#readmore because it's long but i think it's worth it

[misty-caligula]

Okay this is gonna be long, but I’ve got a lot of ground to cover so please bear with me. In a real way, this is my series thesis.

I’ve said before, many times now (like a cycle) that for me the most important scene is ep 1 act 1 scene 1. There’s something There that I have been struggling to see clearly, struggling to articulate, and s2e9 really finally gave me the last pieces for it.

I think that Pit Girl is the point of the entire story. But not in the way that I thought going in. I feel like I’m rambling, so I’m going to try to structure my thoughts.

Imagine you’re a new viewer. You haven’t watched yj start to finish 30 times, you’ve never even buzzed before. You turn on the tv and the FIRST thing that happens is you see ... brutality. A half dressed girl chased through the freezing woods, murdered without a chance. They drag her through the snow, string her up, pour her blood on the ground. Hack her into unrecognisable chunks. Sit around in scary outfits and rip at her, with a huge focus on the teeth, as horror music plays. Then, Misty takes off her mask, puts on her glasses, and does the worst possible thing. She smiles. Directly at you.

Again, forget everything you know and go on vibes. You’re seeing the teens pre-crash, and you’re seeing them in the third timeline, fully formed, with horror motifs and covered in fur. You’d be mistaken for thinking that you were seeing start and end. Except that... we know, and you know, that Pit Girl is the middle. These monsters somehow came back from this. How? When they’re so so so far gone?

Hence the show. I know I’m not breaking new ground here, but bear with me. I’m going somewhere.

(Edit: Readmore added because honestly, LONG post)

You’d be forgiven, fresh-faced new viewer, for thinking you were watching some kind of gross-out slasher. But what happens in S1? Restraint. Laura Lee, the first non-crash victim dies at the end of episode eight. Jackie end of ep 10. (For the sake of this thesis we’re going to be almost exclusively focused on the teens.)

And yet there’s this tonal shift, It’s like ... inevitability. Like watching a crack in a window that’s very slowly spreading. Everything is steadily Getting Worse. The weather is slowly getting colder, the days are getting darker, food’s getting scarcer, life is getting harder. But so much of this difficulty is coming from external events and pressure. Yes, cracks start to show in the internal relationship dynamics, of course, but if food was plentiful, if shrooms were less so, if the weather were better, then they could probably work out a very long term stable situation. Sadly for them, things are not stable, and the pressure is building.

Then Jackie dies and the glass gets a really big break.

It’s worth mentioning at this moment that Jackie at any time could’ve come the fuck inside. Safety and warmth and even love were available to her. All it would’ve required was for her not to be the centre of the world. To make actual goddamn concessions and join the team. Which is why she couldn’t possibly make that choice, because she had to be invited, she had to be apologised to, she had to be accommodated. She couldn’t see the rest of the ‘jackets as being people who just like her were in a really shitty situation. She saw them as being external, as being in cahoots against her, as being part of some Thing that she wasn’t in on. She couldn’t let go of the society they’d left, and she preferred to die. Which sure is a choice...

Keep all of that in mind though. We’re taught to blame Shauna for Jackie’s choices. Let’s stop with that. Jackie chose not to assimilate, she looked around the cabin at the team eating the bear and praying to the wilderness and instead of just paying lip service to fit in, like Tai, she decided to put her foot down and make a Thing of it. She decided that being Right was more important than being Included.

Seriously, keep that in mind, we’re coming back to it. Cycles, you know...

Season 2, everyone’s hungry and hey we have this spare Jackie lying around. And we joke like “ha, you gonna eat that?” Only...

No. They WEREN’T going to eat her.

Really think about that for a second. They put her in the meat shed. With the bear. Think about what that does, psychologically. Linguistically. The meat shed is made to store food. The bear has a word: carcass. Day after day after week after month they carve progressively more pathetic chunks from it, subsisting on what little it offers. In the EXACT same room, sitting right there is Jackie. Her body has a different name. Corpse. With many different connotations. At NO point does ANY of them raise the fact that they’ve taken their friend and added her to their meat stockpile.

Because they haven’t. Instead, they’ve added a new sub-room. The meat shed is now also a morgue. And nobody ever once had to say it. They got it. We got it. You got it. And while they starved and their bodies BEGGED for food, Jackie’s corpse lay there, frozen and fresh, and stubbornly refused to become a carcass, because they wouldn’t let it. They knew that there were more important things than meat, even when they were starving.

The bacchanal was a mistake. A literal error. It simply wasn’t planned, wasn’t meant to go down that way. Maybe if they HAD considered that route earlier and had a discussion about it they’d have been prepared, psychologically, maybe if they weren’t so starved. Who knows. But in the middle of the night they were offered a way out, and they took it.

But Shauna took it first.

Even in their state, even faced with an ideal roasted feast infront of them, they waited until Shauna said it was okay. Because Jackie was Shauna’s friend, and they knew that she was still a person. That this was still a corpse first. It was Shauna who was able to give them permission to survive. To turn a friend into a meal. It was not their place to take that step. To shoulder that guilt. So Shauna did it for them.

The next day they’re devastated. The heavy reality sets in, now the hunger is settled. And Jackie’s carcass is far too real, they can’t change her back into a corpse. Nat tries, bless her heart. But Tai’s screaming reaction at having eaten Jackie’s face is only an externalisation of the grief and horror and agony they’re all going through.

And after Jackie they starve again. Hope and heat and light dwindles further. Every single day they all take another step towards death. That’s what starvation is, it’s the same thing as dying, you die a little bit every day until you can’t die anymore.

Kristen falls. Misty doesn’t even consider that she might bring her back as meat. If she had’ve, she might think, maybe she’d be considered like ... heroic. It doesn’t even occur to her. She’s not going to LET those bitches eat her one and only friend, and she goes out of her way to protect her.

Shauna has her horror show birth. And, no matter WHAT the context is, she produces.... meat. In the most awful, brutal way. And while the fandom made so many jokes and stuff, the reality is that yes... at least to an extent there was real nutrients there. And it was never once even brought up as an option, by these desperate, starving girls. 

When Coach tries to kill himself, here’s a ready source of willing meat. And Misty uses it as a threat to stop him. But it’s hollow, she’s just putting on fake fangs to try to keep him safe. She’s not actually that vicious thing that she’s pretending to be, just like she’s not actually homophobic.

When Lottie tells Misty to eat her if she dies, Misty fights her on it. Lottie has to insist. Then when she tells the rest of the team, they are so overwhelmed with the selflessness of the gesture that it inspires them to twist it into their first hunt. That’s what it takes. The hunt is an act of self-sacrifice and love.

And so we get to the hunt. The proto-pit-girl, we’ve come full circle and we start to learn all these answers to questions posed in act 1 scene 1. And they’re not the answers that were assumed.

How do they get to the point of eating each other? They sacrifice themselves willingly, for the sake of each other’s survival.

Why do they hunt the way they do? Because Shauna just can’t stand to murder a friend in cold blood, a friend she cares for and has no reason to hate.

Why the spike pit? Because it keeps the blood off their hands. Because it lets them blame It and preserve a tiny fragment of their innocence.

Why the weird symbols? The ritual itself? Because they need SOMETHING to hold onto, to make it all make sense.

Why so brutal? Is it? We THINK it’s brutal. It’s certainly bloody. But Pit Girl dies almost instantly. Her pain is over fast. She doesn’t have a good time going into it, obviously, none of them want to die. But she chose to run, she could’ve taken the knife instead. And the spike trap was efficient. Yes they drag her through the snow and string her up, but it’s mechanical and just part of the process and she’s dead already. Her pain is over fast, it’s not sadistic.

Why do they chop her up into chunks like that? Because nobody wants to eat her face. Because nobody wants to struggle with her humanity, they want her to look just like any other meat. So that they might be having deer or bear or ... friend. They’re eating because they are biological machines that need to eat, that NEED death to survive. They didn’t ask to be made the way they are, and they’re doing their best to cope. Shauna, probably blindly, takes on that responsibility, to transform their friend into unrecognisable meat to change a corpse into a carcass. She takes that pain for them, holds that sin for them, out of love. So they can eat, so they can survive.

What’s with the creepy horror masks? During the ritual they can’t handle being themselves. They create alternate versions of themselves to hold what must be done. The masks aren’t there to scare anyone, because there IS NO AUDIENCE. The masks are there to hide behind. That’s why Misty takes hers off at the end of the scene. The ritual is over and they can go back to being people again.

Why is Misty fucking Quigley in charge? Because she CAN be. Because she’s strong enough. If Lott/Nat/The AQ is the goddess/queen, Misty is the priestess/handmaiden, tasked with actually carrying out her orders. She interprets the queens words when she’s too weak, she provides counsel when she needs it, she tells the team what they need to hear in the moment, she gives out the micromanagement. Misty’s the power behind the throne, because when she says she’ll do something she fucking follows through. No matter the cost. And what the team NEEDS, whether they choose to admit it or not, is a backbone.

So...

They bring home Javi. The music uses a reference that’s never been done before. It uses the spiritual powerballad that was playing when Laura Lee tried to fly away. It builds the expectation of Great Things, of big, potent ...

And then it just stops. As the girls are faced with the reality of what’s laying on the table. The cold, blue corpse of a soft child who never hurt anyone. No matter what they do, no matter how hard they try they just cannot make him a carcass. But they have made the choice already, and if they turn back now it’s not like it’ll bring him back. They’ll just be starving and regretful as he rots.

So Shauna, blind and shaking, does the best she can. And when she brings in the meat, she - of all people - understands EXACTLY what Travis is going through. She knows what he needs. Because she’s been here. With Jackie. So she brings him Javi’s heart. His core. His love. His soul.

(She doesn’t bring him Javi’s head. She cuts that off and puts it aside so nobody has to eat his face... Some things are worth more than pure nutritional survival.)

And Travis, god bless him, does the only thing he can do left to respect Javi. He takes his heart, and he bites it, raw and bloody.

It hurts him to do so. It disgusts him so much, but he manages not to throw up. It disgusts the girls too, but they watch on, horrified. And that’s the POINT. Travis makes sure that before they do this, before they do what they have to... that they all remember this is Javi, this is human, this is a person. And he preserves the horror. For all their sakes. And only then, after he’s given his blessing, after he’s done his human acts, do these starving, ravenous girls allow themselves to reach for their food.

S1E1. Act 1, scene 1. We do not know who Pit Girl is. We do not know the exact circumstances that get us there. But we do know where we started now. What the original meaning is behind each of these little things. And it’s not brutality, not barbarism. It’s love. It’s not lord of the flies, a bunch of monstrous human-shaped creatures giving in to their primal nature and predating on each other. It’s a team of terrified people desperately clutching at their own humanity as hard as they can. Trying SO hard not to let that glass break, to not become the thing that the framing of act 1 scene 1 tried so VERY hard to convince us they were. Context changes everything.

And the proof is in the pudding. After they eat Jackie the shock explodes throughout the cabin. The atmosphere is thick, and horrific. Now with Javi, reduced to simple meat, carefully and lovingly seperated from what made him human, so they can grieve him while they sate their natural needs, the mood post-eating is calm and soft and warm and loving. For once they’re all together,  with grateful full stomachs and in a time of peace and plenty. They’ve done the impossible and maintained their humanity and love for each other and their respect for Javi in a nearly impossible situation.

*takes a deep breath*

Which brings us to THIS asshole.

Right from the start, Jackie is only kind of part of the team. She’s the team captain, put up there by Coach Martinez, but not because she’s the best of them but because she can maybe wrangle them into doing better. And they KNOW that she’s not really one of them. They plot around her, and just don’t bring her in on it. They put up with her, more than loving her, she’s just kind of forced upon them. But she does her best, to try to maintain some semblance of order, giving pep talks and the like.

Wait, Jackie? I mean coach. My bad.

Anyway, so Jackie has one friend, Shauna. She SEEMS popular, and everyone talks to her, but Shauna’s the only one who actually likes her. And Shauna’s her connection point to the team. She’s got one foot on each side, and is torn as to where her real loyalties lie.

Sorry I’m talking about Jackie again.... weird.

In S1E9/10 Shauna finally chooses the team, for real. And Jackie tries to pull her back away, but Shauna puts her foot down. No way, she counters, I’m ON the team, you’re the odd one out. Why don’t YOU leave, Jackie? Jackie looks around at the burgeoning cult, she thinks “Look at these evil monstrous bitches, and now Shauna’s one of them TOO?” And instead of finding a compromise, instead of doing introspection, instead of anything like that, Jackie goes and freezes to death because it turns out that sheer rage won’t keep you warm in sub zero temperatures. Because no matter what happens, Jackie’s Right and it’s more important to her to be Right than Included. If she’s not in charge than why is she even THERE?

Hold on, I see my mistake. Let me backtrack.

Right from the start, Coach is only kind of part of the team. He’s trying to hide from his real life, from Paul and the complexities of being genuine in society by taking on the job of coaching the ‘jackets. And they KNOW that he’s not really one of them. He’s just the guy they have to listen to, because society put him there. But he tries his best, giving pep talks and the like.

So Coach has one friend, Natalie. He SEEMS popular, and everyone talks to him, but Nat’s the only one who actually likes him. (Ignore Misty, a schoolgirl comphet crush is not the same thing). And Nat’s his connection point to the team. She’s got one foot on each side, and is torn to where her real loyalties lie. Sometimes she’s on the bench with Coach, complaining about the state of things. Sometimes she’s in the thick of it with them all, and Coach is nowhere to be found.

In S2E9, Nat finally chooses the team, for real. And Coach tries to pull her back, but Nat puts her foot down. No way, she counters, I’m ON the team, I’m worse than them, you’re the odd one out. Go, save yourself, you don’t belong in this place. Coach looks at a table covered in blood and gore, at Nat’s face, at the rest of the team pledging fealty to her. And instead of looking for context, or looking for compromise, or even remotely trying to understand what he’s looking at he thinks

Look at these evil monstrous bitches. They’re eating each other. They’ve all gone mad. They’ve even gotten Nat now. There’s no hope for them, there’s no hope for anyone out here.

And he decides that they’re corrupt. That the way you deal with that is fire. And he’s wrong.

(I have a theory that he’s gone and jumped off the cliff, that he set the fire to clear the corruption, and now like Jackie, unable to live in this situation any longer, he’s decided to die himself. I’d not be surprised to find him in s3e1 that way)

Jackie was a frustrating, difficult person. Because no matter how things went she just COULDN’T let go of the fact that she was trying to fit a mold that just didn’t suit her. She was raised with super high expectations, when she was really just kind of mid. And that’s fine, honestly, most people ARE mid, that’s why it’s mid. But she refused to see that those around her were shedding their social pressures, were adapting to the wilderness. They weren’t having a good time, they weren’t hunting and foraging because they were out there, camping for fun. Nobody wanted to be there. They were just trying not to complain about it, because they were all in the same boat.

Coach is similar. He simply won’t adapt. Refuses to. I mean this is a guy who’s STILL trying to live in the closet when there’s open lesbians making out in public around him. Who thinks of others as inherently monstrous when he himself, as a gay man, should know better. Because that’s what trying to fit your society-assigned role does to you.

It’s no accident that he and Jackie both spend a long time in the woods and neither of them can do something as basic as start a fucking campfire. Javi, a little kid, survived for MONTHS on his own in that cave. Coach couldn’t make it a day alone. Jackie couldn’t get through a night. They both rely so heavily on the team without ever once recognising it. Because SOMEONE was keeping the fires going. They both just ... refused to engage.

And just like Jackie can’t see that they’re not having fun out there in the woods, on the knifes edge of survival, Coach can’t see that they’re not having fun when they are so desperate they feel it’s warranted to sacrifice one of their own. He always thought of them as monsters, and he just sees what he expects to: a bunch of stupid useless teenage girls, finally doing what he always expected they would.

At any point... At ANY point he could’ve come in from the cold. He could’ve just accepted reality as they have. He could’ve taken some meat and accepted the price, as they have, joined them in their GRIEF about it, shared their humanity, and survived. Just as Jackie could’ve come in from the cold, and become part of the whole. But instead, they sit in the cold, consumed by their bitter hate, and decide that no, it’s everyone ELSE who’s wrong.

And who emerges from the burning cabin? A bunch of scared kids. Shauna, the FIRST cannibal, who saves Jackie’s prom dress before anything else. Travis, who grabs Javi’s wolf. Nat who grabs the ammunition - that they NEVER use on each other - because if they lost that they’d get SERIOUSLY desperate. And they protect each other, they make sure everyone makes it out. These supposed monsters who are so far gone they don’t even care about eating each other go out of their way to save each other, not just themselves.

Because Coach is wrong. Just like Jackie was wrong. Just like WE were wrong, in s1e1. Which brings me to my actual point.

This question is asked so many times in S1 it’s almost a mantra. And the ‘jackets’ oath of silence really builds up that it must’ve been something REALLY bad, right? But S2E9 has really made me recognise that fundamentally... Act 1 Scene 1 is entirely what everyone who asks this question is expecting.

Imagine they DID know what really happened out there. With that bloodthirsty fucking look in their eyes...

They’re not looking for an answer. They’re looking for a story. For an exciting spooky nightmare they didn’t take part in, so they can get a shiver and a thrill they didn’t earn.

They’re not looking for a love story. They’re not looking to hear how HARD these scared, tragic, broken people fought to hold onto their morals and their humanity and their sanity even against their own survival. They’re not interested in Shauna blinding herself just to try to stop her hands from shaking. They’re not looking to hear about Travis choking down the blood of his brother just to make sure that he can really FEEL it. So he can share the guilt, and never ever pretend like it’s Just Meat. The look in his eye when he can’t think of any good response to Van’s arguments that he needs to let Javi save him. What they want is...

They don’t want the context. And if the ‘jackets ever did try to tell anybody what actually DID happen out there, all they would see is ... Episode 1, Act 1, Scene 1. A bunch of monsters. Eating each other. Just like Jackie. Just like Coach. Just like we did, on first glance.

I’ve been saying this whole time that Yellowjackets is doing something really special. That it’s letting us see behind the curtain, that while everyone’s asking this big question, “what really happened?”, we’re the ones who get to know. Because it can’t be told. It can’t be spoken. It can only be seen. Experienced. I think that S2 has finally finished the first major arc in the teen timeline, that we now have the context to understand what comes next. And I do believe that it will get messy, it will devolve. Into fighting and screaming and battles. It’s tragic, but it looks like that’s the downward spiral, spiraling. As Travis and Nat deal with the guilt of what they did with Javi for each other. As Shauna and Nat butt heads and people pick sides. As Misty Mistys. As resources get even more desperate now their shelter is gone. As potentially new people (hikers? other cabin people?) get brought into conflict with them (I believe the cabin is a smoke signal, personally).

But don’t ever forget that we got here with love. Expect that the downward spiral will be lubricated with toxic, broken, codependant, self-destructive love as well. Watch them love each other to death... they’ve already begun.

[mintyeggs]

DUMPSTER ARTHUR LORE

My version of Arthur Lester, or I guess now he's officially going to be known as dumpster Arthur (sorry man), has essentially the same storyline up until the Dreamlands, where the slight canon divergences start, culminating in the deal made with Kayne in Addison, with a very different "catch" as payment for John's return.

This is a bit of a long one, so click the readmore!

CW: cannibalism, autocannibalism, self harm, starvation, all canon typical shit

Starting with the prison pits in the Dreamlands!

Instead of giving in to killing and eating Faust after learning about what he'd done, Arthur held out a little longer by eating bits of himself. He has bite scars on his right arm and his legs, all avoiding the parts of himself that John can feel.

John was not exactly psyched about Arthur having to do this, especially because it takes a lot out of his friend; not just physically. He even tried offering Arthur his arm instead so the poor guy wouldn't feel it, but Arthur adamantly refused, because he'd already bitten John once before (their pinky) and was pretty horrified at how right it felt to have flesh between his teeth.

He doesn't talk to John about that, though, especially while they're still fighting about John's outburst about Faroe. John remains relatively in the dark about Arthur's internal struggle eating human flesh, even his own, since it's kind of hard to tell if he's feeling more fucked up than usual given their situation.

The altercation with Faust ends up pretty much the same way, Arthur broke and attacked him, forcing John to relive his death while he ate. John does start to notice something is off with Arthur psychologically at this point, though he assumes it's because Arthur has just killed and eaten someone for the first time.

They also do not talk about this because Arthur refuses (mostly out of shame and fear that John will think he's a monster haha)

Given how long Arthur was able to hold out before killing Faust, they're in the prison pits for about a month longer than in canon, and upon escape, Arthur doesn't feel the same amount of hope at their future.

Things proceed pretty close to canon at this point, they meet Kayne, they get their shit wrecked by the King, Arthur cuts his own throat, John gives himself up to save Arthur's life, etc etc.

The one big difference here is something the King says to taunt Arthur; he mentions that Arthur has come closer to knowing his form of love than any human ever has, and it has scarred Arthur permanently, even if he doesn't see it yet.

Now, to Addison!

Upon landing in the cabin and calling Kayne, Arthur is presented with a different option; get John back, safe and sound, memories intact. However, when asking about the catch, Kayne says something along the lines of "you'll have your golden boy back, but part of you will forever remain in the pit".

Kayne here just kind of wants to fuck with Arthur and watch him like a TV show, so this is more entertainment than anything power-seeking; Nyarlathotep (who I assume Kayne actually is) delights in cruelty and causing madness. Note, Kayne doesn't actually do anything to Arthur here, he's just kind of exacerbating Arthur's self doubt about his own humanity and sanity. No worse enemy than one's own mind, after all.

Kayne also does inform Arthur that John is in the Dark World! This obviously sways Arthur's decision quite a bit, and he immediately agrees to Kayne's terms, even assuming part of himself would be sent back to the prison pits, John not being alone in the Dark World is worth it to him.

Some of the main consequences to this decision!!

Arthur isn't really able to come to terms with John intrinsically being a part of the King in Yellow, and neither is John!

Arthur still very much views John as something that never was and can never be the King in Yellow, so he holds him to those standards, making some of their fights while in Addison have a different flavor to them.

In the same vein, John isn't able to have that "aha" moment of accepting his past as part of him, instead continuing to fight tooth and nail against the things he thinks are something the King would do.

As such, when Arthur snaps again and attacks Larson, and starts his descent towards bedrock in the mines under Addison, John is much harsher towards him, starting to see Arthur as the monster the King in Yellow is.

This culminates in Arthur killing Uncle, where another big problem makes itself apparent; the smell of blood makes Arthur painfully hungry, and he realizes this is what Kayne meant when talking about the part of him left in the pits.

Arthur reverts to his old habit of satiating his hunger here, and John sees him bite himself again, this time as a form of self-harm and what Arthur thinks is due punishment for becoming a monster, and they have their heart to heart about reaching bedrock.

John definitely knows something is up at this point, and is quick to reassure Arthur that they'll kill Larson, but they need to save the people of Addison first, if only to prove to Arthur that he's not the monster that either of them thought he was. John also comes to the realization that he might've been the cause for all of this; he remembers how the King said that knowing his love had scarred Arthur permanently.

So, after freeing Addison, John's main focus becomes separating them again, but this time it's for Arthur's own sanity. They do learn about the order of the fallen star, which John thinks is a better lead for separating them than searching for Anna Stanzyck.

That leaves us where most of my drawings of Dumpster Arthur are set timeline wise! They're in New York, grappling with Arthur's growing hunger and self-harm habits and finding a way to separate them, something Arthur is getting less and less willing to do, given as John is pretty much the only thing holding him together now.

I'm working on a comic about them finding a vessel for John, the construct body built by a fringe cult worshiping Hastur. This essentially is just an anchor for John, while he's still bound to Arthur, that body does give him autonomy and allows him to project without causing Arthur any stress (beyond emotional).

All of this is kind of subject to change, but a couple people in the tags of some of my art pointed out how interesting it is to focus on Arthur becoming more of a monster, something I definitely am going to explore a bit :^)

As a reward for finishing reading my very long brain vomit dump, have some fun(ish) Dumpster Arthur facts!

he wears a trench coat way too big for him because he thinks it makes him look bigger and more intimidating. john does not have the heart to tell him it just makes him look like a really sad wet cat

john takes on a bit more of a caretaker role for arthur when they reach new york! part of learning his own humanity comes with caring for someone else the way Lily cared for them in the hospital.

arthur also does have some nerve damage at this point in his right arm, so he does kind of twitch and shiver like a chihuahua when it gets particularly bad

john and arthur create a version of asl meant for one-handed signing, though it's rather hodge-podge to anyone who signs traditional asl. this allows john to communicate without arthur translating (noel has a bit of trouble reading the signs at first but learns quick) and also allows arthur to communicate silently with john.

[corpupine]

I've been doing a lot of thinking...and I feel like I need to scream this out somehow even though I'm sure it's been talked about before (and I'm putting it under a readmore because it gets long).

No matter what, in any playthrough you do and any timeline you create.

UNDERTALE is a game about guilt.

You have Toriel, so guiltridden she couldn't protect her own children that she devotes herself to never letting another child leave again. And then they do!! over and over again, that guilt compounds until it's the center of her life and every choice she makes!!

And obviously Asgore, so guiltridden that he couldn't protect his own children from humans that he spends the rest of his days trying to get out and get revenge on them--as if that will stop the voices in his head saying, if you had been out there with them you could have stopped it, you could have stopped those humans from killing your children, and maybe he could have!! Or maybe not!! He'll never know and it eats him from the inside out!

Alphys, oh my sweet summer child this fandom does not deserve you!! Alphys, so guiltridden from her own perceived failures as a scientist that she began to try anything, anything to make the King happy, and it seemed to be working at first, and then it was so everlastingly worse, how can you cause something worse than death?? without even trying??

And it shows up in little ways, silly ways, too! Ways you wouldn't even think about as guilt! Undyne! She feels guilty that she won't let Papyrus join the Royal Guard so she gives him cooking lessons instead! Papyrus feels guilty that he's not in love with you after one date so he'll "keep being your cool friend and act like this never happened!"

SANS MY BOI don't even get me started. His guilt isn't as physically obvious but he made a promise to toriel, he promised her he would keep the human safe, and in timelines where you save everyone he follows you pretty much all throughout the Underground (even if he doesn't do anything to help smh) because he'd feel guilty not doing it, and in timelines where you kill everyone he feels guilty for not stopping you, AND in those SAME timelines he feels guilty for stopping you because it means he's breaking his promise to Toriel to keep you safe I!!! This boy can fit so much cosmic guilt in him!!!!

Asriel! FLOWEY!! Do you ever wonder if he feels guilty about being the one to wake up again? The one to survive, when Chara had to die twice?? He sits at their grave and he will do anything, anything to drown out those thoughts so he befriends and kills and torments and it's all the same and it's all useless!!

And their guilt compounds each others'! Toriel makes Sans make that promise because of her own guilt, which increases his! Asgore's guilt is what pushes Alphys so far past the limits of ethical science, because he increases hers!

And all of this, all of this, ALL OF THIS pales in comparison to you!!!

You!! The player! You return to the Underground after maybe accidentally killing Toriel or a few others because you didn't know, you never wanted to hurt them!! You listen to Flowey and you come back and you save them all!

You! The player!!! You cry at the ending and you'd feel guilty, so guilty about letting them all go, wouldn't you? So you ignore Flowey's pleas to let it alone, and you come back again, you say hello to your dear friends but this time it isn't the same, this time you kill them all because you want to see everything this game has to offer, might as well get your money's worth, the fights are cool, right?? And then you get hit with the most unsatisfying atomic bomb of an ending and the only thing left is your own reflection staring back at you from the black screen of your computer as the horror dawns, what have you done???

YOU!!! The player! You go back again even though there is no Flowey left to tell you to, and you save them all again because I'm sorry, I'm so so sorry, nobody deserves what I did to all of you, and it's all good, nobody remembers, and then you get to the end. The game knows what you did!!! It never forgot, and it'll make certain you never forget either!! Guilt!! Guilt, guilt!!! It's baked into the code of this game!!

Anyways tl;dr, maybe it actually did make sense to give this game to the pope

[moleshow]

I am a stupid person. Where should I begin reading about economics.

where you should begin depends on what you want to know. my response is long so i'm putting it under a readmore

if you want to know about economic theory, that's one thing; if you want to know about economics in practice (i.e. the way economies operate), that's another. these things are related, but they're often in separate books.

if there's something you want to know about specifically feel free to ask--i may or may not be able to provide a suggestion on what you should read. my wheelhouse is mainly international economics and political economy so my recommendations are not the end-all-be-all of the field.

i've uploaded all of these here: https://gofile.io/d/gbocnf

(i wasn't able to find a pdf of the 2020 edition of the Frieden but i was able to find the 2017 edition.)

the first recommendation i have is unfortunately a textbook. theoretical foundations are important 😔

1. An Introduction to International Economics: New Perspectives on the World Economy by Kenneth Reinert

this book's focus is primarily on neoclassical economic theory (which is often what people mean when they say "economics"), but it provides a strong foundation for thinking about markets, trade, and currencies.

i also want to note here that economic theories are best thought of as lenses through which to look at phenomena. all of these lenses illuminate some things and obfuscate others. so the utility of a given theory is dependent upon what you're trying to examine.

2. The Travels of a T-Shirt in the Global Economy: An Economist Examines the Markets, Power, and Politics of World Trade by Pietra Rivoli

this book is a lot of fun, and falls pretty squarely into the "political economy" camp. Rivoli takes as her subject a t-shirt from a walgreens in florida (if memory serves), and follows the chain of production, to find out how it got there--as well as where shirts like it might go after being purchased. along the way she looks at the dynamics of production in practice, so she looks at the role of labor, firms, governments, brokers, etc.

i would recommend starting with this one or reading it alongside the Reinert so you aren't raw-dogging a textbook.

3. Global Capitalism: Its Fall and Rise in the Twentieth Century and Its Stumbles in the Twenty-First by Jeffry Frieden

for this one, you'll want to read the 2020 edition because the 2007 edition doesn't talk about the global financial crisis of 2008. this is a book that really is what it says on the tin--a history of global capitalism. it's particularly useful for understanding the origins and consequences of the postwar economic order. it contains some good discussions of keynesian economics and the neoliberal school of thought that followed.

4. World-Systems Analysis: An Introduction by Immanuel Wallerstein

this one's not a crucial read, but it covers a different way of thinking about basic economic units in international economics (i.e. not limiting one's economic analysis to nation-state units but instead thinking about the global economy as a system).

5. Running Steel, Running America by Judith Stein

i've put this book here because the latter half of the book essentially goes through how and why american production changed in the latter half of the 20th century, focusing chiefly on the production of steel. (this is another political economy book.) Stein illustrates the consequences of US foreign policy for the domestic economy, particularly during the 1970s--a crucial period. the whole book is worth reading, but the first half deals more with labor and politics so it's not directly related to your question.

bonus: Politics and Economics in the 1970s - lecture by Judith Stein

feel free to reach out if you have more questions or need clarification on something here👍

[yomigaere]

Regarding Touga's age in flashbacks

Touga appears as a child in two significant flashbacks in the series: in episode 9 where he and Saionji find Utena hiding in a coffin after she just lost her parents, and in episode 10 where Nanami gives him a kitten for his birthday, with all that that ended up tragically entailing. (It may be worth noting at this early point that neither of these flashbacks are from Touga's own point of view; ep 9's is Saionji's memory of the event, and ep 10's is of course Nanami's memories.)

The assumption I've seen throughout the entire fandom is that Touga is younger in Nanami's flashback, in which he has short hair, and a bit older in the coffin flashback, in which he has long hair. It's a perfectly reasonable and logical assumption, and one that I wouldn't question either -- if not for two things.

The first of those two things is head writer Enokido's notes on Touga; to sum them up very briefly for those who don't already know, they say his unpleasant backstory as depicted in the movie was also intended to have been his series self's backstory, with some additional details included to account for Nanami and Saionji. A specific point from both these notes and the movie itself is that Touga was ordered by his original parents to grow his hair out, as that was what Mr Kiryuu wanted. If we take Enokido's comments on Touga's backstory as applicable to the series canon -- as I personally do, as it heavily informs my entire reading of Touga as a character -- then they need to be reconciled with what's depicted in the series itself in one way or another.

The second thing is simply that I noticed some curiosities in the series character design sheets, which I'll go into past the readmore. Before that, I just want to pose the question I'm exploring here in the first place:

Could Touga have actually been younger in the coffin flashback than in Nanami's flashback?

Please note that this is more of a thought experiment than anything; I'm not trying to push this as The Actual Canon Truth, even if this does inform my personal headcanons regarding Touga's (and Nanami's and Saionji's) history. I just want to put forward some bits of evidence with my own thoughts and speculation on them. Without further ado...

First up, here's one of the design sheets for Touga and Nanami as kids from ep 10's flashback:

It says that Touga was 12 and Nanami was still 7 (keeping in mind that her birthday is a couple of months after his). I personally think they both look a bit younger than those stated ages, but I digress.

It could possibly be said that whoever added the notes on these design sheets might be pulling the characters' childhood ages out of thin air, but evidence that Touga is intended to be 12 here did make it into the episode itself:

Twelve candles on a cake for a kid's 12th birthday would make a lot of sense.

Meanwhile, here's the full-body design sheet for Touga and Saionji as kids from ep 9's flashback:

This one doesn't give any ages for the boys; I'm mainly posting it here for the sake of comparison. Your mileage may vary on which version of child Touga looks older or younger, and I'm a little back-and-forth on the matter myself; that said, it does strike me how dainty he looks in the design sheet for the coffin flashback, though I wonder if it might just be because of his clothes.

What had me questioning Touga's (and Saionji's) age in the coffin flashback in the first place is that, in the manga, it's stated that Utena was 6 years old when her parents died. That would've made the boys about 9 at the time, as they're three years older than her. Having said that, though, the manga and anime are different continuities with different takes on a lot of things, so just because the manga says one thing doesn't mean it definitely applies to the anime version as well. So how old was child Utena in the anime, then?

As with the boys, the design sheet for Utena's appearance in the coffin flashback doesn't specify an age for her, either. This would ostensibly make their ages at the time ambiguous -- but I'm not giving up here. There's another character who was a similarly-aged child at the time.

Anthy appears as a child in flashbacks in episode 34, one of which takes place very shortly after ep 9's coffin flashback. According to the design sheet, she was 7 years old at the time, and she's noted to be the same height as child Utena. Therefore, I find it reasonable to conclude that Utena was also about 7 years old when she lost her parents, which would've made Touga and Saionji around 10 at the time.

That's the evidence I'm putting forward to support the possibility of Touga being younger in the coffin flashback than in Nanami's flashbacks, with the admitted underlying assumption that the design sheets can be used as reliable sources for characters' ages as children. I think it would address discrepencies in his hair length with regards to his backstory as given by Enokido, but there's still a couple of other things that ought to get a closer look in that case.

All of Nanami's childhood photos of herself and Touga that we see in episode 31 show him with short hair. What's with that?

My speculation on this is that Touga deliberately curated the photo album so that it would only show him with short hair as a kid, in order to hide the reality of his and Nanami's situation as "adopted" kids sold to a paedophile from her. It probably helps that in all these photos, he and Nanami look roughly the same as they did in her flashback in ep 10, suggesting that they could all be from around that time. I've also considered the possibility that there could be some Mamiya-esque shenanigans surrounding the photos (in that they're showing a falsehood, like the photo of the fake Mamiya that turns into one showing his real self during Mikage's duel), but that feels like too much of a stretch to me.

It's also possible that Nanami might be misremembering Touga's hair length in her flashbacks in the first place; the Kaoru twins offer precedent for this, as their "Sunlit Garden" flashbacks in episode 5 show Kozue with a completely different hairstyle depending on whether it's Miki or her remembering that time. Personally, though, I find it more likely that Touga really did have short hair at the time, especially if we assume from everything I gave further up in this post that he'd just turned 12. Apologies for the horrible following thought, but I wonder if, by the time Touga had reached that age, he was getting a bit too old for Mr Kiryuu's sick tastes...

Putting that nastiness aside, there's one more flashback involving Touga I want to talk about, and it's one I wouldn't even have thought to include if I hadn't rewatched the episode it appears in recently: Tsuwabuki's flashback from episode 6! (Always leave it to the comedy episodes to surprise you!)

Tsuwabuki is presumably in preschool here based on his clothes, Nanami is in the girls' elementary school uniform, and Touga is in the standard boys' uniform as worn by middleschoolers and highschoolers. For all this to line up, I think their most likely ages here are 5-6 for Tsuwabuki, 8-9 for Nanami (putting her in third grade) and 12-13 for Touga (putting him in seventh grade, or his first year of middle school as per the Japanese school system).

Yet Touga has long hair here! If he had short hair when he'd just turned 12, how could it have grown out so much in only a year or so? (To say nothing of the growth spurt he seems to have had in that time...) I could chalk things up to Tsuwabuki idealising him as a big strong older brother in his memory -- middle school Touga apparently fought off a great big rampaging bull, after all -- which would explain why he looks basically the same here as he does as a highschooler. That said, Touga doesn't necessarily need to have had long hair in order for Tsuwabuki to idealise him the way he does; I doubt his hair length matters too much either way for that, so I don't see any reason for Tsuwabuki to misremember his hair in particular. This could lend some credence to the idea that Nanami misremembers Touga's hair length in her own flashback, but I question that for the reasons I already gave further up.

(As an aside: it might just be a matter of the lighting in that specific shot, but had Touga already dyed his trademark lighter streak in his hair in Tsuwabuki's flashback? He noticably doesn't have his highlight in either of the flashbacks with him as a child, which the design sheets for both of them make a specific point of noting. I might talk about the possible significance of his highlight in a different post.)

I think that's about it for my rambling and speculation on this, at least for now. What do you think? Is any of this plausible? Not plausible? Is it at least an interesting thought experiment to read about either way, or is it just a load of codswallop? Are there any blind spots I might've missed that I ought to address? Any other questions or comments? I'm curious to know.

[shadowtraveled]

would love to know your thoughts on rinsha dunmeshi. or on rin and kabru :-)

OH!! i love rin honestly lightning damage and unaffiliated spellcasters will get me every time.

i would have loved to see more of her, but i do really enjoy kui's style of storytelling where she gives us the information about a character that will tell us exactly what she wants us to know. it reminds me of the way someone described suzanne collins' writing as surgically precise—she has more information about characters and the world, but she included what would get her story across most effectively. kui gives off a similar impression, and i think rin is a good example of that.

sorry readmore because that was getting long already.

rin's backstory is really interesting to me because it helps us to extrapolate so much more about the world and the other characters in it.

for what it's worth, i don't think it's terribly likely that her parents were practicing ancient magic. they were immigrants of a visibly different ethnicity, though, and they were magic users, which othered them doubly in the northern continent, and that otherness cost them their lives. this is sort of a running theme in dungeon meshi overall ofc, but i think a lot of discussion surrounding dungeon meshi discrimination focuses on the elves. which is fair, since they seem to be the most significant world power and they're weird race elitists as elves in fantasy frequently are, but the story does not want us to forget that discrimination is complex and so is otherness. tallmen may not be respected by long-lived races, but in communities where they do have power, they're still perfectly capable of leveraging it against others. they seem to have a particular bias against magic, but really anything people deem weird or creepy is enough to land you in trouble: laios faced constant rejection and, in some cases, severe harassment just for being autistic; kabru's eye color was enough to push his mother to the fringes of society and get her accused of witchcraft, suggesting that "weird or creepy" is regularly conflated with "magic" in tallman societies; and falin's affinity for magic led to her isolation and ostracism as her mother frantically tried to suppress it. rin's parents, meanwhile, were outright executed. the nature of these reactions to anything unfamiliar or non-standard are definitely meant to convey something about tallman societies in the world, but i think rin and kabru's situations specifically lend some explanation as to why falin is so forgiving of her parents. they didn't really know what to do with her, and some of the things they did to her were harmful, but she seems to see them as trying their best to protect her, perhaps because she knows the emergence of her magic could have put her in immediate physical danger but didn't.

with that being said, i'm surprised rin doesn't have more of an aversion to tallmen, but maybe kabru made enough of an impression on her that she developed some hope for them.

her dislike of elves, meanwhile, is entirely understandable—her interactions with them seem to be framed as emblematic of how they treat short-lived races in a way we don't really see with the others. milsiril objectifies short-lived races but does seem to... kind of care, otta fetishizes them but seems to... kind of care, mithrun's squad only get to be patronizing for a bit before it becomes apparent they bit off way more than they could chew, and mithrun isn't invested in these designations anymore. but the elves that found rin treated her like evidence, then like a toy, and then they got bored and ignored her, and then she was evidence again, and then she got adopted out to elves who kept her like they would a pet. miserable fucking experience, and a very thorough and efficient way of expressing just how little the elves are socialized to consider the humanity of the other races.

as for her relationship with kabru... i'm glad they had each other around. it's impossible to be surprised that she latched onto him in her circumstances, and i think it's sweet that she was the one he stuck with (despite the implication that milsiril was raising other children alongside him that he ostensibly would have spent more time with).

i also love how apparent their closeness is! rin gravitates to kabru, and if i'm remembering right, most of the time she speaks it's to him. that immediately established to me that she is uniquely comfortable with him, and interestingly it goes both ways! it's less apparent with kabru, because he's a lot more social than she is, but vitally, he lets the mask slip with her. she's the only character he goes out of his way to tease, and sometimes he takes it a little bit into "alright that was kind of mean" territory, which sucks of him but is kind of the point. kabru's interactions with rin are the earliest ones where we see him fuck up or be a little bit of an asshole, and that's almost certainly because she is a person he feels comfortable enough with to not try to game every conversation. kabru being a little bit of a bitch is the first time we see him not trying to be charismatic. and she gives it RIGHT BACK lmfao it really conveys the feeling that these two are kind of "safe people" for each other, even if they're bantering a little meanly. very charming, top-tier childhood friend dynamic, no notes.

editing to add:

^ YEAH THIS IS IT thank you @gerrykeay i think this really captures the spirit of her revulsion with regard to things like magic school (and its graduates), etc... she seems to think of magic school as this sort of lofty opportunity only people with a certain level of social standing are able to access (which seems to hold a level of truth) and reject it on the basis that something like that is fundamentally incompatible with who she is as a person, and that's probably the same reason she remains unaffiliated despite knowing practicing magic without organization ties is potentially dangerous for her. these systems rejected and failed her family and her, so she rejects them in kind.... god i'm so obsessed with the way practically every character has a main character backstory and motivations this really is like a ttrpg lol

[morimementa]

Might I offer you a small smackerel of NikPrice mpreg?

TW for mpreg and illness mentions under the readmore.

Nik and Price trying for a baby, knowing the odds are really long, given Price is in his late 30s. They’re prepared to wait, and even to let their dreams go unfulfilled.

Anyway, they succeed on the first try. After the initial shock of “We thought this would be hard?!” wears off, they’re really excited. And in Price’s case, very, very nauseous.

(Ghost staunchly refuses to stop calling him “old man”, though.)

The morning sickness passes with little fanfare, but then comes the migraines. They start in month 4 and finally stop in month 6, but it’s not an easy time. They spend a lot of time in bed with the blinds drawn and the lights off, with Nik alternating between massaging his husband’s temples and rubbing his belly. It’s not something either of them care to repeat but the intimacy of that time was something special.

Nikolai dubs the baby "Little Mouse" because Price keeps craving string cheese of all things.

By pure happenstance, they're cuddling on the sofa when he feels the baby kick for the first time. It takes another month before the kicks are strong enough to feel from the outside, but it's more than worth the wait. Nikolai cuddles up with Price's belly and sings to them.

They find out the gender at 12 weeks, but I think we can all agree no one in the 141 would be caught dead doing a gender reveal party.

No, not even if Soap was promised Tannerite.

The next time they meet up with Soap and Ghost, Price casually drops the fact that the baby's a boy. Soap jokes about buying blue bubblegum cigars to celebrate.

They don't have a baby shower but their small circle of friends do bestow their gifts. Gaz finds a baby sized boonie hat and makes sure it finds its way onto Price's desk.

Nikolai has never been prone to worrying, but there's definitely a few times he holds his breath in anticipation during Price's ultrasounds. Premature births run in his family and he worries he's passed the curse onto his husband and their son.

Anyway, Price ends up almost a week overdue. He's less than thrilled, but still thankful there's little risk of the NICU at this point.

Nik consoles him with backrubs and promises of a ham sandwich once the baby's born.

Price finally goes into labor while Nik’s off at work. Ghost is the one who calls the ambulance. The EMT is a bit of prat and asks Price if he’s sure he’s in labor. The trauma Ghost inflicts on him without ever having to raise his voice becomes the stuff of hospital legend.

Nik arrives at the hospital while Price is between contractions and learns that his husband is just fine, but their kid’s godfather made an EMT wet himself.

Honestly, he should have expected that.

Their son is delivered safely and with few issues. He's a really chonky baby at 11 pounds, 8 ounces. Nik stops calling him little mouse and starts calling him Baby Bear.

His real name is Aleksandr or Alek for short. He ends up with Nik's nose and hair and Price's eyes. Gaz remarks that he'll probably grow out a beard when he gets older.

"The girls will be chasing him," Nik laughs. "Or the boys."

The first thing Price does when he's able to get out of bed and leave little Alek with Soap is light up a cigar on the porch. He's still going to smoke on occasion, but he makes sure he's not putting their son in danger.

This ended up being way more than a smackerel. No regrets, the fandom needs way more Nikprice Mpreg.

[shaanks]

Hello!! So, for the lovely @quinloki 's birthday request event, I have written a thing!! It's a day later than I intended, but we made it!!

This thing is a monster and it got away from me lmfao, but I genuinely hope you enjoy it. :)))) Even in the short time I've known you, I've found you to be a lovely person and a wonderful friend, and you deserve all the fun and joy in the world. If this manages to be even a little part of that, I will be honored and thrilled.

So, without further ado, please allow me to introduce:

Cabin in the Woods

summary: A break-in, a road-trip, and a mysterious cabin all coalesce on what should have been a quiet Tuesday night in August. The world is changing, and our reader must adapt to a mystery they could not have imagined, and circumstances they could not have foreseen.

cw: op x reader with Sabo, dark content, yandere stuff. (nothing graphic or even violent really happens, but the circumstances are still there). there is a gun, but no gun violence is involved. no pronouns are used, but the reader is mentioned as having breasts and a vagina. there's smut, both explicit and implied. petnames used: darling, love, sweetheart, baby.

I don't think i'm forgetting anything but as always if this kinda stuff isn't your cup of tea, don't read it.

14k word count so it's going under a readmore, but yeah!! Here we go!

**

A bump in the road jolted you awake, head snapping up from where it had slumped against the passenger side window.

“Sorry love,” a soft, familiar voice whispered from beside you, accompanied by the soothing warmth of a palm smoothed over your thigh and you sighed, relieved, allowing your eyes to slip closed for a moment again before you straightened up in your seat.

It was hard to tell how long the two of you had been on the road. Sabo had insisted on driving so that you could rest, but that had been in the wee hours of the morning. It was still dark now, the sky a sickly, bruised grey that could have been dawn or dusk, and you scrubbed a hand over your face, trying to get your bearings. With a heavy sigh, you dropped your hand into your lap again, eyes roaming aimlessly around the car before settling on the dash radio. 5:15 AM.

You frowned, muted worry etching itself across your brow as you shifted your hand to rest atop the back of your fiance’s. He must have read the look in his periphery, or felt your concern seeping into his skin at your touch because he chuckled warmly, turning his hand palm-up to lace his fingers with yours.

“Don’t you worry, okay? I’m a veteran roadtrip driver, and besides...you needed the rest. Last night was…” your lover trailed off for a moment, something vague and inscrutable flittering across his features for a moment.

“...a little hectic,” you supplied, finishing his thought, and that gentle smile returned to his features once more as he regarded you with a wink.

“Hectic. Yeah. S’as good a word for it as any,” He squeezed your hand a little more tightly, rubbing his thumb along the back of it in tender, absentminded circles.

Silence settled back over your little car for a while then, and you turned your attention out the windows again, trying not to let the memory of the previous night, or the reason for your impromptu flight from civilization, enter your mind. When you’d drifted off, it had been on an empty, nondescript stretch of freeway, fallow farmland on either side, no other cars in sight beyond one lonely set of taillights which had bobbed along ahead of you for perhaps ten miles before drifting off down an exit of its own, leaving the two of you to the liminal solitude of late night travel.

If Sabo had pulled off at any stops along the way, he hadn’t woken you for them, but given that the scenery had changed from open farmland to winding, forested foothills, it couldn’t have been more than once. Under normal circumstances you might have chided him for it ‘Breaks are normal, it’s not worth the hour saved to give yourself a UTI trying to do the whole trip in one go,’ but given the circumstances…

You blinked your eyes shut hard, shaking the thoughts away before stretching to the side a little to rest your head on Sabo’s shoulder.

“Want me to take over for a bit, ‘Bo?” You asked softly, running your free hand up his forearm a little.

Sabo leaned over slightly, slumping his cheek against the top of your head for a moment before pressing a soft kiss there, lingering just long enough to breathe the scent of you in before straightening back up.

Nah, s’okay. We’re only a couple hours out from it now, and the side road is really hard to catch. Hell, I used to come out here every summer with my brothers, and I still drive right past it sometimes.” He said, the corners of his lips turning slightly upwards at the memory.

You adored his brothers, boisterous and warm in their own ways. They were the only people on earth that Sabo loved as much as you, and for a moment your heart clenched at the thought. Between the bars of your mental blockade, you hoped faintly that they were holed up somewhere safe, too. That they’d found their way out of the city before--

“Do you think we should try the radio again? See if there’s any news...any updates?” Your voice sounded grave, frightened and thin in your own ears, and you winced.

Sabo squeezed your hand a little more tightly. “...Let’s wait til we’re up at the cabin. If the car radio runs out of signal we’ve got the ham radio, and that old long-range one Luffy’s grandfather left up there.” He lapsed into silence for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower, betraying the first hint of worry he’d let slip since your departure. “We beat the first wave out, and there’s nothing we can do ‘til we’re safe up there. Won’t help anything to get ourselves all wound up before then, right love?” his voice was low, reassuring, reasonable. He didn’t want you to be scared. You didn’t want you to be scared.

He offered you the out, and you took it. “Yeah. May as well get everything set up before we start taking stock of how bad it is.”

“Brilliant as always,” he crooned, lilting his voice with that cartoonishly syrupy sweetness that never failed to make you laugh. He grinned at the sound, heart fluttering in his chest, and exhaled a long, slow breath. He wasn’t worried about what might be on the radio. All that mattered was that he had you here, had you safe. Whatever else happened, you could weather it together.

**

True to his word, the little road that led back to the cabin was barely visible until the car was almost on top of it; even with the help of the morning light, filtering grey through the thickening cloud cover, the path Sabo slowed and pulled off onto could barely be called a road. You’d already pulled off the freeway maybe 30 minutes before, onto a two lane little back road that veered off and up into the hills and valleys beyond. This was an unpaved, overgrown footpath with delusions of grandeur, that seemed to meander almost aimlessly through the trees. Slowly but surely, the road behind you slid into the foliage and out of view, and though you knew he must be exhausted, you found yourself deeply grateful that Sabo had opted to finish the drive himself.

You could barely imagine picking your way through this on foot without prior knowledge, let alone in a car. At regular intervals Sabo’s side of the road would simply open up into nothing, offering a stunning view of the valley, of the forested mountain on the other side, and what you were sure was likely a precipitous drop off into the river below. The thought of it made you a bit queasy, despite the beauty of the scenery, and you leaned back into your seat, opting instead to watch the high wall of fallen leaves and hillside passing by on the passenger side.

“Just a little bit longer, I promise. The cabin’s just on the other side of the hilltop. You’re going to love the view. Plus it’s got good access to a little lake. The water is always unreasonably cold, but it’s gorgeous,” He said, turning his head only slightly towards you to keep his focus on the road. “Tell ya what, if the old rowboat is still functional, I’ll take you out on it. Tomorrow, after we’ve had some rest.”

You smiled at that, humming acquiescently. The thought of spending time out on the lake with him—spending time out anywhere with him—was wonderful, perfect, of course, though at the moment the only thing you could muster any true enthusiasm for was a long bath and the promise of a comfortable bed. The whole place was probably going to need aired out and dusted off, and while there was a generator Sabo had made it clear that it might need a little TLC before there would be any power. That was fine. If you two needed to spend the first night cooking hotdogs and smores in the fireplace, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.

That phrase rattled around in your mind a little, and you shuddered. Sabo glanced at you, before reaching out and flicking the AC down a couple of notches.

“Don’t worry,” he whispered. You squeezed his hand tightly, before drawing it up to your lips.

“With you? ‘Course not.” you whispered back.

He smiled, perhaps a little smugly, though that simply made you kiss the back of his hand once again.

**

When the road had finally meandered off the slope of the mountain you were on, following a little rise into a nestled clearing between peaks, you’d sighed in relief and slumped back in your seat, making Sabo laugh good-naturedly.

“The ride in is a little harrowing the first time, but I promise it’s gonna be worth it,” He’d said, letting go of your hand so he could ruffle it through your hair, and down to rest at the back of your neck, soothing the tense muscles with warm, precise little movements.

You weren’t honestly sure what you’d been expecting the cabin to look like. Vague images of a hunting lodge, of a summer camp bunk house, of a better homes and gardens style airbnb, and Rapunzel’s tower had all made their aimless way across your mind on the way in.

What you found was nothing short of magical. Even in the grey, dreary light of what had turned out to be a drizzly, windy sort of day, the little valley nestled between the peaks still seemed to glimmer with the echos of sun-warmed adventures and youthful secrets. The road you were on petered out into the soft green grass of a charmingly overgrown clearing. The hilltop seemed to cup the clearing like a giant hand, curving trees and bushes and delicate little wildflowers inward towards the cabin, more like the framing of a painting than the work of nature.

The cabin itself was larger than you’d anticipated, but not nearly as campish or dilapidated as Sabo had suggested. Dark old wood comprised both stories of the house, with a wraparound porch and swing visible as you approached, and a balcony on the one upstairs room you could see from this side.

The windows were boarded up, sure, but Sabo had assured you that was standard practice every time he and his brothers left the place for the season. Safer that way in case of storms, and it kept most of the animals from scratching around too much.

“We’ll pull the boards off the windows of the upstairs rooms so we can get a cross-breeze up where we’re gonna sleep. Rest of em we can work through tomorrow. No rush. We’ve got time to settle in.” he said, cheerful despite the situation, as he finally pulled the car to a stop, and killed the engine.

You leaned forward for a moment, taking in the place through the tinted blue of the top of the windshield, before unclipping your seat belt and climbing out of the car at long last. Without the rumble of the engine and the whirring of the AC, the place was even more beautiful. Wind swept through the valley, rustling in the trees, stray leaves twirling and trailing in the wind as they fell.

Sabo climbed out of the car too, leaning against the open driver’s side door to watch you, a gentle smile on his lips.

‘It’ll all be worth it. Even if all that ever came of it was this, it’d be worth it,’ the thought settled across his mind like gossamer silk, his eyes growing dreamy and unfocused, as he drank in the sight of your excitement. You seemed to glow in the gentle light that filtered down through the trees, and he knew in that moment that there was no one in the world more perfect than you. His love, his darling.

He could make you happy here. He would make you happy here. Happy, and safe, and loved. As you deserved.

You almost yelped in startled delight when you lowered your head from observing the trees around you to find Sabo directly by your side, lips quirked up into a grin. It was one of the things you loved about him, one of his many fascinating little quirks, he could be so quiet when he wanted to be. Your high little peal of laughter only widened his grin, and in one swift motion he had you lifted up into his arms, cradled against his chest, nestled into a grip that spoke of unfathomable reverence, and a heat that seemed always to be boiling just inches beneath his skin, a hunger that only ever found satiation in your love, your touch, your pleasure.

You looked up into the face of the man you loved breathlessly, the hint of color and responding heat beginning to touch your cheeks, and he sighed, letting those beautiful cornflower blue eyes of his slip closed, poorly feigning a chiding expression as he leaned forward to press his lips to your forehead.

“I see how it is,” he sighed airily, turning towards the cabin with you as though you weighed nothing at all. “What am I, compared to pretty leaves and a mysterious old cabin~” he intoned, hyperbolically mournful, and you rolled your eyes playfully before turning your head to kiss his chin.

“My guide through the darkness, as always,” you returned, mimicking his feigned mournfulness, though just as the words left your lips, Sabo carried you up onto the creaking old wood of the porch, and into the semi-darkness that came with it. The cloud cover was too heavy to throw off the pal of disuse, and you couldn’t quite manage to suppress the shiver that ran through you. Up close, with its boarded windows and unfamiliar shadows, there was something...ominous, about the place. Sabo stilled for a moment, glancing down at you, his playful expression giving way to concern, and something like remorse, as he set you gently onto your feet again.

“Nobody’s been out here in a couple years,” He squeezed your shoulders softly, rhythmically, before pulling you forward into a hug. “That’s all it is. There’s no way that anythi—that anyone would even know to come out this way beyond Ace and Luffy, and they’re out of state. You know that,” his voice was so even, so reasonable, and when he pulled back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours you sighed, and nodded.

“Whatever’s happening out there, it can’t get to us here. I’ll keep you safe.”

You sighed, leaning in to kiss him, and as he stroked your cheek and let you sink into his warmth, you willed the worry to subside, at least a little.

“Yeah,” you whispered, and he nodded with a soft sigh before turning his attention back towards the task at hand.

He seemed to ponder the boarded up door for a moment, brows furrowing thoughtfully. If you hadn’t known him so well, you might have wondered whether you were locked out...but after a moment of “contemplation,” Sabo tilted his head down towards you, and winked.

“We always board everything up when we leave...except the front door. Watch,” Sabo leaned forward, running his fingertips along the outside of the door frame until something gave way with a small click. Without bothering with the visible lock and seemingly independently of the doorknob, the entire boarded up apparatus swung open a couple of inches, and Sabo pulled it open the rest of the way with a flourish.

“Is it...fake?” you asked, reaching out to touch the camouflaged button he had pressed, watching the simple release mechanism punch outwards curiously.

“False front door,” Sabo replied proudly, almost excitedly, as he ran his palm down the old wood. “One of the few good ideas Luffy’s grandfather ever had. The actual front door is on the lakeside of the house. This way, even if someone did somehow manage to approach from the road, all they’d see is what looked like a boarded up old house.”

Something about that felt a little odd. Why would such a decoy be necessary in general, let alone for a place as secluded as this? But beyond what sounded like an old man’s paranoia, you couldn’t quite place why it struck you so strangely, nor did you have time to properly contemplate it, as Sabo was moving ahead of you into the house, striding confidently into the gloom.

You hesitated in the doorway, still gripped by that odd sense of foreboding; distantly, the sound of thunder began to roll through the hills, and it might as well have been night for all the grey light did to illuminate the interior of the cabin. Little slits of feeble light peeped out from impossibly far back in the space, and you noticed, once the rumbling of thunder died down, that the cabin had fallen quite silent. You couldn’t hear the sound of Sabo’s boots on the wooden floor, nor any of his usual stream of cheerful commentary.

It was as though the house had simply swallowed him whole.

Behind you, the wind seemed to be slowly picking up in intensity again, carrying the distant rolling thunder closer. Fat droplets of rain began to plop down through the trees, into the grass, hitting the windshield with intermittent but purposeful force.

The anxiety of the previous night began to creep up the back of your neck again, adrenaline pooling in your lungs as cool as rainwater.

Pat. Pat. Splat.

You’d been dead asleep when it started. The crash of glass had jarred you awake, the sound of screaming shortly after like nothing you’d ever heard. High and ragged and inhuman, like someone burning, like agony and rage and consumption tearing insufficient human vocal cords raw in punishment for attempting to express a pain and hatred so vast.

The sound had frozen you to your core, welding your joints in place, leaving you trapped and horrified in what had only moments before been one of the safest places in your world. There was a moment of quiet, punctuated by gasping, sickened breathing, by the steady pattering of something thick and wet falling to the floor of your bedroom. Shambling steps cracked the glass that littered the floor, erratic, listless...and this time, when that primal shriek ripped through the nauseating silence, you jolted beneath your sheets. Just barely. Just enough.

Something heavy had pressed down on the end of the bed, so close to your frozen legs that any further movement would have brought you into contact instantly. The thick, wet liquid dripped against the blankets as the unseen thing made its unsteady way up towards the headboard where you lay and it stank, rot and decay flooding your nostrils, turning your stomach almost enough to make you retch--

If it hadn’t been for Sabo, if he’d taken even a second longer, if he hadn’t dropped his water glass to shatter in the sink and flown down the hallway like a man possessed, it might have touched you. It might have dribbled that foul bile onto your face, into your mouth, and you would have screamed...you were sure you would have died. But as it was, you never saw it. Mercifully, you never saw it.

The weight had lifted from the bed the second your bedroom door had crashed open, and though you still hadn’t quite been able to make yourself move you heard it, Sabo’s fury and something that sounded suspiciously like metal as it sang through the air, only to crash into the thing with a sickening crack.

When he’d pulled you out of bed, he’d faced you away from the thing. From the mess you were sure must lay just beside where you’d been sleeping. The second he had you standing, the same spell that had frozen you sent you spinning into action, and he followed your lead. The two of you had grabbed what was easiest, throwing food and ice into a cooler, grabbing the first aid kit you usually kept for camping excursions, and you’d been in the car and out onto the road without evening looking back.

If it hadn’t been for several overturned cars, for several houses that stood like guttered ghosts with gaping eyes of broken glass, for the smoke that rose and billowed in the direction of town, it might have seemed like a normal night.

Sabo had turned on the radio only long enough to confirm that they were in range of nothing but the emergency broadcast system. Other than that one set of lonely taillights, you might have been the only two people left on--

All at once, the cabin lighting sprang to life, startling you from your reverie in a moment of mingled relief and panic. The warm orange glow of welcoming old lights filled the previously menacing space, and faintly over the sound of the rising storm, the labored rumbling of the generator could be heard.

“Looks like Ace actually left the thing topped off last time he was here, but we can still cook out in the fireplace if you w—” Sabo jogged back into view from where he’d disappeared—either to the basement or the back of the house—but his triumphant tone sagged into worried silence when he found you, ashen, still standing in the open doorway where he’d left you.

“I’m okay,” you said, though your voice wavered unconvincingly. A gust of wind splattered the steady drizzling rain against the back of your neck and this time you did jump, before stepping over the threshold and closing the door a bit harder than you’d intended.

“I’m okay.” You said again, more an order for your own frightened heart than a reassurance for your fiance, but he stepped forward anyway and pulled you into his arms again.

“We’re okay,” Sabo replied.

You breathed deeply into the warmth of his chest, and believed him.

**

That first day passed in a near constant stream of activity that kept your mind thankfully occupied, either by the seemingly endless stream of maintenance tasks the cabin seemed to need, or the loving, doting, and supportive attentions of your lover.

The storm that had blown in had made getting the windows unboarded and opened untenable, but the downstairs bathroom hadn’t required much to get to a usable state, and with the boiler kindly willing to acquiesce to your request to light, you’d been able to share a hot bath before changing into your set of spare clothes.

By the time you were nestled down in the sea of blankets Sabo had pulled out of their vacuum-sealed prisons and roasting hot dogs in the fireplace, the memory of the night before had slunk back into the recesses of your mind again, like the dregs of a bad dream. Sabo had said something about the storm likely interfering with the radio, and that he’d try to get it working once it had blown over.

You hadn’t argued. Eventually, you knew, you would have to open those floodgates, to see how bad things were...but if you had to wait another night to make it real, that was okay.

When your lover had rolled you gently onto your back in that sea of blankets, in the warmth of the dying fire and the storm raging outside, you had opened beneath him like a flower. He’d made short work of the boxers you’d borrowed, of the t-shirt which had been your only quick option during your flight.

The warmth of his hands as they cradled you to him, as they lifted your hips onto the improvised cushions and angled your body into a comfortable position, burned away, at least for the moment, any worries for the world outside.

Instead you sank into the sight of him, into the way the firelight seemed to dance across every inch of soft skin, every furrow of relaxed muscle, entranced by the way his belly contracted as he shimmied out of his pajama pants.

“Beautiful,” You’d whispered, as you opened your arms to him, following the familiar lines of muscle up over his shoulders to clasp around him, to close the gap between you that kept his warmth so cruelly from you.

“Not like you, love,” Sabo sighed softly, reverently, stifling any possible retort as he licked into your mouth at last, lapping over your tongue, tasting you as much as kissing you until any breath, any thought but desire for him, had been consumed.

Sabo had always been ravenous, had always run you up against the limits of what you thought you could take with, and though he was as gentle and supportive of your pleasure as he was of all aspects of your life, there was always that glimmer. That glint in his eye that suggested he would always need one more, one more from you, to ever properly be sated.

That night, with the outside world denied entry and the distractions of your previous life distant and moot, he was like a man possessed.

Even as the kiss left you gasping, wanting, he’d trailed lower, suckling marks into your throat that would take days to fade, lapping and soothing over each one as though determined to taste every inch of you.

“You know I’d give you all of me...everything I am,” his voice, usually so smooth and even and honey-sweet, came out raw and low, more a sensation against the peak of your nipple than voice before he closed his mouth around the bud, swirling it with his tongue as a promise of pleasure to come. Warmth blossomed through your body and when you whined softly in response, body flexing as you arched your back to press more of yourself into his mouth, he obliged in earnest, his palm sliding between your shoulderblades and lifting you like you weighed nothing at all.

Under any other circumstance he might have teased you. Might have made you ask, might have made you use your words, but the patience required had fled him. He kissed across your chest, watching the way your eyes fluttered, the way you flushed and writhed at his touch, and simply could not imagine a world where making you wait could be worth it. At least, not today.

This time, when he closed his mouth over the sensitive peak of your nipple, the fingers of his free hand trailed lower, soothing over your belly, calming your writhing body down even as he worked his teeth into the tender flesh there. This time when you cried out, he moaned sympathetically in return, as though the sudden surge of pleasure had rushed straight from your nerves into his, though he did nothing to lessen the intensity, the sympathetic noise turning into a low groan of need as his fingers dipped lower still, stroking the slick building between your thighs gently.

“Sabo, please,” your voice, thick and heavy with need, with a desperation much bigger than the moment, snapped his gaze towards yours for a moment.

“I know, I know,” he’d whispered, burying the quirk of his lips between your breasts, down your belly, nestling momentarily in the tuft of hair just above where you needed him most. “Gotta get you ready, darling, I—”

Rather than finishing the thought, rather than giving you the opportunity to thrash or beg him further, Sabo had dipped his tongue between your lips, watching you with hazy eyes as the taste of you flooded his senses. He teased the hood of your clit with the tip of his tongue, barely swiping over it in little circles before dipping lower, kissing between your legs, licking and suckling you open.

By the time he’d lifted his head again, chin slick with the evidence of your need, you almost felt hysterical. He watched in mesmerized pride as your clit twitched like a second heartbeat, swollen almost entirely out from under its hood, though only for a moment before finally giving you what you needed. The sound you made when he’d closed his lips around your desperate nub had almost sounded wounded, and Sabo had smoothed his palms up the backs of your thighs, tapping them wordlessly to get you to hold them while he drove you towards your peak.

It took almost nothing for the first orgasm to take you, racing up and crashing against your clit with every swirled beat of his tongue, though he’d given you only a moment to revel in it before slicking two fingers into your spasming cunt. He knew your body better than his own, knew where the little spot inside you was that made you growl and thrash in his arms like a thing wild, and he grinned against your core as your breathlessness gave way to a wail of pleasure that might almost have contained his name.

He didn’t let you rest. The pleasure of the first orgasm never quite ebbed enough to end as he dragged you through the pleasure up, up towards another peak. You were burning in his arms, beneath his mouth, molten desire stripped of more complex concerns, and he hadn’t even filled you yet.

“M’ready, I’m ready, S—aaa, Sabo please, plee-eeeaaa,” your pleas dissolved into another wordless groan as the pleasure began to crest again; this time when you came, your back arched so sharply that it practically lifted off the floor, your legs falling open at your sides as sense momentarily left you, displaced by the sensitive ecstasy he had driven into you.

You’d looked down then, vision hazy and eyes half-lidded through a cloud of bliss, and the small part of your mind still capable of thought expected to see him pulling away, getting to his knees, surely, surely you were wet enough now, pliant enough now...but the gaze that met yours from where your lover still lay between your legs seemed almost maddened with lust. At some point in the fog of your pleasure he had moved, knees spread out in a low crouch, and despite your previous two orgasms arousal twisted low in your guts as you realized he was rutting himself against the blankets beneath him, mindlessly soothing his own need while he drank from yours.

“Awww, I felt that, baby,” he whispered against you, grinning positively lethally in the firelight as you clenched and dribbled around his fingers. “Do you like that? Do you like knowing what you do to me, my love? How desperate you make me?” his voice was low, almost teasing despite all, as he rutted his hips against the blankets in quiet demonstration.

“Yes...fuck, yes,” you hadn’t bothered to hide it, he knew, and even if he didn’t, it wasn’t like your body was capable of covering for your lie. Sabo kissed the inside of your thigh in appreciation, though that hunger seemed to rise in him again when he slicked his fingers out of you only to watch your hole flutter around nothing.

Part of him wanted to simply dive back down into you, to slick his tongue in as deeply as he could and drink until he was full...but that would have been selfish. And besides...he had all the time in the world now worship at the altar of your thighs.

Gently, carefully, Sabo shifted his weight, sitting up on his knees properly again. He rested his cock, swollen and red and leaking, along the entire length of your slit as he leaned over your, taking his weight on one splayed palm so that he could lean down over you, nuzzling his forehead against yours. Beneath all that ferocious hunger, he loved you so, and the warmth that spread through his chest at the way you lifted your watery eyes to meet his almost quelled the need scrabbling between his ribs.

Almost.

He allowed you one last moment to breathe, enjoying the way you rolled your hips against his as he rutted the head of his cock against your clit once, twice, and then he was guiding himself lower, slick with your own pleasure and his slick as he rocked himself forward, fucking himself just barely through the spasming ring of your opening. The heat of you nearly knocked him senseless, and the mingled cry of desperate pleasure and relief was so mutual that there was no way to tell where your voice stopped and his started. His hips stuttered, pleasure surging through him at even this shallow connection, and he only managed to pull himself partially out of you before plunging back down, this time to the hilt.

Whether it was the terror that had driven you here, or the desperation for the normalcy of this intimacy, you might never know, but you would have sworn in that moment that you’d never felt so full in your entire life. Sabo gasped again, the sound sending rippling shocks of pleasure out from where you were connected, grinding himself in deeper still, fucking little spurts of precum against your cervix. When he kissed you it was so soft as to be jarring; a tender lament for what was to come.

Carefully, purposefully, Sabo moved you, unhooking the leg you had wrapped around his waist on instinct so that he could drape your knees over his elbows. Palms splayed against the makeshift bed as he held you open, letting you feel the way he pulsed and twitched inside you as he pulled halfway out, and fucked down in again, angling his hips to rut over the spot he’d been worrying with his fingertips before.

“Breathe for me, love,” he whispered, tone almost cloyingly sympathetic as he drove his hips downwards, patience finally slipping away as he took you in deep, rough strokes.

The instruction did nothing to stop the way the pleasure rushed into you again, leaving no room for air, for thoughts, for intention. Your eyes rolled back, and Sabo suckled your tongue into his mouth, toying with it the way he had your clit even as he ground his hips down to scrub against the little nub in turn.

You were going to cum again, he was going to make you cum again, and you babbled incoherencies against his tongue as that familiar feeling began to twist and tighten inside you again.

“That’s it darling, that’s it. Perfect love, gorgeous, do it for me, I know you can,” he panted against your lips, and you could feel it too, the way he was swelling inside you, the way his hips were starting to stutter and twitch.

You wanted him to feel good, needed him to follow you over the edge this time, and you knew he knew, somehow, knew he could tell what you wanted like he was living inside your head with you. Some distant part of you wondered if he was. If that would really be so bad.

With a last push of coordination Sabo wedged his hand between your bodies, fingers finding your clit and pressing down against it, rubbing neat, almost vicious circles, and you were gone, that final orgasm chasing away any sense that wasn’t the pleasure he fucked down into you. The all-consuming heat of it stole his breath too, and it was all he could do to rut you through it before he had to bury himself in you, teeth clenched and cock twitching as he filled you with hot, thick spasms of his pleasure.

Time seemed to trickle by, thick and slow as the heat between you as you both tried to settle back into reality. Love seemed to cradle you in all directions as Sabo murmured to you, gentle praise and careful check-ins melding together in your mind into a comforting static of safety.

You weren’t sure when sleep took you, only that when it did it was to the feeling of your lover’s lips against yours, and the soft slickness of his cock softening out of you. Bliss.

**

It almost felt like a honeymoon, despite the circumstances. That first week had been a whirlwind of activities, interspersed with spontaneous, increasingly intense lovemaking that left you dizzied, but satisfied and contented.

Sabo had always been an early riser, and you often found that by the time you joined him—at the oh-so-late hour of 9ish every morning—he had completed some new battery of tasks that left the day open for less strenuous maintenance, or walks down by the lake, or a bonfire in what turned out to be a very lovely firepit in the back yard.

If it hadn’t been for what had driven you from your home to begin with, you might have been content to simply let yourself fall into the routine he had set up for the two of you. Sabo certainly seemed devoted to keeping your mind off things—he hated to see you worry, hated the idea of you ever having to feel frightened—and had it not been for the issue of the radio, you might have settled into this new life without terribly much regard.

Sabo had always been, as far as you knew, an open book with you. Even when you’d just started dating, even when your relationship was fresh and tentative and new, he had always answered your questions honestly, had prioritized open communication and honesty as a core tenet of your life together.

So it concerned you when, after a week of trying to get signal, Sabo had outright refused to let you into the radio room to give it a try.

You’d thought he was joking at first, had laughed and tried to brush past him, but he’d taken your hand and spun you into a little dip, dancing you away towards the stairs that led down to the loft room you’d taken up residence in.

“It’s kinda...unsafe in there, to be honest,” he’d said, when it was clear that simply kissing you wasn’t going to put the conversation to bed.

“What do you mean ‘unsafe,’” you’d asked skeptically, the corners of your lips still upturned in a grin despite all, half-convinced this was all one of his jokes, though the good humor had started to melt back towards confusion and concern when his expression didn’t give.

For a long moment, Sabo didn’t answer. Instead he chewed on the inside of his cheek, eyes unfocused, and something in your stomach started to churn.

“Did you hear something?” you asked quietly. Sabo shook his head firmly.

“No no, nothing like that, it’s just. The only room in the cabin that’s not really finished.” He paused again, like he was trying to choose his words carefully, and when he met your gaze again there was something mournful, a little, in the blues of his eyes.

“Luffy’s grandfather set that room up in case of...emergencies. We weren’t even allowed to go into it while he was still alive, none of us had seen it until the deed to the place passed to us with his will. It’s just…” another short pause, and then. “It’s...boobytrapped. Kind of.”

There was a slight pause. Part of you had been tempted to laugh at the suggestion, vague images of Roadrunner and Wil E. Coyote running through your mind, but something in his expression stopped you from doing so.

“What kind of boobytraps…” you asked carefully, rubbing his arms with your palms. Sabo just shook his head.

“Luffy’s grandfather...Garp...got a little paranoid towards the end. He was sure Ace’s biological father was going to show up, that he needed to be ready for some kind of an attack…”

“Was he not on good terms with Ace’s father?” You asked quietly.

“No idea, we never knew him. By the time Garp started talking about this, Ace’s dad had been dead for nearly 20 years.”

Whatever concern or confusion had settled into your heart began to give way to sadness. Sabo’s eyes slid away from yours for a moment before he leaned forward to kiss your forehead.

“I wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, but the guy’s ex-military, special forces, we only figured out there was anything wrong with the room because Luffy stepped on a loose board and almost lost his foot to some kind of wire trap set into the space beneath it.”

You sighed heavily, glancing warily over his shoulder to where the door to the radio room stood partially ajar.

“Sorry baby, I shouldn’t have pressed,” you started, but Sabo shushed you, pulling you into his arms and rocking you gently.

“Nothing to be sorry for, I’d have been curious too! It’s just...tough to talk about. I’ve got it mostly mapped out in there, but I’d die if you got hurt, and it seems safe to assume there probably aren’t...hospitals. To take you to, in any event.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, and nodded, and for a time you let the radio room and its mysteries slip out of your mind. If he caught a signal, you knew he would tell you, and until then...it seemed reasonable to give the room a wide berth.

**

The real trouble started when your hastily gathered supplies began to ran low. Clothes weren’t really an issue, the cabin had a washer and a line to dry things on, and enough dry detergent to last the next 20 years, but the food had began to dwindle after the third day, and while the lake seemed to be well stocked with fish, running it dry didn’t make a lot of sense.

Hunting wasn’t an option, neither of you were particularly proficient with firearms, and the idea of killing and gutting anything bigger than a fish turned you both off immensely...which left only one real option.

“I’m going to make a run into town—”

“We’re going to make a run into town—”

“There’s one just about a half hour away back up the main road, and I’ll be back before you can even miss me,” Sabo said, kissing your forehead and then your nose despite the fact that you had crossed your arms rather tightly against your chest and were refusing to budge.

He sighed. You arched your eyebrows and stared at him, waiting.

“Do you think I’m not capable of putting canned food in a shopping cart?” you asked dryly.

Sabo scrubbed a hand over his face, looking helpless. “Of course not, this has nothing to do with competency or ability,” he said evenly, though that mournful look at begun to creep its way into his eyes again.

“Okay. Then help me understand. This is basic horror movie rules, Sabo, don’t split the group, don’t send people off on their own. How do I keep in contact with you with no phones, what if the car breaks down, what if you d—” you stop yourself, wincing, irritated at the tears prickling the edges of your eyes.

Gently, patiently, Sabo pried your arms apart, rubbing and relaxing the muscles until you went limp enough for him to take your hands.

“I’m going to come back. I know it’s horror movie rules, but another horror movie rule is to not leave home base unattended, right?” he asked, kissing the backs of both your hands. You scowled up at him, though the expression was somewhat dampened when you leaned forward to gently bonk his forehead with yours. He laughed, the chiming sound of it wriggling stubbornly into your heart, and you sighed.

“Okay...next time I’m going though. We’ll trade off. Deal?” You asked.

Sabo linked his pinky with yours. “I’ll even bring back walkie-talkie’s, there’s a hunting store in town that ought to have decently long range ones.”

You nodded, placated for the time being, though it made you queasy with anxiety to watch him pulling away from your little safe haven, even moreso to watch the way the little car seemed to vanish into the foliage like it had never been there at all.

Sabo felt it too, nausea churning in his stomach as he pulled away. He knew you’d be safe this far out, but leaving you behind felt awful.

Lying to you felt awful, too. You were so good, so loving, so trusting, and it broke his heart to have to not be honest with you...but it was only for a little while longer. Routine cured a great many ills, and once he had everything settled, your life together would be secure. Unshakable.

Just a little while longer.

**

It had been eerie, a little, that first time, walking back up into the cabin alone. Not quite so ominous as the very first day, but the silence of it was unsettling. Without the semi-constant flow of conversation with your lover, or the sound of hammering, or the promise of outdoor activities, the reality of your situation...of, potentially, the world’s situation...began to creep in at the corners again.

Sabo had made fairly quick work of...whatever the creature had been, that was sure, but he had taken it by surprise. And there had only been one.

What if they moved in groups? What if only some of them were shambling and loud and slow like that that? What if—

You shut the thoughts down, slapping your hands gently against your cheeks until the mental noise started to subside. If you were going to be functional through this, you were going to have to learn to adapt...and to trust the man you loved to keep his promises.

He would come back to you, car loaded with enough soup to make you sick of the prospect, and everything would be fine.

For a moment you had simply stood in the middle of the livingroom, looking around the space thoughtfully. Most of the actually necessary maintenance had been done by now, the only rooms still boarded were ones where the glass had been damaged somewhat, whether by the storm or disuse.

You’d found so many bed linens and vacuum-sealed bags of clothes you’d both wondered how many people Garp had actually intended to have stay at the cabin, despite Sabo’s assurances that to his knowledge he, Luffy, Ace, and the old man had been the only ones he’d ever seen there.

Still, there were two floors and a basement full of closets and storage that it would hurt nothing to sort through, and so you set about that task. In a blind stroke of luck, the first closet you’d gone through in one of the side rooms on the first floor had contained a record player, and five boxes worth of old vinyls. That, at least, was something, and you had chased the eerie silence out of the cabin with The Eagles and Steely Dan while you worked.

By the time Sabo came back—almost exactly an hour and a half on the dot—you had cleaned out several shelves worth of vinyls, card games, and board games, and were feeling in considerably better spirits.

Your lover had laughed when he’d come in to find you sitting in a sea of old school entertainment, blasting classic rock, and you’d dashed up into his arms, kissing him thoroughly once you’d checked to make sure he wasn’t injured.

“Not a hair out of place, just like a promised,” he’d said, cradling your cheeks to kiss you back for a moment before reaching around you to turn the record player off. You’d gone out with him then to find a pretty impressive haul. Canned food, a better can-opener than the rusty old one in the kitchen, what looked like bulk boxes of jerky and dried meats from what was likely backstock, dried beans, rice, a rice cooker, snacks, a much nicer first aid kit, and, as promised, two long range walkie-talkies.

“This should hold us for a month if we’re careful with it, and fish at least once a week,” he said. You blinked up at him.

“Sabo I’m reasonably sure there’s enough soup and rice here to last us to Christmas if we had to ration,” you said, looking at all of it. Nothing was in bags, as though he had hastily loaded everything he could grab into carts and dumped it into the car.

Silence stretched between you for a long moment.

“How bad was it,” you asked quietly, watching his expression carefully.

Sabo exhaled, long and slow. “Not as bad as it could have been, maybe. Mostly it looks like people just evacuated, there’s a lot of places to hide in the mountains, but…” he worried the inside of his cheek for a moment, and ran his hand through his hair. “There were a lot of places that looked...damaged. Windows smashed in, a couple of places looked burned out. I didn’t...see anything. Anyone. But there was blood. In too many places to just have been an accident, I fear.”

Wind swept through the clearing, rustling through the trees, and a small part of your new reality began to settle over the pair of you at last. There was plenty of what had been to scavenge...but it did not seem as though there was anything to go back to.

“If things are that bad all the way out here, then the cities…” you trailed off, eyes focused a little too heavily on a can of chicken soup.

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” Sabo sighed. “Only thing we can do is stick it out here, and keep trying to find something on the radio.” He paused for a moment before leaning down to rest his chin on your shoulder. “Hey, at least we don’t have to worry about paying off those student loans anymore,” he said, kissing your cheek, and despite all you laughed just a little.

“That is one of the perks of the apocalypse. No rent either, credit scores are dead…” you said, glancing up at him with the tiniest grin before tugging him back towards the house.

“At least we’re together,” you added, and he beamed.

“At least we’re together.”

It took both of you, a bed sheet, and three trips to get everything he’d packed into the car in the house, and another hour spent organizing the kitchen into a well stocked and usable resource.

As you’d curled up together to sleep that night, you resolved to set what was out of your mind. There would be time to grieve...forever, perhaps, to grieve...but the first priority had to be keeping each other safe, and your spirits high. All you’d ever really had before was each other, at least on a daily basis, and you could do worse in the nebulous end of the world than having the love of your life by your side.

Sleep took you more easily, and when thunder rolled and rumbled through your little valley, nestled warmly in Sabo’s arms, you didn’t even stir.

**

Months passed, late summer blend into fall bled into early winter, and you and Sabo had fallen mostly into a comfortable routine.

Intermittently, perhaps a handful of times, Sabo had managed to raise someone on the radio. The people he contacted seemed healthy, sometimes scared, but nobody he spoke to seemed to know any more than they did. Occasionally, one of them would be willing to share their approximate location, but according to Sabo this part of the country had never been particularly trusting of strangers at the best of times, and he wasn’t terribly surprised most people didn’t want to give up their safe havens.

The people you did get information out of went up on a map you two had set up. While mostly people wouldn’t tell where they were, they were willing to share info about towns nearby, about the accessibility of supplies, and the levels of...activity that they’d seen.

It had been decided, after a week’s worth of debating back and forth, that given what appeared to be an increasing amount of activity, and given that Sabo was vastly more familiar with this area of the state than you were, that he would do the supply runs. They were few and far between, provided that he found well-enough stocked stores, and with the compromise that he go as early as possible, so that he wasn’t running around in broad daylight for...whatever might be there to see, you had eventually acquiesced.

The cabin was remote, but there was logic to keeping it locked and guarded with at least one occupant, as whatever this new world’s creatures were, they weren’t the only possible dangers that might crop up. While neither of you liked it, on the second big supply run Sabo had returned home with a rifle.

“You don’t have to use it, but I’d feel a lot better if you at least had it.” He’d explained, as you’d looked the thing over on the front lawn, frowning.

The idea of someone just stumbling onto your little refuge seemed extremely unlikely...but so had the world ending on a random Tuesday evening in August, previously. While you’d been mostly opposed in your previous life, it would have been silly to deny the ambient protection having the thing around provided. In the end, you’d agreed to keep it by the front door for emergencies during the day, and by your bedroom door for emergencies at night, and that had been the end of it.

All-in-all, you felt that the two of you were doing pretty well, all things considered. The cabin was comfortable and well-secured, you’d worked out a supply-running system that seemed to be keeping Sabo safe, and while the other people he’d found weren’t...accessible...knowing that the two of you weren’t the only people who had made it out, at least within range of the radio, was comforting enough to keep you both in good spirits.

For better or worse, everything seemed...perfect.

Which was why, when you were sorting through the most recent supply haul, trying to get all the consumables sorted from the toiletries and such, you weren’t exactly sure what to make of the slip of paper.

You’d almost thrown it away without thinking, eyes glazing over it when it dropped from between two bottles of shampoo, but just before it slipped out of your fingers and your mind entirely, you paused. Froze, rather, in the middle of the movement, and turned the paper over to look at it.

It was a receipt. It had been folded up and in on itself multiple times, long enough, perhaps, to accommodate the long list of supplies currently spread out at your feet.

Something acrid and metallic felt like it was creeping up your windpipe. Quickly, you had poked your head around the corner to check where Sabo was, only to find him chopping wood in the back yard, his breath clouded around his face in the cool winter air.

You watched him, your great love, until he looked up and smiled. You smiled back, and laughed a little when he blew you a kiss before going back to work.

You looked at him, and at the folded piece of paper on the counter, then back at him.

Maybe it was old. Neither of you had been the most fastidious people alive in the times before, perhaps this was simply from a long past shopping trip. Maybe it was from CVS, maybe that’s why it appeared to be several feet long.

That horrible, cold feeling lingered in your chest, though. Part of you wanted to look at it, if only to confirm that you were being ridiculous. Part of you felt like looking at it was a betrayal, was suggesting that you didn’t trust the love of your life.

Part of your mind began to turn over the radio room again, the fact that he was the only one leaving the clearing, that you hadn’t seen any part of the outside world beyond the lake and trails and grounds of the cabin in months.

It was absurd. A terrible train of thought. The manifestation of deferred grief, trying one last time to reason its way out of the end of your old life. You took a deep breath before picking up the piece of paper, determined to simply throw it away and be done, but the door opened just as you were about to let it go. On instinct, terrified for reasons you couldn’t imagine naming, you had stuffed it into your pocket instead, grabbing a jar of peanut butter and plastering on a grin just as Sabo came around the corner into the kitchen.

He paused for a moment at the sight of you, brows knitting together curiously as he approached you.

“You alright darling? You look a little pale,” he said, though he still stuffed his chilly fingers under your shirt, making you jump and laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” you said, a little breathlessly, as you forewent the peanut butter in favor of warming him in your arms. “Just trying to get everything edible sorted out from cleaning stuff and meds, I think I’m just hungry,” you said bracingly, and he visibly relaxed.

“Tell ya what, let’s have a bath, and then I’ll get the stove going so we can make dinner, there’s enough wood chopped up to last us through the week I think,” he said, kissing your lips, your forehead, your nose.

You sighed contentedly, leaning into his affections with a nod. “Sounds perfect ‘Bo,” you said, and he grinned before popping off to run the water.

You stood there for a moment, fingertips brushing the outline of the receipt in your pocket, before calling out to Sabo that you were going to grab you both some fresh clothes and then you’d be in to join him. He acquiesced airily, easily, and you dashed upstairs, guilt and fear clawing at your throat.

You hated lying to him. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had. You stashed the crumpled receipt inside your pillowcase, before grabbing the promised clothes to bring down to him.

Next time he left, you’d look. It would be nothing, he’d laugh it off or console you for the misunderstanding...it would be nothing. You had no reason in the world to suspect him—objectively, the world’s most perfect partner—of anything at all. Let alone whatever your paranoid little mammal brain seemed to be trying to put together here.

When you reappeared with comfortable clothes and sank down into the bath with him, he held you tightly, washed your hair, your back, drained the water and refilled it when it started to cool, and made tender, gentle love to you until the water had half sloshed out and you were both laughing and sated.

‘Stupid,’ you’d thought dreamily, sleepily, as your fingers brushed the receipt later, tucked into bed and warm and safe.

‘I’ll just throw it away in the morning,’ you promised silently, as Sabo’s arms drew you into sleep.

But you didn’t though.

You kept it on you, somewhere, at all times. A strange, cursed talisman, unopened and dangerous, Schrödinger’s evidence of something unformed and unfathomable that you couldn’t bring yourself to define.

The winter holidays came and went, a New Year passed, to be spent fully in the new world you’d come to accept. The folded, worn piece of paper burned a hole in your pocket until finally, towards the end of January, supplies had dwindled low enough that Sabo announced he would be going on another run.

If he noticed your tension, or the way you seemed to hover and linger around him while he mapped out the route, he seemed to attribute it to nerves. Which wasn’t entirely an inaccurate, made it feel at least a little less like lying when you wrapped your arms around him and made him promise, as always, to come back to you safely.

**

Sabo watched you in the rearview mirror as he drove away, watched the little wave you raised as he trundled onto the path...and watched you disappear into the house before he’d made it fully into the trees.

Something was wrong. Like a miasma wafting through the air, nebulous, maddening, something had been wrong for weeks now.

It wasn’t always, of course, it wasn’t even often...but it was enough. Every now and again he’d catch you staring into space, eyes furrowed, worrying at the seams of your pants like you were trying not to be sick.

You never flinched away when he reached for you in those moments, always sank into the comfort of his touch...but you wouldn’t talk about it, either. At first, he’d been willing to brush it off as grief; your whole life, your whole world had changed, outside of your relationship with him. It was only natural that, eventually, that that wound would need tended to.

It was the little moments of fear that he couldn’t quite place, that unsettled him the most. Sometimes he would walk into the room and you would jump, startled; you always laughed it off as a moment of inattention, but even minutes later that haunted look would still be there, glimmering in the depths of your eyes…

He hated it. He hated that something was frightening you...and he hated that he couldn’t figure out what it was. He’d made sure everything here was as perfect, as comfortable, as safe and quiet and enjoyable as he possibly could. You had routine, you had fresh air, good food, books and games and music and—not to be forward—as many orgasms as he could give you in a given night.

Everything was perfect. So what had changed? What was different now, that hadn’t been there before?

Sabo pulled to a stop at the opening of the little side road, staring at the depression on the other side of the road for a moment before picking up the walkie-talkie.

“Eagle 1 to Kid Gorgeous, you there baby?” Sabo called casually into the receiver, and waited.

And waited. And waited.

He frowned, his heartbeat starting to falter, to race.

Something was wrong.

You’d never taken this long to answer, not since the first time when you’d accidentally gotten on different channels. Sabo pulled out onto the street wide, pulling back around to head back to the house, when the receiver crackled to life. He stopped dead in the street in his haste to answer it.

“Sorry, sorry hon, Kid Gorgeous was an idiot and dropped the pitcher of iced tea on the floor,” your voice settled over his frightened heart like balm on a wound, and he sighed, almost laughing before pressing the button down to answer you.

“Eagle One’s sorry to hear that, do you need me to come back and take care of the glass?”

“No, no, nothing here broken but a pitcher and my pride. Hopefully they’ve got another one where you’re headed.”

Sabo sighed, willing himself down out of panic mode, and put the car in drive, turning back onto the road again. “Roger that. I love you.”

“I love you, too, ‘Bo.”

With a deep breath, he set the receiver down in the cupholder, and willed himself to let the paranoia go.

If there was something wrong, you’d deal with it together. He had to trust you, he had to, or this was never going to work.

**

Sabo had been gone for maybe an hour by the time you collapsed onto the livingroom couch, annoyed with yourself and sweaty in the heat of the cabin despite the chill outside.

Part of you just wanted to take a shower and lay down, sleep through the empty hours until your lover returned. This time he was going on a run a couple little towns over, having mostly exhausted anything useful from the tiny town you’d been taking things from so far.

Your bed was comfortable, and so inviting after cleaning up glass and spilled tea and feeling very silly indeed...but the receipt was also up there, burning a hole in the innocent linen of your pillowcase.

Unwilling to go up there and face it, even for the reward of a nap, you had picked yourself up, resolved to grab a granola bar and head to the back of the cabin, to start going through the larger storage closet and its contents.

This little organization project had become something of a personal challenge for you, and Sabo had respected it, sitting with you while you worked on it sometimes, but largely leaving it to you. It was nice to have something to be working on ongoingly, nice to have something to do beyond just tidying up and listening to music when you were guarding the fort.

In hindsight, it was a little funny that the one truly unattended thing you were allowed to do here was what unraveled the entire facade.

The back bedroom seemed to have been Sabo’s youngest brother’s bedroom from when he was a child. The bed was covered over with protective covering still—as presumably Luffy had chosen a different room in the oddly cavernous cabin when he’d gotten older—the walls adorned with posters about different insects, the jungle-themed wallpaper adding a little extra fun and whimsy to what appeared to be a large collection of toys, action figures, and little pirate ships along the dressers.

You smiled fondly, but mostly left those things alone, determined instead to make the closet accessible, and to see if there was anything they might find useful inside.

It had occurred to you to ask, early on in your time here, whether Sabo’s brothers might try to find the cabin themselves. Sabo had looked hopeful for a moment, though his expression had quickly turned thoughtful.

“Lu’s off working on that nature preserve, and Ace is out there working with some of his buddies with the firewatch again,” he had said, smiling, if perhaps a little sadly. “They’re way out west...and while Ace has his Jeep, I don’t know that they’d risk such a long ride back. At least not until...or if...this craziness starts to die down.”

And that had made sense. It saddened you that Sabo might be out of range of his brothers for quite a long time, but neither of you had a solution for it, and so, like so many other things, you had simply learned to let it go.

You’d mostly been going through the boxes on autopilot, letting your tired mind drift while you went through what looked like children’s toys, books about beetles, old boxes with parts of expired experiments, a very dead chia pet...but you stopped when, at the bottom of the third box, a hand-crank radio slid into view.

It was pristine, despite how long it had likely sat buried underneath other toys and the remnants of childhood adventures past. You pulled it out of the bottom of the box, and for a long time you just...stared at it.

You glanced up at the ceiling, up towards the vague direction of the radio room that you’d never entered, towards the radio that was your only link to the outside world, the one thing in the house you’d effectively been forbidden to tamper with.

“It’s just a toy...it probably doesn’t have enough range to pick anything but the emergency broadcast system up,” you muttered to yourself, turning it over in your hand. Nothing on the back listed a distance, only a range of frequencies the little radio could pick up.

“Nothing but AM out this far probably, anyway. Maybe some automated church broadcast…”

you swallowed hard, suddenly stifled, like the walls of the cabin were pressing in on you, frozen, waiting.

What could it hurt? With slightly shaking fingers, you pulled the crank out of its cradle, and turned it. The first few times, nothing seemed to happen. Maybe it was broken, maybe it was so old it couldn’t be charged.

You turned it for 30 seconds, nothing. You turned it for another 30 seconds, nothing. You turned the crank for a full additional minute to no immediate response, and just as you were about to give up, to call it dead or broken and put it back in the box marked as unusable...the little front display lit up, and a voice blared out, lively and jarring in the solitude you’d come to accept.

“Annnnd folks we’re at the top of the hour, you’re listening to 43.3 AM, The Buzz. This is Buzz McCallan, comin to you with News on the 8s!”

You sat there for nearly 40 minutes, unmoving and sick. Through News on the 8s, through the update on sports, through a call-in section that seemed to be comprised of mostly disgruntled truckers...and through the Daily Update. A section on the reconstruction efforts, after the world’s brush with death.

After. The end of the world, as it turned out, had lasted for perhaps 3 weeks of sustained bloodshed and chaos, before the world had figured out how to fight back. It had taken another month after that to take stock of what had been lost, and to begin airdropping packets of a compound that seemed to reverse the damage to the parts of the brain that governed behavior and pain tolerance that the infection had damaged.

Now, nearly 6 months after the initial outbreak, the world, while still recovering...had mostly put itself back together again.

The little radio had finally run out of the charge you’d given it just as Buzz McCallan had finished his rant about gas prices, and when it shut off you simply sat there in the tinny, ringing silence.

Your mind was blank, perhaps mercifully so, as you rose on shaking, numb legs, and let your internal autopilot carry you up the stairs to the bedroom you’d been sharing.

By this point, you knew what you’d find as you fished out the crumpled receipt, and let it fall open in your hands.

Every item, listed and accounted for, dated and timestamped ‘Your cashier today was Marta!’ He’d paid in cash. He’d received $5.29 in change.

You wondered, somewhat perversely, if the people in the parking lot had thought he looked strange, dumping all of his neatly bagged groceries out, bag by bag, into the back of his car. You wondered if they thought it was one of those doomsday preppers, still too affected by the near-miss with apocalypse to think clearly.

You wondered if they thought he was nuts.

The whole world was still out there. Your job, your friends. Chinese takeout and movie trailers and neighbors you had always greeted politely but had no desire to meet.

“He’s keeping you prisoner,” a voice in your mind whispered. You frowned, brows furrowed, and shook your head.

“He’s never tried to stop me from leaving the cabin,” you whispered into the stagnant air.

The voice in your mind, which remembered horror movies and true crime podcasts, tutted. “Not the cabin. But have you so much as touched that car, unless he was there with you unloading groceries?”

You knew you were having a breakdown. You knew it was too much to take in, to understand.

“Something really did happen to us...to everyone, though. Maybe he’s just scared. He’s trying to keep us safe…” you whispered, your throat tightening around panic and tears and anger and grief.

“Sure. And that holds up for the first supply run...but you know he knew by the second. He’s paying in cash. He kidnapped you.”

Kidnapped. The word rocketed around your mind like a meteor, crashing through your rational thoughts, your excuses, battering your wounded and confused heart as it made its way down to lay like lead in your stomach.

Your internal voice didn’t have anything else to add, it seemed; the damage had been done, the illusion shattered. You had no idea what to think, what to do—your phone had been misplaced at some point early on, although now you wondered whether he hadn’t just chucked it into the lake, your purse was where you’d left it ages ago: in the car.

Still...you had to get out. Didn’t you? You couldn’t stay here, you couldn’t pretend that you didn’t know what happened. You couldn’t trust the love of your life.

Hot, stinging tears welled up and began to fall at that. Did you even know him? What was he capable of? Would he hurt you, if you tried to get away?

You shook your head so roughly your neck cracked, leaping up off the bed as you tried to stave off what you were sure was a panic attack.

You changed your clothes into something warmer, changed into a pair of the hiking boots you wore when the two of you went out fishing. The road was out there, you could follow it to the highway. Find someone. As long as you made it off the forest drive before he came back, you could make it. You tore through the kitchen, gathering food, filling your water bottle, getting a backpack you’d taken from one of the closets ready to depart.

You’d leave him a note. With the receipt and the radio. You could at least do that. Despite all, the idea of leaving him with nothing, with no way of knowing what had happened to you, hurt too much to consider.

After a moments thought, you grabbed the rifle from where it sat, primed, leaning against the doorway, and slung it over your shoulder. You didn’t know how far you’d have to go to find help, but walking alone in a world you hadn’t been part of in six months without any sort of protection seemed unwise, somehow.

The adrenaline in your system wasn’t helping the way you thought it should. Your body felt sluggish and unwieldy, like it might give out and drop you to the floor at any moment. Writing out the note felt like moving your hand through cement, comprehending the words to explain felt like sand against your brain. Everything hurt. The lights were too bright, your ears were ringing.

It was hard to hear anything over the sound of your body’s resistance to its new conditions. Which was probably why you hadn’t heard it when the car had come trundling to a stop. Hadn’t heard the sound of Sabo’s footsteps as he’d bounded up the stairs.

You almost screamed when the front door popped open, but when you whirled around with the rifle, at first, your lover had laughed—instinctively, nervously.

“Hey love, wh...what’s going on? You weren’t answering on the walkie,” he asked, raising his hands slowly, head cocked to the side in confusion, as he looked from the muzzle of the rifle to you.

The words seemed locked in your throat, and when you just stared at him, the look on his face changed from confusion to alarm. To fear. You grit your teeth, hating it, hating him, hating yourself.

“What’s going on, sweetheart...what happened here…?” Sabo took a tentative, slow step towards you. Your body, frozen to the spot, only managed to stare back at him, the muzzle trained on his chest still.

Those cornflower blue eyes you loved so dearly flickered between you and the gun again before looking back towards the entry hall table...only to fall upon the offerings you’d left there. The radio. The receipt. The rudiments of a note.

For the briefest flickering of a moment, Sabo’s expression went entirely blank, eyes darkening down to blackened slits of panic and pain that seemed to flash through your own chest sympathetically.

“Luffy’s room, probably, huh,” he whispered thickly.

You nodded, your own voice still trapped in your chest. You wondered idly whether you had truly lost your voice, or whether your body knew that if it let you speak you might never never never stop screaming.

You took a deep, unsteady breath. Sabo took another step towards you, pain and sorrow etched across his face once more.

“Let me have the gun, sweetheart. I swear I’ll explain, I’ll tell you everything. No more secrets. Just...let me have this,” He said softly, earnestly, lowering one hand slightly towards the rifle.

You took a jerky step back and he stopped, raising his hands again.

With a voice that was more breath and pain than sound, you whispered “I’ll shoot you.”

Tears welled delicately in Sabo’s eyes, but he shook his head. “No, you won’t.”

Your hands started to shake. Of course you wouldn’t. You couldn’t. The image of him, bloodied and cooling in the entryway, carved its way out of you like a knife and you whimpered...but held on.

“Why not,” you whispered again. “Why shouldn’t I?”

Sabo smiled gently, sadly, the tears slipping down his beautiful cheeks. “Because you love me...and the only ammunition I brought for the rifle are blanks.”

Dark spots began to swim in your vision then, the panic of the moment, the heat of the cabin, the agony of betrayal and confusion all beginning to wear through your senses. You had no plan for this, no experience to fall back on, the only comfort and safety you’d known in your adult life was standing opposite you, perched atop a castle of lies and coercion that you simply could not understand.

On instinct, you flung the rifle at him, winging it with all your waning strength as you lunged past him for the door.

He caught it with one hand, tossing it to the side as he spun to give chase, pressing something on the key ring as he did so.

Ahead of you, just barely out of reach, the front door swung closed ahead of you, and the odd trick mechanism clicked heavily into place. You ran into it, clumsy and sick with sadness and fear, just as Sabo caught up with you, colliding with your body and trapping you against the front door as the rest of the cabin responded to the panic button he had pressed.

His voice at your ear was so warm, so comforting, so unbelievably sad as he explained to you what was happening.

“Luffy’s grandfather really did lose it in his later years, the radio room actually is dangerous,” he whispered, running his palms soothingly up and down your arms despite the weight he was using to keep you pressed to the door. Just the way he had done a hundred thousand times before, conditioning you with his touch to be calm, to be pliant. Your mind felt like it was fracturing, leaning into the comfort of his touch just as it tried to wrestle your muscle control away from him.

Sabo shifted to make sure you could breathe and then continued. “He didn’t stop at the radio room, though. The doors and windows are all reinforced with steel, the doorframes are rooted into the foundation with concrete and rebar. I don’t know what he thought Ace’s biological father might be coming to do, but he prepped this place for war.”

Tears streamed down your face, frustrated, scared; part of you wished you’d just left well enough alone. That things could just go back to the way they were. Part of you didn’t understand how someone who loved you as thoroughly, as honestly as Sabo did, could do this to you. How anyone could ever do this.

“Why is this happening,” you whispered, partially muffled by the door.

Sabo sighed, sounding more weary than you’d ever heard him. “It was real, at first, whatever happened at the apartment. In the beginning all I could think about was making sure we got out here before it got worse, before people started to panic and the roads closed up. The storm really did interfere with the radio reception, and that little town really did look guttered out when I first made a run for supplies,” he said softly, fingertips lulling your unwilling body, coaxing you to relax. He kissed the back of your head, and it took all your control not to lean back into it.

“And it worked, you know, didn’t it? We got set up out here so fast, and since it’s private property and set so far back in the forest, nobody was able to follow us. Nothing sick made it out this far. You were safe, we were together, and…” he trailed off for a moment, forehead leaning against the back of your head, still trying to soothe you as the tears fell harder.

“...and we were happy. So happy. Happy as we’ve always been...and without any of the drudgery or people or circumstances that ever caused us stress. Remember, you said no student loans? No bills at all. No politics. None of your mean, ugly distant relatives, no more morning commute to work, no more mocking up powerpoints for rich assholes that never even commend you for your work.”

Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest, but he continued, his voice steadying into something righteous, something indignant, although it was clear that furor wasn’t directed at you.

“Every day some nonsense or another kept us apart, wore you down, caused us trouble...there was plenty enough in the inheritance to keep us comfortable, if the cost of living hadn’t just kept climbing and climbing and climbing...but then the infection started. Then we came out here, we got away...and I know it’s awful, but part of me was desperate for it to be the end. To be a REAL reset. The whole system is rotten…” One of Sabo’s hands slid down until he could wrap it around your waist, pulling you to him, rocking you carefully back and forth against the door.

It frightened you that he was still trying to comfort you, it frightened you more how badly you wanted him to, how badly you wanted all of this to go away.

Maybe he was right...it wasn’t like rent was getting any lower.

“Stop, please...Sabo, please,” your voice sounded reedy thin in your ears. Sabo splayed his palm out against your belly, kissed the back of your neck softly.

You sighed against the door, warmth blossoming through you. You couldn’t think. This wasn’t right.

When he spoke again, his lips still brushing the back of your neck, it was with a voice so wounded, so desperate, that you almost didn’t recognize it.

“Has this really been so bad?” he asked softly, rocking with you again, fingertips stroking the slight line of skin where your shirt had ridden up. You shivered, and he sighed with you, sympathetic, in sync.

“Is being here...being together...being beyond everything that hurt us before...safe and comfortable...is it really such a bad thing to want?”

Your eyes slip closed as his fingers, blunt and warm, dip beneath the waistband of your pants. Your brows furrow, but the fight’s gone out of you now. Whatever moment there might have been to escape this, to escape back into your body and yourself and the world...had passed you, at some point.

“We’re safe here...we’re taken care of here...we can live for each other and no one else...not many people get to boast a life like that,” this time when he kissed the back of your neck, lips trailing down towards your ear, you leaned back into him, into his touch.

The world stopped, the cabin walls pressed in, anxious, greedy. Waiting.

“No,” you whispered, and this time when you shifted, Sabo leaned off just enough to let you turn in his arms.

When he kissed you, long and deep, you sank into it. Back into the comfort, back into the stability of a world—of a life—that your lover had made so, so simple for you.

Sabo’s body shook against you, in longing, in relief, even as his fingertips slid lower to find you wanting. Needing.

He’d hated lying to you. Hated every moment of it. He’d tell you, he’d spend the rest of his life on his knees for you if you needed it. Anything for you to feel safe.

“You’re perfect,” he mouthed against your lips, your throat, between the valley of your breasts once he’d removed the stupid sweater that had kept you hidden from him.

“I love you,” he vowed as he sank to his knees before you, taking away the winter pants you would no longer need, tossing your hiking boots with them over his shoulder and away.

“I’m sorry,” he intoned, as he slid his tongue between your lips, laved worship and remorse against you, filled your exhausted body and broken mind with pleasure.

“Not like you,” you’d whispered back, to this, and to all, as you let him take the pain away.

He offered you an out, as he slicked his fingers into you, curling forward, giving you everything just like he’d always promised.

He offered you an out, as the pleasure peaked, wracking you with relief far beyond the moment at hand…

...and you took it.

[wasongo]

I think I got a lot of new followers recently because twitter keeps going to shit. However, as you probably know I can't and don't post nsfw art here.

You can find my NSFW socials on my pinned post. I think a lot of people are hesitant to join platforms which aren't fully available to the public yet but if you'd like to keep up with my nsfw art I'd like to:

Urge you to visit my website and subscribe to my RSS feed for gallery updates!

Suggest you follow me on either Pillowfort or Cohost (18+).

In the last year I have started using PF and Cohost more than Mastodon, as they've implemented new features and their posting system is more in line with what I enjoy: robust tagging and filtering, ability to post MANY images, and readmores for long posts.

If you've been hesitant to join either of those platforms since you don't know what to expect here's a small-ish review of both purely from my experience as someone who: a) enjoys profile customization b) likes to have an organized art gallery that is filterable by tags.

This review is aimed at artists looking for NSFW spaces to post! UI screenshots might have suggestive terms and images. Proceed with caution.

Edit: Good grief tunglr, if you open this on the web dash the images aren't shown in the neat galleries I put them in to make the post shorter. Head on over to the permalink if you'd like a better looking post!

Let me just say that if you're looking for a review on more technical aspects of these platforms, like security and moderation policies. I'm not your guy. You'll have to look elsewhere for that. I'm focusing on QoL UI and community aspects.

Though both these platforms allow nsfw, please make sure to read their ToS/Community Guidelines for rules on what is and isn't allowed. Though as far as I'm aware they have pretty similar rules.

Pillowfort

Overview::

Pillowfort has more years under its belt being available to users than Cohost does, as such I THINK the artist/fandom userbase atm is larger, which means you might see more activity there. UI as of right now is very comfortable and the site runs pretty smoothly. Loading times are very decent. Posting is easy, though the image uploader is a little wonky (they are working on fixing this). You are able to create and manage communities based on interests or themes, which people can follow or join and all post in the same space. You can personalize your profile by adding images, links, and formatted text to your sidebar, as well as customize your own profile colors. Tag searches in my experience yield results of both art and aesthetic irl porn and gifs. If that's something you miss from ye olden tumblr days it might be worth a look.

Pros:

Posts have privacy options (everyone, logged in, followers, mutuals, only me)

Has a DM system

Posts have Commentable, Rebloggable, NSFW toggle

Can post MANY images on a single post

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging system

Robust filtering system: hide or click-through warning (by installing Tassel userscript only)

Customizable profile colors, Light/Dark mode for whole website

Communities you can follow/join for shared interests

You can filter posts on profile by tag

You can filter posts on profile by "original poster" or "reblog"

Cons:

wonky image uploader, cannot upload multiple images at once

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Search for terms with periods in them is currently broken (ex. "D.Gray-man" will not yield any search results)

Communities have few moderation features atm

Without Tassel installed the filtering system is pretty garbage atm (you can either show or hide nsfw or filtered tags completely, with no click-through warnings)

No multiple account/side blog feature yet

Some inline image formatting options are broken atm

Default endless scrolling

No progressive web app for mobile atm

For a more in depth explanation of PF's UI and features you can check out this official post.

Here are some images of the UI.

---

Cohost

Overview::

Cohost feels like it has a small artist/fandom userbase at the moment. However, to make up for that it has a pretty slick UI, it works great as a progressive web app on mobile, and it recently implemented an ASK system similar to tumblr's! Everything loads pretty quickly, and you can switch between your "latest posts" feed and your "bookmarked tags" feed. You can access your likes as a bookmark system, but as a whole "notes" and engagement numbers except for comments are not visible anywhere (this is wonderful for my personal mental health). It has a simple post editor and though the image uploader only allows 4 images that will load with lightbox, there's a workaround to upload MANY inline images if you want. The catch is you'll need to use a bit of markdown or html to do that. (more on that below) Though you can't personalize your profile colors, you can add personality to your page by making very cool pinned posts and adding images to your sidebar.

Pros:

Animated avatars! (listen i like having my animated komui icon)

You can make multiple "pages" (blogs) which function independently for comments/asks. switching between pages is effortless

Ask system, with anon toggle (you cannot reply privately atm tho)

2 Factor Authentication

Progressive web app for mobile works like a charm

You can preview your post before you post it

Posts have a NSFW toggle and you can save drafts

Can post MANY images in a single post (bit of a workaround as you'll need to upload your images to a draft first and then add them to a new post with some markdown or html code)

Readmore feature for long posts

Robust tagging AND filtering system (show, click-through, hide completely), plus CW system to give your posts additional click through warnings you deem necessary

You can do incredibly cool things with HTML and inline CSS on your posts

You can filter posts on profile by tag, and you can have pinned tags

Toggles for hiding reblogs, replies, and asks on profiles

Paginated browsing instead of endless scrolling (things load faster)

No engagement numbers visible ANYWHERE

Cons:

Image uploader does not let you upload multiple images at once. Limit to 4 images (can upload more as inline images with code)

Advanced post formatting (ex. bold, italics, bullet list, inline images etc.) has to be done through markdown or html + css which is not the friendliest for those who don't know any code (there's a button for a markdown cheatsheet when you post tho!)

No dark mode, or customizing profile colors atm (however there are workarounds to changing site colors with Stylus extension)

Cannot search for multiple tags at once

Cool things you can do with CSS on your posts might look very bad on mobile

Since you can do some crazy things with CSS on posts, you might come across eye straining visuals and movement on some posts. There are settings to tone this down, and people are pretty good about tagging things, so with some good filtering you should be able to avoid this however.

A little quieter on the artist/fandom front (but we can change that)

Here are some images of the UI.

If you made it to the end of this review thanks for giving it a look! If there's something vital you might want to know that I missed in regards to UI and posting features let me know and I will try to answer. But again, this is not a technical/security issues/bugs review so don't ask me about that.

Lastly, I've been seeing a handful of NSFW artists I follow on twitter hopping on bluesky. I REALLY suggest you do a little research on the owners and platform to see if you think joining is worthwhile, since I have a feeling many artists might not want their alternative to be a site owned by crypto advocates (and also a billionaire). Some basic research will get you there. Just take heed and use your best judgement. On that note Cohost is strictly against crypto (I'm guessing PF might be too but I don't have a link that I can point you to confirming this atm).

I believe community driven and supported platforms are the way to go. If you end up thinking either of these two places are worth your time, do consider getting your friends and favorite artists on board or supporting them! You'll get added perks on both platforms if you become a supporter. PF recently added the ability to have MULTIPLE AVATARS (PFPs I think they're called nowadays) which I think is super cool (i really miss that from LJ days).

Again, thanks for reading and I hope to see some of you there!

[mochayoubi]

hello!! how are you? i'm reaching out to you because you're the one i keep seeing my dashboard that's related to japanese learning.

i wanted to ask: how do you suggest a beginner should start studying? like, they're N5, and they know hiragana and katakana, but do not know how to move forward from there because it scares them? (it's me, btw, hi hello how are you how are the kids)

thank you so much!! have a good day!!

omg hi!!! im doing ok (im sick rn but it's fine lol) thanks sm for the ask! :3

i think the best thing you can do for yourself is follow your curiosity! at the early stages of learning curiosity will take you much farther than trying to set hard deadlines for yourself - especially when it sounds like moving forward is a bit intimidating at the moment.

so, i'm going to list out things that might be worth checking out. it takes a while for people to figure out what works for them, and since you mentioned you already know hiragana/katakana you're primed to get out there and really explore your options! embrace the feeling of possibility rather than the fear of the unknown :D i say this bc if you get too caught up in making the "right" choice it might just make learning too stressful to want to continue

anyway here's some things that beginners commonly go for when continuing with japanese learning (under the readmore)

find a textbook and work through it there's a bunch out there, I know Genki I is probably the most well-known, but i'm also familiar with Tobira I, Yookoso, and Minna no Nihongo. textbooks are nice because they're literally designed for learners and offer structure to what order you learn kanji, grammar, etc. and come with lots of practice questions. the difficult part is self-teaching through them since they tend to assume youre also using it with a teacher who can correct you and give advice. however they're still pretty good as references imo! if you google "[textbook name] pdf" they're pretty likely to come up

find an app you can use daily there are also a lot of these, and many of them are designed to be used daily so you can better enforce the habit of studying japanese every day. these tend to be simpler and gamefied to make it more appealing and easier to pick up as well. i would just stay away from duolingo as i've heard their japanese curriculum is bad. some other ones i've heard are helpful are Renshuu and Human Japanese.

find an online guide and follow it by "online guide" i mean websites people have compiled of their own guides to learning japanese, such as Tae Kim. these are more accessible and unlike textbooks tend to assume that you are self-studying, so it's easier to follow independently, but usually don't have any practice questions or ways to test yourself. still good as a reference. you can also check out this website that specifies their philosophy on what makes effective japanese learning and what steps to take as a beginner (imo it's very. long. and winds on for a while. but people have said it helps!)

download and use anki anki is an app (both phone and pc) that uses flashcards and that many learners use to retain vocab. their site has decks other people have created, and you can find decks of "core vocab" for example which has flashcards of common japanese vocab. you can also create your own flashcards of words you encounter in the wild to help practice them even after you've read it. i think anki is super useful, but i would probably suggest using it once you have more of a grasp on basic japanese concepts or else you'll just be rote-memorizing things that don't make sense to you yet. but i'm putting it here in case this appeals to you!

take a class or find an online tutor now this one will most likely cost you money, but it offers the most structure and guidance possible which can be extremely helpful starting out since you're able to ask questions and get feedback. you can look into nearby universities who might offer japanese classes, or you can try one of the many language-learning tutor websites out there. i've had some decent success with italki, and there's also JOI (japanese online institute) that i've heard is very helpful too.

watch japanese-learning videos these can be nice bc you can actually hear the japanese and how it's supposed to sound, and it's typically lower effort and easier to get into than actively starting a textbook or class. miku real japanese, japarrot, and 日本語の森 are channels i've watched before and like, but there's plenty others out there too. i'd just steer away from clickbait-y looking ones like "i learned japanese in 30 days and here's how!!" since they tend to not be that helpful.

read simple stories in japanese reading in japanese tends to be the most intimidating step for people, but there's sites that have stories made for beginners that are easy to follow and only use hiragana/katakana. my go-to for my students is usually tadoku since the stories are short, organized by level, and very beginner friendly. a while ago someone showed me natively which lets you look up japanese books, also by level. if you want some good beginner manga, yotsuba and teasing master takagi-san are what i've recommended before

misc. things you can try!

watch anime but intentionally - try to actively listen and pick up on words they say. a long time ago i used animelon, which puts japanese subtitles that you can adjust to show hiragana only

look up jlpt n5/n4 specific materials. they're geared for an exam so it might not be the most natural feeling, but they do tend to be convenient for lists of vocab and grammar. this website has some helpful resources for that

add an extension on your browser that will let you hover over japanese words and see its definition. i use firefox and have 10ten reader to do this, but rikaikun and yomichan are also similar extensions

when you learn the japanese word for something in your house, put a sticky note on it that has the japanse word. like, for "table" you can put a note on it that says 「テーブル」. i heard this can help with retention (i haven't done it myself tbf)

EDIT: ohh i can't believe i forgot this. but join a japanese-learning community! there's discord servers out there, and if you have a friend willing to study with you you can ask them to be your accountability buddy.

anyway, i know that was a lot but i hope that gives you some direction on where you'd like to go next in your japanese learning journey! ^_^ and again, absolutely no pressure to do all of these. the most important thing is letting curiosity be your guide and fostering a positive relationship with learning japanese rather than being afraid. if i can help out some more lmk!!

[nadianova]

How much time do you spend planning some of your visual novels? At least going by some of them being jam submissions, it feels like you go from pre-production to a finished build very quickly, and it's amazing how you can manage that while still having an awesome story and so many assets.

Also, what is like, the process of planning a story out for you, if there's any vague or concrete similarities that you've noticed?

i think the important context here is that if i get bored/have nothing to do i jhust immediately get really suicidal its like ridiculous how bad it gets(ITS FINE DONT WORRY ABOUT IT IVE HAD 5 YEARS OF THERAPY). so i hate being bored and want to occupy my time wit something fun whatever that is. if i have a project to focus on but especially if I'm working for a game jam i have a deadline and i just decide to myself okay i will release a game now.

because ive made a decent amount of games i roughly have an idea on my capabilities, i can estimate how long it takes for me to write a story so and so long and how long it takes for me to draw stuff i need and how long it takes for me to throw stuff in renpy. these are estimates like as in I'm not accurate with it but still enough that i generally know where to start cutting ideas since the most important part is just having something to submit. i also know to plan around my brain wanting to slam my head into a wall an my hands suddenly giving up on being able to draw.

i think thats the beauty of game jams it forces you to just go for it and release something. releasing a 'bad' game is better than no game at all. experience only comes over time and i think just going for it is the best approach there is. like its literally 2 weeks 1 month whatever of your life. if you have the time and motivation go for it. make it work or fuck it up it wont matter in the grand scheme of things

im not sure what is the motivation behind the question but i do want to point out that this is just my method (if you can even call it a method) and the only way to figure out what works for you is to just try until you find something that actually works for you

idk not everyone will find it doable/fun to plan around spending two weeks gamedev 10 hours a day just cause i wanted to fit in 100 cgs for a jam game but apparently i can do that when i cheat my stupid adhd brain into hyperfocus with adhd meds

READMORE BECAUSE I CANT STOP RAMBLING

as for planning tho i think ideas on their own are worthless and its always about execution in the end. a great idea or a meh idea are the same for me but i do still enjoy the planning process so i keep notes

like i see a great tumblr post or i see some art or visual novel has some scene that inspires me: i save that shit for myself

having a big collection of random floating ideas like that helps me easily pick from especially during a jam type duration. right now i have like 4-5 half-baked project skeletons, some are literally like 3 pictures and some like naomida are a hundred hours worth of me writing world building about how the toilets work in a city with no plumbing cause its -30celcius(i love bringing this up)=

i dont normally plan that much, i tend to just wing it. like for malmaid i seriously just had some rough ideas and just went along as i wrote

same thing for dddeviance i had a handful of scenes that i really wanted to make and knew what kind of start and end it was meant to have and just figured out how to fill the in between. a lot of plot points changed vastly like halfway through i realised my devil + angel combination was stupid and i should just go for fallen angel + angel.

i think there really is no simple answer tho (as evident from the long as hell post) i don't really have a 'process' because every single game has been worked on has come with different type of planning since I'm always trying new stuff to try and distract me from boredom. like I've been using obsidian for naomida while previously I've just used a empty discord serve as my notes app for malmaid and dddeviance

and tbh with naomida I'm running to a new problem where I'm definitely planning too much. like I'm spending too much time fidgeting with details in chapter 4 even when i haven't finished writing chapter 1 just cause its so easy to get in the loop of "oh ill just change this one line" and boom 20 mins spent playing with my notes that didn't really progress my game since by the time i reach this point the whole scene might have shifted to something else

.

but if i had to squeeze an answer itd be something like everything related to my art or writing or games is just like "oooooo that seems fun i should remember this for later" and then i just string 10-100 of those into a story

i tend to write my stories in a format of

character A does this and that

this happens here

puppy play ryona piss orgasm

new day and then this happens here

sad thing happens

more piss orgasm

the end

and just like start filling in more details and working on my story in a nonlinear fashion until i feel like i have a strong enough skeleton that i can start writing my scenes. i hop around a lot, often preferring to write the fun scenes first like ero stuff or the ones I'm the most interested in and then the rest is just filling the blanks and stringing the cool scenes together

[morning-softness]

Story Title: Listen to the Voice that Told Me

Fandom: The Magnus Archives podcast

Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47329336/chapters/119258467#workskin

Summary:

In this world of monsters and fear, where every day Jon is forced to read another description of the horrible fate that could befall someone—anyone—unlucky enough to encounter it, there are those—human and no longer human—who have singled out the Archivist as their target. And since pretending ignorance is obviously no protection, Jon’s determined to find out as much as possible about the threats he’s up against. After Prentiss's attack on the Institute and the discovery of his predecessor's corpse in the tunnels beneath it, Jon knows two things: 1. accepting the Head Archivist position put a target on his back and 2. he can't trust anyone, especially his assistants. As if he weren't already vulnerable enough, Jon discovers he's been cursed by a Web artefact to obey any order he's given. Can Jon find a way to break the curse before anyone else finds out?

Warnings: canon-typical worms, spiders, the Not Them, the Distortion, Jon's canon-typical Season 2 paranoia, canon-typical breaking and entering, nightmares, smoking, panic attack, stalking and invasion of privacy, strained relationships, arguments, power imbalance, manipulation, mind control, threats, abuse of power, Elias being a creep, burns, self-harm? (canon-typical Jon intentionally puts himself in danger because he thinks it’s worth it), thoughts of death and suicide, blood and murder (discussed), cursing, mentions of food and unconventional eating habits, alcohol, mention of drug use, roller coaster mention 

Characters: Jonathan Sims, Martin Blackwood, Tim Stoker, Sasha James, Elias Bouchard, Michael Distortion

Pairings: General (no romantic or sexual relationships)

Chapters: 11/11

Words: 54,751 (Making this the longest fic I've ever completed!)

When I Started: February 2023

I'm putting the rest of this under a readmore, because it got a bit long and rambley, but TLDR: Thank you so, so very much to @bunnies-in-the-archives for getting me started, to @wipbigbang, @nyctolovian, @prairiedawn, @liminalspacedout, and all of the wonderful people who commented on my fic for helping me finish.  Even if you've already read it, please check out Chapter 2 to see the awesome art that @liminalspacedout did for this fic.

How I Lost My Shit: This fic really got away from me in terms of length.  The classic problem of "the more I write, the further I am from finishing."  In my original outline, I planned for 8 chapters and estimated that it would be somewhere between 15,000 and 25,000 words.  Instead, the final version ended up being 11 chapters and 54,751 words!  At about the halfway point towards the original ending, I also realized that the ending I'd planned for wouldn't work because 1. it involved Jon knowing information that he wouldn't find out until Season 3, and 2. it actually didn't resolve one of the problems introduced at the beginning of the fic.  The ending I finally settled on is something like the third or forth version.

In addition to the fic itself fighting me, life also kept getting in the way.  I got a new pet and promptly discovered I was allergic to it.  I moved to a new apartment.  My pet got sick and I took on a lot of overtime to cover vet bills.  I took on additional tasks (essentially doing unpaid overtime) in pursuit of a promotion that I was turned down for.  I went through a few rough periods mentally, and hit a couple different stretches of writers' block that lasted for months.  I took on yet more additional tasks (working essentially 6-7 days a week) and actually got promoted this time.

How I Finished My Shit: A few major things helped me get back into writing this fic and eventually reaching the finish line. 

1. I joined @wipbigbang.  Just the excitement of that alone helped me push out about 1,500 words on the first day, although the initial enthusiasm didn't last very long before I got bogged down in the details again.

2. I was paired with an artist, and from the very first thumbnail sketches that @liminalspacedout shared with me, I was over the moon at how clearly they'd captured my vision of the main character.  I knew I had to finish so that everyone else could also see their artwork for this fic.  I think this carried me through a solid 2 more chapters before I stalled again. 

3. A friend in a writers' discord group that I was part of recommended the website 4thewords.com as being a fun way to kind of gameify the writing process and to break a large task down into smaller and more manageable parts.  I'd heard of it before, but I didn't realize there was a free version.  Using that has been a lifesaver for me in terms of completing not just this fic but honestly anything involving writing these past few months. 

4. The incredible @nyctolovian who had been my beta when I first started writing the fic was willing to come back and beta read the rest of the chapters after I started it again, and gave me some really good feedback on what worked and what didn't in terms of plot and characterization. 

5. Several people in the @themagnuswriters Discord helped me brainstorm ideas for the ending of this fic, which was the part I was stuck on the hardest and longest.

6. The wonderful @prairiedawn beta read the last two chapters in a single day and helped me get over the last hurdle to finally reach the finish line. 

7. Several people commented on the fic, and a few of them commented on multiple chapters, highlighting their favorite parts or speculating about what might happen next.  It really made me feel like this fic was worth writing, that there were people who appreciated it and wanted to see more of it, in spite of all its imperfections. 

[kholnt]

Can you tell us more about lost and there relationship with the chain?

oh lordy theres an entire doc for this that kay n i worked on earlier so i'm just gonna copy and paste that :thumbsup: and if some things dont make sense uhhhh problem for later me under readmore bc its long asf

Twilight

PRE-TOTK: Not that close with Twilight but very close with Wolfie. Wolfie is basically his therapy-dog so Twilight knows some of the secrets/details of his life that Lost has been keeping from the rest of the Chain. Twilight struggles with respecting Lost’s privacy but also wanting to help him work through what he’s going through.

He tries to incorporate Lost into the group in little ways. It’s small but it’s the most he can do at the moment and he doesn’t want Lost to be completely isolated from their group.

If Wolfie's reveal happens Pre-Totk their relationship is soured. Lost kept all those secrets secret for a reason and Twilight knowing them messes with him a lot. Lost probably thinks that Twilight was only keeping tabs on him to make sure he wouldn’t be a problem to group despite what Twilight says in response.

POST-TOTK

If Wolfie Reveal happens Post-Totk + character development, Lost is a Lot More understanding as to why Twilight kept the whole Wolfie thing a secret. Twilight basically becomes his older brother (he was before but now Twilight gets to actually show it outside of being a wolf) and they’re really close. Twilight is the #1 Lost Defender.

Time

PRE-TOTK: Time struggles a lot with trying to help Lost because he can Tell Lost has a lot more going on under the surface. Twilight confirms this is the case but will not go into details for the sake of Lost’s privacy unless he Has To. But he can’t do much since Lost is still very much afraid of him and puts the soldier front on with him. Also struggles with the fact he doesn’t really Know Lost.

Lost has a lot of respect for Time but Also Time reminds him of his dad and that’s scary for him and also bringing up past trauma. (DADDY ISSUES!!!!!)

POST-TOTK: The first/one of the first to give Lost a hug after the Horn Incident. Lost is still working out his daddy issues but he’s a lot more open with Time. Lost’s relationship with Malon improving also helps a lot in this aspect too.

Warriors

PRE-TOTK: Lost feels the need to prove himself to Warriors because he’s The Captain and his own past issues with authorities figures. Warriors in turn struggles with the fact that Lost appears so Afraid of him all the time and tries to alleviate that fear, but it doesn’t do much. 

Warriors also is Not a fan of self-sacrificing Lost is. Tries to gently scold him and discourages him but this only makes Lost get better at hiding injuries and discreetly healing himself after fights. Warriors (+ Time) doesn’t like ordering him around but it’s the only way to get him to listen to them when it comes to proper self care and allowing others to help.

POST-TOTK: After Lost learns that he outranks Warriors he sees their dynamic more equally and removes a lot of tenseness from their relationship. Lost becomes a lot more involved with planning and strategy and helps Warriors with planning attacks/defense/etc. which helps improve their relationship a lot too. 

Legend

PRE-TOTK: Tense. Legend sees Lost as a “suck-up” and tries to be understanding of his mentality and such, but it’s still frustrating for them both because Lost is trying to “impress” Legend and prove his worth and Legend doesn’t see Lost as genuine. This eventually leads to an argument between the two of them.

POST-TOTK: After the Horn Incident™, Legend apologizes to Lost about the things he said and did pre-totk, their relationship vastly improves after that. 

Sky

PRE-TOTK: Lost has Feelings about Hylia but he respects Sky’s relationship with her + another case of complete respect since Sky is the one who made the Master Sword. There’s a healthy dose of fear from Lost almost dying from the blade as well, so he tends to keep his distance as well.

POST-TOTK: Sky has Feelings about the fact that Lost turned himself into a dragon to repair the Master Sword. Lost talks about repairing the Master Sword and how he didn’t consider any other option because “it's what you would have done”. 

Four

PRE-TOTK: Lost is the least “afraid” of him. He’s willing to talk more about himself with Four because they’re the most similar. They both have their own secrets, and they understand that. Four is also very observant of Lost, and is the first one to learn how Lost displays his emotions, and will generally come to his aid when someone in the chain is (usually worriedly) hounding him.

POST-TOTK: Not much changes between them, for better or for worse. Lost is a lot more open to asking more personal questions, and they get to know each other much better. Plus Four got to show Lost what blacksmithing is like, so that’s a very big bonus

Hyrule

PRE-TOTK: Wary respect.Lost has respect for Hyrule’s medic abilities but is Unsure on how to feel about the magic healing. The only person he knows who is able to heal with magic isn’t a Hylian. Possibly wary of if Hyrule is actually a Hylian? + Hyrule probably reminds him of Mipha and that's Probably Not A Good Thing

POST-TOTK: Hyrule allows Lost to finally have some sense of individuality by allowing him to escape and go out adventuring by themselves. This starts a snowball effect of Lost learning things he’s interested in, nature and a drive for learning being the first few.

Wind

PRE-TOTK: Guard. Wind wants him to be a big brother, but he forgot how to fill that role due to Reasons™ Instead, he fills a guard role so he’s still able to protect Wind in some way. (Wind has mixed feelings about this)

POST-TOTK: After Lost learns more about himself and finally allows himself to have some fun, they get along like a house on fire. Please never give them access to a hill it’ll be terrible for everyone’s hearts.

[kaurwreck]

hi! i really want to tell you that i love love love your blog. i feel so much joy when i see you've made a long post with your thoughts. i admire the way you engage with things you enjoy! you've genuinely inspired me to get back into reading. i've been struggling with migraines and after some time i started associating reading with suffering. i stumbled upon your blog because of bsd, and i got so fascinated with the way you communicate with the source material that i had a childlike realization: i want to have that too! and i picked up akutagawa, and i'm enjoying myself so much. i'm never not thinking about the post where you said that the trick to being clever is to stop obsessing over being right. life-changing, really. sending you so so so much love! p.s. as a russian-speaker it's a delight reading your thoughts on dostoevsky, especially seeing you use diminutives, for some reason. in russian slang we sometimes say, "ты так чувствуешь!" ("you are really feeling!") meaning "you really get it on an emotional level!" and that's what i think every time i read your thoughts on dostoevsky.

I hesitated to answer this ask because I wanted to covet it and hoard it and keep it tucked away where I could revisit it to my greedy heart's content without anyone noticing, but I'd rather you know that this ask was so delightful to receive and absolutely melted me in the best way, so I'm publishing it even though that means submitting to the mortifying ordeal of creating a tag so that I can more easily return to your kind words, and perhaps other, similar asks and posts that are emotional balms.

Also, I am so sorry, I'm sleep-deprived and I was so excited and charmed and delighted by your ask that I lost my mind and wrote you a veritable novel in response. Thus, I've added a readmore and headings (because WOW, I went on tangents, sorry!)

Returning to Reading

I'm so sorry you have migraines; I don't get them often, but I do occasionally get them, and it's some of the worst, least tolerable pain I've ever experienced. So, whatever it's worth, you have my sympathy and admiration, especially since returning to reading when you experience frequent migraines implicates some common triggers. (Never mind how annoying I know it is when you're in too much pain to read as a distraction either.) But I'm delighted you're reframing your relationship with reading separate from suffering, and that you're enjoying the process! I'm also returning to reading, and while I don't have the same challenges, I am also engaging in a process of relearning and recontextualizing reading for myself, so I'm always here to chat about it.

I'm especially thrilled that you picked up Akutagawa; Akutagawa is the author who also coaxed me back into reading literature (as opposed to comics or webnovels). He might still be my favorite even now that I've read several, several other modern Japanese authors.

Akutagawa Adoration Hours

[I apologize; I hyperfocused and wrote an entire multi-paragraph essay on how much I love Akutagawa below... I promise I come back to your ask!]

Akutagawa's literary voice is just so vivid, sharp, and intentional. He compels you to cling to the weight of each word with rich, clever language that cuts to the hearts of matters frankly, bluntly, and sometimes scathingly. But even when his authorial voice is ostensibly irreverent or lacquered with detachment, he cradles his most foolish characters, bundling them with naked affection for their sincerity, vulnerability, and childish conviction. They embody his unadulterated faith, and he reserves for them in the implication the same salvation he's convinced he's too sullied by shame, terror, and self-consciousness to deserve. Akutagawa does not squander the gravity of your attention, and even in brief vignettes in which humans become lice or have had their personhood severed from them by the untenable yet escalating demands of their responsibilities to others, there's humanity in his horror and absurdity, and closure in his ambiguity. I rarely feel as if there's certainty in Akutagawa's narratives, but neither do I feel as if nothing that occurred mattered.

Even when nothing has objectively changed for the characters, Akutagawa sources meaning from the subjective perceptions of the characters, the impact of which is rarely diminished by the objective or observable. Thus, the bleakness, horror, and absurdity of the characters' circumstances are sometimes interminable, but they shelter Akutagawa's fondness and latent certainty that existential meaning is inherent to humanity because of, rather than despite, our fragility, foolishness, and callous disregard for measurable truth.

His contemporaries criticized him for the detachment and perceived stagnancy lent by his polish and technical brilliance, but I've never read any of his stories and not felt an earnestness that persists entirely apart from the explicit narrative, as if someone is reading over my shoulder and murmuring "isn't she brave?" whenever a character is so simple in their sincerity that they become vulnerable to humiliation and abuse. And that's not detachment; that's Akutagawa relentlessly writing hope, love, and compassion into the creases of his own grotesque fear, and in doing so, filling spaces we perceive as empty in ourselves with the faith and devotion he was so certain he lacked.

You Said Childlike In Passing But Chapter 55 of the Tao Te Ching Rewired My Brain and I Was Lost In the Akutagawa Sauce So...

And it's childlike how, even when characters like O-Gin are debased and humiliated, Akutagawa yearns for their salvation enough to smudge the ink at the edges of his precisely rendered language so the silly, ignorant little fools might transcend the boundaries of the narrative that otherwise ruthlessly scorned and punished them for their guilelessness. His need for innocence is itself indicative of the keen sense of violation that prompts a toddler to indignation when his jejune reliance on fairness is first exploited and then provided as cause for exploitation.

Akutagawa was wise enough to know childlike conclusions are the most profound and self-actualizing insights we can have, but too certain of the inevitability of his suffering and too overly prescribed barbiturates to nurture and cherish his own salvific childishness. So, your realization was brilliant for its childlike wisdom, and I think it's both wonderful and meaningful that you then nurtured that wisdom by pursuing the relationship you wanted with the source material.

Being Right vs. Playful Engagement

I'm also so glad that the post about being clever =/= obsessing over being right was sticky and impactful! It's, quite frankly, immensely less fun and more pressure if you're hinging your enjoyment on whether you're right when engaging with media where "right" is subjective and layered, and where you're engaging with a foreign cultural context. I get the impression that centering your engagement on making and assessing the accuracy of predictions also lends itself to biases, defensiveness, disappointment, misplaced resentment based on unmet expectations, and incuriosity; at least more so than engaging with the story playfully and sincerely.

I'm also just extremely biased towards bsd and Asagiri's approach to storytelling; I think he's engaging in a challenging and layered approach to storytelling that is wholly unique to him. (At least, based on my own experiences with referential multimedia titles.) I'm so charmed by how Asagiri throws himself into creative challenges and engages in meaningful and remarkably substantive conversations with the source materials, his own portfolio of interlocking narratives, and his audience. I would kill to chat with him about his processes.

Everyone I'd Encountered Who Seemed Parasocially Obsessed With Dostoevsky Was Right

Before I get into this next babble tangent, I want you to know that your kind words and perspective as a Russian-speaker regarding my Dostoevsky thoughts mean SO much to me; I'm very proud if I'm able to do an ounce of justice to the text in my ramblings, and I'm so excited to know the appropriate phrase for what I'm experiencing right now because I am REALLY feeling.

I was admittedly a little nervous about reading his works with only minimal background, and I went into Crime and Punishment without first consulting any published critiques and analyses (which I sometimes do for foreign classics to bridge gaps in context). But, I was eager to start the story, so I decided to just get into it with the understanding I might need to pause for further research if I felt I was missing too much context to engage with the text meaningfully. But, wow, I was immediately consumed. I struggled to put it down for most of it, and I've been staying up too late and sneakily reading at work; things I haven't done since I was in middle school.

While I know I'm missing context, even with the attentive footnotes (and I absolutely will read so many academic papers on it once I finish these last fifty pages), I was pleasantly surprised by how not only engaging his writing and this translation are but also by how familiar with and connected I feel to the characters and circumstances and emotions and dynamics. He has rendered the human experience and specific flavors of People into such compassionate, teasing, sincere, frank, and sobering characters who I feel like I've had entire conversations with.

I love classic lit, but Dostoevsky is sincerely rekindling a joy I haven't felt in years while reading. Also, his frankness and compassion regarding alcoholism and parentified children and trauma and ennui and guilt and the contradictions we grapple with within ourselves and with who we are to different people are giving me a framework for reflecting on swaths of my trauma and childhood that I've struggled to articulate my thoughts and emotions around for years.

I'm so energized and excited about reading his other works, but, wow, I'm going to miss these characters so much.

Accounting For My Crimes Against the Russian Language

I have very little background in Russian, but I'm passingly familiar because in high school (i) I was obsessed with Russian history, particularly related to the USSR and swaths of imperial Russia (I actually taught the lesson on Ivan IV Vasilyevich in my Western Civ class because my teacher was pregnant and exhausted and I knew the material better than she did); and (ii) I studied Russian with a private tutor in my senior year of high school (very lightly; once a week, only for a year, I met with her and two French language teachers from my school who were also interested in Russian for hour-long lessons and to receive homework assignments).

So, while my experience with the language is shallow at best, I've always loved Russian diminutives. I'm obsessed with the sheer amount of information relayed in someone's name. It's incredible. Of the languages I'm familiar with, none have a comparably satisfying gradient range of (i) affection and (ii) disrespect.

That said, I use diminutives for characters I'm particularly fond of, to show affection, and to teasingly disrespect them since I think it's quite overfamiliar for me to take such liberties.

Also, while I try to check after myself to ensure I'm using them correctly, I have only a surface-level understanding of what I'm doing, and some language forum threads are more helpful than others, so I'm very, very sorry if I use any incorrectly, and I encourage you (and any other Russian speakers and learners) to yell at me if you notice I'm misusing someone's name.

So far, my approach has been to check general searches, forums, and Reddit when I've encountered diminutives in Crime and Punishment, and I'll continue to look up every single name variation in the Dostoevsky novels I'm reading, no matter how long it may take me to realize what I've been scouring for isn't a diminutive at all but instead probably (emphasis on "probably," because no one providing English explanations seemed wholly certain) the same name but spoken in the form native to a separate Slavic language than the languages anyone else in the conversation was using, not that it really seemed to matter, since the same characters within the same conversation each used multiple forms of the same, with only one remark on what was most likely the correct form, which everyone ignored/disregarded, including the remarking character. So if you have context on THAT dynamic, I would love to hear about the etiquette and conventions around language forms among the many different languages and dialects in Eastern Europe.

For reference, the diminutives I've been using re: Crime and Punishment and bsd, with more context:

Raskolnikov is "Rodya" unless he's naughty, in which case I call him "Rodka." Unless he's REALLY naughty, then he's Raskolnikov.

Avdotya is Dunya always; I do feel egregious because she commands grace and gravitas, and I respect her SO much. But I love her dearly and am very warm towards her and everything she does, so I call her Dunya as if she were my sister because if she were, I would treat her better than Rodka right now.

Razumikhin is Dima which may be wildly incorrect, both in form and historical context; the only reason I haven't confirmed it yet is because I had an OC named Dmitri in high school that I was very fond of and referred to affectionately as Dima, and I'm similarly fond of Razumikhin, so I've delayed confirming and correcting myself here, although that's very Rodka-naughty of me, I know.

Fedya is always bsd!Fyodor, and only when he has really wide eyes and is being adorable bunny Fedya. He is Fyodor when he is being nasty or squinting. I call the author by either his last or full name, although I'm sure I've carelessly called him Fyodor before too. I try to maintain some consistency in distinguishing who I'm referencing between the characters and their namesakes.

Tl;dr: I love Russian diminutives. The only other time I've come close to feeling the same amount of immense delight over names-as-love-and-violence is when my work mentor, who is Chinese, was providing me with her preferred titles (laoban ["old boss," old meaning "venerable" rather than indicating age], jiejie ["big sister"]), and my other coworker chimed in to say, "Wouldn't you be da-jiejie ["first/eldest big sister"], since you're the oldest?" If looks could kill.

[thiefking]

i need to draw/speak more of my narutos. "my narutos" meaning specifically the versions of every character that exist in my head, of course. i wanna draw hinata and gaara (besties of all time) especially. because other than the fact that they have the most fully realized design changes in my head, they are perhaps the defining aspect of My narutos, as opposed to everyone else's. their friendship to me is like "ok i'm going out...! (wearing some extremely Please Don't Look At Me outfit)" "not dressed like that you're not." "better? (she is now gothed the fuck out with an invader zim handbag)" "yas bitch slay." this is how they work. to me

i want to draw Literally Exactly That what i just described there as a meme but i do also kind of want to write or draw sometjing more substantial because i am The Hinata And Gaara Understander. as individual characters and as a pair of besties. amd i need to explain to others why it makes perfect sense because i just Know that i am one of extremely few to look at these two, of all characters, and deduce that the character arc hinata SHOULD have had is one that would be so obvious to gaara & something he would encourage. or maybe the only one, but the fandom is/was so big that it feels statistically unlikely... if we're talking CURRENT fandom i may actually be uniquely insane about this. i don't know for sure i haven't really interacted with the fandom i've been fucking around in my own skull this whole time that's how i even arrived at "hinagaara bffs" in the first place

but like... listen. hinata's thing is basically (in an inconsistent, half-baked, and never fully realized form): "i can change to improve myself and finally meet everyone else's standards and prove them wrong...!" as she is trying to emulate naruto. ... "prove them wrong", but she is not subverting anything if she meets an expectation that was explicitly set. hinata is not naruto. naruto's expectations were that he is worthless and nothing and not worth having any expectations for in the first place, and basically all of konoha thought this way. if naruto accomplishes basically anything at all he proves someone wrong, even if just a little. hinata had expectations set on her, specifically by her family, that she is not meeting. even though what hinata WANTS to do is prove them wrong, what she is fundamentally DOING is trying to please them by doing exactly what they want her to do. yes, when they think she won't even meet their lowest expectation and she does meet it, she is TECHNICALLY proving them wrong... but she isn't really achieving meaningful personal growth by doing this, is she? all she has done is meet their standards and essentially fall into their evil ghoul trap and accept EVEN MORE PRESSURE as a "reward" because now that she finally met this one single goal, they can move the goalpost. she will only ever be the failure who occasionally surprises them, she will always be lagging behind the others, and every single time she fails she gets sent back to square 1 in their eyes. meeting all their expectations or even surpassing them entirely is always going to feel hollow and fragile, because in the back of her mind, if she slips even once she has to do it all over again. she deserves better than constant paranoia

gaara (and pretty specifically gaara) can rightfully point out the problem with hinata's current mindset because hinata's hardships are way closer to GAARA'S than naruto's, to be honest. it's not lacking a family; it's having a family that doesn't feel like a family, and that family isolating one child and encouraging the others to treat them like shit so that one child never has anyone on their own level when they're at home and they are constantly forced to be aware they lack some ambiguous something that seemingly everyone else has that would make them "worthy" of being loved by their own family

hold on let me put yhe rest under a readmore this post is long as fuck

the hyuugas treat hinata like shit and call her weak, and because her parents gladly and openly call her weak and because she's supposed to be heiress to the clan, her sister and neji (the only family who were close enough in age and rank to not intimidate) were made to hate her, think she is weak, be jealous of and resent her for being heiress despite her weakness, and treat her like shit like the other hyuugas do, thus completely isolating her within her family. and rasa treated gaara like shit and had given up on him LONG before he snapped (let's be fucking real here if gaara had to learn that "love" makes emotional pain feel better at age SIX... and not to mention the entire yashamaru """plan""" was utterly and blatantly fucking NONSENSE on all levels like nice going rasa you just turned your kid almost irreversibly insane... seemingly on purpose...? i can only assume it was on purpose and you just wanted to be a spiteful bitch to the kid who killed your wife because literally what else did you think was going to happen with that but that's a rant for another time.), he tacitly encouraged temari and kankuro to not even bother with gaara and to be afraid of him like everyone else is because RASA was also OBVIOUSLY SCARED and not only that he was constantly literally trying to murder gaara so temari and kankuro also had reason to believe from a very young age that associating with him might make rasa treat THEM like that too, essentially forced gaara to straight up kill his uncle who was the ONLY family member he had who talks to him like he isn't a monster (and inexplicably decided that he should also tell gaara outright that he is not and was never loved by anyone), etc etc etc; gaara was also isolated within his own family and made to be the odd one out, over and over again. naruto knows what it's like not having a family at all, but he never experienced having family— non-metaphorical, blood relation, "entire reason you were born" family— who hates you. naruto knows how it feels to be neglected and feared by an entire village, that's how he relates to gaara. hinata was hated by her own family, the people she depended on for life itself, but she was never hated by the village at large, even if she perceives herself to be. naruto can empathize with this and put himself in her shoes, but like... gaara KNOWS, firsthand, what hinata is experiencing. that is why gaara is fairly uniquely capable of pointing out the problem Very Directly because he would see it way faster than anyone else

naruto could see it too, and he could say all the same things, but he wouldn't do it how gaara would. and i think hinata needs to hear someone speak to her, bluntly and authoritatively, and say "you deserve better than this." because normally whenever she hears someone (her own family) speak to her bluntly in an authoritative tone they're telling her she's weak and pathetic and subpar and needs to improve, and every time she is spoken to like that she believes them and marks that weakness off as something to fix. hearing incredibly matter-of-fact validation and encouragement spoken the exact same way primes her to believe that encouragement, and now her compulsive need to please people who speak to her that way is going to force her, even fleetingly, to take it seriously. especially because gaara would tell her something she is doing wrong, which will feel familiar, but he actually has HER best interests in mind. there is no benefit or advantage for him if she succeeds. he is unaffiliated, not even from konoha, he gains nothing from it. gaara doesn't tell her to try harder nor to give up and accept mediocrity. gaara tells her it's okay to give up and try something else, and sometimes it's the people around you who are the ones who need to change, not you.

gaara looks at "i will change myself to prove myself to others", and he says instead: "you need to stop caring what other people think about you and stop morphing yourself to their perception. just because YOU aren't doing that in a 'if you all want to call me a monster then fine, i'll be a monster' kind of way, like i did, that doesn't mean that isn't still an unhealthy way to think. you should figure out who YOU are and live as who YOU are, unapologetically, until they get the point that they can either accept you as you are and realize they were wrong, or they can fuck off. this is a situation where it is Not Your Fucking Problem that other people are disappointed with you especially because of how hard you've already been working to try and meet their arbitrary standards. this isn't about talent or hard work. this is about whether you even Want to be doing what everyone else wants you to do. and it is difficult and terrifying and lonely to be the only person who knows who you really are. it is hard work to figure it out and it is hard work to convince others, and at times it will feel hopeless. so i won't let you be the alone. i won't let you have to try and fail all alone, like i did. i will be your first victory, i will give you listening ears, i will be your silent dressing room mirror while you try on different hats before you figure out which one fits, i will be here and i will not judge you or decide on your behalf who you are, and i will be your family if no one else will. literally. if they cast you out you can come home to me. temari and kankuro have already accepted me as i am, i'm sure they'll accept you as you are too"

and then with time and gentle coaxing hinata decides to stop trying to be what her family wanted her to be and starts being a goth weirdgirl and pursues her interests in mycology and psychology and entomology and starts fucking THRIVING

i could go on forever. i should stop now or i never will. some of the parallels between them or the reasons that gaara would specifically want to support her in the specific ways i envision came about entirely from headcanon (coughs. even more headcanon than... the rest of this... coughs) and i FORGET that it's headcanon. for example "gaara created his good reputation in sunagakure through brute force good deeds. like people were so scared of him that they wouldn't let him CASUALLY prove that he was trying to be better, so he basically had to scare them even more just to prove that he was no longer scary. things like using his sand to hold people in place... so that he can physically put money into their hands and say 'this is yours and you will take it and use it to pay rent and buy your child that toy he wants. i do not want anytjing in return and i will be leaving you alone now.' because otherwise people would run away before he even gets the chance to be nice. literally just has to hold them still and pointedly do something nice for them and then let them go without hurting them while they tremble in misplaced terror like he;s a wildlife vet wrangling an injured seagull". this is part of why he would say "be unapologetically you and they can accept that and realize they were wrong about you to begin with, or they can fuck off". NONE OF THAT is explicitly canon... but there is so much & it makes perfect sense to me. aauuugaghh hinata my hinata my hinagaara besties my hinata. i could go on and on and on and on. goddammit I WILL GIVE HER THE CHARACTER ARC SHE NEEDS & DESERVES... GIVE HER TO ME KISHIMOTO.... WHAT IF THE FACT THAT HINATA HAS 3 PERSONALITY TRAITS IN CANON ACTUALLY MEANT SOMETHING AND WASN'T JUST BECAUSE YOU, MASASHI KISHIMOTO, SELF-ADMITTEDLY DO NOT KNOW HOW TO WRITE WOMEN? WOULDN'T THAT BE SO MUCH LESS EMBARRASSING FOR YOU? I CAN MAKE IT REAL! I CAN MAKE IT MEANINGFUL!!!! I CAN MAKE IT ABOUT REPRESSION!!!! I CAN MAKE IT ABOUT WORKING HARD TO BE WHO YOU WANT TO BE, AND SAYING "SCREW YOU" TO PEOPLE WHO TRY AND DECIDE WHO YOU ARE ON YOUR BEHALF, AND THE REJECTION OF THE STATUS QUO, AND EMBRACING THE THINGS THAT MAKE YOU DIFFERENT AND MAKING USE WHAT UNIQUE STRENGTHS YOU HAVE INSTEAD OF TRYING TO MATCH WHAT EVERYONE ELSE IS DOING, AND HOW HUMAN LIVES ARE INHERENTLY VALUABLE EVEN IF EVERYONE AROUND YOU SAYS YOURS IS WORTH NOTHING!!! JUST LIKE WHAT NARUTO WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ABOUT IN THE FIRST PLACE!!!! I CAN EVEN SPICE IT UP A BIT AND USE MY MAGICAL WOMAN-UNDERSTANDING POWERS TO MAKE IT ABOUT HOW WOMEN ARE ACTUALLY JUST REGULAR PEOPLE WHO ARE AS VARIED AS MEN AND HOW THE SOCIETAL CONCEPTS OF WOMANHOOD AND PROPER WOMANLY BEHAVIOUR ARE RESTRICTIVE AND OPPRESSIVE, AND THE MANY WAYS THAT SOCIETY WILL FORCE TOTAL CONFORMITY AND PUNISH EVERYONE WHO STEPS OUTSIDE OF THAT FRAME (AND EVEN THOSE WHO REMAIN WITHIN)!!! I CAN MAKE IT ABOUT COMPULSORY HETEROSEXUALITY!!!! I KNOW YOU'RE AFRAID OF GIRLS MR KISHIMOTO WILL IT MAKE YOU FEEL BETTER IF I ALSO MAKE IT ABOUT NEJI WATCHING HINATA COMPLETELY REJECT HER CAGE AND DISCOVER HERSELF AND HOW HE FEELS ABOUT IT AND MAYBE JUST COVER YOUR EARS WHEN I START TALKING ABOUT EGGS!!!!!! MR KISHIMOTOOOOOO PLEEEEEEEASE

[adyophene]

Hello ! I just have a little question, how do we start drawing ? I want go draw but idk how to start- any suggestion ? Or, if for starting it's better to do it with tutos, any tutorial to recommend ?

Have a great day !

Oooh, this is a tough question to answer! I suppose one the best pieces of advice I have is to figure out, before anything, what you are hoping to draw. What style, what tones, what media.

I have a feeling this might get long, so I will throw the rest under a readmore.

For me, when I started taking my art a little more seriously (I never went to art school or anything) I just focused on finding both tutorials on the fundamentals, and finding tutorials that focused on the aspects of art that interested me, which were animation and cartooning!

They go hand-in-hand, after all, and you'll find you end up honing in on the tutorials that coincide with your interests! IE- I ended up doing a lot of figure, and expression drawing because they would help me express emotion and movement better! I also spent so, so long just training my hand to be a bit more confident with drawing steady lines just because I loved the look of clean line-work!

So try to identify what your personal draw towards art is! By doing both something you like, as well as focusing the basics, I found that, at least in my personal experience, it put me in a positive feedback loop where I could keep seeing results in exactly the type of art I was interested in! And, once you start to feel confident, that is when you start adding in little bits of study from fields you might struggle with! A 90/10 split on what you're comfortable with and then what is new is usually a good way to go about it! Weirdly enough, though I don't watch him, I saw that the youtuber pewdiepie actually had a really good set of videos where he started from being a complete beginner and improving his art over 100 days. I believe its an absolutely great watch for a new artist, because he really does a great job in showing what a brand new journey into art can look like, and explains what he thinks each day. I think my favorite line was, 'after 24 days, I was finally having fun' because that can really sum up the new artist experience. It will absolutely be a slog at times, and can be really disheartening, but when you start to see progress, becomes so, SO fun.

Here is the link to the first vid, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CMLEudGbxQk and his second https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MJDtQTTAogk

ALSO- this was just the first video that came to mind because I watched it recently. I would recommend finding other videos about people learning to draw, or doing 30-100-365 day challenge videos. As for my personal favorite channels for art tutorials (though keep in mind, I haven't watched them in a few years ;-;, I need to study again);

There were a number of others that I wish I could link as well, but I am struggling to remember them. I hope any of that is helpful. My own art journey has been very long, and non linear, and I have to say, I'm not even satisfied with my own art! Its a endless mountain to climb, but it is so worth it to do! And lastly, I want to say thank you so much for sending this ask, you've made me dig back in to artists I used to study, and made me want to really focus back in on my own improvement!