and not, as Aqua seems to have been assuming, an older man who had victimized her but we learn this information in tandem with realizing - as Akane points out - this means Taiki was conceived when he was eleven years old, with all that implies. Akane's disgusted reaction pretty clearly telegraphs to the reader how we're supposed to take it and… idk, maybe this sounds cynical, but giving a character a backstory of CSA is like the Press To Make Audience Instantly Want To Protect This Character's Smile button. It very much primes you to want to feel bad for him.

109 does throw a spanner in these works and I do remember even at the time feeling very fucking uncertain about OnK potentially going for the grody old trope of "this character was a CSA victim and now they're Evil" (IF ONLY I FUCKING KNEW) but the more I re-read 109, I felt increasingly uncertain of what, exactly, we were supposed to take away from it. I actually had a suspicion for a really long time that 109 was so heavy handedly and overtly portraying him as a straightforward villain specifically to mislead the reader When They Cry-style and that he wasn't the one responsible for Yura's death at all.

Add all this to the fact that the Movie Arc centers Hikaru's victimhood and his extremely sad wet cat pathetic boy characterization literally at the expense of Ai's story in the movie that was supposed to be about her but what the fuck ever and it's really hard not to think that this is how the story wants you to feel about Hikaru. Hell, the Movie Arc even asks us to empathize with Airi, who is a fucking child rapist. I don't think it's unreasonable for anyone to assume that we were not supposed to think of Hikaru as a straightforward villain, especially when Ruby basically, like, looks into the camera when she's having her meeting with him and goes "nobody is born ontologically evil btw people get fucked up by their environments and blaming individuals for systemic issues isn't how anything gets fixed".

Also, like… I want to be delicate about this but I think it's also important to remember that Hikaru's motivations and supposed villainy as portrayed in OnK as of late are pretty outlandish and hard to connect with. But there are almost certainly people in OnK's audience who are also C/SA survivors who are able to resonate with a more grounded portrayal of him. I don't blame anyone at all for preferring a more sympathetic take on him in that case.

[mdhwrites]

I'd like your authorial thoughts on the following:

Given Luz' and Amity's interactions across season 1 of The Owl House could Luz be considered to have been Amity's Manic Pixie Dream Girl? If so, how do you see that trope evolving (or devolving) over the remainder of the series?

So I have a romance writing lesson I'm going to hijack this ask for but first to answer it: Probably? I feel like one could complain a lot of good romance stories use a character like this so I don't know how useful it is as a label. Not only that but a common complaint I have about Lumity is how Luz doesn't actually try to do jack shit to push back on Amity or actually question her on her shitty behavior. Like sure, we know she doesn't like Amity being mean but at best we get a single confrontation about that that Amity doesn't take seriously. It's never a problem actually addressed and Luz never tries to evoke any other life lessons out of Amity. It's why Amity feels like most of her changes just happen because "Girl pretty" because little actually pushes her to change except the mere existence of Luz.

HOWEVER

This stops HARD come S2. Even by Winging it Like Witches, we see Amity going out of her way to manage Luz's emotions and fuck ups. Where she has to be constantly accomodating because otherwise Sad Luz is a thought she just cannot fathom, even when in shit like Looking Glass Ruins, Luz seems to think an apology is enough, or how she won't change by Reaching Out about actually caring about Amity's well being (such as not noticing her girlfriend getting hurt) but also now with her breaking her word and continuing to lie to her, both things that will also come up in Thanks to Them where she's willing to lie to Amity for months before sending her to her death on the Isles without her.

This begs a bigger question: What of these two that attracted them to each other originally is still there?

We know pretty easily why Amity likes Luz. Explicitly she thinks Luz is kind, pretty, earnest, stuff like that. If we want to read into her character in S1, since it's pretty clear Amity is already crushing by Adventure in the Elements and probably started getting her feelings in Lost in Language, it's because Luz is honest with her, open and free in ways that Amity wishes she could be or wishes her family was with her. It's classic opposites attract. It also helps that early on in the show, her family seems to have transactional love while Luz seems to not require people to prove their worth to her. With Luz, she knows she's always got her heart in the right place, will make up for what she's done and Amity doesn't have to fear what Luz is thinking because if she were to ask Luz, Luz would tell her. Hell, that last part is literally what Eclipse Lake is about. Luz's openness and honesty.

Aaaaand then S2B starts with Luz keeping secrets and lying to Amity. She also steadily becomes less of a weirdo, over the entire show honestly, and more just this troublemaker who seems to mostly do things just for herself. Who can easily be manipulated through the fact that she's selfish, such as with Philip and with Eda's mother. She very easily starts ignoring other's problems because of her own, like in Reaching Out, even as she'll claim she's focusing on you but all of her actions are the exact opposite. This is how we get "I don't want to distract you," while she is willing to distract Emira while healing Amity or joins the tournament because she finds Amity being in underground witch fights that could potentially severely injure her, on a day when Luz is thinking about death and loss, as BORING. Also, instead of Amity not having to ever prove herself to Luz, to not have to worry if Luz is going to stop trusting and believing her, Luz CONSTANTLY isn't trusting or believing of Amity and so Amity keeps having to try harder and harder to make Luz happy. To manage her emotions when, you know... That is kind of the exact opposite of why Amity was probably attracted to Luz. Did she understand she'd have to save Luz from herself? Sure but not because Luz would literally lie to everyone and shirk responsibility. She expected it to be because she accepted jumping Dead Man's Gorge so one of her reading kids would stop being picked on.

So yeah, why does Amity still like Luz? I genuinely expected them to break up in Reaching Out because of this. Because Luz showed that when she's miserable, she is NOTHING like what Amity saw her as and trauma and pain is not an excuse to be a terrible person. I would have still liked them to get back together but like... Otherwise, the show ends up saying that it's okay to lie to your partner so long as you have an excuse. That is abhorrent.

(Smart, Cool, Classy)

But on the flip side of things, what about Luz? Well, we get less overt declarations from Luz than we get from Amity. By what is stated... Well, "Cotton Candy Haired Goddess" and "You're smart, classy and cool," are really all we get and that's from Knock Knock Knocking. Smart is good, cool is fine, classy is okay too but they're very vague and the one emphasized, especially over and over, is how pretty and popular Amity is. Even back in Adventure in the Elements, where the show seems to want to be when they both catch feelings proper but Luz is a dense brick, those are the traits she focuses on. How strong, cool, pretty and popular Amity is. Luz's focus seems to commonly be on very superficial elements of Amity and with her misconceptions of Amity as the series goes on, it's easy to assume these never change.

If we try to go into Luz's character though like I did with Amity though, it gets WORSE. Luz is supposedly someone who fears rejection and has been bullied in the past. However, she seems to have zero fears about Amity as a bully or her being cruel to her. Admittedly, we do get two in character reasons for this: One is from Lost in Language where she admits to wanting to befriend Amity as a fiction trope, which is GOD AWFUL... But somehow the next one is worse? In The First Day, she isn't talking about Amity but she talks about hoping to find a 'vulnerable upperclassman' like one talks about a romantic partner. As such, Amity's damage is not something to help her with but something that continues to check boxes for Luz.

BUT.

If we are kinder, she likes Amity because of opposites attract. Amity is more serious, in control and smart than Luz. She has confidence that Luz doesn't think she has (examples nonexistent of course with how little Luz gives a shit about anyone's opinion) and a grace to her the clumsy nerd does not. So if we go off of those, does Amity lose those?

Yes. In S3A she seems to not be able to control her two left feet. She shows herself to be a complete disaster much of the time. In Escaping Expulsion, she's called out for letting her grades slip and Amity just loses all of her edge and real personality. She'll still continue to do things, to have things grafted onto her but her priorities are always Luz and not any of the drive or the like that might have attracted Luz to her in the first place. This is how Reaching Out ends with Amity caring WAY MORE about Luz's actions and the like than anything her father does and with her really just wanting the right to tell her father fuck you than actually wanting to properly repair their relationship like she claims. The goal is Luz. Always.

"But Luz could see who Amity actually was and was attracted to that!"

I have heard this sort of argument too many times not to talk about it. Let's pretend that's actually the case. That Luz was attracted to a possibility, rather than the person in front of her. That "I can fix her," is a good and healthy mentality. Okay, what is the 'real' Amity then? Well, she's nice, kind of awkward but can then step up to be a badass when she has to be.

I also just described Willow and Luz is not attracted to Willow. She literally never shows attraction to anyone like that. We actually do get an idea for what her type is after all. Her first blush is with a tortured, brooding dickhead in the second episode. She blushes at the twins who are teasing and rowdy. She likes trouble. She does not get attracted to Viney or Willow though despite both having very similar personalities to what Amity will eventually have. So why does she choose Amity?

Because she's the most conventionally attractive. That appears to really be it. It's the only thing that A: Amity doesn't discard of herself and B: that Luz seems to care about that actually stays true to the character over time. And don't tell me that Amity got smart in other ways. She is not a tactician and her strategies are always the bluntest. To reference Escaping Expulsion again, she is the one who posits going for a full frontal assault. Hell, in Falls and Follies, she's making mistakes in her Spanish studies. We don't see much real intelligence from her after S1. S3 made sure she has no class and Knock Knock Knocking explicitly points out that Amity is not as cool as Luz thinks she is.

Why does this matter though? Well... Because chemistry matters in a romance? Because in fiction, we should be able to understand what in the world attracts these two people to each other? Going, "It's love, they don't have to explain it," is the exact same problem as "It's magic, I don't have to explain it." It's purely relying on suspension of disbelief and believing that just because something doesn't have to have an airtight explanation doesn't mean it doesn't have to still follow the rules or examples you have set. People HATE when magic suddenly does whatever the author needs it to just as much as they hate when someone goes "I love you" in a movie after two hours of not seeing a single reason these two would get together.

As such, if in your romance story you have the character development of your characters remove everything they found attractive about each other... Why are they still together? Not even just because that's a thing in the real world but just in the fiction. There's no reason for them not to just be friends now so why are they still saying "I love you," if they even want to be friends still? It makes the conclusion of your work not scan and so your romance falls apart.

And I mean... Clouds on the Horizon even explicitly makes this clear. In that episode, Amity uses Luz as a way to calm herself. Uses how she'd tackle things, her care and the trust she has in Luz to make her not worry about being trapped at home. But is that accurate to Luz? To Luz, who in that episode decided NOT to go save Amity because she wanted to small chance that she might be needed for the bigger plan in motion instead? Despite having no role there and potentially making their stealth mission harder? Or who goes on to not engage at all with Amity's family drama, even as Odalia threatens to force to break them up? Where is the care that Amity was drawing strength from? The silliness that attracted her to Luz? ANYTHING that was there all the way back when that pushed Amity to kiss Luz in that episode?

Because as far as I'm concerned, Amity's Manic Pixie Dream Girl didn't just become a real person. She turned to sludge and why would Amity want to date sludge? See you next tale.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.