#pardon my discourse

[spop-romanticizes-abuse]

some memes for you to start this glorious day.

[momentomori24]

I don't believe liking immoral and downright evil characters says anything about you as a person, but I think acting like this definitely does.

"The HH fanbase will defend Valentinoto the moon and back" this and "Val is praised by a majority of the fandom" that, except said majority of the fandom fucking HATES that moth and fans have been harassed, had their art scribbled on to "fix" it, repeatedly called "rapist apologists" and "abuse romanticisers", get questioned or accused about condoning him irl, received graphic death/rape threats and are in general mistreated by the fandom. A Val cosplayer was mistreated and had a gun pulled on them IN REAL LIFE not even a year ago. Even the VA got repeatedly asked or assumed to be like the character he plays because "why else would he want to voice a rapist??" and told they deserve for choosing that role (fucking WILD btw). People that like Valentino as a character are the minority of the fandom, and even there NO ONE defends him. We all realise he's a disgusting individual whose actions shouldn't be defended in any capacity. What kinda bullshit lie is that?

I'm also in the Mouthwashing fandom, and it too has a bunch of issues. Infantilising Curly and minimising his actions, making Swansea to be better than he actually is and ignoring that he knew of the SA, people still debating or not realising that Jimmy raped Anya in the first place, shipping Jimmy and Curly (which isn't even a bad thing or a real problem but this person would see it that way), ect. But sure, conveniently don't bring that up. Anything for the Hazbin Hotel hate, right 💀

These next comments especially piss me off (nevermind how they're talking about an abuse survivor which is gross already). This might be a hot take and I don't care if that's the case, but I think people refusing to call Jimmy by name and excluding him from the cast is not show of a "good" fandom, actually. Jimmy has a lot more to him besides being a rapist. Rape culture, toxic masculinity, capitalistic exploitation, misogyny, male dominance-- there's sooo much more to explore and discuss about his character besides him being a rapist. And he's an incredibly disturbing character in a fucking horror game. If you can only refer to him by some stupid nickname (which takes away the seriousness of his character imo), ignore the significance of his role and themes in the story and the rest of his character and reduce him to a single trait that's BAD. That's not a good thing, and in fact, probably makes you worse than the people that do like his character because they can at least separate fiction and reality and not scrap well written disturbing characters for the sake of "comfort" or moral standing (again, in a horror game of all things). People shouldn't feel bad for liking Jimmy because he's a very good character, and ignoring that completely and acting like there aren't people who could like him... kinda sucks?

Moving over, Valentino is not and has NEVER been portrayed in a positive light in the show. I can't wrap my head around people that genuinely think that. Whenever I hear people say that the arguments I always see are "he shouldn't be attractive" and "he's just a cartoon villain" and "he acts silly and quirky even tho he's a rapist" among other things, and I don't think these people realise they're spouting eugenics bullshit and demonstrating that they don't know anything about his character simultaneously. No, Valentino isn't a "positive" portrayal of a rapist because he's attractive (way to tie morality to appearance btw). No, Valentino isn't a positive portrayal of a rapist because he acts goofy and funny and silly. Those traits are intentional and important to his character. Val is the Overlord of lust and depravity, hell's most famous pimp. His beauty is how he lures in unsuspecting sinners, and his personality is how he gains their trust and gets them to sell their souls for him to exploit (notice how Angel signed his soul away willingly). He's supposed to be appealing. He's supposed to be charming. He's entire persona is meant to be disarming. If he were like Jimmy or just a one-note unlikeable guy, his position in the show and his relationships with the characters wouldn't make sense, so he isn't. That doesn't make him a more positive portrayal or anything, it just means he's more fleshed out and written more complex than you want him to be. He's a very real depiction of an abuser, of their two-faced nature and how being attractive and charming to others doesn't make you less of an abusive monster to someone else. For context, I have been abused by someone extremely similar to Val, so his depiction feels very real to me and it's extremely tiring seeing a bunch of assholes who have probably not even seen the show or have been abused act like he's "romanticised" or "unrealistic" or "bad" simply because he was written by Vivziepop (who's ALSO an SA survivor like what is wrong with you 💀).

This is a broader point and not entirely related to this specific case, but we don't give people shit like this over people liking murderers and serial killers-- acting like all a sudden liking a rapist character says something negative about their writing or about the people that like them is INCREDIBLY stupid. People don't talk like this about Alastor and Vox-- who are both VERY despicable people. Both of them are also abusers among other horrible things, but they're not (or at least Alastor isn't) rapists so they're "not as bad". This is a sentiment I see all the time in both the fandom and hatedom whenever Valentino discourse comes back up, and this line of logic that rapists are a unique evil that can't be liked as characters in fiction but murderers and cannibals and serial killers are totally Ok is so dangerous and backwards. Liking evil characters says nothing about you as a person aside from the fact that you're a freak in the fun way. Liking evil characters but then going after others who do as well because you consider their character "too evil" and watering down the crimes of yours to justify liking them says a lot about you tho. Saying that the characters you like says something negative you in general does too.

We seriously need to stop bringing morality into fiction and saying that "normal" people wouldn't like certain immoral characters. We need to stop ostracising people for their "problematic" ships, proudly brag about ostracising them and justify it by calling them "weirdos". We need to stop saying villains are "badly written" because they're not written how YOU want them to be written, regardless of whether or not that opinion is valid (which in this case it isn't). We need to stop putting fandoms in some weird competition with each other about how characters are written and spit on people who actually enjoy them, are comforted by them or felt seen by them (gestures at the whole Angel dust situation barely a week ago). And honestly we need to stop giving attention to people like this, who spread a false narrative and kick others down for being fans of a media they don't like or know squat about for whatever reason. Who spread lies about the media or fandom in question in way that's blatantly in bad faith.

This crappy post is sitting a 17k while I'm typing this. The way people can just say ANYTHING about Hazbin Hotel and its fandom-- doesn't matter if it's valid or true or if they watched the show or know anything about the fandom at all, it just has to be negative-- and others will eat it up no questions asked needs to be studied at this point. We saw that in the months the show first aired. We saw that with the Angel Dust video. We're seeing this again here. I don't think we should be harassing anybody over fiction and in general (and needless to say don't harass any of these people) but calling out bad actors who pull shit like this more often and making it uncool to shittalk Hazbin Hotel and its fandom (and any fandom from unapologetically dark media where the people deal with enough bullshit already) for no reason and in bad faith is a change I'd be down with. Like, wash your mouth of its name and disappear into the shadow realm, goddamnit.

[silly-yansim-enjoyer]

Why.

Disclaimer: I don't watched that Video yet, because I just found out about this literally last night, and it seems like that video was taken down by Youtube already. Edit: I watched one of the reupload video already, you can find it on Tumblr or youtube, but it might be taken down again in the future, who knows.

Also this post is based from the perspective of a dissapointed fan who enjoyed the "lore" and waited the game to be finished for so long, so this post might be a little biased, but just because this post mostly about my ramblings about Yanderedev, doesn't mean I will discredit or disrespect the victim.

Why would Yanderedev do this. He is literally a step closer to finishing the game. He almost finished all his crowdfunding checklist, isn't he? Too bad the checklist isn't up on Trello anymore. Did he didn't want Yandere Simulator finished? Did he...aahh, Nevermind, I shouldn't talk about that.

But here we go. He just...casually talking about sexual stuff to a minor. And he talk about s**ualizing minor, in a voice message with a minor. And that kind of conversation happens for months. If that isn't grooming, Idk what it is.

As one of many minor fan of Yandere Simulator, this time, I feel really dissapointed. I know he had done maaany bad things, and shares the worst opinions ever back then. He had many room and chances to grow into a better person, but he didn't. Idc who flirted first. As an adult, it's his duty to ended that kind of conversation.

Yet he didn't. He kept going on, and manipulated the minor as if they are in a relationship, and it's disgusting. His actions didn't just harmed Himself and the victim, it's also harmed the dedicated volunteers and fans of Yandere Simulator. Many volunteers leaving, including the voice actors who bring many lives into the Yandere Simulator Characters. And I heard they asked Yanderedev to remove their assets. If all of their assets are removed, this means Yandere Simulator will turn into a blank, dull state and this means a big regression for the development of Yandere Simulator.

And all of that could be prevented, if he just...become a decent man who knows borders, and not some pathetic virgin who want to have sex with 'young' (nah more like underage) woman with big br**sts.

This event really impacts me, as Yandere Simulator is my comfort game, I simply really love to think about lore of that game, the theories, etc, although I'm aware of bad things Yandev done before, I still really dissapointed that he do that kind of thing recently.

And also, this like a storm, like imagined you just built a whole new blog dedicated to a game, then it's creator suddenly exposed as an actual predator. Sigh, honestly, I don't think I will be able to leave my blog just like that.

I think I will still continue playing the game (though it's still isn't updated since August 🤣) and make posts here about it, but I will continue with my stance to not supporting Yanderedev.

[citizenmoe]

a demon shuffles out of a dark corner as i’m walking back across campus at night. I stop and it asks me a question in a lilting voice:

“would you rather be stuck on queer discourse tiktok—“

i shudder at the thought

“—or dsmp lore discourse twitter”

it smiles something twisted as i blink at it owlishly, my worst fears realized.

“just fucking kill me man” i respond

“i know right??? the internet should explode” the demon replies, voice full of mirth

“anyways thank you for responding to the US census report! see you next year!!!”

the demon vanishes and i keep walking back to my dorm. i think about maybe deleting all social media and throwing my phone in a lake but deep down i know i am stuck here just like everyone else

[writerbri-archive]

Are you talking about the slash (/) indicator that denotes ROMANTIC AND/OR SEXUAL? Do you actually know that? Or you simply think the slash indicator is only about romance? It's not even about defending the fic. AGAIN if it's tag with the correct rating EXPLICIT for heavy sexual themes or violent or heavy topics, slash for the pair involved ROMANTICALLY/SEXUALLY and trigger warnings in the tag, or you assume that sexual things is always lead/about romance.

Sweetheart you are willfully misunderstanding me and honestly I’m past it.

The author has the fic under the pairing tag. They admit in the same tags that it is not a b/e fic. I’m not paraphrasing. The specific tag they use is “not a b/ddie story” yet they use the character/character tag. Once again, make that make sense. In their author’s note, they admit that they only tagged it as character/character because there is a noncon scene between those characters.

It is very clear that you see this situation much differently than how I see it. You aren’t going to convince me otherwise, and I honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about convincing you.

I did not go to the author and tell them how to write or tag their fics. I did not tell anyone else that they need to do what I am doing. I made an untagged post saying that anyone who supports or defends the fic needs to be far away from me, because I do not want those people around me.

Whether you like it or not, I am allowed to express my thoughts and opinions on my blog, every bit as much as that author is allowed to post that fic under whatever tags they want. Do I think it’s wrong? Yes. Does that suddenly give me ultimate power and control over how people tag their fics? No. Do you get to control what I say on my blog? Also no.

You know what you CAN control? That block button. I invite you to use it.

Now, I have had a very difficult day/week/month and I personally no longer want to be involved in any sort of interaction with you. As stated above, we are clearly not going to agree on this matter. I think it is probably best that we go our separate ways.

Have a good life. 💙

[midsummerknife]

id be so intrigued to know which lyrics were pointed at us. lyric analysis flies right over my silly head lol

the entirety of dear reader

"talk your talk and go viral, i just need this love spiral, get it off your chest, get it off my desk," most of lavender haze is really like fuck you i don't even see this bullshit, positive negative from hater or from a fan, im in my lavender haze, stop fantasizing about my wedding and future children fuck you get it off my goddamn desk asjlgl;dskjg

"it must be exhausting always rooting for the antihero" (i can't explain this well because i still am processing anti-hero as a whole lol but literally all of antihero can be pointed towards us to be honest, it's as much about self-loathing as it is about loathing the Bigger Than Life version of herself she allowed herself to be created into in our eyes, taking responsibility for the parasocial relationships but acknowledging that it's gone far beyond the scope of anything she can control ever again) one day i'll watch as youre leaving cause you got tired of my scheming for the last time....... the funeral scene in the antihero music video where she alludes to her greedy "kids" being us by putting in the 'there are no secret hidden messages' joke

there's a lot tbh and i can try to make a coherent post or edit but the edible i ate awhile ago is kicking in so i fear you've lost me for now my friend 🖤

[blueskyheadleft010]

I really hate the Terra Raid system in Pokémon SV.

There’s a lot of questionable things about how it works (like why the heck there’s a tiny pokeball just sitting in the middle of the battlefield in the raid), but the coding for it is absolute garbage in 4-star and up raids.

The part that really enrages me is how the game tries to ‘balance’ (and fails miserably) the health bar of the Terra Pokémon, and even when you hit them with a super effective and powerful Terra move and it eventually breaks through the shielding, it somehow forgets? it needs to remove the shielding buff?? and so during the last critical moments of the battle it just doesn’t and you lose due to the bug.

Other times it glitches the healthbars entirely, either adding or subtracting too much damage or not adding enough, then adding health onto the Terra Pokémon when it does its Terra shielding and making a previous yellow health bar fill all the way back up to a healthy green bar with 3/4ths of it full??

Not to mention the Terra Pokémon just flat out ignoring the timer or the order of turns and deciding that it wants to remove any status buffs on it + do a move, + do another move while you’re in the battle menu trying to even command your Pokémon to do one move.

Not to mention anytime you faint the game cuts a huge chunk of time away and you have to wait through a 5-10 second countdown to spawn back in while the Terra timer is still fucking counting down. (The npcs Pokémon also do not start any attacks during said respawn countdown and remain in their idle animation cycles)

The game can also randomly decide what damage your attack actually does to the Terra Pokémon, instead of following the freaking attack power number like a normal battle does, so for example moves like Earthquake might do decent damage, but Earth Power (which has the same attack power and is a physical attack if I’m remembering correctly) might do double damage against a Toxic type Terra Pokémon which is utter bs.

The game can also just decide to fuck you over no matter what strategy you create (and have a lvl 100 Pokémon with a super effective Terra Type against the Raid Terra Pokémon type, which why tf do you have to bring a lvl 100 to a five star raid battle is beyond me) and you’re just outta luck for catching/defeating that Pokémon.

I feel like I’m going crazy, but it can’t just be me that struggles with the insane gameplay rules the Terra Raid battles have. I’m not like an IV/EV trainer, but like isn’t-? isn’t this game meant for kids to be able to play?? Why is it that if you wanna unlock the six star raids you gotta go through the janky gameplay to get there?

Sometimes it’s super easy too, like I end up having my moves do a ton of massive damage to the point the game doesn’t even pretend it can bs me with the Terra shielding, so it gives me double damage in a five star raid and it’s over in like two mins.

All in all, I hate the core mechanics of Terra Raiding. It’s just Gamefreak’s way to force the game to have more padded runtime and that makes me really aggravated because I’d rather do something like challenge a Battle Tower or participate in a Pokémon contest if I wanted to kill time. Terra raids are just a massive long game of chance and luck and it fucking sucks. D:<

(Also bring back the ability to go inside random strangers houses. The flat restaurant and gift shop doors just scream iOS app game and I hate it. There’s like, wayyyy too many food stalls and it’s all dumb and flat and BORING.)

[revasserium]

death before decaf

opla!zoro; 10,414 words; coffee shop/college!au, vague enemies to lovers, fencer!zoro, sports medicine!major reader, slightly ooc zoro (he's a bit more talkative), fluff and flirting, bff!robin, zoro makes the first move, zoro calling reader "princess", mutual pining, both reader and zoro are dumbasses, making out in locker rooms

summary: sanji and nami bet on how long it'll take you and zoro to finally crack over your caffeine-related discourse; or -- that one coffee!shop zoro au that literally no one asked for.

a/n: i keep on saying "this is the longest fic i've written to date" but this really is the longest fic i've written to date. and no, this will not be the only time zoro calls reader "princess" in one of my fics. trust.

one.

“How long did you say?”

“Two weeks, max.”

“Nah… you think?”

“Probably closer to a week. Week and a half.”

Sanji stubs out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe before tossing the smoking nub into the bin, casting Nami a disbelieving look.

“They’ve been going on like this for like three months… and you think they’re gonna crack in the next week and a half? Nah, fam — I call bullshit.”

Nami shrugs, smirking, “Your funeral.”

Sanji scoffs as Nami pushes through the swinging double doors into the main body of the cafe, hitching a smile onto her face as she greets the customers already lined up in front of the counter.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mutters to himself, dusting his hands off on his apron before pushing in after her, putting on his best customer-service smile.

“Mornin’ folks! Welcome to the Straw Hats Cafe, where the coffee’s hot but the people are hotter — what can I get started for you, sweetheart?” he grins as he shoots you a wink and you flash him your best Colgate smile.

“Can I get a decaf latte with —”

“Oat milk, two pumps of caramel, and whipped cream on top? Oh — and a sprinkle of cinnamon cause you can’t have a fall latte without cinnamon, right?” Sanji finishes for you.

You nod, your cheeks flushed a bright, wind-kissed pink from the cold outside.

Behind you, a green-haired boy in a tight-fitting tee and no jacket scoffs under his breath, shaking his head.

“Yep! You know me so well,” you say, giggling and making a point to speak just a bit louder.

“Course I do, darlin’. It’s what I get paid for,” Sanji jots down your order and pushes it to the side where Nami’s already halfway done with making your drink.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite mosshead jock — lemme guess, double espresso, no sugar, no nothin’, right?” Sanji punches in the order just as Zoro makes his way up to the counter, his eyes narrowed.

“Yeah.”

Sanji grins, hiking an eyebrow, “Talkative as always, I see. Alright — that’d be —”

Zoro wordlessly slides a full punch card onto the counter and Sanji pauses.

“Ah — pardon me, I do believe that’s your free drink! You sure you wanna use it on an espresso? Maybe… you wanna try one of our seasonal specials? The maple spice latte’s one of our best —”

Zoro scoffs again, “I’m good. I like my coffee real, thanks.”

Down passed the pastries, you roll your eyes, making an exaggerated face as Nami hands you your drink with a grin.

“Y’know, if you guys just made out I feel like it would fix a lot of this unresolved tension,” she says, even as you nearly choke on your drink.

You’re still coughing when Zoro joins you by the finished drinks counter.

“I’d rather lose an eye than make out with someone who drinks decaf.”

Nami sighs, shooting you a meaningful look as she slides the double espresso toward Zoro.

You wipe your lips with a napkin before leveling him with a glare.

“Well I’d rather gouge my own eyes out than make out with someone who never grew out of his middle school emo-phase.”

“At least I don’t try to use sugar to fill the gaping hole in your life where a real personality should be.”

“At least I don’t make that gaping hole my entire personality.”

“Princess.”

“Edgelord.”

You turn resolutely away from Zoro and smile back at Nami and Sanji, both stealing glances at the pair of you even as they continue to handle the Monday morning rush.

“Thank you guys — I’m gonna be late for class.

Zoro tsks, taking a sip of his espresso.

“I’m gonna be late for practice.”

You huff, pivoting away from him towards the door, purposefully letting it swing shut behind you; Zoro swears as it almost makes him spill his coffee.

Back in the coffee shop, Sanji finishes another order just as Nami washes off her hands to take over at the cashier.

“One and a half weeks?” Sanji asks as he rolls up his sleeves and grabs a few metal cups for steamed milk.

“Yep,” Nami replies, shooting another look out the glass door where they can both still see your’s and Zoro’s silhouettes as you head towards the university campus, “Just about.”

“Alright then, you’re on.”

Nami’s smirk only grows, “Like I said — your funeral.”

two.

You’re fuming all the way to your first morning class — Bio-Organic Chemistry — that you don’t notice your friend Robin until she’s standing right next to you.

“Are you mad at your fencer-boy again?”

You roll your eyes, huffing out a breath, “He’s not my fencer-boy, and no. I’m not mad.”

Robin grins, “Your tone says different.”

You cast her a reproachful look, “I just… bumped into him at the coffee shop again.”

“Ah,” Robin says, her voice saturated with understanding.

You groan, “He just… pisses me off so much! Like, why’s he care how much sugar I put in my drinks or if I drink decaf? He’s just a muscle-head loser who thinks drinking espresso shots makes him somehow more manly or something. Ugh.”

Robin’s grin is amused when you turn to chance her a glance.

“Then… why do you care how he takes his coffee?” Her question is light, but you’ve known her for long enough to know when she’s teasing.

“I didn’t! At least… not until he made fun of my drink first. I mean, who does that anymore? We’re in college! Like, grow up!”

“Mm,” Robin hums, schooling her expression into one of careful consideration and marked compassion, “and of course, you’re just engaging in his… childish antics because he started it first, right?”

You sigh, cupping your very sugary latte between your palms as you both duck into the main lecture building, teaming with students shedding scarves and jackets, shaking off the late autumn chill.

“I know, I know it’s stupid but… he just… pisses me off so much!”

Robin chuckles, her smile distinctly sphinx-like as you press your lips into a pout.

“Well, we can talk about it after morning lecture, hm?”

You sigh and nod, waving her off as she heads down the hallway towards her Ancient Worlds class and you head upstairs for the sciences.

You spend the whole lecture in a mood and by the time you’re excused, your temples have started to throb.

But true to her word, you find Robin waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs, a thick leather-bound book clutched to her chest. You give her a questioning look.

“Just some light reading,” she says. You roll your eyes.

“Just say you’re a gigantic nerd and go.”

At this Robin laughs, falling into step next to you as you both start to make your way towards the dining commons.

“Have I ever denied that I was?”

You let out a noncommittal grunt.

Luckily, the commons isn‘t as crowded as it usually is and you both quickly find a seat.

“So,” Robin says as she slides into the seat next to you, propping up her chin on the heel of her hand. There’s a low, lilting tone to her voice that tells you there’s no getting out of it this time.

You sigh again, pursing your lips, staring down at your açaí bowl.

“So what?”

“Tell me about him.”

You scoff, “Not really much to tell — he’s… one of the fencers on the national team. So obviously, he’s got his own head shoved so far up his ass he can probably watch his own lunch dige—“

“So he’s quite good at fencing then.” Robin keeps her voice neutral, taking a contemplative bite of a banana.

“I guess — I mean we’re the top feeder school for the Olympic team, aren’t we?” You jab your spoon into the yogurt, nearly splattering Robin’s new book. She gently tucks it into her bag and motions for you to continue.

“I dunno, there’s not much to tell after that… he’s an arrogant jock who judges people by how they take their coffee,” and at this, you shove a large spoonful of yogurt and açaí into your mouth, glaring at nothing in particular.

“Doesn’t your practical applications class look after the fencing team?”

Again, you grunt, sinking a bit further into your seat at the thought.

“Yeah, I’ve been dreading that all morning, and the class isn’t till Wednesday.”

Robin’s smile is almost too academic as she carefully finishes her banana and gets started on an egg salad sandwich.

“It can’t be that bad, can it?”

You sniff, swallowing another huge mouthful of yogurt.

“It can,” you say, grimacing, “You should see the number of times I’ve had to hold back from dislocating his shoulder on purpose.”

Robin laughs her tinkling, all-knowing laugh, “Every day, I wake up glad to be on your whitelist.”

Your lips twitch into a reluctant grin.

“I’d be nicer too if I were as tall and pretty as you are. But since I’m not one of god’s strongest soldiers, I’ve gotta find other ways of defending myself, y’know?”

“I’m not sure what you do can be called ‘self-defense’ in a court of law but…” she smiles, “You shouldn’t sell yourself short either.”

You cast her a deadpan look, “But I am short. It’s like where 90% of my rage and spite come from.”

Robin grins, “You know that’s not what I meant.”

You make a rather childish face, but a comfortable warmth spreads from the center of your chest out towards all your extremities at Robin’s words. She cocks her head and continues.

“Plus… I’ve a creeping suspicion that your fencer-boy would agree that you’re prettier than you think.”

You freeze mid-swallow on your last spoonful of yogurt, eyes wide.

“Wait — what?”

Robin sighs, looking at you as if studying a particularly interesting monolith carved with all her favorite dead languages. You sit back, crossing your arms, feeling raw beneath her inquisitive gaze.

“You can’t still think that this little… feud you two have is purely based on a difference in coffee preference, can you?”

You realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip and force yourself to stop.

“I — I don’t know how it can be anything else though…” but even to your own ears, you sound distinctly unconvinced. Robin cocks her head.

“Think about it — when we were all little kids and running around on playground, which girls would get their pigtails pulled the most?”

Your frown deepens, “But we’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a play —“

“Yes, I know. Just humor me for a moment.”

You squirm in your seat, your heart thudding erratically in your rib cage, making you feel strangely breathless.

“It was… always the girls that the boys had a crush on,” you answer, your voice growing smaller with each word as the realization seeps into your skin like sunlight. And suddenly, it's too hot. The thought that Zoro might be doing this because he likes you isn’t something that’s crossed your mind. Or rather, it isn’t a thought you’d allowed to cross your mind.

“You know, boys aren’t technically considered ‘men’ until they’re in their mid-thirties,” Robin says, conversational and satisfied to have driven the point home to you. She leans back even as you reach up to press your face into the palms of your hands.

“But…” you try to grasp for some thread of logic that might be able to refute Robin’s claim but come up empty. She’s always been too smart for her own good. And yours.

When you finally lift your head again, it’s to find Robin still watching you, an oddly indulgent smile on her lips.

“C’mon,” she says, gathering her things, “don’t want you to be late for your next lecture.”

She has the audacity to wink as you hurriedly grab your stuff as well.

“Shut up,” you say, bumping her lightly with your elbow as you walk passed her, cheeks darkening with every step. Your next lecture, you both know, is the Nutrition of Sports — which is one of the few actual classes that you and Zoro actually share.

“Have fun in class!” Robin calls as you split ways outside the dining commons. You consider flipping her off but decide against it and opt to stick out your tongue at her instead.

Robin shakes her head, laughing quietly to herself. Really, she thinks, this is just starting to get interesting.

three.

You walk into Nutrition of Sports fully prepared to see Zoro slouched in his usual seat at the back of the class — except, he’s not there. You blink; he’s always been there, always early despite what others might assume of his punctuality. And yet.

“Lookin’ for me, Princess?”

You jump as you hear Zoro’s voice behind you, dangerously close to your ear. Jerking around, you find him smirking, arms crossed as he stares at you.

“N-no.”

“Tch.” He saunters into the room, his arm barely grazing yours as he drops into his seat, leaning back with a sort of damnable, feline grace, doing nothing to hide a huge, lethargic yawn. When he makes a show of stretching his arms over his head, you pause as you notice the way he winces, favoring his left side over his right.

You narrow your eyes.

“You’d be a shit poker player,” he says, grinning as he turns his eyes back towards you, catching you staring before you flush a deep purple and stomp towards your own seat, just one row ahead of him.

You noisily start setting up your supplies — an endless parade of jelly pens and perfectly coordinated sticky notes in aesthetically pleasing colors — pretending like you hadn’t heard him.

Thankfully, the professor hurries in soon after as the rest of the students file in.

Halfway through the lecture, you’re stifling the third yawn of the hour as you feel a small, crumpled something hit the back of your neck. You jerk around to find Zoro ducking behind his arms even as you spot the small wad of paper that he’d obviously just tossed at you.

You bend down to pick it up, only to find a note scribbled in slanted, uneven handwriting —

Sugar crash? Ha. Serves you right.

You nearly whip around but the professor clicks another slide and drones on. You huff, flipping the paper over to scribble on the back —

What happened to your arm?

You surreptitiously toss the note back to him and grin to yourself as you hear him sputtering behind you. The professor glances towards you. You flash him a winning smile as you continue to jot down notes; behind you, you hear the distinct sounds of Zoro scrambling to appear as if he’s paying attention.

The rest of the lecture goes by uninterrupted, though by the end, you swear that your hackles are raised from the way Zoro’s been staring at the back of your neck the entire time.

“What?” you ask, whipping around to face him.

Zoro, for his part, has the decency to look sheepish as he clears his throat and sighs, leaning back.

“There’s nothing wrong with my arm,” he says as he looks away, a slight darkness dusting the high of his cheeks. It’s not the first time you notice the bone-chiseled features of his face — like some gorgeous, careless god, rendered by the loving hands of a besotted Renaissance artist and preserved for the world to see — the way a constellation of freckles scatter across the bridge of his nose, the way his jaw is sharp enough to sting the imagination.

“Right. Fine. Sorry I asked.” You shove your notes and pens back into your bag, rolling your eyes as you shoulder your tote, “And… you’d be a shit poker player too.”

And with that, you turn and leave the room without a single backward glance.

You’re gone so quick that you don’t see the way Zoro stares after you, his own eyes narrowed into slits. You don’t see the way he frowns as one of his teammates nudges him with an elbow, reminding him that afternoon practice starts in 15 minutes.

four.

Tuesday night finds you slumped over a stack of books on the 3rd floor of the library, your entire body feeling odd and boneless. Hundreds of tiny flashcards are scattered across the top of the desk, each filled with a system you have to memorize before your test on Friday for your O-Chem course, when suddenly, a white paper cup appears in your field of vision, plopping onto the tiny slip of table still available between all your study materials.

“Hm?” you jerk up, blinking blearily up at a vaguely familiar green-haired figure even as he crosses his arms and sighs.

“There. Some real coffee. Looked like you need it,” Zoro says, glancing away the moment your eyes come into focus.

You stare at him for a solid ten seconds before looking back down at the cheap, watered-down cup of unsweetened coffee on the table before you.

Ew, you want to say, but somehow, “Thanks,” is what comes out of your mouth.

You reach for the cup, wincing slightly as you jerk your fingers back from the scalding exterior of the thin paper cup.

Zoro immediately leans down, snatching the cup from the table to blow on the surface. You watch him with wide, wondering eyes. It takes him a second to catch himself before he blushes a deep shade of maroon and clears his throat, quickly setting the cup back down on your desk, tucking both his hands into his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you.

“It’s — careful — I mean — it’s from the vending machine downstairs so it’s not as fancy as the stuff we get from the coffee shop —”

Maybe it’s because you’re truly too tired, or maybe because Robin’s been right since day one but — you reach for the cup, carefully cradling it between your palms as you take a tentative sip and grimace at the watery, bitter aftertaste.

“Gross,” you say, though without any malice, glancing up at him. Zoro scoffs, dragging out an empty seat across from you, turning it around to straddle the chair, propping both his arms on the back as he looks at you. Your eyes once more catch on the way he’s gentler with his right side.

“What’s wrong with your arm?” you ask again, taking another tentative sip of the truly awful coffee.

Zoro grimaces, “None of your business.”

You sigh, the will to snark back rather feeble as you consider the mountain of vocab you have to memorize before your Friday test.

“Right, sure — keep your secrets,” you drone as you set the paper cup down and nudge it further away from you, “be mysterious for the next —” you check your watch, “eighteen hours before Practical Applications when you’ll have to explain to Coach Mihawk why you've been lying about an obvious injury three weeks before your next —”

“Fuck — okay.”

You pause, looking up from collecting your flash cards.

Zoro digs his fingers into his right shoulder.

“I — I think I pulled it at the tournament last week.”

Your eyebrows shoot up, “Your tournament was on Thursday.”

Zoro shifts uncomfortably, “And?”

“And it’s now Tuesday.”

Zoro doesn’t answer this time, but you have to actively fight down the urge to throw the no-longer-scalding-but-still-very-hot-coffee at his face. You tell yourself that the only thing stopping you is professionalism and sportsmanship instead of an unwillingness to damage his Michaelangelo-sculpted features.

“It’s been five days!”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to count.”

You bite back a frustrated scream as you push away from your chair and round the table to stand behind him, not giving him enough time to be bewildered before you press a palm to his right shoulder, already focused on finding the tender spots.

“Tell me where it hurts.”

You run an expert palm over the width of his shoulders, focusing on his right, fingers digging into various muscle groups until he winces.

“Ow.”

You grin as you find a tender patch to the right of his spine, almost beneath his shoulder blade.

“You strained your Rhomboid.”

“Gesundheit.”

You roll your eyes and reach over his back for the cup of coffee. You feel his breath hitch as your front presses full against his back.

“Hold still,” you say, pressing the side of the warm cup to the sore muscle.

Zoro makes a choked moaning noise that he tries to bite off, but not soon enough. It sizzles down your spine to curl at the base of your belly, spreading heat through your body in a way you have no urge to examine at this current point in time.

You hold it there for a minute, and then two, till the coffee’s gone lukewarm.

“Here,” you say, tugging the cup away to offer it to him.

He stares at the cup before glancing up at you.

“Caffeine helps with muscle soreness and pain — it’s probably why you’re so addicted to espresso all the time,” you offer by way of an explanation, even as he opens his mouth to ask. He closes his mouth and takes the coffee, downing half of it in a single gulp.

Then, he sets it down on the table before digging a crumpled packet of sugar out of his pants pocket.

“It’s… probably not as sweet as you usually like it but…” he presses it into the palm of your hand, looking anywhere but at your face, “should help the bitterness.”

And then he’s gone, slouching off towards the elevator bank, leaving you gaping after him with the packet of sugar in your hand, your rapidly cooling coffee, and a mountain of revisions you’ve got no hope of finishing tonight.

five.

Wednesday finds you practically sprinting as you reach your Practical Applications course, clutching at your chest as you burst through the gym doors, gasping for breath. Professor Kureha quirks an inquiring eyebrow at you while Mihawk, the fencing instructor, slates you a sharp, rueful glare.

“— as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” his bright hawk-yellow eyes flash back over the fencing team, “regionals are quickly approaching and we need you in top form. So — warm-ups stretches, everyone. Pair up and get to it. Zoro, up here with me.”

You duck your head and hurry towards your normal spot along the bleachers, slowing as you notice what looks like a cup of coffee from the Straw Hats Cafe occupying the place where you normally sit. You pick up the cup — it’s still hot to the touch.

On the coffee slip is a single word — Princess.

And though it’s in Sanji’s familiar coffee shop scrawl, only one person has ever called you that.

Heat crests up your chest, prickling at your cheeks. You don’t have to taste it to know that it’s your order — your favorite order. Briefly, you wonder if Sanji made Zoro recite the entire thing before agreeing to put it down, or if he’d spared Zoro the pain of having to say the word ‘decaf’ unironically.

And then you wonder if Nami teased him at all, waiting for his own drink on top of yours.

“Chop chop,” Professor Kureha says, grinning too wide as she wanders over, peering at you over her John Lennon shades, “you heard old Hawk-eyes — time to pair up.”

You hurriedly drop your bag and take a quick sip of our drink, letting out a soft groan of appreciation as the caramel-cinnamon goodness seeps into your blood vessels. Some nameless freshman hopeful from the fencing team is your partner for stretches and you patiently walk him through all the major motions, pushing on his back and laughing kindly when he can’t quite reach his toes.

You feel the faint tingle on the back of your neck that tells you someone’s staring, and you privately think that you don’t need three guesses to figure out who it is. But you don’t give Zoro the satisfaction of looking over till you help the blushing freshman finish all his stretches, giving him an encouraging pat on the shoulder, reaching up on tip-toe to ruffle his hair even though he’s got a solid four inches over you.

When finally, you glance over towards where Mihawk is putting Zoro through his paces, it’s to find him flickering through the motions — flashes of silver, lithe, fluid — and you find your breath held captive in your chest by the sight.

You’ve always known Zoro to be a graceful fencer, but grace has nothing on the way he flows from one move to the next, each muscle drawn like a bow-string, each intake of breath timed and perfect. His arms and legs move in tandem and there’s a bewitching rhythm to the way his body breaks and bends. It is beauty and strength, dance and magic — power and promise and the sword-tip’s whish of premonition.

When he finishes, you suck in a breath you hadn’t been aware you were holding.

You watch as Mihawk murmurs something to Zoro, who winces, looking chastened before Mihawk waves him away and Zoro sets down his epee, making his way over to you.

You open your mouth, about to make some snarky remark but Zoro reaches over his back with one hand and tugs his shirt off in a single, unbroken motion. You gulp, your voice failing you as your eyes settle on the strong ripple of his muscles as he tosses his shirt aside.

Zoro smirks, “Keep starin’ and I’m gonna have to start charging.”

You rip your eyes away, fire licking up the length of your torso as you reach into your bag for a roll of sports tape.

Zoro slumps down in the seat in front of you as you take stock of his sweat-slicked torso, your eyes still catching on the patch of swollen muscle beneath his shoulder blade. You reach forward and run a thumb along it, careful of the way he hisses.

“A hot-patch is only going to do so much,” you say, frowning as you drop the sports tape to focus on massaging the tender bit of skin.

Zoro groans, his eyes falling half shut as you slowly work at the various knots in his shoulders. Your fingers are slow and deliberate, applying just the right amount of pressure. And more than once, Zoro has to bite back what he’s sure would’ve been an indecent moan before it rolls out of his mouth at the way your soft palms press into the planes of his back, the tenseness of his shoulders.

“Keep moaning like that, I’m gonna have to start charging,” you say, much too close to his ear.

Zoro jerks, even as you pull back, laughing. The sound makes his skin prickle up with goosebumps and he doesn’t want to think about the myriad reasons why.

“I bought you coffee, twice,” he grumbles, cheeks pink, his mind still buzzing from the warmth of your palms.

You hum, your fingers flickering over his skin, pulling away for a second before he feels something wonderful and cool pressing against his sore, aching muscles.

“You’re right… you did buy me coffee twice. Even though the first time was horrible vending machine coffee and I used most of it as a heating pad for your injury.”

Zoro grunts, letting you manhandle him as you gently twist his right arm into an array of different stretches to test his range of mobility.

“Still counts.”

You put down his right arm to test his left. Zoro chooses not to think about the way his body tingles where your hands touch him, and especially not where you’re standing too close, your chest occasionally brushing against his shoulder. He chooses actively not to think about the way he can smell the soft, coconut milk fragrance of your lotion as you lean over him, rambling about doing the proper warm-up and cool-down exercises.

He grins as you reach over mid-sentence to finish your drink and you pause, watching him with narrowed eyes.

“What?”

He shrugs, “Nothin’… just that… seems like you liked your drink.”

Your eyes slingshot from his face to the nearly empty cup in your hands.

“I always like my —”

They widen when you realize that Zoro had in fact ordered a double shot of espresso in your usual drink instead of your normal decaf. And, that you’d been too distracted by him to notice.

“I — it — wh —”

Zoro languidly rises from his seat, grinning, “Thanks for the treatment, Princess. I owe you one — lemme buy you a coffee sometime, yeah?”

You stare after him as he makes his way across the room, back to the rest of the team for proper bouts. You force down another blush as you shove the now-empty coffee cup into the nearest trash can, your heart skidding to the rhythmic squeak of feet shuffling against the floors, the bell-like ting of epee blades, the murmur of the watching crowd.

six.

Thursday morning finds you ill-rested and grumpy as you join Robin in the quad, heading for the Straw Hats Cafe during free period.

“Trouble sleeping?” Robin asks, looking you over with mild concern.

You grunt, adjusting your bag, “Had coffee too late in the day.”

At this, Robin frowns, “But you only drink decaf.”

You grunt again, not looking at her, “Yeah, well.”

Robin blinks for a second before a knowing smile splits her lips, “Ah… so. Fencer-boy’s made his move.”

You round on her, fists clenched, “He has not! He just — he just bought me coffee!”

Robin remains infuriatingly unfazed as she stares at you, “Yes. And to most, that would constitute as ‘making a move’. And here I thought you were a fan of romance novels.”

You turn away from her, huffing even as your cheeks fill with color, “I — I am.”

“So?” she asks.

“So?” you echo, cursing yourself for sounding like a petulant child.

“So…” she continues, patient as always, “he bought you coffee.”

You crinkle your nose, your stomach a roiling mess as the pair of you make your way across the quad and duck into the cafe to Sanji’s bright, welcoming voice, your eyes scanning the queue even though you know that Zoro’s got morning practice. This does not go unnoticed by Robin, though she mercifully elects to not question you about it.

“Yes, he bought me coffee. But instead of decaf, he made it a double-shot.” You try very hard to make this sound like a personal affront, but Robin only dips her head.

“Ah,” she says again, and you feel the urge to run out of the building even as the pair of you shuffle towards the front of the line.

“Hi there, oh! I’ve got a special message for you,” Nami says as you get to the registers, her voice silken with glee as she reaches behind the counter to tug out what looks like a receipt. You glance down at the paper, confused, but she only winks as she moves to ask what Robin would like.

You inch to the side, distracted by this strange turn, your eyes dropping to the slip of paper, upon which is scribbled — Good luck on test tomorrow. Evening bout. Gym.

You stare at the cryptic message for a full minute before Robin ushers you toward the counter where Sanji is pumping out drinks, making girls blush as he winks at them each in turn.

“Ah, if it isn’t my favorite Decaf Princess — though… seems like your tastes are a-changin’ these days,” Sanji says, grinning wide as you get to the counter, pushing a steaming cup towards you. You frown at the drink — cinnamon sprinkled atop a perfectly placed dollop of whipped cream, underneath which you’re sure is your favorite drink order. You look back up at Sanji.

“A certain mosshead jock put in an advanced order for you — said to give you an extra shot of espresso for the test you’ve got tomorrow.”

You sputter as Robin laughs beside you, thanking Sanji for her own Long Black.

“You know, you could just be normal and call it an Americano,” you say as the pair of you make your way out of the cafe. Robin grins, sipping at her drink.

“I could… but where’s the fun in that?” she slates you a glance, “More importantly, are you going?”

“To what?” you ask, not meaning to sound so defensive, but you can’t help it, and even as Robin sighs, you know that it’s useless.

“To the bout,” she says, unruffled.

You hunch into your upturned collar and your thick, layered scarf, cradling your drink, the sweet scent of syrup and cinnamon wafting up to tickle your nose. You blush at the thought of Zoro’s voice, full of morning gravel, shy as he lists out all the extremities you like in your coffee order.

“Maybe. I mean… why not, right?”

Robin nods, humming as she takes another long drink, “Mhm — why not indeed.”

You nudge her; she nudges you back. You both laugh as a church bell rings out from across the quad, sending a flock of birds scattering through the misty, morning air.

seven.

Friday evening finds you pushing through the wide gym doors, pressing your hands over the skirt you’d painstakingly picked out, chewing on your bottom lip.

You silently curse at Robin for pulling out last minute, begging off to some Ancient Languages focus group.

“I bet it’s not even real…” you mutter to yourself as you slip into the front row of the bleachers, looking for an empty seat. You somehow manage to look up just as Zoro is about to go on, his mask under one arm, his blade in the other.

You raise your hand in a half wave before catching yourself and shoving it back down, scowling as Zoro’s lips pull into a lopsided grin. You drop into a seat just as Zoro tugs his helmet on and stretches his arms. You tense as you see the slight wince he twitches away as he tests the weight of his blade.

But you needn’t have worried — the bout is quick and decisive, Zoro scoring one point after another, his blade flashing through the air, bright as fish scales. And before you know it, the buzzer sounds, marking his victory. You leap to your feet, cheering with the rest of the crowd as Zoro tugs off his mask and pumps his fists.

You catch his eye and for a moment, the wild rumble of the screaming crowd fades to a dull, thumping baseline. He jerks his head towards the lockers and you nod, swallowing hard as you duck through the still-cheering crowd towards the back of the gym.

When you get there, it’s to find him methodically polishing his blade, his mask set to the side, his thick jacket pulled down to pool around his waist, the rest of his protective wear scattered in heaps on the ground around him. You have half a mind to scold him for being so careless with what you know is expensive gear but you can’t keep yourself from staring at the wide planes of back, curving up to his shoulders, the thick cords of muscle that flex up either side of his neck.

He looks up as you shuffle in, your skirt suddenly feeling a bit too short, too risque for the near-winter weather outside.

You clear your throat and cast your eyes about the empty lockers. You don’t miss the way his gaze skates up your bare legs, pausing at the place where your skirt brushes the top of your thighs.

“Uhm — how’s your shoulder?” your voice sounds too high, echoing strangely along the white-tiled walls.

Zoro licks his lips and puts down his blade, rolling his right shoulder.

“Better but… still not great. Mihawk’s making me to do PT.”

You nod, letting out a soft laugh, “I’m glad. You’d never do it otherwise.”

He scoffs, “You know what that means though, right?” There’s a raw, rolling tension beneath his words, a sort of thickened expectation as he stares at you with dark, meaningful eyes.

You purse your lips, your stomach tightening.

“I —”

Zoro gets to his feet, and you barely register the soft clatter of his blade as it rolls to the side on the bench. He closes the space between you in three quick steps and you find yourself marveling at his speed — wondering vaguely if this is how all his opponents feel when he slips forward, the tip of his blade digging into their shoulder or stomach or the bend of their hip.

“Means we’re stuck with each other. At least till you fix me for regionals in two weeks.”

Your back meets the icy chill of the locker doors and the words are out of your mouth before you can stop them —

“Bold of you to assume that you’re fixable in two weeks.”

Zoro quirks an eyebrow, even as you resist the urge to clap your hands to your mouth, cursing inwardly at whatever the hell made you say that out loud. Your heart thuds an insistent drumbeat inside your chest as Zoro leans casually against the lockers next to you. Like this, you can feel the heat of his skin, the rhythm of his long breaths as he looks you over with sharp, curious eyes.

You think you can taste the sweet, tepid weight of his breath. It smells faintly of coffee and mint and synthetically flavored protein bars.

“Then…” he drawls, propping an arm against the locker door right next to your face, his eyes flickering from your lips up to your eyes and back down again. Your gaze is unabashedly caught on the shape of his mouth, but when you finally force yourself to look up at his eyes, it’s to find them warm and amused.

“How long do you think it’ll take?”

You gulp, “To fix your shoulder?”

Zoro shrugs, “That and… whatever else you think needs to be fixed.”

You purse your lips, an entire kaleidoscope of butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.

“Who knows? Might take three weeks… might take — forever —” your words cut off as he leans in to graze his lips against yours. And you’re momentarily caught between delight and bewilderment that you’re right — they do taste of coffee and mint and salt — but that they also taste of a dull, throbbing hunger as he leans in to kiss you proper. And then, the blooming realization that you’re just as desperate as he is, pushing in, fingers scrabbling against the skin of his chest as his skim along the sides of your ribs, the dip of your waist.

He kisses you so deep and so long that you’re actually gasping when he finally pulls away to suck a stinging hickey into the smooth of your collarbone, his fingers digging grooves into your thighs as he hoists you up to press you against the cold, hard metal of the lockers.

You let out a clipped moan at the same time he does, and his right arm twitches, though he makes no move to let you go.

Distantly, your mind registers the fact that he’s still technically injured, but the part of you that’s hungry and clawing at the base of your stomach with a fierce, immutable need refuses to listen to reason. It takes more effort than it logically should’ve done to extricate yourself from his grasp, to push him away despite his disgruntled sigh as he stumbles back and stares at you with dark, dangerous eyes.

“What —”

“Fuck —” you hiss, even as you let your head fall back against the lockers, the dull thunk pulling a wolfish grin to his lips.

“Yeah, well —”

“Wait — no —”

Zoro cocks his head, “No?”

You reach forward to tug him back, to kiss him as deeply and desperately as you dare, but you pull away before he can properly sink into the kiss and you pin him with a look.

“We — your shoulder —”

“Fuck my shoulder —”

You shake your head, almost delusional with the heat and want and the insanity of it all, “No! We can’t! We — we’ve gotta take care of it first!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, “It’ll get better if we just leave it alone —”

You shake your head again, laughing as he presses back in, slower this time, grazing his knuckles along the skin of your jaw, tilting you back towards him.

“It won’t,” you say, softly, letting him run a thumb along your lips, “but… if you let me take care of it. It will heal faster…” you trail off, letting the implications simmer beneath the surface of all your unsaid words, and it only takes a second for Zoro to consider before he lowers you to the floor and starts haphazardly gathering up his things.

You drag a hand across your lips, watching him.

“So…” you feel yourself blush as you muster up the words but Zoro scoffs, already impatient as he shoves his stuff into one of the larger lockers and slams the door.

“Mine. It’s closer.”

eight.

His, is — in fact — much closer than you’d thought. Only two blocks from the campus, and in one of the most expensive dorm buildings. You wonder how much he must be paying for it before you realize that he's on a sports scholarship, but you can’t even bring yourself to be bitter as he lets you into his spacious dorm, the giant living room scattered with game consoles and opened cereal boxes, leading to a short hallway that opens into his bedroom.

It’s cleaner than you’d imagined, with a set of light green linens drawn neatly over a full-sized bed, and two sets of pillows.

“Sorry for the mess,” he says, sweeping some energy bar wrappers into the trash from his desk as he tosses down his duffle bag.

You shake your head, looking around, your eyes catching on the thick volumes of fencing books, the endless stacks of sports magazines, the huge set of free weights on a rack in the corner by the closet.

“Uh… do you want a drink?” he asks, suddenly awkward as he scratches at the back of his head.

You turn towards him with a grin, “No. But I do want you to take off your shirt.”

Zoro blinks before he smiles and moves towards the bed, tugging off his shirt and tossing it to the side. You fight the urge to roll your eyes as he leans back on the bed, his perfectly tanned stomach flexing beneath the slanted desk-light as he watches you through lazily hooded eyes.

“On your stomach,” you say, your voice light and surgical as you open your own bag and tug out a tub of medicated massage cream.

Zoro stares for a second before the smile slips off his face to be replaced by a dull, knowing scowl. Still, he doesn’t argue as he flips onto his stomach and sighs, pillowing his cheek on his arms as he pouts at the wall.

“Like I told you — we need to take care of your shoulder first. Regionals are in two weeks. We can’t have you performing like you did tonight.”

Zoro attempts a glare over his shoulder as you carefully maneuver over his back and straddle his hips, warming your palms with the massage cream before setting to work.

“I still won.”

His voice is tight and petulant. You nod, sighing as you work your thumbs into the dip beneath his shoulder blade where you know he’s still sore. He hisses, jerking away from you. You pin him in place with your free arm and continue to roll your thumb across the bundle of muscle.

Two minutes in, you press a bit harder and he lets out a pitched whine that makes you pause in your ministrations.

“F-fuck —” he buries his face in his pillow, thumping a fist against his bed as you laugh and continue the massage, though taking care to be a bit more careful around his injury.

Nearly twenty minutes later, you climb off the bed and wipe your hands. Zoro groans, shifting to watch you with half-lidded eyes and color-stained cheeks.

“I know,” you say, holding up your hands, “that really hurt but you feel much better now, right?”

Zoro grins, sleepy as he blinks slowly up at you, “Yeah. Whatever.”

And then, a long moment later —

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft, flipping onto his side and shifting on the bed as if to make room for you, “stay.”

You freeze, almost unwilling to believe your own ears as you finish putting away your supplies. You glance at him with tight lips and hopeful eyes.

There’s a tiny grin threatening the corners of his lips as he sighs, making a show of yawning and stretching.

“It’s late… and I don’t really feel like walking you back.”

You fold your arms, “I could just call campus security to escort me.”

Zoro stills for a second but a moment later, he casts his eyes up at the ceiling, “Yeah… you could…”

You make no move to leave.

“But you still owe me coffee in the morning,” he says.

You frown, “Wait, what? How’s that?”

He glances at you, “I’ve bought you coffee twice.”

“Yeah, but I just gave you a free 30-minute medical massage treatment for your shoulder.”

“You would’ve had to do it anyway on Wednesday in Practical Applications.”

You narrow your eyes, “Professor Kureha might not have assigned me to you.”

At this, Zoro scoffs, “Yeah right. You’re the best, and so am I.”

“S-she might not have!” you say, though there’s no real conviction in your voice. You both know that he’s right.

“Yeah. Whatever.” He turns away from you, making as if to go to sleep.

You glare at his back, dropping your bag with a loud thump.

“If anything, you owe me coffee now. That massage was worth at least two coffees, if not more.” You plop down on the edge of his bed, scowling at the opposite wall.

Zoro is quiet for a beat too long and you chance a glance at him, only to find him peering you with a strangely indulgent look in his eyes. You blush, tearing your eyes away.

“How’s breakfast?” he asks, his voice once again going soft. Your skin prickles with heat.

“What about breakfast?”

“Coffee and breakfast. That enough to pay for the massage?”

You can’t help the smile that threatens to break across your lips as you glance back at him and catch his eyes.

“I…. guess.”

Zoro chuckles, the sound so low in his throat that it makes you shiver. Quick as anything, he reaches over to pull you down towards him, easily looping an arm around your middle and flipping you both so that you’re pinned beneath him. You barely have time to gasp before you find his lips on yours once more, slow and sweet and shockingly steady.

You kiss him back, letting him push you gently into the crumpled linens of his bed. His fingers are light as he slowly works your skirt down your legs, reaching behind your torso to loosen your bra and tug your shirt from you in a single, smooth motion.

You shiver beneath him and he pulls back to stare. You search his eyes, feeling suddenly uncertain.

“God, you’re gorgeous…”

Heat crests into your cheeks as you try to look away. But he tugs you back with his thumb and steals another kiss.

“It’s late…” he says, pulling away to press your foreheads.

You nod, chewing on your bottom lip. “Yeah, I know…”

“Let’s sleep in tomorrow.”

You laugh, shifting as he curls his body around you, tugging you easily against his chest and pulling the covers over you both. A moment later, the lights click off and you’re both thrown into darkness. You let yourself relax into his arms, wondering just how you’re going to explain this to Robin tomorrow.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Zoro’s voice murmurs into the nape of your neck.

You grin, nodding as you press further back into him and he grazes a soft kiss along your skin.

“That kinda thinking needs breakfast and coffee first,” you say, to which Zoro chuckles, nodding as he lets you hook your ankles between his, your bodies settling against each other, warm and perfect, the curves and bends meeting like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally, finally finding each other at last.

You don’t have long enough to ponder on the light, musk-salt-sweet of his skin or the way you can feel his heartbeat as it threads along your spine or the way that somehow, the shape of him doesn’t feel foreign against the shape of you, before you’re already falling asleep. And to him, he doesn’t have time to ponder the lovely silk of your hair, just as soft as he’d always imagined, or the way your waist feels perfect beneath his hands, or how he’s somehow he’s always known the rhythm of your breaths before he too is falling into the warm embrace of a dark, sweet, restful sleep as well.

nine.

Saturday morning finds you both tangled in each other, the winter sun bright and cold as it slates through the slits of Zoro’s bedroom window. He wakes up first, shifting to stretch until he feels the weight of you beside him. And then suddenly, he's somehow achingly awake and aware of his body against yours, of your paced breaths and his own rapidly increasing heartbeat. For one bewildering moment, he can’t quite remember what brought him here, and then the scenes from the night before — the bout, the lockers, the kiss — the way you’d tasted, how utterly irresistible you’d been, blushing in the dim light of his room, your skillful fingers digging into his tender, swollen flesh — his own rash promise of breakfast and coffee — it all comes rushing back. Zoro lets out a long breath and leans in to brush his lips along your forehead.

You let out a light groan as you shift in his arms, and when you turn, it’s to find him watching you.

“Oh… hey.”

Your voice is quiet, almost shy as you bury your face in the crook of his neck, and he finds himself more endeared than he has words to say.

He clears his throat.

“Morning. Uh… sleep well?”

You laugh, the warmth of your expelled breath ghosting across his clavicle in a way that makes him shiver.

“Mhm… pretty well… and you?”

Zoro clears his throat, “Yeah. Guess it wasn’t… bad.”

He resists the urge to roll away, if only because your cheek is still pillowed on his arm, and he can’t bring himself to pull away from you just yet. So instead, he drops his nose into your hair and takes in the milky scent of your coconut lotion. Tiny, pin-pricks of desire shoot through him, teasing goosebumps into the skin of his back and arms, but he forces himself to lie still as you snuggle against his chest with a contented sigh.

“So… breakfast and coffee?”

Zoro grunts, “Hn. I did promise.”

You smile, letting yourself sink into the thick and syrup of his sleep-deepened voice, his moss-green hair even more tousled than it normally is as he adjusts his head on his pillow.

“Hey,” you say, breathless as you look up at him beneath the sweep of your lashes, your eyes so big and dark and wide Zoro wonders if they might swallow him whole.

“Hey,” he answers, just as breathless, uncertainty creeping up the center of his chest as he stares down at you, lying in the glistening, mercurial light, the bend of your shoulder kissed by the morning sun, the shape of you limned in silver and gold.

You lean up to kiss him before he has the chance to second-guess himself, and though he was the more bold, self-assured one last night, you press in against him this morning, the languid sweep of your tongue along his lips making him groan, helpless, against you. He tastes the satisfied grin at the corner of your mouth as he opens his own, his mind frizzing into gorgeous, white static as you spend what feels like hours exploring the sweet depths of each other's mouths — all tongue and teeth and kiss-swollen lips.

When finally you pull apart, he is more breathless than he’d planned for, his body too warm for his liking, an urgent, pulsing something burning at the base of his stomach as he fights the urge to shove you back and sink his teeth into your skin, to hear you hiss, to make you gasp, to leave the indent of his fingers along the soft flesh of your hips and thighs, to mark you as his in every way he knows how.

But instead, he places a lingering kiss on your cheek and sits up, slowly stretching his arms.

“Careful…” you warn, pushing yourself up as well, watching him, “how’s it feel?”

Zoro tests his right side, drawing his arm up and then to the side, and then pulling it across his torso.

“Whoa… so much better.”

You smile, satisfied.

Zoro chuckles, “Guess I really do owe you breakfast. C’mon.”

He slips out of bed, tugging open a drawer to toss you a thick sweater and a pair of sweatpants. For himself, he only tugs on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, even as you frown, squinting at him from where you’re nearly swimming in his clothes.

“You’ll freeze.”

Zoro smirks as he looks you over, reaching over to pull the hood over your mussed tangle of hair, “Nah, I’m fine.”

You pout, jerking open the drawer to pull out a sweater and tossing it at him.

“You have to keep your right side warm so your muscles don’t just seize up again.”

Zoro stares at the sweater in his hand, looking reluctant before you press your lips into an exaggerated pout.

“C’mon… I worked so hard on getting it better last night… please?”

Zoro groans, rolling his eyes as he tugs on the sweater.

“Yeah, yeah — fine. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t wait for you, nor does he extend his hand. But the pair of you walk elbow to elbow, hip against hip down the bright dorm room hallway, into the chilly Saturday morning air.

“Geez, if you’re gonna yell at me to keep warm —” Zoro reaches over to tug on the drawstrings of your sweater, frowning as he notices how much skin he can still see beneath the opening of the hoodie.

You blush, tugging at it as the pair of you make your way across the empty campus quad.

Halfway across the frost-kissed lawn, he wordlessly reaches out to catch your hand in his, tucking your entwined fingers into the depths of his pocket. You bite back a stupid, dopey grin as you duck your head, quickening your pace to keep up, your footsteps crunching in the dew-bitten grass, the freshly raked gravel.

ten.

There’s already a decent line at the Straw Hats Cafe, but when the pair of you walk in hand in hand, both Sanji and Nami pause for a second longer than usual. Sanji’s eyebrows jerk up his forehead while Nami’s lips curl into a much too satisfied grin as she turns back to the humming espresso machines.

You savor in the smell of freshly ground coffee, absently tracing your thumb over the back of Zoro’s hand.

When you both reach the front, Sanji looks between you expectantly.

“Well, well, well — I’d like to say I’m surprised but —” he shrugs, grinning cheekily, “Well then I’d be lying, wouldn’t I?”

Zoro clicks his tongue but you shoot him a sheepish smile, pursing your lips.

“So… the usual then?” Sanji asks, his fingers poised over the register.

“Yep,” Zoro says, curt as ever, though there’s a distinct blush on his cheeks that not even he can write off as anything else.

You nod as well, “Oh, but… I think I’ll try a non-decaf latte this time. Just one shot of espresso though, please and thank you.”

Sanji blinks at you for a second before letting out a startled laugh and nodding, punching in your order.

“Coming right up, sweet cheeks. Right then, that’d be 8.75 for the latte and 5.50 for the double espresso.”

Zoro reaches into his wallet and pulls out a 20, slipping it across the counter. Down the bar, Nami is humming, looking cheerier than you’ve ever seen her this early in the morning as she goes about making your drinks.

Sanji sighs as he shakes his head, handing Zoro his change.

Zoro narrows his eyes but Sanji cuts him off.

“Take it from me, fam. You don’t wanna know.”

You and Zoro share a puzzled look as you both shuffle down to the pick-up counter, where Nami is sliding your finished drinks toward you with a bright, knowing glint to her eyes. Zoro clears his throat and reaches over for a packet of sugar, nonchalantly tipping it into his drink before picking it up to take a sip.

You try not to gape as you grab your own drink, flashing Nami a quick smile before turning to follow Zoro.

He picks a table as far away from the counter as possible, tucked into a corner, nearly invisible to the rest of the shop. When you sit down, he frowns at your chair for a second before reaching out to tug you across the floor till your chair is next to his. He goes back to his drink without a single word.

It’s all you can do to blush and stare at your steaming cup.

“I thought we were getting coffee and breakfast,” you say after a brief moment of silence.

Zoro grunts, “We are. Coffee first.”

You nod, somewhat mollified as you take another sip of your drink. The warmth trickles down your chest to rest somewhere in the center of your stomach, spreading heat throughout your body in waves.

“We could just get a chocolate croissant,” you say, giving Zoro a sidelong look.

Zoro frowns, tapping his finger against the side of his cup, “Dessert isn’t breakfast.”

You scoff, “Says who?”

Zoro’s expression flatlines, “Says me. And I’m payin’ for it.”

You purse your lips, wondering if you should argue more before deciding against it. A few seconds later, Zoro sighs, casting his eyes about the cafe interior.

“We can have a croissant after real breakfast.”

You giggle into your drink, swallowing down the glee fluttering in your stomach, threatening to spill out of your still kiss-chapped lips.

“Kay, whatever you say.”

Zoro rolls his eyes and folds his arms, but his elbow presses against yours and he doesn’t make to move away.

Across the cafe, Nami leans to watch the pair of you, Sanji at her side, looking both stunned and somewhat pained.

“C’mon man, it’s not even been a week!”

Nami grins, rinsing out a few cups and placing them mouth down to dry before pivoting on her heels and holding out an expectant palm. Sanji sighs as Nami’s eyes glitter with mirth and a hard-won glee.

“Right. I think you owe me fifty bucks.”

Sanji narrows his eyes, glancing back at where you and Zoro are tucked into the corner of the cafe.

“Double or nothing on when they’ll have their first fight. I say… not till next week.”

Nami’s eyebrows twitch up. She looks back at where the pair of you are now bickering over where to have breakfast. A smirk teases at her lips.

She puts down her hand, “Alright then… but like I said — it’s your funeral, Sanji.”

Over in the corner, there’s the dull scrape of chair legs as you push yourself away from the table to fold your arms.

“— Belgian waffles are absolutely an acceptable meal for breakfast!”

Zoro rolls his eyes, though there’s still an amused spark behind his eyes.

“Breakfast without eggs ain’t real breakfast. And doesn’t count if it’s smothered in syrup either.”

You make an indignant noise, frowning even as Zoro tugs you back to press a napkin to your upper lip, where there’s a faint line of whipped cream residue.

Sanji backpedals immediately, “Uh — right so, I feel like we need to define what really constitutes a ‘fight’, yeah?”

Nami tuts, shaking her head, “Nope! A bet’s a bet. Now pay up.”

feedback always welcome :) reqs are closed.

[just-a-little-unionoid]

babe me ironically telling you that I "sadly can't kill myself like you told me to do because some people care about me" isn't trauma dumping, implying I'm suicidal isn't trauma dumping, telling you "I have plenty of occasions to kill myself" isn't trauma dumping. I live near a train track, a cliff, a tumultuous river, and work with dangerous machines, those are the "occasions". don't use terms you don't understand you're just making yourself looks stupid.

"trauma dumping" would be to tell you (oversharing) about traumatic experiences. which I will not do. but learn the vocab.

again I'm not defending anyone and it's sad that you can't understand that giving some nuance to a situation or even explaining some context isn't "defending", or I guess what you mean is more likely "excusing". context is important, understanding complexity is important, you can't change things if you don't understand why they happen, stop with the black and white mentality. fucking WHY are you even watching the show at this point?

anyway, want honesty? okay, I can do that. it's not even 8am on a non working day, I must admit that reading your message first thing in the morning piss me off, and I've yet to activate my social filters, so that should be easy.

you're right, I do care what you think of me. not that it matters at the end of the day, but it pisses me off that someone can put so much effort into misreading someone, into twisting or ignoring all of their words. I can't even begin to understand how your mind works. why you would hate so much someone you know nothing about. it does actually worry me tho, because I've seen your other posts. you seem to dedicate half of you blog to hating on Alastor specifically, and his fans, picking fight against people who don't care what you think of them if not downright trolls. I care about you, that other person with the Homelander (or whoever the fuck this character is) memes was absolutely trolling you and was delighted by your angry reblogs. gosh how old are you even? (don't answer that) back in my days "don't feed the troll" was common knowledge. stop giving them what they fucking want.

I do honestly care about you. why is it that? because I'm a proud member of a social species and when I see my kin hurting themselves, I find it very unpleasant. also because I tried to emphasize with you so I could get under you skin. I'm stupid so it backfired and now I see you as a person instead of a concept without shape behind a screen. now I can't hate you, the joke's on me.

I've been there, like I said I know anger feels right, but it's also intoxicating. quite literally I mean, anger prepare your body to fight, it releases chemicals, hormones, to do so. it feels great but too much of it will hurt you. I know it's not easy but keep that anger for what you can actually fight. anger is a useful tool but you're misusing it. stop exposing yourself to online content that distress you like that. yes, I know, it's an addictive feeling. stop it anyway.

[this is where I take a pause so I can do things irl, idk what mood I'll be in when I start writing again, so the tone can shift]

you want to have the last word, I want it too, we're kind of in a situation here.

I could just stop responding to you but I don't want to, because I am indeed arrogant and believe I am right, you are wrong, and I want to convince you of my point of view. don't think you're better than me tho, you're also arrogant and think you are right, and me wrong. the main difference being that you're not trying to convince me, you're just getting mad at me. I don't think that makes me better than you but I do think screaming at me is useless. or well again I guess it can let you lose some stream if you need to, I don't really care. but anyway you're not going to convince me without using arguments (again not that I think you're trying to convince me, I'm just pointing at our differences)

my point of view is that having a morally complex character isn't a writing flaw. exploring said characters limites and empathising with them isn't a flaw either. some people use fiction to safely explore subjects that would be dangerous to explore irl. we've done that for literal thousands of years, maybe there is a reason for that, don't you think so?

you won't find characters being punished by death (and it being shown as a good thing, I mean) in Hazbin Hotel. it's a show about redemption and a metaphor for criticizing the prison system (as well as imperialism but that's not really the subject here). I'm sorry but it you expect Alastor (or others) to be killed for their crime it will not happen. will he suffer consequences? I do believe or at least hope so. this guy is an absolute moron who's incredibly bad at dealing with his own emotions and he will hurt others and himself over it, and it will likely come to slap him back in the face at some point, it's pretty much inevitable. but see, this is the difference between consequences and punishment. when you say "consequences" what you actually mean "punishment". you expect the character to suffer because you believe he deserves it, not just because it's the logical consequences of his actions. that's very different. the narrative of Hazbin Hotel (likely, if it stick to its current morality) won't approve of punishment. again it's a show about redemption, about trying to find alternatives to punishment, so it can't present it as an acceptable option.

I'm telling you that because it seems that you decided to keep watching it and I don't want you to get your hope crushed, y'know, prepare yourself for disappointment because what you wish would happen is the polar opposite of the show current morality

I mean like, I can be wrong, I've been wrong about fiction analysis before, I could be wrong again, but think yourself about it, okay? take a few minutes to analyse the show morality and purpose and draw your own conclusions, I'd be happy to hear about them if they end up being different of mines, always useful to get different pov on a subject

as for our emotions, I think that yours are raw. you feel a lot and let yourself feels, that's good but it doesn't mean you're being honest with them. maybe you think you are, and maybe you are indeed, I'm not in your head. but listen. just because you feel a lot doesn't mean you know why you feel so much or that you choose a good target to express it. emotions are just hormones, it's logical, your body (and so all thoughts, emotions or feelings it can produce) is just a complex biological machine and there is no such thing as chance in it. everything that you do, feels or think is the logical result of past and current experiences. but while it's logical it doesn't mean it's rational. us humans are still animals, even if we're able to talk we're not rational beings, we think and feels things by instinct and then we try to rationalize and justify them. that's how it works. most of the time it's bullshit tho, just because we feel something doesn't mean we have a "good" reason to do so. we have reasons, causes for it, but there's no morality behind, "good" and "bad" are concepts created by humain but biology and physics don't give a shit about those concepts. we have to try to follow them but they're not at the core of our decisions, that's what I meant.

so like, idk try to find why you're angry, what exactly makes you angry in what I'm telling you. don't answer "you're excusing the actions of a terrible person/character" again because you already said that multiple time but it doesn't say much. WHY does it makes you angry? (I'll save you some time: the answer is likely that you believe punishment to be an acceptable consequence, and it displease you that I think differently. but don't hesitate to tell me if you think I'm wrong, I actually quite enjoy to question my certitudes) then you have to ask yourself whether or not it is justified. from a moral standpoint I mean. are you right to be angry at me, at my opinion? and finally you can ask yourself if it's useful to be angry at me, like, whether you are right or not, does that change anything? (that's the part where I'm telling you being angry at me doesn't affect me that much, but that can affect you, do your choice)

hum... I think I covered pretty much all I wanted to cover 🤔

oh right! I said I was trying to be honest so there you go:

the reasons I keep talking to you (and caring despite of everything, and notably of what I keep saying) is because 1) like I said I'm arrogant, think I'm right and want to prove you wrong, but also 2) because I like conflict, it makes my brain happy because it force me to think of arguments, of how I should build my sentences, and there's probably also the part where English isn't my main language so it demands a little more efforts too. in resume, I crave stimulation and this exchange provide that, speaking of which 3) I'm desperate for human connection, I don't care if it's a positive interaction or not, I just fucking need to connect to other people, I'm aware that it's quite pathetic but you more or less asked for me to be honest so that's on you 🤷

yeah yeah I'm an arrogant bastard, I know, you keep telling me

I’m afraid he’s contracting babygirl disease :(

[haladriel]

On Sauron and the Subjective Experience of Love

One of the biggest topics I’ve seen in recent Rings of Power discourse is whether Sauron is capable of love. And it’s one hell of a thing to grapple. But I’ll give it a go.

Some have used Tolkien’s letters to argue that because Sauron is not ‘fully evil’ by Tolkien’s own definition, this indicates he is therefore capable of love. I argue it’s more complex than that, because Sauron is more complex than that. In two of Tolkien’s most relevant passages, ‘love’ is not mentioned, but a lot of other things are:

Some reviewers have called the whole thing [The Lord of the Rings] simple-minded, just a plain fight between Good and Evil, with all the good just good, and the bad just bad. Pardonable, perhaps (though at least Boromir has been overlooked) in people in a hurry, and with only a fragment to read, and, of course, without the earlier written but unpublished Elvish histories ... But in any case this is a tale about a war, and if war is allowed (at least as a topic and a setting) it is not much good complaining that all the people on one side are against those on the other. Not that I have made even this issue quite so simple: there are Saruman, and Denethor, and Boromir; and there are treacheries and strife even among the Orcs. — Letter 154

Similarly, good actions by those on the wrong side will not justify their cause. There may be deeds on the wrong side of heroic courage, or some of a higher moral level: deeds of mercy and forbearance. A judge may accord them honour and rejoice to see how some men can rise above the hate and anger of a conflict; even as he may deplore the evil deeds on the right side and be grieved to see how hatred once provoked can drag them down. But this will not alter his judgement as to which side was in the right, nor his assignment of the primary blame for all the evil that followed to the other side. In my story I do not deal in Absolute Evil. I do not think there is such a thing, since that is Zero. I do not think that at any rate any 'rational being' is wholly evil. Satan fell. In my myth Morgoth fell before Creation of the physical world. In my story Sauron represents as near an approach to the wholly evil will as is possible. He had gone the way of all tyrants: beginning well, at least on the level that while desiring to order all things according to his own wisdom he still at first considered the (economic) well-being of other inhabitants of the Earth. But he went further than human tyrants in pride and the lust for domination, being in origin an immortal (angelic) spirit. — Letter 183

What Tolkien gives in these letters is his perspective on is ‘good’ and ‘evil’, ‘right’ and ‘wrong’, and being on one (he argues, indisputably ‘good’) side or the other (indisputably ‘bad’). I would say that the internal experience of love has nothing to do with any of these things.

To argue the point of whether Sauron can love using these letters alone, a false equivalence has to be drawn between an ability to ‘love’ and being ‘morally good’; and, it follows, an inability to love with being ‘morally evil’. To indirectly quote the letters, ‘good’ in Tolkien isn’t defined by love between one another, but rather by how people share a set of ‘good’ values. One can do ‘good’ without loving the subject of that good deed. I could be ambivalent to the person living down the road, and might not ever talk to them, but still give them my coat when they are in need, because it’s the right thing to do. 

The opposite is also true; one can do ‘evil’, hold and act upon ‘evil’ values, and still feel love, as defined by one’s own experiences. Because love as an emotion (not a dictionary entry) is not one defined feeling or concept, but is subjective; informed by past events, and unique to the person. Taking societal judgement out of the equation, an individual will act in ‘evil’ ways while loving the person involved, or indeed another person elsewhere. That feeling, and even any associated actions, is ‘love’, for the individual; only when cross-examined by society and its values is it challengeable according to the widely understood definitions of what it means ‘to love’, and any double standards the person might be exhibiting.

So, when considering whether Sauron can or cannot love, it depends on your frame of reference.

Using Tolkien’s societal lens, which is fairly rigid in defining ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ based on how society judges someone's whole, once Sauron has ‘fallen’, by the moral standards of the society around him (which as it happens is a mirror for Tolkien’s), no, he does not appear to be able to ‘love’, not in the way many viewers and readers will understand the word. Not in the way that (for example) Melian, another Maia, loves Elwë— wholly, purely, and selflessly. But with a psychological lens, which allows a deeper look at him as a character: Sauron may believe he can love, and that love is a fitting word for what he experiences concerning Galadriel — just as he wants to ‘order all things according to his own wisdom’, he will interpret his feelings according to the terrain of his own experiences. Which are warped and scarred and wounded. His frame of reference is skewed; as much is shown in the confessions he makes to Celebrimbor, and the contradictory ways he treats him. But he is so far gone he is no longer aware of this difference. Because in another society (Morgoth’s), his definition of ‘love’, what he has been taught is love, might be the norm.

Putting oneself in Sauron’s shoes, as he invites Celebrimbor, is to imagine being a lesser god tortured at the hands of Morgoth. Potentially deceived, potentially manipulated; potentially groomed by someone more powerful than he; potentially abandoned by his creators, his parent figures. He is a character full of conflicts and self-delusions that (suggested through a combination of dialogue and action) originate in trauma. It follows that his is not a wholesome or simple love that one might be tempted to associate with ‘good’, because he has not been loved wholly, or simply.

Meanwhile, Galadriel, herself having been through the psychoemotional wars, arguably has found herself connecting with a Janus; a god with two (or indeed more) faces, who has no true sense of self (‘I have many names’); and is coming to terms with how much of that was her attraction (of any kind) to noble and humbled Halbrand, and how much was to passionate, clever, jaded Sauron; if the two can be separated at all. And with whether she herself has a coltishly reckless saviour complex, or, conversely, needs Halbrand to redeem her, or both.

All of this, for both Sauron and Galadriel, involves intense emotions. And when you’re encountering one another as a reflection on the surface of the water, it’s hard to know which feelings are which.

[randomfoggytiger]

My thoughts on the Chris Carter discourse.

I think I sit on the fence regarding the gendered violence issue in The X-Files. Yet, I also recognize CC's shortcomings-- pouring his energy into being a provocateur rather than a coherent show writer.

**Note**: Everyone is entitled to their own opinion. This is mine.

The show's violence against women isn't skewered in a sexist, one-way direction to me: gendered violence is perpetrated against both sexes equally; and the male cast and crew even joked about Mulder constantly getting beat up or tortured during CC's mytharc episodes. Not only that, but children and men as well as women are kidnapped or abducted and raped (or mind raped) and tortured and killed in equal measure.

The problem begins and ends, I believe, with Chris's ego. He views his show as a SHOW, not a beloved series cherished by fans. To him, Mulder and Scully and their children are literal paper dolls he created and played (plays) with like the Sims-- lighting them on fire, putting them through insane or ridiculous scenarios, and always resetting them back to normal at the end.

The "problem" is, the fans do not see Mulder and Scully as Sims models (pardon the references, got into the game lately) but as living, breathing characters with blood, sweat, and tears poured into their portrayals. Gillian took the role seriously and wanted it to make sense; and fans felt her passion and dedication, and honored the years she put in at her own inconvenience (over and over.)

David doesn't mind following CC's creative vision-- he views art differently than GA, and that's just fine, too. The difference is (I believe): Chris Carter honors David's viewpoint because it aligns with his own; but sloughs off, ignores, or discredits Gillian's because it opposes his.

Chris Carter has an ego (he does, it is what it is); and that rubs audiences the wrong way when they contrast his actions towards DD (letting him read scripts earlier than Gillian, likely knowing David'll give a "wow, interesting" rather than outright critical remark) and GA (who sacrificed a lot to come back and was pretty much ignored every step of the way, even now.) David shrugs off what Chris writes for his character-- which is fine, that's his prerogative-- while Gillian does not-- which is also fine, that's her prerogative. Chris, however, does not treat them equally.

I say this not to hate on Chris. I dislike him, but I respect the characters, show, and world of The X-Files. All things being fair, it was his brainchild.

However: every person that will ever exist has their own perspective, feelings, and emotions regarding what they do or don't love. Fans and Gillian wanted The X-Files to make sense, to honor its characters, to craft an unforgettable journey between two unforgettable characters. Chris Carter did not-- which, again, is fine. But where he continues to fail is by throwing jabs at perspectives other than his own.

Because when you create a timeline that makes no logical sense (powered by plot twists that also make no logical sense) and expect your lead actress and fans who have spent time and energy and money on your franchise not to give you criticism or express their disappointment (and even anger)-- and, further, imply they "don't get it" or aren't "real fans" because of said criticisms-- then...

That's where you (Chris Carter) have a problem.

[quicksilverserpent]

I dont think civilian is a coherent category. Nor a very useful one either. Not unless all youre trying to do is manipulate useful idiots in a low effort way.

If youre a settler and the foundation for your whole lifestyle and prosperity is the violent dispossession of an indigenous people you cant truly claim to be an innocent bystander to that conflict.

If youre a member of the bourgeoisie and all the various arms of the state repressive forces committing all the violence in society from the exceptionally high pitched to the everyday cruelties are doing so on your behalf to enforce the social arrangements beneficial to you then you cant actually claim youre not a participant in that war. If youre a member of the ruling class its really even more important to winning any war effort to kill you and thereby end your will your desires and critically your ability to use your many resources to make those manifest than it is to kill whatever poor gullible sap youve hired to do your bidding. And so to go say "no you cant kill me ive got immunity youve got to restrict yourself to dealing with my replaceable underlings or else youre not respectable" its just so transparently bullshit.

Insurgents really are just ordinary people like anyone wlse whove been forced by their desperate wretched circumstances to take up arms by the crushing weight of the violence of imperialism and it is wrong to single them out from the rest of population as acceptable targets for the occupation just because theyve chosen to defend themselves and their communities from it. If someone punches you and you hit back your self defense doesnt vindicate or pardon their assult it doesnt give them a permission slip to beat the shit out of you only one of you has any "right" to be violent here.

Theres no equality in a war theres always an asymmetry yes everyone has their own narratives about who is right and who is wrong but thats the thing is some narratives are just bullshit theres no need to consider them or humor that shit whats important is seeking the actual truth.

All military occupations recognize who theyre fighting thats why draining the sea to leave the fish high and dry to suffocate is so frequently used to crush insurgencies which can move with ease among the population exactly because theyre a deeply enmeshed part of it that grew grassroots from it no matter how much the oppressors deny it for propaganda purposes.

Incumbent national regimes dont make these principled distinctions between these categories when its not convenient they go and slaughter whoever they feel they need to in order to accomplish their objectives civilian is just another rhetorical weapon to be applied to everyone else's conduct not their own a do as I say not as I do type thing.

When its wrong to kill someone its never about whether or not theyre a civilian thats really just a poor articulation of what the issue actually is its lazy and its just taking advantage of a prebuilt discourse which was built largely by and for war criminals ironically.

[emblemxeno]

I dearly apologize in advance for negativity ahead, but I needed to vent.

After like 2 years since dropping the game completely, I was playing 3H in my free time-crazy I know-for the past few days on a pre-endgame file I saved to unlock the last few supports for a complete log, and I was considering playing it again from the start.

Then after I started a new game I remembered that even ignoring all the discourse, the actual main reason why I don't like the game anymore is because it's not fun to play.

The maps aren't consistently good and they repeat too often not just between routes, but between paralogues and aux/side battles as well; the monastery issues have been beaten to death already and still haven't eased after time away from the game; the extra mechanics like teaching are too prominent to be this monotonous; the game looks bad, like it wasn't a stellar game to look at as it is but it's so washed out, muted, boring and graphically messy; taking sound design from tips from FE Warriors was a mistake, as certain sound effects are lacking or otherwise have not aged well.

The worst part going back though, was the load times. UGHHHHH the load times. Not even between battle or location changes, but between actual cutscenes or map narrations, like WOW can you hurry tf up. We switched (pardon the pun) back to cartridges for a reason.

Honestly, thank god that the cast and the story appealed to as many people as it did, inspiring tens of thousands of fan work, art, etc. because otherwise it's hard to see why this game was acclaimed.

[bookwormbynight]

the take that lawlight and other ships involving Light and an older character are not problematic because “Light Yagami is incapable of being groomed” is doing rounds on dntwt again and holy shit it drives me insane every time i see it because

(“you” below refers to people with this take, not you)

1. what the hell is this victim-blaming logic when you’re literally talking about it as something applicable to the real world. no one is immune to being groomed.

2. to speak of the idea in-universe, I’m pretty sure that is just factually untrue. Light can definitely be groomed and has many traits that make him susceptible

3. no one is immune to being groomed. Light being manipulative, “evil”, intelligent or ““mature for his age”” (oh boy) does not prevent him from grooming in any capacity. in fact those traits combined with his arrogance make him a easy target as long as the perpetrator knows what to say

4. if you’re uncomfortable with the idea that lawlight is grooming, you can just think and say that you do not view lawlight’s dynamic as grooming. that would be reasonable, at least in comparison to fucking “light is immune to being groomed”

5. (pardon my language but) why in the fuck would you phrase it like “I’m sorry but if you can *insert a bunch of things that don’t prevent anyone from being groomed* then I’m NOT gonna believe you got groomed” like do you know how you sound right now????

6. have I mentioned that no one is immune to being groomed.

frankly, as someone who doesn’t usually prefer to view lawlight as full-on “adult grooming child” (I do think the existing age gap is a very intriguing factor but generally it is not my top preference to take it to the extreme in my own conception of it; it is very interesting to see as an alternative though, I respect it), I feel MUCH safer around everyone in this dn tumblr circle than people who say that shit. respect and salute to you all 🫡

Oh, ick!! Thank you for sharing!

Dude I am so afraid of dntwt I refuse. Of course the drawback to that is Tumblr doesn't allow the kind of images that Twitter does so I miss out on that but with the combination of Elon Musk and the nazis and whatever nutcase discourse that regularly happens over there, I'm not touching that shit with a ten foot pole even for the sake of porn 😭

Yeah no the solution to something that makes you uncomfortable is never ever to blame the victim. (Honestly, and I'm psychoanalyzing again, I think part of what makes this circle so safe is that we treat this shit with the gravity it deserves, even when we're sexualizing it. Because what we're sexualizing IS the horror. The horror is what's hot about it, but the horror reaction implies that it's something terrible and serious. It's not normal or okay or impossible.)

I'd like to explore the mention of discomfort with the topic. That shit is normal and human. Not everyone likes sexualizing horror, not everyone understands everything you need for it to feel safe, AND, and this is a wildly different but still important factor in fandom interaction, not everyone DOES think it's plausible for the universe. You can think things don't match your headcanon for how you interpreted the work! I made a post yesterday along those lines about a fanfic I was reading! The thing is, don't attack real people (if you think someone's handling a subject in fiction in a way that does real harm, like E.L. James for my example, you don't send hate mail, you tell people why it's harmful and boycott the work); be aware that canon is subjective even if you have some textual evidence to back your view up - feel free to present said evidence, but nobody has to take it to heart and you can't make them; and above all, if it's pertaining to these types of topics, DO NOT USE THE VICTIM TO CONTRADICT IT. USE THE SUPPOSED PERPETRATOR. If you don't think L is a groomer, say so, if you don't think lawlight involves grooming, go for it, but Light Yagami better not fucking be a pillar of your argument because victims are never the reason something happened to them, which means they are also never the reason something didn't happen. People astound me.

Be kind everybody ❤️

[tayloralisonswift]

“don’t buy it if you don’t like how expensive it is” truly negates the bigger issue which is that things shouldn’t be too expensive. & instead of engaging with that, of seeing capitalism’s effect on the consumption of media, you’re telling swifties who have just as much a right to see the movie as you but can’t afford it that they don’t deserve it, or that they’re being a bad/annoying fan because they’re pointing out that they can’t afford it. it just, pardon my pun, cheapens necessary discourse. every post on the subject i’ve seen has focused on the issue of capitalism in music and that is valid. if you don’t want to engage with the state of the music industry right now, that’s fine, but there’s nothing wrong with someone else wanting to, especially when you’re essentially suggesting that there are swifties who don’t deserve to see the eras tour movie and that is solely because they’re poor. listen to other people, take what they’re saying in good faith, and do better.

[lostboys-fangposting]

aro, marcus, and caius at the very least would've known the dialect of greek (most likely ancient?) he was speaking

also i presume it wouldn't have been far fetched for amun to teach demetri latin seeing as egypt had at one point been occupied by rome and besides needing to know latin and egyptian hieroglyphs for reading materials, public monuments, art, etc he'd also need to communicate with other vampires (of the coven of course, we know demetri was kept a secret until something ??? happened) and latin would give him a much wider reach (seeing as we know amun had similar goals to aro) than the dialects spoken in egypt at the time i also doubt amun intended to keep him hidden forever, just until he could overthrow the volturi

so basically my theory is that either there was a short period of minimal language barrier or no language barrier at all + he would've learned italian with everyone else as it became a language

ETA:

links for egypt under roman rule: the met museum / britannica (also featuring the byzantine empire, which was the roman empire's successor)

bonus - egypt under greek rule (the ptolemaic dynasty, occurring before roman rule): the met / britannica / khan academy

*all of which would've happened before demetri was born as a human!*

Do y’all think Demetri learned Italian as a kid or was there like a comic language barrier between him and the rest of the Volturi for at least 20 years.