#and not in a 'this is interesting and thought provoking' way

[brimstone-paladin]

Gale, Halsin, and Astarion Falling in Love with a Quiet Tav/Reader [Imagines]

{~Masterlist~}

Word Count: 4.3k

Gale

Ever since the moment Gale met you after plummeting out of a rock and face-first into the dirt he knew there was something quite special about you. An air of grace so very few held that captured him in a way he least expected among such company. Though, you were quite a timid thing. It was a wonder you'd taken the reins of this group of…interesting individuals all on your own, collecting a new strange ally around every corner and taking them under your wing like a silent guardian. At the very least that's how Karlach had described you, a light in her eyes that told him he was far from the only one to admire your quiet ways. But while it was true the other held an unspoken respect for you he imagined it wasn't quite to the extent he did.

There was this gnawing need he had every time he caught your glance to speak to you endlessly. To fill the silence you left with unending pools of knowledge and watch the subtle ways your eyes told him you were listening. Because that's just it, he always knew you were listening. Even when you would turn away, even when others would try to capture the attention he perhaps selfishly hoped to keep for his own, you were always waiting on his every word. At first he thought you were merely humoring him, after all with such dire circumstances at hand he imagined he was at least a nice bit of white noise. A way to help drown out the deeper worries that could plague the mind in such a hopeless place. And he would happily oblige if just for the chance to know that his thoughts weren't solely his own, even if they became mere whispers on wind, left to the void of time.

But then you did this thing. This horrible, shocking, wondrous thing. You dared to ask a question. And that alone would have been enough for him, to know that you were even just paying half a mind to his sometimes endless rants. But the question you asked him was far more than that. It was thoughtful, deep. It required you to have been listening to him all along, it required you to actually care about the random babblings that left his tongue.

He had been so incredibly caught off guard when the soft words left your lips, surprised to hear you speak let alone engage with him on such a level. He was hardly proud of the messy string of incoherent sounds that showed his utter astonishment, but even less so at how quickly he jumped at the opportunity to answer your thought provoking question with a wild wonder that he was sure made him look utterly insane. All wide smile and obsessive eyes, though he only knew the extent of it when he calmed down enough to notice a few weirded out stares from the others, some even tossing you a bit of concern. His face began to burn with embarrassment when he realized and he could feel it spread all the way down to his neck as his words slowly trailed off. Too much, he told himself, I'm being too much.

But then he finally looked at you- truly looked at you. And it all seemed to so suddenly fade away. Because you looked back, staring at him with such intense curiosity that he couldn't explain it away as anything else. You acknowledge him in that moment not as a passing oddity or minor entertainment, but as someone you would listen to until the earth turned to ash and cinder and his voice could no longer carry him. And for the first time possibly ever he could find no words fitting what he wished so desperately to describe. A feeling that weighed heavy in his chest as he realized someone was finally hearing him, that someone was trying to truly and genuinely understand him. That you, the lent ear he was sure would forget him in a heartbeat, were instead the heart that was trying to beat in time with his, searching for the meaning in his words that would allow you to do so. And for what it's worth you didn't so much as have to try. He already sped his heart to your pace a long time ago, hoping that he could keep the illusion that you might care, entirely unknowing that the mismatch in tempo was purely his doing. That he searched for something you were already trying to give. That he was outrunning your open affection, unaware that the quiet was where you lay. He was so used to reciting poetic lines, used to professing an undying devotion and pleading until someone listened that he hardly thought to look.

But there is where he found you, eyes focused on his, goading him to continue. To him that was a deeper profession of love than any written poetry. You didn't need flowery words or recited lyrics, but instead only indulged in the sound of him, however mundane. It was something he hadn't known before, something that clung him to you tighter than you could have ever imagined, tying his soul with yours in the silent devotion he wasn't aware he so desperately craved.

Halsin

Halsin was a man of many words, but he was also one of contemplative silence if given the chance. A chance you often gave him. You were a moments reprieve from a downpour, an oasis in barren desert land, a beacon held for those lost in stormy seas. It was easy to get swept up in the winds of duty and purpose, of desperate needs and survival. But you stood firm against all that the world threw at you and somehow even managed the strength to hold others with you. A steadying hand outstretched to all who would take it. It seemed it was just what your particular band of boisterous souls needed. While their loud voices made their intentions and actions known across the chorus of others, it was a silently held belief that you were the one in control here. Even if you didn't speak much, few dared question you in the moments you did, and for good reason. You held a conviction few could parry, and a quiet understanding for others that often lowered their guard.

And he was no different, in fact he might even say he was particularly vulnerable to your strange charm. You lead with a kind heart, allowing your actions to speak for you. Even if you shied away from the evening campfire every now and again or lost your tongue in the occasional conversation you more than made up for it with an observant eye. The small things people didn't think of often didn't pass your scrutinizing gaze. You were always the first to notice a missing friend by the fire or when someone wasn't quite themselves. But instead of reassuring words or grand, inspiring spiels, he found that you showed your voice in other ways. Food left on a nearby table when a meal was missed, silent company offered when most needed. Your heart sang with your care in even the way you glanced, eyes held in a silent acknowledgement of all who stood before you.

At first he found your way of communication...difficult for him. Not because your lack of speech was hard to parse, no he actually much enjoyed seeking the meaning in your every movement. But more so that you didn't give him a way to escape you. When his mind drifted to deep regrets and deeper pains he often tried to face them alone, content in how the world seemed to ignore him in the face of his strong facade and dismissive hand. He was fine, he often said, just bone-weary. But you didn't allow him a way to shoo you off because you didn't ask anything of him. Not for words, not for help, not for anything. You would sit by his side when he least believed he deserved the company and he soon found that he almost couldn't do without.

It was a painful realization at first, just how quickly he'd fallen for someone who hardly even uttered a word to him. For a time he wondered if it was his mind seeking comfort where there was none, that he was ascribing more meaning to your lingering stares and quiet worry than you had meant him to. Yet even still he found that every move you made enchanted him; how you so effortlessly guided without the complication of noise and sounds and explanations. You just understood. Always knowing when to let be and when to stand strong beside.

He didn't tell you of his affections at first, hells he hardly had the vocabulary to tell you just how you'd captivated him. How your sweet face glowing under the firelight burned him, how your soft smile and deep gaze told a story before it even left your tongue. It was a perplexing thing for him. He was a man of open affections; of words and affirmations. The lovers he took were often intense, brazen; warriors of mind and body. Ones that would meet his intense passion and explore it tenfold, ones that had very little use for quiet moments. Ones that often had very little use for him, outside of the primal affections he gave. Only natural, of course. What he was good at, they told him.

It stirred something deep within a forgotten part of his soul when that wasn't what you searched for with him. Your hands never betrayed a need when they laid a gentle comfort on his shoulder, but instead sought to soothe. You would let him speak endlessly, often pointlessly, with a smile that told him you would gladly hear more. It-...It had been a very long time since someone had taken interest in the parts of him that didn't give, the selfish parts, the ones wounded with regret and shame. As a leader he had grown accustomed to solving the issues of others, as a friend he'd become a steady shoulder to lean on, and as a lover he believed in serving the one who had managed to capture his heart, in whatever way they might need him even if that included not wanting him. It was entirely unheard of for those strategies not to work, for those expectations to not be set. Yet as time went on and you helped him rid his greatest worry without so much as a need for thanks he felt himself quite out of his element, taken by a silent force that asked for nothing in return.

It was just before you went to defeat Ketheric, when he was almost sure that the shadows would finally be dispelled and this horrid chapter in his life would be behind him, that he felt a sudden heavy weight of dread in him. He was supposed to feel relieved, but a thought had captured him completely as the end neared. Of what he would do after, of the gnawing affections for you that plagued him in a way he'd never known. For the first time in longer than he can remember he found himself with no one left to save, nothing more to do. He was free. And freedom had never felt so utterly suffocating.

He tossed and turned that night, unable to find peace enough to meditate, let alone sleep. What would become of him, with no duty to fulfill? What would become of you, his unknowing heart? You had precious little time left if that tadpole took you, that he knew. Could he bear to watch you go? Should he follow? Is that what you wanted? That last part in particular scorched through him. It was the one thing he never quite knew. What did you want from him? Did you want him at all?

When morning came he was beyond exhausted, beyond spent. Decades upon decades of planning and hoping and praying and hardly living had gone into this one moment, only to be blanketed by a love he would never have expected to find. When the mumble of waking life began to return to the camp and he finally grew tired of tossing and turning in his endless thoughts, he decided it best to distract himself with the fight ahead. To do anything to rid him of the exhausting endless wonder of what your mind kept locked away.

And when he did, moving about his routine with a groggy eye, grabbing herbs and boiling water to make his morning tea, a little something caught his eye. On his table sat a small trinket he was sure he hadn't seen before. Picking it up he has to look closely for a moment before realizing the shape of a duck carved roughly into wood, hardly a pebble in his hands, a small note attached to the bottom. Confusion knit his brow as he blinked his groggy eyes to read.

I am no expert with a whittling knife and I have little experience with your favorite fowl, but making this helped me sleep a little better and I figured you would enjoy even the poor attempt. Your smile has eluded me the past few days. I hope this might help it return.

With loving regards,

Tav

His heart could have exploded in his chest in that moment, his thumb brushing the letter with an obvious fondness. It was the most he'd ever heard of your thoughts and after growing so used to trying to deduce your meaning in the movement of your hand or the shape of your brow it was something he found himself utterly elated by. And more so that you would do so for him. That you had noticed his recent behavior was no surprise, but that you had sought to remedy it with a gift so thoughtful nearly destroyed him, tearing apart his being in the sweetest way. Your words were rare, but he knew now that it only made them more meaningful.

He swore then that there was no one he'd rather follow to the ends of the earth and beyond, that there was nothing more he wished to dedicate his life to. Because even in these dark times, filled with a strife that tore through weaker men and burdened the living with their memories, you had sought to bring him even this small peace. You had thought of him in his darkest moment, once more holding out your willing hand to pull him from the depths of shadow. You had stolen his heart before he'd ever realized and had cherished it with a kindness that made him wonder how he ever survived before you.

Astarion

Astarion was sure that he had you completely figured out after about the first week, which was already an impressive record for any of his targets- or erm, potential allies. But your quiet nature was hardly an uncommon display, especially around someone as absolutely breathtaking as he was. He was so sure that he had you exactly where he wanted you, that he knew just the right strings to pull. You were a bit of a shy one, or at least not so openly affectionate. You took his cooing words and suave attempts at your love (or at least what you would believe was love) with a warm face, a curt nod, and then a scurrying to somewhere where you thought you were free from his gaze. Adorable, really, and all too easy. He knew you shy types well and he was sure it would hardly be a moment more before you would fall helplessly for him and he could use you and your quickly growing pack of weirdos to his bidding.

Or that was the plan, at least. But then you had to go and ruin it, what with your silent grace and annoyingly sweet presence. Gods, it was almost sickening the way you wormed into his heart. For a while he believed that you possessed some stranger version of the tadpole that already squirmed in his brain and you were using it to pull at emotions he was sure weren't there. Because he most certainly didn't lay at night thinking about the soft way your eyes fell on him, no he would never. And he definitely wasn't replaying images of the small laugh he had managed to get out of you earlier. A brief sound, as soft and quiet as you were, a strange contrast to the harsh nights he'd come to dread.

No, no he…oh hells who was he kidding, you practically enraptured him. He had thought you this weak, vulnerable, pathetic thing begging to be played with, but had found that there was a depth to you he had unknowingly plunged himself into. Your quiet wasn't like the blushing of a timid lover attempting their first kiss, nor was it the awkward prolonged silence of someone too full of themselves to learn to relax a little. No, yours was an all-encompassing understanding, a calm steady force reaching out in an unending storm, reaching for him. Because despite his very open and rather obvious attempts to so thoroughly seduce you it was never his more audacious attempts that ever drew a smile. Instead it was those moments of stretching quiet that seemed to draw out a part of you rarely ever seen, not for lack of it being there but because no one dared look. But he saw that in you, in the empty air you seemed so keen to inhabit. He saw a wanting in you, subtle as a shadow firelight cast into the night. You waited in the darkness not for peace, but for reprieve from being the steadying force he'd recently come to know. He learned, more so from observing than anything you'd tell him, that you had been like this a long time. You reveled in the isolation like a wandering soul without a home, finding some strange comfort in that at least here there was no one left to break your perfect silence, no one left to pick and prod at your quiet nature and ask from you more than you were willing to give.

The thought softened him to you along with the strange ways in which you spoke without so much as parting your lips; in the recognition of your glance, in the small kindness you bestowed when you believed no one was looking. There was a vast knowing you held in those calm moments you deigned him worthy enough to share that was almost addictive. He had become so used to smooth words, quick hands, flurries of promises he knew he'd never keep, that your complete silence in the face of it all left him perplexed, curious, wanting. Where he once tried to find any way to draw a rise out of you, a word, a sound, anything, he instead found that words only served to disrupt the sanctuary you were building, that you were trying to invite him into, that he was sullying.

He felt guilt begin to creep through his chest when you had stopped leaning away from him, instead enveloping him in your small moments like it were where he always belonged. When he began to join you in your nightly rest by the river, away from the others. It had become somewhat routine for the both of you, a ritual he was annoyed with at first. After all, the place was covered in sand and he always ended up with a bug crawling on him. He only did it at first because it was the perfect place to strike, to twist your mind exhausted by the days events into what he wanted. But it had become something more, something he didn't even wish to admit to himself.

Then one night after a particularly exhausting day he didn't show up, too annoyed and tired to make that walk to the river with you. It was only one night, after all, he was sure you'd survive. You probably rather liked him gone, to be honest. He was sure he only ruined your peaceful evenings. But then most unexpectedly he heard feet approach his tent before a light knock on the wooden chair outside asked for entry. He groaned in annoyance, hoping to be left alone for the evening. But he opened his poor excuse for a door all the same.

He hadn't expected to see you, eyes as tired as his, with the most expectant stare you'd ever given. He was almost sure you looked panicked for a moment, like you had expected a much more grim sight. Yet still you said nothing, though you didn't have to. He knew what you were waiting for, he just couldn't bring himself to believe it. Instead he made some sideways comment, something akin to “if you just came to stare then you can do that in the morning”, or some other smarmy response to your unspoken request. A defense against the truth, a wall he built as if it would save him from the sickening warmth that built at the thought that you would look for him, that you had missed his presence.

He watches you hesitate, pulling away, closing him off from the comforting void he hadn't realized he was pulled toward. You look at him then with an uncertainty you'd never shown, a hand held up almost as if you were reaching out from a receding tide, hoping to find his hand doing the same. But, ever the man so keen on destroying what little good he had before anyone else could beat him to the punch, he let you fall away, carried adrift. You only give a nod to him, too quick to be sincere, before leaving without a single word. He retreated back to his tent, though even less at peace than before. A dread gnawed at him, a nauseating feeling building at the back of his throat. His mind rewound the strange look on your face over and over, searching for something that told him you were being insufferable, annoying, not worth his time. But instead he found that those words only came back around to him, biting with a quickness. For a time he tried to ignore it, the petty feelings were beneath him.

But gods how that look in your eye made his undead heart sink to his stomach. There was an expectation there, a promise written in the silence that he had broken. You weren't just hurt by his lack of company, but betrayed. Like he had told you a million insults between a harsh glance and unassuming words. Eventually he couldn't bear it, guilt already warm in his chest and now spreading thickly on his tongue. As bad of an idea as he knew it was he finally leaves his tent, taking the walk down to the river where he knew he'd find you.

And there you sat, tucked into yourself with those harrowing eyes he was still trying so desperately to understand. Your gaze along the water was emptier than he'd ever seen, mind anywhere but the current moment. You don't turn to him as he approaches, perhaps for the best. He imagined so much as a glance might actually kill him, given that your very presence exuded an infinitely empty void searching for something that would fill it. He imagined your eyes just might take what you sought after, and that he wasn't going to have the will left to escape. That he wouldn't want to.

He hesitates before he sits, his body moving with a careful step, afraid to ruin the quiet you had woven. But all the same he finds a spot next to you. For a moment he feels unwelcome, unwanted, like the first night he had taken this spot beside you. A familiar emptiness that would have once been a hurdle to jump over now a wave of regret and self-loathing. He found that words seemed to die before they ever left his throat, nearly choking him. The quiet without you was daunting, familiar in a way he never wished to recapture. The memory of cold endless nights, of complete utter isolation and dead silence.

But then he feels a soft weight, one that sends a crashing wave of comfortable warmth through him, that dispels the crawling memories like a balm against his lost soul. And when he turns, eyes gazing at the sight, he finds your head lying gently against his shoulder. He does not feel a craving to your presence, a desperation for closeness or a trick to lull his defenses. He instead feels as if a careful trust rests gently against him, no further request given, no way to turn this any further in his favor. Just a comfortable, careful touch, one that suddenly weighs heavier when he notices your tired eyes shutting lightly and hears the agonizingly slow sigh that leaves you. You lay against him like he was the only relief you'd ever known. And slowly, surely, the thought whispers in his mind that the feeling is all but one-sided, all but yours alone to carry. He fails the fight against himself when he finds his head lying gently on yours, tense at first. But you don't pull away, instead only melting against him further as if to mimic his feelings back at him, to show him trust when you couldn't bring yourself to speak the words.

And he, against every bit of his growing anxieties, crumbles under the pressure of your silent promises, your unspoken care, your perfect peace. Despite knowing he was just making things that much more complicated, he couldn't bring himself to regret the moment of weakness. Not when the void of your unspoken words seems to steal his thoughts into your own in a way that tells him you never plan to leave.

[fourorchid]

imagine a professor!viktor grad school au where you’re a student of his at the academy this semester

its a sunday afternoon, you open your inbox clicking on an email, the subject reads “weekend seminar: the magic of physics and its applications”

it was this evening, a lecture being held by viktor himself

“open to all interested.”

your curiosity was piqued, you take a moment to consider it, always a bit shy when it came to your professor for some reason

maybe it was his accolades

maybe it was the way he could tease almost anyone out at a glance

maybe it was his striking looks coupled with something more enigmatic

or maybe it was the tension you both were forced to pretend didn’t exist

I can just slip in and out the back—he probably won’t even see me

you arrive, intentionally showing up a few minutes past the start time to slink in with the crowd. the sound of you pushing the door open echoes throughout the lecture hall

and its completely empty—save for viktor himself, shuffling through notes on the podium, now looking up at the sound of your entrance

“you are late, miss y/n” a small smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth, not missing the irony

“sorry, was I interrupting?” the teasing remark flies out before you can stop it. you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, a nervous habit

“no, not at all” he chuckles

his eyes flit over your expression—you always seem to catch him off guard

he found it refreshing

“in fact, you appear to be my only audience member this evening.”

so much for going unnoticed

despite the one-on-one setting, viktor doesn't miss a beat, delivering his material in the same manner as usual. his eyes settle momentarily on the front row where you sat, pen skittering across the page of your notebook

you loosen up a bit, falling into the smooth cadence of his voice—but your focus wanes every time his gaze finds yours, checking your comprehension

you start to feel warmer

you reach to your bag for a clip and begin pulling your hair up from your neck to cool off

and viktor’s flow catches in his throat for just a second

you think maybe you had imagined it

he continues

“then you find yourself at a standstill, this mechanism will eventually become too unstable for longterm use—so, how might one rectify the situation?”

viktor turns to address the room, scanning the empty seats with a touch of humor before landing on you

something about it felt entirely too intimate

you pause, allowing the pulse thumping in your ears to steady

“…maybe start by pushing further? test the stabilizer to find its limits,” you suggest,

“see how far it can go before it breaks.”

viktor shrugs, considering your approach

“what about potential risk? you gain valuable information, of course, but could ruin the entire mechanism in the process, no?”

the gleam in his eye told you he didn’t disagree—just wanted to see if you’d take the challenge

you swallow

“well, I guess there’s no reward without some risk, right professor?”

your words hang in the air alongside something more charged, waiting to be acknowledged

viktor stares into you with a look you can’t quite decipher; examining, but with a hint of amusement at the center

“mm, speaking to my spirit, miss y/n?” he smiles, almost playful

you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding

“I suppose it would be hypocritical of me to argue with that.” he adds

the tension subsides but is too stubborn to fully leave, you do your best to ignore it

the rest of the lecture goes by in a blur, you could only take so much one-on-one time with viktor before your focus shifted towards other things.

like how his hands carefully wrapped around the edge of his cane

or how his voice sounded both soothing and provoking at the same time

or how his posture always seemed to refuse to face anywhere but towards you

“I believe that would conclude our seminar for the evening” viktor clasps his hands together gently, breaking you from thought, “any questions?”

you shake your head politely, viktor nods back with a soft smile

“in that case, class is dismissed.”

you begin packing up your notes, viktor does the same

“thank you for joining me, miss y/n” you look up as he speaks, formal but sincere

“thank you for having me, professor”

“it was my pleasure,” he holds your stare, “and please—you may call me viktor”

you nod, turning away before he could notice the flush making its way up your neck

you stand from your seat, sliding your bag onto your shoulder as you reached the door

“have a good night, viktor”

truthfully, you don’t know what possessed you to practically purr his name like that as you left—but neither one of you seemed to mind

“mm, and you as well, miss y/n”

[dravencore]

on that sexual abuse subtext post you mentioned trigun and now I'm just kind of curious bc I never really got that while watching it?

I'm tired and might add to this more later, but trigun (and especially trimax) has HUGE themes of exploitation and loss of bodily autonomy that lends itself really easily to SA subtext and metaphors. Imagery evoking SA is often used allegorically to reinforce these themes (fifth moon, etc.)

Also it's very easy to read everything about what happened to Tesla and how to trauma of it impacted Vash and Knives through the lens of CSA and how that fundamentally changes how you perceive the world and the people in it

And related to the above, in trimax Legato is literally a victim of CSA which is why he's Like That. In that case it very explicitly crosses the line from metaphor/allegory/subtext into like... Actual Text

[lesbianbucktommy]

genuinely interesting phenomenon - TO ME - watching multiple people on multiple platforms make posts about lou being attention seeking for posting on social media when posting for attention and engagement is pretty standard on a show day for a show a person is working on.

[dragomfry]

Discussion on Doumeki’s Current Treatment of Yashiro

(And what it means for the story’s mature themes + Tangent on Romance and BL as genres and how I interpret Saezuru)

This continues the conversation from @nanayashi-agenda’s reply. Thank you for replying, you’ve given me lots to think about. It seems my views on Doumeki’s treatment of Yashiro are similar to yours. Speaking to all: I’m always open to hearing the diverse opinions of others and broadening my own views, so please, keep giving your honest thoughts on the story and what it means to you. I think it’s wonderful that we can interpret this story in a multitude of ways; it’s what makes the story so compelling to me.

Disclaimer: I’m going to be very harsh on Doumeki in this post. In no way am I trying to take away from anyone’s enjoyment of the story, and if you interpret it differently than me, that’s cool! I’m just giving my opinions in this post, and we can agree or disagree. Please, if you’re sensitive to a harsh look at Doumeki’s actions or your reading of the story is more idealistic, I kindly suggest you move past this post. But if you’re open to a critical reading of Doumeki’s actions, this post has a ton of thoughts that I hope are interesting.

Just to be clear, I believe he’s a very well-written character, and I still like him. But he is very flawed, just like other characters. Even though I understand his actions, I don’t believe they are the most moral. Basically, this post analyzes and aims to understand the complicated why and how of Doumeki’s actions, and I give my opinions on them while being as understanding as possible.

TW for themes of sexual violence and abuse

Full disclosure: I am of the opinion that the first time they *made love was non-consensual and almost every sexual act Doumeki has made on Yashiro after the timeskip has been dub-con at best… and rape at worst.

I mentioned this before, but I think Yoneda-sensei is the only writer that can make me acknowledge the apparent toxicity of the relationship yet still have me actively wanting the characters to get married. Never before have I encountered a romance that is hindered by such realistic, unavoidable barriers and misunderstandings that it makes complete sense for both partners to act and feel in the controversial ways they do; therefore, the drama never feels unnecessary or gratuitous for the sake of the audience. Based on my interpretation, the slow burn and controversial drama exists because anything else to advance their relationship would be antithetical to their characters. And all while we understand the complex reasons for their actions, it seems Yoneda-sensei never attempts to romanticize the toxic behaviors, either. If there are any other stories or authors that do this, I wouldn’t mind some recommendations…

Sorry for the slightly related tangent in the next 4 paragraphs within the lines. You can just skip those if you want to jump right away into the topic of discussion. My thoughts overwhelm me a lot, too…

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Ig there is quite a bit of context as to why I asked for your thoughts on this topic in the first place. This tangent is related to my general views about how I interpret Saezuru as a whole and what that means for this topic.

Let’s just say I was not all that interested in romance as a genre. I have nothing against romance (and I should probably read more of it to get a better idea on the genre as a whole), it’s just that I’ve always associated it with contemporary issues, not much conflict, and a predictable structure that typically ends happily with a stereotypically heterosexual couple getting together, which doesn’t interest me too much. Why read a romance when you already know how it ends? Rhetorical question, it’s the journey, but I like many of my journeys to have substantial bumps in it and at least some food for thought, yknow? Anyways, I didn’t think BL would interest me at all for a similar reason. Furthermore, I’ve heard many negative traits about the genre. That it romanticizes abuse, depicts gay people unrealistically, and is just gay porn with no substance. Also I heard rape was such a common backstory trope that it became banal… which is just awful to me, especially with how it mostly isn’t given the same sensitive treatment as I believe it is in Saezuru. Rape should never just be something to add to a story for worthless drama. With all this, it’s almost like BL would be anathema to me… until I found one that surprised me with its themes (which I’ll write a review for), and then found Saezuru. Saezuru is just different from the others (I sounded like Doumeki there, huh), and I believe it’s an anomaly in terms of the romance department and storytelling generally. I could quite literally talk about this series for hours and not get bored. Apologies, my blog is basically all those random thoughts… tl;dr: Saezuru seems to defy its genre conventions, critique them, or give a nuanced perspective on them, where others have failed to do so, which makes the story infinitely more interesting to me.

In terms of ���ships,” I personally cannot ship anything unless there is substantial evidence in the canon to suggest the couple can exist realistically. Also, I try to look at characters as objectively as possible. I try to understand the characters for what they’re written as, not as my own interpretation or to reduce them to just a ship. This is why it’s so hard for me to read fan fiction. I can’t read or mentally accept stories of the characters when they don’t act like themselves.

So anyways, these views are why I can’t help but be critical of Doumeki’s actions and words towards Yashiro. I feel, in being able to view Doumeki as a sex offender and Yashiro as a victim, I can derive a more meaningful interpretation of Saezuru’s story and not have rose-tinted glasses when I pair the two together. I suppose we’ll have to see what Yoneda-sensei has in store for the ending to see if she really aligns with my interpretation of the story’s themes, but judging by how she’s managed to so delicately handle many of the controversial themes she presents (and how she clearly cares about her characters, how she handles rape, and how she wants to deliver a satisfying end to the story), I have reason to believe she could pull it off. I am cautiously optimistic.

Jeez I went overboard

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After having binged all of Saezuru from chapters 1-58 in like a week, my thoughts were going haywire. The main thought on my mind though, was this: Why was Doumeki treating Yashiro so callously when he loves him and treated him so gently beforehand? Turns out, this is quite the loaded question, so I broke it down into 3 parts below.

I stumbled upon this old interview and was even more confused when I considered this quote from Yoneda-sensei:

When I was thinking about whom I should pair Yashiro with, this is the kind of character that turned out.

Doumeki is a character originating from Yashiro.

It's like he started functioning because Yashiro existed.

…So the two are literally made for each other, but now Doumeki is sexually abusing Yashiro? How can that be his ideal partner? Why can’t he just let the poor guy sleep??

Well, I reason that it’s because of the super complicated tangle of emotions and effects of the upbringings of Doumeki and Yashiro that this is their situation in the story. I also think Yoneda-sensei is giving some concrete commentary on rape culture.

I believe that Doumeki’s actions are based on a large mix of what you said.

Here are the questions I’m tackling:

Why does Doumeki treat Yashiro that way?

Why won’t Doumeki abide by Yashiro’s requests to not have sex?

Why hasn’t Doumeki questioned the morality of his actions?

1.) Why does Doumeki treat Yashiro that way?

The conversation with Nanahara and Doumeki’s takeaways are still very mysterious, but it’s undeniable that it influenced his views and behaviors towards Yashiro now. Sidenote: did we get to see Doumeki’s reply to Nanahara at the end of the extra yet?

I agree with your statement here:

he thinks that "kind" and gentle treatment is what made yashiro leave. doumeki's main concern now is not letting him "run away" again. […] and by that logic, cruelty and sex are the best tool

Adding on, I think there are 2 main reasons in Doumeki’s head that he uses to justify the cruelty and sex: 1.) Doumeki does not want to hurt Yashiro again by treating him gently because Yashiro perceived that as rape (which is a belief I will tackle later), and 2.) he still believes Yashiro hasn’t changed because of Yashiro’s words and his sleeping with Inami/other men. The second reason in itself, oh my, is another entire post on how the misunderstandings in Saezuru are actually realistic and compelling and not stupid for the sake of relationship drama, but I digress.

Ch. 43 (top) and ch. 46

Because “Yashiro hasn’t changed,” he still thinks Yashiro doesn’t like serious relationships. He still thinks Yashiro will only have sex with men who are rough and don’t care about him (Inami, Kido) because that’s Yashiro’s coping mechanism. So, to not hurt Yashiro with gentleness, to prevent other men from hurting him, to be as close as possible to him, to keep him from running away, and to appeal to his coping mechanism, he uses cruelty and sex.

It’s very backwards. Hurting to prevent hurt... Similarly, being hurt to prevent hurt…

Doumeki and Yashiro’s fortes. These two are the best worst match, truly.

I didn’t even mention the slut-shaming, but I believe that lies in his jealousy, possessiveness, and hurt from being tossed away mostly.

2.) Why won’t Doumeki abide by Yashiro’s requests to not have sex?

doumeki assumes with confidence what yashiro wants and needs, and then acts on those assumptions.

Agree. It doesn’t matter what Yashiro says he wants Doumeki to do or not to do, Doumeki will act the way he does so he “helps” Yashiro realize what he “actually wants and needs” because he thinks Yashiro isn’t capable of that.

To Doumeki, he thinks Yashiro wants what he says he doesn’t want. I believe this is what he realized on the rooftop with Nana.

It always puzzled me why Doumeki didn’t take into consideration that time Yashiro told him he got raped by his stepfather in his realization of… something… after Nana told him this. In ch. 4 we are aware that Doumeki knows about how Yashiro’s stepfather raped him (“This man went through the same things as my sister”), so surely he should have considered that part of his past’s effect on his twisted perception of sex??

But now, I think my interpretation—that Doumeki is acting deliberately against what Yashiro says he doesn’t want because, on the rooftop, Doumeki concluded that that’s what Yashiro actually wants—makes sense as to why that scene isn’t considered here, when it really should have been.

Upon this false realization, he is willing to ignore Yashiro’s protests for the purpose of getting him to realize what it is he desires. He’s forcing him to admit his feelings for him, so that he can accept love. He isn’t wrong that Yashiro is in love with him and has trouble accepting Doumeki’s love and realizing his own feelings of love, but that doesn’t mean he can choose when Yashiro should accept these feelings. That is Yashiro’s choice to make.

My thoughts are the same as yours here:

there's the well-meaning read on this of course, about how doumeki simply wants to protect yashiro from "other men", make sure he doesn't seek them out by satisfying his, as always assumed, needs. and sure, i won't deny that protectiveness is part of it. i don't think it amounts to much, though. this isn't how you help someone you love. nanahara compared yashiro having sex with men to smoking, and he's right. here's the thing: forcibly taking away someone's cigarettes (or "cigarettes", you know), disregarding their personal autonomy, shaming them for their habit and making them feel like shit without addressing the underlying issues doesn't really accomplish much. yashiro starts smoking immediately after doumeki leaves in ch 57, and seeks out inami and kido "despite" his needs supposedly being satisfied for a reason after all

I also read his actions as him partly trying to protect Yashiro from other men by satisfying his sexual desires, but I don’t condone this at all. You can’t sexually abuse someone you love because you think others will. And yes it is very telling how even though Doumeki is there to take away his “cigarettes,” Yashiro still “smokes.” Even though Yashiro’s body seems to enjoy all their sexual encounters, his mind knows there’s something wrong. He knows he doesn’t want sex with Doumeki in these instances, and Doumeki should have respected that.

It’s important to point out how rape victims can still have their bodies “enjoy” the sex, but they really don’t.

We saw this theme at the very start of the story in volume 2… It’s when Yashiro gets raped by his stepfather. His body enjoyed it, but we clearly know it is NOT what he wanted. There was both blood and cum depicted in those panels for a reason… And these contradictory feelings—the crux of Yashiro’s character—cause rape victims to feel worthless and guilty when it was NEVER their fault. This is EXACTLY what Yashiro was feeling at the end of ch. 57. Doumeki needs to realize this…

What makes his actions so messy and you can argue morally gray is that there has been progress, in terms of getting Yashiro to realize things about himself. But I don’t condone his actions and argue Yashiro could definitely have realized these things without the sex. I’m sure that even if Doumeki didn’t make love with Yashiro the first time, Yashiro could still realize and eventually accept that he wanted gentle affection through non-sexual acts. In fact, he was starting to, with liking and eventually loving Doumeki when he was impotent in the first place. Yashiro is perfectly capable of realizing his true wants and needs. To think that he isn’t, is a huge flaw. To think that rape victims can’t figure out what they really want by themselves makes you infantilize them, ignore their voice, and grossly disregard their autonomy. But because Doumeki escalated to sex that first time, and now his discovery of Yashiro’s impotence with others proves to him that he did something that changed Yashiro, he keeps using this same method… believing it will cause him to change again.

This could also explain why he asks about when Yashiro became impotent in ch. 56. He wants to see if Yashiro’s impotence with other men was his doing, so he can prove that he means something to Yashiro and that his current method of using sex has caused Yashiro to change, so that his actions weren’t worthless and he can absolve his own guilt.

most of his actions after the time skip revolve not around trying to understand yashiro, but rather trying to get him to say or admit what doumeki has already assumed

Again, I agree. It’s as you said, Doumeki is self-centered and thinks he knows best, and I’ll address this flaw in my answer to the last and imo most important question.

3.) Why hasn’t Doumeki questioned the morality of his actions?

Surely his actions should remind him of his father in some fucked up way? And surely this would mean that he should realize that and stop treating Yashiro so horribly?

I believe his persistence with the way he currently treats Yashiro stems from, besides the reasons said above, this false belief that he has yet to properly confront: that it wasn’t his fault for Yashiro to consider the time they made love as rape, it was Yashiro’s fault because of his trauma. What he fails to understand is that he actually did rape Yashiro, and it was his fault.

This false belief stems from how he wants to absolve himself of guilt.

he struggles to understand other people's feelings, and sometimes doesn't seem to even consider them in the first place

Yes, it seems this character flaw has been evident ever since we first saw it with Aoi. Because he is self-centered, he can’t understand the feelings of others nor consider them, and he feels guilty when that lack of understanding results in those he loves getting hurt. He then blames himself. It’s an uncomfortably realistic flaw… It’s too hard for him to accept being the one at fault. What’s most important is how he tries to deflect this guilt from himself. With Aoi, he couldn’t understand her crush on him and ignored her, and when he found out what his father was doing, he blamed himself for ignoring her all those years and became impotent. As a result, he vowed to never be like his father to absolve his guilt. This way of absolving his guilt plays directly into how he views and treats Yashiro now.

With Yashiro, he wanted to express his love to him by having sex, but Yashiro never consented to it and was traumatized by both the non consensual aspect and the realization that he never liked cruel treatment to begin with. It broke Yashiro, and Doumeki felt horribly guilty for that. But Doumeki only considers the latter aspect and not the first. The first is too hard to accept for him. It would mean he is like his father, that all his efforts to prevent becoming like his father were for naught, that he is trash who’s barely worth living. But…

…after ch 25, after the damage is already done, but there is still hope for the answer to "am i like my father?" to be "no" (i hope i don't need to say what that question actually stands for, what doumeki actually asks in ch 32, and why it matters that yashiro takes note of it but doesn't answer one way or another).

You refer to this part of ch. 32?

I see what you mean, with not wanting to point out the question. Yes, what Doumeki implicitly asks here is the uncomfortable question, the question both of them already know the answer to. It’s the ugly truth.

“Did I rape you?”

“Yes.”

But Yashiro didn’t answer.

Both of them are willingly denying something here, and these are both of the things I believe they must accept in the end. They must accept these facts in order to truly heal and, if Yashiro wishes, develop a stable romantic relationship between them. Doumeki must come to terms with the fact that he is like his father in that way, and Yashiro must come to terms with the fact that he is a victim.

Even after these dark realizations that they can’t yet accept, this scene occurs…

They just can’t help but want the other.

God. They’re so fucked up…

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In the end, I reallyyyyyy hope we see this side of Doumeki again. I really want him to wholeheartedly apologize in the end and make up for the wrong things he did. I really want him to forgive himself enough to start properly loving Yashiro. And when Doumeki accepts this, I want Yashiro to slap the shit out of him.

*When I refer to the time they made love, I mean chapter 24/25. I use this term rather than “have sex” because it was emotionally deeper than the more clinical approach Doumeki is taking now. This article explains why I chose the term “make love” and makes the distinction between making love and having sex, while also acknowledging the two terms’ changing connotations. I used the phrase “make love” to simplify the term “emotionally connected sex” and apply the positive connotation, without disregarding the non consensual aspect of the moment.

[kallistoriae]

i hate you apolitical readings of antigone!! what a way to misread a play

[offthewall1979]

X

[asvidema]

just finished watching the last duel because i needed to try watching a medieval movie. i will say this. fuck

[physics-dirtbag]

A recent reading/writing compilation :)

[nyxi-pixie]

lawd

[rivilu]

disjointed fandom posting sorry but it just hit me that pwotr is like. the only rpg where a companion never once left my team

[caluupin]

wow they really be drip marketing a bit more than usual lol, 4.7 got clorinde, sigewinne, and sethos.

I did hear that clorinde AND sigewinne are going to show up but I didn't really expect sethos along with them.

[butthatsnotwhereminelives]

bejewelled -> i can do it with a broken heart -> clara bow is very interesting as a progression

i can still make the whole place shimmer -> 'the lights refract sequin stars off her silhouette every night', i can show you lies -> take the glory, give everything, promise to be dazzling

[good-to-drive]

Life Advice from George Harrison #8

[navree]

This is his dad in there, the first man he ever called Dad, at any rate, and even after everything, booze and jail and Bruce and death and then death again, there's never going to be a part of Jason that isn't gutted that he's dead. One night, a wraith in a red helmet slips onto the grounds of Blackgate Penitentiary to steal one specific thing.

Fandom: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics) Pairing(s): Jason Todd & Willis Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne Words: 2,822 Chapters: 1/1

[inkskinned]

i'm going to listen to the album of the artist you like even though he's not really my vibe. i'm going to read the book you suggested even though it's not a genre i usually enjoy. i'll watch the show. i will try the recipe. i will play the video game, or at least watch a deep-dive youtube explaining the really-long lore so i have some idea of what's happening. the movie you suggested is too scary for me, but - i mean, the wikipedia page is kind of interesting - look at the length of the section Controversy.

this is not a burden. i think maybe "burden" and "love" might be oppositional, the way sometimes "love" and "hate" are not opposites. a burden is a dragging. i love you because you brought me to the water, and it is the horizon of your heart. i love you because of your nervous pacing around the edges of the rabbit hole.

often you are right. some songs on that album remind me of the spark in your eyes. the book was really thought-provoking.

more i just want to understand enough that you can talk to me. that you can explain, in depth, why it matters that wheat has shallow roots. i love you, even platonically - your love of this thing leaks into me. i watch you, cautious and dancing, the shy desire for you to smear the colors of this thing into my life, too.

they are your colors, though. of course i want them here, in the marginalia of my life. you matter to me. i want them to crowd the little moments of my day. i want your fingerprints scattered throughout the rooms of my heart.

one time i spent about six months reading and researching a particular author, just so i could talk to one of my friends about him. i never got the chance. she betrayed me, broke my trust, and sided with her abusive ex-boyfriend. standing in the sodden floodplain of what she left over, some bitter part of me asked - isn't that tragic? you have all this knowledge and nothing to do with it.

but i did have all that knowledge, though. when i reach for it, i still feel it glow.